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She & He

By: amicus



The long black unmarked police limousine moved slowly through the iron gated entrance that had opened automatically as the vehicle approached.

The driver had not seen his passenger enter and was instructed not to watch him depart. The Plexiglas barrier between the front and back was darkened and opaque.

A tall figure exited and stood quietly with his back to the vehicle as it pulled away and turned back down the long tree-shrouded driveway.

The man was exquisitely dressed with an English Bowler hat, a long grey full length overcoat that showed leather elbows, a rectangular patch of dark brown leather over each breast pocket and each side pocket. A strip of the same color ran vertically up the middle and secured the large fawn buttons.

He glanced after the departing automobile and then swung his head slowly taking in the grandeur of the estate.

An ochre cobbled walkway curved gently through sculpted shrubbery meticulously tended flower beds and under ivy entwined wooden arches at regular intervals. The huge stone mansion sat silent as he ran his eyes over the architecture and countless windows and porticos, eaves and outcroppings of statuary in alcoves and prominent ledges at different levels of the structure.

He rubbed his hands together and looked down at the black patent leather shoes and the concrete he stood on. He looked again at the now empty driveway, back to the castle like structure and sighed and then began walking, slowly but purposefully toward the entrance.

The tall and wide brass festooned doors seemed to harken back to days of barricades and battering rams. Huge doors set in stone without glass apertures or handles of any sort, the door could only be opened from the inside.

The door swung open, noiselessly.

He did not consult the letter in his pocket for directions, but stepped inside, saw the foyer and another set of doors, leaded glass that led into a reception area. He had memorized the route he was instructed to take.

He paused to view and admire the opulence of his surroundings, wealth and ostentatious display that did not offend but impressed; even him.

He slowly unbuttoned the overcoat and thought to hang it on available pegs, but chose not to and moved through the double doors, walked across the room to the carved and curved stairway that led up and to the right across his vision.

The door was as described but he paused before it and lowered his head in thought. He took a deep breath and pushed on the solid polished and carved wood; it swung easily inward.

She felt the change in air pressure as the door opened; although the sound of the door was inaudible, she knew he had arrived. She felt her heart thump, her breathing accelerate and felt the tingles of apprehension from head to toe.

He stepped into the room and stopped, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of a fireplace and a scattering of strategically placed tall thin candles that flickered from the movement of air from the door.

The room was huge and ornate, luxurious, warm and filled with a scent or scents he could not identify at first sniff. The orange and blue flames drew his eyes first and then the flickering dark shadows across the deeply carpeted floor and up the walls to murals and paintings and the full bookshelves and pedestalled marble statues that graced the room.

Then finally, as if he had been avoiding it, the tremendous bed draped with diaphanous flowing thin silk-like material slowly undulating in the moving air and the figure stretched out, tied hand and foot to the four bed posts.

He took a deep breath then another and took a step closer to the bed and the quiet figure.

"Some one is here! I can feel it! Who are you? Why am I here? Why have you tied me up like this?"

He smiled and nodded; 'all according to script.'

He did not speak but took more steps closer to the bed and looked down at her. Her blue school blazer lay carefully folded at the foot of the bed. The dark blue vest remained buttoned over the pure white blouse topped by a dark blue tie. Her pleated dark blue skirt was belted at the waist and rested just below her knees; her legs were as close together as the red velvet ropes would permit. She did not speak but he could see her chest rise and fall and could sense the movement of her eyes behind the masked blindfold.

He looked at her hair, the bangs on her forehead seemed arranged and perfect, the flowing near blonde curls framed her face and pillowed her head, also appearing carefully arranged. He observed the fine lines of her face, the strength of her chin, the prominent cheekbones, the lovely line of her neck, symmetrical in every aspect except for the quirky upturn at the corners of her lightly colored mouth. 

They could hear each others breathing and each knew the other could hear, but neither spoke or moved.

His gaze softened as he continued to look at her from head to school shoed feet. He let his head lower and took another deep breath and moved his shoulders slightly and shuffled his feet. He removed the heavy overcoat, folded it slowly and placed it on the end of the massive bed; removed his jacket and tie and the gold cufflinks from the shirt, slipped them into a pocket in the jacket and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"That is not in the script. Stay in character please." Her voice carried a small quaver.

He sighed, audibly, took another step, lowered himself to sit on the bed next to her and lowered his face to hers.

"Oh! Oh! A beard! But you don't have a beard! Oh? Is it you? It sounded like you! Is it you?"

He did not answer, but lowered his face to her neck and moved his hands to her shoulders and upper arms and began to explore her scent and skin.

She became instantly agitated, turned her face away from him, pulled against the restraints on her arms and legs and moved her body away from him as far as she could. "Stop it! Wait! Is it really you? Let me see! Take off the mask, please!"

He did not stop but continued to gently run his hands over her shoulders and arms and his lips over her face and neck.

"Look, this was a bad idea. I changed my mind, I..."

He put his left hand softly over her mouth and bent his head to her ear. "Shhh...it's all right, stay in character..."

She quieted, somewhat, breathing deeply, gasping for air, her chest heaving, but she quit struggling against the restraints.

He moved his lips to her cheeks and to the corners of her mouth and she turned away. "Don't kiss me! I won't kiss you!"

He smiled, 'back on script...' and continued the gentle unhurried exploration of her body and her face. He sat up and back for a moment and ran his hands down her arms and laced his fingers in hers; she did not resist, nor did she respond to his fingers caressing hers. 

She did gasp when he lowered his head to the vest covering her breasts and let his hands explore both sides of her torso to her waist, to her hips, to her thighs.

"Ah, uh, really now, I'm not sure of this. I think I don't like it. Would you please just stop now?"

'Not in the script...' he thought...and thought again.

He lifted his head off her chest, firmly grasped her hair in both hands and forced his mouth down on hers. She turned away, struggling against him and broke contact with his mouth. He took one hand from her hair and pinched her nose, covered her mouth with his until she gasped and opened her lips and took his breath into her and breathed into him.

"Goddamn you! Why are you doing this to me? Leave me alone. Go away! I don't want you to do this! I can pay; more money than you will ever know! Just let me loose, go away!"

He relaxed his grip on her and moved his face away; 'back on script...' 

She stiffened her body when he slowly moved a hand down across her stomach and abdomen and down between her legs and with four fingers pressed against her, moving his hand in a circular motion.

"Oh! Oh, don't do that!"

'Still on script...' he smiled as he let his other hand roam over her body, touching every part within his easy reach.

When she relaxed and let him touch her, he stopped, sat up and moved his hands to the buttons on her vest.

"Let's see what you are hiding under here." He said in a light voice.

"Why are you torturing me? If you're gonna do it, just do it and get it over with!" 

'Still near script, but no tears...' He thought and brought both hands to her breasts, massaging firmly as he watched her masked face.

"Please, please, please, just stop, please!"

And the tears came and the plea in the voice matched.

He unbuttoned the dark blue vest slowly, one button at a time until it opened and exposed the blouse beneath. He smiled and placed a hand on each small breast, gently rotating his palms against her. She moaned softly.

"Would this be a regular tie or a clip-on?" he asked as he put his right hand to the knot in the tie.

"Oh, I say, a real tie!" He said as he unknotted it and gently pulled it from around her collar and placed it on the side of the huge bed.

Her chest heaved and she flung her head from side to side. "I really don't want to do this any more. You are scaring me, please just stop and go away, please!"

'Off script again...' He observed and began to unbutton her blouse from the very top. He opened the top and placed his lips in the hollow of her neck and felt her pulse and unbuttoned the next and the next until the slight cleavage and upheaval was visible and again lowered his head and his mouth to the soft warm flesh. "I love your scent; is it Jasmine?"

She gasped at the heat of his breath and wiggled her shoulders and tried to move her chest away from him. "Oh, damn!"

At her small outburst, he lifted his head and quickly loosened the remaining buttons on the silky blouse and pulled it from the waistband of her skirt. He held the gently curved ends of the garment in each hand and looked at the triangle shaped incision on each side and pulled the material apart exposing her brassiere.

She felt the cool air course across her and tossed her head back and forth as he lowered his head to a breast and blew steadily where he felt the erect nipple against his lips.

"Oh! Don't do that! "Oh, God, stop it!"

He smiled and shifted to the opposite breast and blew again and began running his hands from her arms to her knees. She shivered and quivered beneath him. He sat up and placed his palms on her stomach and slowly moved his hand upward, cupping her still covered breasts.

He sat up again and gazed down at her now quiet body with the white brassiere making a contrast to her skin color which had changed somewhat, as a blush of pink graced her cheeks and neck. A look of indecision crossed his face as he focused on her girlish, not yet woman's appearance, the absolutely clear and unwrinkled skin, the roundness of her cheeks; the soft flesh of well toned arm muscles.

"Are you looking at me? Don't look at me, let me loose!"

He smiled slightly as she prompted him back on script. He reached to the end of the bed and rummaged through a pocket in his jacket and pulled forth a small blunt ended pair of scissors and held them in his hand as he turned back to her.

"What are you doing now? Oh, damn, that's cold!"

He smiled again as he slipped one blade of the scissors under the middle of the brassiere, moved the jaws up and clipped through the heavy material. "A shame to destroy such a lovely thing..." he mumbled as he snipped again, "but I don't want to let you loose, not just yet."

She gasped as the last 'snip' separated the cups and they sprang apart exposing her breasts.

"Don't look at me! Don't touch me anymore!"

He smiled and leaned back away from her; laid the scissors near the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoned and removed his pale blue dress shirt, folded it awkwardly and placed it atop his jacket.

He felt her tense her body as he changed position, moved over her and slowly lowered his chest.

"Oh! Oh..." she gasped, "Oh..." As he put his face in the hollow of her neck and let his weight rest full on her chest.

"I can't breathe!" she cried out and tried to shift his weight from her.

He rose up slightly off of her as she took several deep breaths. He smiled and let his lips roam over her cheeks, gently, in an intended soothing manner. She quieted quickly and relaxed as he touched her.

She became agitated again as he kissed his way to her neck and down, then up a rising mound of flesh and took a rigid nipple into his mouth.

"Oh God!" 

She squirmed and wriggled as he let his hands roam and touch and moved his mouth from breast to breast, sometimes rough and then gentle. The blush deepened across her neck and upper chest.

"Oh, please stop! Don't touch me anymore! I can't stand it! You're scaring me!"

She kept gasping for air as he pulled back away from her and rested his hands on the bed. He observed the flush of her skin and the red blotches left by his beard on the tender flesh.

After a moment he stood and moved to the foot of the bed. She started when he touched her foot, and then lay passive as he removed her shoes and white anklets.

"Don't look at my feet, they are ugly."

'Off script...' he smiled, leaned over and took all five toes in his mouth.

"That's gross!" she hissed and tried to pull her foot away. He grasped her ankle and kept nibbling on her toes until she finally lay still again.

He sat up again, leaned over and removed his shoes and socks, stood up and unbuckled a gold fastener and let his dress trousers fall to the carpet.

"What are you doing?" There was apprehension in her voice.

'Back on script...' he thought as he moved a little way up the side of the bed.

