Thursday, July 23, 2009

Victoria In The Morning



Victoria woke up surprised that the alarm hadn’t roused her. She glanced at the clock to see if she had overslept but found it was still twenty minutes before her usual time to arise. She stretched and decided to get up anyway, not to doze and wait for the alarm. An extra twenty minutes before going to work might be a blessing. In her bare feet and nightgown she went to the bathroom to answer nature’s early morning call.

She returned naked and began her routine of exercises, squats and twists and stretches. Her body reflected in the bedroom mirror still looked trim. She stepped forward to do the self-examination routine on her breasts. On the bed behind her, her mate Calvin slept on. They were working different shifts at the hospital; he worked twelve hours shifts plus eight on call in emergency, while she was staff on a day surgery unit. She hadn’t felt him come to bed only a few hours ago. She hadn’t felt him in at least a week, she realized. No sex, no loving. That was the trouble with shift work. As she watched, he turned from his side to his back. The bed covers slipped to the side and he lay there with his cock on display, soft and vulnerable and so accessible. She felt a swift stab of arousal in her belly, the urge to wake him and fuck until they both came. No, she told herself, that would be unfair to him. He worked exhausting hours. He needed all the sleep he could get. She watched as he shifted in his sleep, as his hand reached down toward his cock. ‘Lenny’ he’d called it when they first began to make love. She smiled at the sight of the rounding belly that he tried so hard to deny, at the beginnings of love handles over his hips. His fingers scratched at his groin and Lenny wagged at her. Quickly she pressed her lips to his shoulder and pulled the covers back up. But tucking it away didn’t ease the throb in her belly. She pushed her feet into a pair of slippers, grabbed her robe, and went to the kitchen.

The automatic coffee maker had not yet finished its cycle. She poured a small glass of juice to sip on while she waited. She and Calvin had been living together for almost two years. Maybe the early passion of screwing at any time in any place in the house had passed but life together was still good, very good. So what if he didn’t surprise her by stepping naked and hard into the shower when she wasn’t expecting it. Or that she no longer tried to distract him from watching sports on TV with an impulsive blowjob. They were comfortable together, cared for each other. Damn. Time to take the mind off sex and concentrate on breakfast. She could feel her pussy begin to moisten.

The routine preparation of breakfast. Bowl, napkin, spoon. Cereal, fruit, milk. With a long sigh and hiss the coffee maker finished its cycle and she filled her favorite mug. She settled at the kitchen table and pulled the satin robe snug around herself. The brushing of the fabric against her breasts made her nipples harden. That in turn set her pussy tingling. She remembered the time they had used the kitchen table. With her hands gripping the edges, her legs waving in the air, and Calvin’s mouth working its magic against her cunt, she had screamed and heaved and shuddered so deliciously! Remarks about that breakfast had continued for weeks. She could feel the moisture in her vagina increase. To distract herself she tried to imagine what sort of challenge she could expect to face at work. Her mind stuck with her body, refused to go there. It certainly didn’t help when she bit into a juicy berry; the burst of its juice on her tongue instantly reminded her of Calvin exploding in her mouth. She could imagine him upstairs, naked in her bed. Naked and erect in her bed. She shivered.

She rinsed the breakfast things and set them in the drain board, then prepared for her shower. Under the soothing spray she attempted to wash away the sexual longings, to luxuriate in the simple sensation of water on skin. Even when she filled her mind with the upcoming routines of work, the voices and faces of coworkers, she couldn’t stop her hands from answering the signals of her body. One hand drifted down and cupped her pussy; the fingers of the other tugged at her nipples, which refused to decrease their hardness. She pushed aside the desire to masturbate there in the shower. She wanted more, wanted to be filled. As she dried herself she considered the vibrator. That was a possibility.

It was right there in her drawer, handy as she chose underwear for the day. She slipped on a sensible pair of white cotton panties and a comfortable bra. Her hand reached for the flesh colored vibrator, ready to take it back into the bathroom, when she saw Calvin’s reflection in the mirror. He was flat on his back with one arm at his side, the other over his chest. Somehow he had kicked off the covers again and he lay there exposed to the knees. His cock, however, was no longer soft. Thick and rampant, it pointed up and a little to the left. His beautiful cock. Her cock. She wanted it.

She dropped the vibrator back in the drawer and knelt down beside the bed. Up close Calvin’s cock was so rugged and yet so soft; just the sight and its proximity made her feel warm in her heart as well as her belly. Carefully she grasped it in her hand and brought her lips to the head. If she took her time, perhaps she could satisfy herself with administering a gentle blowjob without waking him. Supply him with a wet dream and diminish if not dispel her own cravings. She held his glans captive between her lips, stroked the length of his cock gently with her fingertips. Her tongue found his meatus, circled down to the hypersensitive frenum and paused there. Careful or you’ll surely wake him, she admonished herself. Even so, his cock grew hard and hot in her mouth. She cradled his balls in her other hand.

In his sleep he shifted slightly, as if to push his cock deeper into her mouth. She paused to watch his face. The flesh around his mouth and jaws was still relaxed but the small muscles in his forehead seemed to be gathered in a frown, as if puzzled by what was happening to his body. She watched the flicker of his eyes behind their lids. The pattern of his breathing became somewhat irregular but she was satisfied that he remained asleep.

She was well aware of the reactions of her own body as it demanded fulfillment. Her nipples were hard and tight, pushing against her bra as if trying to escape their confines. Wetness gathered between her thighs, and her crotch felt like a swamp flooded in spring. The nerves between her breasts and her pussy tingled with the electricity of desire; her lower abdomen felt heavy with a concentrated heat. She pushed aside the fantasy of a vibrator buried deep inside her for a new vision. Perhaps she could bring herself off with Calvin’s cock inside her but without waking him. Just the idea caused a gratifying throb in her pussy.

She let go of his cock completely. It stood erect, hard and strong without her assistance, throbbing slightly with the pulse of his blood. She stood up, removed her now soaked panties, and gently climbed onto the bed without waking Calvin. Carefully she positioned herself over his cock, a knee at each side of his waist. Her left hand felt her trim patch of pubic hair; her fingers spread to open her engorged cunt and hold it open. With her right she grasped the towering cock between thumb and forefinger and brushed its head against the inside of her labia. She almost screamed with the need to plunge it deep inside her but bit her lip, hard. She let her body settle just a little, until the head of his cock was nestled in the opening of her vagina. Not quite in, not quite out. She held the position and made sure Calvin was still asleep. He groaned softly and pushed his head back into the pillow but he did not awake. So far, so good. Now the question was, how much could she move, or how little and still attain all her objectives?

