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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Meeting Amanda
By BackRub (address defunct)

***

A romantic interlude between two consenting adults, one 
evening in Manhattan, New York. (MF, rom)

***

He noticed her as he was walking down Broadway, just 
after 11 P.M. The Village was alive on that September 
Friday evening, people relieved of the workweek and the 
heat of a Manhattan summer. No more stinking garbage or 
sweaty subway platforms, but enough summer warmth to 
feel the freedom of evenings without coats and early 
darkness.

The scene was as it has been for decades, changing in 
tone with generations, but not in substance. Thousands 
of people streaming down the wide sidewalks: colors of 
skin, hair and clothes, old and young, smiling and 
laughing, scowling and dying. Books, antique clothes, 
magazine stores, locals sitting on stoops, students 
trying to look cool on their first days at NYU. Smells 
of ginger, garlic, soy, sesame, pizza, souvlaki, onions 
and killer dogs. 

People waiting for buses, people peering into store 
windows and talking, people leaning against buildings 
reading books, people leaning against buildings dying. 
People leaving the 8th Street subway station into the 
night, people sitting on the sidewalk selling old 
books, new books, old clothes, incense, the debris of 
their lives. Furs and punk, jewels and bottle cap 
rings, Brooks Brothers, The Gap and the Salvation Army. 

In the midst of all he saw her turn from Astor Place 
onto Broadway, walking downtown. The first thing he 
noticed was the way she moved. Not just graceful, 
fluid. Maneuvering through the crowd deftly but without 
any appearance of speed or haste. At the tail end of 
the short skirt season she was wearing a tight black 
skirt and black tights, a tight black sleeveless top. 
From twenty feet away she looked like a living statue, 
weathered brown but taut and strong. Her short black 
hair barely moved with her movements.

He was in no hurry and was drawn to her. He'd meant to 
move cross-town toward Indian restaurant row but found 
himself still trailing her by fifty feet by the time 
they passed Great Jones Street, heading toward Houston. 
It was not as if she was the only woman on the street. 
A blonde in cutoffs and a silk camisole. Another woman 
in a denim miniskirt, one of his weaknesses and a t-
shirt with the neck torn out. It was this other woman 
who drew his interest and his thoughts. 

He imagined her sitting in a large chair with her legs 
draped over plush arms. He knelt before her, gazed into 
the crotchless black tights and her pussy at their 
center. She grabbed his head, hooked her legs around 
his neck and pulled him into her, to lick and suck 
until she arched her back and pressed his face deep 
into her wet musky cunt.

He imagined pulling her into an alley just out of sight 
of the street, reaching under her skirt and rubbing her 
pussy until she began to move against his hand. He 
pressed her against the brick wall of the building 
pulled her hips out, hiked up her skirt and slid into 
her from behind, fucking her fast and hard as he 
reached around and rubbed her clit.

He imagined her facing him on the crowded street, 
unzipping his pants and stroking his cock while she 
reached beneath her skirt, lifted her leg onto a fire 
department connection and fingered herself. Crowds of 
people swarmed by as she jerked him and herself off, 
never taking her eyes off of his, watching each other 
slide over the edge.

His thoughts came quickly and almost without his 
conscious intervention and the thoughts kept him on her 
trail.

At Houston Street she stopped abruptly, even though the 
light was with southbound traffic. She turned and 
looked into his, eyes without hesitation, as if she'd 
known all along that he was there. He saw her standing 
there fifty feet away and suddenly felt her presence 
right before him, even as he saw her yards in the 
distance, down to the scent of her breath. Sweetish, a 
smell he could not quite identify. 

She looked into his eyes, fifty feet away and right 
before him and for a split second he was struck with 
visions: Paris as seen from one thousand feet, a dark 
alley and a dead body, a taste in his mouth. An intense 
rush up his spine made him shudder slightly right there 
past Bleeker Street and the No. 6 station. And then the 
spell was broken. She held his gaze, smiled slightly 
and walked across Houston. 

He'd never had a woman look at him that way, in a city 
where women on the street live defensively, avoiding 
eye contact. In a few seconds she'd turned his street 
voyeurism and fantasy into attraction, obsession and 
commitment. He wanted those legs wrapped around his 
waist, he longed for her pussy in his face, he needed 
to feel what she was like when she came.

He quickened his pace, but she was fast and always kept 
ahead. He followed her south past Prince Street and 
then left onto Spring. Just before Lafayette he saw her 
enter a building. He followed her up four flights of 
stairs she which took as if in graceful flight, music 
increasing in volume as they climbed. At the top he 
found himself at a large loft apartment filled with one 
hundred people, most of them dancing. The stereo 
playing "Burning Down the House" at high volume, the 
smell of beer, sweat, marijuana and perfume. 

And then she was there in front of him, dancing, 
moving, bouncing, shimmying in perfect rhythm. Breasts 
swaying gently, skirt sliding up her taut thighs, eyes 
blazing. She moved onto the floor and he followed. 
Never completely comfortable on a dance floor, he now 
felt that he might as well be dancing with Nureyev. 

She was not flashy, she didn't attract much attention, 
but her movements were perfectly fluid: graceful, 
sensual, erotic and strong all at once. They danced for 
half an hour until a slow number and she backed into 
him, rubbing her tight ass against his groin, feeling 
him harden. He placed his hands on her waist - strong 
and hard and cool again. He pressed forward against her 
ass and she made a hissing sound in response.