He stood silent, looking at her where the school skirt had lifted slightly above the knee on one leg, watching the rapid rise and fall of her breathing in her abdomen and chest, the restless slight movements of her legs and confined arms.

She gasped again when she felt his hands on her legs just below the knees.

"Look, let's not do anymore of this, okay? I was wrong. I want you to leave now."

'Off script again...' he thought as a frown crossed his face. He tilted his head this way then, that and then gathered a handful of the hemmed skirt in each hand and rolled it up and folded it evenly just above her knees.

"Oh, please stop!"

He gathered and folded another four inches of skirt, exposing the thickness of her thighs above the knees. He began speaking softly almost to himself and not to her: "Now I wonder just what might be under this lovely little skirt? Would it be school issue white underwear, very modest in style? Or would it be of your own choosing? If so would it be a teeny bikini style or even a thong? No, I think not. I would guess a medium style, pastel, maybe a small tasteful decoration...."

"That's not even in the script." She said with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Oh." He chuckled, as he folded the next layer of skirt and exposed a satin slip that stopped at mid thigh. He let his hands caresses the silky, slick material on the outside of the slip up and up the sides of her legs until he could feel the panty line with his fingers.

"Ah," he said, "conservative but not too much."

She moved in a restless manner as the arousal dampened and left her with the reality of the situation to contend with.

He smiled as he noted her breathing had slowed. He ran his hands together over her abdomen still covered with the skirt and slip and then down, one hand between her legs and the other caressing her thighs.

He pulled his hands back and rolled and folded another layer of skirt, but could not get the slippery slip to cooperate.

She let a little sound escape her throat as she inhaled deeply and exhaled long and slow. She tensed again as she felt him pull the skirt up over her hips and fold it around her waist.

As if he had grown impatient, he took hold of the slip, lifted her slightly and pushed it up beneath the skirt, exposing pale blue panties with a single small rose imprint centered under the top elastic band.

"Oh!' she gasped as the air flowed across her bare thighs.

He smiled and lowered his head between her legs just above the knees and began slowly working upward as she quivered and moved her legs back and forth.

"Oh, God!" she uttered as he placed his mouth against the softness and pressed and moved with a slow circular motion.

When he finally stopped and sat up again at the foot of the bed, she sighed a long sigh and let her arms and legs fall limp on the bed.

He reached for the scissors again and bent over her. "Really hate to do this, they are very nice...and expensive too, I would think.".

She squirmed a little as he ran the scissor blade across her warm thigh and under the side of her underwear, first on one side then the other with a soft snipping sound.

She gasped as he pulled the front panel down, exposing her and then out from under her. She could not see as he gently let the destroyed garment fall to the carpeted floor beside the bed.

"You...you're looking at me! No one has ever seen me! Oh..." She struggled to bring her legs together until they pulled up short against the restraints. "Don't look at me!"

'Pretty much on script...' he smiled as he moved back over her and between her legs.

"Oh!" she stiffened as he moved over her. "I feel your legs on me! When did you take your clothes off? Oh, my!"

'Off script again...' He moved up, put his face in her neck again and slowly lowered his weight on her.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God! I really don't want you to do this. Please stop! Get off me. Go away!"

He lay quietly on top of her as she struggled and twisted under him and then finally quieted, panting alongside his head.

He waited until she quieted again and then shifted his weight, moved down, caressing and then kissing her breasts and letting a hand explore between her legs and down her thighs.

She protested and complained and twisted and turned and begged him to stop and then finally gasped out: "Oh, Jesus God almighty!" as he put his face between her legs and sought and found. She continued to struggle a moment more and then relaxed, crying lightly and finally with a deep sound in her throat, lifted her hips to push against his face.

He kept the motion of his lips constant and regular until she cried out again and moved rapidly and harshly against his face and finally arched and collapsed, limp from head to toe.

He moved up slightly and rested his head on the crumpled skirt and slip and quietly slipped out of his boxers, then moved up a little more and rested his head on her breasts.

"I want to look at you. I want my arms around you." She said in a very quiet voice.

He lifted up and moved to place his lips alongside her ear. "That's not in the script," he whispered, "you are supposed to resist until it is too late."

"To hell with the script...! I want you! I want you now!

He waited until she was once again quiet and in control.

"I'm sorry." She whispered back. "You're right."

He lifted his head and attempted to kiss her mouth again, she turned away. He rained kisses on her face and used his hands on her breasts and her body with one hand exploring the moist folds between her legs. She twisted and turned, pleading with him to stop, panting and groaning and crying and gasping as she become fully aroused again.

He rose up over her and shifted to where his hips were between her legs.

"Please don't!" She strained against the restraints in a renewed struggle, moving her hips to avoid him.

He moved into position, feeling the touch of her thighs to guide him up and into the folds and the moisture.

"Don't do this!" She screamed in a final plea.

He reached up and pulled the mask up over her forehead and off and waited until she quit blinking her eyes and could focus on his.


She & He: The Initation



"A bustier? Corset? Maybe one of these shelf bras? No...that's too much...or too little...isn't it? What does one wear to a swinger's party, anyway? Does it even matter? Don't the clothes end up in a pile in the corner when it's all said and done?"

Her mind whirled with worrisome questions as she clicked through hundreds of possibilities on dozens of websites. "Oh! I like that! Oh shit...too much." On top of having difficulty finding something she was drawn to wear, she needed to keep the cost down. It's not like they had a ton of money to spend on this adventure. 

Mousing back to her browser window she rapidly typed in the URL of the swingers group from memory. "I ought to know it by heart...I've entered it a thousand times already," she thought.

She clicked the "photos" tab and then the "parties" folder. As hundreds of images began to load, she scrolled slowly down the line up looking for pictures of previous parties...the actual party part. From what she had learned, there was a party and then there was the after-party. Most of the thumb-nails were obviously the post-party festivities. Acres of naked skin and various body parts in an astonishing variety of couplings, three-somes and groups. "Not what I'm looking for right now," she muttered. She had already spent hours poring over the collection, wondering if she'd have the nerve to go through with their plan.

Finally finding what she was looking for, she studied the photos for clues as to the appropriate dress for such an occasion. Heels. Heels seemed to be just about de rigueur. Almost every woman had on ridiculously high heeled shoes. There were a couple of younger ladies wearing cute ballerina type flats and look...that one, older woman with the hippy hair and long legs was actually barefoot, "and her feet are DIRTY," she noticed.

No-one was modestly dressed...they all had that much in common. A flash of bare breast here and there, and there and here some brave or brazen soul had opted for letting it all hang out. Various bad-girl lingerie looks seemed popular, as well as sheer blouses and mini-skirts and "are those shorts crotchless?" 

One pretty young thing sported huge hoop earrings and a thong and that was it.

Besides the thonged PTY, there were a handful of other twenty and thirty somethings, but the majority of the crowd seemed to be closer to her age. Muffin-tops overflowed tight jeans and purple veined bosoms bulged unbecomingly. She glanced down at her own body seeking reassurance that at least she wouldn't be the least desirable one there.

"Maybe I can lose ten pounds really fast," she thought, eyeing her stomach. Her post-babies pooch bothered her. No matter how many sit-ups she did, it never seemed to pay attention to her efforts and no matter what the occasion was, she was always conscious to do her best to keep it camouflaged. The rest would pass muster, she guessed, comparing her tiny, still pert girls to a set of mottled monsters she saw on one lady. "And, my legs are still pretty good," she consoled herself.

Glancing again at the monitor, she thought, not for the first time, "Do I really want to do this?" and stoking her resolve, returned once again to her shopping quest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had been married for twenty-seven years and they had been good years. She felt lucky to have such an understanding, kind and yes, still sexy husband. Their relationship was strong, they had a good life together and she considered herself to be a fairly happy person. But, as the years went by, she had begun to feel a sort of dissatisfaction. Not with him...he was wonderful...but, with life in general and with sex, specifically. Especially with sex and especially lately. She just couldn't seem to get enough and what she got just didn't seem to satisfy her. He did his best, but no matter what, she always seemed to be horny. Thinking back over the past week, she tried to count the times she had masturbated. She never even unplugged the damned vibrator anymore. It lay there, always ready, just under her side of the bed, tempting its use every time she entered the room. There had been days she had used it to the point of splitting open the tender skin of her clitoris. And still, the...tension...(she didn't know what else to call it)...never seemed to subside.

Always accommodating, he had tried to keep up with her. He was actually pleased that her sex drive, which had experienced a bit of a dip during their child-rearing years, had once again blossomed. Always the more adventurous one, he had encouraged her to explore her fantasies and desires and when the internet finally arrived in their little town, he gave her two thumbs up when she discovered its underworld of erotica and porn. 

Over the years they had from time to time driven into the city and discreetly shopped the less dubious "adults only "stores. Trying to look nonchalant, she would browse the stands of magazines, thumb through racks of sometimes confusing outfits, ("How do you even get this on? Where does THIS hole go?") and hefted huge dildos like a pro. "Which should I get, honey? The 10" or the 12?" (she ended up getting the 8 incher...the larger ones were just too intimidating.) His presence by her side supplied her courage she wouldn't have had by herself.

But, by and by, the sparkle and flash of their fun and games began to become boring. One can only read so many tell-all stories filled with buxom babes and stiff stallions before becoming somewhat calloused. Being a remote witness to the sexual escapades of others used to have her hot to trot for some play time of her own, but after a while, they barely dampened her panties.

But then Al Gore invented the internet (snicker). And, then the internet became available to every Tom, Dick, Harry and Beth and she gained access to a world beyond her wildest imaginings.

Realizing she was gently tearing slender strips of lip skin off with her teeth, she mentally admonished herself to stop. It was a habit she had developed during childhood that tended to re-surface when her mind was working on a problem or project. She didn't mind it...it seemed to help her focus, but her dentist had been aghast (she also chewed on the inside of her cheek.) She had never bothered to find out why and she had never gone back to that dentist. Now, curious, she typed "cheek biting" into her search engine window and clicked on the first result. "Morsicatio buccarum," she read, "(also termed chronic cheek biting and chronic cheek chewing) is a condition characterized by chronic irritation or injury to the buccal mucosa (the lining of the inside of the cheek within the mouth), caused by repetitive chewing, biting or nibbling." Scrolling down the Wikipedia page she grimaced at the pictorial display of diseased mouths and quickly clicked the exit button. It was one thing to do something unconsciously and in ignorance...it was quite another thing to do something consciously and with knowledge.

Anyway...she loved the internet! The wildest, most random things would come into her head and she could just enter it into the magical Google box and instantly, all known knowledge in the Universe (or, so it seemed) appeared before her eyes.

Thinking of this, she wondered what the most searched inquiry was. A quick search revealed the following, in this order: sex and s e x. She giggled. "At least I'm not the only one! The whole world seems to have sex on the brain!" 

Wondering again at the intensity of her own sexual itch which couldn't seem to be satisfyingly scratched, she briefly entertained the idea that she might be entering menopause. She had skipped a period a few months back, but had been fairly regular since then, except for that missed month and a bit of a heavier flow than usual. Suddenly the thought that her period might start and put a wrench in things made her glance at the calendar above her desk for reassurance. Good...if her body stayed true to its normal schedule, she should be fine. Not that she or her husband had any problem with period sex but the general swinging public might.

