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Courtship

By: vqfarrold



A friend was given an exercise in a creative writing class and suggested that I try it also. 'Courtship' is the result. Its second sentence describes the exercise - the story needed to contain these elements and to be written in the first person. There is no explicit sex in 'Courtship' but it has a lesbian theme.

*******

Let me tell you about Lavender. It's the story of a blind date who failed to show, an unexpected replacement, a spilled drink, a fart, and a taxi ride. Sounds like a meaningless jumble, doesn't it. Well let me try to make some sense of it for you.

I was moonlighting as an escort at the time. Don't jump to conclusions - sometimes an escort is just that. Members of the Foreign Service have the onerous duty of attending an endless round of formal lunches, dinners and receptions. The invitations always extend to a spouse or partner. This was a matter of some embarrassment to our Foreign Office in those pre-enlightenment days, as its officials were predominantly male and frequently not of a heterosexual disposition. To avoid sending a procession of unaccompanied males to these engagements, the Office retained the services of selected females to partner them.

It was a role I fitted rather well. I'd been a professional tennis player until not long before. Not a name you would remember, but good enough to be ranked among the top one hundred female players in the world for a short while. So I was well-travelled and a veteran of the social round that is as much a part of the international tennis circuit as it is of the diplomatic one.

The system worked like this: I would arrive a few minutes early saying that I had come separately from my partner and would wait for him, then position myself unobtrusively in some corner of the reception area until my blind date arrived and I was pointed out to him. At this point, having been watching out of the corner of my eye, I would look up, make a show of recognition, call out 'Hello Darling', rush up and greet him with a kiss.

These assignments paid well, the food and wine were invariably excellent, the company usually entertaining, and there wasn't the unpleasantness of rejecting unwanted importunings at the end of the evening.

On this particular occasion, a reception at the Soviet embassy, my blind date failed to show. It sometimes happened, but I was a little disappointed as I only received half the standard fee in such cases. I was about to leave when a woman detached herself from the crowd inside, came out, spoke to the receptionist in rapid Russian, and then came over to me.

'So your gallant partner has stood you up. Never mind. Come and join the festivities. The party needs some livening up. My name is Svetlana Maleva, but you should call me Lavender.'

It was an incongruous nickname, and it wasn't until some time later, and from a quite different source, that I learnt its origin. It seemed that the Western intelligence agencies had identified her as a member of one of their counterpart Soviet agencies and given her this code name. Her public adoption of it just a few days later had them in turmoil for months as they vainly tried to trace the source of the security breach.

Lavender was squat and muscular, with an olive complexion, small hazel eyes and a snub nose. Her collar-length hair was brushed in a masculine style. She was no beauty, but had an animal vitality about her. Her outfit was as surprising as her nick-name, a seersucker suit worn over a white, open-necked shirt, and brogues. 'I am butch,' it shouted. She must have been eyeing me off and when my situation became obvious, decided to take advantage of it. I was intrigued enough to ignore my usual rule of treating these events purely as business matters, and followed her inside.

She guided me to a quiet corner and began to quiz me about myself, while casting a leisurely and none too subtle eye of appraisal over me. Before too long, I realised that every time a waiter or waitress appeared from the kitchen with a fresh tray of hors d'oeuvres or drinks, we were the first to be served.  It also became obvious from his set expression and rather frequent glances in our direction that the Ambassador, standing in the centre of the room, was none too pleased with this demonstration of her superior rank within the Soviet bureaucracy.

In no time at all, I'd divulged virtually my whole life story to her, while learning almost nothing of her own. Under the influence of my third or fourth drink, I began to be peeved at the skilful way in which she was directing the conversation and inquired rather bluntly about her dress code.

'My dear,' she replied primly, 'deviancies such as you have in mind are entirely a product of the capitalist system and do not exist in socialist societies.'

She spoke in a thick Slavic accent, but her English was precise and fluent, with just the right admixture of local slang. It was hard not to suspect that the accent was staged.

I tried a different tack.

'So what do you think about the progress of the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks?' I asked.

'As a matter of fact, there was an excellently argued leading article on that subject in our respected newspaper Pravda just the other day. There is an English language edition and I would be happy to have you put on the subscription list if you wish. I identify myself with the opinions expressed in that article.'

I persevered.

'Well, what do you think of the Soviet presence in Afghanistan?'

At that time the Soviet occupation force was taking unsustainable casualties from the rebellious Afghans, just as the British had done almost a century before and the Americans and their allies would a few decades later.

'There was a well-researched article on this very matter in our respected newspaper Izvestia not so long ago. I can obtain an English translation for you if you wish. You will find it very enlightening. Naturally, I identify myself with the opinions expressed in that article.'

I laughed in exasperation.

'For goodness' sake, don't you have opinions of your own?'

'Of course I do my dear, but I don't identify myself with them.'

She said it with a straight face. It was a line she must have delivered dozens of times, for the comic timing was perfect. The night was wearing on, and I'd had too much to drink. I burst out laughing, drawing a few glances and raised eyebrows from around the room.

I prided myself on my ability to hold my liquor. Lavender had matched me drink for drink, and showed no obvious signs of it, but when the waiter brought around a tray of liqueurs to end the evening, she gave herself away. She reached for one of the small, long-stemmed glasses and failed to grasp it cleanly. It tipped over and fell off the tray. We both lunged forward to catch it and our heads collided painfully. I toppled backward and landed in an undignified fashion on my rump. Lavender, rubbing her head with one hand, helped me up. The effort caused her to emit a quite audible fart. We both dissolved into fits of laughter.

When she'd composed herself, she snapped her fingers. A large and rather intimidating male whom I had observed standing at the side of the room for most of the evening materialised. He looked as though he came from one of the Turkish-speaking minorities, with a permanent five o'clock shadow and a face carved out of stone. Except that this time he allowed it to crack into the briefest of smiles at our antics, his gold teeth glinting under the light of the chandelier.

'Josef,' said my companion, ' fetch Madam a taxi.'

On the ride home, I wondered if I would see her again. Tennis was the preferred sport of diplomats, and I used these opportunities rather shamelessly to promote my main line of business, which was coaching it. And sure enough, a week later I received a call from Josef. Madam Lavender would like to speak to me.

'Our glorious Soviet team achieved unprecedented success at the recent Olympics,' she said, after coming on the line and greeting me. 'Regrettably our embassy is not matching these achievements. We are lying at the bottom of the ladder in the local diplomatic tennis competition. My own performance has been particularly poor. I need your assistance.'

I was tempted to remind her that the Soviets' performance at the Moscow Olympics was in no small part due to the Western boycott of the games in response to their occupation of Afghanistan, but I bit my tongue. And thus twice weekly I gave coaching sessions to Madam Lavender, Political Attaché to the local Soviet embassy and captain of its tennis team.

On the court, she made up for her lack of natural ability with stamina and an agility surprising for a person of her build. She hit fierce attacking strokes and doggedly chased down every return.

In the showers after these sessions, she always positioned herself in the stall opposite mine. She faced me squarely and, by engaging me in conversation, forced me to face her also. Then she ogled me shamelessly, running her eyes up and down my body, making complimentary comments about my physique. Her own wasn't bad - although solid, she was well sculpted, with small, well-rounded breasts. To be frank, I wasn't entirely of a heterosexual disposition myself, and I wouldn't have been averse to an advance, but I knew it was unlikely. Romantic liaisons with Westerners were not tolerated and embassy staff of communist countries were closely watched by their own. As a political officer, she had to set an example to the others. She often soaped a particular part of her anatomy for a little longer than seemed absolutely necessary, while staring at the corresponding part of mine, but beyond that, nothing happened.

My coaching must have been doing some good, because the Soviet team began a steady advance up the competition ladder.  Then one day she failed to show up for coaching. There was no subsequent phone call to explain the missed appointment. I made some inquiries and found out that she had been suddenly recalled to Moscow.

I feared that her individualism had landed her in trouble and that she was now, at best, languishing in some cold and distant part of the Soviet empire. I liked her and was concerned about her, but I knew that to make further inquiries would be counter-productive. Not long after I landed a plum job in the marketing department of an international sportsgoods company. Years passed, the Soviet Union crumbled and Lavender became a distant memory.

Many years later, having connived to obtain a seat in my company's box at Wimbledon, I was watching an enthralling women's final. The reigning champion was matched with an unknown teenage player from a small, unknown, central Asian republic who had, against all odds, made it through to the final. The commentators had predicted a walk-over, the girl being no match for her experienced, fit and skilful older rival. And so it had appeared as she lost the first set without taking a game. But unexpectedly she had rallied and taken the second set after a tense struggle. Now, after the break, the players were coming onto the court for the final set.

There was a tap on my shoulder, and the receptionist handed me a card, at the same time pointing out a dark-suited man at the entrance to our box. I looked over, and there was a flash of gold teeth which, by this time, must have been worth a considerable amount more than when I had last seen them. It was Josef. I looked down at the card. In raised letters in both Roman and Cyrillic script was the name: Svetlana Maleva. I turned it over and read the message: 'Madam Lavender requests the pleasure of your company in the box of the Russian Federation.' Naturally I went with alacrity.

She had greyed, but the physique was still muscular and the outfit, with some concession to modern fashion, was the same. I hugged her affectionately.

'When you disappeared, I feared the worst.'

'I was simply recalled to Moscow for a promotion to an administrative job. Of course it could have gone the other way. Our government never explained these things. One simply accepted what came one's way. Not much has changed really. Power still resides with those with whom it always resided. Except these days, some of us have become entrepreneurs rather than servants of the State.'

'And these days you are not compelled to identify yourself with the opinions expressed in Pravda and Izvestia,' I jibed.

