Amelia kissed me softly on the lips, and her breath smelled of cloves. She kissed me harder, then her tongue thrust into my mouth. Her hand dropped down behind me, caressed my hind cheeks, squeezed my right one, and I felt a fingertip delicately probe my anus. "This is your secret flower . . . yes, also men have the capacity for pleasure there (So, what else is new? I thought). Possibly we will have occasion to consider this matter further."
She turned around, and in a single flowing movement bent forward and lowered her chest to the bed, surrendering all of herself to me. I knew exactly what she expected.
Hands, my own trembling hands found the large round globes of her backside, caressed, and caressed them hypnotically. She pushed her ass back against me, shoving me backwards a step . . . and I braced myself on her wide hips, and I pulled her unto me. I pressed the painfully throbbing head of my engorged penis against, then into her secret, secret place, her hidden jewel, her dark abyss, her asshole. I sank, slowly sank into her -- no resistance, just a deliciously liquid slide into a hot, hot slippery-walled infinite tunnel. Her pulsing mystery pulled me in, gradually swallowed me, engulfed me, and I was home. Home at last.
And I remembered . . . Remembered all the times when I had been on the receiving end. How it had felt. How it had felt with a man's dick pumping into my own ass. That feeling of being spread wide open, stretched, opened up, then filled. The thrusting within me, the slippery-sucking friction against my own insides . . .
And then I was there with her again and we were caressing each other's bodies, endlessly caressing, hungrily touching and caressing, compulsively, hypnotically devouring each other with our hands, just our hands. It was raining, and a fine mist came in through the bedroom window. And she was singing for me. "Tuo saver al tempo e l'età contrasta . . . "
I drifted into dark, formless sleep.
III
In her arms I awoke, enveloped in her warmth and dusky woman-smell, my head cradled on her soft breasts. It was as if I were emerging from a dream, though perhaps I was still in the dream. She nuzzled my neck, nibbled at my earlobe, then squealed like a little girl. "Arise, arise my sweet, sweet prince." And arising I was, indeed I was arising. Caressing her round hips, letting my hand slip down to the naked undulating curves of her lower heat-emitting cheeks, and yes, indeed I was arising, rising to the occasion.
"Turn around, turn around, lovely Amelia. I want to admire your wondrous backside, your inspiringly curvaceous bottom, your classically sculpted buttocks. You are a work of art, and I will play the part of art critic." (She opined that she would rather be here in bed with me than on display in a museum.)
How can I describe her deliciously ample pear-shaped ass? (She measured a full 48" at the hips.) Stretching to the far horizons, like the earth viewed from orbit, fecund, the mother of all life. From the dimple at the base of her spine, downward, to first hint of cleavage, downward, to the valley holding the sacred ruby-jeweled gate, downward, to her frontal doorway, her dark-red rose-petaled lozenge, then upward, past her clit, and upward, to her luxuriant triangle of light blonde pubic hair. And sideward, from the curve of her hip, sideward, across two high round hills guarding a hidden entrance (that opened to me!), sideward, to the curve of a hip.
She turned toward me then, and pulled my head down. A quick kiss, then a slower one, and she impetuously thrust her tongue deeply into my mouth. More kissing, much more. Her mouth, then her breasts. Sucking her nipples. Then lower, kissing lower. Sucking lower. Tonguing and sucking her slippery little knob, then her cunt. Pushing my tongue into her cunt. She arched her back and gasped.
Patches of steamy, sweaty musk glued us together, and we were both panting. She gently took me into her arms and caressed my face. Then she pulled me down with both arms, squeezed me, pressed me against her violently, chest to chest. I inhaled the faint scent of talcum powder, and she kissed me deeply and slid her palms all the way up and down my body. I tongue-caressed her nipples, then sucked on them, and a wave of warmth ran through me as she reached down and cupped my balls in her hand, squeezed, then bent over and took my shaft into her mouth for a moment.
"Enough, enough, I need you inside me," she breathed. "Give me, fill me, fill my sacred passage with your life force, your élan vitale." In that proud graceful way of hers, she sinuously twisted around on hands and knees and lowered her head and chest to the bed. Her ass presented itself, waiting for me to make my entrance, to lose myself in the depths of her back passage once more.
Hypnotic beauty. Her sphincter, her rosebud . . . truly did resemble a rosebud. The flower-like lips -- the outer ring of muscle -- swollen and engorged with excitement, glowing in shades of dark magenta, an almost luminous deep-red luminescence. I couldn't bear to look any longer without going slowly mad, and so . . .
I reverently parted her cheeks to let myself in once more. Into the hole, the bottomless pit. The entrance to her private chamber, to her hidden kingdom. The head of my dick slowly submerged, then disappeared into her cave with a faint liquid plop. Then I was moving inward on a viscous wave of honey smoothness, past the outer ring, a hesitation, and on through the innermost portal and she sucked me in, and I slid into that bottomless well, the bottomless well of her bottom, the fruit of the forbidden tree of knowledge. It was warm in there, then hot, burning, the molten pulsating incandescence of the innermost chamber of a volcano. And the glowing furnace engulfed me, and I melted and fainted.