Biting her inner lip for focus, she once again clicked the swinger's site tab. The party was only two weeks away and more and more people were signing up to attend. Besides being intensely curious about who would be in attendance, she was also a bit wary. Thank goodness this particular website required its members to post photos on their profiles. Not that digital pictures couldn't be altered or that people didn't use decades old pictures of themselves from time to time, but she was on the lookout for a particular couple that she wasn't at all interested in running into and she knew she would recognize them if she saw them.

That couple was one of the reasons it had taken her so long to dig up the courage she needed to go through with this. When she and her husband had started "playing" on the internet swinging sites, she had been swept up in the titillation of it all and had been all for it, especially since he was, too. They had posted their profile on several sights and had corresponded back and forth with several couples as to possible get-togethers, which had eventually led to them deciding to attend this upcoming party, but one email they had received had shocked and yes, scared, her so badly that for several months she had sworn off the whole scene. 

It was a private message sent through one of the sex-chat sites they visited from time to time. Opening it, she had read through the message which introduced the couple and indicated that they were interested in a possible swap and/or three or four-some. It was "signed" by them both with a cryptic post-script from him: "She would love to use her special tool on you both. See pics."

Remembering to scan the attachments for viruses and getting the all clear, she opened the first file. 

At first, she didn't know what she was looking at. Then as her mind un-boggled itself and she understood, her fingers couldn't move the cursor fast enough to the X button. Her heart in her throat, her mind flashed back decades to the year she was four and had been traumatized while watching The Twilight Zone. It was the "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" episode in which William Shatner is the only person on the airplane to see a gremlin on the wing. When the monstrous face of the creature suddenly appeared in Shatner's window, she had flown out of her chair so forcefully to hit the off button on the set that she had broken it into pieces. From that night on, all of her nightmares featured that grotesque face. 

The picture depicted a couple...a man and a woman standing or sitting side by side..."American Gothic" came to mind but he was on the left and she was on the right. Between them, instead of a pitchfork, the wife held the "tool" which her husband had referred to proudly in the air at the end of her arm. It was her arm. That was the tool. She had no hand at the end of her arm and ...

Gagging as she fully understood, she had quickly shut down the computer, her excited curiosity transformed into fear. That evening she had shown her husband and although he thought it was just a prank and tried to reassure her, she had told him she was done with this type of experimentation and wanted to pull all of their profiles off of the sex sights. When he suggested de-activating them for a while to see if she wanted to reconsider, in the spirit of compromise, she agreed.

Months went by and as things have a tendency to do, the intensity of the horror of that moment faded and she found her thoughts began to agree with her husband's assessment that it was just someone's twisted idea of funny. Or, it also occurred to her that perhaps it was some far-right religious type trying to discourage the swinging life-style. Surely this couple couldn't be serious...or even real, for that matter, she convinced herself as her itch began its incessant yammering once again.

Sometimes, she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Was she normal? Did others women experience these same feelings and desires? Did they experience them with this level of intensity? It seemed as if sex had almost (almost?!?) become an obsession...it was rare that the thought of it wasn't at least readily available in her conscious mind. 

And, of course, there was that little all-knowing, self-satisfied, condemning voice in her head that would pop up from time to time and remind her of the concepts of sin, hell and eternal damnation for even considering the things she was contemplating.

Although she had divorced herself from the church and her religious upbringing years before, these thoughts still had a tendency to plague her. A god that would create human beings, give them sexual desires and then judge them for attempting to fulfill them just didn't make sense to her. A child of the sixties, she had soaked up the zeitgeist of the sexual revolution and now every cell of her body ached for that freedom, herself.

Mentally shaking herself, she focused once again on what was really important...what to wear?

They were on their way! In fact, they were almost there! 

The past two weeks had flown by and "do I dare" would be a moot point in a few short hours. Either she would, or she wouldn't, but not until she was actually put to the test would she find out. He was all for it, of course. She would never have brought it this far if he hadn't been. Once again she put to words verbally that which she often thought, "Honey, thank you so much. Thank you for all of this...your understanding, your willingness, your support. You are such an amazing husband!" 

"Mmmm hmmmm," he answered, with a smile. Not taking his eyes off the road, he reached out and gently cupped her knee in his hand. "All I want is for you to be happy, sweetheart... for us to be happy together."

That was first rule they had established between themselves when she had first broached the subject with him. Whatever they did, they did together. Most of the women she had corresponded with in the community also had this agreement with their husbands and partners, but others had a more open agreement which allowed for individual exploration. She was personally glad that her husband would be a constant presence and it actually excited her on to think of him witnessing her being pleasured by and pleasuring another man...or men! 

Oh my! Two men and her...that was her hugest fantasy. Being filled from behind and in front, their total attention on her. Talk about yummy! Her thighs pressed into a tingle as the vision filled her head.

She had thought he would want to participate in the fun and games since he had enjoyed the online play and had a healthy and hearty appreciation for other women's bodies but he had demurred. "You are all the woman I want or need, my dearling," he had said. "Dearling" was their affectionate name for each other. They didn't throw it around, so when he had used it in his answer, she felt secure in reassurance that he would be there for her, all the way...no matter what. His part would be to support and encourage her. His pleasure would be gained from hers.

Returning from her reverie, she saw they were almost to their destination and her stomach jumped in nervous excitement. She was mentally reviewing her wardrobe choice when they turned off the highway into the parking lot of the hotel. Hotel? Hmmmm...more like motel...or just plain dump! This place did not look like what had been advertised on the website. 

"Ummmmm...ick!" she whispered her thoughts out loud.

"Ummmmm...I agree!" he responded.

The place was run-down, to say the least. The parking lot was cracked with weeds, the pool was a thick, green slime. Some of the windows had been busted (was that a gun-shot hole?) and repaired with duct-tape. They parked next to the office and went to check in.

A stench of ancient cigarette smoke and stale beer hit them as they entered the lobby. A large, older woman manned the desk, her hairy chin worked busily as she chewed on her dinner...what looked to be half of a hotdog hung, bobbing from her mouth."

"May I help you?" she managed to muffle around the meat.

"We're here to check in for the "Evening of E(XXX)rotica."

She waved her ample arm over to a corner of the lobby where a draped table sat, "They won't start up for another hour, but that's where you'll go. Let's get you registered and you can get up to your room to "freshen up" she ogled at them.

"Ick and double ick," she muttered as they drove the car around to their room. All of a sudden she wasn't so sure about this at all. The wife of the husband and wife team that organized this group had told her that it was a challenge to find a public place that was willing to accommodate their type of activity, but this was worse than she had imagined. 

"Maybe the room will be better," he said encouragingly as he keyed open the door.

Stepping in, her shoe stuck to the carpet. 

"GROSS!" Suck, suck, suck, her feet belched as she walked past the bed to the bathroom.

A pubic hair rested on top of the safety paper on the toilet seat. 

"YUCK! YUCK! YUCK!"

Turning back to the room she rushed the bed, flipping back the spread and then the sheets. 

"I wish I had a black-light," she muttered as she bent close for inspection. "They look clean, but I have my doubts. I have some very strong doubts. In fact, my doubt meter is going crazy."

"It's just for tonight, honey," he tried to reassure her. "We can stand anything for just one night. Why don't we have a drink and then you can get changed. I want to see you in the outfit you picked out."

She smiled at him gratefully. He was such a positive person. He had always had the gift of taking a bad situation and making it better. She grabbed her carry-all and, closing the bathroom door behind her, called to him, "Go ahead and mix me one, I'll be out in a few."

She usually preferred a glass or two of a hearty red wine when she drank, which wasn't frequently. Focusing on applying a false lash to her eyelid (she was going all out tonight!) her mind once again started up its yammering...

"You know why you brought along the hard stuff...it's because you know you're going to need to be drunk off your ass to go through with this."

"Oh, shut up!" she distractedly answered herself, clumsily wiping at the gooey excess seeping into her eye. "More important things here...I'm might be about to permanently blind myself."

"A perfect way to blind yourself to what you are getting ready to do..."

In one of her email exchanges with the wife of the organization team, she had been told (in confidence, of course!) about the other couple who helped put on the group's events. 

"They are both very enthusiastic and involved at the "before" party, but by the time the "after" party rolls around, she's always had so much to drink that she passes out. It never fails. She just lays there and he goes on about his merry way playing with whatever women will have him, which are quite a few, not surprisingly. He looks and is built like Mr. Clean. Just to give you a heads up. Of course, this is just between you and me."

She had wondered at these revelations. Mr. Clean didn't appeal to her, at all and why, really, did that woman drink herself so drunk that she couldn't enjoy the full experience? 

Finally getting the second set of spider legs secured to her now reddened eye, she wished she had Googled whether to put eye makeup on before the fake lashes. "Well, now's a fine time to think of that," she chastised herself. "No way am I starting over. Not with these things...and not with this plan." She steeled herself against her initial repulsion of the setting and the resulting tinkles of warning that had been sounding in her head that kept pinging "This is a bad idea...this is a very bad idea..."

She finished the rest of her make-up in a rush, eager to get that drink in her hand. Not stopping to examine the results, she quickly slipped into the ensemble she had put together. Bending over, she flipped her head up and down to fluff her hair. She had decided it looked sexiest when she let it simply hang over her shoulders, which, tonight, would be bared.




She & He: The Initation



Still without a glance at the mirror, she slipped into her shoes, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The look on his face was priceless.

"Meaning," she thought..."I'm not quite sure how to value this." 

"What? You don't like? You do like? Too much? Not enough? What??"

"Ummmm...no, honey...you look awesome! Wow! I love that top! And, ummmm...that skirt is great...love it short like that...and uh...yeah! The shoes! Love them, too!"

"Well, then...what is it? Something's got to be off. I know you. Your eyebrows don't reach those heights unless you've REALLY seen something. What is it? Is my skirt too short?" she worried aloud.

"No! No! Your skirt is fine...it is really fine...not too short! Ummmm...well..."

He stood and taking her hand, guided her to the full-sized mirror on the closet door.

"Oh my God!" she spit, laughing, "It looks like something crawled onto my face and died...and it must have been a gruesome death." Her left fake lash now lay plastered on top of her eyebrow. Half of it retained its original fan shape; the other half had wadded itself into a twisted, black blob.

Realizing she actually did have to start all over, she stomped her wedgies back into the bathroom. "Now I know why these things come in sets of twenty!" she grumbled. Standing in the doorway behind her, he stared as she leaned over the vanity. "The outfit really is cute, though, honey." 

"CUTE?! Just CUTE? I wanted sexy! I wanted enticing! I wanted it to say 'I'm desirable! FUCK ME!" she just about whined.

"Oh...it says that, my love..." he muttered thickly as he eyed her pantiless crotch, which winked at him as she bent over her work.

Seeing the direction of his gaze in the mirror, she smiled and purred..."Oh...you like?!" Their eyes locked and she felt a familiar and welcome rush of wet dampen her thighs. "Oh...I like, indeed...indeed!" he murmured, moving to stand behind her. 

