The evening air was thick with humidity, warning of a summer storm heading our way. A heavy ominous feeling settled on my shoulders. I poured a glass of wine and sat on the porch swing, praying for a breeze, but the air was motionless, stifling. Neither Max nor I had spoken on the drive from the cave, and it seemed the longer we put off talking about what happened, the more awkward we felt. I hadn't seen him since our return and the cottage appeared empty.
I guessed this was Max being true to form. His style was unassertive and I was glad to know that his inattentive attitude wasn't caused by me. Maybe that's what made him safe. The more I got to know him, the more I realized that he wasn't going to press for more--even if I wanted more from him. Max would answer my call if I wanted, and I found that prospect somehow exciting. Perhaps I would be in control for once.
My emotional release in the cave left me quiet and reflective. I felt empty, as if a space had been created by the feelings I released. I wanted to fill the void with something new...something loving. My mind flashed on the moment when Max and I kissed in the cave, and how wonderful it felt to not pull away, to want more. For the first time since...the incident, I wanted more of a man, not less. The feeling was unique and delicious. I wanted to fill the emptiness with that feeling.
The sound of rustling caught my ear. I sat up quickly and turned toward the lake. As the sound neared, I stood to run into the house. Who or what was coming toward me? I wasn't going to wait to find out.
"It's me, Jamie," Max called.
I couldn't see him through the darkness, and I walked to the porch railing. Within moments he appeared carrying a fishing pole and tackle box in one hand and two striped bass hanging from a stringer in the other.
"Sorry if I scared you," he said, setting his pole down on the steps.
"I thought sure it was a mountain lion," I said, trying to act confident. "Looks like the fish are biting."
"Two of them were," He smiled. "Have you eaten already?"
"Yes. I made myself a salad. It's too hot to cook."
"I'm going to grill these," he said looking at the fish. Was that an invitation? I couldn't tell.
"I bet they'll taste great." I was opening the door for him to invite me over, but he didn't walk through. He picked up his pole and tackle box and grinned. Another awkward moment. God, this man was driving me crazy. No wonder Tammy gave up on him.
"Well, I guess I better clean these," said Max, turning towards the cottage.
I didn't say anything as he walked away. I wondered how Margarite handled him...if they were lovers. Did she follow him around and throw herself on him when she was in need? Maybe she cried a lot. That was the only way I had slipped into his arms so far. I chuckled inwardly at the thought of crying to get a man to hold me after years of crying when he did.
Perhaps the answer lay in the file of therapeutic stories. I went into the house and climbed the stairs to the attic. The temperature in the loft was unbearable, and for the first time, I took the file downstairs. I refilled my glass of wine and stretched out on the couch for another read.
The cold woke you. You reached out for him, but his space in the bed was empty. Coming awake, you sat up in bed, and the sheet fell to expose your full breasts. Across the room, he struck a match. An eerie white glow suffused his smiling face. He grinned for a moment before lighting the candle.
"Get dressed," he said.
"What time is it?" you asked.
"It's going to storm. Get dressed."
You turned and glanced at clock--3:00 AM--the nether reaches of the night, the time when only mad men and stray dogs roamed. You pulled the covers over your naked skin.
"Time to sleep."
He stood, and you saw he was already in his jeans. His smoothly muscled, hard chest flashed orange in the light. You remembered his chest, his small nipples, how you made love after swimming.
"Get dressed," he repeated.
Although he still smiled his voice left no room for debate. Despite any misgivings, you slipped out of bed and began to gather your clothes from where he had tossed them.
"Where are we going?" you asked.
"Outside."
You were tying your Nikes when he blew out the candle. You felt more than saw him as he handed you a sweatshirt and led you out of the cottage.
Outside, the night air seemed leaden and still. He smiled and led you across the drive toward the woods. He seemed to know what he was doing, and you walked by his side. In the distance, you heard the faint rumbling of...thunder.
