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From: (The Mr. Lee)
Subject: {ASSM} <*> So Typical My Desires" 1/3 [Voy, F/M] The Mr. Mysterious Lee Organization
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 19 Nov 1999 04:38:49 GMT
Date: Fri, 19 Nov 1999 09:10:00 -0500
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So Typical My Desires, Part 1
A story by The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization

My college girlfriend, Deborah, didn't run with the same people I did. I
thought they were pretentious art geeks, they thought I was a jock out of
my league. She had thrown a big party, and they were everywhere. Somehow,
my friends didn't get many invitations. So I stood around feeling stupid
and thinking about anything that might amuse me.  Mainly, I thought I
wanted to get Deborah naked as quick as possible. She was flirting with a
six-pack of fags, who hung on her words like half burnt cigarettes to a
chronic smoker's lip, all giggles and awe. She was a better fag than all
of them, when it comes down to it--she walked the exaggerated walk of the
flamers, and talked with the an out-of-control girlishness that the gay
Adonises could only idolize. More than that, though, she was going to end
up in bed with a big muscle boy--me-- at the end of the night.

Now that I'm thinking it over, I guess what I really wanted was to show
those fags I was a man, no--The Man--by fucking Deborah right there, in
her room, the one with the paper-thin walls and a door that didn't quite
close right. I wanted an audience. At the time, all I could think about is
how good Deborah looked in her dress, a jazz age floozy number, cut low
enough to show off her cleavage, slit high enough to show off the top of
her stockings. Deborah was sculpted for loving, every curve seemingly
designed to enhance my pleasure, and she topped off her lush flesh with a
shock of auburn, cut into a very sexy, very smart bob.

I stood off with my beer and sipped it slowly, while thinking about all
the ways I was going to touch her.  I imagined my tongue tracing the line
of her artery up her neck before my teeth scraped against her fleshy,
soft, and ever-so sensitive earlobes.  I pictured her turning towards me,
pushing her body hard against my erect dick, her breath short and hot on
my shoulder, a moan slipping from her lips. My mouth would move down her
neck again, while my hand slipped up from her tiny waist to cup her
breast. I bit my lip in anticipation and shifted my stance to try to gain
some comfort for my growing erection. 

I watched Deborah laugh as one of her friends said something about Monet
and Manet, which is the kind of humor they possessed. Her head tilted back
and the laugh came out like music, a Bach concerto in soprano. Her lips
glittered as the faint light of the room found them. She turned her head
to me and smiled.

I put my half-finished beer down and walked over to her. I came up on her
back and put my hands on her hips, slipping them suggestively down,
pulling her back on my erection. They all kept chatting away. One of the
boys felt my muscle. "My isn't he hard." Lots of laughs at the double
entendre, but it wasn't mocking. I pressed my hardness into Deborah's ass,
and rocked against her slowly.

I tried to make conversation with them, but they were talking about an
exhibit they had seen at MOMA, and with my aroused state, my ignorant
comments came out as if I were Deborah's stupid love-toy.

I decided to fuck it and let all my words serve only to caress Deborah's
neck. She knew I was there on an academic scholarship. There was no reason
to impress these boys, who we would laugh about while making love.

I should say, the next time we made love, because at that point, we were
making love. My hands had slipped down to where I was caressing her
through her dress and she had put a hand on my ass to guide my thrusts
into her delectable posterior. I had stopped making the pretense of
talking and was kissing her neck. It was more exciting than anything we
had ever done. I knew they were all watching us go at it, watching as my
fingers pushed her dress into her slit, as my hand explored her breasts.
They were watching, trying to maintain their conversation as if nothing
were going on, as Deborah moaned and moved up and down against my

Their conversation became ripe with sexual overtones. Mapplethorpe's
nudes, the rise of Greco-Roman themes in Renascence art as means of
portraying overtly sexual images. Our pace intensified. I had successfully
pulled her dress up high enough that I could slip a finger under it, into
her. She was running with honey. She leaned against me, her collapse
prevented by my entangled limbs. I looked around and realized we had an
audience larger than just her gay friends. The boys one of Deborah's
friends had been charming in the kitchen were not going to miss out on our
show. They were chanting, I think, while Deborah's art friends continued
the pretense of normal conversation. 

I pulled my finger out of Deborah and took it into my mouth. It was truly
the nectar of the gods. She turned towards me, kissed me, and shoved me
backwards, towards her bedroom. I tripped over an ottoman, and fell into
her door. It hurt, but not enough to stop the erotic trance.  I scooted up
onto the bed as well as possible, and Deborah gave the door a kick. It
shut most of the way, but I could see most of the faces through the inch
or two crack. I didn't care.

This story is copyright 1999 the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization. Reposting is expressly forbidden, except with permission.

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