3 comments/ 6585 views/ 6 favorites Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01 By: KatieAnnBB "To Paint the Portrait of a Bird" This is a story about how Beth and Angie continue to evolve as their unique life journeys continue. Some disclaimers are in order: This story contains no incest—actually the proportion of sex to story is relatively small for a Literotica story. It's therefore not really an erotic story that's intended to turn you on (but if it happens, hey, go with it!). The story focuses on love and passion rather than on lust and sex. It's about struggling to become an artist and to become creative. And it's about struggling to find one's place in the world. These larger issues tie it into the Massage Mat series as much as the characters do. This may not be, therefore, a great story if you're only looking for masturbation fodder. It will likely be most enjoyable to folks who are interested in seeing how these characters develop. I've tried to tell a story that I find interesting and compelling—and I hope you do too. The whole "Massage Mat" series would be the ideal lead-in to this. If you haven't read it, at least part one is crucial (and it's very short). Parts four and nine also develop the relationship between Beth and Angie in ways that make some episodes more meaningful. And: You may want to read the poem that inspired a lot of the story. It's called "To Paint the Portrait of a Bird" and it's by Jacques Prévert. For copyright reasons, I can't quote it here, but if you google it you'll get many hits—including a nice YouTube video version. One final disclaimer. I apologize in advance for the cigarette smoking—I know that puts some folks off. It is, though, an important part of the story and is used to give some deeper insights into characters' personalities. I'm sure they all will get on the patch and quit before any serious health issues develop. Enjoy! Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01 "You sound like a native," Beth whispered encouragingly. The woman's face wrinkled with concentration as she pondered what odd language she might have been addressed in. Then her eyes lit up as she understood. "Bien sûr. Vous êtes américains!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "Wee. Wee. Noose amerrycanes!" Angie exclaimed, nodding. Beth nudged her encouragingly. "Eee luh Sontree Pomipdoo?" she asked again. "Oui, Bien sûr. C'est très facile. Continuer tout droit sur cette rue," the woman offered enthusiastically. Angie squinted, thought, then nodded slowly. Beth became concerned. "Puis tournez à gauche sur la rue de Renard," the woman continued more slowly, studying Angie vainly for a sign of comprehension. Angie frowned and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Finally, she nodded slowly. It seemed to be a nod of understanding, even though it lacked conviction. "Ici , puis à gauche. Rue Renard." repeated the woman as she pantomimed walking straight down the street they were on, then turning left like a Prussian soldier. She looked dubiously at her new American friends. "Ici. Gauche. Rue Renard," she repeated emphatically, supplementing her words with vigorous gestures. "Comprenez vous?" she asked without great confidence. Angie smiled broadly, then hugged the woman. "Wee. Noose comprendy. Mercy boocoo." After only two wrong turns, they found themselves in the Pompidou Center and its bewildering array of modern art. Several exhausting hours later, they were heading to the "1960-present" room. "Wow. I really like that woman painter, Miro," Angie told Beth, pronouncing it like "Mirrow." She sounded like a child pronouncing "mirror." "Who?" Beth asked, puzzled. "Mirrow. Joan Mirrow," Angie repeated. Beth's brow furrowed. "Oh. I get it," she said after a moment, "You mean Joan Miró. Well, um, Mister Miró is a he," Beth explained. "And his first name is pronounced "joo-AN." But anyway, he's not a female Joan. Sorry, no points for gender diversity there." "Shit," Angie muttered, "I really am a hick." Beth hugged her. "I love you anyway," she assured her. "What do you say we skip the more modern stuff for now? I'm bushed," she added. "How about a coffee?" Angie asked. "There's a little coffee place over there." "Sounds good," Beth replied. Then she stopped abruptly. "Hey, wait a minute. What's that crowd all about?" Angie looked where she was pointing. "Some special collection again, I think." She squinted at the sign identifying the exhibit. "I wish these goddamn French people would use words from my French class," she muttered, shaking her head. Beth patted her back encouragingly as Angie continued to mutter obscenities. In English. They went over to investigate and soon found the picture that had fascinated the crowd. "Not again," sighed Angie as soon as she saw it. "Oh yes—it