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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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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Across the Catty Corner
by Backrub (bckrub@aol.com)
for Sue
***
On a day like any other two people become voyeurs and
then lovers. (MF, voy, mast, rom)
***
"Isn't it love that keeps us breathing?
Isn't it love we're sent here for?"
Many of us pass our lives day to day, waking, dressing,
washing, commuting, working, eating, sleeping,
occasionally making love or having sex, sometimes
crying, sometimes laughing, but all too often
experienced as a routine. We often lose sight of the
idea of each day being a gift and of seemingly random
events as having greater meaning. We take too much for
granted.
In my work, seeing larger meaning, or even hope, is
often very difficult. For thirty years I've worked in
the government of a large eastern city. First as an
idealistic young program manager, then as a cop, and
then after I'd taken a bullet which stopped my "let's-
just-chase-the-perp-over-that-20-foot-fence" days, as
an operative for the city's Investigation Department.
We look out for corruption and for people trying to rip
off the city with scams.
Enforcement work of any kind can disillusion you pretty
nicely, thank you, and make you forget the beauty and
kindness around you. You spend your time in a paranoid
state of mind, looking for people who lie without
thinking about it, get caught, and keep on lying until
we eventually put them away. You can easily forget
about the magic of those seemingly random pauses of
unplanned joy in your life. When you get to that point,
you're in big trouble. Burned out. Suicidal. Depressed.
That's how cops die or slide into a bottle. That's
where I was until one of those chance intersections of
lives pulled me out; one of those pitches life throws
at you that you can decide to turn away from, or allow
it to change you forever.
A loss of that perspective, a loss of my ability to
remember the magic in life and the accumulated weight
of too many arrows and too much caring about them had
led me to that hotel room in Seattle. I hadn't felt
this bad in years and while I was in town to deliver a
paper at a conference and had been well received, I
didn't make much of a difference. I was at the point
where I was counting days 'till retirement, a practice
I'd always abhorred among public servants.
That night I had showered, downed a vodka and tonic and
was looking out the curtains of my room across the
hotel's atrium. Years ago I would have looked out of
that atrium and felt the hum of life: laughter, debate,
pain, lust, love, joy and confusion, but in some kind
of context that ended with my continuing to see the
general pleasure in existence. Now I was trying
desperately to connect to the lives all around me,
their meaning and spark.
She came out of the elevator lugging a suitcase, with a
briefcase and a laptop slung somewhat precariously over
her shoulder. Even from fifty feet away I could tell
the Logan airport tags on her luggage. Her business-
like silk dress and her demeanor narrowed her
professional options significantly. The tired dignity
with which she carried herself spoke volumes about her
ability and her strength.
This was not young administrative assistant, but
someone who made things happen. There was no wedding
band. (Years before a woman friend asked me what I
first noticed about a woman I just met. She may have
been expecting "breasts" or "body" but I replied, "The
first thing I notice is her eyes and her smile. Then my
eyes immediately drop down... to her left hand to see
if she's married." "Proof positive that you're over
thirty," she laughed.)
Although clearly fatigued, she also reeked of nervous
energy and her alert eyes were not aimed at the floor
as she walked, but casually glancing all around her:
observant, aware.
And then she stopped. About three doors down the
balcony she stopped and glanced, then peered into one
of the room windows. I couldn't see into that window
from my position but I didn't need to, her eyes, her
body and soon enough, even more told me most of what I
needed to know. Some people communicate volumes through
their eyes. These people always make wonderful friends
and lovers but incredibly lousy liars and salespeople.
Some people, when they come upon others in a sexual
situation, avert their eyes, look embarrassed, or, if
they're men, suddenly take on the look of horny dogs.
This woman was almost mesmerized. Her nervous energy
suddenly had an object and the pure lust in her eyes
gave little doubt that she had seen people doing
something very nasty in that room.
