Plague Life, Part VI

Continued from Plague Life – Part V

“There”, Joyce thought. “I did it.” As if the act to come, whatever it would be, was secondary to her asking for it. She had been afraid she would chicken out.  She’d done it before, with Melissa in college. She hadn’t strung her along exactly, but it could have looked that way. She had wanted Melissa then, just as she wanted Megan now. She had just…chickened out, after some kissing and with Mel’s hand up her skirt sliding down her panties. She had been wet then too. She knew it and Melissa knew it and called her on it later. What had she been afraid of? Whatever it was, she was still afraid of it, but not as much.

Since she had flashed Megan in the garage that night, this-this right now-had been a joke, a flirt maybe, then a fantasy, then a plan. It had taken awhile for Joyce to say it, to give herself over to another with “Do what you want.” And after all the planning, dreaming and fantasizing over the last couple of weeks, she might not have. Might not have said a thing had not Megan allowed her finger to slide between her legs, to discover the same dampness, the same want, the same lust that Melissa had found there years before.

Megan, standing naked beside the bed, wasn’t the kid who babysat anymore. Not even close. Her smile and eager glistening eyes could have kept her attention if not for her small pert breasts, flat stomach and cute little bush that was obviously trimmed. For the occasion? When she bade her turn, she found her bottom full and firm, taut to the touch. “There”, thought Joyce, when Megan snapped the light off.

She lay in the warm darkness having decided to be pliant to…whatever. She had asked Megan to turn and she’d turned. She knew the girl would defer to her, to do whatever she asked. But she had nothing to ask. Not knowing what was coming added a sheen of anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.

The bed shifted as Megan knelt beside her and again as the girl stretched out atop her, breasts pressing into her back and her bush tickling her backside. She allowed her arms to be pulled out to her sides by the wrists and held there, crucified. With her knees Megan pulled Joyce’s legs together and covered them with hers, slowly grinding her pelvis into Joyce’s bottom. She liked being covered but wished for a moment that she was pinned-that she couldn’t move at all.

She let a small sound escape her lips, and Megan answered with a nibble to the back of her neck, still undulating slowly. Megan could taste the goose bumps rising on Joyce’s back and shoulders. She moved down slowly and slipped her knees between her lover’s legs, a wedge opening them. Joyce flowed into the movement, opening and pushing back accepting first her thrusting pelvis then, a leg straddled, Megan’s thigh rubbing firmly into her pussy.

“Oh, God…” Joyce whispered and Megan, as she had with the massage, followed the direction mapped by the sounds. She released Joyce’s wrist and slid her hand enchantingly slowly along her arm, across her shoulder, down her back, across her bum then between her legs. Sliding her own thigh out of the way, Megan slipped a finger easily into Joyce’s wet quim. The move was answered with a soft gasp and a backward thrust giving her the permission to probe deeper and explore freely. One finger, then two then one inside and one rubbing the top. Then a slight withdrawal.

“Roll over.”

When Joyce rolled onto her back, Megan lay beside her, letting her head fall mouth first onto her breasts. She licked first one, then the other, slowly circling the nipples while continuing to slide her finger in and out slowly, keeping a rhythm that Joyce was catching. Abandoning her breasts, Megan slipped her mouth, tongue first down the woman’s stomach, heading for…

“Wait! Wait!” Joyce said breathlessly grabbing Megan’s head.

“What?”

“Ah…” Joyce couldn’t exactly answer as she struggled to sit up.

“What’s the matter?”

“Your fingers are…wonderful. It feels great. You can keep doing that…”

“This?” Megan teased, flicking her finger against Joyce’s obvious and pulsing clit.

“Yeah! Yeah…that’s great. You…you don’t have to go down on me. This is good.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. She was going to chicken out again. Late in the game this time, but still.

“Good for you maybe.” Megan kept her fingertip on the hard, little nub.  “I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you, lick you, flick you, nibble you and stick my tongue up inside of you. I want to squeeze your bum and have your thighs crush my ears till I can’t hear. I want to fucking swallow you. Now”, she pushed at Joyce’s belly with her head like an insistent kitten, “You lay back down and let me do this.”

