by L. A. Zoe
Deeper and deeper he pushed inside. Slowly, but unstoppable as the tide.
At the threshold, my muscles tried to close, but only clenched his glorious girth, sending thrills far into my brain, where I forgot my name and everything except the need to take in his flesh, to welcome his manhood, to wrap him with my entire body.
Every inch resisted, then loosened and gave him entry, and rubbed his shaft, until finally he stopped just short of my cervix.
Because of the shock of him so far within me, I could barely breathe.
I could think of nothing except worshipping it. Him. Himself within my most sensitive middle.
So I braced my feet on the mattress, and raised my hips, enough to rub him deliciously.
Rhinegold moaned, and lay just over me, kissing, elbows braced.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and raised my hips farther, faster. Over and over, and Rhinegold picked up the motion, twisting, and thrusting.
We ground ourselves together as fast as we could, reduced to grunts, slithering reptiles, hunching madness fever.
And when I finished, just before Rhinegold, stars and suns and moons spun around me, and—just for an instant—I remembered everything that happened in Riverside Park that morning, but then I forgot it again, lost in a swirling vortex of irresistible ecstasy.
Afterward, we lay in each other arms, alternately dozing, talking, and cracking jokes.
I marveled at my good luck.
Against all odds, we had met, become friends, fallen in love, had problems, overcome them, and now faced a wonderful future together.
Sure, we had lots of work to do. Books to read. Classes to attend. Homework problems to work out. Papers to write. Not to mention low-wage jobs to suffer through, because we didn’t want to depend on his father for financial support.
And when we graduated, we’d have to look for good jobs. Then maybe get trained. Learn to perform. Get better. Assume more responsibility, to get promoted.
Maybe risk money on starting his business.
Not to mention raising a family.
But that was life. It used to frighten me, but that lazy afternoon, I gave thanks for it.
A drunk driver stole it from JaeSea, and I could have died just as easily.
I owed it to my sister to live for her as well as myself, because she couldn’t.
After a time, he dozed, making a low, rough purring sound as he inhaled. I watched him, amazed and grateful such a strong, handsome man even looked at me twice.
Maybe, if he hadn’t spotted me by myself walking the Red Line just outside Riverside Park in the middle of the night just after a heavy ice storm, he wouldn’t have noticed me. Story of my life.
In neighborhoods and schoolyards, as a kid I played with the boys, never with the girl-only groups. I joined the boys (and some girls) playing softball, soccer, and tag.
Boys noticed me when I caught their fly balls to right field, but only then.
Not when they wanted to lure girls into garages and basements. Or wanted to make out at parties. Or hook up at the mall. Or attend dances. Or watch movies. Or just join a bunch of friends headed out to pizza. Or come over to study together. Not pretty enough for the horny guys and not smart enough for the guys who needed help with their homework.
Of course, Mom didn’t help. I was ashamed enough to invite girls over. For a boy to discover my mother was often passed out drunk by the time I arrived home from school was just too much.
Areetha kept her mouth shut. Even Helena, when falsely “outing” me as a lesbian, had enough decency not to mention Mom.
Now this wonderful gorgeous hunk of manhood like a Greek statue come to life as a Viking warrior, wanted me. Not only wanted to use my flesh and bones for his physical sexual pleasure, but cared about me. Said he loved me.
Said I was magic.
Okay, he was crazy, but that much I could handle.
A compact, solid ass that made me want to bite him and never let go. Beefy, powerful legs. He didn’t run long distances, but sprinted back and forth, building their strength.
Glistening with my vaginal lubricant, his penis hung straight down, small, loose, and limp—unintimidating as a sleeping baby.
Could he get hard in his sleep? Time for an experiment. Of course purely in the interest of science.
I had to work up the nerve to touch it. Less than an hour ago that organ was much larger, and thrusting deep inside me, driving me to depths of passion I never knew human nerve endings could feel, but now it seemed like a violation of Rhinegold’s privacy.
His boundaries, as some of my old teachers used to talk about, especially when trying to warn us about molestors. We were supposed to set teacher-approved boundaries for ourselves, and respect the boundaries of others.
Such a tiny sliver of flesh scarcely seemed to deserve such concern.
His penis’s skin, slightly darker than the stark-white fish belly never revealed by swimming trunks surface of Rhinegold’s lower abdomen, waist to beginning of his thighs, and his ass. The pink head, like a mushroom cap folded up like an umbrella. A large, blue vein along one edge. The small hole at the tip, half a drop of clear fluid bubbled out of it.
So I touched it with several fingertips. No response. Rhinegold continued his low-volume snoring. The droplet of remaining seminal fluid fell to the sheet.
I held it, marveling how small it was in against my folded fingers and palm. I didn’t squeeze or tug it, just held it. Letting it absorb my body warmth. Would that draw Rhinegold’s own blood back to it?
His breathing continued smooth and slow, but the corners of his mouth seemed to push up, forming a slight smile.
I better continue the experiment. Unmoving fingers didn’t do much. How about moving fingers?
I rubbed the thick skin of his penis, noting how, although it was still small and flaccid, something lay between the two skin layers. Something thicker than if I just pinched the skin of my arm.