'On the contrary my dear, I continue to identify myself with them unreservedly. After all, these days I own those newspapers.'

I didn't know what to make of that.

'What do you think of young Olga?' she asked. 'Do you think she will win?'

'I think she will win. It's the indomitable self-confidence of the young. Even when she was being thrashed I'm sure it never entered her head that she might lose the match. At this level, the game is played mostly in the mind. Her opponent is starting to doubt herself. But the match is not over until the winning ball is struck. When it comes time to do that it is possible that she will be over-awed by the occasion and falter.'

'There is no doubt that she will win. In fact, I have a considerable sum of money riding on it. There is no way that she will falter. I know that because I know her well. I know her well because she is my lover.'

This time I laughed out loud in disbelief. She ignored my rudeness and continued. Until then she had spoken without a trace of accent. Now she reverted to the broad Slavic accent she had assumed in the past.

'You could not imagine, my dear, what an effort of will it was not to go across and caress you when you stood naked in the showers all those years ago.'

She fixed me with those small hazel eyes.

'And I knew you would have welcomed it. But it would have been suicide for me.

'My little Olga has a body lithe and graceful just like yours. And she makes love with the wild abandonment of youth.'

By now the match had reached the conclusion we had both anticipated. The players had towelled off and the little Olga walked forward to accept the trophy. She made a short speech, in halting English but showing a surprisingly mature balance between triumph and humility. Lavender nodded approvingly. Applause erupted and she lifted the trophy above her head, displaying it to the crowd on each of the four sides of the court in turn.

Then she set it down and her eyes searched our section of the crowd until they found Lavender. She jumped up and down with happiness like the teenager she was and shouted some inaudible message to her and pumped both fists in the air.

Lavender beamed, waving back with one hand. With the other she reached down and squeezed one of mine.

'I never forgot you, my dear,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. 'And I have sometimes imagined, when making love with my little Olga, that I am doing it with you.'

Courtship by Proxy



Chapter One – Gary

"Wish they could all be so easy," thought Kyle Mason as he exited the lobby of QWERTY Solutions and headed to his car in the parking lot.

The preliminary security audit that Brandt Consulting performed prior to presenting their services to a corporate customer would typically turn up one or two minor chinks in a company's data security procedures, but they'd hit the Mother Lode with QWERTY.  

First, a wireless 'sniffer' identified that the Chief Financial Officer for the company had an unsecured wireless access point broadcasting within his home, probably setup by his son without his father's knowledge, but the end result was that they were providing Wi-Fi service just as free as Starbucks or McDonalds, with the added benefit of granting complete access to their home network to anyone who chose to take advantage of it.  Any work performed at home by the CFO was subject to hacking.

Secondly, Kyle was able to quickly guess the passwords for the laptops belonging to the Vice President of Human Resources and the Director of Facilities by assuming they were the same as the passwords on their desktop systems, both of which were determined by reading the Post-it notes affixed somewhere on their own desks.

Most organizations realized that if a preliminary security audit focused solely upon officers of the company identified such basic deficiencies, then their real exposure ran much deeper.  Such was the case with QWERTY Solutions, and Kyle left his presentation with marching orders for Brandt Consulting to prepare a proposal for a more comprehensive audit and revised data security protocols for the entire company.

Once Kyle had gotten settled behind the wheel of his rental car, he turned his cell phone back on and paired it with his Bluetooth headset.  Retrieving his voicemail messages he heard the voice of his old friend Cliff Saunders, "Kyle, this is Cliff.  We need to talk man, so give me a call as soon as you get this message.  You have the number."

Cliff and Kyle had been friends since grade school, and still socialized several times a year as their schedules allowed.  Cliff had married Linda Flynn and bought a house near Corona, which put him at least an hour's drive from Kyle in Costa Mesa, but the distance wasn't as much a barrier to them hooking up as their careers were.  Cliff had trained as an emergency room physician and worked horrendous hours trying to get his residency established.  

Since leaving the Air Force, Kyle had merged his own company with Brandt Consulting and accepted a position as the Vice President of their corporate business development team.  The merger had made Kyle even wealthier than he was before, and while he had the financial security of less than one percent of the American population, he still lived modestly and led a low-profile life.  

Although his role for Brandt Consulting had Kyle on the road ninety percent of the time, he didn't mind.  At only 28 years of age, without a wife or family other than his widowed mother who still lived on her own in the house where he had grown up, Kyle found his only challenge from the travel being his exercise routine.

Standing at six feet two inches, with a slender 190 pound athletic build, Kyle still loved to play tennis, but seldom had the opportunity to meet up with his friends to get in a match.  Most had stopped even calling him to see if he was available because he had begged off too many times.  

He also had few opportunities to work with a partner on his martial arts techniques because his hybrid styles were not taught at any dojo in America.  Since shortly after joining the Air Force, Kyle had transitioned his earlier martial arts training into the system known as "MCMAP" or the Marine Corp Martial Arts Program.  He was a fifth degree Black Belt (instructor qualified) and had hoped to have reached the sixth degree and achieved instructor trainer qualification by this time, but his good friend and senior instructor Sean 'Recon' Wallace had left on a world-wide pilgrimage after he was betrayed by his fiancée a week before their wedding.  There were few others in the civilian space that Kyle could work with, so he focused on his job and did his best to keep in shape on stationary bikes in hotel fitness rooms.

Focusing back onto his phone, Kyle saw that his other messages were routine scheduling reminders that he would use to update his calendar later.  He called Cliff back as he drove out of the parking lot towards the airport.

"Hey Cliff, this is Kyle. I just got your message.  What's up?"

Cliff took an audible breath and broke the news to his friend, "Sorry to be the one to tell you this Kyle, but Gary Conté died early this morning."

"What happened?" Kyle asked.  "I just spoke with Gary on Sunday.  We were discussing a fishing trip to Utah."

"He got rear-ended by a drunk driver last night on State College Boulevard," replied Cliff.

"Wow," said Kyle.  "The guy must have been flying to have injured Gary bad enough for him not to have survived."

"Gary wasn't in is truck," said Cliff.  "He was on his bike."  Gary had owned a Harley-Davidson Softail for the past two years and had been trying to convince Kyle to buy a similar motorcycle so that they could ride together.

"Geez," moaned Kyle.  "Poor Gary."

"If it's any consolation, I have reviewed his medical file and I doubt that Gary ever felt a thing," remarked Cliff.  "The force of the impact practically severed his brainstem and the efforts of the EMT's were the only things that presented the emergency room with any vital signs at all when he arrived."

"How are his parents?" asked Kyle.

"I spoke to his dad about an hour ago," said Cliff.  "They're holding up as well as can be expected.  Gary was always the planner, so his affairs are going to be relatively easy for his parents and the partners in his accounting firm to deal with.  They're looking at having the service early next week and wanted to know if you and I could serve as pallbearers."

Gary had always been the strategist in the group.  He and Kyle had met in high school when they got paired as doubles partners on the tennis team.  Kyle was the more nimble and athletic of the two, but Gary made his presence known by out-thinking their opponents, identifying their weak spots, and then instructing Kyle on how they were going to exploit them.  Together, Kyle and Gary won honors as the best doubles pair in the district.

"I'll get my calendar cleared for all of next week until we have a firm date for the service," said Kyle.  "Is there anything else I can do for his family?"

Cliff hesitated as he considered Kyle's question, "I think we should leave them alone for a day or two.  Maybe you and I can stop by this weekend and offer any assistance they need once they've had a chance to consider everything."

"Sounds fair," said Kyle.  "I am heading to the San Jose airport right now, and barring any Friday afternoon delays, I should be arriving into John Wayne by 7 p.m.  If anything comes up that you think I can help with, please leave me a voicemail."

"You've got it," replied Cliff.  "I'm going to see if I can get someone to cover my shift on Sunday afternoon and once I have that confirmed, I'll call and we can figure out when to visit Gary's family."

"Okay," said Kyle.  "Thanks for letting me know Cliff.  I know it's never pleasant to deliver a message like that."

"Bye."

"Bye."





Courtship by Proxy



Kyle entered the conversation for the first time, "It's hard to make it through life without having some regrets.  Every decision we made presented an alternative, and it's human nature to sometimes question whether the right choices were made, which can lead to regrets over 'what might have been' in so many aspects of our lives."

"I'm not talking about regretting the choice of a red car over a blue car," said Linda.  "I'm talking about people in our lives and how much we do or don't value them while we have the chance.  A number of people I've spoken with have said that they won't be attending the reunion because there is no one that they are interested in seeing there.  I believe most of them will eventually come to regret their decision."

"I hadn't planned on going for pretty much the same reason," said Kyle.  "For the most part, everyone I had an interest in maintaining a relationship with after high school, I am still in contact with, such as you, Cliff, and Gary."

Linda looked Kyle in the eyes and asked, "You mean to tell me that there is no one else that you went to school with that you regret not staying in contact with?"

Kyle chuckled, "Sure, and I regret not being able to flap my arms and fly too, but sometimes regretting something doesn't change its reality.

"There's reality, and then there's 'reality'," said Linda.  "As people, we control our reality where relationships are concerned."

"Linda, your premise ignores the fact that any relationship with another person must consider that other person's 'reality' as well as your own," said Kyle.  "As a case in point, I regret not staying in contact with Karen Mayes, but she's the one who defined the reality of our relationship and gave me no choice in the matter."

Linda nodded and asked, "So if you knew that Karen Mayes was planning to attend our reunion, would you come?"

"I doubt it," said Kyle.  "I would be comforted to know that she was okay and doing well in her life, but I would have to get that information from someone other than Karen because she would never share anything about herself with me.  Based upon her last comments to me before she left for college, my presence would likely make her uncomfortable, and I still care for her too much to let my selfish desire to see her over-ride her desire for me to stay away."