Gently her fingers explored the place where their bodies joined. The fingertips of one hand explored the taut skin of his cock, feeling the small pulsing of his blood vessels, the thick channel of his urethra underneath. The fingers of the other hand stroked the engorged flesh of her labia, sticky with the flow of her wetness. She touched the pearl of her clitoris poking its apex from under its guardian folds. The touch felt like fire. Her eyes closed and she let her head fall back. She sucked in a breath and held it, brought her hand up to her mouth and bit into it to keep from screaming with delirium. Her thigh muscles quivered with the effort of holding her body rigid, in one place. For a long moment she remained motionless. Her complete attention was centered within her; even without a cock buried deep, she felt the trembling waves of a small orgasm ripple through her pussy. Underneath her, she felt his buttocks tighten and then the nudge of his cock seeking further entry. Quickly she glanced at Calvin’s face. Its expression was one of concentration but he was still asleep. Carefully she touched her button again, circling it with a moist fingertip. Excitement flashed through her. Time to go for broke. Her finger strummed at her clit, her thighs trembled with the strain of holding her in an unnatural position, and her climax overcame her. The fire in her abdomen burst in a hot wave that coursed through her body, consumed her belly, her breasts, her throat, her face. Then came a series of smaller waves, like breakers rolling on the seashore. She found she’d been holding her breath and gasped. Yes. This was the fulfillment she had needed. With care and contentment she glanced down at Calvin’s face. He was still asleep! A trace of perspiration had gathered on his chest and his groin was sticky with her secretions, but he still slept. She felt one thigh threaten to cramp and carefully climbed off his body, off the bed. She scurried to the bathroom.

After she had cleaned up she came back with a warm wet cloth for him but he had turned on his side and she was afraid he would wake if she moved him. She glanced at the clock. Damn! If she didn’t rush she would be late for work. This morning escapade had taken more time than she’d bargained for. She slipped her uniform over her head, and fastened it, slipped white loafers on her feet. No time for makeup. She dumped a few necessities into her purse. Socks! Panties! She grabbed some items from her drawer. She’d have to put herself together after she arrived at work; right now she had to catch a bus or be late and have to give a reason.

As she dashed for the bus stop she felt a trace of her fluid seep from her sex. I hope it doesn’t stain she thought. Even so, she smiled with contentment. Before going home she would have to find a way through the emergency department, ask him if he had had any good dreams this morning.




Tuesday, July 21, 2009

A Gift of Grace



On the first truly beautiful day of May, a Wednesday, Melissa Burnett and Jimmy Stanski walked home together after school.


She’d been watching him for months now, ever since he had taken the seat across the aisle from her in English class. She knew who he was of course, and where he lived; her own kid sister hung out with his kid sister. He was one of the ‘serious’ students, not much for sports or extracurricular activities but willing to help others with questions about class or homework. She found herself watching him surreptitiously. Sometimes he smiled. That smile did something extraordinary to his face. Melissa couldn’t explain what it was, not even to herself. She fell in love with his smile.

She tried to draw his attention in little ways, hoping he’d notice her and perhaps speak to her. Often she’d smile at him. Once he smiled back and she turned all fluttery inside. She watched him walk away without being able to say a word.

A group of students, about half a dozen, got into the habit of walking home together after school. Melissa was one of them. Occasionally Jimmy tagged along. But this Wednesday there was no group. When she saw Jimmy take off on his own, she impulsively called out to him.

“Jimmy! Wait for me!”

He turned and waited, watching her as she fumbled with her backpack and the sweater she didn’t need now the day had turned warmer. It felt strange to be alone with him. She didn’t know what to say so she babbled about school and people. Anything to avoid a long silence she knew would be too uncomfortable. If ever he said a few words, she didn’t notice but just kept on with her chatter. When her mind finally stopped feeding words to her mouth she paused, stood still as she felt a slight blush creep over her face.

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m silly, just carrying on like that.”

He had turned toward her and she looked up into his face. He was smiling that smile and his eyes seemed to laugh.

“No, I love watching you talk. You get so animated, so intense.”

She began to walk away, not knowing how to take his remark. You don’t watch someone talk; you listen to them, don’t you? Was he making fun of her? That blush that had started earlier began to deepen again. He caught up to walk beside her, seemed to know what she was thinking.

“I’m serious. I love the way your face moves, your hands and arms. Wait. Let me get us a Coke or something at the corner store. We can stop in the park and you can talk to me some more. Or is it warm enough for an ice cream bar? That is, if you don’t have to hurry home or anything.”

Momentarily flabbergasted, she squeaked out “ice cream,” and he loped off to the nearby variety store. As she waited she wondered how this had happened, how a boy who didn’t seem to know she existed was suddenly paying attention to her. What had she been doing wrong? Maybe it was just this being alone with him.

He came back with two Creamsicles and handed one to her. “Come,” he said and turned down the street to the nearby entrance to the park that covered more than a whole city block. A small shiver ran up her spine at the sound of command in his voice. He didn’t look back as she followed him. From this vantage point she watched his body in motion beneath his clothes: not swaggering and self-assured like a jock preening, not hunched and folded around himself like an insecure geek. He walked as if he were comfortable in his skin.

At the gate he waited for her to catch up. “There’s a picnic table in the shade of those old maples in the corner. You can’t see it from here; the place is quiet and sheltered.” He grinned at her, then suddenly became serious. “You don’t have to be home at a specific time, do you? We have enough time for our ice cream, don’t we?”

Her voice seemed unable to form proper sounds. She croaked something and nodded her head. He smiled that smile again and took her by the elbow to guide her down the path. “Come,” he said again.

Her mind was a blank. Her universe consisted of her body and his body, with the center being the point where his hand touched her elbow. I’ll never wash it again, was the thought that crossed her mind and that was just as hastily discarded as too immature. Still, the sense of something awesome lingered. Somehow she found herself sitting across a picnic table from him, watching his smile twist as his tongue swiped out over the Creamsicle and then reform in the silence around them. The only sounds she could hear were the trill of a small bird in a nearby bush and the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.

