Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Cheating, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Part 1 - Amy has started to read a Letters column is a men's magazine and finds it entertaining. But as she reads, old memories begin to haunt her and take her on a strange ride down Memory Boulevard.
Amy's finger massaged her clit as she sat on the toilet reading the "Letters" column in her husband's magazine. She had gone into the bathroom for a quick pee but noticed it in the mag-rack amongst the others: House and Garden, Money, Fishing and other more benign periodicals. It was funny how she had never noticed it before but it had somehow snagged her attention this time.
She recognized the name as a mainstream men's publication but she was curious to see what was inside. As she thumbed through the pages, occasionally checking out the pictures, she came upon a column called "Letters." In slightly smaller text just below the title, it read "Readers experiences," and then went on to explain how "you" could send in yours.
What had kept her reading though were the titles, such as "I gave hubby a blowjob at work," and "How my boss got what she wanted," and of course the first one that she read, "Cum inside."
Cindy, was the author and had a lot in common with Amy: they were both dinks, double income no kids, and their husbands had insisted that they stop all forms of birth control except for the withdrawal method. Cindy went on to explain how her husband would taunt her into holding him inside her vagina to the point of his orgasm, but would always manage to break away at the last possible second.
She was about halfway through that letter when she decided to close the bathroom door so she could start "digging". Digging was the word that Amy and her friends had used to describe masturbation before they knew there was a name for it, and it had stuck.
John, Amy's husband, had never asked her to hold him in but everything else sounded familiar. In fact, he had tried to get her off the pill even before they got married, but Amy would have nothing to do with it. She had told him that if they got married, it would be because they wanted to, not because she was pregnant.
Amy pushed her panties down to her feet and kicked them off. She had removed her bra earlier as she usually did when she got ready for bed. Clad only in her t-shirt and sitting on the toilet, she continued to read—and dig. Cindy went on in her letter to describe her feelings as frustrated, and a relentless desire to be pregnant. She also missed the feeling of her husbands cock "going off" inside her. "The warm explosion of semen when he ejaculated," she wrote.
Amy's finger dipped inside her vagina as she recalled the feelings that Cindy described. She remembered John's cock pumping warm cum inside her as he did that last hard push and held it deep inside her.
She opened her knees wide as she sat on the toilet, and watched as her finger moved in and out of her wet vagina. Amy inserted a second finger and rubbed her clit with her thumb. Her red pubic hair tickled her upper thigh as her fingers distorted the flesh around her hole. Removing her fingers from her sex, she cupped her vulva with her hand and continued to read the letter.
Cindy, the letter continued, had carefully calculated the date of her ovulation and it was due. She came up with a plan to seduce her husband that night and take the top position where she could be in control. Starting with his favorite meal and a sexy negligee, she then maneuvered him to the couch and began to undress him.
After Cindy had removed his clothes, she wrote: "I got down on my knees and took his cock into my mouth. My tongue gave special attention to the underside where the foreskin joined and split the head into two parts. I sucked him with passion until I could taste his precum and knew he was on the verge of orgasm."
Cindy climbed up onto his lap and pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, and then she inserted his cock. She locked her feet to the underside of his calves and worked her arms under his and around his back. Later in the letter, her husband would confess that he knew what her intentions were, but he had been too excited by her sexual aggression to stop it. Cindy went on to describe, in graphic detail, the rest of the story.
"'Cum you fucking bastard, ' I screamed through clenched teeth as I fucked him heatedly. My husband's hands gripped my hips and assisted my pumping movements. I could feel my own orgasm approaching and sat all the way down to his balls. I started a front to back motion not giving up one inch of penetration.
"I—I'm going to cum," my husband sputtered as he tried to lift me off his cock, but it just made me bare down that much harder.
"Cum—cum—cum!" was all I could manage as my orgasm overtook me. My husband's hot sperm flooded my vagina and I screamed unintelligible words that neither of us would be able to recall later."
