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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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Dana
by Dirty Dawg (drambo@primenet.com)
***
Dana's hips responded like a young colt's driving
herself into my mouth again and again as I tried to
keep her still so I could concentrate on giving
pleasure. (MF, rom)
***
Author Note: This story is basically romantic straight
male-female lovemaking. This story does NOT contain a
naked teenage nympho skydiver having midair relations
with her six instructors and then landing, still naked,
in a cucumber patch. Sorry, folks. Comments, questions,
suggestions, flamage, etc. continue to be welcome at
drambo@primenet.com. I hope you enjoy this! :)
***
Shopping for her that Christmas had become quite a
problem. She was my best friend, and in a perfect
world, we'd be dating. But as anyone can tell you with
a quick look around... this world ain't perfect. I
lusted after Dana with the lust only the truly
infatuated and completely unsatisfied can. If I were to
open my personal mental dictionary and look up the word
'perfection', Dana's smiling face would be staring
right back at me.
And, if you listened to her personal definition of
'perfect man,' I fit the bill completely... except for
one crucial detail. She wanted someone "Funny, warm,
sensitive, caring, not afraid to show his emotions..."
And then, always, she would add, to my chagrin, "...oh,
and sexually attractive."
Well, if you haven't guessed by <now> in which category
I'm deficient in, let's just say that I <am> funny,
warm, sensitive, caring and not afraid to show his
emotions. GET THE PICTURE? What I did have was an
absolutely undying love for this woman, a love that was
fueled by lots of late-night and early-morning
fantasies. She once asked me if I fantasized about
'us,' and if so, what were my fantasies?
I told her quite honestly that I <did> have sexual
fantasies about her, but in the overall scheme of
things, that was only about one-tenth of the total
fantasy/sex content ratio. The rest of the time, it was
about dumb, romantic things like walking down the beach
hand in hand, having dinner in some classy restaurant
together, doing the dishes together, having people over
to 'our' apartment... dumb, adolescent stuff like that,
stuff I craved with every fiber and nerve ending of my
being. And I knew with the deepest, most moral and
emotional certainty that if we ever <did> get together,
she would be popping her head against a brick wall for
taking so damn long.
I'm one of those guys who's always on the outside
looking in; a little smarter than the rest of the
people around me, a little funnier, a little more
'hip', in a weird, Nick-at-night kind of way. When it
came to answering the questions on Jeopardy! I had no
equal. When it came to playing Trivial Pursuit,
everyone wanted to be on my team.
When a female friend bought a new VCR and had no idea
how to program it or get cable channels, they always,
invariably called me. Manual? Who needed a manual? I'd
scoot down in front of it, pushing my glasses back up
my nose as I instantly decoded what the problem was and
fixed it. If it was electronic and had some way of
interfacing with the world, I could figure it out.
It was the flesh and blood computers, the one with the
two large disk drives in front and the core memory
underneath that I could never reverse-engineer and
decode. They spoke in a language as foreign to me as
binary is to most people. I swear to God, if I heard
the "Let's Just Be Friends," speech one more time, I
was going to kill something.
But Dana was different. She knew on some private mental
plane that I was hopelessly in love with her, but
didn't make me feel bad about it, didn't ridicule me
about it. She rejected my affections without making me
feel bad, and in my own private hell, that earned her
high marks. So we remained friends, good friends, the
kind of friend that will call you last thing at night
and first thing in the morning...just to talk. Just to
hear the sound of each other's voice, the sound of each
other's laughter coming over the line. We had private
jokes, inside little comments that we threw back and
forth like a personal, private code that only we could
understand.
If it were possible to have a love affair without the
sex, Dana and I did. We were closer than most
boyfriends and girlfriends, and we reveled in it.
But, as with all things of this nature, there were
invisible lines drawn, unspoken but understood limits
that we could never cross. Or, actually, that <I> could
never cross. You see, it was somehow OK for her to call
me and tell me about her latest boyfriend and what a
stud he was between the sheets, and how he treated her
like a queen. But it was <not> ok for me to talk about
the women in my life (what few there were...) because
that hurt her feelings.