“Yes. Yes…it’s just that…” Not to be denied, Megan kept pushing with the crown of her head. “OK…ok…” Joyce said breathlessly. She lay back down happy to have been overruled.

Megan led with her tongue down Joyce’s belly, pausing childishly to probe her deep innie, then through the thicket of soft brush to her moist destination. She pulled her finger then, replacing it with her prodding tongue as Joyce moaned and arched her back.

This wasn’t something Megan did every day. Joyce was the third woman she’d gone down on but that made her the most experienced one in the bed. Joyce made it easy. She pulled back her legs and Megan, kissing the inside of her thighs, left then right, then, true to her words, slipped her hands under to cup her bottom, kneading her cheeks as she plunged her tongue into her.

Megan wished there were lights. She was feeling everything. She was tasting everything, and Joyce’s taste was glorious! Megan closed her mouth over her lover’s pussy, sopping as much with her own as with Joyce’s juices. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and chin and loved the rough feel of hair in her mouth and the buzzing clit on her tongue as Joyce’s breath caught and caught again.

She wanted her on an exam table with bright fluorescents overhead to document every crease, fold and freckle, to see the inside of her legs, see the pulsing of the blood and the tweaking of the tendons. Her thumb had slid over Joyce’s asshole and she wanted to see that. And her ass…

“Megan!” It was a ragged whisper. “I’m going to….”

Megan paused a moment, long enough to cough, “Do it!” before diving back into the wet. She felt a shift and heard a flop-Joyce pulled a pillow over her face-then a muffled squeal. The woman arched higher and Megan squeezed the rock hard apples that was her bottom, holding on as Joyce bucked into her, a wave cresting, then crashed with a single spasm back onto the bed with a cough that almost sounded like a sob.

Megan fell with her and pulled her tongue back, breathing for the first time in what seemed to be a long while. She kissed Joyce’s soft inner thighs and slid upwards pushing a little to get Joyce onto her side. She spooned her then, tossing her arm over her shoulder to rest comfortably on her breast, her glistening cheek on her shoulder.

“You okay?” Megan asked lightly next to her ear.

Joyce reached up and squeezed her forearm. “I am SO okay…”

Megan snuggled. “Good”, she said. “Me too.”

“Thanks for not letting me stop you back there…”

“No way I wasn’t going down there.”

“I don’t know why I….”

“Shhh…doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“How’d you get to be so smart?” Joyce asked.

“I’m not. You’re just dumb”, she teased.

Joyce pinched her forearm lightly. “Brat.”

Megan’s heart skipped at that word. She might have said something, but Joyce’s settled breathing put her off. It was the end of a wonderful evening, not time to start something new.

Continued here In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Danny – Part 2

(Continued from Danny)

We spent the day as we had the one before; fishing, swimming, canoeing and ignoring what had happened. Had someone joined us that day, they wouldn’t have noticed anything in the way we acted toward each other. At least that’s how I remember that day. At the end of it, after dinner and a late swim I was sun-groggy, playing solitaire in the main room and Danny was, I thought, reading in his. I thought nothing of it when he called, “Come here a minute”. When I got to his door, the lamp was dimmed by a red bandana over the shade and he was laying on the bed, naked on his belly, ass pointed right at the door. Right at me.

I thickened immediately-to be eighteen again-and noticed a rubber and a small bottle on the tiny square of table beside the lamp. I picked up the bottle of lube. It was brand new-unopened-bought for the weekend.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this yesterday?”

He turned his head toward me and without looking up said, “I didn’t want to scare you off…” His face was obscured by a thick sash of dirty blonde hair, but he was smiling.

I undressed quickly and lay beside him, my stiff cock bumping and rubbing against his leg. He smelled like salt, like the river, like the Ivory soap we kept down the on the dock because it floated. There was no question what to do next-this was not the first time I’d been in bed with someone-but certainly the first time with a guy. Also, the first time with someone who reacted as warmly and lively, to every touch-to every caress. Up on my elbow I traced my hand across the wide shoulders and down the smooth muscles of his back bumping along his spine to the dimples where the deep brown of his tan faded into the soft white mounds of his ass. Below, his hamstrings were tight and practically hairless.