has to be," Beth said. She had stopped in her tracks and was staring at the picture on the wall before them. It was overwhelming in size and detail, and it required an effort to move one's eyes around it. It seemed to root both of them to the spot where they were standing. "I want to go see who did it, but I don't want to move," Angie said softly. She was totally captivated by the painting. "Just find out the title. It's by him. I can tell," Beth said. She sounded like she had just fallen in love. Angie returned in a second. "It's called "Subconscious Narratives," and yes, it's by him," she reported. "Great. Ok, it's official. He's a genius," proclaimed Beth. "Now let's get some coffee." Fortunately, one of the dialogues in Angie's French textbook had been "In the Café," so getting the coffee went without a hitch. Armed with two café au laits, they found an unoccupied table in the midst of what seemed to be an area for the study and discussion of art. Earnest young people attired in fantastic clothing and sporting piercings and tattoos of all types seemed to be engaged in serious art conversations. As they drank their coffee and people-watched, they noticed a young woman absorbed in a book at the next table. She was so engrossed in it that they became fascinated with her and, then, curious about what she was reading so avidly. Angie craned her neck to get a glimpse. She read, "Pour Faire le Portrait d'un Oiseau - par Jacques Prévert" "What is it?" asked Beth, trying to keep her voice down. "It's a poem of some kind. It's something about a bird—I think," Angie replied. "I wish I had a fucking dictionary." The woman looked over and smiled. "You like Prévert?" she asked in French-accented English. Beth thought she was incredibly beautiful in spite of the fact that she was dressed in baggy, non-descript clothing and wore no makeup or jewelry. Soft brown hair framed a face that was boyishly good-looking, and large, lustrous brown eyes sparkled with life and energy. Her mouth turned up in a cute, crooked smile that made adorable dimples on her round cheeks. "What are you reading?" Beth asked, gesturing toward her book. "We were just curious because it seems very interesting to you." The young woman smiled again and wrinkled her small, perky nose. "Oh, yes it is," she replied. "I am reading the poetry of Jacques Prévert. His poems are like music, but they are also like paintings. They are very beautiful for me." "The one you're reading now—it's about a bird?" Angie asked. "Yes. It is called 'To paint the portrait of a bird,'" the woman said. "It is difficult to make it sound the same in English. But it says to paint the bird you must first paint a cage, then other things, then a tree and so forth. And then you must wait for the bird—perhaps a long time—but that does not matter. The bird may come, and even if he comes he may not sing. But if he sings you know you've made a good painting. And then you paint away the bars of the cage and sign your name..." she looked up with a start. "Oh mon Dieu! I am very sorry, miss. I did not mean to upset you," she said. Instinctively, she reached out and rested her hand on Beth's arm. Angie looked across the table. Beth was crying. "No, no," Beth said hastily. "It is a beautiful sentiment—a beautiful poem. It is about being an artist—about creating," she said as more tears ran down her face. "It is—very—waiting for the bird to sing... All I can say is that his means more to me than all of the art we have seen. It was worth coming to France to learn of this poem." The young woman looked at her and smiled admiringly. Beth could see that she understood exactly what she had been trying to say. She understood Beth's heart, just as Beth understood hers. The young woman extended the book to Beth. "Here," she said, "please take this book. I can easily get another." "Thank you, but I don't want to take away your poetry," Beth told her. "Besides, I can't read French." The woman stood, walked over and placed the book in Beth's hands. Then she knelt next to Beth's chair and put her lips close to Beth's ear. "It does not matter if you can read the words," she whispered to Beth. "You have the soul of an artist. I hope this book will give you wings—like our bird." Beth turned and looked at her. The young woman's face was very close. It took all of Beth's willpower to resist the urge to kiss her. Instead, Beth reached out and squeezed her hand, too moved to speak. In an instant, the young woman embraced her, squeezing her tightly. They both had tears running down their face. Angie stood and came over to them. She gently stroked the young woman's hair, encouraging her embrace of Beth. "What is your name?" she asked softly. "Marie-Ange," replied the woman, turning to Angie. "I am an art student." "Well, I'm Angie. And