The woods were dark and close and the path narrow. You could barely make out his broad shoulders as you followed. Weeds and limbs brushed at your sides, forest fingers that impeded your passage. You didn't dare fall behind. Lost in the woods at night? No, you didn't like that thought at all. Thunder growled closer. The faint after-image of lightning filtered through the trees. Limbs stirred in whispers, heralding the oncoming storm. A trickle of autumn leaves fell around you.
The path wound down, and he grabbed your hand to help you across a slippery log that spanned a small creek. The wind rose as you wound up the other bank. Lightning began to light up the sky. Thunder broke over you in building waves. The wildness of the night began to affect you. Nature's fearsome energy electrified the forest, the woods. Your body absorbed some of the dynamo, the whirling, swirling storm that rushed toward you.
At the top of the ravine he stopped beneath a huge oak, a tree that hand in hand you couldn't reach around. Lightning arced across the sky. Thunder exploded. The wind freshened. He took you in his arms, pulled you tight, and kissed you. The power of the storm infused his kiss as his tongue wormed greedily into your mouth. You felt his hard cock against your belly, and your nipples rose in anticipation. His hands slipped under your sweatshirt and roamed your skin to cup your breasts. Fingers twirled full nipples through your bra, and you rubbed yourself against him. He broke the kiss to pull off your sweatshirt, and while he kissed your throat, he unhooked your bra. His lips and tongue slipped down your chest to your right nipple, and small teeth teased you. You grabbed the back of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, raking your long nails along his back.
The storm closed with you. Lightning flashed closer and more often. Thunder roared over you. A rain of oak leaves showered on you as he unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans and your hair whipped past your face. As your hands slipped inside his jeans, you grabbed his cock, hard and tight under his Levis. You squeezed as you knew he liked, and his teeth nipped the side of your breast. Panting, he dropped to his knees in front of you and wiggled down your jeans, burying his face in your panties. A chill breeze zipped past, and you shivered against him. His fingers hooked your panties, and as he pulled them down, he kissed you, letting his warm tongue slip through your silken thatch.
You felt a raw excitement overwhelm you. The storm fueled his desire as you felt yourself grow moist, as his tongue probed deeper. You moaned, and placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him to the ground.
Lightning lit the hill, and thunder clapped around you, and in the strobe-like atmosphere, you unzipped his jeans and removed them and ripped down his briefs to free his hard, hot cock. You bent over and took him in your mouth, savoring the pulsating energy in him, the musky smell. You felt him tense as you licked the long shaft, your tongue as delicate as a firefly. As you pulled back, you stopped. In the maelstrom around you, you studied his body, his hard chest, his hairy thighs, his cock like a tower straining to grow. His eyes studied your body, your face, and he smiled, and you smiled.
Naked desire throbbed inside of you as you mounted him. Feeling the hard cock slide deep inside, you gasped with exquisite pain and grabbed his shoulders. A burst of icy wind washed over you, and you shivered as he reached up to squeeze your breasts. Lightning blasted around you; thunder deafened you. The summit was alive with untamed power. You began to move atop him, stroking him, stroking yourself, pleasuring both with your moves. As the first large, cold rain drops pummeled, you she felt him thrust deeper inside, his desire surfacing.
The wind shrieked. Lightning turned night into day. Torrential rain washed over you, soaking you, running down your bare skin, but you hardly felt it. You locked onto him, thrusting and roiling and building the need suffusing your body. You felt him grunt with every thrust, and you understood how Adam and Eve must have felt on their first night away from Eden. The danger heightened the thrill of your joining. The storm echoed your raging desire. Ignoring the stinging rain, you felt the explosion welling up inside you. His fingers twisted your engorged nipples, and your cry was drowned by thunder. You clawed his chest and could only sense his bellow. Like primeval creatures, you let lust overwhelm everything as you bounced five, ten, a dozen times.
Your orgasm was as powerful as the tempest. Every fiber of your body, every muscle, every nerve locked onto his own eruption. You felt him shudder inside, his body condensed into the shaft locked within your own being. Everything seemed to pause, the lightning, the thunder, the wind. They were shaft and pocket, milking and being milked, the bare essential of human sexuality. You had never lost your soul quite so totally, as if your mind had shut down to allow your sex to dominate everything.