She was afraid she was expected to say something and had nothing to say.
Was she supposed to ask him about his interests, his family, his plans, his hopes for the future, his thoughts on marriage and children? Oh my god, she thought, I’m losing it. If I open my mouth again I’ll make a complete ass of myself. She bent to hide her blushing face and wrapped her mouth around the ice cream bar.

His voice insinuated itself into her awareness. She glanced at him quickly. His face was serious but he wasn’t looking directly at her, almost as if he were just as uneasy being here with her. She tried to pay attention to what he was saying.

He knew a bit about her through their sisters. He deliberately chose a seat near her in English. He watched her in the halls. He loved the blue of her eyes, how it twinkled when she laughed. She made him feel a little shy, intimidated by her poise.

She felt a deep, regretful, space open up within her. Both of them, it seems, had similar feelings; each was unable to approach the other. If it hadn’t been for Jimmy walking away from school alone today, her leaving at the same time, and her inexplicable courage to call out to him, would they have gone on like that? Instinctively she shifted her Creamsicle to her left hand, reached out her right over the table to him. He took it in his.

This new togetherness, as Melissa thought of it, seemed as familiar as if they had been together for years. Still, it was so unfamiliar. She wondered what she was supposed to do, what words she was supposed to say. “Jimmy,” she began, then looked into his face, unable to continue. Nor did he say a word.

She wondered if she should make a move to kiss him.

She would have to slide off the long seat, walk around the table, and approach him from behind. Or sit down on the seat on his side and slide toward him. Then hold his face and turn it toward hers. It sounded and felt so complicated.

The finished Creamsicle sticks lay irrelevant on the table. Suddenly she let go of his hand and turned around with her back to him. She didn’t know if he was watching her closely, but she was aware she was blushing furiously. Her quick fingers unbuttoned her shirt. With less fumbling than she expected, she unfastened her bra, removed it from under her shirt, and set it aside as if she had practiced the procedure a hundred times. The unexpected fresh air made her nipples stand out. Before she lost her nerve she turned back toward him.

Her open shirt displayed her defenseless chest with its small firm breasts and the hard little nipples. “Jimmy,” she said again and looked into his face. His eyes were focused on what she displayed. The fear that he would laugh at her passed. She took a deep breath and held it.

“Ah, Melissa,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful.”

She watched as his hands reached out to her. She flinched, believing he was going to grab her breasts but he touched her face, one hand on either side, and looked deep into her eyes. “Melissa,” he said again with a tone of wonderment in his voice.

Suddenly she felt panicked, breathless. She stumbled and almost fell getting to her feet as she slid away from the picnic table. Without thought she ran toward the park’s entrance as she attempted to button her shirt. She raced homeward as if a pack of dogs were on her heels. She threw herself on her bed in her room and let herself go, to cleanse herself with tears and deep sobs.

What kind of feelings were these? She felt shame but not really ashamed. She feared she might have done wrong but couldn’t believe she had. Was this attraction love? It didn’t meet the requirements, yet it felt so right. She sobbed into her pillow, unaware of the passage of time.


Much later, she was disturbed by an insistent knocking on her bedroom door. She heard her mother call her name softly. Grabbing for tissues to soothe her sniffles, she invited her in.

“Are you OK, love?” her mother asked. “Jimmy Stanski said you rushed away in a terrible hurry and forgot your backpack, so he stopped and dropped it off. And this.” She held out the bra Melissa had also forgotten in the park.

“Oh, Mom!” Melissa threw her arms around her mother’s neck and the sobbing began again, louder this time. Mrs Burnett held her daughter and consoled her.

“Oh, Mom.” Melissa squeezed her mother tight, spoke into her neck. “How do you know when you’re in love? Really and truly in love?”

There was a long silence. “I think it’s different for every one, dear. And it’s never easy.” Her mother stiffened in Melissa’s tight grasp. “Honey, did you and Jimmy?”

“No! But what if we want to? What if I want to?” She fought to restrain the sobs and tears.

“Melissa.” She turned her daughter’s face toward her. “I trust you, dear. But let’s make an appointment with the doctor. The two of us. And when you feel up to it this evening, we’ll talk.”

They held each other very tight. Mother and daughter. One flesh and, perhaps, one spirit.


Monday, July 20, 2009

This Is The End



“Mr. James! Wake up Mr. James.”

“Get out of here you ugly bitch and leave me alone. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? How many times do I have to tell you it’s not Mr. James. It’s Morrison, Jim Morrison. That’s Mr. Morrison to you. I don’t let fat and stupid old broads get familiar with me.”

The words rang loud and angry in his head but when they reached his million-dollar throat they came out as a long noisy gurgle of phlegm sputtering from his tracheal tube. He didn’t remember how he ever let anyone do something stupid like that to him. Cut his throat and there was a good chance he’d never sing again. Wasn’t it only yesterday he’d been sweating his ass off, on a stage in front of his band shouting down at the little girl faces below him. “Come on baby light my fire!!!” Yeah, their fires had been lit, all right. Those European chicks were OK. But that tall one in Detroit, that was one he’d never forget. Smooth as silk and screwed like a mink. Gave him a hard-on just thinking about the way she ground her ass.

He looked down at his body lying straight and stiff under the bedclothes. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his body. No hard-on. He tried to swing his feet out onto the floor. Nothing happening. Tried to lift his hand. Fuck all. This body under the covers couldn’t be his. It didn’t seem to be attached to his brain. He wanted to scream “What the fuck is happening to me!” but all that happened was more gurgling under his chin. The fat broad in the white uniform asked if he wanted his plug in. He looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. She fiddled around with something at his throat and the gurgling changed in tone. He felt the air brush his vocal cords. “I am Jim Morrison,” he screamed, “lead singer of the Doors!” but it came out whispery and whistling.

“Now, now,” said the woman leaning over him. “Your name is Eldon James. You were born and raised in Flint, Michigan, and lived here all your life. You have been here in the Hillcrest Lifecare Center ever since you had an accident at work three years ago. You can’t be Jim Morrison. Jim Morrison died in Paris, France, in 1971. You are alive in Flint, Michigan, USA. I am your health care aide, Margaret. Today is the tenth day of January in the year 2001.”