Amy put down the magazine and looked between her legs. Her vulva was inflamed and her groin felt heavy, as if something was inside her vagina. She put the tip of her finger at the entrance of her hole and then pulled it away. A long string of clear fluid clung to her finger and then attached itself to her thigh. She used her wet digit to dig at her clit as she relived an experience that occurred months before and had never been repeated since.
John had just finished making love to her and had ejaculated into her pubic hair. He had gone to the bathroom and she grabbed the towel, the one they always brought with them to bed, to clean herself up. But in a moment of weakness, she lubricated her finger with his cum and started digging at her clit.
It was exactly the middle of her cycle and not a safe time for sperm to be anywhere near her hole—and that excited her. At first it was just a game of dare. How far would she go?
While she rubbed her clit, a finger from her other hand dipped into John's cream. She raised and spread her legs. Being careful not to penetrate, she smeared the cum around her hole, but like a thirsty kitten at her mother's teat, her pussy demanded more.
This time, she used two fingers and scooped up a good lot of it and held it up to her hole. The finger at her clit dug in just under the little bundle of nerves, rubbing the length of it. Amy's orgasm was upon her as she struggled with the moral dilemma—but lost. At the last fraction of the last second, and just before the very peak of her orgasm: she shoved the two cum-covered fingers in her cunt
A shiver ran through Amy's body as she sat on the toilet thinking back to that night. It wasn't an orgasm, but it was as close as she ever got without going over. It wasn't uncommon for her to have several mini-gasms, as Amy would call them, before the real thing.
Amy looked over some of the other tittles in the column hoping to find another letter that interested her. There were about ten in all and most were topics she wouldn't want to read about. When she came to the last, the title was mysterious enough to make her read a little further.
"Two plus one equals fun," was the title and a woman named "Twobivirgin" wrote it. Twobi was a woman who had been married for over ten years and had grown bored with life, especially her sex life. Like Amy, she married young and had never had sex with anyone other than her husband.
There similarities were enough to make Amy want to read on. Twobi describes herself as a woman in her thirties, a little round but not fat, small breasts and what others tell her is a cute face. She goes on to write that, "Judging from the attention I get from men, other than my husband, I am acceptable to most as a sexual partner." A rather odd way to put it, Amy thought, but curiosity kept her reading.
Amy skimmed through some of the other facts that were mostly geographical in nature and moved on the juicy parts. Once again she let her finger do some digging while she read.
The letter starts to get interesting when Twobi complains to a woman, Vicky, whom she works with, that her husband had to fly to fly to Miami on business and would be gone for the entire week— including the weekend. She invites Twobi to spend a few days with her and her husband, David. After Vicky's assurance that David wouldn't mind, she accepted her invitation.
Twobi writes: "When I showed up at their door Thursday night, both Vicky and David greeted me with a warm smile and salutations. David took my small suitcase while Vicky wrapped her arms around me and hugged my body. Her breast and groin pressed into me and she gave me a peck on my cheek. I remember thinking at the time that it was a bit much. David shook my hand; his right hand in mine as his left gently squeezed my wrist, and then he too gave me a kiss."
The letter goes on to describe the first night as nostalgic and great fun. Except for the wine, it was very much like the sleepovers Amy had when she was a young teen. Even David had a roll to play in this; Twobi had a crush on her friend's older brother and now she found herself very attracted to David. Not that she would ever do anything to hurt her friend, but a girl can fantasize—can't she?
"Yes," Amy thought out loud, "a girl should be allowed to fantasize." Amy turned the page.
Twobivirgin continues; "we road together to work and Vicky was at the wheel. Somehow, the long commute to work didn't bother us one bit. We laughed and flirted with a carload of teenagers in a Mustang that played tag with us the whole way. Suddenly we were teenagers again ourselves; thirty-year-old high school girls winking and blowing kisses out the window.