you have an armful of Beth," she said, smiling. "An armful?" the woman asked, not understanding. Then she got it. "Oh," she laughed, "Oh yes. My arms are very full of Beth." "And now my arms are full of Marie-Ange," said Beth, smiling and giving their new friend an affectionate hug. They looked at each other for a moment and then, spontaneously, kissed. Marie-Ange blushed and looked at them both. "I am sorry. The two of you are—I don't know how one says this in English—un couple—dans l'amour?" Beth nodded. "Yes. We are married, actually." She showed Marie-Ange her wedding ring. Marie-Ange looked horrified. "Mon Dieu, I must apologize," she said to Angie. Her face was red with embarrassment. "I did not mean to..." Angie ended her attempted apology by kissing her. Marie-Ange smiled brightly. "It's ok, Marie-Ange," Angie told her. "We are not possessive of each other." She winked. "And it seems that you don't mind kissing girls." "Definitely not," Marie-Ange replied decisively, "Girls are to be preferred for this activity." Angie could tell that Beth and their new friend had a great deal in common, and yearned to get to know each other better. She made a decision. "Marie-Ange, may we treat you to dinner?" she asked. "It would be wonderful to get to know you a bit more." "Oh, yes," Marie-Ange said immediately. "I would very much like that." She saw Beth and Angie exchange a significant glance. "May I suggest a nice bistro not far from here?" The restaurant was cozy and not crowded, and it had a beautiful view of the Seine. The meal was excellent, and they had a wonderful conversation about their families, art and travel. As they were finishing, Marie-Ange excused herself to go to the restroom, leaving Beth and Angie alone. Angie looked across at Beth. She was clearly relaxed and very happy. Angie reached across and squeezed her hand. Beth blinked, as though awaking from a dream and looked back at Angie. "You really like her, don't you," Angie asked, smiling from ear to ear. "I do," Beth blurted out. Then she hastily added, "But not like that, Angie." Angie's grin got wider. "You can't fool me, Beth Miller," she said softly. Beth blushed. "Look," Angie told her, "if this is important to you..." She paused. "Remember the conversation we had about Jason. I'm all in on this, remember." Beth smiled. "I know," she said, squeezing Angie's hand. "You do so much for me." She cleared her throat as she saw Marie-Ange exit the restroom. "Anyway. I want to spend time with her—but not making love. It's not like that with her, Angie. I can't really explain it, but it's not about sex." Angie looked at her questioningly as Marie-Ange returned to her chair. "Just go with your—um, feelings," Beth said, smiling sweetly. Marie-Ange smiled brightly at them. Angie closed her eyes, and Beth could see that she was concentrating. After a few seconds, Angie's eyes opened. She turned to Marie-Ange. "Marie-Ange, I have to tell you something," she began. "Yes?" Marie-Ange asked. Beth marveled at how completely open she was. Receptive. Vulnerable. "I know that Beth is—shall we say—in love with you," Angie told her. Marie-Ange's eyes got wide. "And I know that you are—shall we say—in love with Beth." Now the younger woman's face was a study in incredulity. She opened her mouth to speak. "Not yet," Angie said gently, placing her hand on Marie-Ange's mouth. "There is more," she said, lowering her voice. "I have a secret to tell you. Would you like to hear it?" Marie-Ange was now intrigued, excited and a little nervous, but she nodded shyly. Angie crooked her finger, beckoning. Marie-Ange leaned forward and Angie put her lips to her ear. Beth heard her whispering, but couldn't make out words. When the whispering stopped, Marie-Ange turned toward Angie and they kissed. Beth watched, fascinated. Marie-Ange looked at Angie. "Ok, darling. It's your turn to do the kissing," Angie told Beth. "Let me take care of the bill and we'll take a walk." Marie-Ange took them to a small park where they could watch the sunset on the river. They sat together on a small knoll. Angie hugged Beth and kissed Marie-Ange again. "That's my quota," she told Beth. "Our new friend wants to kiss you, not me." Marie-Ange blushed crimson. "And she's a hell of a kisser," Angie added softly. "I'm going to find us a bottle of wine somewhere. Why don't you two just stay here and get better acquainted?" A couple of hours later, she returned with a nice bottle of red wine. Beth and Marie-Ange were entwined like two ivy plants, locked in a deep embrace. "Do you guys need more time?" Angie asked. Beth looked at Marie-Ange. It was dark, but she could see the large, lustrous eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "My soul is full," Marie-Ange said softly, gently caressing Beth's hair. "Your soul