Goes to show how much these fools around him knew. He didn’t remember anybody named Eldon James, had never been to Flint, Michigan, and was for sure not dead and buried in Paris, France. Jesus Christ. Why were they trying to confuse him? He was confusing himself just fine, thank you, not being able to remember who had done what to him to get him locked helpless in this place, in this position. And if he was in here, where was the band? Where in hell were Ray and Robbie and John? They wouldn’t let anyone get away with playing games like this. Their livelihood depended on him. Without Morrison, there are no Doors. He tried to wipe his hair off his forehead but again the arm wouldn’t obey.

That aide broad was tapping at his mouth with a spoonful of something. Whoops. The mouth seemed to open automatically. It looked gray and lumpy and had no smell or taste. He started to gag but swallowed and the next thing, there was more of the stuff in his mouth ready to go down. Fuck. If they were going to feed him, feed him pussy. A hell of a lot more satisfying and less fattening. He had to get his ass out of here, phone his agent and apologize, find out where they were supposed to be playing next, except his ass didn’t seem to be his ass any more and he hoped some friend or lawyer would spring him from this joint.

All this thinking, trying to talk and move, even just swallowing the crap they were pushing into his mouth was making him tired. He closed his eyes and wished everyone away.



Coming to life, being born, that kind of trip must have been something like this but, from what he had heard, wet and slimy and a hell of a lot more painful. It was that lasting sense of fear and frustration, of being propelled into an environment not in your own control, somewhere alien. Strange to come to as if from a deep sleep and find two women fussing over him. Not strange that there were two women, that he took for granted. Not strange that they were fussing over him, that was expected; not many women got the chance to touch Jim Morrison’s body. It was just strange that he didn’t remember how this started. He didn’t feel hung over or crashed from a trip, it just seemed that every thing he needed to know or remember was lost in a black hole, sucked out of the universe. “You know who you are,” he told himself. “Now just be cool and find out where and when you are. That’ll give you some sort of handle on this dilemma.”

Right. The air stinks like a hospital. The broads touching and fumbling with him are dressed in what looks like white uniforms. The bed is hard and straight, folded a little because the head can be raised. Ergo. This is either a hospital or the set of a bad movie. One of those broads looked good, tall and blonde and a decent set of knockers; the other looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her. She was short and dumpy, not one he’d let into bed but if she was enthusiastic enough? Down on your knees, open your mouth, worship the body! Shit. That was what was wrong. He couldn’t feel his body. Women had their hands all over him and he couldn’t feel a thing. “What the hell is going on here?” he tried to shout but a hissing whistle is all that came from his throat; his throat, not his mouth. He felt something that might be a touch of panic rise like bile, a disgusting taste he couldn’t keep down, an internal worm from some cheap horror movie.

“Just be patient for a few more moments, Mr. James,” the tall good looking woman spoke at him as if she wasn’t expecting a reply. “ Margaret has gone to get your wheel chair. We’ll get you up and set you in the sun room for an hour or so. Won’t that be nice for a change?” No shit. She had called him Mr. James so that must be the alias he was using here. He momentarily wondered if it was Henry or Frank. He knew better than to try Jesse. Anyway, it never did much good; he was so recognizable. He couldn’t have been here long. Word must not have leaked out yet because there was no sign of security and the nurses were still using his alias and holding back from calling him Jim.

When the other nurse-type person returned with a wheelchair, reclined and nicely padded, both of them moved him to the edge of the bed in preparation to lifting him in. Damn. This finicky maneuvering felt so dreadfully wrong. He wanted to shout, “I’ll do it myself. Don’t treat me like a cripple,” but no sound came from his mouth. He couldn’t feel their hands and arms under him. He could do nothing to stop them from doing whatever they wanted to do. He couldn’t even express his displeasure and his anger. Damn frustrating. Damn damn damn. When they lifted his helpless, worthless hulk of a body into the chair, the taller, younger one took the top part of him. From behind her arms held his crossed on his chest, his shoulders against her rib cage, his head resting in the hollow between her breasts. Surprise! He could feel sensation through the skin on his head and shoulders. He wanted to make some smart-ass remark about resting in the peace in the valley but words wouldn’t come from his mouth. He grimaced. Could feel that too.

In the sunroom they tucked a blanket around his waist and legs and left him to sit there. Behind his back he heard the fat one talking in low tones to the babe. He couldn’t make out all the conversation but did recognize his name, Jim Morrison, mentioned several times by the older one, as if clueing the other one in to the secret. Hell, he must look a mess if a good-looking chick didn’t recognize the brooding face, the pouting lips, the hooded eyes of the Lizard King. And what mother had wrecked his throat? He hoped he’d be able to sing again. “Come on baby light my fire.” Yeah. He would light fires all over this country again. Even in Florida, despite its cops arresting him for pulling out his dick on stage. Bigoted bastards, the lot of them. What was needed now was a plan to escape from this place. And for that, as usual, he needed Ray’s help. He couldn’t remember if the guys knew where he was and when visiting hours were. God, he needed a friendly face, someone to take charge. Ray, get here quickly! This is no place for the evil prince of Rock and Roll. Beside him, an old twisted man slept while belted and strapped into a wheelchair. In front of him at an angle, large windows let in bright light through venetian blinds. Directly in front stood a large television set playing what must be some kind of game show, all gongs and whistled and phony screams and laughter. He pushed his head back where he could feel it against the headrest. Lord, get me out of here. He closed his eyes tight. Slowly the noise and light began to fade, to become the darkness and silence of peace and joy.



He was lying sort of seated on a contraption that seemed to be a hospital bed. Squinting through a thin slit in his eyelids, he saw a female type person waving a spoon at his face. With a figure like that, she should be stripping that white dress and climbing all over his body. Something is wrong here. A woman near him and nobody mentions sex. “O. K. Leave the gear on. Wrap your sweet lips around my bone.” The unnatural hiss at his throat made him cough and his whole body jerked. The stupid spoonful of goo went flying onto the floor. Once again he could only feel his head bounce on the pillow; what should have been his arms and legs, his chest and belly, did a spastic danse macabre without his control, as if it was a marionette dancing on a string to some inaudible song. God, where am I? No, more important, what am I? Listen to me scum, I am Jim Morrison!