And she revived me with kisses. Soft, wet kisses on my mouth, then my neck. Now she began sucking, then delicately nibbling the nipples of my chest. And I discovered that male nipples are indeed a potent erogenous zone. And I was potent again. And I found my way into her dark basin yet again. And it endured longer, much longer this time. And the insides of her rear passage, slick with my ejaculate, clutched hungrily at me as I slid in and out.
I pulled all the way out a few times, just to admire her beautiful doorway, the livid crimson-ringed entrance to her ass, enlarged to several times its normal girth by the stretching of my entry. It stayed open, a perfectly circular dark tunnel leaking white droplets of life-bringing fluid. It beckoned me, pulled at me with an irresistible force. I braced my hands on her round hips and plunged back in, and I slid down, all the way back into her hidden depths.
Only then did it occur to me that I had forgotten the lubrication. All the same, the walls of her anal receptacle felt no less slippery than before. Even having shot my load into there just moments before, that still couldn't account for the silky-smoothness inside. Could it be that her mucus membranes were somehow self-lubricating there, inside her rectal chamber? There was something very strange, almost frightening, going on here.
Still, all this did not seem very important at the time. What truly mattered, what moved me then (and years later, in bitter-sweet recollection) was her tenderness, her kisses and caresses, her small courtesies. Such simple kindnesses as the touch of her gentle hands sponging me off with a damp washcloth after the act of love. The spontaneous kisses that came when I was least expecting them. The spare toothbrush in the bathroom for my use. Even the tears that fell on my cheek when I held her close.
IV
Of course, it had to come to an end. The next day, when I called after work, no one answered. Ten minutes later, again no answer. Hours later, still no answer. What was going on? I had to see her.
The doorman at the apartment building greeted me coldly. No smile and jaunty tip of the hat this time. When I told him that Amelia would be expecting me, he frowned, then informed me that there was no Amelia in residence at the time. I gave him the apartment number. "Mr. Smithson has been occupying that particular unit since before I began working here." What?
I turned to leave. I was in such shock that I must not have noticed that someone had slipped a small envelope into my left hip pocket. On creamy heavyweight linen stationary there were only a couple of hastily scrawled lines.
You were not suitable for our purpose. Consider yourself fortunate.
&n
bsp; A.
I was going to move heaven and earth to track her down, but somehow life got in the way. The demands of career, then relationships, and finally marriage pushed all that childish nonsense onto the back burner. And perhaps it was just as well.
Years later, I found out that Amelia was, in fact, the notorious Amalya Trepper. She was a person of interest in the mysterious disappearances of quite a number of young men. She was also mentioned in connection with the theft of certain military technology. Was she a spy? A serial killer? Or something even worse? In any case, i was well rid of her.
If there is a lesson in all this, and I have to think there is, it is the following: The most intimate part of a woman is not her pussy, nor even the rosebud guarding her rear entrance, but the place she keeps her secrets.
* * *
DON'T BREAK THE CHAIN
=========================================================== CHAIN LETTER CHAIN LETTER CHAIN LETTER
If you do not mail this to 50 people, you will be cursed by a DEAMON. This DEAMON will POSESS you, curse you and possible KILL you. This is no joke. If you do not mail this letter in 24 hours, you will be sorry!!!
A nice sweet girl named VICKIE was hopeless in love with this guy named JASON. She was totaly crazy about him, then she got this chain letter. She laughed and threw away this chain letter. When she got home from school her partents told here she was moving. She would not be able to see her Love again. Next day before she left to move, she found out her Love Jason had a girlfreind. The DAMON chursed her with bad love. She has not been able to get a new boyfreind since this chain letter.
PLEASE DON'T NOT LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!!! ===========================================================
I slamdunked that piece of trash into the trash, wondering just how clueless someone would have to be to fall for such a pitiful scam. Had a good chuckle, then forgot about it. That was when my problems with women began.
I was with Ann-Marie, my steady, when she had an attack. Actually, I was deep inside her when the cramps struck and her pussy clamped down on me. Like a vise. Pubic meltdown. It was uncomfortable, and she was in some considerable pain, but I couldn't pull out. Wedged inside, embedded. You could say I was in a tight spot. A half hour later, after moans and tearful consideration of the alternatives, she reached for the cellphone and called 911.
The ambulance EMTs gave her a muscle relaxant injection, and that did the trick within a minute or so. They asked if she'd ever had vaginismus before. While they were busy with her, I hurriedly threw on my clothes and snunk out the door. Anything to get away from those smirking doctor-wannabes and Ann-Marie's tears of outrage.
That was the last of Ann-Marie.
==================================================== Marvin Pudsmith got this chain in 1973. He asked his secrettary to make ten copies and send them out. A few days later he saw her in a red-light district making more than he had every payed her at work. ====================================================
Picked up Jill at the neighborhood bar, or rather, she picked me up. Tall, rough-looking babe, raggedy chopped-off dirty blonde hair, dressed head to foot in black leather. Sat down right next to me and bought me a Bud. The Harley wings tattooed on her left cheek should have warned me. That, and her habit of communicating in grunts and gestures. She had some kind of appetite for sex, all right, but affection just wasn't in her vocabulary. Not that she had all that much of a vocabulary.