is beautiful," Beth whispered, holding her close. Angie opened the wine. "We don't have glasses, so we'll just share from the bottle." She raised the bottle and toasted, "To new friends. To love," she lowered her voice, "And to soul-mates. May we all find them in our journey through life." She drank and passed the bottle to Marie-Ange. "To my new friends. And to the one who I will remember always. The one whose memory will be with me when I die," she said simply, looking at Beth. She drank. "To the woman who has shown me who I could become. To my new love," Beth said, looking at Marie-Ange, "And to my wife. The woman I love more than anything. The woman who has helped me become more than I ever could have been on my own." They drank to each other, to love and to life. They walked Marie-Ange back to her apartment and stood for a long time, continuing to talk and exchanging contact information and vows to stay in touch. When, at last, they turned to go, Marie-Ange stopped them one more time. "No," she said, pleadingly, "you must take this book. It is important," she added, thrusting it into Beth's hands. "Of course, Marie-Ange," Beth said. "I will treasure it always." She opened the cover. "Would you sign it, please?" Marie-Ange nodded and dug a pen out of her jacket. Wordlessly, Angie found a street light and bent over to serve as a writing desk. Working there, in the half-light with the book propped against Angie, Marie-Ange inscribed the flyleaf in beautiful, flowing calligraphy. Beth looked at it. "It's in French," she said to Marie-Ange. "Will you tell me what it says?" "Oui," replied Marie-Ange. She whispered into Beth's ear. "I will. I promise," Beth replied as they parted. Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01 Beth kissed Angie's neck again. Bringing her lips to Angie's ear, she whispered, "I love you very much," as she delicately flicked her tongue around the sensitive earlobe and neck. Angie's breathing remained calm and disciplined, but goose bumps dotted her arms and neck. Beth could see that her face had become slightly flushed. Beth's tongue now traced a line around the angle of the jaw to Angie's mouth. As Angie remained still, Beth ran her tongue around Angie's lips, teasing. The crimson hue of Angie's cheeks intensified. Beth saw Angie's nipples protrude through the material of her t-shirt as they became as erect as her own. Beth pressed her lips to Angie's in a delicate, slow kiss. They remained like this for several seconds. Angie opened her eyes, knowing exactly what was in store for her. Beth's gaze immediately seized her and she submitted instantly, feeling the now-familiar sensation of being drawn out of her body. She lay back on the bed, allowing Beth to assume the superior position. Beth slid her hand into Angie's gym shorts, then positioned herself so she could straddle Angie's thigh. Angie could feel Beth's wetness as she pressed her leg up into her naked lover. Beth began rocking back and forth, pressing herself into Angie's warm, welcoming thigh as her fingers lightly caressed Angie's slit. "You are making it difficult to meditate," Angie told her with a giggle. "I'm taking that as a compliment," Beth replied. "Usually you're like the Dalai Lama when you get into it—oblivious to everything." Angie's body jerked as Beth fingers began to explore her clitoris. "Ahh," she gasped. "I think I need a different type of meditation this evening. Clearly you do too. Ohhh, God. Right there, Beth." With their eyes locked together it did not take long for Angie to lubricate and open for Beth, who quickly began to probe Angie's sensual depths. Angie slid off her shorts and grabbed Beth's hips, encouraging her to slide up her leg. Beth moved into position, and the women began to undulate their bodies together, their eyes locked in a parallel ballet. "It's been forever since you've wanted to trib," Beth thought. She loved having Angie sense her thoughts when they were being intimate. "I know," Angie replied out loud, "but I need to move against you right now." With skill born of several years of practice, Beth continued to adjust her body so they received maximum pleasure from their efforts. Angie's hands grasped Beth's hips and ass, guiding her to where she could do the most good. Soon, Angie's small, supple body was arching, pressing upward as she worked to find her release. Beth watched the sex flush spread across her chest as the nipples of her small breasts darkened and became turgid. When Beth felt her wetness flood out against her leg, she knew that Angie's time was at hand. "Ok, lover. Look into my eyes and I'll finish you," Beth thought. Without hesitation Angie gave herself to Beth, staring deeply into her eyes. "I'm ready," she gasped. "I know. I love getting you ready," Beth thought, smiling. "And