Cliff made the next contribution to the subject being discussed, "It sounds like Kyle may want to table his regrets over not staying in contact with Karen and focus more on regrets over whatever he did to piss her off so much.  What did you do to her?"

"I asked her to be my friend," Kyle said.





Courtship by Proxy



As they pulled apart, Cammy gasped and Kyle simply said, "Wow!"

"I'm not as surprised as you appear to be," said Cammy, "but I came into this day more aware of the bond that my Sister told me she always knew was there between the two of you."

Kyle shook his head as he replied, "How can some alleged bond between me and your Sister have anything to do with what you and I experience on a physical level?"

Cammy smiled and said, "Kyle, I know it's hard for you to comprehend, but on so many levels, me and my Sisters are so in-synch that we really do feel, express, and experience the emotions of one another sometimes.  Trust me when I tell you that Bubbles felt what I felt, and you felt her through me.  Do you want to get to know me better, Kyle?"

"You or your Sister?" he asked.

"That's my point, Kyle.  As far as today is concerned, we're one and the same.  However, after today, it will be her through a different companion for you.  It would be easiest for you if, starting now, you just pretended I was my Sister and showed me what you would show her to demonstrate your interest."

As she spoke these words, the car pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant.  The driver opened the door for Cammy and helped her out, with Kyle following behind her.

"I'll find a place to park the car and be waiting here for you," the driver told them. 

Kyle and Cammy thanked him, and then joined hands and walked into the restaurant to find Ellison Lawrence waiting for them. 





Courtship by Proxy



"Let me ask you something," Kyle said.

"Okay Kyle."

Kyle considered how he wanted to phrase his question.  "In your effort to make me recognize my love for you through the use of women such as Cammy, aren't you concerned that I might fall for one of them instead?  I have to tell you, my time with Cammy today rocked my world in a way I never would have imagined, and I would be a fool to not want to spend more time with her if she ever gave me the chance."

"Kyle, nothing would make me happier than for you to fall hopelessly in love with every one of the women I send to you – well with the exception of one of them.  I know that probably confuses the hell out of you, but as Cammy told you today, they are me and I am them.  When you held hands with Cammy, you were holding my hand.  The kiss you gave Cammy in the airport curled my toes so much that I still can't get my shoes off.  Enjoy your time with them all Kyle, because I will treasure their time with you."

"So what's next in your plan?" asked Kyle.

"Go back to watching your baseball game Kyle.  I'm working on your weekend now.  I love you Kyle Mason."

Kyle was preparing to ask for clarification when he heard her hang up.

As frustrating as this day had been for him, Kyle had been more stimulated, entranced and intrigued by a woman than he could ever remember happening to him before.  Who was she?  He supposedly knew her, but in what capacity?  He had been racking his brain on and off all day trying to think of who she might be.  Now, with her revelation about knowing so much about him, he started considering women he knew who might have access to the information she had mentioned on the phone.  Who did he know who had a security clearance level high enough to review his entire military record?  Did she work for Brandt Consulting?  That was a place to start focusing his thoughts. 





Courtship by Proxy



"I'll try," she said.  "I guess the best place to start is by telling you that I am a virgin, and I intent to remain a virgin until my wedding night."

Kyle couldn't have been more surprised if she had told him she was from another planet.  "Wow!" he said.  "You certainly have some natural sensuality and inherent sexual skills if you have never had sex before."

She smiled and said, "I don't know how natural things would be with someone else.  I respond to you in a way that I have never done with another man in my life.  Obviously, with my job I have seen the male body naked before, but yours is the first one that I have seen outside of a clinical context, and until tonight, no man had ever seen me naked.  The fact that I have no inhibitions around you is something I wasn't fully prepared for.  I welcome it, but I'm not sure how to deal with it."

She pulled his face to her lips and kissed his cheek.  "I want to have a physical relationship with you this weekend, but I need your help and understanding to protect me from going too far.  If you're willing to teach me and guide me, I will do anything to please you short of intercourse."

"Before we go any further with this discussion, I need to ask you a question," he said.  "Are you speaking to me about this as Tara, or as a proxy for Bubbles?"

Tara pulled her head back so that she could look him in the eyes and said, "Both actually.  I am Bubbles when I am with you, so our 'situation' is shared."  

She saw Kyle roll his eyes, so she tried to clarify, "One of the pledges made by all Sisters is that they will abstain from intercourse until their wedding night.  So, whether you are with me, Cammy, Bubbles, or any other unmarried Sister, you would be faced with the same opportunity."

"Opportunity?" asked Kyle.

"You have the opportunity to teach the woman who loves you exactly how to please you."  She continued, "You have a clean slate, Kyle.  When I said that I responded to you like no man before, it was the truth, because there has been no man before you."

Kyle slid her off his lap onto the bed beside him.  "I think you better call Bubbles on the phone so I can explain this to both of you and avoid any misunderstandings," he said.

Tara was shocked by Kyle's reaction and words.  She was speechless for a moment just watching him look at her with a sad expression.  "I can't call Bubbles when I am with you," she told him.  "She'll learn everything from me and understand things as you explain them to me."

"I'm sorry," Kyle told her, "but this is where I have my biggest problem with her whole 'proxy' approach.  You and your sisters can talk about feelings all day long, but you'll never convince me that you can each actually feel what the other feels, and more important to the topic at hand, you cannot convince me that each of you would respond the exact same way to what you felt.  You all need to understand that from my perspective, it is the response from one person to the actions of another that determine the direction of a physical relationship."

"I can appreciate that Kyle, but I was speaking of pleasing you.  Your responses to my actions would likely be very close to the same actions performed by one of my other Sisters."

Kyle interrupted her, "See, that's where you are wrong – at least where I am concerned.  I am a 'giver', or at the very least a 'sharer'.  Simply taking or accepting pleasure has no place in my life or my relationships.  I'll give you an example:  Let's say that you started running your fingers through the hairs on my chest.  While it would undoubtedly feel good, I could not just let it happen without responding.  So, let's say that in response to your hands on my chest, I placed my hands on your breasts.  Your response to my touching you would define and direct subsequent actions that I would allow from you and respond to in kind.  Can you tell me that your response to having your breasts fondled is exactly the same response that I would experience from one of your Sisters?"

With the most serious expression Kyle had seen on her face, Tara looked him directly in the eyes and said, "Yes Kyle, I can tell you that.  Based upon the impact that your brief physical contact had on Cammy, and what Bubbles had told me about her times with you – combined with my own first-hand experiences of this evening – I can guarantee that all our responses to you would be exactly the same under identical circumstances and conditions.  If you pinched my nipples and only brushed over another's, then the responses might be different, but apples to apples from you, then you would see the same response."

Kyle just stared at her.  He couldn't accept the premise that these women were so 'in-tune' with one another that their responses to the same stimulation would be identical.  Then he remembered how every physical contact that he had shared so far with both Cammy and Tara had in fact been exactly the same.

"Look," he said, "I'm not convinced that a lot of intimate physical contact between us this weekend is in anyone's best interest.  I can promise you that you will leave the weekend with your virginity intact, but I won't promise to contribute to your sexual enlightenment in other ways.  I would be honored if you would share my bed with me and allow me to hold you in my arms, but if you're not comfortable with that, I can sleep in the guest bedroom."

Tara couldn't hide her disappointment with the way their conversation had progressed. "Whatever you decide on will be fine, Kyle.  I only want to please you."

Kyle had to bite his tongue to avoid verbally lashing out at her in anger.  "You just don't get it," he said.  He rose from the bed and looked down at her sitting there.  "There is another comforter in the closet if you get cold.  Good night."

She watched in stunned silence as he walked to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer.  He pulled out a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.  With his back to her, he slipped out of the satin boxer shorts and replaced them with the pajamas.  He then turned and put the T-shirt on as he left the room and closed the door behind him. 





Courtship Ch. 1



Forward: this semi-autobiographical story is a continuation of Education, also on literotica.

* * * * *

Upon my return to St. Martin after university, I easily found work in the primary school teaching English and French. Although I enjoyed the work and my little pupils were mostly obedient, I occupied my free time with my first love, boats and sailing. My father had always loved small boats, and as a girl I had learned in sailing dinghies. Later I raced Sunfish. This I continued up until the time I left for Paris. On the continent I had no access to the sea, and until my return I hadn't realized how much I had missed it.

I did not have a boat of my own, but St. Martin is a destination for cruisers: people who live on boats. Many of these boaters needed crew to help sail to other islands or to bring their boats to St. Martin from Florida or Bermuda. So I managed to get experience on lots of different boats, both on weekends and also during the school holidays and summer vacations. Since I knew how to cook and do most of the other tasks needed on sailing boats, I was popular and soon could earn money as paid crew.

The sailing life did not offer much opportunity for sex because most of my customers were older couples. Over those five years after college, I had only a few sporadic love affairs, or occasional flings when an old friend from Paris would arrive on vacation. The only extended excitement I had was a two-handed delivery from Bermuda with a captain whom I knew and liked. Over the ten days at sea, we fucked like rabbits in all manner of ways and positions. But since he was fifteen years older than I, and an American, we didn't have any future ashore and we were never on another voyage together.

My life took one of the strange turns one day in early 1998. It was Sunday afternoon at the end of a weekend cruise helping a couple to bring their yacht from St. Barts into the Oyster Pond marina. I had taken a shower at the marina, and as was my custom, I walked around the docks looking at the boats tied there and planning how, in my dreams, I would be able to afford one of my own. A fairly new Dynamic 62 was there that weekend, and as I admired it from dockside a woman about my age came up on deck.

"Bonjour," she said. 

"Hello! I was admiring your boat. She is a beauty."