When the storm had passed, he remained propped up, eyes shut tight. The tip of the spoon pushed at his lips. The voice wheedled with an infantile whine. “Open up for dinner, Mr. James. I know you’re awake. If you don’t cooperate the doctor will have to put a tube directly into your stomach. Again. You know how you hated the last one.” No shit. Maybe that’s how he got the hole in his throat. Why didn’t they give him a slab of beef and be done with it? He reached up his hand to shove the spoon away and he had no hand. The world has gone crazy and left me behind. Surrendering to the inevitable, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth. I’m a freaking baby bird. Let me fly. Let me sing. The world turned itself off.



He opened his eyes and a sweet young thing was sitting there on the side of the bed jabbering away like a parakeet. Young. Got to be about sixteen, sweet and innocent and impressionable, just the way he liked them. Thank you, whatever fate had brought this into his life! He reached out to grasp her hand, to stroke her arm and slowly bring her closer. First you smell her. Then you taste her. Then you get naked and screw each other’s brains out. That’s the way the world works. Trouble was, the hand wouldn’t reach. Not that she was too far away, the goddamn arm wouldn’t move. He tried to curse and even his fucking throat wouldn’t move, not the way it should. All it did was squeak like a squashed mouse.

And the little school girl kept on babbling about her daddy and mommy, as if those people were supposed to mean something to him. Daddy did this and then mom told him to … and yadda, yadda, yadda. How could she look upon his face and not feel her reason for living. Even if she was a virgin, she should feel the urge to tear of her confining cotton undies and set herself FREE! No woman between the ages of fourteen and forty could sit there and treat him like, like a grandfather for god’s sake.

He tried to focus his gaze on her face but her eyes wouldn’t meet his. She prattled away at a space above his head, as if she was on a mercy mission to some dying old fart. Show me mercy, he whispered in his head. Spread your sweet thighs and show me mercy! The girl took his hand in her own and held it, but it wasn’t his hand, he couldn’t feel it, it wasn’t attached to him, and it looked ancient and withered like it should be reaching out of a grave in a cheap horror movie. And then again, maybe he did feel some pressure, some warmth generated by that vibrant young body, flowing up that arm to his brain. Imagination is a powerful thing. He could feel the energy seeping down to his cock, felt it twitch. He concentrated on the sensation in his fingertips and the connection to his most precious belonging. Aside from his lost voice, that is.

Somehow the hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It slipped from the young visitor’s grasp and fell onto her thigh. Whether through some movement of hers or its own maliciousness, it came to rest underneath the pleated, schoolgirl skirt. It might have been that, when she jumped up in reaction to the unexpected incursion, she moved the wrong way; it certainly couldn’t have been a willful act by her grandfather lying paralyzed and helpless and looking so weird in that hospital bed. Somehow his fingers came to rest where they didn’t belong, between the gusset of her panties and her most private place. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed loud and long and tore herself away.

In the fraction of the minute before he died, Jim Morrison again reached heaven. His fingertips knocked at its gate, the delicate fleshy portals surrounded by soft silk. A familiar roar of blood surged from his heart to his cock and up to his brain. There it exploded in gold and blue and burning crimson before existence turned black.

An aide gathered the weeping, sobbing girl to her, took her to a lounge to soothe and comfort her while the medical staff did what was necessary in the case of a sudden but expected death. Only one of the nurses mentioned in a report the “lascivious” grin on Mr. James’ face at his passing.

Summer Heat


Angela stretched on a chaise longue on the deck of the pool, basking in the touch of warm sunlight on her skin. Sometimes, fleetingly, she wished this place were hers. Well, it was hers, at least for the four months her friends and their two kids would be out of the country. When they had asked her to housesit, she had leaped at the chance.

She had found herself in a position of limbo. The bitter divorce, the desertion by her best girl friend, the empty disregard shown by her employer, all had brought her to a crossroad where she needed to re-evaluate her life. By some stroke of luck she had been offered four months in comfortable surroundings in which to do so. A ranch-style house in a well-off neighborhood. A private swimming pool for her own use. No job, but enough in the bank to cover necessities. Almost as good as a vacation. Better in some ways.

She turned over onto her stomach. Let the sun work its magic on the backs of her legs. She reached back and pulled the bottom of her pale yellow tank top up to the middle of her back and seriously considered going inside to change into something scanty, something to reveal more skin to the sun. No, not this time, but she promised herself to buy a bikini soon. If she worked at it and the summer weather cooperated, she could have a marvelous tan by fall, and with it a new confidence and a better outlook on life. What a simple bikini could do.

Through half-closed eyelids she looked at the surface of the still water in the pool. The reflection of the sky was a brilliant blue. She sat up and considered taking a plunge. No, that would mean having to go inside and changing into her black one-piece swimsuit. Unless, of course, she went in naked. Skinny-dipping. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t done that in years, not since she was a teenager. Hey, who was going to see? Her body was nothing to be ashamed of. Sure, the boobs and butt sagged just a little but that’s what happens over the years. A nice thought. She spread sunscreen on her legs, arms, and shoulders, touched up her cheeks and forehead, then rolled the tank top up to just below her breasts and massaged some into the pale skin of her tummy. That would have to do until bikini time. She reconsidered. After glancing around, she stripped the tank top over her head and deftly unhooked her restricting brassiere. She slipped the straps off her shoulders, pulled the cups away from the heaviness of her breasts and dropped the flimsy flesh-toned garment beside the chaise. Her boobies were naked to the sun and the breeze. She shivered, not from the temperature but from the naughtiness of it. Quickly she slipped her top back on but left it rolled up under her breasts, her belly and back bare to the sun.

She lay back with her eyes closed and concentrated on the sun’s light and heat on her exposed skin. It was different with no book or radio to distract her mind. The occasional slight breath of wind, the hum of a bee in the flowerbed, a trickle of perspiration through the hair at her temple, nothing disturbed the overwhelming sensation of being receptive to the sun. The heat seemed to penetrate deep inside her. She became aware of two things; it made her lethargic, unwilling to move, and it made her horny.

She considered her non-existent love life. The anger and betrayal when the dickhead had moved in with her best girl friend right after asking for the divorce had consumed her, left her with neither energy nor inclination to pursue another man. After the split was final she had let one of the girls from work set her up with a friend but that had not worked out. Sometime soon she would have to make some sort of connection to a supply of single men. Meanwhile, all she could do was dream. And dream she did.