Later that night, she'd just finished pumping me dry and had collapsed on top of me, drooling and starting to snore. I started getting tender feelings toward the wench, old sap that I am. Put my arms around her, nuzzled her lips, kissed her neck, whispered sweet nothings into her ear.
She pushed me away. Laughed. Sat up, grabbed a pillow, then damned if she didn't just wipe her dripping pussy on it. My favorite Smurf pillowcase! Dammit, that wasn't right. My bedchamber had just been desecrated. I followed her into the living room, and there she was, stark nekkid, cozily sprawled in my beanbag chair watching Geraldo, with the sound turned up to 140 decibels. She'd pillaged the fridge of my best Chianti and was drinking it straight from the bottle. She lit up one of her cheap Mexican cancer sticks, Delicados, I think they're called, and soon the room was reeking of acrid cigarette smoke and stale farts.
She had thrown herself together a sloppy sandwich from the last of my good deli pastrami and managed to slobber imported mustard and barbecue potato chip crumbs all over herself and the chair. I'm proud of that chair. Cost me $15 at Goodwill. The last straw was when she reached for the drapes to wipe her hands clean. "Dammit, woman, getcher filthy paws offa my Muppets curtains!" I threw open the hall doorway, propelled her through it, and hurled her backpack, shitkicker boots, leather pants and motorcycle jacket in the general direction of her retreating ass.
I guess that just wasn't destined to work out, but at least I had a good story to tell my buddies on the train to work.
============================================== James Jingleheimer, who sent this letter on, saw a nickle lying in the street. When he bent down to pick it up, a beautifull woman in a minnyskirt walked by, and he got a great view. ==============================================
I'd had my eye on Suzie, even back when Ann-Marie and I were tight. Better avoid the word tight; it still had painful associations for me. Anyhow, I called up Suze and asked how was she fixed up for tonight. "Not doin' much, big fella, but ain't you hooked up with what's her name, Ann-Marie?" Ouch. "Hooked up" conjured up images of two dogs in heat, unable to pull apart because they were literally hooked up. That was striking too close to home.
"Nope, we're unhooked now." (Yeah, with a little help from the medics.) "I'd like to take you out bowling, go to a nice restaurant afterwards, then maybe show you my bottle of belly button lint if you're willing."
"Herman, you really know how to bowl a girl over. Like, wow. I do wanna go with you. Like, wow. I had my eye on ya even back when you and Ann-Marie were tight. Like wow."
I cringed at hearing the word tight again, but at least we were on for tonight.
Looking at belly button lint must have really turned her on because we were on the living room sofa with our clothes off ten minutes later. She was a hot number, Suze was, and she could hardly wait to get down to business. "Foreplay is for wimps, big guy. Stick it in me. Now. Like wow."
She gave a damned good ride (like wow!), but she wasn't much in the brains department. Boring. All action, no talk. Too bad. I figured I'd keep her around for a couple of weeks before I'd give her the old heave-ho.
Well, I heaved, but she didn't ho. She started following me around. Called me at work eight, ten times a day. Sat in her car in front of my apartment at night, staring at my window, sometimes with binoculars. Said she couldn't live without me. Said I couldn't live without her. Sounded like a threat when she said it that way. I hadn't figured on her being the celery type. You know, stalking.
That's why I had to move to another state. She had called to tell me about this new pistol she'd bought, and if I knew what was good for me, we had better be getting back together again, and soon.
================================================ Jeremiah Doggett, an unemployed chicken plucker, recieved this letter and forgot that it had to leave his hands inside 24 hours. His wife then went playing dominoes with his best freind and never returned. ================================================
Drunk as a skunk and horny as hell. I met this fine looking babe at a dance club. Tall and stacked. Stacked like you wouldn't believe.
Got even drunker and we took a cab over to my place and staggered upstairs, arm-in-arm the two of us. She had gotten on quite a load, too.
Next thing I remembered, we were going at it hot and heavy doggy style. I was pounding in and out of her and reached around to diddle her clit. Only it wasn't a clit. It was a hard dick. Shit! All of a sudden I was stone cold sober. I had picked up a female impersonator and was right in the middle of fucking his ass.
M
y hardon melted faster than an icicle in July, and I yelled at him to get the hell dressed, double-quick. He got his ass out the door. That same ass I'd been inside of moments before. And I was left with aching balls and aching emptiness.
====================================================== Arlen Biggety recieved this letter and, not believing, threw the letter away. Five days later he spilled hot cofee in his crotch. ======================================================
For about a month, I would wake up each morning next to a different woman. A woman I had never seen before, with no recollection of how I had gotten there. Couldn't remember anything of what we'd done the night before, just left to deal with the fallout. "I promised you WHAT last night? To marry you?" I accumulated quite a collection of bruises and painful minor lacerations from being hit over the head with frying pans and stopping ashtrays, beer bottles, and other assorted flying objects with my face.
The Syntax of Seduction Page 44