"Would you like to come aboard?" The woman was my height, five feet-seven and slender, with chestnut hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a cotton blouse and shorts, showing off tan legs and arms. I was wearing the same outfit, which is practically a uniform for boat people.

"I would like that very much." Taking off my boat shoes, I climbed over the lifelines and into the cockpit. "I'm Sonia,' I said as we exchanged pecks on the cheeks.

"And I am Sylvie. You are also interested in sailing?"

"Oh yes. I just came in on that Beneteau 50 over there, but I live here in St. Martin. I was just helping them out."

"Marvelous. We don't meet many locals at the marinas here. Everyone is either cruising or chartering. Would you like something to drink? We were just making something."

The question as to who we might be was answered when a man's head appeared in the companionway. After he was in the cockpit, carrying a bottle of pastis, Sylvie introduced him as Marc. He too seemed about my age, twenty-seven, with short black hair and white teeth showing against a dark tanned face. He was dressed in swim trunks and an armless t-shirt, which showed off well-muscled arms and a nice chest. Having been sexless for several prior weeks, I thought that Marc looked particularly appetizing at that moment. Since he and Sylvie were obviously a couple, I shrugged internally and set about being sociable.

After pouring the drinks, Marc settled down next to Sylvie on one side of the cockpit while I sat opposite. As we sipped our milky pastis, we exchanged pleasantries. Marc was a Parisian who had come to St. Martin in some executive capacity with the tourist agency. Sylvie, originally from Lyon, was a notaire in Marigot. They were a handsome couple, and I was unsure of which of the two I was the most jealous.

In return I gave a short synopsis of my history and current situation. Marc and I chatted about Paris and places we both knew. Then they took me below for a tour of their boat, which was named Mouette, French for seagull. From our conversation I knew that they lived aboard. Everything was very neat and shipshape below, which is something that I like in a boat and impressive for fulltime residents.

At the end of the visit, Sylvie asked, "Perhaps you might like to sail with us someday? We often go for a cruise or snorkeling on weekends."

"That would be a pleasure," I replied enthusiastically. Of course I would love to sail with them on such a boat, but I had had similar vague invitations before and they rarely resulted in an actual sail. I left them my card with my mobile number, exchanged ritual kisses on the cheeks with both, and headed home. 

***

A pleasant surprise arrived in the form of a call from Sylvie two days later. They were planning a weekend sail, and would I care to come along? Naturally I was happy to accept, and we scheduled a rendezvous for Friday afternoon. I would sleep aboard and we would pull out early Saturday morning. I packed a small bag: my standard shorts and shirts, snorkeling gear, and my skimpiest swimsuit. I wasn't really expecting any sex, but the eagerness with which Sylvie seemed to be seeking my friendship was not really customary for a Frenchwoman. 

Friday brought a pleasant evening at the dock. Sylvie admitted that she was not adept in the kitchen, and it was Marc who prepared dinner. We ate on deck and then sat up late with drinks. At last we reluctantly decided that we should go below if we wanted to get away at an early hour. 

I was installed in the forward stateroom, which was quite large compared to those found in the smaller boats I was familiar with. I sleep nude at home and saw no reason not to do so there. The drinks we had consumed plus my lack of sex had made me horny. I lay on top of the sheets with my legs spread and my fingers working my pussy and clit, imagining one minute that Marc was on top pumping me, and the next that Sylvie's head was between my legs. I tried to be quiet, but an exceptionally strong orgasm caused some moans to escape me that were louder than I would have preferred. 

I lay there semi-conscious for some time. Then needing to pee, I opened the cabin door a crack to see if it was "safe" to make it to the head in my unclothed condition. All seemed clear so I glided to the head and did my business. Once again I slipped out of the door and made to return to my cabin. I saw that the rear stateroom door was open and unmistakable noises were coming from inside. To this day I don't know why I did so, but I crept to the doorway and looked in. Sylvie was naked on all fours on the bed, eyes closed and moaning, while Marc was behind her holding her hips and stroking steadily into her. I was about to turn to go when Marc looked up to see me standing in the doorway, as naked as they. He gave me a slight smile and turned back to his fucking, while I, mortified at being discovered, fled back to my cabin.

***

You can imagine my embarrassment the next morning when I emerged to meet the objects of my voyeurism. However, neither of my hosts evidenced the slightest sign that they were aware of anything untoward. We had a quick breakfast of coffee and croissants and pulled away from the dock intending to make the quick motor sail to Isle Pinel, where we were to anchor and snorkel. I had put on my bikini under a shirt, and Marc was wearing only some baggy swim trunks. While Sylvie remained below, I steered the boat out of the marina and headed up into the wind, allowing Marc to hoist the mainsail. On a boat this size, that sail is quite heavy, but Marc was able to manage it single-handed, muscles rippling in his arms and chest as he cranked on the winch.

Once the sail was up, we headed north towards the island on a beam reach, and Marc rejoined me in the cockpit. He leaned over close to me and said in a low voice, "I saw you watching us last night. Did we excite you?" I must have turned a deep red, and was unable to say anything. Marc went on, "Don't be sorry. I'm not at all. You know sounds travel well below, and well, we heard you too. Sylvie got so excited from it that she practically raped me, so I owe you for a nice night. Then when I saw you watching I was even more turned on."

I couldn't think of anything to say other than, "I'm not usually a voyeur. I can't think of why I came in. Did you tell Sylvie?"

"Of course. We don't keep such delicious happenings like that secret. Sylvie was quite angry with me for not inviting you to join us."

"You're joking."

"Ask her yourself. I assure you she is not so shy or modest as she appears at first. Here she is now."

Sure enough, Sylvie was coming on deck wearing a bikini as brief as mine. I was certain that Marc was going to torture me further with this line of conversation, but he desisted with a quiet chuckle and went forward to sun on the foredeck. Sylvie must have noticed my red cheeks so she came over to stand beside me in turn. "I see Marc has been teasing you about last night. Please don't be concerned."

"That's sweet of you to say so. I am so embarrassed."

"I'm not. I like to be watched you know. I wish I had known you were there. Did it turn you on to see us?"

"It might have, except that when Marc saw me I was so flustered I didn't have time to be excited."

"Of course, you had already had your fun. Tell me; do you like being watched yourself? Fucking I mean."

Her friendly frankness made be feel much better, and I decided to be bold myself. "I never think of sex as a spectator sport. Doing is better than watching."

The two of us laughed loudly at that, causing Marc to sit up and look back at us. "We are going to be good friends I think," Sylvie told me. And the next time don't hesitate to join in."

Next time? Join in? Did she mean what she was saying, or just teasing me? But Sylvie said no more but went forward to join Marc as I steered Mouette towards Isle Pinel, now visible before the bow.

We anchored in clear water off a deserted cove. The only other boat in sight was several hundred yards away. All of us donned our snorkel gear and spent the next hour enjoying the water as we glided over schools of reef fish. We ended up going onto the sandy shore of the cove. As it was nearly lunchtime, Marc volunteered to swim back to the boat and bring a picnic ashore, while Sylvie and I waited on the beach.

After he had gone Sylvie and I took off our tops in order to take advantage of the bronzage integrale provided by the sun. She had beautiful breasts, larger than mine with pink nipples and big aureoles. I had previously seen them dimly, bouncing in the heat of passion, and now I was happy to get a better look in the light of day. For her part, Sylvie gave me a frank gaze and then said, "Your figure is very nice Sonia. I'm glad to see it since you previously had the advantage of me there." She laughed at her own joke. "Of course, you still have something of an advantage in that department."

"What do you mean?"

"You saw me totally bare, and here you are still wearing your bottom."

"I didn't get a very good look, but I wouldn't want that to stand in the way of our being friends," I replied, pulling my remaining garment down to my ankles and stepping out of it completely naked.

"You are so refreshing Sonia." She peeled her bottom off as well, leaving the two of us bare as the day of our births. A surreptitious inspection showed a neatly trimmed mound above her slit, with prominent pussy lips. "Let's lay out for a while until Marc gets back. It's a shame he's missed our little show, but then he's already seen you like this."

"You don't seem very concerned about it, Sylvie. If I had a lover like Marc I'm not sure I'd want him seeing you naked."

"I don't worry about Marc. If you want to steal him you are welcome to try." We lay silently for a while, a residue of sexual tension hovering over us. Since we had no blankets, we were covered with fine sand that adhered to where it touched our damp bodies. She looked over at me and said, "I see your nipples are hard. I wonder what you're thinking."

"So are yours. Maybe you should tell me what you are thinking first."

"I was wondering what would happen if I kissed you."

I felt an electric thrill run through me. "You won't find out until you try."

She rolled over to lie next to me on her side, and placing one hand on my breast, brought her lips to mine. We kissed tentatively at first, very gently, and as I opened my lips her tongue found mine. As our tongues started a slow ballet, the touch of her hand squeezing my breast caused my pussy to grow moist. However, before we could proceed further, the sound of the approaching dinghy's outboard broke the spell.

Sylvie rolled back away from me as Marc brought the dinghy up to the beach. It was clear that he had seen our embrace, and the fact that we were both totally naked did little to conceal our intentions. As Marc walked over to us, I could see how his cock was pushing out against his swim trunks. He stood looking down at us with obvious enjoyment. I was surprised to find that I was not at all discomfited by his gaze. "Am I interrupting anything?" he asked with a grin. 

"Nothing that you need worry about mon cher," said Sylvie. "Come on Sonia, let's rinse this sand off and have lunch, now that Marc has brought us some towels. We raced to the water and swam around lazily for several minutes. "I was certain you and I would be friends, intimate friends, from the other afternoon. I'm glad my instincts were correct."

"How did you know I like women? Is it so obvious?"