It took a few minutes before she realized just what she was daydreaming about. Suddenly she was aware of the sticky dampness between her thighs, that the images drifting through her mind and the sun on her exposed skin had combined to produce that effect within her body. Oh, boy! She was fantasizing about men, naturally, but young men. Boys almost. She recognized the perceptions even though she couldn’t put a name to them immediately. The thin, almost amoral presence of the lead singer of a local rock group she’d seen at a bar last week. The intense baby-faced actor in a dark film from the past summer. The eager teenage boy from down the street who’d helped her with moving some furniture yesterday. God! She was becoming wet; she could almost feel herself squish as she moved her legs together! She tried to relax, to lie back and enjoy the sun but her hands clutched the side of the chaise longue and her buttocks tightened in such a way that her snug shorts created extra pressure against her crotch. Even the slightest tightening of the muscles in her thighs sent gentle tingles throughout her belly. She let herself languish in the slightly lascivious sensations.

She reached and unfastened the button at the waistband of her khaki shorts. The looseness made her feel slightly more comfortable but now she had to put out an effort to keep her hand from slipping under the fabric, from scratching that deep itch. Don’t think about men, she told herself. Too many of them are like the dickhead: kind and thoughtful until they figured they owned you, then egotistical and inconsiderate when you didn’t want exactly what they did. A complete turnaround in just over a year. Good thing there hadn’t been any kids. Yet. She let out an audible snort, then quickly looked around just in case someone was close enough to hear. Anger and resentment were not things she wanted to explain right now.

So, think about other men, she told herself. They’re not all like that. She caught herself thinking about male bodies, bodies she could use to please herself and discard when no longer useful. Disposable members of the opposite sex. Boy toys.

And boy toys brought her mind right back where she had started. The young actor with the baby face, the thick pouting lips, and that steamy languorous look in his eyes. If he was here now, she’d bite those lips, chew on his face, plunge her tongue deep enough to lick his tonsils, suck the breath out of his lungs. And he would do the same to her. She delighted in the quick shivers that ran down her spine. But then again, that singer with the band. Couldn’t remember his name nor the name of the band but she sure remembered his hands. Saw them sliding up and down the mike stand, imagined them sliding up and down her arms and legs, reaching for other places. That long lean body swaying hypnotically like a cobra on that stage, she could almost feel it sliding and slithering all over her.

And then there was young Paul, so delightfully innocent. She could remember his name. He lived two houses away and was so sweet. Only yesterday she had called him over to help her rearrange some of the furniture in the downstairs den. He’d been polite and helpful, refusing money but willing to accept a soda and sit with her in the kitchen afterward. He’d seemed shy and unwilling to talk about himself much, but she’d caught him a couple of times letting his eyes sneak glances at her breasts. She had pretended to be unaware of his interest but secretly provided several more chances for him to ogle her boobs. And then she had screwed up. She straightened after picking something off the floor and caught his eyes still buried deep under the low neckline of her shirt.

‘Do you like what you see?’ she had asked.

Stupid. You don’t ask such questions when the answer is so obvious. She had embarrassed the kid. He had flushed and stammered an apology, emptied his glass and taken off as if threatened by an unknown beast. She still felt a twinge of shame. That was no way to treat a boy; she’d never done so before, not even when she was his age. Sixteen, maybe seventeen? The age of discovery.

Now here she was, lying in the sun alone. The cool invitation of the pool on the one hand, the unanswerable arousal of hormones on the other. A nasty pickle for any girl to find herself in. Again she considered taking a dip in the pool. No, she would lie out for another five minutes and then go in. Then she would decide whether to change and go for a swim or whatever. Maybe less than five. Her nipples were pushing against her top and her panties were sticky. Something had to be done soon.

She was so wrapped up in herself that she heard no sound until he cleared his throat. Young Paul, the subject of her raunchy little fantasy, stood at the gate to the back yard, hesitating to come in. She swung her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up.

‘Hi, Paul! Come on in.’ She gestured toward a chair beside the patio table.

‘Hello, Miss Wernechenko.’ Still seeming unsure of himself, he sat as she directed. ‘I just came over to see if you wanted any more help, you know, like yesterday?’

Automatically she corrected him. ‘Please. It’s Angela.’ At least it wasn’t Mrs. Dickhead any more. And she had always hated that Ms., that stupid hum with a buzz on it. For better than three years she had been Angie Andrews. Yech! Even the memory left a bad taste in her mouth.

A satisfied grin wiped the momentary frown from her eyes. The boy was back! However stupid and forward she’d been with her too quick remark yesterday, it hadn’t kept him away. Well, even if nothing ever happened between the two of them at least she had a small distraction from the boredom of the afternoon.

‘No, I’ve decided to enjoy a lazy afternoon. Just lying in the sun. No book, no radio. Me and my daydreams. That darn pool is a distraction, though. I’m just too lazy to go inside and change into a swimsuit. Oh, can I get you something to drink? There’s some ginger ale in the fridge. I could make a jug of iced tea or lemonade if you want.’

When he protested that he didn’t want anything, thank you very much, she stretched herself out face down on the reclining chaise with her eyes closed, the sun on her legs and partially exposed back, her arms down at her sides. Paul seemed more relaxed. She asked him a few questions about school, what he wanted to do with his life, any hobbies, any girl friends. The heat of the sun on the back of her thighs became uncomfortable. She shifted a little, pushing her pelvis hard against the canvas beneath her. Her shorts and panties rode up a little, renewing that earlier pressure in her crotch. Damn. She was still damp there. And horny. And the kid was sitting there, only five feet away. She turned her head toward him, keeping her eyes closed.

She wondered if he was entranced by her whole body or if it was just her boobs that fascinated him yesterday. She snuck a peek through her lashes. Oh yes. The poor lad couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While he was talking, he would make an effort to look at the pool, the sky, anywhere, but his eyes always came back to rest on the swell of her behind and the curve of her back, the smooth expanse of her upper legs. Automatically she tightened her butt. The movement sent hot thrills deep into her lower belly. It was more than she thought she could stand.