Then, as his shudders decreased in intensity and heat, the storm returned. Rain lashed as you collapsed on top of his hard chest. He kissed you tenderly, and rolled you over that he might protect you with his bulk. Rain dripped from his nose onto your cheek. You shivered together under the dripping Oak. Already, the worst of the storm had passed, and you knew you wouldn't stay long in the cold rain. Yet, you wanted to hold onto him a bit longer, to savor the utter release you had achieved. You wanted to thank him for recognizing the storm and its role in your lovemaking. You bit his shoulder softly. He kissed your neck.
In a little while you would return to the cottage, in a little while.
I grabbed for my wine to quench the thirst that had risen in my throat. These stories couldn't be about Max. Now that I knew him, it was obvious Max would never be aggressive enough to take Margarite into a storm. He would never demand that she get dressed so he could roam the woods at night and make love in a tempest. No, that wasn't Max's style. Were the stories merely Margarite's fantasies? Were they about another lover, someone nobody ever knew, some late night visitor? No matter who they were for, they were intoxicating. My body relished the images bouncing about my brain. Lust and passion and gentleness all wrapped into a picture perfect love. I picked up the next story.
The car moves swiftly through the night, twin headlamps carving cones of light in the dark. The faint light from the dash washes over your pretty face, highlighting the beauty. The highway is practically deserted. You are alone in the night, driving, pushing. No, not alone. He's with you; he's always with you. You can see his handsome face, his dark eyes, his strong arms and shoulders. He's never far from your thoughts. If you closed your eyes, you would see him clearly, his smiling face, his happy face. But you don't dare close your eyes. You have miles to go before you meet him--or do you?
You glance right and you can see his outline, how he sits and watches you as you drive. You like the way he watches. You can see the love in his eyes, the desire. You know this man will never ignore you, never turn away, never grow tired of you. Even on this dark, deserted highway you can see him, feel him. It's as if his spirit has been transported to your car to help you home. You can see him asleep on the couch, a slight smile on his face, but his essence, his spirit rides shotgun with you. Yes, he's there. You smell him, the scent of him that you like so well. God, what a smell! Goose bumps ripple up your arms. You love that smell.
He doesn't speak, but you feel him edge closer to you. He leans across the console and lays a hand on your leg. His hand is warm, his fingers firm on your thigh. You know your skin excites him; it always does. You feel his fingers massage your thigh, wringing pleasure from touching you. You have felt him a hundred times before, and every time is as potent as the first, those fingers touching, kneading. Your lower lip quivers slightly. You regrip the steering wheel. His touch is tantalizing and stimulating, and you sink a little deeper into the seat. With practiced ease, you engage the cruise control. The car powers through the night on its own, a tamed beast.
To your right, you see him smile. You feel his hand crawl up your thigh and under your skirt. The fingers know your skin, your muscles. The hand sends a rush of heat through you, and you know you've begun to respond. You feel yourself grow moist. You pray his fingers will soon find you and love you. You don't wait long. His hand finds your panties and grooves them into you, soaking up your own hot juices. You shudder with barely restrained emotion. You want him so much. As his fingers move up and own across you, you spread your legs. You want him to take you quickly, but he knows how to make you last and love. You sip breath through pursed lips. His fingers pull aside your panties and slip along your wetness. Your body thrusts spasmodically against his touch. Your body wants to drink his fingers, absorb those wonderful feelings.
His fingers do find you and sink into you, touching the places that he knows so well. You move against him, wanting his touch to fill you. Your body grips and regrips his fingers, pulling them inside, loving them. Your breath comes in gasps. His fingers begin to move with speed and strength. You thrust against him, but his fingers do the work. Rubbing, touching, stroking. You grab his biceps and squeeze, and his fingers rush inside you, faster and harder. "Faster," you whisper, and his fingers oblige. Your body soaks his hand, running over him. You feel your orgasm rushing forward like some huge truck roaring unchecked down a steep mountain. His fingers work at fever pitch, and you know the leviathan is unstoppable. It gathers speed and power.