I know, this sounds incredibly masochistic, but those
were the rules, and I stood by them and tried to quell
the little flutter in my heart and the twisting knot of
agonizing pain in my gut I felt every time Dana started
dating someone new. That's not even mentioning the
times I'd call her first thing in the morning and some
man's voice would answer. Those times absolutely
fucking sucked.
Or the times she would regale with me tales of her
sexual activity. Like the time she and one boyfriend
flooded out the bathroom because of some bathtub
gymnastics. Or the weekend she spent in front of a
fireplace with another guy, twisting their bodies into
impossible positions for hours on end.
I know.
Love's a bitch.
So here I was, Christmas shopping for the most
important woman in my life, and there were still rules
I had to follow: Nothing too personal. Nothing even
vaguely sexual. Safe things, like sweaters and books
and videos. Possibly a CD or two. But nothing personal,
private...nothing that she could cherish and treasure
for the rest of her life as having come from my hands
and heart.
Oh, sure, I'd broken the rule once or twice. Like the
time I sent her a vibrator as a joke. She told me that
there was a dearth of male action twixt her sheets, and
I helped her out with this glow-in-the-dark, plug-into-
the-wall latex vibrator that was huge. She loved it,
and we nicknamed it "Glow Worm."
I'd given her a priceless Japanese porcelain mask to
hang on her bedroom wall. It'd cost me almost six
hundred dollars. It was a birthday present. You know
what she gave me that year?
A keychain.
In the shape of a guitar.
I don't even <play> guitar!
So, anyway, being the miserable, self-abusing asshole
that I am, I was shopping for Christmas and trying to
figure out what to get her. The mall had shown me
everything it had, and I had one of two reactions to
every possible gift:
Reaction #1: Not personal enough.
Reaction #2: Too personal.
I hate Christmas. What did I have to look forward to?
My parents were long since dead; my sister had her own
thing going with a husband and two kids and her
husband's entire family. She'd made it more than clear
that as long as I sent her a check every month, she'd
be happy if I stayed away. My brother was off in some
far-away country with the Navy SEALs, and so was not
going to be celebrating Christmas this year, unless it
was to stick a Bowie knife in his mouth, sneak up and
slit the throat of some unsuspecting guard somewhere.
Dana was spending it with her new boyfriend, Ralph.
He was ten years younger and looked like a male model,
and if you could believe Dana, had this thing between
his legs that would make Mr. Ed hung his head in shame.
So much for <my> Christmas Eve.
Anyway, I was passing through the lingerie department
when something inside me snapped. I wasn't going to be
sorry for my feelings anymore. I was going to give this
fucking woman a real gift, a gift from the heart.
Something classy and sexy at the same time, something
beautiful and precious and wonderful, just like the way
I saw her.
I spoke to a salesclerk and explained what I was
looking for. She smiled at me and asked Dana's size. I
had all that information in my address book, under "D."
I read off all of Dana's measurements, obtained by
going through her closet when she was in the bathroom.
(It always amazed Dana that I managed to get everything
right without asking....hehe...)
She brought it out and wrapped it in front of me. It
was a teddy, emerald green with black lace trimming.
I'd seen it on a mannequin, and knew immediately that
Dana's long curly blonde hair and sea-foam blue-green
eyes would do that outfit <justice>. A little part of
me was sad that I'd never get to see her in it. A
couple of years ago I was planning to get her another
present along those lines, and she somehow found out
about it and was kidding me on the phone.
"Hey," I'd said, "I won't buy you <anything> I don't
get to see you in." And that had been the end of it;
she hadn't had a response to <that> statement.
But this time it was different. I asked the salesclerk
for a small card, like the one you send with flowers. I
thought for a moment, and then remembered a little
ditty from Willy Shakespeare:
"To me, fair friend, you never can be old, for as you
were when first your eye I eyed, such seems your beauty
still."