She watched his eyes glance down and stay down, saw them widen as he checked his breath. Something had caught his eye. Oh no. She let her hand dangle down and it came to rest on her bra, discarded there on the deck in plain sight. Oh no. It wasn’t hard to imagine the effect of a lacy item of intimate apparel on the inquisitive mind of a teenage boy. She saw his face flush, then compose itself with a seeming nonchalance. Well, nothing to do about that. He must certainly know she was braless. Probably wondered if the panties matched. Maybe she should sit up and show him. She felt her nipples harden, tight under the fabric of her rolled up top. This whole situation was uncomfortable. Slowly she sat up and faced him, a playful grin on her face.

‘What do you think of the pool, Paul? Want to go swimming? I do, but it’s really not much fun alone.’ She took a deep breath and deliberately pushed her breasts forward and watched his face while his eyes tried to look anywhere but at those hard tips thrusting straight toward him.

He stammered something about not having a suit, having to go home.

‘I don’t have one. I’m going in. Feel free to join me.’

She watched his face flush, became aware that his hands were folded over his groin. Aha! He’s getting hard! A natural reaction. There was nothing wrong with having a body that could make any man react like that!

Angela turned away from him and stood up. With her back toward him, she pulled the tank top over her head and shook her hair free. Her breasts bobbled on her chest; she turned semi profile to give him a look without being too blatant. Her hands grasped at the fabric at her waist, pushed both shorts and panties over the flare of her hips. She bent forward and pushed them down over her knees, stayed like that for a moment as she imagined the view she presented. Long straight legs. Large, well-shaped ass pushing its pale but firm mass back toward him. Sleek ribcage not quite hiding the dangling fruit of her boobies. More than enough to make a man’s mouth water, make his hands instinctively reach out to grasp and hold. Smiling to herself, she hoped he would join her in the game.

Three short steps brought her to the edge of the deeper end of the pool. She paused to glance into the water, then turned toward Paul, offering him her profile. He hadn’t moved.

‘Are you coming in?’

She turned her back to him and posed. Arms raised, feet slightly spread. Pelvis thrust forward to emphasize her butt. The smooth muscles of her back and shoulders stretched taut. Then she relaxed and let her arms fall to her sides, her feet come together. Don’t be such a showoff. The water is too shallow for a proper dive. She shivered and let her body fall headfirst into the welcoming embrace of the lukewarm water of the pool.

The water felt so good! It was cool enough to soothe the sun-warmed expanses of her naked skin, warm enough to feel pleasant against the tender and intimate areas that had been covered. She felt the bottom of the pool with her hands, let her nipples and belly brush against it as she began to breaststroke toward the other side under water. When she touched the side, she turned quickly, began with a crawl and turned that into a roll. She rolled from her belly to her back over and over again, rejoicing in the fun and the freedom of it. Freedom from the limits of clothing. Freedom from ingrained propriety. Felt the water push at her skin all over with an equal pressure, holding her softly as it set her free. She ducked down, then pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface and reaching for the sun. Immediately she dove back down, felt the air on her butt, kicked her legs up. With her hands bracing her against the bottom of the pool, she waved her feet like the fluke of a sounding whale. God! She hadn’t had this much fun since ¼ well, since the last time she’d gone skinny-dipping. But that time there had been the usual mixed group of boys and girls. This was something you had to share.

Two strong strokes brought her to the edge of the pool where she had left Paul. She stood up in the waist high water, drops running down from her hair and face, dripping from the fullness of her breasts as she raised her arms to the sky. She offered her jubilant body as an invitation to the whole world to join her.

No one was there.

She felt her joy, and the power of it, drain from her. For a long moment she stood there, dejected, wondering what she had done this time to frighten him off. Perhaps he had left to fetch his swim trunks. Maybe if she just waited for him in the pool. No. All the energy that had driven her in her playful frolicking was suddenly gone. The sensual tension that had started it no longer existed. She climbed out of the pool and went into the house to look for a towel.

Her shorts and panties, her tank top, her bra remained lying where they’d been discarded. Forgotten. Empty.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

PICNIC


PICNIC

If anything could be held responsible, it should be that wayward watermelon seed.

However, neither Jaleel nor Mike ever considered the flight of that small projectile as anything but a touch of fortune, something between an irregular introduction and the karmic opening of an unsuspected gateway. Neither one of them had expected anything from that afternoon except to be bored.

The company picnic that summer afternoon was definitely lacking in young people Mike’s age; there was not another guy or girl he recognized present. The only reason he had been unable to excuse himself from going was the need his recently widowed mother had expressed for an escort. His older brother had conveniently made himself unavailable. Mike was stuck.

In mid-afternoon, most of the men were at the ball diamond with a couple of coolers of beer. Many of the women, his mother included, were involved in the games organized for the children. Mike remained seated at a picnic table, nibbling at a platter of sliced watermelon and wallowing in boredom.

A trio of children, dark-skinned as if either Indian or Pakistani, came running by. At the table the oldest one, a girl who looked about fourteen, stopped to straighten out the clothing of the younger two and sent them over to where all the other youngsters were gathered. She sat and watched them trot away. Mike was intrigued by the smoothness of her skin and the lilting accent in her voice. Her black hair was parted in the middle and tied in a ponytail to either side. To hide his obvious interest in one so young, he bit down into the piece of watermelon he was holding. Several seeds spurted away and to his chagrin at least one seed disappeared into her hair.

Offering apologies, he hurried round the table, saw one seed lodged in her hair and reached for it. As watermelon seeds will, it escaped from between his fingers, fell to her throat and slipped down the front of her blouse. Instinctively his hand followed, and then suddenly everything stopped.

Both became suddenly aware of the situation. A strange man had his hand down the blouse of a young lady; certainly a case of inappropriate touching could be considered even though no harm was meant. What’s more, her hand had come up on the outside of her blouse as if to stop his hand’s progress or to find the sticky seed itself. In doing so, it cupped a small firm breast; at the same time Mike’s hand found something that was not a watermelon seed. A firm nipple became even firmer under his fingertips.

Both were surprised, somewhat stunned by what was accidentally happening. She was the first to recover.

“Excuse me, sir. I think the object for which you are searching is no longer there. My name is Jaleel and what you are holding in your hand is my left nipple. Sir?”

Again Mike offered some sort of apology mixed with an explanation, but when he tried to gently extricate his hand from under her blouse she covered it and held it there.

“Oh no, sir. Your hand may not leave that place without an introduction. Whose hand is that on my breast?”

He stammered out his name and the reason he was at the picnic. She finally let him retrieve his hand and with a smile watched his face turn several shades of pink. She paid no regard to his evident discomfort and began to explain her own presence.