Sensing his intentions, she reached back and pulled her skirt down tight against her thighs. Protesting, he tried to lift it while pressing himself against her backside. 

"No...not yet," she admonished, "I want to save it up. Anyway," she teased, "you'd only get messy." Walking back toward the bedroom, she stopped just short of the doorway and bending over once again, this time slowly, gave him full view of her damp excitement.

"Now, where's that drink?" she invited him from her upside down perspective. 

She had splurged on a bottle of Grey Goose. Sipping their drinks (Goose, lime and soda) they reviewed the "Swingers Etiquette" pamphlet they had received in the mail with their party tickets. 

NO MEANS NO

No single men. Single women only allowed when accompanied by a couple. 

No "tickets." (definition of "ticket": a ticket is the one who goes just to get you in and not to take part.)

Arrive as a couple. Leave as a couple.

Be courteous. 

No touching without permission

Do not over drink.

No drugs or prostitution. Let's keep this legal.

Cleanliness is a MUST.

You must label 

No lifeguard on duty, swim at your own risk.

No audio or video recording or cameras allowed.

No baseball hats allowed.

A host gift is required.

What happens at the party, stays at the party.

NO MEANS NO.

"No baseball hats? That's a rule?"

"Yeah, what's with that?" she queried. "And, really? They think people are going to want to swim...in that pool?" 

"Did you bring a host gift?"

"I've got one, but I think that the rule is ridiculous. I mean, it's not like they aren't making a good profit with these parties. Feels kind of greedy to me. And, what's with the no recording or pictures? They don't even follow their own rule. There are pictures all over the website of their previous events."

"I don't see a rule about condom usage or any other safe sex hygiene stuff." He handed the brochure back to her. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, honey?"

Emptying her second drink, she glanced at the bedside clock (its digital numbers only half illuminated. "Was NOTHING around here up to par?" she thought.) Pouring herself a straight shot she steadied the glass in her raised hand and with an emphatic "Yes! Yes! Yes!" slammed it back in one gulp.

He steadied her with a firm hand to her elbow as they walked into the lobby. She had downed two more security shots after her first and had to admit she was grateful for his steadfast strength supporting her. "So much for the not overdrinking rule," she belched softly as they approached the registration table. 

"You sure you're all right?"

"Never been more-so," she replied, attempting to sound saucy, the results marred by yet another burp. "Let's do this!" and grabbing his hand, she strode quickly over the remaining distance to their destination.

"NAMES?" The vaguely familiar looking woman boomed her words. Coming from such a miniscule form, the deep voice was unnerving. Straining her eyes in the dimness, she read the cheap "Hello, I am _____" tag plastered directly onto the upper curve of the woman's enormous right breast, which, along with its left mate, seemed to be itching to over-flow their too-tiny demi-cups.

"Oh! Hello, _________! We are the ________s. We've been corresponding with you by email...it's so nice to meet you!"

The woman's eyes brightened (or did they harden?) and she gifted them with a toothy smile of welcome (or was it a smirk?) (Oh God! Will you stop it with all the judgment?!) 

"Greetings! GREETINGS!" the lady thundered. ("WHERE does she get that voice?" she was still trying to grasp the incongruency.)

As the hostess went on with her "WELCOME TO THE FAMILY" message, she tried to extricate her hand from the lascivious Lilliputian's sweaty grasp. ("Family?" she thought, "Ummmm...no!?!)

Finally succeeding, she placed her arm around her husband's waist and surreptitiously wiped her hand on the back of his jacket. Itty Bitty Big Boob's jaw was still spilling words at an alarming rate, and her mind strived to register all she heard:

"Here's your name tags and here's your glows, aren't they fun?! Keep your name tags on at all times and your panties off!" (THERE! THAT was a smirk!) "There's dancing and drinks until 10:00. After that, report to room 112 for the "pre-after" party where we'll have more information about who is up to what in which private room. Tonight we have quite the smorgasbord! OK! A little housekeeping now. We have four security guards on duty tonight (she motioned to the two examples standing sentinel on either side of the ballroom doors.) If you have any trouble, you can ask any one of them for assistance. (What kind of trouble required these muscle men's presence?) No full nudity during the before-party and make sure to fully cover yourself when you go between buildings." Not pausing in her speech, she reached up under her skirt to pick at something. "This is your first time with us, correct? " Withdrawing her hand, she examined it closely. "You will love it! Oh, don't forget your goodie bag!" she shoved a limp, nondescript bag into his hand and waved them toward the entrance.

Hooking the bag with his forefinger, he grasped her hand once again and when his "Ready?" was answered with a nervous smile and definite head nod, they made their entrance.

Standing just inside the doors, she pulled his ear close and spoke loudly enough for him to hear her over the pounding music, "What a trip! I thought maybe we would hang around her and her husband, but, ummm...ick?"

"Definitely ick," he replied as he peered into the plastic bag. Throwing it into a nearby trash receptacle it was now his turn to wipe his hand.

"What was in the bag?" she asked.

"Condoms," he said. "We'll use the ones we brought. I don't know if I trust theirs."

With this little reminder of what was possible this very night, he grabbed her hand and led her into the milling crowd.

The room was large and mostly dark. A spot-lit stage housed the DJ (an anorexic looking young male dressed to the nines in latex and steel) whose attention seemed to be much more focused on the two nubile beauties dancing bared breast-to-breast on the platform beside him than his musical duties. A large disco-ball rotated above head with an occasional jerky pause, illuminating in flashes the pulsing mass of bodies below. Only a few couples occupied the chairs set at long tables on either side of the dance floor. Refreshments were set up in the far right corner of the room and what looked to be a large display of something had been set up along the left wall. 

They had agreed the first order of business would be to find a place to stash their coats and booze (labeled, of course) and simply sit and observe. Her old social inadequacies rearing up, she briefly considered one of the empty tables but reminded herself that they were there to GET social...really, really social and a good way to start would be to actually interact with some of the other party goers. 

Glancing surreptitiously at the nearest occupied tables, she up-nodded to direct her husband past them to the second row where a couple that looked to be about their age sat side by side. Already she could see that there were some types here that she really didn't care to get any kind of social with. This couple looked fairly normal, at least. They smiled in greeting as they approached and nodded twin yes's when he asked if they could join them.

Introductions were made and for the next bit of time the four of them mostly sat, watching the dancers moves and antics, some of which were very bold, she thought. Reminding herself of exactly where she was and what she was here for, she laughed internally at her sudden hypocritical prudishness. Who was she to judge? She was the one sitting here, her itch beginning to puddle her skirt.

From time to time one of the four leaned in to start a conversation but the blood pounding volume of the music made it difficult to hear. She gleaned bits and pieces of sentences and put together that their companions were regular attendees of this group's events, as well as several others, and knew the organizers well. Motioning toward the display area on the far side of the room, she pointed out Mr. Clean and his wife Mrs. Pass-Out. Shouting over the noise, the woman "just between you and me'd" her with the exact same "confidential" information about Mrs. Pass-Out's proclivity for, well...passing out. 

She guessed that Rule # 15 wasn't enforced any more than #13. No one seemed to be concerned about the Susan Sarandon look-alike sporting a baseball cap, jersey, sneakers and nothing more and certainly no one thought anything of sharing tidbits of trivia from previous parties. She wondered which other rules were not hard and fast. 

Taking this "introduction" as an opportunity to go check out this infamous couple in person, she excused them from the table and together they headed over to view the displayed items. A bit quieter this far away from the speakers, she was able to say hello to Mrs. Pass-Out and exchanged a few pleasantries as her husband chatted up the Mr. who yes, indeed, could have been Mr. Clean's older brother. "Older, meaner brother," she thought, then instantly berated herself for being so shallow. The man definitely exuded a powerful sexuality, but something in that energy just didn't feel right. Again, mentally shaking herself off, she told herself she was being overly suspicious and if she didn't relax and stop ignorantly summing every one up, she might as well go home right now. "He's probably a very nice man," she firmly told herself as she put her attention back onto the Mrs., who was now nervously rambling through a marketing spiel for the array of merchandise laid out between them. 

As the two men continued their conversation, Mrs. P-O continued trying to make her sale. Clumsily, she tossed out terms such as "marital aid", "affiliate", "networking", "commissions", and more, each word seeming to taste unfamiliar in her mouth and ended with an embarrassed question mark. "We ummmm have this home business? It's a home-party marital aid business? It pays great commissions?" and on and on, although she could tell the poor woman would rather crawl into a dark hole rather than have to continue on with her pitch. 

"No wonder she wants to drink herself silly," she thought, although upon closer observation, Mrs. P-O appeared to be drinking straight soda from a can. She did her best to couch a gentle "Thank you, but no thank you," and turning to find her husband still involved in his tete-a-tete with the Mr., caught his eye and indicated with a swish of her hips that she was ready to dance.

Immediately extracting himself from the powwow with his new buddy, he guided her towards the dance-floor with a proprietary touch. When they reached the edge of the crowd, he mouthed into her ear, "Knock 'em dead, Dearling," and gently nudged her into the mêlée' of swirling, bobbing bodies.

Here, she was on her own. He didn't dance. Never had and said "Never will!" And, she totally understood because she didn't dance, either, at least, not in public. Every once in a while at home she would break into a spontaneous shimmy or hip shake if a particularly rousing beat came on the radio, but she had never had the self-confidence to let it all hang out in front of anyone else...not even her husband. It was yet another freedom she longed for, "and here's the perfect opportunity to go for it," she reminded herself as she inched her way through the moving mash. 

Finding herself almost to the stage, she stopped and planting her feet, began to sway her hips and bob her knees in what she could only think of as her standing version of chair dancing. Finding she was fairly comfortable doing this, she looked around for ideas of what to do with her arms, which currently hung embarrassingly limp by her sides. Observing her dance-floor mates, she quickly ruled out what she titled the fist pump and the lasso swing as too obvious, since the parties she saw using them didn't appear to know what they were doing, either. One woman looked like she was trying to start up a lawn-mower..."Awkward!" Another seemed to be attempting to roll a pair of dice..."Spastic." Several individuals and couples occupied their hands with their own and their partner's bodies which might have appealed if he had accompanied her to the floor, but she didn't have the moxie to pull it off herself. 

Executing a neat little shuffle and step, "Hey! That was pretty good!" she did a half-turn to facilitate her view of the rest of the dancers. There, a few bodies away and partially obscured, she saw two glorious, golden arms raised in a sinuous duet of disembodied belly dancing. At least, that's what came to her mind..."Those arms are belly dancing!" she marveled. Watching, she saw the arms gracefully sway in their balletic twists and turns, the jangle of bracelets on each one taking turns reflecting the strobing light. 

"I can do that!" she reasoned, but not after questioning if her slight upper arm flab would mar her intended effect. Closing her eyes, she gave it a tentative try. "Ohhh...this isn't too bad," she thought as she wove her hands together in front of her chest. Getting a bit more comfortable, she snaked first one arm and then the other down her sides, then behind and once again before her. "Yes! I'm doing it! This is good!" she privately exulted. Lifting up to tip toes, she craned her neck for more "instruction" and, closing her eyes, followed suit as the glowing arms lifted towards the sky. 