I wrote it on the card and taped it to the outside of
the box. It was three days to Christmas, and I planned
to drop it off at her apartment that night. But I got
paged by work, and had to go in and rewrite some system
utilities, and that turned into a forty-hour
programming marathon. It was Christmas Eve, about noon,
when I finally emerged from my office and told me
secretary that I was calling it a night.
I walked in the door to a ringing telephone.
"Hello?"
"Rick!" The voice was Dana, and she was crying.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"That bastard Ralph! He broke up with me today!" She
started crying again, long wracking sobs that tugged at
my heart and made me wish evil things to happen to
Ralph. Things involving anthills and honey.
"I'll be right over," I said, and hung up. The drive to
Dana's apartment took six minutes. I walked in, as I
always did when I knew she was alone, and found her on
the couch, feet curled under her, crying into her
hands. I went to her, sat on the couch, and gathered
her shaking form into my arms, doing my wonderful best
friend/Dutch uncle/good buddy routine.
She felt wonderful in my arms, like she belonged there.
I was just over six feet, and Dana stood five-nine.
Five-eleven in heels, so when we danced on those rare
occasions, her head fit wonderfully on my shoulder. I
chased those thoughts out of my head as I stroked her
back.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
"He c-c-called me, and t-t-t-told me that he d-d-d-
didn't w-w-want to s-s-s-see me anym-m-m-more," she
sobbed. "He s-s-said that he m-m-met someone else!" She
dissolved into another round of crying, and I let her
get it out of her system. We had this routine down pat.
Dana would cry, I would hold her, I would tell her what
a bastard he was and that he didn't know what he was
giving up (and thus saying without saying that <I> knew
what he was giving up and was ready, <anytime>, to take
up the slack...but that's part of the dynamics of the
relationship...)
So we went through the script. Neither of us flubbed a
line. Finally, all cried out, she asked, "What are your
plans tonight?"
"I don't have any," I said.
"Oh good. I'd hate to be alone." It sort of annoyed me
that she automatically assumed that I'd spend the night
with her, but there wasn't much I could do about it
now. So, we made dinner, ate it, did the dishes (just
like in my fantasy,) and sat down to watch "It's a
Wonderful Life" on TBS. She loves that movie, and as
usual, was in tears by the end. I must admit, I was
also a little damp around the edges, and she knew it. I
didn't care if she did or not.
We sat in silence, with her head on my chest as the
credits rolled, and then the screen went to commercial.
We started talking about Jimmy Stuart, and what a great
actor he was, always playing sweet, warm, sensitive
men.
"Now why can't I meet someone like that?" Dana
complained. "Someone kind and sweet and warm and funny
and sensitive?" I'd heard this perhaps a thousand times
before, and each time had kept silent. My arm was
around her shoulder, and my hand reflexively closed,
gripping her tightly, so great was my sudden anger.
Keeping my voice even so as not to let on, I finally
said what I'd been waiting to say for as long as I can
remember. "Yeah, it must be pretty tough to find
someone like that. I mean, someone so funny that you
can just call them on the phone whenever you're sad and
he'll cheer you up. Someone so warm that whenever
something happens to him, either good or bad, the first
thing he wants to do is call you and share it with you.
"It's so hard to find someone sensitive, someone who
cries at the end of "Wonderful Life." Someone so sweet
that they write poetry to you for your birthday." I had
done all of those things, and I knew she knew it.
Sarcastically, I added, "Yeah... must be <real> tough
finding someone like that."
She didn't say a word. I dropped my hand from her
shoulder and walked into the kitchen to get another
beer. I was disgusted with myself for finally saying
it...at ten to midnight on Christmas Eve.
"Oh!" Dana said, sitting up. "Your present! I almost
forgot!" She ran into her bedroom and returned with a
box. It had polka-dotted wrapping paper and looked like
a huge dice. (die?) I took it and opened it carefully,
smiling at her.