She had finished school in India and had come to attend university here. She was staying with an aunt and uncle until she had to take a room in a dorm in the fall.

“Oh yes, Michael. I am not a child as I believe you were thinking. I am a young woman on my own, here as nanny for my small cousins this afternoon assisting their mother.”

As Mike sputtered denial, she simply looked at him and grinned with a sweet sparkle in her eyes. It seemed to him as if she could read his thoughts. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so foolish, and that in the face of such poise. She reached out for his hand and shook it.

“There. That is a much more proper introduction. I am pleased to meet you.” She said nothing about being embarrassed. She patted the seat beside her. “Now please sit down and tell me how you are.”

Caught in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, he was quite speechless. She saw she would not be able to get any rational information or discourse from him and took his hand. “Come, kind sir, walk a small way with me and when you have collected your thoughts, perhaps we can chat.”

* * *

She found a path leading away from the picnic area, up a slope and into a stand of trees. They stopped under one, and Mike squatted down on his haunches. She looked around and sat on the ground, folding her legs under her, under the ankle length skirt she was wearing.

“Please, Michael. Please sit down. It is not easy to talk to someone so high over one.” As he slid down she continued. “ I am very glad that you chased that errant melon seed. I have been watching you for some time this afternoon and wondered how it would be possible to meet you. Aside from my aunt and her family I know no one here. Not just at the picnic but in the whole city. I was feeling somewhat lonely and sorry for myself. I chased the children and made them run about your table. Then you introduced yourself to me. Or, to be precise, your hand introduced itself to my boobie!” She giggled. She moved over and settled between his thighs, resting her head under his chin, taking his hands in her own. “There are two, you know.” She pulled his forearms snug against her sides and pressed the palms of his hands against her chest. She hesitated, then unfastened her blouse and tucked his hands underneath the material, against her naked breasts. Mike’s mind lost any incentive to function normally.

He was confused, unsure of what was expected of him. At any other time, this kind of action had been at his own instigation and persuasion. Should he take over the lead? However, she certainly seemed confident with what she was doing. And what would he change? Here he was cuddled up with a young lady he hadn’t seen before ten minutes ago, a young lady who looked no more than fourteen but claimed to be of age and certainly acted that way. He was holding her naked breasts in his hands, breasts that were warm and firm and seemed created to be held like this. And she continued to talk as if this were perfectly normal.
“I was certainly surprised to see someone like you, such a handsome young man here today. My aunt had given me to believe it would be mostly for the young children. Since she was unable to accompany them, I was given the assignment. I certainly did not expect this.”

She squeezed his hands into her breasts. The continued contact had its effects on the growing presence in his groin. He knew she must be able to feel him pressing into her lower back.

“You are perhaps surprised and wondering at finding a lady naked beneath her clothing? I must explain. Earlier I was playing in the water with the youngsters. When I changed out of my bathing costume, I was feeling naughty and refused to put on again my underclothing. Had it stuck to my bra, perhaps your melon seed would not have slipped down my body and we would not have met in this same way.”

She paused and he remembered his earlier embarrassment. She twisted slightly in his arms and his thumbs rubbed against her stiffening nipples. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Oh, yes. Do that. You have found some things more wonderful than watermelon seeds. Oh, please!”

He didn’t move. She pushed her whole body back into him, from the small of her back against his groin to the top of her head against his chin. In an unexpected move, she crossed his left hand to her right breast and tugged the other hand down under the waistband of her skirt and guided it to her pubis. The hair he felt was curly but not coarse. He still could not believe what was happening. She let both their hands lie there motionless.

“I was telling the truth when I said I was without underthings.”

Mike closed his eyes and pushed his back against the tree trunk. He gave up trying to rationalize in his mind what her hands and body were doing to him. He tried to control his physical responses but could not. Nor could he force himself to pull his hands out of her grasp.

They sat there as one until she noticed a change in the activity of the mothers and children. She sighed, removed her own hands from under her clothing, and made as if to stand up. Quickly, as if an invitation had been withdrawn, Mike removed his.

“It seems that the children’s games are drawing to a close. I must return to my charges. Will you walk back with me?” She stood and arranged her clothing. He took the opportunity to adjust his shorts for comfort, then wordlessly took her hand. Smiling up at him she said, “I must speak with you after I attend to the young ones and before we must leave.”

* * *

She came back to the picnic table where he had settled again with a large straw bag and the two youngsters in tow. She sat and shooed them away.

“Go! Play until your mother comes for us.” In a lower voice she continued, removing the elastic bands that held her hair in the childish ponytail style. She didn’t look at him directly.

“Michael, it is of little importance to me, but would you tell a small part of your background? The children have noticed us and will talk; my aunt will, of course, inform her sister, my mother. I need to put them all at ease because I wish to see you again.”

He took a deep breath. “Jaleel, I too want to see you again. Could I have your phone number?” While she scrabbled in her huge bag for something to write on and to write with, he told her a little about himself. He was the youngest of three children; his father until his death several months ago had been a vice-president of the company sponsoring the picnic; he would begin his second year at the university in the fall. She looked up in surprise.

“But when I said that I would be going to the university you did not mention the fact that you were a student there!” She handed him a business card with her name and a phone number written on the back.

“I think my hands and my mind were too busy with other matters.” He glanced at the straw bag and suddenly wondered if her underwear was in there, lying loose or neatly folded away. He blushed. She smiled, and he noticed again that sparkle in her eyes.

She looked toward the parking lot. “Here is my aunt, now. Come children!” she leaned against him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Please do call. Friday and Saturday evenings are not always free. Perhaps we could go to see a film during the week.” She left without waiting for his promise, hurrying the youngsters before her.

“So I guess the picnic wasn’t a complete waste of time for you,” his mother’s voice teased from behind him. “What’s her name?”

“Jaleel,” he replied, and looked down at the card. “Jaleel Sandujani. She’s from India.” He turned the card over and noticed whose card he held. “I guess her uncle is Professor Mehta, the Dean of Students at the university.”

“So.” His mother placed her hands on his shoulders and watched as the girl shepherded her charges toward the parking lot. “I guess you’ll be seeing her again.” It wasn’t a question, just an observation.

Mike felt the warm tingling in his palms. “Yes,” he agreed.