Without taking her eyes from the object of her desire,
she slowly lowered the suitcase to the floor. The
fatigue that had been apparent seconds before had been
replaced by alert, rapt attention. Her arms and face
were becoming flushed and her fingertips, and then her
hands began to touch her thighs. She absent-mindedly
bit one lip and then parted them. She licked her lips
and reached with one hand to play with her hair while
another began to slowly caress her stomach and then,
her cunt through her dress.
This went on for minutes and it was my turn to be
mesmerized. This woman's ability to be sucked into the
delight, the gift of the moment was a catharsis for me.
To give in to lust, to love, she had what I had lost.
Then, for a moment, it was broken. A look of
embarrassment spread across her face. Not horror, this
was clearly a woman comfortable with her sexuality.
Likely they had noticed her and her brain was
processing the message, "Yes, but you are also a
respected businesswoman and you know damn well you
can't let your guard down publicly. Who else among the
scores of rooms facing this atrium is watching you?"
She picked up her bag and moved down the balcony toward
her room... and then, looking forward, she noticed me
at the curtain. A series of messages flashed across her
face: "Oh shit, EVERYBODY's seen me with my hand on my
mound. A guy, great, just the right message, you self-
indulgent pervert."
But then after she'd looked into my eyes for a few
seconds, she relaxed, a bit, although she still quickly
stumbled and fumbled to her door, fumbled with the
keys, dropped them, scooped them up after two tries,
finally got the door open and slid inside just before
her mental Godzilla caught up with her.
I remained at the window, feeling an enormous sense of
arousal and relief. Arousal, evidenced by a rock-hard
erection sending "Me Tarzan, Her Jane" messages to my
brain, and relief because this woman had suddenly
brought me back into the world. The feeling, risk-
taking, joyful, crimson-red-faced-and-proud-of-it world
that I had spent most of my life in.
And then she was at her window. Again the look of
caution, mixed with lust, with a veneer of fatigue. But
there she was. She looked at me, from my eyes to my
cock, tenting my robe. Our eyes met, I questioned. She
held up her hand and slowly, ever so slowly, began
undressing. First, her green silk blouse, then her
shoes and skirt. Then, and this really affected me, she
undid her braid and released her long blond hair, a
metaphor for the moment.
She began to move, to undulate, hands moving over her
body temple and onto her bra and her breasts. The front
snap was undone, and there were her beautiful breasts.
She looked directly at me and watched as my fingertips
slid over my cock. She hooked her thumbs into the
waistband of her panties and slid them down.
Almost immediately her hand went to her mound and she
began fingering herself. Just as quickly she gave a
shudder - things had apparently been building up for
quite a while today waiting for this release. She
looked directly at my hand pumping my cock, which
challenged my normally dependable self control. Then
she did two things which set the stage for me. She used
a hand to pull apart her labia and she raised one leg
up onto the window sill, exposing herself fully.
I fastened my eyes upon hers and began concentrating on
one thought as her fingers played across her pink flesh
as my hand stroked my own. I am in front of her on my
knees, licking and sucking and fingering that wet cunt,
massaging her anus and tonguing her clit until she has
to come all over my face.
I stared at her continuously, hoping that thought would
carry across the silence of glass barriers and walls as
she became more aroused. But she also had a message for
me. Her eyes had a look that I've seen before. The "If-
I-really-want-to-finish-you-off-you-don't stand- a-
chance" look. And she was right. It wasn't just the
beautiful woman dancing with me in the night. It was
the moment. Whether you think of it as religious, or
fate or life tapping you on the shoulder and reminding
you, "Remember this? This was part of it, too. Now
don't forget, fool."
When she began making suggestive movements with her
lips as I played with my balls I felt pushed, or pulled
over the edge. My body momentarily turned into a cock,
my back arched, my abdomen tightened and I spurted
across the divide onto the window in front of me.
As I continued to shake with aftershocks I watched as
she went into high gear, the hand over her clit almost
a blur and her pelvis fucking the air as I wished it
was grinding against my face. Her head snapped back and
she came, juices visible on her hand and then her body
pushed forward to mash her wet juicy cunt against the
window. I could hear grunts that even the double pane
windows could not keep in.