I pulled out a coffee mug. It said "Bestest Best
Friend" on it. I exclaimed that it was <just> what I
needed, and that I loved her for the sentiment. I
kissed her on the cheek and she smiled at me with shiny
eyes. I told her I'd be right back, and retrieved my
present from my car.
Suddenly, I was scared. She was going to freak. I knew
it.
I handed her the box and watched carefully as she
opened it, ready with an excuse or an explanation as
soon as she saw it and went ballistic.
Amazingly enough, that didn't happen. She read the card
and smiled at me. (I'm sure that I'd have to explain it
to her later... she was never a Shakespeare fan...)
Then she folded back the tissue paper and saw what it
was. Squealing, she lifted it by the straps and held it
in front of her.
"It's gorgeous," she breathed. "And my favorite color!"
(Actually, her favorite color is <forest> green, not
emerald green, but I wasn't going to correct her at
<this> point.) She suddenly leaned over and kissed me
straight on the lips.
Let me make something clear at this point. The entirety
of our physical contact over the past six years had
been two wonderful hugs, some slow dancing at a mutual
friend's wedding, several kisses on cheeks here and
there...and this kiss.
It was over in an instant, but it was an instant that
would be burned into my mind forever.
She jumped up and ran into her bedroom, slamming the
door behind her. I knew that she was trying it on, and
I wondered if she remembered what I'd said about giving
her sexy clothing. I turned my attention to the TV and
tried hard not to imagine Dana stripping her clothes
off to try this new present on. I flipped around and
found some choir singing "Joy To The World" on cable
and watched the sopranos reaching for those high notes.
My mind began to drift and fantasize, and in my dream I
imagined us married, on Christmas morning, watching our
children opening presents and giggling, me standing
behind Dana, my arms around her waist, the both of us
in comfortable, fuzzy bathrobes as we watched our
prodigy open their gifts. I got lost in that
comfortable fantasy, turning it over and over, looking
at it from different angles, the way a film director
might, looking for the best shot.
And then, as always, that sad little tug at my heart as
the fantasy machine ran out of steam and told me that
it would never be, that I was chasing rainbows again,
that I should be happy with things the way they stood,
and that I should find someone to love, someone that
would love me as much as I loved Dana.
The idea that there might actually <be> someone like
that was, of course, ludicrous.
Snorting to myself, I changed the channel to HBO.
"Ghost" was playing, and I watched Demi Moore and
Patrick whatisname make slow love after smearing clay
over each other. That closeness, that physical intimacy
that was made so much better by the already-established
emotional intimacy made me teary eyed.
As always, when I watched two characters in love kiss
on screen, I felt like I was having a heart attack.
This little pain starts in the middle of my chest,
about heart-high, and then makes a sharp left and
descends... and then slowly fades away. I'm not sure
what that is, but I feel it. The most intense I ever
felt it was when I saw Dana kissing her boyfriend in
the mall. She didn't see me, didn't know I was there,
and I watched them osculate hungrily, tongues meeting
to play on that silken field, and I wanted to kill that
man with my bare hands.
I heard the door open behind me, and I noticed the
clock on the VCR. It was 12:30am...Christmas Morning.
Dana had been in her bedroom for forty minutes. I
wondered if she'd brought Glow Worm out to play.
"Ghost is on," I said, without looking. I knew that it
was one of her favorite movies. There was no response,
and I detected that she was standing in the doorway to
her bedroom. Curious, I looked over my shoulder and
felt my heart seize and the breath lock in my chest.
Dana was standing in the doorway, leaning against one
arm held above her head, all her weight on one leg, the
other bent slightly and held forward of the other... a
model's pose. And she was modeling my teddy.
"Like it?" she said. Her voice was a husky, deep-
throated whisper. I was speechless. I nodded softly. "I
remembered what you said a few years ago... about not
giving me anything you couldn't see me in. And then I
remembered what I said tonight about looking for a nice
guy. And then I finally listened to what you had to
say, Rick. I really heard you this time."