"Don't stop," you whisper. He doesn't. His hand doubles its pace, and the truck is close now, rumbling through the night, tearing through the air, a mammoth thing that crushes everything in its path. Your body clamps and gushes. The truck horn blares. You have arrived as your body spasms against his fingers. For some part of a mile your body locks on him and pleases itself.
Then, the rush stops. Your body relaxes. You unclamp, and his fingers withdraw. But your body is soaked, and the skirt beneath you is soaked. But you don't care. He came to you, and he loved you, and the remaining miles will be short. When you reach him, he will know he's pleased you. Yet, he'll be ready to please you again, and that is what you wish. Another chance at happiness.
The car slices through the night. You sigh. He knew you needed him, and he came to you. You're happy.
I closed the file and left it on the table next to the couch. No, these stories didn't sound like the Max who allowed a pretty, desirable woman leave town. He wouldn't reach over in the car and stroke a woman. He couldn't even buy her a beer in a bar.
The wetness between my legs tickled, and I rubbed my crotch against the stem of my empty wine glass. Maybe Max was the perfect guy for me right now. He certainly wasn't going to press any further than I wanted to go. Maybe I could let him relieve the aching...this need ignited by Margarite's stories. If I were brave enough and strong enough, then maybe, just maybe Max would be the tool to fulfill my desire. Warm flesh would be good, wouldn't it?
I went into the kitchen and poured the last of the wine into my glass. Smoke from the grill drifted through the kitchen window, and I walked out the back door towards the cottage. Max was leaning against a tree with a long-neck beer in his hand, watching the grill, the red coals that he didn't want to become flames. He had taken off his shirt, and I stared at his naked chest -- such a masculine chest. He turned to me as I approached.
"That smells great," I said, coming up next to him.
"Does that mean you want some?" He certainly had a lot to learn about catching a hint.
"Actually, I would like to try some...if you don't mind?"
"No..." Max suddenly realized his rudeness. "I would love your company, and I could never eat both of these."
My head was spinning from the wine. I leaned against the side of the tree next to him. He looked at my glass, and then my face and grinned.
"What?" I asked as he chuckled out loud.
"You look a little toasted, Jamie."
"Really?" I said, giggling more than I wanted to. "I think it's the heat. I'm not used to it."
"It's easy to drink too much when it's hot." He walked to the grill and turned the fish before looking back at me.
"Wine tastes like ambrosia, Max, the food of the gods." I winked as he came back and leaned against the tree. I rubbed the lip of the glass seductively over my lips as he watched. God, I wanted him to take me into his arms and kiss me like he had in the cave. Couldn't he discern desire when he looked into my face. He had to know that I was flirting. I didn't think I could be any more obvious. What kind of man was he? Was he so scared he couldn't even try?
He made no move towards me, and I was determined to feel his lips on mine. His eyes never left my lips as I caressed them with the lip of the glass. When I was certain that I had him entranced, I lowered the glass and stepped closer. I reached out and traced my finger along the curve of the muscles on his chest.
"Do I have to cry to get a hug, Max?"
He pulled me into his arms. "No, Jamie."
I melted as he engulfed me and pulled my face into his furry chest. His maleness intoxicated my desire, and I knew I wanted more than a hug. I looked into his face and stared at lips inches away from mine. How I needed a kiss.
"Oh shit," yelled Max letting go of me. The grill was blazing out of control and threatening his fish. He grabbed a squirt bottle and expertly put out the flame before checking the fish. "I think they're done," he said, smiling at me. He grabbed a potholder and carried the rack holding the fish into the cottage. I followed, trying to extinguish my own flames shooting out of control.
The cottage was neater than I expected. The kitchen and living room were separated by a long bar and four stools. An overstuffed couch dominated the living room along with a rocking chair, coffee table, and one side table. An oak wall unit held a television, stereo, and an array of books.
"Not as fancy as your living quarters," he said as if trying to read my mind.
"I like it," I smiled at him. "Feels very comfortable...like you." He busied himself with shifting the fish onto plates and setting them on the counter. I moved deeper into the cottage. Something about this unassuming man intrigued me. How did he manage so well without a woman? How did he meet his needs? Did he have needs? Were there men without those base, animalistic urges?
