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Christine and I were in the same sorority in college�one semester we were even roommates�but in the three years since graduation I'd seen her just once, at her wedding. She'd married a doctor, Tom. If I were interested in guys I thought he was someone I could go for. I think Christine knew I was in love with her, but we never talked about it. We talked about art and music and sometimes politics. She was studying piano, I was studying painting�something I'd given up�not enough talent. I took photographs, even made a modest living at it, but it wasn't the same thing.
From Facebook I knew where she and Tom were living, and when I had an assignment in the area, I emailed her suggesting we might meet for dinner some night. She wrote back insisting that I stay with them. "We have scads and scads of room�it's obscene."
It was late when I arrived. Their house, maybe it could be called villa, was on the bluffs overlooking the lake. It was a beautiful house with a beautiful swimming pool. Christine had been swimming when the cab dropped me off. "I'll get you all wet," she said, and then she embraced me anyway. "I always do a mile before bed," she said. "I hope you have a suit. Or you can borrow one of mine. Or swim nude. I usually do." Christine seemed almost giddy. "But I knew you were coming so I... So I'm so happy to see you!" She embraced me again. "Oh, this is Tom. Have you eaten? Would you like a drink? You must be tired. I'll show you your room. Do you still paint? Tom, Gwen was the most brilliant artist. There's a cat around here somewhere. Oh, Gwen, I'm so happy to see you!"
After that Christine calmed down some. Tom brought us glasses of wine, a sliced apple, some delicious grapes, and we chatted until after midnight. The bedroom they put me in was next to theirs. I had a hard time falling asleep. Maybe it was the thunderstorm that rolled overhead or maybe it was the sounds of Tom and Christine making love on the other side of the wall, or maybe it was the cat nuzzling my legs. Eventually I drifted off, only to be awakened a short time later by a car engine. Then it was quiet for a time and then I heard music. Christine's piano. A sad, lovely song. I recognized it as a piece by Debussy. I got out of bed, slipped into my nightgown, and went to investigate.
I found Christine seated at the piano at the far end of the main room. She played the piece through again and then again. The sky was clear now and moonlight poured through the huge window. Christine was so beautiful, naked at her piano, I had to go back to my room to grab my camera. When I returned a moment later she'd begun the last movement of the piece, which was more energetic, almost frenetic. When it ended, she sat there in the quiet. "Christine," I called out softly. "Oh," she said. She swiveled her stool to me. "Did we wake you? Tom had to go in. There was an accident. Some boy. I hate when this happens."
"The music was beautiful," I said. "You are beautiful. Would you mind if I took your picture?"
At this she seemed to become aware that she was naked. One hand went to her pussy. "Shouldn't I put something on?" she asked. In answer I lifted my nightgown over my head and let it float to the floor.
"Okay," she said. "How do you want me?"
"Every which way," I said, "but for starters put your hands in your hair." She looked down, perhaps thinking I meant her pubic hair, although she was smoothly shaved there, and then she lifted both hands to her head.
"Perfect," I said.
Just then the cat padded across the floor. "Oh dear," Christine said, "did my pussy ruin the picture?"
"Not at all," I answered. "Your pussy made the picture." I knelt down and aimed my Canon pointedly between her legs. "Go on," I said.
Gradually, Christine's legs slipped apart. I knew it would be too dark for any detail, but I didn't care. It was the idea. For a minute or more the only sound was the tiny snick of my camera as it captured what it could of Christine's cunt.
When Christine's legs were as wide as they would go, I photographed her face. Shot after shot after shot. Then I stopped, and for a long time we just looked at each other. Then we both smiled and then we both laughed.
"Come to bed," she said, and she took my hand and led me to her bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, shadowed, maybe stained, but she lay down and drew me into an embrace. For the next hour or two or three we breathed each other. In another world, water, earth, and fire would have followed, but as things were, air was enough.
We woke in each other's arms. Tom was standing over the bed. "Did it go well?" Christine asked. Tom shook his head. "The boy died," he said, and he took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm so sorry," Christine said. She opened her arms to him. "Be in me," she said. He glanced at me and then climbed into bed and knelt between Christine's legs. A moment later, when he entered her, she gasped and then sighed. Then they were moving together. From time to time I caressed them as they fucked. The lovemaking went on and on, like a gentle rain more than a thunderstorm, and when at last he came, she came too, with a soft but keening cry, and then they were still. I stroked their skin, feverish at first and then cool. They were asleep. I left the bed and found my own bedroom and my own bed and lay down. The cat curled up at my feet and purred.