Still speechless, all I did was nod.
"C'mere," she said, softer still. I stared at her, my
mouth dropping open. Surely, she couldn't mean... could
she? My question and prayers were both answered when
she crooked her finger at me.
On shaking legs I stood and walked to her. She dropped
the arm that had been on the jamb and let it fall on my
shoulder. She curled her fingers, and she was suddenly
scratching the back of my neck lazily, as one might
scratch a cat behind the ears. Believe me, if I could
have, I would have purred. Her touch on my skin, this
first electrical, sexual touch sent bolts of passion
shooting through my body. I wanted so desperately to
feel and smell and taste every inch of her that I shook
with desire.
Dana stepped in and molded her body against mine. I
could feel the dual pressure of her breasts against my
chest and the hot, burning pressure of her vulva
against my abdomen. She levered my neck, bringing my
face to hers, closer...closer.
And then we kissed. Really kissed, for the first time.
Her lips were soft and hot and slightly moist, just as
I'd always imagined them. It was a soft, friendly kiss
at first, scared and slightly tentative. As the passion
grew to overtake us, the pressure increased in little
leaps and bounds until we were kissing hungrily, trying
to consume each other through our mouths. My arms went
around her, crushing her body against mine.
Six years of accumulated passion and denial welled out
of my body, transmitted to hers through the kiss. She
could feel my need, my hunger for her, for every soft,
sweet, tender inch of her, and she responded, grasping
my shoulders with her hands, pulling me closer. As
Groucho once said, "If I were any closer, I'd be behind
you!"
And suddenly, it was clear. As clear as a mountain lake
on a cool spring morning. Still kissing her, I bent and
swept her legs into the crook of my arm and carried her
into the bedroom. The only light on was the bedside
table lamp, and it had a red handkerchief draped over
it, giving the room and eerie, ethereal glow. Gently,
like she was made of porcelain, I laid her on the bed
and stood above her, admiring.
Dana's hands were by her side, and she slowly trailed
them up, over her ribs, shoulders, and then into her
hair. She lifted it away from the pillow, arranging it
beside and behind her, imploring me with my eyes.
"Hurry," she whispered. "Oh, please hurry."
I started to take my shirt off, a heavy flannel work
shirt that I loved because it was so warm and soft.
Dana shot to her knees and slowly made her way to the
edge of the bed.
"Let me," she said. Locking her gaze with mine, she
undid the first button and spread the shirt, kissing
the part of my chest that was suddenly visible. Her
kisses were light and kittenish. Slowly, she unbuttoned
the entire shirt, exploring the muscles and skin she
found, slowly and gently licking each nipple until it
throbbed in her mouth.
Returning her gaze to mine, she tugged the tail of the
shirt out of my jeans and worked it down my arms,
tossing it over her shoulder. I sat down on the bed, my
back to her, and started to work my cowboy boots off.
Dana wrapped her arms around my neck from behind,
slowly and softly running her silk-covered breasts
across my back. I could feel the twin hot, hard points
of arousal digging into my back. I moaned softly, deep
in my throat, still trying to get my mind in gear.
The boots came off with a little tugging, and then my
socks followed. I could feel the tension in my groin, a
hot, bulging hardness, a staff of pure passion and
hunger, all emotional and physical appetitive that
would not be denied any more.
Standing, I turned to her and slowly unbuckled my belt.
Dana sat back on her haunches, sexily biting her lower
lip, her eyes focused on my hands as I worked. The belt
opened, then the button, and the fly. I don't wear
underwear, and the hot, hard tip of my staff peeked
out.
"Ooooh!" Dana said, her features melting into an
expression of pure desire. I shrugged my hips and the
jeans fell straight to my ankles. I stepped out of
them, and she could finally see me, all of me,
presented for her inspection and approval.
She smiled, and I suddenly felt proud that I could
display my hunger. Dana reached out a tentative hand
and grasped me softly. Her hand was almost unable to
enclose my girth, so aroused was I. She began a gentle
stroking motion, sending electric shocks up and down my
spine.