The door to his bedroom was slightly ajar, and I peeked in to see his unmade bed. I flashed on watching him take off his pants too near the open window, that tight, thin butt. Now it seemed I was closer to that voyeuristic moment. Trailing that thought was the sound of him coming to climax in the middle of the night, those pants and groans of release. I turned quickly and walked back to the kitchen.
"I didn't have anything elaborate planned to go with the fish," said Max, reaching into his refrigerator. "Some left over slaw and a loaf of bread."
"That's fine," I said, taking the slaw from his hands. "I'm here for a taste test. I'm not that hungry." Not for food anyway, I thought.
We sat on stools. I cut a piece of French bread and handed it to him. He held my eyes for a moment before turning to his plate.
"Can I ask you some questions about Margarite?" I cut myself a slice of bread and picked up my fork.
"Sure," said Max chewing on the bread. "Watch out for bones by the way."
"Thanks," I pulled the fillet apart slowly with my fork. "Did Margarite have lovers?" If that question didn't hit a nerve...nothing would. Max stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't know...I'm just curious. Seems she might get lonely out here all by herself."
"There were a couple of guys that she went out with from time to time. But nothing serious that I ever knew about." That answer didn't support my theory about her stories.
"What about before you got here? Did she ever talk about anyone from the past?" Max stared at his plate and thought a moment before shaking his head.
"Not that she told me about. You're mom might know more about her past than me."
"Yeah...but I don't think Mom would tell me the kind of stuff I want to know."
"What kind of stuff?" asked Max.
"Oh...nothing," I said smiling. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence as we both kept to our own thoughts. I was afraid too much quiet would bring back the awkwardness we had experienced earlier in the day, and I pressed myself to resume the conversation.
"This fish is great," I said.
"Thanks. Grilled bass is as near to heaven as I figure I'll ever get."
"Bass and Chardonnay. Almost as good as sex." I was feeling brave sitting next to him. I swung my stool around until my leg touched his. He turned his seat towards me and finished his beer. I emptied my glass of wine and slid the glass across the bar playfully. Max snatched the glass before it tumbled to the floor. His smile said he liked games sometimes.
"It's hot in here." My voice was strong...almost commanding, shocking my own ears.
"I think you're right," answered Max staring at me.
"How about the dock? I bet the stars are gorgeous, and it's probably cooler."
"I probably shouldn't let you get close to the water."
"What do you mean," I laughed. "Afraid I'll fall in...or want to swim?" Max raised an eyebrow in disbelief and began to clear the dishes. I grabbed the bread and slaw and carried them to the counter.
"Here," said Max handing me a can of bug repellent. "The mosquitoes are biting."
I grinned, squirting my legs and arms with cool, pungent spray. Max walked to a closet, pulled out a blanket, and came back to the kitchen door. "I think we better stay on solid ground tonight," he said opening the door for me.
We started towards the lake, and Max picked a spot clear of trees and spread the blanket. Bright stars filled the night sky. I sat on the blanket and gaped at the panoramic view.
"Wow," I sighed taking in the thousands of sparkles. "Thanks. In the city, you see maybe two stars, and one of them is really a planet. This is magnificent."
Max was silent as he laid down on the blanket and cupped his hands behind his head. He looked handsome. His bare chest begged to be kissed. I pulled away my eyes and looked to the stars. If anything was going to happen, I would have to make the first move. I knew that. But could I actually try a gambit? Could I take what I wanted? Could I restrain him once I stoked that fire? What if I started a conflagration and then tried to extinguish it? Max would understand...at least I thought he would.
"This is romantic, don't you think?" I said leaning on one elbow and looking at Max.
"I think you've had too much to drink, Jamie."
"I have not!" I protested. "Three glasses hardly constitutes a drunken woman. I'm comfortable, and I just happen to find you attractive at this moment."
"I don't want to hurt you, Jamie," said Max.
"I don't want you to hurt me either, Max. I was hoping you could help me."
"Help you?"
