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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 1 (M/F Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder)
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This story contains graphic descriptions of sex.  It is intended for 
adults only.  

This is more or less a sequel to another story I wrote: Her Name Was 
Yuki.  There is not much overlap between the two, and reading of the 
previous story should not be necessary for the appreciation of this one.  
As a warning, some readers, perhaps many, may find the ratio of sex to 
plot unfavorable.  The story will be posted as written with the intention 
of making each part, while a piece of a larger whole, interesting enough 
to stand on its own.  As always, the author welcomes any constructive 
criticism.



Summer Story
By Richard Rivers
Part 1


Scented by the garden, the breeze came in through the opened row of 
stained glass windows.  A hushed excited chatter rose from the people 
gathered in the lobby while waiters, silent and efficient, threaded their 
way through the room with large trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres.   
Carla fidgeted, backing away from several conversations.  What an awful 
bunch of people, she thought - so self-possessed.  Snatching another 
glass of champagne from a passing tray, she decided to scan the room for 
eligible looking men, deciding that if she had to sit through the boring 
lecture the least she could do was get something out of it for herself.  
The free drinks were a start, she thought; now all she had to do was find 
a palatable guy to take home where she could show him her own idea of 
what continuing education was all about.

Carla slowly made her way through the room with a growing sense of 
annoyance.  What on earth was she thinking, trolling for men in a place 
like this?  These guys weren't palatable; hell they weren't even 
possible!  Everywhere she looked Carla found herself surrounded by bow 
tie clad, bald headed men posturing and spouting pretentious gibberish.  
She shuddered.  Fuck these boring intellectual types!  Angrily, she asked 
herself why she didn't just blow this scene and hit one of her regular 
bars: she had that routine down to a science.  She exchanged her now 
empty glass for another full one, deciding to gulp it down before 
leaving.  As she turned to make one last perusal of the room, she caught 
sight of a woman standing alone near the row of open windows.

At first Carla's eyes simply skipped across her and continued around the 
room.  However, in another instant she found herself looking back.  Carla 
had a knack for reading people's body language - minute things in their 
actions often revealed things others easily missed.  When she bothered to 
confirm them, her hunches were almost always proven right.  She let her 
eyes rest on the woman, taking it as a challenge to determine what had 
caught her attention.  The woman was standing by herself at the edge of 
the crowd.  That was one element of what made her stand out, but not 
enough in itself to draw attention.  There were other solitary people in 
the room, like herself.  To Carla the woman seemed more than alone; she 
was isolated, as if surrounded by an invisible bubble that held the 
people around her at bay.  Carla guessed she might be Korean, maybe 
Japanese.  Perhaps she didn't speak English, she reasoned before 
dismissing the idea: why come to the lecture if she didn't understand the 
language?  She continued to examine the woman, discreetly moving a few 
paces closer.  Her hair was cut short, and at first glance her body 
seemed slight, her figure almost boyishly spare.  Yet beneath the a 
simple unadorned dark skirt and white blouse she had on, Carla became 
aware of the delicacy of the woman's features, the soft female roundness 
of her body.  When she raised her glass Carla found herself watching the 
woman's slender forearm, the graceful bend of her elbow, her wrist's 
gentle inward curve.  Goosebumps rose on her own arm and a feeling surged 
though her, an almost predatory kind of desire, a totally novel sensation 
which she imagined to be something like what a man must feel when sizing 
up a woman across a crowded bar: the soft flesh before her eyes was prey 
to be captured.     

She continued to watch, feeling renewed bursts of the strange sensation 
every time the woman moved.  Her actions were plain just as her 
appearance, yet something about the way she moved was so graceful, so 
thoroughly feminine.  Carla found herself shivering.  The odd, lusty 
feeling disturbed her, and she became angry because she was at a loss to 
explain why it had come over her; she felt for once powerless, out of 
control.  Anger clouded her normal faculty and she groped for an 
explanation blindly, coming to the conclusion that the woman had to be 
just another stuck up intellectual type - another boring tight ass: the 
place was filled with them - and she shrugged off her reaction as 
jealousy or envy of the aloof stranger.  Carla was just turning way, 
still with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, the nagging feeling she 
hadn't really come to the right conclusion, when she realized how 
completely she had misjudged.  The revelation shook her for a moment - to 
have something so obvious before her eyes and not to have noticed.  She 
looked back knowing now that the woman wasn't aloof: she was terrified.  
Carla wasn't even sure what had triggered the insight - perhaps the 
brightness of the woman's eyes, the line of a tendon stretched across the 
back of her hand - often the specifics escaped her, but she was suddenly 
positive about what she saw.  Intimidated by the crowd, that woman was 
forcing herself to remain standing there, perhaps unable to move, 
enduring what for her must have been awful torment.  The delicate, 
graceful motions were all carefully controlled, artful and practiced 
mannerisms designed to hide her feelings from the people around her. 

Carla congratulated herself for having picked up on something she was 
sure no one else in the crowded room had noticed.  She quickly glanced 
around to confirm that nobody seemed to have given the woman a second 
thought.  Her curiosity aroused, Carla also felt sympathy, and she stood 
watching for another moment, deciding whether to approach or turn away.