I was surprised when I woke up and shambled into the kitchen to find that Christine and Tom were already up. "Hey, sleepyhead," Christine said, "want some fresh-brewed coffee?"
"You don't happen to have tea?" I asked.
"Ah, a girl after my own heart," Tom said. He was wearing pajama bottoms but no top. It was a very sexy look.
"Tom has a thing for green tea," Christine said, "as for me, give me coffee or give me death." She was wearing the top to Tom's pajama bottoms. It was an even sexier look.
We took our drinks out to poolside. No one seemed inclined to say anything, but considering what had happened last night, I didn't think the tension was too bad. When Christine sat in the chair the pajama tops rose up enough so that I could almost see her pussy. "What does the cat like, coffee or tea?" I asked. Tom and Christine both laughed.
"Can you spend the day?" Christine asked after a while. "Tom has the day off. We could do something, or we could just laze around. At some point I'll have to get some practicing in, but other than that..."
"She practices about ten hours a day," Tom said.
"Lazing about sounds good to me," I said. "And I wouldn't mind listening to you practice."
"Good," Christine said. "I've got a concert coming up in about three months and I'm no where near ready."
"You sounded pretty good to me last night," I said.
Tom and Christine exchanged glances.
"She gets very nervous about concerts," Tom said. "It's all I can do to get her on stage."
Christine frowned.
"If it weren't for a concert we wouldn't have met," Tom said.
Some color came to Christine's cheeks.
"Was it love at first sight?" I asked.
"Was it ever," Tom said.
"There was a blizzard," Christine said. "They should have cancelled the thing. Hardly anyone showed up. And I had to play barefoot."
"How come?"
"I only had snowboots. I'd forgotten my shoes."
"And she had the cutest designs painted on her toenails," Tom said.
"That was embarrassing," Christine said. Luckily only about nine people were there."
"Yeah, but I was there," Tom said. "That's all that matters."
"He clapped and clapped," Christine said. "It was almost embarrassing. It was embarrassing."
"I wanted an encore," Tom said. "I wanted a hundred encores. A million."
"I only had two prepared," Christine said. Her finger brushed something on her inner thigh. "It was a harpsichord, and most of the encores I knew were for piano. Luckily, everyone else was happy to leave after two. Probably worried about getting stranded with all that snow."
"But he didn't leave?" Christine's finger circled whatever it was on her thigh.
"Nope," Tom said. "I wasn't going to let her get away."
"What did you do?"
"I leaped up on the stage and kissed her."
"Really?"
"He really did," Christine said. "I'd never been kissed like that before." Her hand moved from her thigh, revealing the semen stain.
"Sounds delicious," I said.
"Oh, it was," Christine said, and then she and Tom exchanged glances again.
"Shall we tell her?" Tom said. Maybe he'd noticed the semen stain too. His cock tented the pajama bottoms. An inch to one side and his erection would slip through the slit.
Christine bit her lip.
"Tell me what?" I said.
"We did a little more than kiss," Christine said.
Tom smiled. He tried to adjust his pajama bottoms, but succeeded not at all.
"I was wearing this velvet dress. More or less strapless. And Tom pulled it down over my breasts."
"I had to," Tom said. He leaned back. His erection was like a flagpole. His cock was beautiful.
"And then he kissed me there. My breasts. My nipples."
"I had to," Tom said.
"I understand," I said. Christine and I were both looking at his cock.
"Tell her what you did," Tom said.
"Uh-uh," Christine said.
"What did she do?" I asked.
"She unzipped me," Tom said. "She gave me a blowjob."
"Wow," I said.
Christine was blushing now. "I had to," she explained. Her finger was back on the semen stain, making quick motions, flaking it off.
I couldn't help but chuckle.
Tom and Christine grinned at each other. "Should we ask her?" Tom said.
"I don't know," Christine said.
"Ask me what?" I said.
"You ask her," Tom said.
"Okay," Christine said. "Uh, we were wondering if you'd like to have a little concert with us? I mean we sort of did last night, but... if you don't want to or anything, we'd understand."
"I'd love to," I said.