For more than a few breaths, she was lost in the moment. Her head thrown back, hair loose on her shoulders, he would later tell her that he had never seen her this way. "So...loose? So...un-self-conscious?" he struggled to find the appropriate words. It didn't matter...she had felt what he had seen. 

Then, awareness beginning to return she opened her eyes and BAM! Her stomach leapt into her throat and her face began to burn. SHE, the golden armed girl, was no longer at six degrees of separation, but immediate, front and center not two feet away from her dancing and smiling directly into her eyes. Immediately she jerked her arms down in the embarrassment of being caught imitating but the girl just kept smiling and with butterfly hands, motioned for her to re-join their en face. Sheepishly, she complied for a couple of gawky minutes during which she tried to regain that delicious feeling of letting go, but the go had gone and she couldn't seem to get it back.

As soon as it felt appropriate, (which was actually the amount of time she could stand feeling this uncomfortable) she mouthed and bowed ("Oh my god, did I just actually BOW?) her thanks and made a hasty retreat. Pushing through the crowd, she looked for his familiar face, but he was no-where to be seen. "Maybe he went out for a smoke," she thought and headed for their table, where they had agreed to meet if they got separated. 

The "Twins" (as she had come to think of them...it must be really true that sometimes couples end up looking alike after being together for a number of years...these even dressed alike with their matching outfits of beige trench coats and what appeared to be nothing else) were still holding down the fort and they had both obviously accelerated their alcohol consumption. Their fifth now looked to be not even an eighth and both their tongues and clothing now wagged in the wind. During the next five minutes while she waited for him to reappear, she heard more than she cared to hear and saw more than she cared to see. 

"Hi all...sorry, honey...I went outside for a cigarette," he excused himself loudly to the table over the music. Before he could pull out his chair to sit, she stood, pushing her own with the back of her knees, "Oh! A smoke! I could certainly use one, myself...will you go with me?" and made a bee-line for the door, pulling him behind her. Stopping short after a few yards, she muttered "Dammit!" turned on her heel and returned to the table to snatch up their own bottle of spirits. "I'm going to need this," she muttered as they made their exit.

In the refuge of their room she plopped herself down at the cheap plastic table and took a long swig straight from the bottle of Goose. Waving, she invited him to join in. 

"Are you OK, honey?" he worried. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" He had never seen her drink this way. He had actually never seen her any kind of this way...at all.

"I'm FINE! And, stop asking me that!" she snapped, adding more softly and a bit chagrined, "Yes, I do want to go through with this. It's not that...it just isn't quite how I pictured it, that's all." 

"What DID you picture," he asked, sincerely curious.

"Oh...I don't know...sexy people having sexy sex?" she ventured. "I certainly didn't picture THAT crowd of bottom-sucking baby boomers. They could be us! They ARE us, in fact! Except for the "Twins," who, here's an additional fact, are literally brother and sister."

"No! Really?"

"Yes! Really! They made sure to tell me all about it. How they have loved each other forever and ever and took each other's virginity when they were but young things and are now both involved in sham marriages to cover up their ongoing "true" marriage to each other. I could go on and on like they did but I think I'd have to throw up."

"Yeah...wow...incest. That's kind of..." he trailed off, looking to her for guidance.

"You know...it's not so much that...the incest...although that is certainly considered a taboo, as it is the secrecy and deception, I think," she mused. "If we weren't in this together...if I didn't know you had my back...I wouldn't be here. For me, it has to be a shared experience, total transparency and togetherness." Her eyes met his, "And, I can't tell you enough how much this means to me. Not the actual experience as much as your willingness to support me. Thank you for that...and so much more."




She & He: The Initation



"You are welcome, of course, my love. Now, are you still sure about this? You looked a little shaky for a bit, there."

"I'm just as sure as I've ever been...maybe somewhat less enthused, though. Now that it's actually real and happening, it's not as exciting as I had imagined," she admitted. 

"Truth?" he asked, employing their long standing agreement to always ask first when in doubt as to the wisdom of offering up one's opinion in that particular moment.

"Truth," she nodded.

"You seemed to be more irritated than eager. Are you sure your period..." he clamped his mouth shut as hers flew open...

"NO! It is NOT time for my period! And, FUCK YOU very much for asking!" she practically spit at him, then instantly burst into tears.

Closing the few steps between them, he gathered her now weeping body in his arms. "Shhhhhh! It's OK, sweet heart! Awwww...come on, now...you'll ruin your makeup," he clumsily attempted as she clung to him, sniffling. "Look," he continued..."we really don't have to go through with this, if you don't want to and it's still totally OK with me if you do, but no matter what, I don't want to fight and I certainly don't want you to cry!"

"Oh god, honey," wiping at her face she managed a tiny smile, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tense, I think, as in "new situation, new experience" tense...not pre-menstrual tense."Gently extricating herself from his arms she crossed to the mirror to inspect the damage. "Damned eye-lash!" she muttered.

"Yeah, you really don't seem to be feeling all of those shots you've put back," he ventured as she busily ministered to the once again way-ward wing. "I would have thought they would loosen you up. And, no need for an apology, my love, I've been wanting to "fuck you very much" all evening long," he added impishly, surprising her with his easy use of the expletive. She had heard him say a total of maybe six fluorescent words in the whole time she had known him and one of those was "frickin", which she didn't even consider to be a curse word. Where-as she, well, she knew them all and they did have a tendency to spew forth from her mouth from time to time, but mostly under dire circumstances such as dropping a heavy knife on her toe or some such.

"Awwww..." she grinned a come-hither grim at his reflected image. Running a hand over her half-exposed breast she cupped and offered it to him, "You like?" she devilishly inquired.

"No, I love," he said. "I love your outfit. I love your hair. I love your body. I love your YOU. ALL of you. Not just now, but all the time. Every single bit of You. I. Love."

Gazing into his mirrored eyes, her lips put to words what her heart was asking, "Even my weird and quite possibly perverted mind?"

Now nuzzling her neck, he mouthed his reply directly upon her skin, "Most especially your weird and quite probably perverted mind."

Turning, she met and kissed into his opening lips a whispered "I love you," followed by, "OK?! Let's do this!"

The door of room 112 seemed to bulge outward to the bass line of the music that emanated from within. To knock would be senseless...no one inside would possibly hear, so with one last questioning look answered by her affirmative nod, he turned the knob and they stepped in. There was, indeed, a party going on and this particular party's theme seemed to be "Fun & Games." In one corner a group of folks gathered around a table in various states of undress, obviously involved in an advanced game of strip poker. One poor guy was down to one sock, which he had draped coquettishly over his limp penis. The far end of the room housed a rousing game of naked Twister and directly before them another group occupied the two double beds playing some sort of drinking game. As more people entered from behind, they shuffled closer to the action and were able to hear the players' shouted dialogue. "Shock, Shot or Shuck?" they voiced in unison as the next participant's turn began. She stood up and, smiling seductively, reached up under her short skirt and slowly rolled one stocking down her leg. The crowd cheered raucously at her choice of "shuck"and several saluted with and then slammed back shots of approval. Taking his turn, a middle-agish man stood and with a mixture of pride and embarrassment, confided loudly to the group that he had once, when he was seventeen years old, sneaked into his parent's bedroom in the middle of the night and had spent almost ten glorious minutes sucking on his mother's toes. His "shock" was received with even more noise, fanfare and celebratory toasts. 

The open connecting door to the next room stood partially blocked by two lip-locked women so deeply involved they didn't respond to their repeated "Excuse me's." Finally, he took her hand and led the way, inching past the undulating bodies. Entering the darkened room they were immediately hit with the distinct and pungent smell of burning marijuana. ("Rules, my ass," she thought.) As her eyes adjusted in the dimness, she recognized a figure lying prone on the nearest bed. "Mrs. Pass-Out!" she murmured into his ear. Mrs. P-O did, indeed, look to be passed out. 

"Or...is she?" she wondered. For being so blotto, the Mrs. seemed to be quite carefully..."arranged" was the word that came to mind. Her arms artfully extended above her head, obscuring her face, one hand resting delicately upon the other. Instead of a drunken slump, her spine arched in an unnatural fashion, causing her hips to rise along with her skirt, revealing an "Ummm...yes, QUIVERING" and quite naked ass.

"Hmmmmm...interesting!" Answering the perceived invitation, she stepped forward. Reaching out, she tentatively stroked her hand down Mrs. PO's back. The buttocks absolutely shimmied! "Do I dare?" Breathing deeply, she grasped one globe in each hand and gave a gentle squeeze and was rewarded with an immediate groan of pleasure. Looking up, she questioned her husband with her eyes, "Do you want to join in?" but he just smiled and motioned that he was good. He did look to be enjoying himself, as verified by the volume in the front of his jeans. 

Becoming immersed in her ministrations, at first she didn't register the new presence at her side until the waft of weed hit her nose. Accepting the offered joint waved in front of her face, ("in for a penny, in for a pound," she mused) she turned to behold..."The Golden Girl!" she spluttered out loud, coughing at the unaccustomed harshness of the herb.

TGG grinned and laughed her agreement, comically self checking her beautifully tanned arms loaded with gilded bangles and giving them a jangling shake. For the next short while they kneeled in silent companionship, passing the joint back and forth as they proceeded to "make love? Where did THAT come from," her mind startled. "This isn't love!?! Is it?!?" Shaking her head, "Wow! I am SO high!" she gave the Mrs. one last fondle, "Fondle! What a wonderful word! Fond! Le! Oh my GOODNESS I am high!" and stood, intending to rejoin her husband. 

Instead, somehow, she found herself embraced in the warm, welcoming arms of The Golden Girl. They were just there...wrapping them heart to heart and then their lips met and something simply broke loose inside of her. 

Later, trying to recall the experience and adequately relate it to her husband, she found herself at a loss for words. "Breath," she kept repeating. "It was like she was breath."

"You really were high, weren't you?" was his observation. "Yeah...but it wasn't just that. It was...I don't know...like a FORCE, or something," she offered, thoughtful. 

Whatever it was, it overtook her like a tsunami. One moment she was pretty much fully aware of her surroundings, her husband standing there with a bemused look on his face, other some bodies milling around, the music no longer banging but beckoning from the next room, smoke hazing the air. The next moment, and who knows how many more, she was..."I think I was in Heaven," she shared.

"High as a kite!" he teased. "Or, you are just now discovering that you are, in reality, a lesbian and will, in short order, leave me for a younger woman."

"Hardly, my Dearling," she replied. "And, after our own little private after party last night, how could you possibly doubt my heterosexuality? And even more so, my love?"

"Last night was..." he searched for the correct word...

"Ineffable?" she offered. 

"Yep...pretty much that. Ineffable. Great word. Thanks, sweetheart."

Returning his attention to the road leading them back home, he grasped her knee and squeezing repeated "Ineffable! In-F-Able! In-Fuckin-Able!" and chuckled, shaking his head in wonder.

Gazing sightlessly down the highway, she found herself back in that moment when...