I love finishing you off." She brought her face close to Angie's and pressed her thigh hard against the twitching pussy beneath her. "Like this," she thought as she felt Angie's thighs grip her leg like a vice as her hips continued to heave and thrust. "Come hard," Beth whispered out loud, encouraging Angie. The look in Angie's eyes became desperate. She was still struggling, every nerve and sinew taut with the ache for release. Beth reached out and took one of her nipples between her fingers. Angie's teeth clenched, but she smiled, knowing that deliverance was nigh. Beth began to squeeze and twist the erect nipple, drawing it out of Angie's body as she did so. A low growl began in Angie's throat as her body began to shake. Then she exploded. "Ha!" she shouted. It sounded like a cry of triumph as she gave herself to her wife. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou," Beth thought as she watched Angie's violent but oddly joyful orgasmic gyrations. When it was over, Angie fell back, spent, and they embraced. Beth's mouth closed over Angie's and they began kissing, using their mouths and tongues to affirm and re-affirm their undying love and devotion for each other. After a very long time, Angie separated herself. "I know you need it too," she told Beth with a smile. "Oh God, I do," Beth sighed, rolling onto her back. She reached out for Angie, ready for their usual masturbation-while-eye-gazing lovemaking. Angie, however, gently pushed her back into the pillows. "Not tonight," she said with a giggle as she slid down Beth's body. She gently parted Beth's thighs and brought her face into position. As she gently caressed Beth's mons and began to open her she looked up. "You just lie back and let me drive," she told her wife. She giggled again. "Maybe you'd like to recall Marie-Ange?" she asked teasingly. "I bet she's amazing in bed." When Beth started to protest, Angie cut her off. "Fantasize about whoever and whatever you want. I want you to be totally fulfilled, darling. To the top—overflowing," she assured her. "I will love you until the day I die," Beth said, as tears ran down her cheeks. "You allow me to find who I am and then accept everything that I find. I love you so—ahhhhhhhhhhh..." Further loving affirmations were abruptly ended as Angie's tongue began to lap at Beth's clitoris. Beth's hands clutched the sheets, as her ass tightened and her back arched, thrusting herself toward the blessed tongue. Angie had been making love to women for a long time—much longer than Beth—and she used every trick she had learned to bring pleasure to her wife. As Beth lost herself in her erotic transports, Angie was delighted to sense that Marie-Ange was playing a prominent role in Beth's fantasy. "Oui, mon chérie. I am here," Marie-Ange said softly, gently stroking Beth's hair. Her nude body was even more beautiful than Beth had imagined. Flawless skin covered a slender body—Beth could see her ribs and hip bones—and small-but-perfectly-formed breasts hung pertly with small, erect nipples protruding from the dark areolas. The young woman had a dark complexion to go with her dark hair, and the contrast of her skin with Beth's whiteness was striking. Beth was also incredibly aroused by the Marie-Ange's complete naturalness—and not only in her manner. She was completely unshaven, and her beautiful body hair enhanced her primal, earthy sexuality. Marie-Ange kissed Beth then turned to watch Angie's blonde head eagerly at work between Beth's thighs. "She is quite—um, what is the word—talented, no?" she asked Beth, gesturing toward the woman performing skillful oral sex. "Oh God, yes, Marie-Ange, She is," Beth affirmed. "I hope you will soon learn for yourself," she added. "I wish that too," Marie-Ange replied eagerly. "I will enjoy that very much." She began playing with Beth's nipples. "And I will enjoy pleasuring you." She began kissing and caressing Beth, adding to the pleasure coming from Angie's expert tongue. Beth wanted this to last forever, but she could tell that she was slipping away. It was as though she were hanging onto a rope above a vast chasm—and could tell that her grip was loosening. She grabbed onto Marie-Ange with a strength borne of sheer desperation. Marie-Ange looked into her eyes, radiantly beautiful, eternally loving and kissed her once again. The young, eager hands roamed freely over her body, further loosening Beth's grip. It was a dilemma—the tighter she grasped Marie-Ange, the more she lost her grip. What to do? How to... And then, there was no more thinking, as Angie deftly inserted two fingers and found her G-spot. With her last, desperate, dying effort, Beth grabbed Marie-Ange for one final embrace. The rope snapped and Beth was falling... ...no, she was flying. Soaring. Puzzled, she looked at Marie-Ange. The