One of the boy's in the Mustang shouted, "show us your tits." I covered my mouth and blushed and was about to yell something back at them when Vicky pulled up her shirt and bra and exposed herself to them and, not to mention, anyone else that might have been looking. Luckily we were bogged down in morning traffic at the time and the car wasn't moving very fast. The boy's whistled and applauded as we pulled up ahead of them a car length.
"Go ahead," Vicky said.
"Why not, it's all in fun?"
It wasn't that I didn't want to; it's just that I'm a shy person and have always been a little embarrassed about my small breasts. But—being around Vicky and her bodacious personality can drive you to do things you wouldn't normally do.
"Come on sweetie, join in the fun. When I slow down, give them a peek."
When she slowed and we were even with the Mustang—I did it. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and hooked my bra with my fingers on the way up. With my nipples erect and a tingle in my clit, I displayed my tiny breast to the world. The sound of the boy's hands slapping together and their wolf whistles sent what felt like a thousand bumblebee wings buzzing in my groin. Out of the peripheral vision of my eye I saw a man, he must have been in his seventies, with a big grin on his face. Several of his fingers were applauding silently as if not to let his wife, hunched over the steering wheel and engaged in a white-knuckle death grip, hear or see what he was doing."
Amy's finger on her clit produced another mini-gasm inspired by Twobi's story. The magazine rested on her knee as she closed her eyes and dug at her sex. She let out a soft moan and her body began to relax. Amy opened her eyes and looked down to her chest. Her nipples stood proudly.
The second night, Twobivirgin writes, was a weekend night, and no one had to get up in the morning.
"After work, Vicky and I stopped to pick up some Chinese food and wine for our festivities. A nice Sauvignon Blanc that Vicky had tried at a trendy new wine shop in town. I would have been happy with beer, but when in—France?
When we arrived at Vicky's, I needed to pee in a bad way and Vicky had made me laugh so hard on the way home that I had wet my pants more than once. She almost busted a gut over my frantic departure from the car. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants while I rushed to the bathroom and had even begun to pull them down by the time I blasted into the bathroom.
"Hi..." David began until he noticed who had entered the room.
I had no choice but to continue with my mission, and that was to pee. It would either go in the toilet or on the floor, but it was going to happen.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said as I urinated. "It was an emergency."
It was then that my mind cleared enough to realize that he was nude. All that had registered in my mind when I burst into the bathroom was that he was shaving. The fact that he hadn't been a gentleman and left is what made me look up. My face began to burn with embarrassment as I noticed he was naked—the splashing sound of my urine in the toilet water didn't help matters either.
But—it wasn't all embarrassment; before me, stood a very attractive body, and it didn't help any that I was already attracted to him. Although he wasn't tall, maybe five-foot ten or so, he was in very good shape. His proportionately sized muscles rippled under his skin and I don't believe there was an ounce of fat anywhere. And tucked between his legs was, what I considered, the cutest little penis I have every seen. Not that I'm any expert, mind you, but I know what I like.
I pushed aside my wistful thoughts and apologized again—and then looked away.
"Could you throw me my towel please?"
My puzzled look must have told him I had no clue as to which towel he was referring to because he then pointed in front of my legs. On the floor was a towel that I must have tossed when I lifted the toilet lid.
David wrapped the towel around his waist and as he sidled by, between my knees and the wall, the tent-like bulge in the towel brushed my head—ever so slowly. He then left the room and closed the door behind him.
There was a moment of bewilderment as I thought about what just happened. I was torn between disgust and sexual arousal. Disgust in that he had rubbed his dick on my head, and sexual arousal in that— he rubbed his dick on my head. I reached down between my legs and squeezed my clit, but the guilt of betraying Vicky prevented me from masturbating."
Amy reluctantly withdrew her hand from between her legs; the letter was continued on page one hundred and thirty-two. She cursed in a low, almost inaudible, voice as she searched through the magazine. She came to a pictorial of a man and a woman engaged in what could only be described as "we are about to have sex" pictures. The woman of course had big breast and the man was hung like a banana tree. His cock was semi hard and had a slight upward bend.