My fingers made circular movements, like a thumb and forefinger making the sign for money.
That got a reaction. The inside thickened, though I felt nothing except how it pressed my fingertips farther apart.
So naturally I explored the new, gradually expanding shape, and as I stroked, it swelled.
Rhinegold shifted his weight, and his fingers insinuated themselves between my inner, upper thighs. He stroked, and my thighs separated to give him room. His fingertips caressed the skin there with light strokes, like a violinist. I grew lightheaded as blood flowed to my groin.
Up to my lips, small and thin, but opening beneath his fingers like spring flower blossoms. The tender flesh again wet and hot, again sending cascades of rumbling thunder through my flesh, obliterating my conscious mind.
Which could only cling to the now hard erection in my hand, somehow at full size in an instant, though I felt nothing but the growing mass, the increasingly hard rods inside it. I squeezed, admiring its fleshy firmness. I ran the edges of my fingernails along the underside, from base to tip. Not scratching, just tickling, and Rhinegold murmured from the bottom of his chest.
While his fingers between my legs pressed my cleft, opening petals, gooshy with melted snow as spring mud—warm, and growing warmer. Something deep inside me whimpered like a lost puppy found by its mother.
While juices ran slick down my thighs like an Eskimo Pie melting in the sun, Rhinegold gently removed my hand from his magnificent manhood so he could move to the bottom of the bed. Reading his mind, I moaned loudly, wanting him so bad I wished I could turn myself inside out so he could lick every nerve.
Rhinegold leaned toward me, separating my legs with his shoulders and torso. He bent down, and licked my inner thigh just above my knee.
“Oh God!” I squealed.
Rhinegold took his time, slowly licking almost all the way around my thigh, nipping the tender flesh just enough to make me yelp. One sharp instant pain, then a birthday cake pleasure that made me ooze inside. I couldn’t tell you what oozed inside
me, but the feeling sent me soaring high into the clouds.
I squirmed and wiggled and tried to scoot my groin closer to his mouth, but he remained in charge, and refused to hurry.
He bit the soft skin inside my upper thigh, pressing his teeth into my flesh just hard enough to hang on, and sucked. Sometimes he twisted and growled, like a puppy playing with a sock.
I loved losing control, letting him pleasure me at his pace. So slow, so amazingly, incredibly slow as my pleasure rose higher and higher.
When at last he reached my cleft, he gave it just a teasing flick with his tongue, and repeated the performance with the other thigh.
I howled, crying, begging for release—and he refused. Just worked up way from knee to the center of my life.
By the time he finally landed on my vulva, it bubbled over with juices like a hot spring.
His tongue rubbed my clit up and down, and a spasm of pleasure arched my back.
He kept on, clit, to sensitive lips and flesh, to the opening to my vagina, and circle the entire area, and then back, exploring, probing, digging with his tongue, licking, and tasting.
I kept my hips raised, pushing my groin into Rhinegold’s mouth.
When I thought I couldn’t feel any more pleasure, he slid a finger into my asshole. The muscles and nerve endings widened, and clenched, and the pressure, the joyful vulnerability and playful invasion of my private space aroused more energy than my body could hold.
I wanted to kick, but Rhinegold held onto my legs, thighs pressed against his ears. I clenched my fists and pounded the mattress. I ripped at the sheets. My head twisted from side to side as I screeched.
No mercy. Rhinegold showed me no mercy as his tongue, although he couldn’t enter me, spread Heaven through my body and brain.
When Rhinegold finally tired, he moved up to enter me. I motioned for him to lay down, on his back. I crawled over and straddled his hips.
His penis remained large, but not totally stiff, so I bent down and took the tip into my mouth. I licked and sucked, and squeezed gently with my hands, until I felt it swell its skin to the limit.
I raised up on my knees, held his tool to the entrance to my pussy, and pushed the tip inside. Slowly, my stomach pushed to my throat, I lowered my body, keeping him snug inside me.
Despite our strenuous lovemaking of an hour earlier, I still felt like a size small Isotoner glove trying to hold an extra-large finger.
I made him let me set the pace by stopping whenever he tried to speed up.
I increased my pace gradually, as I stretched to accommodate him, and my entire womanhood lubricated.
I had missed that—sex.
As my entire body writhed, my thighs raised and lowered my groin, my lower back thrust back and forth, I felt myself worshiping at the shrine of Rhinegold’s phallus. Using all my strength and energy to massage and rub it. To devote myself to pleasuring his manhood.
While absorbing the ecstasy into myself.
Climbing higher and higher toward the stars.
I fell back, his hands holding mine, so his tool pressed hard against the front of my vaginal walls, finding nerves never before pressured, my pelvic bone against his boner.
I bounced, letting him all the way in, half the way out, over and over.
Increasing my pace, falling forward to grind our pelvises together with chests close.
Mattress vibrating, box springs squeaking.
And all I could do was ride, ride, and keep riding—faster and faster, toward the mountain top.
Face burning hot. Breath in ragged gasps. Sweat and sex juices and Rhinegold’s mountain lion lust odors drenching my nose.
Closer and higher, closer and higher.