"Oh no, not obvious. But I saw that you were inspecting me pretty closely. And also you were paying more attention to me than to Marc, who is a very sexy man. Tell me, do you like men as well?"

"Very much, perhaps as much or more than you. Did you think I was a lesbian?"

"Naturally I couldn't tell that either. I was hoping that you were not. Otherwise Marc would be very jealous."

"What does he have to do with me? Are you planning to share me?" I laughed at this as if it sounded incredible, whereas the possibility was just what I would like.

"I had no plans until today, but I'm thinking you wouldn't object to that too much. Marc is a very impetuous man. If you don't play hard to get at first, he gets bored with a too-easy conquest. And besides, we haven't had our fun yet." We waded back to the beach where we found the picnic and towels waiting. "We had better put out bottoms back on," Sylvie suggested. "Otherwise we might distract Marc from his lunch, or he might take his trunks off and distract us."

Nothing sexual happened the rest of the afternoon, although Sylvie and I remained topless as we alternately swam and sunned. Since twilight comes early in winter, we returned to the boat in the late afternoon to move to a less exposed anchorage for the evening. Then an early dinner, some drinks, and casual conversation were followed by an early bedtime.

It was not very surprising that, after a sexually charged day, I again masturbated in my dark cabin, but this time I managed to restrain myself from yelling when I came after a good half hour of working my pussy and clit. Once my orgasm was past, I felt my limbs and body relax as if all tension and strength had deserted me. Some time later, perhaps after another thirty minutes, I heard a knock on the cabin door. "Yes, what is it?"

"It's me, Sylvie. Can I come in?"

I covered myself with a sheet in a reflex of modesty and lit the small overhead reading light. "Come in."

Sylvie opened the door and slid into the cabin, completely naked. No modesty reflex for her. "I thought you might like to continue where we broke off earlier."

I smiled wordlessly as I pulled the sheet aside and motioned her to climb up onto the berth. She did do and embraced me, kissing me fiercely as our hands roamed over each other's bodies. "You're so wet," she whispered between kisses.

"I came a few minutes ago," I whispered back.

"Super. I want to taste you."

"And I you."

"Marc and I just fucked. Do you want to eat his cum too?"

"Oh yes, let's get into a sixty-nine." 

I rolled onto my back, spreading my legs and bending my knees so that she could position herself over me. As we are the same height it was very easy to see her pussy and asshole above me in the light case by the cabin spot. I spread her lips to see the pink inside of her cunt glistening wetly. It looked so delicious that I immediately thrust my tongue deep into her, sipping the musky mixture of pussy juice and semen. Any taste of Marc's cum was perhaps more imaginary than real, but the idea of eating a freshly fucked pussy was tremendously exciting. For her part, she applied her tongue and lips to me so vigorously that I soon felt a second orgasm start to build. This in turn spurred on my own efforts. Concentrating my mouth on her engorged clit, I thrust two fingers into her tunnel, fucking her hard with motions of my hand.

Feeling my hips start to buck against her face, Sylvie pushed her thumb into me while a finger penetrated deeply into my ass. As she rolled my button with her lips and worked finger and thumb into my holes, I came hard. She followed my lead a few moments later, giving down a fresh flow of her juice onto my lips and open mouth.

I don't normally prefer sixty-nine with women partners, as one of us two generally orgasms well before the other. This time though it worked to perfection. Sylvie climbed off to reverse her position so that we kissed gently, sharing the taste of each other's pussies from our lips and fingers. We lay comfortably together, cuddling and kissing, until Sylvie's whisper broke the silence.

"That was marvelous, just what I like. I haven't been with another woman in so very long, over a year. I'd almost forgotten how nice it is."

"It's been a long time for me too, with a woman or a man."

"That's incredible, a beautiful girl like you. But now you can have me any time you want. I do hope you will want to, and often."

"I do want to, of course. What about Marc?"

"What about him? He won't be jealous if that's what you mean. And I told you before I won't be if you fancy a fling with him too."

"Does he know that?"

Sylvie laughed. "I'm not sure he'd have asked permission, but yes! We have an agreement about flings, although tonight is the first time I've taken advantage of that agreement. I guarantee he's going to make a move on you too, so remember not to make it too easy on him. Since he knows I'm with you right now and have been gone for a while, he's probably thinking about it right now."

We giggled as if hatching a schoolgirls' plot. Then she kissed gave me a hard kiss on the mouth, climbed down, and left the cabin closing the door behind her.



Courtship Ch. 2



The following day we had more fine weather. I was not alone with Marc until shortly after noon when we made ready to return. Once again we were in the cockpit motoring and Sylvie was below. Marc opened with, "I hear you had a great time yesterday."

Me coyly, "Very much. You know how much I like the boat and the water."

"I meant later, last night."

"I enjoyed the whole day, thank you."

"I know that Sylvie went to your cabin, and she says the two of you were more than hot."

"If Sylvie says so, I suppose it must be true."

"What if it had been me instead of her?"

"We'll never know will we?"

"I'm hoping to find out someday."

I was beginning to enjoy this repartee. "Someday perhaps you will."

"I was hoping it might be today."

"Oh, that's much too fast. A woman likes to be courted before yielding her favors." I was close to laughing, but managed to merely smile.

"You didn't need much courtship from Sylvie for those favors." 

This was almost insulting. "Oh, I don't know. It was she who invited me on board last weekend for a drink. It was she who invited me this weekend too. And she told me that this is her boat, so I think she has done a quite nice job of courtship. Now let me think what you have done." I paused for reflection. "No, I can't think of a single thing."

Marc gave me one of his charming smiles. "Touché, Sonia. You are completely in the right, and I am certainly an idiot to think that I deserve to share those charms that I have seen on two pleasant occasions."

"Don't give up hope mon cher. In the meantime you have Sylvie, whose charms are certainly more than equal to mine."

"I can't compare until I've sampled both, and I assure you that you wouldn't be disappointed either. But tell me, what can I do to win your approval?"

"I've heard that any date should contain at least two of food, entertainment, and affection. And since you won't be getting affection right away, you need to concentrate on the other two. And make sure that Sylvie knows what you're up to. She and I are going to be best friends now, and I'm sure we'll confide everything."

Marc grinned and went forward. A short time later Sylvie came on deck. She said, "I heard everything you said. You were brilliant. He's not used to women resisting his charms. The only reason he's been faithful to me for so long is that I stand up to him, and of course I own this boat."

I had heard the story of Mouette earlier. Marc was the avid sailor, and when Sylvie had had the opportunity to buy a "tax boat" at a very good price, their relationship had been cemented.

I wanted to pursue another line of thought. "Listen Sylvie, I want to know why you are being so accommodating about sharing Marc. What are you looking to get out of it?"

Sylvie gave me a sly smile. "You are very perceptive, ma chere. Ok, I'll come clean. Marc is very ambitious and it is clear that he is going to leave St. Martin as soon as he can, no matter how much he loves fucking me, or sailing my boat. And I am not going to leave here when he does. So when I met you it was almost a dream come true."

"You think I am a female Marc?"

"I am hoping so. You seemed to like sex with me too, and I know you like the boat. I won't be jealous of the boat you know."

"I've never met anyone like you. But why include Marc in this?"

"He will be around for a while. One year, maybe two. And I do love him. And now I think I love you too. I certainly don't want two people I love to be jealous of each other. And then I have other reasons."

"What reasons?"

I love sex with men and women, and I love to watch and be watched, and I think it would be great for the three of us to have sex together too." She paused. "Is that shocking?"

To be honest, I was somewhat shocked. I'd never been in a partouze, group sex, before. But with attractive people like Sylvie and Marc it did not seem at all an unpleasant prospect.

"If that's the case, why should we be playing games with him? We could just hop to it right away."

"We need it to be his idea. I assure you that once he has sex with you his next thought will be a ménage."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Just like a man." Of course it was we women who were thinking of it.

***

After this weekend it was not too surprising that Sylvie and I arranged a regular rendezvous at my small villa almost every evening. The route between Marigot and Oyster Pond leads through Grand Case, so Sylvie could stop to see me on her way home. She was a skillful lover and imaginative as well, so that I could consider myself to be in a finishing school in lesbian sex. But she was also a warm, loving person, and I began to feel for her the same affection and love I had previously know only with Florence.

We were into the second week of our liaison before I next heard from Marc. It was a Tuesday, and Sylvie and I were lying together on my bed after lovemaking when my mobile phone sounded.

"Allo?"

"Sonia. It's Marc. Have you seen Sylvie today?"

I looked at Sylvie questioningly, mouthing the word 'Marc' silently. She put a finger to her lips and joined her head to mine so that she could hear everything. I said truthfully, "We talked earlier today. What's the matter?"

"Nothing at all. But tomorrow is the street festival in Marigot, and I thought you might like to have dinner with me there. If Sylvie were there I would invite her to come with us at the same time."

Sylvie pointed at me nodding, then at herself shaking her head. "I bet you were hoping she was not here. But in any case I would be happy to go with you, and perhaps we can get to know each other better á deux."

"Very well. Shall I pick you up at home?"

"No, I'll just stay in town after school. Meet me in front of the dock master's office at the Porte Royale marina at, say, 17:30?"

"That should be fine. Where shall we eat?"

"Anywhere you chose. Of course I'll be judging your taste by your selection."

"In that case I shall be considering it carefully. Bisous! Á demain!"

Sylvie was smiling as he disconnected. "He'll have to take you to an expensive restaurant now, and dress nicely as well. He hasn't taken me to a nice place for some time. I'm almost tempted to come along, but that would ruin our game."