**

The ferocity with which she threw herself at the task of finding a 
partner for the night surprised Carla and even made her a little 
frightened.  She went to an unfamiliar bar near the university instead of 
one of her tried and true old haunts, taking a grim, wolfish revelry in 
the challenge of picking somebody up in such unfamiliar surroundings.  
After hurrying through several drinks she gravitated towards the most 
conservative looking guys in the place, almost as if she were making up 
for her disgust with the boring, straight-laced crowd at the reception by 
trying to find someone similar and debauching him.  Normally she was wary 
when prowling for men.  That wariness and her uncanny knack for weeding 
out the truly creepy guys had helped her survive a year or more of the 
bar scene, the lost, gray twilight since her divorce.  

Only when she was back at her place with the guy she had led home did 
Carla begin to come to her senses and realize how lucky she was.  He 
seemed genuinely sweet, helping her up the stairs of her apartment and 
through the door.  He acted as if he might leave, do the chivalrous thing 
and not take advantage of a lady who had obviously had way too much to 
drink, before Carla had grabbed him and pulled him into the bedroom.  

He turned out to be a good lover too, not one of your athletic 
superstars, but considerate, patient and with the staying power of an ox.
Carla let her eyes fall closed as he fucked her, the even, vigorous 
thrusts sending steady tremors of pleasure up and down her body.  He 
seemed to go on and on, like a marathoner, pacing himself and Carla let 
her mind and body surrender to the sweet, measured onslaught.  Then she 
could feel his balls grow tighter, a sign that he might be coming at 
last, their rubbery hardness rasping against her.  She reached down to 
touch them - a feather-light stroking usually did the trick.  She had her 
ways to make a man come.  She loved feeling them lose control - their 
purposeful motions losing coherence, losing all pretense of trying to 
please her.  Some of them held on desperately, trying to stave it off, 
like drowning men grasping for an outstretched hand as they are pulled 
under; she loved it when the fought it off like that, a losing battle, 
becoming like squirming babies when they could hold out no longer.  She 
loved sending them hurtling over the abyss, overcoming their virile male 
power with a feathery touch, a word. This one was fighting it, 
stubbornly; Carla could feel the tension in his thighs, the force of his 
willpower staving off the inevitable.  She was about to escalate her 
efforts to the next level by calling his name - most couldn't resist that 
cooing in the ear, the imploring tone asking them to please come, to do 
it for her - when she realized his name had completely vanished from her 
mind.   

She felt a moment of panic - what would she do, afterwards? - before 
realizing that she could always take a peek in his wallet when he got up 
to go to the bathroom; they always went to the bathroom, after the sex 
and just before trotting out their excuse for having to leave and go 
home.  Her relief was tempered with disquiet as Carla realized that this 
was a milestone of sorts, maybe even a warning about the lifestyle she 
had adopted.  She was troubled to become aware of how much she had 
changed since her marriage had fallen apart.  Her enthusiasm for the sex 
waned and she released her grip on his balls, feeling him regain his 
composure and slow down.  Carla was impressed by his stamina, but the 
life had been sucked out of the moment and she felt herself becoming 
oddly detached.  She could still feel him pushing himself in and out of 
her, feel the muscles rippling on his back but it was all happening as if 
at a great distance; Carla's attention seemed to sink inward, her eyes 
like two holes she had fallen through.  Looking upward she could see the 
outside world through them, receding as she plummeted downward into 
darkness.

She found herself reliving the reception she had gone to, before the bar.
The woman she met there; what was her name?  Carla was briefly angry with 
herself again before it came back to her: Kozue.  Kozue Tanaka, she 
repeated the name to herself.  They had spoken for a short time; Kozue 
was obviously very uptight about something and trying to hide it.  Carla, 
curious but tactful, had gotten nowhere trying to figure out what her 
problem was.  Still, their short conversation revealed that they had a 
few things in common.  Kozue was a psychologist, something Carla was 
trying to become herself, working to finish her degree with night and 
weekend courses at the university; they were both divorced and in their 
mid to late thirties - as close as Carla could guess from Kozue's 
inscrutable face.  The interchange had been little more than 
pleasantries, mostly Carla trying to satisfy her curiosity about the 
woman who had caught her eye, and so she wondered why she was preoccupied 
with Kozue again, now of all times.  

She tried to shake off the memory, return to the present, maybe put some 
more energy into fucking this guy, whatever his name was, but the image 
in her mind was persistent.  Along with the memory she found herself 
reliving the same feeling, the odd sexual lust.  She wondered if Kozue 
had a lover, a man, and if she was with him tonight.  Carla tried to stop 
the images which came flooding into her imagination: of Kozue making 
love; a strong male body between those legs, his rough skin against her 
creamy smoothness; holding her legs apart, watching himself disappear 
inside of her, feeling her soft, delicate flesh part and fold around him; 
those delicate arms wrapped about him, her slender fingers splayed on his 
shoulders...  Carla could no longer resist; she let the images of Kozue 
inundate her, until she felt her own identity dissolving to the point 
where she seemed to merge with the other woman; it was as if she had 
crawled into her skin, becoming her, feeling what she was feeling.  Carla 
felt a surge of arousal and a tingling sensation in her loins.  Already 
lost, she was losing herself again, more completely, as she felt her own 
orgasm well up and sweep her away.

Fin

Part 1
Richard Rivers
12/98   


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