"When I came alive!" the awed realization came to her.

The Golden Girl's mouth was warm and sweet. Her tongue danced and dipped its way past her parted lips and then, gently suckling, the kiss really commenced. "The kiss that began and ended eternity," the cryptic notion popped into her head.

He had told her they stayed like that for literally hours. Three, to be exact. Lip to lip, thigh to thigh, breast to breast, "Heart to heart," she said aloud.

"Hmmmm?" he tried to follow her silent thoughts. "Just thinking," she said, "Trying to remember. It all seems like a dream to me now. I remember the kissing, the cuddling, the laughter and giggling. I remember her caressing me and even tickles. What I mostly remember is...I don't even know if I can explain it...is the ENERGY. It was like I was enveloped in this, I don't know...cocoon? Of...I can't even describe it...this LOVE? Yes, LOVE! And, not just enveloped, but immersed! Totally immersed. So much so that I was it, too..."she trailed off, finding words once again inadequate. "I don't know, honey. It sounds crazy, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely insane, I agree," he confirmed with a smile, "but in a good way, you know. What's really crazy is what happened later...after your Golden Girl," he lovingly leered.

"She touched me," she said with not a little awe. "Not here," she patted her breast, "or here," she motioned towards her lap. "She touched me here," pointing to her forehead "and here," to the middle of her chest. "And, I don't know how to even say it, but something MOVED in me. Something felt like it literally shifted."

"In a good way, I am assuming," he encouraged her to continue.

"In such a good way I can't ... dammit! I really can't begin to understand it, much less describe it! But, my love, as good as it was, it in no way compares to whatever that was that happened later with you. I know it freaked you out, but what I experienced was absolute...nirvana. That's a pretty good word for it, I guess...best I can come up with at the moment, anyway."

Mock bowing his head, he grinned. "You are so very welcome, my dear. It was my greatest pleasure to give you a seizure." They both laughed. Now, in the daylight and hours removed from it, she could see its funny side. 

They had lain together, interlocked for what seemed like forever, but what also felt like just a few minutes, if that was possible. TGG had stroked and petted her, cuddled and caressed, hugged, massaged and yes, even tickled her. She had hummed, murmured and even sung softly into her ear, her warm breath stirring something deep inside of her brain, her body. All resistance, all worry, all thinking even, disappeared. She was being..."Loved. She was making love to me." That L word kept pushing its way up and out from deep within. But, it wasn't sex. "At least it didn't feel like sex," she thought, "although I bet it looked just like sex," she remarked out loud.

"You could say that," he agreed, "if you're talking about you and Golden Girl. I mean, you were even sucking on her breast for a while there," he added.

Marveling at how he was able to pick up her unspoken trail of thoughts, she confessed, "I don't remember that part. All I really recall is how I felt, which was like nothing I've ever felt before, or at least not that I can remember. It was, I think, how a beloved infant feels in its mother's arms. Cared for, treasured, adored, safe, satiated...LOVED. Nothing but loved."

"But I remember each and every moment of what happened next," she turned to him with a twinkle. 

"You and me, both," he grinned back at her.

He had sat watching his wife and the girl those entire three hours, entranced. His initial, horny excitement had quickly turned to something quite different. What he had thought would be ball-bursting girl-on-girl action which would stretch not only his imagination but his penis as well had definitely not turned out to be. What he had witnessed had been, "Well, ineffable is the perfect word," he thought. "There are no words to describe it." 

She...they both...had glowed. Literally glowed. It was as if they had an internal spotlight shining out from the core of their union. He didn't know now if what he had seen had really been there, if anyone else happening by had been able to see it, but he certainly had. Golden Girl was apparently appropriately nick-named because she had emanated just that...a golden aura. When it first appeared to him, he had blinked his eyes and shaken his head, thinking something had come loose, but there it was, encompassing her whole body and even that of his wife's. His wife, on the other hand, was sparking white and purple flames of light from the top of her head and the bottom of her feet and he swore he could hear them sizzle and pop as they licked their way outward.

It was sexy. It was sex. But, it wasn't. Or, it was and was so much more. He didn't know, he didn't understand, but when it was over, he knew he had witnessed something very special. He only hoped that her experience had been as amazing at it had looked. 

After Golden Girl had gently extracted herself from their prolonged embrace, she rose from the bed, kissed his wife gently on her forehead and then simply walked out of the room, not even looking back. Moving to her side, he had gathered his wife into his arms, where she clung tenaciously as he helped her up. Bending his head, he heard her soft words, "I am changed."

They stood, locked together, swaying slightly as she gathered her senses. 

"What do you mean, changed?" he murmured into her mussed up hair. 

"Hmmmm? What? What did you say, honey?" she asked, her voice seeming to come from a distance. 

"Nothing, sweet heart," he replied, spying over her shoulder the approaching Mr. Clean, naked and definitely ready for action.

"How about it, you two?" Mr. C grunted at them. "Time for some fun?!" He pulled at his penis, waving it at them as it stiffened. Leering at her he added, "He tells me you think you are ready for two of these and I've got one all ready just for the occasion."

Her body went rigid. Catching her eye he validated her repulsion. Holding her close to him, he shook his head at the man and said, trying to sound pleasant, "Thanks, but I think we're going to call it a night," and reaching for her hand, started to make their way to the door, Mr. Clean a few, unsettling steps behind.

Stopping short, she surprised both herself and her husband by turning to face the bald player. "You know, Mr....(she had forgotten his real name)...Mr...You!" the words spilled out of her mouth, "You really ought to go check on your wife. She loves you and all she wants is for you to pay some attention to her. You haven't even kissed her in more than a year!" Mortified at her boldness and mystified at her clear insight, she turned on her heel, grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door.

"What was THAT?" he laughed as they hurried to their room. "I don't know what it was or where it came from but I do know, somehow, that it's true," she exhaled as he turned the lock. "Did you see the look on his face?" She giggled.

...........................................................................

"Did you see how fast his dick wilted?" he breathed into her hair as he bent forward slightly to push open the door. "You're a regular ball-breaker, sweet heart." Entering the room ahead of him, she playfully kicked her heel up and backwards at his own package. "It doesn't take much effort to mash a pair of peas," she snickered. "Now, come here and help me out of this thing."

Standing before the bed, she faced him so he could begin to work on the tens of tiny hook and eye closures on the corset. It had a zipper on one side for easy wear, but he didn't know that. Fumbling in the dim light, he found her half bared breast blindly staring him down. Inhaling sharply, a tiny explosion of delight went off in his brain as the unique scent of the two women combined assailed his senses. Hands shaking now, he fumbled at the few remaining hooks as she stroked his hair.

A small moan rose in his throat as the laced leather fell away. He had been holding that moan in for hours, it seemed. Following the path of his tongue as it traced its way down her stomach, the moan broke free of his mouth.

Gently pulling at his hair, she urged him to stand back up. "Go ahead and get undressed, baby, I'll be right back," she promised.

.......................................................................

Returning from the bathroom, she spread a towel over her side of the bed. It was their unspoken signal that things were about to get messy...and hot. "Why don't you "shuck" your clothes, honey?" she suggested as she crawled onto the bed. Eagerly, he complied.

"Shucked and reporting for duty," he grinned as he slipped in beside her. "You dweeb," she answered, fondly. "You know, I think I must still be high," she added as she curled up next to his side.

"How so?" 

"I thought I saw stars or lights or something floating around my head when I was in the bathroom."

"Were they purple and white?" he asked, his interest perking.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" she playfully pounded his chest with her fist. 

"I know all," he intoned in a weird, deep voice. "I know all. I hear all. I see all," he joked, attempting to change her focus. He wasn't quite ready to share with her what he had seen. He needed some more time to process that particular vision.

Gathering her close, he softened his voice and continued, "I do know that you changed your mind about the three-some. Are you OK about that? Was it just that guy or..." Not knowing how to continue, he waited for her to speak.

After a thoughtful pause she began. "I did change my mind. But, it wasn't just my mind. Something else changed in there with that girl. No! I haven't turned into a lesbian," she assured him, seeing his questioning look. "I'm not really sure what it was, or what it is, but I feel...different," she finished lamely, shrugging her shoulders for emphasis. 

He stroked her side as she fit her body to his.

"As long as you aren't disappointed," his hand gentled her breast. 

"It feels like that was some other woman's fantasy," she strung out the murmured words between breaths, which had become ragged with desire. Hushing the need for any further explanation, he sealed his lips upon hers, which wetly opened, inviting his tongue to enter. Tongue dancing was quickly dispensed when she began to suck on his like a starving infant. Shocked, he almost lost his erection. She had never done this in their entire relationship and it just happened to be one of his own fantasies, albeit a secret one, or so he had thought. 

Finally realizing that his dream was coming true, he was instantly stiffer than even before. Pulling his head back, he began to work his mouth down her neck and chest, heading for her other lips, intending to...

"No, no," her moan gently rebuked, "Here, up here. With me...on me."

Poised above, he whispered her name. Her eyes locked into his, she mouthed silently, "In me," and met his thrust with a hissed "Yesssssssss!"




She & He: The Initation



She was different. Something had changed. He had never experienced her warmth and wetness to this degree and he wondered if perhaps he had caught a contact high. "So...intense! And, the...grip?!" he didn't know if that was the technical term, but the muscles of her vagina didn't seem to want to let him go. She hadn't been this tight since before their babies were born. He moaned into her neck, fighting not to come. 

Suddenly, she stiffened. Raising himself, he was looking into her eyes as she orgasmed then went immediately into a seizure. At least, that's what he thought might be happening. Her eyes were open but she wasn't there and she was no longer moving. Realizing he might need to call for help, he began to withdraw and then, to his horror and shame, he also came. And came, and came. All in her, with his hips still thrusting away like a headless rabbit, not heeding his cries to desist. Sinking down, finally spent, he attempted to roll off of her as gently as possible. It didn't work. Awkwardly twisting and stepping, he found himself deposited heavily onto the floor.

"DAMN IT!" as he barked his knee on the bedside table. Scared and frustrated, he fumbled for the lamp switch and in the process, knocked the receiver off the phone. Finally, he succeeded in turning on the light and grabbed for the phone...

"What's wrong, honey? What are you doing?" she sweetly asked. She stretched luxuriously and beckoned him back to bed.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?! You don't remember? Are you OK?" he stammered, closely inspecting her face.

"Remember what? I guess I don't, obviously. All I remember is you in me and me in you and..." she trailed off.

"Me in you? You in me? What?" he tried to grasp her meaning.

She continued as her eyes turned inward, "It's hard to explain. I was coming, and it was exquisite, it was like my whole body was having an orgasm. It started down there, but then it seemed to spread all through me and even up and out of me and then I lost everything but I gained everything and you were in me and I was in you and we were it and it was us and..." once again she trailed off, this time a mixture of fear and astonishment on her face.

"Oh my god. I'm crazy. I'm crazy, aren't I?" she moaned, tears welling in her eyes.

"Oh, no, honey! No! You're not crazy! You're just...well, maybe you're just still high?" he concluded, hopefully, as he continued to closely monitor her eyes. "Are you OK now? How do you feel?"