Tightening my thighs so my knees clenched his hips like a vise. Heart thrumming through the top of my chest. Still tasting the fruit of his penis moistened with me.
Closer—eyes blinded by red … flames …
And freezing—frozen in ecstasy.
Lying beside Rhinegold, again dozing, I couldn’t help but feel—for the first time in my life, that I could remember—complete and whole.
Safe with arms around me.
Loved.
Loving.
Not alone.
Just with the one person in this universe meant for me. Crazy, I know, but that’s how I felt, and what I still believe.
And it didn’t even matter that Rhinegold had no breasts, his body was bony hard muscular, and his groin held a penis.
I mean, obviously they mattered.
But, yet, they didn’t.
I don’t want to sound all sticky sentimental and say we were soul mates, or that I loved his mind and soul, not just his body, but that’s how it felt.
I shouldn’t say I’m ugly, or too small to be sexy, when a rich guy wanted to pay big money just to screw me, but despite all that it was hard to think of myself as beautiful and desirable. Most guys did NOT want me.
Just a fact.
The ones that did want me?—a minority.
A tiny, if passionate, minority.
Even Rhinegold saw me through the glasses of his love for me, maybe even his insane delusions—though something weird did happen this morning at Riverside Park even if I couldn’t remember what—and so saw his own version of me, with whatever beauty I possess magnified.
Thank goodness.
I rolled out of the bed. Every muscle ached, but I needed to use the bathroom down the hall. I grabbed a terrycloth bathrobe just in case one of the maids was around—I loved servants doing all the grunt work, except when I wanted total privacy—and finished my business.
Back in the bedroom, I glanced out the window, which faced west.
The late afternoon sun shone a bright yellow into my eyes. What a beautiful day!
Then I spotted something else.
I jumped on Rhinegold. “Wake up! Wake up! Look at this!”
“Huh?” he said, obviously disoriented.
I shook his shoulder. “Get up, I want you to see.”
“See what?” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “What’s wrong?”
I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the edge of the bed. “Come here and look at something.”
“All right, all right.” He stood up and let me lead him to the window.
For a second, I worried in case somebody saw us standing there completely nude, then I remembered we were not only on the second floor, all the houses in this neighborhood stood far back from both the road and each other. And we were facing west, toward the back yard, which included not only a swimming pool, but tennis courts.
I pointed out the window, up toward the aluminum gutter along the edge of the roof.
So much ice had fallen over the past few months, the guttering was locked inside a long, thick block of it.
But today, icicles hung down from the gutter.
The biggest icicle caught the sun in full, acting like a prism, refracting the bright light into crazy warped patterns.
“What?” Rhinegold asked.
His denseness exasperated me. How could he be so blind?
“Look at the tip,” I said, still pointing.
“It’s just dripping,” he said, like I was crazy.
“’ONLY’ dripping!”
He continued, “It’s melting—”
And then he got it.
“It’s over freezing!” I screamed, and jumped up and down.
Rhinegold grinned, hugged and kissed me. “Better than the groundhog seeing his own shadow.”
“And it is March 21,” I said. “First day of spring, right on time.”
Rhinegold nodded. “The vernal equinox. Day and night, equally balanced.”
“First day of the new baseball season.”
Again, we lay together, kissing and talking. Both of us hungry but neither wanting to get up to fetch food from the kitchen.
Rhinegold pointed to the scar on his lower left arm. “You know something weird. “I remember this big, crazy acting dude, screamin
g and running at me, but hardly anything after that. Are you sure it was over two weeks ago?”
“You did some crazy acting yourself.”
“I did? I hope I didn’t hurt anybody.”
“You know Greco’s dead?”
Rhinegold scratched his head. “I know I did something, but I’m not sure what. I know I’ve been wrapped up in my own fantasies, like I used to do as a kid, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
I kissed his cheek. “I know. It’s all right.”
“No more,” he said, crossing his fingers. “No more fantasies. I love you. That’s real enough.”
I took his hand and kissed his fingers. “Don’t forget all your fantasies. When it comes to love, we should all leave room for a little magic.”
JaeSea 5
March 21
Dear JaeSea,
Sometimes I still feel silly for writing you these notes. Maybe I’m just talking to myself.
But the other day, I had a weird thought. If there’s no God, no human soul, no afterlife—as the anti-religionists claim—then we’re just flesh. Our minds are just an offshoot of our brains. Then our basic, unique personalities come from our heredity.
Therefore, people with the same heredity—identical twins like us—should have the same exact personalities, right? Were you and I different? How could anyone tell when we were only toddlers?
But Julie Blake was a straight A geek and bookworm while June hooked up with lots the boys. Justin and Jeremy James were both popular guys and good athletes. But now Justin’s a plumbing apprentice while Jeremy is in college.
So, if you didn’t die, would you have been another shy misfit uncertain and frightened of her sexual feelings, thinking of herself as ugly, same as I was?
Who knows?
Tell Georgie we all say hi and send our love, especially Mom.
If you can do anything for her, please. She grieves so much it scares me.
With all my heart I wish I could hug and kiss you.
SeeJai
The End
Also by L.A. Zoe:
The League of Worldwide Innocents
Innocent 1: Simone