The following day I took my one nice dress, a black thigh-length number with a plunging back, to school with me on a hanger. Although I normally commuted to work on my motorbike, I had to take a taxi this time. After school I went over to the marina, where the dock master is a good friend, and used his office to change. Inspecting myself in a mirror, I thought that I looked pretty good. With the low back I wore no bra, and panties that were made so as not to show lines beneath a tight dress. Low-heeled black pumps and sunglasses completed my look.

Marc showed up promptly, determined to make a good impression. He was nicely dressed in a yachting blazer, open-collar shirt, and slacks. I made him wait for several minutes on the dock before showing myself. He gave me a low whistle of approval before kissing my cheeks. "You look scrumptious tonight, Sonia my dear."

"Thank you Marc. You clean up well yourself."

"I've reserved a table at 'La Vie en Rose', but since it's not until 18:30 we can have a drink here first."

"I see Sylvie didn't come with you. Didn't she want to?"

"She said she has a headache."

I was planning to see if he had indeed asked her, but in the meantime we passed an enjoyable evening drinking, dining, and then dancing in the street to the steel band that provided musical accompaniment to the festival. The festivities closed down at 22:30, and Marc asked to see me home. This was welcome since my motorbike was still at the villa. 

We walked to his car hand in hand. I was feeling very good from the wine I had drunk and the fact that I was in the company of a handsome sexy man. Had I not conspired with Sylvie I'm sure that he and I would have spent the night in my bed. As it was he delivered me to my door, certainly expecting to be invited in for a drink. But instead all I said was, "This has been an enjoyable evening. Thank you so much."

"It could continue to be enjoyable."

"It would be ecstatic, but I have to be up early tomorrow for school."

"That's not a problem. I'll wake you in time."

"I'm sure you could, but you might make me late even then."

"If I promise to be good, can I come in for a drink?"

"You're driving. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you driving drunk. And remember, we've had food and entertainment tonight. I'll let you know when the affection part comes in." So saying, I kissed him lightly on the lips and went inside, closing the door behind me.

I immediately went to the phone to call Sylvie, who answered on the first ring.

"How did it go Sonia?"

"As you said cherie. He is coming home to you very frustrated. Is your headache better?"

"Headache? Is that what he said as to why I wasn't there tonight? He is such a charming liar."

"Did he actually invite you to come?"

"Yes he did, but not in a very convincing fashion. I bet him he wouldn't bed you tonight."

"You are wicked. But you won your bet. What's the prize?"

"I get to chose how we make love tonight."

"He's certainly in the mood. Have fun, and think of poor Sonia here playing with herself."

"I wasn't sure I was going to win that bet, so I've already been doing that myself. I'll see you tomorrow night to make up for it."

***

She was true to her word, and as we lay together on Thursday evening we contemplated our next step. Sylvie asked, "The next time you see Marc, do you want to fuck him? I think your resistance is getting him down."

"Oh that poor dear!" I laughed. "My resistance as well. You know I find him attractive but since he's your man I'll let you decide."

"I certainly want the three of us to be together. Why don't you invite him here for dinner? It's always a good idea for the first time to be on your home territory."

"Shall I invite the two of you together?"

"Oh no! The partouze needs to be his idea. Once he seduces you the thought will come to him naturally."

We decided to put our plan into action immediately, so I called Marc's mobile phone. "Allo mon cher. I wanted to thank you again for a lovely evening yesterday. Can I repay you with a dinner at my place?"

"That would be super. When?"

"How about tomorrow night? Can you get away from Sylvie so it's just us?"

"Since you two tell each other everything nowadays, I imagine you already know the answer. But I'll ask her tonight if she has anything scheduled."

"OK. Call me when you know."

Sylvie smiled. "As it happens I have a business dinner tomorrow night, so the coast will be clear." 

All went according to plan, and the next evening Marc was at my door at 19:00 carrying a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. I had dressed carefully in a demure cream silk blouse, no bra, and a dark skirt that came to mid-thigh. We kissed at the door and I led him into the salon, where a bottle of good Bordeaux was already open. "Pour us some wine while I finish cooking. We can eat soon." He brought my glass into the kitchen as I was grilling the meat.

"It smells delicious. What's on the menu?"

"Lamb chops, haricots verts, lyonnaise potatoes, salad."

We dined at a small table I had set for two in the salon, with a sole candle in the center of the table. Marc ate as if famished. "This is so good. You know Sylvie can't cook at all so I have to make dinner if we want something other sandwiches at home."

"Sylvie has other talents."

"Yes. I love her very much."

"But you're here with me?"

"You invited me for a friendly dinner, and Sylvie was busy. Nothing more."

"I wanted to thank you for the other night."

"You are most welcome. I think I was obnoxious at the end. It was clear you didn't want me. I'm sorry if you were upset."

"I wasn't at all upset. It was a first date, and I had expected Sylvie to come with you." 

"This is the second date, and you wanted it to be just the two of us, remember?"

"That's right, because tonight I have food but no entertainment. That means we need affection to have a correct date."

"What kind of affection shall we have?"

"Come to the sofa and I'll show you."

He moved over and sat down. I then straddled his legs, pushed him deep into the back of the sofa, then put my arms around his neck and gave him a deep kiss. We held this a long time as I pressed my breasts into his chest and he wrapped his arms around my back. When we broke the kiss, he smiled up at me.

"This is the kind of affection I like. Let me undress you." He pulled the blouse out of my skirt and slowly unbuttoned the front, exposing my breasts to view. My nipples were as hard as little cocks. As the blouse settled to the floor, Marc slowly tongued each of them as he cupped both breasts in his palms. "Your breasts are so lovely. I've been aching to touch them since last weekend."

After long minutes of this attention, I told him, "All right, it's my turn." I climbed down from his lap and knelt on the floor between his legs. I undid his belt and zipper, and then pulled his jeans off along with his loafers. He was wearing bikini briefs, with his cock evidently straining within. I eased the waistband down allowing his penis to escape and press up against his belly. After the briefs had joined his other clothes on the floor, I was able to pay attention to the organ that heretofore I had seen only dimly in their cabin as it repeated disappeared into Sylvie's cunt.

He had a quite nice cock, slightly larger than normal but not gigantic, and uncircumcised. The foreskin was pulled back and the head was purple and engorged. Taking it into my mouth I worked my tongue and lips over the head and down the shaft as far as I could. Marc was breathing hard and stroking my hair as I worked on him with my mouth.

Freeing him from my lips, I said, "Tell me how you like this." I pushed his legs further apart and moved in close so that I could imprison his cock between my breasts. Then pressing both together I stoked him so that both hard nipples rubbed up and down his shaft.

"God, fantastic!" He caressed my cheeks with both hands as I fucked him with my breasts. My own juices were flowing and I felt that my panties were becoming very damp. I could see small amounts of pre-cum seeping from the tip of his cock.

I rose up, saying, "I'm going to fuck you now. Stay still." I pulled up the skirt so that I could pull my panties off. Leaving my skirt hiked up around my hips, I climbed onto the couch, straddling him once more. Taking his cock in one hand, I brought it between my pussy lips and then slowly let myself down as his cock head pushed my cunt walls apart. When he was fully inside I paused a moment to savor the sensation of being so full.

As I started to move up and down on him, our lips came together and we kissed deeply, tongues twining and searching in one dance as our hips writhed in another. This seemed to go on for an hour, although I suppose we fucked for five minutes or so. As his crisis neared, he whispered, "I'm going to cum." I rose up slightly so that it was he who could thrust as his sperm pulsed into me. After five or so such thrusts he slumped back onto the couch, as if totally spent. I felt him grow soft, and as his cock slipped out of me a small stream of semen mixed with my juices flowed afterwards.

I hadn't orgasmed yet, and Marc seemed to realize that after a moment. He gently rolled me off and onto the couch beside him, and then he applied his lips to my soaking and musky slit, licking and tonguing so skillfully that I came hard within another few minutes.

We were both spent and covered with sweat, me holding his head in my hands as it rested on my thighs. I can truthfully recount, however, that our fatigue was only temporary, and we had two more passages in my bed. First he took me from behind comme les chiens. For a finale he asked if I also liked to be fucked in my ass. To please him I agreed, although this time with a condom.

This last loving exhausted our passion for the night, and afterwards we lay side my side drinking the last of the wine. Marc turned to me to say, "That time I saw you and Sylvie naked together on the island, covered with sand, I think I fell in love with you."

"Love? You fell in lust."

"Call it what you will. I knew I had to make love to you as of that moment."

"If you hadn't been so prompt with the dinghy you would have seen Sylvie and me together. She was in the process of seducing me."

"I know. She told me later and was vexed about my interrupting."

"What would you have done?"

"Watched. Maybe asked to join in. Would you have minded that?"

"I don't know. Maybe not."

"And now?"

"Now all three of us have had sex with the others. It might be a lot of fun."

"I'm going to ask Sylvie. If she says yes will you?"

"You ask and we'll see."

Shortly thereafter Marc got dressed and I showed him to the door. He said in parting, "This has been one of my most memorable days on St. Martin."

"For me too. Now go home to Sylvie and explain why you can't get it up any more tonight."

When he had gone, I rushed to telephone her. "He's on his way home now, quite tired."

She laughed. "How tired?"

"He came three times in two hours, and it was pretty limp when we put it back in his pants. Slimy too. And you were right, his immediate thought was getting the three of us together. You must be able to read his mind."

"When he thinks with the little head, yes. I hope it was good for you as well."

"He's a good lover. Not as good as you, but very satisfactory. The first time I hadn't orgasmed and he ate me afterwards. Not all men will do that."

"I have trained him well. We'll need to arrange a little party very soon."



Courtship Ch. 3



The evening following my night with Marc, Sylvie and I found ourselves once again in my bed. She insisted that I relate everything that had occurred down to the last detail, and in the course of telling we succumbed to our own passion. After two particularly satisfying orgasms each, we were cuddled together under the sheets listening to a Mozart piano concerto and sipping wine.