"Help me overcome my fear of men...of letting a man touch me. I felt safe with you in the cave. I was hoping..." I couldn't say more. The whole frustrating situation was about to drive me mad. I had already said too much. I pulled away, and he let me. I expected him to want me, but he seemed oblivious to me, to my needs. I turned and stared hard at him.
"Do you want me, Max? Do you find me attractive?"
"Yes." His voice was soft. "But I don't want to disappoint you." He reached for me, and I shied away automatically, my body betraying my willing mind. He lowered his hand.
"Max, I want you too, but if this is going to work, you have to do everything I tell you. Can you do that?"
"I...I think so."
"Because if you can't, if you can't control yourself, then I don't know what will happen."
"I'll do what you say."
"Watch," I said. I stood and started to strip, and his eyes feasted on my body. I didn't try to be provocative or even suggestive. I merely stripped, slowly. The slowness wasn't intended to arouse; I was fighting the urge to sprint for the house. As I unhooked my bra and let my breasts drink the night air, I saw Max's mouth drop open. My nipples rose automatically, tickled by the breeze The wind felt so good and I paused a moment to let it dance over my skin. The zephyr felt like tiny skis racing over the mounds of my breasts, up an down, lightly and quickly. The feeling was delicious. Levis wiggled over my hips, and I kicked them away. I considered kicking them at Max, but he would have caught them, and he might have done something then, something to frighten me. Even in the dark, I could see the bulge in his jeans, his growing need.
I had never seen a near-naked woman, moonlight reflecting off pure white, silk panties. Yet, I could see from Max's gaping mouth that the image was both beautiful and stimulating. He practically salivated before me, rubbing his ass on the blanket like a dog in heat. I smiled at him, and let him wallow in the beauty of the moment. Then, with more bravado than I felt, I pulled down the panties and pushed them away.
Max moaned.
The warm breeze licked at me, and I was surprised to feel cool as the air found my wetness. The feeling was unlike anything I had ever felt before, a hot breath that actually cooled, an exquisite feeling. My heart beat a little faster. My body served up an extra dose of hormones. A need like a flower took root deep inside my body. The sprout poked through the layer of permafrost I had taken for granted and began to grow.
"Take off your pants," I told Max.
Max was neither fast nor slow. He was methodical in unsnapping and unzipping and pulling down to expose his erection. His stiff cock stood like a flag pole casting a dim shadow in the moonlight. I found the image both stimulating and repelling. I wanted that stiff thing inside me, and at the same time I hated it, the thing that had hurt me before.
I hesitated in front of him, a war raging inside me. Which side would win? A voice told me to grab my clothes, race to the house, and double bolt the doors. Another voice whispered that pleasure and release waited for me, that not every man was the same, that some men could overcome their base urges and please a woman. Was Max such a man or would the beast inside rise like some Mr. Hyde and overwhelm his better feelings? Did I risk an encounter with that stiff thing bobbing with desire in front of me?
"Put your hands by your sides," I said.
Max obeyed.
I straddled his chest, and I was so wet I thought I might drip on him. I could see his face below my full breasts, my hardening nipples. I glanced over my shoulder at that thing which I both feared and wanted.
"I want you to use your tongue," I said. "No touching unless I tell you, understood?"
"Yesssss," his voice was almost a sob.
I lowered myself toward his face. I watched his hands ball into fists by his side as he battled the need to touch my skin. I squatted inches from his lips, the tongue I yearned for. I could feel his hot panting on my most delicate parts. I knew what torture roiled in his blood. I knew my own heat washed over his face, my scent like a siren's song beckoning him. An animalistic cry escaped his throat as if torn from the depths of his soul. My nipples seemed too large and hard to be real. Yet, I hesitated. The next step committed me to something, and I wasn't at all convinced I was doing the right thing. Could Max control himself?
"Want me?" I whispered.
"Oh god, yes."
"No hands," I reminded him.
Life is defined as a series of moments, instants in time that leave a lasting impression. For me, life consisted of a new pair of ballet slippers, a closed-lip kiss behind a tent at country fair, a front page feature story in a college newspaper, a man's angry bellow telling me I would do exactly what he said--and now a moment frozen over Max's hungry mouth, a moment of passion and expectation. I would have other moments but none exactly like Max that night.