"I had no idea," she whispered. "No idea at all!" Then
with a giggle, she said, "Is that <all> for me?"
"All for you, always and forever," I whispered. With
shining eyes she looked up at me, and then leapt from
the bed like a jungle cat, wrapping her arms around my
neck and dragging me back to the bed, crushing herself
with my weight. I tried to shift myself off of her so
as not to crush her, but she held on.
"I want to feel you against me," she said in between
kisses. I settled on her body, running my hands through
her hair, returning her kisses with all the passion I
felt. We stayed that way for a long time, eagerly
devouring each other's mouths, lightly rubbing against
each other, my erection lightly teasing her silken
mound.
Slowly, I began to expand the scope of the operation.
Kissing Dana's neck, I removed the shoulder straps and
moved to the skin there, lightly, dryly kissing her,
taking my time. A little voice in the back of my head
was patiently lecturing that this might be my one and
only chance with the woman of my dreams and fantasies,
and I was going to do it right. I had always professed
to getting my own greatest satisfaction from my
partner's satisfaction; it was now time to put rhetoric
into practice.
I worked her body softly, always touching, always
stroking, taking my time to taste every single inch of
her, never rushing, never hurrying. I spent a good ten
minutes on her shoulders, neck and face before removing
the silk cups that surrounded her soft, snowy peaks.
When I finally revealed her breasts, I noticed that the
nubs were already hot and tight with arousal. Her taste
was sublime, better than the ultimate sorbet; I worked
each orb slowly, gently, patiently working towards the
ultimate conclusion. My hands were busy, stroking here,
lightly touching there, always gently exploring, like a
blind man might.
She began to writhe beneath me, the combination of my
touches gathering momentum in her center, drawing her
ever closer to the inevitable. I could feel her moist
heat underneath my hand, and I gently rubbed her
pleasure center, looking for the right mixture of
pressure and motion. Her hands clutched my shoulders
and she gently rode my probing digits through a wave of
climax, sobbing softly so great was her pleasure.
Returning to the land of the living, Dana attacked my
mouth, kissing me with an animal desire that I didn't
know she had, but always suspected she possessed. I
removed the teddy, and we were finally together, naked,
bodies touching in the soft red light of her bedroom,
staring into each other's eyes as my hands gently
touched her chest and legs and her hands stroked my
buttocks and back. There was a long moment where we did
nothing but stare at each other, each thinking silent,
private thoughts.
I have never felt closer to another human being than I
did to her at that moment. Her skin was warm and soft
and smelled slightly of lilacs. Under that, at a more
primal, phenomenal level was the scent of her arousal.
It filled my nostrils and made the thoughts in my head
turn from the soft, loving encounter I had planned (?!)
to more animalistic, passionate "taking" ... dismissing
those thoughts from my head, I slowly lowered my head
and kissed Dana again, savoring the taste of her mouth
as our tongues gently entwined.
Two hands pushing against my chest filled my head and
heart with sudden panic. Looking at Dana's face, I did
not see reproach or anger, only passion. She wanted me
to turn over, not leave. Heaving a mental sigh, I did
as she wished, and then underwent the staggering
pleasure of having her repeat to me what I had done to
her only moments ago, a gentle touching and feeling of
my entire body, centering around my pleasure centers
for instants at a time, only to move on to less...
dangerous place, lest I spend to quickly and break this
most magical of spells.
She was kissing my knees, and then the inside of my
thighs as she approached the towering monument of my
manhood. It twitched, trying to both encourage and
repel her slow, feline attack. And then her mouth was
around me, enveloping the head, bathing my most
sensitive skin with hot, moist saliva. I struggled,
trying to think of anything but the incredible pleasure
I was feeling. I thought of calm lakes and still ponds,
sunsets over a gently crashing ocean. I thought of
horseback riding across a grassy field, the sun at my
back, the scent of wildflowers.