I paused my hand on his rear and squeezed gently, loving the feel of it.  He reached back and covered my hand with his. “Smack me”, he said. “On the butt…”

I did, not hard but hard enough to generate a nice jolt against in my shoulder. He moaned and pushed his bottom toward me. “Again.” I did, and he gasped and lifted his bottom for more cocking his leg slightly to accommodate his hardening. The air left the room as I slapped and slapped turning his bottom an all over pink.

“Use my belt”, he croaked lifting his hips.

“What?” I asked, not sure.

“My belt. Use it!” The thick leather was still in his jeans hanging on the back of the door. I pulled it out and doubled it, snapping it once.

“Right across my ass!” he was breathless, on his knees like a charmed cobra, his face in his pillow. The first lash was limp and met with a “come on…” the second better, sound cracking off the walls. By the fifth he was yipping like a coyote with every blow and my cock was bouncing like a conductor’s baton. He signaled he was finished by sliding his legs backward and collapsing on the bed. I whipped him once more as he squeezed his cheeks together like two hard red apples. I dropped the belt and rubbed his hot, dry bottom.

“This has to hurt”, I whispered.

“It burns”, he said. “Burns good…”

I pulled his legs apart and kneeled between them, back by his feet so I could lean forward and continue rubbing his tortured cheeks lightly. He couldn’t have jumped higher had I touched him with a lit cigarette when I kissed his bottom. “Jumpy?”, I said pinching lightly and rubbing my three days stubble over the heat. His movements spoke eloquently without words.

He wriggled at the sound when I tore open the rubber and gasped when I drizzled the cool liquid onto my fingers and rubbed them over and into his tight asshole. Guided by my right hand, my cock leaned against his opening for a moment. Then I pushed slowly, relentlessly until I was deep inside and lying flat atop him filling my lungs with the smell of him. I nibbled lightly and underhooked both arms trying to catch a rhythm with the old bed springs.

Danny tried to free his right arm-to pull it down. I knew what he was going for and grunted, “Here, let me.” We rolled onto our sides spooning and I took his pulsing cock in my right hand. I didn’t think the bed-the same one I was sleeping on now- would survive our thrusting what with him pushing back as I rammed forward-never slowing pumping his cock. We came close enough to the same time to call it even. He growled, and I growled, squeezing him a little harder than I’d meant to. But he took it and pushed back as we went limp together.

The next day, after washing his sleeping bag in the river, we decided to leave. Maybe we feared what might happen that night, maybe we were out of beer. But we left. The ride home was the same as the ride down: cassettes playing loud and talking about people at school. After a silence about an hour into the ride he said without looking at me. “I enjoyed you fucking me. I really liked that.”

“I did too”, I said.

“And I don’t feel weird about it.” I didn’t answer. “I don’t. Doesn’t mean anything except that it’s just something we did.”

“What about the belt?”

“I REALLY liked that…”

I smiled and tried to affect a rakish grin over the steering wheel but when I glanced in the mirror it was more of a Dr. Sardonicus rictus. But that was it-that was our conversation about the weekend. We spoke no more of it. We didn’t see much of each other too much over the summer and it seemed to be by design. Then fall came and I went to school up north and he went to work. As I understand it, he hated the job and after he got laid off Danny surprised everyone and joined the service. It was a gray September day a couple of years later when word came that he’d been blown-up in Afghanistan.

 

Danny

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(This is an excerpt from a longer piece that might actually be finished one day)

There was never a wonder about why it had happened that day of all days. Never wondered because Danny had obviously planned it, if not in every specific detail, then certainly in general. Neighbors and constant companions since fifth grade and now ready to graduate, we were unsupervised teens ready to leave our childhoods behind: chrysalises on the cusp of becoming something else.  At least one of us was. I thought I was ready, but years of following the lead of coaches and teammates had left me remarkably unable to choose a path for myself. I was the horse that, unbridled and unsaddled, still followed the steps of his master. Which is why I wanted to get away with Danny, my only friend who was not on a team with me or had an opinion to share about where I should go to college.