The young attractive man held his cock an inch or so from the woman's mouth; her tongue set to lick the monster before her. The small slit in the head of his penis was open and a thick clear liquid filled the space. Amy's finger went back to digging as her eyes moved from frame to frame, but became frustrated when she had to turn the page once again. On the following page the woman's legs were bent at the knees and spread wide and the look on her face was that of a woman waiting for penetration. The man was poised over her with one hand supporting his upper body and one holding his cock. He was about to shove it in.
Amy dropped the magazine to the floor and dug at her clit. She took a short detour to moisten her finger at the entrance of her vagina and when she returned to her clit she new she was about to go over. Her finger moved faster and harder as she made little circles over her clit, and then dug for gold by concentrating on a back and forth movement that brought her to her orgasm. It started in her groin and spread quickly throughout her body causing her to stiffen and close her legs tight and entrapping her hand. She remained stiff with sporadic spasms that jolted her entire body and caused loud inhuman-like sounds to escape her lips.
There was a soft knock at the door. "You okay in there?" the voice from behind the door said; it was her husband, John. Amy tried to think quick but her mind was still locked into the afterglow of the endorphins that had just been pumped into her bloodstream. "Yes— I'm fine."
"You have been in there for a long time. What are you doing?"
"Oh, sorry. I'm reading a magazine, do you need to go?"
"No, I was just concerned, that's all. Go back to..." He had ended the sentence with a pause, as if he were going to ask a question and changed his mind.
Amy wondered if he would still say that if he knew what she was reading. She took that thought a bit further and wondered what he did when he read the magazine. The corners of her mouth slithered up and formed a kind of sardonic smile when she remembered the old cliché, "I buy it for the articles."
Amy turned to page one hundred and thirty-two.
Twobivirgin continues: "After the bathroom episode, I went straight to my room and changed into something a bit more comfortable, and not to mention, into some dry panties. When I finished dressing, I stood at the door and paused, afraid to go out. How would I be able to face David again? It was bad enough that I had to pee in front of him, but then there was his nudity—did he notice that he turned me on, and that I peeked at him?
I shook my head and couldn't believe how juvenile my thinking had become and I felt like a schoolgirl who had just been caught with her panties showing. My need to urinate had been an absolute emergency and as for the other, how could he know what was in my mind—and what of it. It was no accident when his penis slowly raked across my head. He's the one that should be afraid to face me.
When I entered the living room, which also joined the dinning room seamlessly, Vicky had set the table and all the small boxes of Chinese food were strategically placed within reach for all. A glass of wine was set beside each place setting and the re-corked bottle of wine was in the middle. The soft jazz that played on the sound system coalesced with the twenty or so candles they had placed around the room, and induced an atmosphere of warmth and sensuality. Red and gold light from the day's last moments shown through the large westward facing window, and just over the horizon a small sliver of the sun seemed to struggle to keep the day alive.
After the first few awkward moments when David sat down beside me, dinner went quite well. I felt relieved that the toilet encounter hadn't come up—but the morning commute did. David had asked us how our day went and Vicky let it out that they had an interesting drive to work. At that moment I realized that Vicky was the kind of person that just couldn't keep her mouth shut. A secret to her was like a pimple on a teenager's face. It would grow and grow to painful dimensions and then—explode.
Suddenly I felt like a spectator at a ping-pong match. She said, and then he said, and then the rush of blood to my face when Vicky had said, "and she did it too!" My arms crossed both breasts in an attempt to hide them as a serious blush, nearly as red as the earlier sunset I'm sure, colored my cheeks.
"May I..." I started to say, but it came out strange and my voice jumped up an octave. Trying again, I finally succeeded. "May I have another glass of wine ... please?"