And then it was too late. With a lurch and a staggering
gasp, I spent, casting my seed upon her. Dana did not
let up, but redoubled her efforts, intense on retaining
as much of my essence as possible, wanting so much to
keep this gift I had offered her. In my dealings with
her in the past, I knew that this had been a sticking
point with a previous lover, her inability or lack of
desire to fulfill to completion this most intimate of
kisses, and I was warmly touched by her efforts to
satisfy me in this way.
Finished, she crawled up my body and settled into my
arms. Knowing that it would both surprise and amuse
her, I kissed her mouth, tasting the brine of her most
recent activities in my own mouth; if asked previous to
that moment, I probably would have denied any desire to
do this, but with Dana it was an intimate, special
moment that sealed the passion between us better than
any mere words ever could have.
She was tentative at first, unsure that I knew what I
was doing; as she realized that I not only knew, but
welcomed it, the kiss intensified and we shared the
remnants of my generous liquid. Rolling over on the
bed, I returned to tasting her body, eager to give her
the same pleasure that she had given me. I worked my
way down her torso, stopping to French tickle her
navel, listening to the responding giggle and thinking
that the songbirds in the trees would be jealous could
they hear Dana's laugh, and then continued on to her
legs, all the way down to her petite feet, taking each
toe in my mouth and sucking gently, rubbing and
touching seemingly everywhere at once.
Returning northward again, I slowed as I approached her
center, wanting to draw out the agonizing tease,
wanting her to be shuddering with need and desire
minutes before I arrived.
And then I had a sudden thought. I knew something about
her that no one else did. Years ago, scant months
before we first met, there had been another man in her
life, a so-called friend that had taken advantage of my
Dana one night, a night spent with too much liquor and
not enough common sense, until she was in no position
to refuse his advances, until he took from here that
which should always be given.
My outrage and murderous impulses towards this man were
only compounded the night Dana tearfully admitted that
not only had he committed that atrocity against her
body and soul, but he had left something with her,
something that would always be with her, a little
horrid something that would appear in times of stress
and linger for days. We called it "The 'H'" between us,
and there was always an understanding that it made no
difference to me one way the other, and it was about to
be proven in the most intimate way there was.
I'm sure she expected me to swerve, lest it be the
wrong moment. I knew that if she knew, she would tell
me so that we would take the proper precautions, so I
continued ever upward. I was willing to take the
chance, and not stop and spoil the mood by asking. I
wanted my absolute disregard of personal issues to be
another gift to her, another way of telling Dana that I
loved her no matter what... forever and always.
And then I was upon her, tasting her arousal and
excitement, following it up by rubbing her pleasure
center with my nose, gently, like a kitten might bump
noses with you. Dana's hips responded like a young
colt's driving herself into my mouth again and again as
I tried to keep her still so I could concentrate on
giving pleasure.
Her slickness aroused me to no end, and I tried to
capture and taste as much as I could, knowing and
believing that it was ambrosia. Her hands were in my
hair, nails scratching my scalp. Little feral moans,
animal sounds really, started emanating from deep
within her body, and I rode her slick "V" through two
monumental climaxes, grinning to myself and feeling
myself grow closer still.
Finally, I separated from her vulva and made my way
still northward, again sharing a kiss with her. She
sucked hungrily at my mouth, eager for her own taste,
her own scent. We stayed that way for several long
moments, enjoying the glow of pleasure and satisfaction
between us.
A hand reached down below my waist and gently circled
me. "My, my," Dana said. "Is this all for me? And so
soon?"
"Always and forever," I whispered again. Dana smiled at
me and tugged at my waist, pulling over on top of her.
I felt myself nudging at her entrance, and then I was
penetrating her, filling her with me. She was
mercurially warm for me, a silken vise coated in slick,
hot honey that covered every inch of my passion and
bathed it with hers. We began to move together, gently
at first, softly, two friends exploring the dimensions
and limits of passion together, trying to find a
rhythm, a pace that we could call our own and dissolve
into, losing our separate identities and becoming a
spiritual 'one.'