Rubbing her head, she answered, "Just a little headachy, I think. Maybe you're right...maybe I'm just high...and tired." Adjusting her legs under the sheets, she noticed the resulting wet of their efforts. Gathering the towel around her, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood. "I'm going to clean up," she said as she moved toward the bathroom.

..................................................

Pushing the door almost to, she crossed to the bathtub, dropping the towel as she went. As the water warmed, she searched for and found the gunk remover for her fake lashes. "Never again," she muttered happily as she flushed the black rascals down the john. 

It was as she stepped from the shower that she realized what had changed. It was gone. The itch was gone. That insatiable need that had driven her nearly mad had simply up and disappeared. Clearing a spot on the steamed mirror, she saw in her eyes something she didn't ever remember seeing. Peace.

She stood still for several moments, as if she would move, the spell would be broken, but no, it was still there. "It is still here," she noted, as she waved at her now smiling image. Eager to tell her husband, she turned toward the door and went to kick her discarded towel out of the way. 

Braking the swing of her foot, she stared. On the towel was blood. Bright, red blood. "My period must have started," she thought, "or, might be trying to start." She hadn't noticed any bleeding during her shower. "Great. Yet another menopausal moment, I guess." She rolled her eyes at herself as she bent to pick the towel up.

There, in a mixture of her blood and his and her juices and jism, was a perfectly formed heart. And, in that moment, in that heart, she saw her entire future. And, in the next, she forgot everything she had seen, but the feeling it had left. That feeling was love.

"Happy Valentines, my dearling," she whispered, "I love you."



She & He



"Why did you do that? Not in the script! She panted.

"I want to see your eyes when..."

"Oh, God..." she sighed as she felt the pressure against her.

He paused. "I really don't want to hurt you."

She smiled, strangely and looked into his eyes. "You are off script again. But my gynecologist made a little snip a few weeks ago, so it should be all right."

He made a slight sound, kept her eyes in focus, pushed and came just inside her.

"Oh..." She sighed, as both her eyes and her mouth opened wide; he had not penetrated her before in any way.

He moved forward just a little more and her chin came up and her arms pulled against the restraints.

"Untie me!"

"Look at me..."

She focused on his eyes again as he moved firmly and deeply into her and up against her and was fully penetrated.

"Ohhh...sweet Mary..." She raised her head, sought out his lips and kissed him full and fast over and over again as her hips rose and fell against him and raw sounds growled out of her throat. 

As though driven, she screamed and cried and thrust and moved until she arched again and fell back gasping. He had held steady inside her until she collapsed and then he reached around her and untied the restraints. She lifted her arms and helped as he struggled to pull the skirt and slip over her head.

They lay side by side not speaking.

"I could never do anything like that in the studio, under the lights with all the people, never."

"Its tough work but somebody's gotta do it." He chided.

"I'll get a stand-in" She quipped right back.

"No, you won't"

"No, I won't"

"There's something else...' she said softly. "I need to be on top, see how that feels."

"Okay."

She giggled. "You don't mind a bit do you? Bad old man...!"

"Hey, you called me!"

She laughed and tousled his hair. "You did good... I was afraid you were going to stop and then I was afraid you would not.

"I almost did."

"I know." She ran her hand over his face and through his beard. "The beard really freaked me out. Last time I saw you, last picture of you I had, you were clean shaven."

"I thought it might help you get into character."

"Oh, it did! Scared the bloody hell out of me when I felt it on my face..."

He laughed, put his arms around her and pulled her on top of him.

She sat straddling him for a moment, looking closely down at him.

"May I touch you?"

"Gently..."

"Oh..."

"You really are an amazingly beautiful young woman; ah...I almost said your name, no names, right?"

She smiled. "I almost screamed out your name a dozen times. And you, Sir..., are a very handsome and virile man. Uh..." she let slip as she grasped him in her hand. "I didn't think it would be that big around or that long, gads!"

He laughed. "Seemed like a perfect fit to me."

"Tight, really tight!" she giggled and moved so she could measure him against her abdomen. "And all the way up past my belly button! Damn! I didn't think there was that much room inside me!"

"You're making me all hot." He chuckled.

"Let's fix that!" she smiled as she rose up over him and slowly lowered herself down.

"Oh, God..." she moaned as he ran his hands over her again and again, taking first one breast then the other into his mouth. When she threw her head back and began making urgent hard thrusts against him, he put his hand behind her hips and added his force; a long waning cry came from her as she went rigid, leaned back and quivered as he moved his hands to her back to hold her. She leaned forward and collapsed on him again and cried into his shoulder.

He held her gently without speaking or caressing her.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly after a long period of time.

"Nothing to be sorry for...ah, damn, your name is on my lips again."

"Me too," she whispered. 

"You are recording us, but no cameras, right?"

"No cameras. I want to listen afterwards, but I don't want to watch."

"Smart and lovely and talented, ah but that I was even twenty years younger..."

She turned her head to look at him. "That is a strange thing to say. Why did you say that?"

He smiled, reached for her and rolled over on top, forcing her legs apart and kissing her hard and full on the mouth.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I think you want me!"

"Oh, do I ever. Do you need any warming up?"

She raised her arms around his back and brought her knees up alongside him. "I want whatever you want and I am more than ready!"

She seemed overwhelmed as he basically manhandled her and took her, not waiting for her response or allowing her to take control. She grunted as he drew back and slammed into her time and time again. Then began giving voice as he withdrew and entered, withdrew and plunged back in a dozen times and more.

"This....is....different...uhh!" she gasped has he burrowed into her and lifted her hips off the bed.

Then she clung and cried out and wrapped around him and just held on as he violently grasped her hair and forced her back and up the bed until her head reached the top.

Somehow she knew as he approached the climax of his efforts. She cried out and dug her nails into his back and slipped her legs behind him and pulled him even more into her.

"Are you all right?" she asked after several minutes.

He moved slightly, still with his body on hers and his face buried in her neck. "Am I too heavy?"

"Oh, no... I love how it feels; I don't want you to ever move."

After a few more minutes, he did slide part way down to rest his head on her chest; she absently ran her fingers through his grey hair and beard, her eyes closed.

"I didn't expect to feel this way..." she said very quietly. "I thought it would just be sex, you know, so I could learn the mechanics. So I could bring it back on the screen, knowing what I was talking about and doing."

"You could have been a frigid little girl who couldn't stand to be touched or kissed."

She moved her head slightly. "I might have. I didn't know what I was. Even when you were touching me and holding me, I wasn't sure if I was just acting, wanting to feel, or really feeling things."

"And now...?"

"And you..." she countered. "Was it just sex to you? Or did you feel something?"

He lay still and silent for several moments.

As did she...

"You had the letter delivered by courier, so that no one would know. I smiled at the way you worded what you wanted and I put the letter away, where no one could find it.

"You took a long time to answer; I had about given up on you."

"You could have chosen anyone, especially a 'younger', anyone, a million guys have fantasies about you."

"And a million women dream of sleeping with you, silly."

They both fell silent.

"I want to see you again."

She scooted out from under him and drew a pillow across her chest. "That's impossible! Do you know how difficult it was to arrange this; with no one from either of our people knowing? Impossible."

He shrugged. "I still want to see you again."

She sighed. "Me too... I don't want you to leave now, but you have to, soon."

He stood and pulled her up from the bed to stand in front of him. She seemed very tiny and fragile next to his bulk, her head not even reaching shoulder height.

He lightly put his arms around her back as she slipped hers around his waist.

"You said you wished you were twenty years younger..."

"I would court you in public and ask for your hand."

She drew quickly back from him, startled, and looked up into his wrinkled eyes, craggy face and grey beard. Wide eyed and open mouthed she said, "You would...?

He just nodded as she moved back into his arms and rested her head on his chest.

"Oh, my..." were her final words spoken in wonderment. 



She and I



I always felt I couldn't take my eyes off her whenever she fell anywhere near my line of vision. I don't know if it was her flowing dark shiny waves of soft hair, her intense dark eyes, or her full sensuous lips. Maybe the generous curves of her body. Her soft arms, large swelling breasts, the ample curve of her hips. I did know that my thoughts always became sexual in her presence, but the reality was all of this was in my mind. You don't cross over the barrier of friendship, and she was my best friend's partner. We went back a long way, back to our childhood, he was like a brother to me. We spent all our time together and women came and went, until her. I knew as soon as I saw her, that was it for him, he fell hard. I knew this because I fell hard too.

But I didn't spend all my time obsessing over her. I had relationships too, in the years that their relationship bloomed and deepened. I'd meet a woman and we'd have the initial spark and glow and a lot of fun. But somehow these women wouldn't quite measure up to her. As the weeks went by, especially in bed, I would start to imagine her lips on mine, my hands on her hips, her beautiful large breasts pressed tight against my chest. And somehow this real woman couldn't compare, so I'd end it. Not a way to live, I know, but what could I do?

The three of us would spend a lot of time together. We shared the same taste in films, music, wine, restaurants. We talked about anything and everything. We knew everything there was to know about each other, nothing was taboo. I thought they'd get sick of me being around but that didn't seem to happen. We'd go out for dinner somewhere then come back to their place and drink red wine into the small hours and listen to music with most of the lights off. I'd watch her, wine glass in hand, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hair streaming over her shoulders to her breasts which always drew my gaze. She favoured soft fabrics and bright colours set against black. Low cut and tight tops which accentuated the size and shape of her loveliness. I've never been a lover of slim women, and thank god, she didn't fit the slim category but every part of her was lush and softly curved. I'd watch her in the semi-darkness, the way the curve of her breasts gave way to the soft swell of her stomach and the outline of her thighs through her skirt. I don't know if he saw me watching her this way. His gaze was probably on her too, who could help themselves with such a presence near? I do know that she knew I watched her, she would see me looking and hold my gaze intensely. Sometimes she would touch a part of her body, maybe gently stroke her own leg, while she knew I watched. Or she would hug herself and lean forward, showing a large expanse of the creamy white satiny skin of her breasts. My mouth would go dry at the sight, imagining those breasts in my hands, in my mouth, the smoothness of her skin against mine.

I spent a lot of time aroused around her and was grateful for the lack of light in the room at those times. I could feel myself stiffen and ache at the sight of her. We would drink and laugh and the two of them would go off to bed, hugging me goodnight. She would always kiss me on the cheek and I'd feel her body press against mine in an agonising sensuous embrace, hoping she wouldn't feel my erection against her. Though how could she not? I'd hope they'd go straight to sleep, best if they did, the worst times would be when I would lie on the sofa and hear them in their room, her soft moans and his sounds of obvious ecstasy. Of course I couldn't avoid imagining what was happening, imagining that was me. These times were sweet torture for me, I'd lie there with my erection aching in my hand, stroking myself, imagining her lips on mine and her thighs straddled around me while she stroked my cock for me. She would be naked of course, her beautiful big breasts swinging in my face, my lips being brushed now and then with a tightened nipple. I would come so violently then, wishing, just wishing.