Vicky and David laughed, and each placed a hand on one of my thighs, and then they both gave me a kiss on an apposing cheek at the same time. At first, it took me by surprise and I wanted to push them away, but the feeling of invaded space quickly faded and was replaced with a warm glow. Their lips felt like feathers as they scarcely touched my face. There was another kiss, and again. Like synchronized swimmers, they moved in a slow sensuous movement that ended at the nape of my neck, and then they kissed each other.
They stood and each took one of my hands and led me to the couch. We sidled between the coffee table and sofa single file like young children at school on their way to lunch. They pulled me down between them and I turned to David to object to whatever it was they had planed but before my lips could form the first word; he kissed me. Vicky had moved close behind me and I could feel her warm breath on my neck. What happened next left no doubt in my mind that David— and Vicky wanted to make love to me. They were a team. Neither male nor female, but one mind and two bodies and they worked well together. The left hand always seemed to know what the other left hand was doing.
David's first kiss had felt more like a question than a kiss, and my answer had been to kiss him back, but it wasn't meant to be a yes. I was in a state of confusion and arousal, and I felt like the proverbial dear caught in the headlights of an on-coming train. David kissed me again but this time his tongue challenged mine to a wrestling match— and his was winning. A hand had worked its way under my shirt and was massaging my breast. I reached for David's arm to protest his forward advances, but realized it wasn't his hand that was rubbing and tweaking my nipple.
My first thought was to stand up. To put an end to this before it all went too far, but my legs wouldn't move, and my arms didn't push David away, and the most surprising thing of all, I hadn't removed Vicky's hand from my breast. Those inner voices that seemingly come from nowhere, ghosts of parental warnings and indoctrination perhaps, were shouting hysterically now. "Get up—stop this now!" I wondered how many self-imposed rules I could break in one day: exhibitionism, voyeurism, infidelity, and the night was still in its infancy. That dark room in the back of my mind, the one with all the cobwebs and un-oiled hinges, was now open for business and revealing the desires that I had secreted away over the years."
Amy set the magazine down on the floor and thought about Twobi's dilemma. How many times had she herself been tempted to open that door; to go inside and rummage through the stacked boxes filled with real and imagined sins. For most of Amy's life that door had been locked, but today she planed to open it up, air it out, and do some dusting.
At this point in the letter, Amy new where it was heading and which dusty old box in Twobi's hidden room she would be opening next. Amy had a box just like it in hers, and its contents created the night that Amy and her friend, Ronda, had spent experimenting with sex. It had been so long ago that she wondered how much of her memory was real and how mush was pure fiction.
They had both just turned eighteen, their birthdays were only a week apart, and they were celebrating by having a sleepover at Ronda's house. It was always best to stay at Ronda's because her mother was divorced and worked nights so they pretty much had the run of the house—and the beer. Ronda's mother was of the mind-set that it was okay for them to drink as long as they stayed in and didn't have any other kids over. Amy cringed at the thought now, but in Ronda's mother's defense, times were different then and she was a recovering hippie.
Amy's recall of that night was rather vague as to how the topic started or even who had started it, but somehow they wound up talking about sex. But after admitting, along with some alcohol induced laughter, that two eighteen year-old virgins new nothing about sex, they moved on to something that they did know about and had even coined the name for—digging.
Ronda had a secret:
"What is it, come on—give?" Amy said as the two of them sat Indian-style, and facing one another on the floor.
"I want to, but I'm scared of what you'll think of me if I do."
"I wouldn't think bad of you, we've been best friends for most
of our lives."
"But this is—different," Ronda said. The word "different" came out in a long drawn out whine; she bent her head down and ground her thumb into the carpet as if she were squishing a bug.
"Okay, if you don't want to tell me," Amy said as she got up off the floor and started for the couch. She pulled at the hem of her t- shirt and tried to cover her ass but the shirt was too short. They had changed into their sleeping attire not long after Amy arrived at Ronda's apartment; this consisted of nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.