When I felt neither of us could wait a moment longer, I lowered myself to him, to his eager tongue. I gushed the moment the slender tip touched me, and I wondered if a man ever drowned under such circumstances. I didn't wonder long as that zestful, little creature began to probe me, lick me, cavort along me like a kitten chasing a ball of yarn around a room. The tongue darted and stroked and lingered, and when it found my clit, I moaned. As if on cue, the tongue feasted on me, roaming and teasing and always heightening the desire. My chest heaved with emotion. I squeezed my nipples, and god help me, I moaned. I moaned so loudly I drowned out the crickets. That tongue twirled and tantalized until I wanted to scream with unmet fervor.
"Your finger," I gasped.
Max either didn't hear or didn't understand, for he did nothing.
"Your finger," I repeated.
He pulled away and ran a forefinger along my lips.
"Don't stop," I said. "Finger and tongue."
The tongue pounced on my clit with gusto. Max's finger stroked and probed, and I found myself hunching that finger, squeezing it with all the pent-up desire of my life. My body felt on fire. My skin burned. I raked my nipples with my nails and began to hunch his tongue and finger like a machine, a powerful engine driving my hips and body. I couldn't believe how good it felt, how right. My juices sloshed over his hand and face. My breath came in ragged sobs. I knew Max wanted to grab me, turn me, set me on his hardness and pump me till he burst.
But I couldn't allow that.
Faster I hunched, faster moved his finger. His tongue played my swollen clit like a piano virtuoso. For one insane moment I wondered if I could have an orgasm even in this way. Was I so afraid of men that I couldn't even enjoy this? That tiny fear was wiped away by the orgasmic surge that crashed through my body. My nerves fired like a million tiny firecrackers. My muscles milked his finger with repeated contractions. A deep grunt escaped Max, and I felt his hot seed on my back. Max had achieved release too, his cum slowly sliding down my skin. A black umbra of release stole my sight, and for those instants I was lost to reality. I drifted in the nether world of total surrender. My mind blanked. I was at peace.
When the world brightened, and the crickets' song burst upon my brain, I rolled away from him. I panted on the blanket. He reached out, but I stopped him.
"No touching," I repeated.
He understood. I knew he wanted to hold me, comfort me, kiss me, but I was not ready for that intimacy. Perhaps in time, perhaps in time.
"Thank you," I said. "You were wonderful."
"Thank you," said Max. "So were you."
The stars twinkled, the breeze cooled my fevered skin. Suddenly I wondered if I had taken a step forward or backward. "That's more than I've been able to do with a man in over six years," I said finally. "It probably doesn't seem like much to you, but it was a big step for me."
"I'm glad I could help," said Max half smiling, half grinning. I laughed back at him and grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked pulling on my shorts. "I mean... letting me call the shots?"
"No," he laughed. "I found it kind of... exciting."
"So I noticed," I said looking at his limp cock resting near his thigh. He had made no moves to put on his clothes and I wondered if he was waiting for more.
"I never realized I could come like," he said looking up to the stars and then back at me. "It was very intense."
"So, we're going to keep this as a clinical thing right?" I said wanting to set the ground rules. "No weird relationship kind of stuff..."
"OK," grinned Max. "I promise not to write you any corny notes."
"Thanks," I said kneeling by him on the blanket. "It's more important to me to have your trust and help with this sex stuff than it is to fall in love." I bent and kissed him tenderly on the cheek and then a quick peck on his mouth.
"Will you let me know when I can use my hands again?" he asked coyly. He was gripping his thighs and I could see the beginnings of an erection.
"As soon as you hear the screen door close behind me," I grinned back at him. "Good night, Max."
"Good night," groaned Max as I walked toward the house. I knew that he had hoped to bury that big cock of his up inside of me, but I had taken a big step tonight and I wasn't going to risk it. I needed to let this experience sink in before I went any further.
©Copyright 1996 - 1998 Angela Preston. These stories may not be reprinted in any form without written permission.