The cabin was great for that. We came down in the middle of the week because there was nobody around for a mile in every direction. We fished, swam, grilled burgers, now relaxed as dusk fell. We relaxed like most guys did-talking about girls, particularly about Crissy Myers. I had dated her for a hot minute and never got past first base. Danny had hit a home run with her right out of the box and never tired of ragging me about it. Except for today. He’d mentioned it but then let it lie. He seemed nervous-jumpy-his foot tapping vibrating the bench. He couldn’t sit still-got up and paced from one side of the deck to the other.

“You OK, man?” I asked him once.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, he answered but paused with his back to me. He was wearing old gym shorts and an oversize T-shirt that hung low. He wasn’t a big guy-not as tall as me-but not slight. I was on the bench with my legs apart, watching him. He turned and without looking at me, walked up and slipped just inside my knees. Too close, really. His legs were almost touching mine. I was about to say something when I noticed.

“Dude”, I said. “You have a hard on.”

“Thinking about Crissy”, he said.

“I don’t think…” I began but stopped when I looked up at his face. In that second, I saw it. I saw it in his eyes and he looked away quickly knowing that I saw it. But I’d seen it and couldn’t unsee it. It was there. I even saw it on his lips when he wasn’t looking.

“Dan?” I asked.

“It’s your choice,” he said quietly.

“What is?”

He turned away and walked to the railing at the end of the deck. Turning to look at me over his shoulder he unsnapped his shorts and allowed them to fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear and his alabaster bottom glowed in the dim sundown light. He stepped out the shorts to widen his stance and bent over the top rail.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice grabbing.

“It’s here if you want it”, he said.

I didn’t trust myself just then to say anything. I remembered earlier in the day when when we were swimming and he’d rubbed against me underwater. I had pushed off of him and come to the top, thinking nothing of it. But I’d spend the better part of the rest of my life trying to remember or imagine signs that might have foretold what was happening that evening.

“I want it”, he said.

The voice, that plea, rings in my ears today. I don’t know-or didn’t at the time know-if I wanted it. So, I sat. Frozen. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave him out there in a place that had probably taken him years to get to, by himself. The trust he had to feel-or the desperation that drove him-to put himself over that railing were not to be simply dismissed.

While I thought, while I considered, he waited. Not rock still-he moved a bit-up on his right toes, then his left-arching his back slightly then settling. No matter how much I thought, considered, re-thought, re-considered, there was one thing I could not ignore. My dick was pushing hard against the seam of my cut-offs. I looked down almost relieved to have the decision made for me. I stood and dropped my shorts, stepping out of them.

His rectum grabbed me so firmly I panicked for a moment thinking I remembered stories of men locking up like this. Which would have been unacceptable. But no. Once firmly implanted inside him-tightly enough that my legs rubbed his and hipbones pressed his butt-I was able to withdraw-partly and slowly-then slide in again. Then again, picking up the pace each time.

“Oh Jesus”, he gasped over his shoulder, “I love this!”

I pushed his shirt up his back wanting to expose more of him. “Me too”, I said catching my breath and feeling the weight growing heavier deep inside me with every thrust. Me too, I repeated to myself. I stood straight, arching, and looked down, watching his ass take me over and over. Danny’s right arm was working; stroking his penis feverishly.

He came first, with a groan spattering his seed over the trees and shrubs below the deck. Cumming, his asshole grabbed me tighter than possible-a strong hand squeezing-and I shot hard and deep, driving him into the wooden railing and coming up on my toes until the spasms passed and I settled back onto my feet. Then, careful not to touch him anywhere but on the hips, I slipped myself out from between his cheeks, chastely ignoring his soft moan. We went swimming.

That night we smoked the only joint we had and drank two of the six beers we brought along. We were young-today a six pack wouldn’t last the ride down-then it was enough for three days. Neither one of us spoke of what we did as we sat there on the deck listening to the nighttime symphony of insects, night birds and frogs. I don’t think we were ignoring what we’d done by any means, but really didn’t know how to react.  The exercise had felt more athletic than sexual so we, at least I, treated it as such and spent the evening as we had the previous one: talking about school, plans, girls and playing hearts.

(Continuing…)