"So you let him fuck you in the ass?" Sylvie asked. "Do you like that?"

What a strange question, I thought. "I don't dislike it. If I can have my pussy and clit stroked at the same time then it can be quite stimulating. Since he had already cum twice earlier, that third time took him quite a while, and I've been a little sore today."

"I let him once in a while, but not that often. The first time we did it he wanted me to suck him afterwards. There was no way I would do that, and now I make him wear a préservatif."

"He put one on for me too. Normally I like to have an enema before anal, but there wasn't the occasion last night. The man who first fucked me there always insisted that I have one, and afterwards he would eat his own sperm from my ass. It was so erotic."

Sylvie was taken aback at this. "That sounds disgusting!" Then after some reflection she added, "But the way you tell it seems so delightful. I wonder if Marc would do that for me."

"I will if he won't."

"Sonia! I can't believe what you say. But it sounds deliciously wicked. When we all get together we'll have to try some new things like this."

"Have you ever been with more than one person?"

"Yes and no. I used to live with a man in Lyon, and there was one couple with whom we partied and went out. Sometimes we fucked in each other's presence, but we never swapped partners. I loved it when they watched us though, and would have liked to try something with them, but my friend never would. How about you?"

"No, I have never done anything like that." 

"Sonia, can I trust you with a secret?"

"Of course you can."

"I have never told this to anyone, even Marc. But I need to tell you. I hope you won't be upset with me."

Don't tell me we're in confession now. "I can't promise beforehand, but I'll try to understand, whatever it is."

"Remember I told you earlier that I lost my virginity at age fifteen?"

"Yes, but that's a quite normal age. For me eighteen was very late."

"That's not the problem. It was with my brother Phillipe."

"Phillipe? He's so much older than you. Did he rape you?"

"No! I seduced him. I had always been in love with him since I was a little girl. He was living in Paris then, and I went up to stay with him on vacation from the lycée. He was between girlfriends, and I could be very persuasive."

Yes you can be very persuasive. "How long did this go on?"

"For two years, every chance we got. Then he broke it off and soon after got married. Now he is divorced, just last month."

"That was a long time ago. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I love you, and I don't want you to find out later and despise me."

"I could never despise you." We cuddled quietly for some time.

Sylvie broke the silence saying, "Phillipe is coming to visit us. Next week. On the boat."

"Oh! Is that why you told me about you and him?"

"Partly. He lives in New York. We haven't been alone together since we stopped having sex, and I don't know what to do. Having him and Marc on the boat together may be very stressful. I was thinking…"

"Yes? What?"

"Perhaps Marc can stay with you for the week Phillipe is here. I know he wants an encore performance from last night, so he shouldn't be a problem."

"Do you want to have sex with Phillipe again?"

"No! Maybe. I don't know what I want. Or what he wants. He says he just needs a vacation after his divorce."

Never having had siblings, I must admit that the thought of Sylvie's and Phillipe's secret incestuous fucking was a turn-on, once my initial reaction had passed.

"I'll do whatever I can to help."

***

As it turned out there Sylvie had no difficulties at all, but Phillipe's visit did put off any consideration of our ménage with Marc. Marc spent the first two nights of Phillipe's visit with me, but afterwards moved back to Mouette, pretending to Phillipe that he had been away on a business trip. Sylvie explained to me that Phillipe and she had 'sorted out' their past without any sexual activity, and that she had told him about her relationship with Marc. However, she did not tell Phillipe about their relationship with me, and I was called on to be his companion on the two nights that we all went to dinner in town.

Marc and I took advantage of our two nights together to further explore each other sexually. When he arrived at my door the first evening, we kissed passionately. "I don't understand why I'm banished from the boat, but I can't think of many places I'd rather spend my exile," he said when we broke apart.

"I assume she's shy about having her brother and her lover together so closely," I said disingenuously. 

"It's OK if I can make love to you again."

"Again? We haven't made love yet; we've only fucked. There's a big difference."

He paused to digest this. "D'accord. Agreed. Would you prefer that we fuck tonight, or make love, or nothing?"

"Faire l'amour mon cher. I much prefer that. Remember what I said earlier about courtship. You are a good lover, and now I want you to be a good friend too."

We had broken the ice, and things really started to click between us from that moment. Rather than falling into bed immediately, we drank wine and talked for several hours. I told him all about my past, and he related his. Then we went into our sailing experiences, about which I won't bore my readers. Finally the wine bottle was empty, and I was feeling an all-over warmth. I said, "I think we are good enough friends to make love now, don't you?"

"More than good enough, ma chère." We moved to the bedroom. "This time I'll make love to you. Just relax." He proceeded to undress me, kissing each part as he worked from top to bottom. By the time I was completely bare, I was burning with lust and needing to touch myself. Marc pushed me gently onto my back on the bed. "Let me!" He quickly stripped and climbed onto the bed with me, and moved between my legs, spreading them gently and putting them over his shoulders.

As his expert tongue worked between my legs, I could only stroke his thick black hair, pulling his head into me as I moaned. In our previous encounters he hadn't eaten me, but now I experienced the full treatment. It was as if my entire pussy was in his mouth, his tongue everywhere at the same time, teasing my engorged clit and exploring my depths. I spread my legs wider to give him more room. His hands moved from my thighs up to cup my breasts, squeezing them and rolling the nipples around his palms.

My orgasm built strongly from somewhere inside. Screaming those words that seem so inane in recollection, I pushed my hips up into his face. "Yes! Oh Yes! Fuck! So Good! Yes! Yes!" With my eyes squeezed shut from the strength of the sensations to which he was treating me, little stars and pinwheels of light played out on the insides of my eyelids. I have read of those whose eyes roll up in their sockets from intense experiences. I don't know if I am one of them, but when my orgasm burst upon me like water breaking free of a dam, I felt as if a sky full of fireworks were playing in my head.

When I had gone limp beneath his mouth, Marc crawled forward to cradle me with his arms and kiss me gently on the face and lips. I opened my eyes to see his face above mine, and stroked his cheeks. "Ah! C'etait merveilleux, mon cher." I could feel his erection pressed up between his belly and mine, and I reached down to grasp it. "This little man hasn't had his fun yet."

"Are you ready for him now, Sonia?"

I nodded, and he raised up and backwards to free his cock from its prison between us. With my hand guiding it to the proper spot, Marc's cock slid easily into my sopping pussy, until I felt his belly pressed firmly against mine. I whispered, "Mmm! He just fits!"

"He feels very comfortable in there. And he'd like to move around to get more comfortable."

"Oh yes, he's welcome," I breathed, pushing my belly up.

I have heard sophisticates deride the missionary position, but that evening I couldn't have imagined one better for loving. With my back cradled in one of Marc's arms, his lips pressed to mine, and our hips thrusting rhythmically together, I sailed away toward the land of O a second time. It wasn't long before he increased the pace of his thrusts, and I knew he would cum soon. I pushed my hips up to meet him while my tongue sought his. Feeling my climax arrive, I reached between our legs to gently caress his tight balls. My touch brought about a quick result, and as he pumped his sperm into me in four strong thrusts, I came strongly as well.

After some moments of mutual silence and catching of breaths, I could only just get out, "Marc, that was indescribable." He rolled off of me, and I lay in the crook of his arm, my body stretched at length against his.

"You were magnificent ma chère," he said. "I think we can call that 'making love,' n'est-ce pas?"

Two nights later I accompanied my two lovers and Phillipe at dinner as the latter's date. In later years Phillipe would play a larger role in my life, but for now he was just another man whose only recommendation was as Sylvie's brother. He was in his middle forties, stocky but not fat, with thinning brown hair and surprising blue eyes. He was rather quiet all through dinner, speaking only to pay me the minimum number of compliments or to respond to direct questions. Despite his rather taciturn air, he spoke well and gave the impression that he could be quite charming when he chose to make an effort.

Marc, having been publicly accepted as Sylvie's live-in lover, was free to make the little displays of public affection expected of young couples. I myself was restricted to the Siberia of first dates. Nevertheless, both Marc and Sylvie were bold enough to press my legs with theirs under the table. I wonder what would happen if Sylvie made a mistake and rubbed Phillipe's leg instead.

During the dinner, Sylvie remarked that she and Phillipe would be flying to Miami to visit their sister at the end of his visit and that they would be gone for a week. She suggested that perhaps I might like to join Marc for a sail on Mouette during their absence. As it happened, the spring school vacation fell during that week, and I would be completely free.

***

The following weekend therefore found Marc and me on board sailing towards the small neighboring island of Saba. We were both anticipating a week of lovemaking and sailing, mixing two of life's greatest pleasures. Once we had cleared St. Martin and were well into the seaway, Marc said, "You know, I really like sailing so much more now that you are here."

"Why more?"

"Well Sylvie is not very experienced. She mostly got this boat to please me, and I end up yelling at her when there's just the two of us. This is pretty big for a couple, and not all that easy to manage. But with you, I hardly have to say anything. It's like we're reading each other's minds."

"That's true. But I've done so much more than Sylvie. She just needs time to learn. You really shouldn't get frustrated with her."

"I know, but it's hard not to yell when things are tight. It would be great if you were around all the time."

"You know I'm happy to go out anytime you two want to."

"Yes, but aside from the sailing, there are things that a boat needs for upkeep, and Sylvie won't or can't do these either."

"So you want free maintenance help? Maybe I could be your maid too."

"You know what I mean."

"Well if it's not to put me to work, you're trying to get me into your ménage again."

"The thought had occurred to me. But you know, if you were to move in with us, you could rent your villa to tourists and save a lot of money as well."

Not a bad idea. The thought had occurred to me as well. "We'll have to wait and see what Sylvie thinks."