She broke the embrace and walked toward the door, 
latching onto his fingers as she went, and he followed. 
Up the stairs again, through a bulkhead door and onto 
the roof. The front of the building had a young couple 
fucking rear entry bent over the parapet. Her skirt was 
bunched up around her waist and his hands were slid 
under her blouse. They didn't notice the new arrivals. 
Neither did the two women leaning against a vent 
housing a few feet away smoking pot and watching the 
show.

She took him around the alley side of the building 
roof, away from the noise and people. She grabbed his 
belt and before he could properly react, she had him 
unbuckled and he was falling onto the roof onto his 
back. His shoes came off in a flash and his pants 
followed. She was on top of him, kissing him 
passionately, sucking deeply on his tongue. She reached 
behind and drew up her skirt and flipped herself around 
on him, lowering a musky cunt onto his eager face.

He began to lick and tongue her immediately, and she 
responded by rubbing herself over his face, smearing 
him with juices already flowing. The smell from her 
pussy, like her breath, was familiar, but he couldn't 
place it. But then he had never failed to enjoy the 
smell of a woman's sex.

He felt her lips on his cock and an incredibly fast 
tongue flicking its way up and down his shaft, lips 
pressed against the underside rubbing. Then she 
engulfed him.

He felt a presence, not the same as he had on Broadway, 
but a presence. He was being elevated into a state of 
pleasure, but had no feeling of concern that the expert 
ministrations would make him come too soon. Pleasure 
and control were both there. He felt as if he now had 
the ability to go forever.

He just kept licking and sucking on her clit, sliding 
his tongue inside her. She stiffened and stopped 
sucking him, changing to stroking him with her hand. 
She ground herself against him desperately and came 
making animalistic sounds. He almost felt she'd break 
his neck and his cock.

In a flash she had swung herself around and she was 
lowering herself onto his cock. She began fucking him 
vigorously from above, her mouth now at his neck and 
ears. He felt lightheaded and could not place where he 
was, as if another mind was enmeshed in his, his 
fantasies and thoughts taking on a life of their own. 

Suddenly it was Madonna fucking him and he looked up 
into the mischievous eyes. Seconds later it was 
Julianne Moore, earthy and heated, red hair in his 
face. Then it was Roma Torre, wearing nothing but a 
cropped t-shirt pushed up to her shoulders, breasts 
thrust into his face to lick. Then it was Cindy McCoy, 
his girlfriend from high school, whimpering as she used 
to when she was on top. Each lover different, each 
pussy different, each scent different. 

And then he was back with the woman, pussy gripping and 
pulsing on his cock, she had gone from tonguing and 
nibbling his ear to licking his neck. Her tongue drew 
obscene lines and circles on his neck and nibbled 
gently. He heard her panting and noise and her breath 
on his neck, sensations intensified by the coating of 
her saliva. Smooth teeth rubbed against his neck, 
including two sharp points lightly scraping his neck, 
teasing, as a woman does with her teeth when giving 
head. Tentative, soft bites. Not enough to leave a 
mark, but enough to tease.

He felt her begin to tense again, her movements more 
insistent. He also felt his need approach a point of 
loss of all control.

He felt her sink her teeth into his neck just as they 
started to come. He couldn't hear the piercing of his 
skin, although it was the sweetest sound she ever 
heard. She tasted the sweetness of his blood and had to 
hold herself in control lest she go beyond where she 
intended. The rich, heady smell and taste took her into 
a swoon as she sucked and started to come at once. His 
neck, her need and her sex were all that existed in her 
world. 

He could hear her moans as she felt the sweet blood 
wash over her teeth, splash against her lips and 
overflow slightly as she drank, as if she were 
receiving a load of his cum in her mouth. She licked 
and sucked his neck gently but with strength, rubbing 
her body against his, drawing herself toward the edge 
of her being. 

He couldn't decide whether the fangs in his neck and 
her tongue and lips slurping his blood were just as 
much a source of his pleasure as the spasms from the 
rest of his body. They shivered and shook on the roof 
as she sucked him, with both sets of lips. And then her 
tongue licked the wound sensually, even lovingly. She 
kissed him one last time with bloody lips. The same 
scent he'd enjoyed but couldn't place from her breath 
and her cunt.

"Just a taste tonight, baby," she whispered into his 
ear before rising to her feet, looking down at him 
smiling. 

He lay there with the midnight breeze blowing over his 
sweaty body, remnants of the visions departing for 
wherever visions go. He was left with his after shocks 
of orgasm, a lightheadedness from losing more than a 
pint of blood, and the disorientation that comes from 
suddenly being faced with the fact that that which you 
always thought could not be, is.

He looked to his left to the alley side parapet. His 
gut froze as her saw her rise to the parapet and 
without any hesitation, jump over into the abyss. He 
jumped to his feet, despite his body's better judgment. 
He ran to the parapet and wincing, looked over. Below, 
on the well-lit surface of the alley next to the 
building, there was no body. No damaged woman with 
broken legs. Nothing. 

He looked toward the street just in time to see her 
pass beneath the security floodlight, rounding the 
corner onto Lafayette Street, flowing back into the New 
York night. 

END

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 37