Ronda got up off the floor and ran up the stairs. For a moment, Amy thought she had pissed-off her friend and she was going to pout up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. Then a pair of pink- toenailed feet appeared at the head of the stairs just below where the ceiling met the banister. She had paused there for a moment, and then continued down the stairs.
She had a large brown paper bag in her hand, and it was swinging back and forth—as if it had something heavy inside. She walked around the coffee table, and then over to where Amy was sitting. She stood there for a moment clutching the bag with booth hands.
"You have to swear—on your life—that you will never tell anyone about this," Ronda said. She had a look on her face that told Amy that this was serious.
"Shit, Ronda, your scaring me. What's in there—a severed body part or what?"
"No, but your close," she said. The "o" in no was drawn out four times longer than needed.
A tingle shot down Amy's spine all the way down to her feet as she pondered the meaning of "close."
"RONDA! WHAT'S IN THE BAG?"
"You don't have to..."
"Your creeping me out damn it. Just show me—no—scratch that. Tell me first."
"Okay—okay. It's a dildo," she said. The crotch on one side of her mouth slid up into a roguish looking smile.
"Yeah, you know—a rubber penis."
"A rubber penis? You mean like a model of one—human?"
"I mean like a 'digging' kind, and yes—human, male, a man's thingy," she said as she handed the bag to Amy. "Wanna see?"
Amy took the bag and set in her lap, and she could feel the weight of the thing as it lay across both her thighs. The only penises she had ever seen were on babies, like when she had to change her cousin's diaper, and that had been a little bit of a thing. She carefully unrolled the top of the bag and moved her face to one side as if something might jump out at her. Something like a snake-in-a-box; it wouldn't be the first time Ronda had set her up for a good scare. Amy made a small peephole at the top and peeked in.
There was a loud shriek, and then a thud as the bag flew off Amy's lap and sailed over the coffee table. A small glass vase stood in its path but was no match for the heavy bag. They both bounced on the carpet; the vase shattered into a thousand little shards of glass when it smashed into the baseboard of the far wall. The thing that had been in the bag flew from its prison and flopped on the carpet like a one-eyed fish that had just been landed.
Amy pulled up her panties; the toilet seat was starting to bite into her ass and John would eventually get concerned about her lengthy stay in the bathroom. She took the magazine and headed for the sofa in the living room. John would be watching some old movie on television in the bedroom and would probably not budge until it was over. She looked in on him as she passed the door and noticed that he had fallen asleep. She could hear a light snore and he was on his side facing away from the TV. "Good," she thought. She shut off the light and quietly closed the door.
She sat on the couch for a moment, and then removed her panties and shoved them under one of the cushions. Amy took the blanket that was neatly folded across the top of the couch and covered herself from the waist down. "This is much better," she though as she reclined and propped a pillow under her head. She brought her feet up sole to sole letting her knees fall apart and then rested her hand on her wet crotch.
Opening the magazine to page one hundred and thirty-two, she quickly scanned the page for the paragraph where she had left off. She started to read but found her mind drifting back to the night when she and Ronda had—dug a hole together. There was a muffled sound of a laugh from Amy as she tried to hold back a loud burst at her own pun.
She slipped the magazine under the couch as she wondered what Ronda was doing right now. The last time she had heard from her she was pregnant with her third child. Her husband had been transferred to Ohio and they were on the move again. They had called each other for a while, but with the cost of long-distance phone calls and such...
That's just bullshit, she thought. The truth of the matter was, they had nothing in common anymore and Amy hated Ronda's husband. He was a little fucking computer geek that knocked up her friend and took her a thousand miles away—and she missed her. She missed the old Ronda; the one that she could share all her secrets with, and be there when she needed her to be there. What she would give to go back to that night when they shared one of Amy's most intimate experiences.