Things changed for them as time went on. He called me one day to tell me she was pregnant. My stomach fell to the floor - this changed everything. He was ecstatic though and so was she, and despite my longing for her and fantasies of what one day could happen between us, I was happy for them. We went out to celebrate. All the clichés about the radiance of pregnant women were confirmed when I saw her. She literally glowed. Her hair was even shinier than usual, her eyes sparkled, her body seemed to already have a new fullness. Both of them were breathless and excited and asked me to be the child's guardian when it was born. I was overwhelmed to be included in that way and of course said yes. It was such a happy night, I put aside my longing for her and we ate and laughed and danced into the evening. I dropped them home and went back to my own place with a full heart, grateful to have them both in my life.

As her pregnancy progressed things continued well for her. She had no morning sickness and just seemed to bloom and blossom each time I saw her. Her belly swelled and her breasts seemed to be twice as large as before. This was extremely erotic for me, I really found it hard not to stare and to sit still around her. I worked my own hours so I could go to see her, with presents for the baby. She confided in me that he hadn't been sexually interested in her since she started to grow. She felt he was worried about hurting the baby, not that he was turned off by her. She told me that her sexual desire had elevated since being pregnant, she felt fertile and beautiful, and easily aroused. I tried to stay calm when she said these things, I know she just needed someone to talk to so I swore to myself I wouldn't try to take advantage of the situation. She asked me if I found her attractive. I answered her honestly and this seemed to make her happy. She told me that his avoidance of her didn't matter to her for the sake of her self esteem, only that she didn't want to lose closeness with him and she was craving touch.

Did she know how much I was craving to touch her? I think so. She sat close to me on the sofa and held my hand while she talked about the changes in her body. Waking up in a patch of wetness as colostrum leaked from her breasts. Stretch marks on her stomach, which she showed me. The skin there was stretched and taut and she put my hand there to feel the baby move. This was amazingly intimate and tender. She talked about how dark her nipples had become, how huge her areolae were. She said I should see them, they were as big as pancakes. I said I could see them through her bra, which I could, they were quite clearly outlined. The little bumps around her nipples she called the strawberry patch. I sat there with my erection growing painfully as she chatted on about her body, using a cushion to conceal it from her sight.

We would hug and kiss and part again and I would have to go somewhere to find someone to make love to. I couldn't scratch this itch though. Nobody I picked up quite satisfied the feelings raging inside me. I wanted her more than anything. I wouldn't say it was because of the pregnancy but things felt so intimate with her now. I wasn't even thinking about him in all of this.

Time passed and the baby came, a beautiful boy. Again her body coped well, she had a natural birth at home in a pool of warm water, which I was there for. I saw her fully naked for the first time, the swollen breasts and stomach, her amazing powerful body bringing this child into the world. This experience wasn't so much erotic but intense and emotional. I felt a deep respect and love for her seeing what she achieved. I held their child soon after he was born and felt more bonded to them than ever.

A few weeks passed though and I thought of her naked body, not giving birth but astride me, those huge breasts gently bouncing while I slid deep inside her. I couldn't stop these thoughts entering my mind. I knew she was a mother now but the strong erotic feelings I had for her came to the surface, and now of course I had actual visuals etched into my mind, which only fuelled my imagination. I would find any excuse to come and visit them now, which they welcomed. He was home a lot in those early weeks to help her with the baby. We would still eat and talk and drink but at their home. She would abstain from the red wine and fall asleep with the baby lying against her, a picture of absolute beauty from which both he and I would have trouble taking our eyes away. He would then confide in me and tell me how tired they both were, she was awake breastfeeding all through the night. They had the baby in bed with them and he would wake and change him but naturally only she could do the breastfeeding. He confessed that he had avoided going near her breasts because he felt they were the baby's territory. I was surprised at this as I knew how much he loved her body. I said not to worry about it, and of course I couldn't imagine not wanting to suckle at those breasts, the sweet milk only heightening the pleasure for me.

He went back to work after time and she called one morning and asked me to come and visit her. I didn't hesitate of course, got straight in my car and stopped on the way to buy her some flowers, coffee and croissants. She was happy to see me when she answered the door and gave me a warm hug, which lingered into a real embrace. Her mother had taken the child out for a long walk to give her a break, and she felt like some adult company. She put the flowers in water and we sat at her table eating and drinking, but not talking. She seemed tired, not quite herself. I asked her what was wrong. She told me he still wouldn't touch her. She didn't necessarily want sex but she needed sexual touch, was really craving it. He would hug her but nothing more intimate than that. She said her breasts were full all the time to the point of leaking and hypersensitive. Now and then her milk would let down and she'd feel the hot-rope sensation of milk drawing from her nipples. She could be in public and it would happen. She'd taken to using breast pads but needed a whole packet to soak it up. Expressing the milk hurt, and it only made too much milk come. She started to cry, said she never thought he would avoid her like this. I told her he'd come around, her loved her but needed time to adjust. She said if he would just touch her breasts, massage them, suck a little milk from them, not enough to make her lactate too much but just a bit, it would make her feel better. I moved close and put my arm around her. I could smell the powdery milky scent of her as she moved in closer to me.

She asked me how I felt about the whole milk thing. Was it a turn off, was it a turn off to see her giving birth also? She was worried that's why he wouldn't touch her. I told her no, no. Holding her like that I breathed into her ear that she was the most erotic woman I had ever met. I was taking a risk here but somewhat caught in the moment. She seemed to sigh and nuzzle into me, my mouth at her ear. I stroked her hair, the skin of her face which felt hot. She turned my face around and kissed me softly, whispering thank you, thank you. A whole range of sensations rushed through my body when she kissed me. We had kissed before in a platonic way but there was nothing merely friendly about this kiss. This was urgent, soft but passionate, and highly sensual. I felt her body melt into mine. She took my hand and placed it around the back of her neck. My hair stood on end. I caressed the back of her head, my hands caught in her soft waves and pulled her closer and kissed her more deeply. My hand slid down to caress her shoulder, her arm, and finally to her breast, which was so full that four of my hands couldn't have covered it. I heard her sigh and push herself closer to me. I couldn't think about him, wrong as I knew it was, all I could think about was giving her what she needed.

We moved to the sofa. She sat me down and proceeded to sit down in my lap. I buried my face in her milky softness. The smell of her was overwhelming, sweet and pungent, some flashback for me to something very familiar. I undid some of the buttons of her blouse and slid a hand inside, feeling the huge fullness once again of her breast in my hand. The lace of her bra was damp with what I knew was milk leaking from her nipple, which I could feel erect under my palm. I asked if I was hurting her, she said no, it felt wonderful, and could I please massage them. I couldn't stop myself, she undid the rest of the buttons and pulled her top open. I had never seen anything quite so breathtaking. Her huge full breasts pushed against the tight lace of her nursing bra which by now was soaked with milk. My mouth went dry at the sight of her like this. She kissed me and pressed her breasts full against me. She turned to straddle my lap and with both hands I gently massaged her breasts, being careful not to hurt her. They felt hot and hard and soft all at once and absolutely amazing in my hands. The fullness was quite overwhelming, I revelled in the sensation of it.

She reached down and released the cup of one side of the nursing bra, peeling it down. I was confronted by the incredible sight of her whole breast exposed. Her areola was indeed huge, but in proportion to the size of her breast. Her nipple was dark pink-brown and erect, a pearly drop of milk about to escape from it. She looked down at me and nodded, lifting it with one hand towards my mouth. My tongue came out from my mouth and lapped at this droplet. It was sweet and syrupy and very warm, as warm as her body. I enclosed my lips around her nipple and began to gently suck, never using my teeth. My hand enclosed around her breast and held it firmly while I did this. My other hand continued to massage her other breast which she began to free from the bra.

Meanwhile my erection was raging beneath her. I knew she could feel it and she rocked her hips back and forth over it, even though it was still encased in my now-painful jeans, and she still wore a skirt and presumably underwear. She seemed to be in a world of her own as I moved from one breast to the other, swallowing the sweetness of her milk which had really begun to let down and spurt into my mouth. When I took my mouth off each one it would continue to spurt forth, like water coming from a shower head, the suction so strong that the flow was plentiful. I'm sure I don't need to mention how overwhelmingly pleasurable this was for me. I could feel my whole body throbbing with each touch, lick and suck of her gorgeous nipples.

She whispered to me that she would come from her breasts being sucked this way. Her nipples were more sensitive than ever since her pregnancy and she often gave herself orgasms just by stimulating her nipples. I told her I could stay here and suckle her breasts all day, as long as she wanted, if she wanted me to. I don't think I've ever seen a more sexually arousing sight than this beautiful voluptuous woman above me with her tremendous milky breasts exposed for me to caress and make love to. Her breathing quickened, I could tell orgasm wasn't far away. I could feel her hips rocking and knew she was stimulating her clitoris on the seam of my jeans. I wanted to be there, but I could see how much she was enjoying the attention on her breasts so I stayed right where I was, sucking, licking, stroking, gently massaging each breast in turn.

I felt her breath quicken more. She continued to rub her crotch against mine and push her breasts against my face. I thought I might explode in my pants, this was fantasy come true. I drew one nipple into my mouth, hard, and pinched the other between my thumb and forefinger and she gasped, shaking, as her orgasm took hold. Milk spurted forth from both nipples as she came, my mouth filled with it, my other hand wet with it. Her orgasm seemed to go on and on, her head thrown back, her beautiful breasts bouncing as she shook, until she calmed a little and her breath came in shorter gasps, leaning against me, holding my head to her chest, twitching occasionally, melting into me.

After I don't know how many minutes she pulled back and looked down at me, then kissed me. She smiled a little, got off my lap. She sat down next to me and asked me to stand up. I didn't know what she was going to do. She said she wanted to see me come for her. She unzipped my jeans and of course my erection, painfully hard and leaking pre-come sprung out. She stroked me for a moment, her touch like an electric shock on my skin and I thought I would come just from that. But she laid back against the sofa, pulled up her skirt and her underwear to one side, showing me her beautiful pussy. She was wet and swollen and said she was just like me, aroused and wanting. She wanted me to stroke myself and come looking at her. This for me was more than I could have wished for. She laid back stroking her pink clitoris while I stroked my erection, never taking my eyes off her, while she kept her eyes on me. I looked at her amazing huge breasts, roundish belly and full thighs with that aroused red glistening centre, and stood in front of her, stroking myself, knowing I wouldn't take long to come and trying to hold back as long as I could, who knew if I would ever experience this again? She whispered to me how good I made her feel, how beautiful my cock was, one day she would have it, have all of me, but today she wanted me to come standing in front of her. I couldn't hold back any more, my cock exploded just like her breasts exploded with her milk at the moment of climax and she never took her eyes off me, watched every drop spurt from me, not smiling but intense, that word just kept coming back to me. Intensely watching me come for her.

Afterwards we dressed and sat holding each other. It was such a beautiful experience and we talked about how neither of us felt guilty. Maybe we should have, but I chose to see it as giving someone I care about something she needed most. It made us both feel amazing. I have no idea if it will ever happen again, or more might happen. My wanting her hasn't lessened since then but has only become stronger. I would never push her for more, but I do know what if she needs me again, I will be there.