The rest of that marvelous week was a mixture of sailing, sun, sand, and sex. I won't try to describe everything we tried, but suffice it to say that we filled every hole and were in as many positions as seemed safe. 

It surprised me to learn that Marc liked to be stimulated in his ass. The first time for that with him was when we were hove-to in the middle of the sea. After a swim, we lay on the afterdeck. We didn't have a strap-on for me to use on him, but he brought out a dildo he said was Sylvie's. I lay beside him holding his cock in one hand while plunging the dildo into him. This was something completely new for me, and I was afraid of causing him damage. However, he enjoyed being pumped hard. He could cum volumes from that, even without my stroking him very much. When his spasms began, I put my mouth around the swollen cockhead and collected every drop.

This anal episode brought the subject around to his previous visit to my own rear on our first night together. "I wondered if you really liked anal, Sonia," Marc said. "I had the feeling it wasn't doing much for you."

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"Of course. I wondered why you wanted me to wear a condom though."

"I'm sure you remember my cleaning off your cock after you came in my pussy. I don't do that after anal unless I have cleaned myself out first. I don't even like to touch a cock that has been in me otherwise."

"Really? Why don't we give you an enema then?"

I laughed. "You want some more of my little cul, do you? I didn't bring my enema bag, so too bad for you."

Marc grinned slyly at me. "What do you use in it?"

"Usually just some soap and warm water."

"I have an idea. Wait here!" He got up and went below, leaving me to soak up the sunshine. A few minutes later he came back with a wine bottle filled with soapy water. "I bet this would work." The bottle was from Bordeaux, hence the type with a tubular neck flaring into shoulders.

"What do you mean, work?"

"The neck of the bottle is pretty small, so it should go into you easily and I'll just pour the water."

The idea seemed preposterous, but I couldn't see any reason for it not to work. I got onto my knees with my rear poking in the air, and Marc applied the bottle opening to my anus. It slid in with no real difficulty, feeling cool, hard, and slick. However, after a short while Marc said, "Merde. It's not working," and pulled it out. I saw that only a small amount of the water had gotten in.

"What's the matter?"

"There's no way to vent the air in the bottle, so it won't flow."

"Too bad, I was getting to like bottle sex. I have an idea though. Get the funnel you use for oil changes and clean it off well. I bet you can pour it in through that. And bring up the tube of KY as well."

"Sonia! You have a most fertile imagination. Let me go look."

The funnel is of red plastic, with a long narrow tube and a wide body at the top. The filler tube entered me easily, and as Marc poured from the wine bottle I felt the warm water flow into me. By the time he removed the funnel from my rear, I had that familiar pleasantly full feeling. Moving to Mouette's rear swim ladder, I loosened my sphincter emptying my bowels into the sea.

Marc was now erect, stroking himself lightly. "I never thought watching a woman empty herself would be as sexy as that. And that doesn't compare with filling you up."

"I bet you'll enjoy filling me up with that as well." I took the tube of KY and spread a generous amount onto his swollen cock. "Use your fingers to put some of this inside me too."

Marc was only too happy to oblige, and soon he was behind me fucking my ass in smooth deep strokes, while I, on my knees, reached back between my legs to finger my clit. Having cum from our previous play, he lasted a long time, and I myself reached two orgasms before he finally signaled that he was close. "Shall I cum in your ass, Sonia? I want to fill you up there."

"Yes, yes! I like it there."

With some guttural grunts, he buried himself fully as he spurted his cum into my back passage. When he pulled out, I turned around to him and took his semi-soft cock in my hand and brought it to my lips. The enema had done its work, and as I licked away the mixture of KY and semen from it, Marc smiled down at me. "Trés sexy Sonia. I must teach Sylvie that trick."

"I already have, my dear. I told her what I like to do, and she seems ready to oblige you. But are you prepared to reciprocate?" I turned my back again to him, showing him my rear, still seeping semen. "Your turn to clean me."

"Avec plaisir ma chère." He dropped to his knees and licked both my ass and pussy so well that I had my third orgasm of the afternoon.

You can easily imagine that with days passed in this manner, we were two satisfied, if not satiated lovers who were there to meet Sylvie's plane a week later. As Marc was fetching her bags, Sylvie whispered to me, "You look like a woman who has been well-fucked, and Marc looks pretty self-satisfied too."

"Don't be jealous my dear. It was your idea for us to have the week together. But we did have a lot of fun."

"Can I come to your place tomorrow evening? I want to hear everything."



Courtship Disorder



Among the so-called lower animals (everything except homo sapiens, minerals, and plants), nature or nature's God has seen fit to put the onus of sexual attraction upon the male of the species, equipping him, whether he's a rhinoceros or a dung beetle, with charms sufficient to seduce the gentle sex. Among homo sapiens, both gay and straight, however, the burden of sexual attraction falls squarely upon the shoulders--or other body parts--of the female. That's why milady paints her face and claws--I mean, her nails. That's why she uses fashion as a means to play peek-a-boo with her breasts and buttocks. That's why she flirts and seduces.

Because she's trying to attract another human being (usually a male or a bull dyke), the ordinary woman has a hell of a time, despite the charms that nature or nature's God has seen fit to bestow upon her (that is, her tits and ass). Why? Because men and dykes are notoriously thickheaded when it comes to perceiving flirtatious behavior as flirtatious behavior. A woman who drops a handkerchief to get a potential mate's attention is apt to be perceived as clumsy rather than amorous (which is why, perhaps, contemporary women seldom, if ever, drop a hanky to signal their mood for a little hanky panky)). To get her man or her butch babe, a girl may have to resort to tripping her prey as he or she passes by, on the way to the restroom.

A lot of men (and dykes) want their fair share of pussy, but they don't want marriage. Their hope is to score without making the ultimate sacrifice of their freedom that matrimony entails. Some of them know, from bitter experience, that marriage means saying goodbye to regular lovemaking and hello to endless honey-do lists (and probably a passel of bawling brats). Fucking may be fun, but is anything, even sex, worth foregoing the liberties of the libertine for the rest of one's days? More and more, men and their female counterparts, bull dykes, are saying no way.

Fortunately, a guy or a butch babe can have his or her cunt and eat it, too, so to speak, by practicing what scientists are pleased to call "courtship disorder." This is a pattern of behavior in which certain paraphilias are substituted for the actual behaviors that constitute courtship. (A "paraphilia" is simply sexual arousal that is directed at a person, place, or thing that replaces normal sexual stimuli, or what, in the old days, were called perversions.)

According to shrinks, paraphilias are disorders and, typically, involve sexual arousal by nonhuman objects, by the humiliation or suffering of oneself or one's paramour, by children, or by no consenting folks. The King James version of the Bible of psychiatry and psychology, known as the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM, for short, recognizes eight specific paraphilias: exhibitionism, fetishism, frotteurism, pedophilia, masochism, sadism, transvestism, and voyeurism. Consequently, if you like to flash, use dildos or butt plugs, touch or rub against people who object to being touched or rubbed against, molest children, take pleasure in pain, take pleasure in other people's pain, cross dress, or look at naked people, you're a pervert or, in modern (psychiatric and psychological) terms, the proud owner of your very own mental disorder, a bright, shiny paraphilia!

Those are the recognized perversions, but, wait! There's more, as the salespeople in infomercials are fond of saying. A few other paraphilias are given honorable mention, as it were, in a category of their own, called "Paraphilia Not Otherwise Specified," and these disorders are obscene telephone calls (telephone scatalogia), sex with corpses (necrophilia), an exclusive focus upon one body part (partialism), bestiality (zoophilia), sex with turds (coprophilia), sex play involving enemas (klismaphilia), sex with piss (urophilia), and sexual arousal related to puke (emetophilia).

But what has all this to do with avoiding marriage while snagging some snatch?

Simple. According to psychiatrists, psychologists, sexologists, and other witch doctors, a man or a dyke who wants to fuck and suck or be fucked and sucked without suffering the lifelong inconveniences of taking out the trash and mowing the lawn can indulge in what shrinks are pleased to call "courtship disorder." This is jargon for substituting paraphilias for the actual behaviors that constitute courtship. It's a way of courting oneself, in a sense, wherein masturbation, rather than suck and fuck is the payoff. 

Here's how it works. Normally, for suckers (not fellatrices, but men and butch babes who give up their freedom to get a woman to give up her pussy), courtship involves a series of four phases: hunting, flirting, petting, and consensual sex. In practicing courtship disorder, a guy or gay gal simply substitutes voyeurism for hunting, exhibitionism or phone sex for flirting, frotteurism for petting, and date rape (or some other form of baistophilia) for consensual sex. It's so simple a caveman could do it, and courtship disorder provides many, if not all, of the same pleasures and rewards as normal courtship but without the unpleasant consequences of marriage, possible parenthood, and a lifetime of forced labor (unless one gets caught committing date rape, which can be omitted from the sequence in favor of a little self-abuse, which is the recommended way to consummate a relationship with oneself that is based upon courtship disorder).

The adoption of the courtship disorder in lieu of normal courtship has another advantage, too. Not only does it save a guy or a gay gal's ass from a life of toil and drudgery in exchange for an occasional piece of hair pie, but it also offers a lot of variety. Normal courtship allows only male, female, or shemale partners and is limited pretty much to suck and fuck activities, but anyone who chooses to practice courtship disorder has anything he or she can imagine as a sex partner and, as long as there are doorknobs, corpses, panties, porn, or even one's own puke, a paraphiliac never need be lonely on a cold winter's night. In fact, he or she has so many opportunities to play the mating game that a pansexual party could benefit from charting his or her options by creating a lovemap for him- or herself, but that's a topic that's perhaps best left to another, future essay.