Christine looked at me with lewd eyes. "Good," she said. "Why don't we start with you sucking Tom's cock. And then after he fucks me you can suck him again. And then we can play it by ear."
Christine's eyes went from my eyes to her husband's cock and then back to me. "It always makes me wet, just seeing him like that," she said. "Doesn't he have the most beautiful cock?"
"It looks very nice," I said.
"But it doesn't stir you? You truly don't like men?"
I smiled.
She said, "You don't really want to suck him. You'd rather sit there and pet my pussy."
"I'd rather pet your pussy," I admitted, "but go ahead and fuck him. I'd love to watch you."
"Okay then," she said. "I think I will, if you don't mind. I liked when you watched us last night. When you touched us, too."
"I liked touching you," I said. "Go ahead. Fuck him."
She stood up. She knelt on the chaise and then straddled her husband and then lowered herself. I continued to stroke the cat.
"I love the feeling when his cock goes in," Christine said. "My cunt feels so good. Have you ever actually fucked a man?"
I didn't answer.
"Oh. Oh, he's in me now," Christine said. She shivered. Her buttocks clenched. She raised herself slowly up. She let herself down again. "So good," she sighed. "You don't know what you're missing." She arched her back. She raised her hands and held her head, much the way I'd had her pose last night. She held that pose, and slowly, steadily, sinuously, she fucked him. I could hear the sly squelch and squeak of it. They looked so lovely together. It was quite beautiful. My camera was on the little table nearby, and I thought of reaching for it, so I could photograph the beauty of the fuck, but the cat was purring so contentedly in my lap that I hadn't the heart to disturb her.
The fuck went on for a long time without much happening. Christine rode Tom at times as if she were riding a bucking bronco, but Tom was anything but a bucking bronc. He lay there stiff, his movements all but imperceptible, while Christine lifted and plunged. I wondered if this was the way they always did it; if this was the way all married couples made love. The sun gradually lifted. Off in the distance I could discern dark clouds. Right now it was still sunny, though, and Tom and Christine were still fucking, or making love, or whatever—and whatever it was, it wasn't something I could share. I continued to stroke the purring cat.
Abruptly Christine cried out, that sharp yet soft cry of climax, and the cat sprang up and scratched my thigh as she leapt off. I realized I had almost been asleep. The climax didn't bring an end to the fuck, however; Christine soon resumed her ride, much as before. I got up and pulled off my nightgown. I watched Tom and Christine a moment longer, and then I turned and dived into the pool. Pretty brave of me, as I didn't know how to swim.
The water closed over me. I closed my eyes and wondered if I'd drown. I stretched out and tried to stand. The water was too deep. I tried to swim, thinking I could make it to the shallow end. I thrashed at the water, and my head was above long enough for me to take a breath, and I saw I was quite a bit closer to the other end, but when I tried to stand again, my feet still wouldn't touch bottom. There was no shallow end. I struggled upward again and drew a quick breath. Tom would rescue me, I thought. I had a brief vision of him lifting me out of the water and setting me on the deck. He'd breathe air into me, kissing my mouth while Christine kissed my cunt. She'd make me come, heavy water surging from my mouth into Tom's. I churned until I hit the far wall, and I managed to drag myself up and out. I sat on the edge of the pool. Tom and Christine were at the other end, still on the chaise, still fucking.
I watched them while the sun dried my body. Then I got up and went in. I phoned for a cab and dressed. I went back out to retrieve my camera. Christine was in the pool, floating on her back. Tom was still on the chaise. His penis lay limp against his thigh. He was asleep. The cat was nowhere to be seen. I picked up my camera. I took a picture of Tom. I had the idea that I'd blow it up and frame it and send it to them as a Christmas present. I went back inside to wait for the cab. While I was waiting I wrote a little note. Thanks so much for having me. It was great to see you. Good luck with the concert.
In town I checked into a hotel, and that afternoon I completed my assignment. I got an early flight home. Unpacking, I discovered I'd left my nightgown at Tom and Christine's. Maybe someday I'd go back for it. Maybe I'd find they'd given it to the cat. I smiled at the thought.
I loaded the pictures to my computer. The one of Tom's penis wasn't bad. You could still see some of the juices, not yet dry. Maybe I should have sucked it, I thought. What would have happened then? I went through the pictures I'd taken the night before�Christine sitting on her piano stool. I stared at my favorite while I masturbated. It took me a long time to come.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