young woman was an angel, and her strong wings were carrying her and Beth upward, upward... "Ohhhh God. Catch me!" Beth wailed as her body heaved and twitched. Suddenly, her back arched, pulling her almost off the bed as a torrent of fluid gushed from her and onto Angie's face. Her lover never slackened her pace. She simply continued her work, extracting all of the essence of the woman who meant more to her than anything in the world. And Beth gave totally. Everything she had and then some. She came to rest, realizing that she was completely exhausted. Strong arms embraced her. She felt wetness against her skin. She opened her eyes, and Angie's beautiful face was there beside her. "Are you ok?" Angie whispered. "mmm?" was the only reply Beth could manage. "You ok?" Angie repeated. This time Beth managed a lengthier response. "mmm hmmm," she sighed contentedly. Angie began kissing her and soon the revival was complete. Beth was surprised to find Angie was wet everywhere. "You haven't done that to me since your first massage," Angie chuckled. "I think I hit the right spot again." "Oh God, you sure did," Beth whispered. "I had a little helper angel too," Angie chuckled. Beth blushed. "Yeah," she confessed. "You did." "Well, just remember that we're both named after angels," she told Beth. When Beth looked at her strangely Angie explained. "Angela. Messenger of God—an angel," Angie said with a smile. "Although I don't like it much—Angie is so much better. And you know Marie is like 'Mary,' and the 'Ange' part is also an angel." "My two angels," Beth said, hugging Angie close. They kissed. "I'm a mess," Angie said gently. "Let me get a towel." "No. You keep your gorgeous ass right here," Beth said possessively. "I need an angel to hang onto for a while." Angie smiled. "You got one," she sighed. They fell asleep in each other's arms. Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01 "Oh God, I love you so much," she whispered into Angie's ear. "He's wonderful." "Then it looks like some...wooooof...art lessons are in store," Angie wheezed. Myles nodded. "She is gifted, Angie. She has great instincts and she can see. She sees like an artist. She knows like an artist. I think she could really be able to do it." Beth released Angie and turned, surprised at the compliment. Angie beamed, "I knew it," she said, taking a few deep breaths and feeling her ribs gingerly. "You're welcome to stay here a few days," Myles told Beth. "Once you get working, you may not feel like driving back and forth—like if you want to work late—but it's up to you. In any case, I have plenty of room and you're welcome." Angie and Beth walked back to the car together. Words were unnecessary for them. "Ok," Angie told her, "I'll get a few clothes and cosmetic stuff together and bring it back for you." Beth smiled shyly. "I'm glad you like him. And I'm so happy that he's going to help you," Angie told her. Taking Beth's hands she added, "I hope this gets you to where you want to be. I wish that for you with all my heart." She kissed Beth and drove away. Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01 "Um, yes," she said giving it a dubious glance and wrinkling her nose. "It's been a while. Do you mind if I get myself ready?" she asked, lying on the bed and starting to masturbate. Myles smiled, "I always loved watching you do that, remember?" Angie nodded, rubbing herself vigorously. She was already getting the faraway look that he remembered. Myles began to stroke himself as he watched her. After a few more minutes, Angie said huskily, "Ok, big guy. I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He mounted her and she guided him to the right spot. He tried to be gentle, but once he felt the contact of their genitals, instincts took over and he thrust into her firmly. She was a bit tight, but yielded with a cry and a gasp after just a few seconds. He slid deeply into her and she closed her eyes and bit her lip. "Ahhh, fuck. Like riding a bicycle," Angie grunted. "I was wondering if one of us was going to use that line," Myles replied. Then he saw the sadness in her face. "Are you ok?" he asked. "I don't know," she replied softly. "I feel like I want to cry." "Should we stop?" "No. I wouldn't do that to you—to us. I'll be ok, just get on with it," she sighed. Then she opened her eyes and saw the pain and confusion on his face. He was troubled, too. "Myles, it's ok. Honest," she assured him. She smiled up at him. "Remember the time you got mad and said you were going to fuck some sense into me?" He smiled and nodded. "Well, I think you've got a second chance." The pounding he gave her was one for the ages. When he finished, he fell back, exhausted. She rolled on top of him and held him as they both cried. She could feel his semen flowing out of her.