Slowly, in stages, our passion increased until we were
rutting like animals, sweat pouring between us, our
skin sticking on each stroke. Our breathing
intensified, and we moved closer and closer to the
ultimate, mutual release point. My view was filled with
the sight of Dana's face, her eyes closed in enjoyment,
concentration and passion, sexily biting her lower lip,
her upper lip covered with a fine sheen of
perspiration, her incredibly soft and firm breasts
jiggling with each stroke, her soft, guttural moans of
enjoyment filling my ears.
I could feel my own impending release arriving, and I
waited for her, exercising a control I wasn't aware I
possessed, until I felt her clutch at me, inside,
drawing my semen from me, into her, until we
completed...together, collapsing against each other as
the waves of release and passion washed over us,
drowning us both in their unstoppable waves.
Slowly, our breathing returned to normal as we held
each other and talked and laughed quietly.
"My God!" she enthused, smiling like a woman who had
just discovered a very delicious secret. "I had no
idea, Rick!"
"I did," I said seriously, a half-smile on my face. "I
always knew it would be like this... between us."
A little frown crossed her face. "Really? How?"
I shook my head, eyebrows raised. "I don't know 'how' I
know... I just did. I've been thinking about this
moment for six years."
"Since when?!"
"The day we met. I looked up at you, and I knew at that
moment that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with
you." She opened her mouth to respond to <that>, and I
silenced her with a finger across her lips. "That's not
what I meant, Dana. Even if nothing else ever happens,
it will be worth it, because I have this perfect
pristine moment, holding you in my arms after we made
love. I've wanted nothing but that for the longest
time, just the chance to show you what we can be like
together.
"Let's just leave it like this for now, honey. I'm not
expecting anything from you. I just want to spend
tonight in your arms, holding you, feeling you next to
me. As far as <tonight> goes, I don't want to let you
go. When the bright, rational sunlight of morning is
filling this bedroom, we can discuss all the other
issues. But for tonight... just let me hold you."
She dissolved into my arms, sobbing either with
happiness at this newfound joy, or sadness because she
suspected it was only for tonight.
I didn't know which, but you know what? As we slowly,
softly fell asleep that Christmas Eve, I didn't care. I
knew that I had given her something only one person on
the Earth could give her; I'd given my all to her,
given of myself to her, and she had taken it
gratefully, with love and warmth and tenderness.
Whatever arctic winds waited in the wings for tomorrow,
ready to blow what we had out to sea, I knew I would be
happy and content.
We fell asleep in each other's arms. I woke first,
almost half an hour before Dana did. I spent the time
watching her sleep, the sun cutting in from the window,
split into prison-bar shadows by the blinds,
perpendicular to her body. Dana was on her stomach, her
face towards me, her hair a glorious mane of disarray
on the pillow. I could see the flattened weight of her
breasts against the mattress, and the gentle sloping
curve of her rump. The sheets were down below her
waist, low enough so I could only see the beginning of
the cleft of her behind.
Breathing slowly, evenly, her face the innocent mask of
an angel, I toyed with her hair and brushed it away
from her face, content to just look at her as she
slept. In my fantasies, I always used this special time
to whisper sweet nothings to her, to tell her sleeping
form how much I loved and adored her, how I would
never, ever leave her, things like that.
"Dana," I said softly so as not to wake her, "I'm not
sure what today is going to bring for us, let alone
tomorrow. But I want you to know... that I always loved
you, and I will always love you. You're the first
person I want to talk to every morning, and the last
person I want to talk to at night. I want to share
every aspect of my life with you. I know that it may
not be what you want... but I want you to know that
it's here for you if you want it. All you have to do is
ask me, and I'll be yours... always and forever."
Dana opened her eyes and smiled at me, and I knew with
a sudden, embarrassed certainty that she'd heard my
entire spiel. Kissing me gently, she asked, "Always?"
Kissing her back, I said. "Forever."
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 63