Then she vanished from immediate view into the arms of
a chair, the bed, or the floor, I couldn't tell which.
I went to the phone, my need for personal contact as
great as the need for release had been just a few
moments before. I had no interest in this wonderful
woman turning into any pizza, and I hoped she felt the
same. But I didn't want her to feel trapped either.
She answered and I just went on, "My name is Charlie
and I just wanted to thank you. Not just for the sex,
but you just pulled me out of the abyss and back into
the world. I just wish it had been my tongue on your
pussy just now. Call if you need or want anything, or
don't if you're done."
I hung up before she could say anything and immediately
wondered and feared that, as usual, I had just made a
jerk of myself. Couldn't I just disappear when it was
clear that was appropriate?
My obligatory guilt was interrupted by a soft tapping,
and then a catlike scratching at the door. "C'mon, it
was bad enough before when I was clothed! I don't want
this particular world to see me buck naked with my
juices dripping down my leg!"
I open the door and she was in my arms, the door was
closed behind us and she was saying, "Shut up and kiss
me." I did.
We moved over to the bed, she fell onto her back and I
moved on top her. Kissing her, nibbling and sucking on
her lips, then her neck and down to her breasts. I
licked and sucked on her nipples - hard for much of the
last hour and now rising again with the mounded areolae
beneath them. My hand slid down to a very wet thatch of
pubic hair.
I moved my fingers gently among her folds, not knowing
how sensitive she might be after the strumming her clit
had received not so many minutes before. I licked and
kissed my way down her taut stomach to a very sexy
navel and further to the heady smell of musk. I took
one long slow lick, wide tongued over her cunt, looked
up at her and asked, "What did you see? What were they
doing?"
She replied, "Shut up and lick me." I did.
Her hips began to move against me immediately, her hand
reached down to grab my head. I slid a finger inside to
see if I can could find a spot that... yep, that's it
all right. I buried my face in her and shook my head
violently side to side. She arched her back and
whimpered, but didn't quite lose control.
I stopped, raised my head and asked again. "Not fair!"
she protested. I returned to her cunt, but only traced
fines lines with the tip of my tongue and resisted her
attempts to raise herself up into my mouth.
"Ok," she moaned resigned to the interruption, "he was
fucking her from behind while they were watching a sex
video and then... Unh!" as my tongue slid back over her
clit and into her cunt, joining my finger in painting
lewd pictures on the walls of her vagina. I didn't stop
at all this time, remembering what had set her off last
time, and did it over and over until I heard the most
wonderful, "Oh shit," and I was subjected to a sweet
smothering.
After she calmed down I wiped my wet face on the
insides of her thighs, stood, took her hands and lifted
her up and over to the chair. She knew just what I
intended and without instruction she sprawled herself
over the plush chair and raised her ass and cunt in an
invitation that is a million years old. I took my cock,
placed it against her puffy lips and made the smooth
wet entry I expected. Her cunt was like a very wet,
very warm, very nasty mouth that pushed back against me
and swallowed me all in one gulp.
I began slowly, wanting to savor the feeling and the
union of lust and people. She worked a hand down
between her legs to rub her clit but her urgency made a
decision for both of us. Soon there were the sounds of
our moans and the needs of two people sharing a warm
time in a cold world. And the soft slurping sounds of
my cock sliding in and out of her and the harder sound
of my stomach and thighs slapping against her ass as we
fought our way to ecstasy.
She made wonderful sounds that brought joy to my heart
and desperation to my balls. When she began to come she
twisted around so I could see her face and as she went,
I saw her mouth the words, "Empty your balls into me,
baby." And that was much too much for me to ever
resist, even if she'd been doing it to me for ten
years.
We slid onto the floor and held each other close. She'd
come for relief and had found more than that. I'd come
drowning and found myself back on the beach, rescued.
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 66