The thing in the bag that had frightened Amy was now resting quietly on the floor in the middle of the room. When she looked in the bag and saw the veins, it had startled her. She wasn't sure what she thought it was, maybe an arm or some other homeless body part, but she did think it was real. Amy had shoved it away in a moment of panic.
"What the hell is that Ronda," Amy blurted out. Her heart was still pounding in her chest and it felt like it would jump out of her throat at any minute.
"I told you—it's a dildo. Women use them to dig."
"Dig?" Amy tried to understand but her brain was still in a frightened fog.
"You know, they put it in their hole."
An expression of enlightenment came over Amy's face as she finally got it, and then turned quickly to one of disbelief.
"No—I don't believe it. That thing is way too big to fit in there."
"No it isn't," Ronda said. There was a big smile on her face and for a moment there eyes remained fixed on each other in silence.
Amy was the first to speak.
"Yes I have," Ronda said before Amy could finish her question.
"But ... that means..."
"Well ... yes, physically I'm not a 'virgin' anymore."
"Wow," Amy said, but it sounded more like she was whispering to herself than talking to Ronda. She looked at the thing on the floor and tried to imagine Ronda putting it inside her vagina.
Ronda walked over to the dildo and picked it up off the floor, and then went over to where Amy was sitting. Amy was still spooked; it was like being in first or second grade again, when the boys would hand you a rubber spider or fake puke. You knew it wasn't real, but it was still gross.
"Here, take it," Ronda said as she handed it to Amy. "It feels so real."
"How would you know, I mean, if it feels real or not? Is there something else you haven't told me?"
"No, but it does feel real—don't you think?"
Reluctantly, Amy took the rubber phallus in her hand and examined it like a first year medical student that was about to dissect her first foot or hand. She knew the basics of the male sex organ and how it all worked, and she could even name the parts. Between her mother's embarrassing sex-talks, sex-ed at school and what her friends had told her, she understood all the details—except one."
"Is this what they look like when their 'hard?'" Amy asked. It was a subject she had always wanted to clear up, but she was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know.
"Yes," Ronda said with a puzzled look on her face. "You didn't know?"
"Well I know the word, but I wasn't sure what it would look like. Where did you get this thing?" She asked, quickly changing the subject.
"I found it in a box in the basement. When my father left, mom packed away all his stuff and I found 'it' with some dirty magazines under some clothes. I guess she forgot it was there."
"Dirty magazines? You mean like playboy?"
The lascivious grin returned to Ronda's face. "No—it's pictures of people having sex for real—and before you ask, I found them with the dildo. I think mom has forgotten that this stuff is down there. You know—she won't even go in the basement anymore, and if she wants something or needs something done, she just sends me to do it—you wanna see the pictures?"
Amy nearly laughed out loud at the way Ronda worked in the question, "—you wanna see the pictures?" It reminded her of when they were in second, or maybe third grade and Ronda had learned how to spell the word "shit." She had that same look in her eyes, and couldn't wait to tell her. "S-h-i-t," she said displaying all her bright teeth in a grandiose smile. Something Amy's father might call a, "s-h- i-t eating grin."
"Yes, go get them."
This time Ronda ran to the kitchen; she heard the caterwaul from the door that leads down to the basement, and then the thump of Ronda's feet as they hit each step of the stairs. Amy's attention turned to the disembodied penis that lay on her lap. It just didn't seem possible that it would fit inside her vagina without causing serious damage. One night, out of curiosity, she put her finger at the entrance of her hole and pushed it in about an inch, and even that was a tight fit.
Amy heard Ronda running up the stairs of the basement and then the sound of the door slamming shut. She quickly tossed the dildo over to the other side of the couch as if her mother was about to catch her with the evidence of a cookie jar raid. Ronda hurried into the room and set the magazines on the coffee table.
"I'm going to clean up the broken glass and them I'm going to have a beer, you want one?" Ronda said. She was breathing hard from her run down and then up the stairs.
"Yeah, I think I need one," she said as her eye's purposely avoided the pornography before her.
In between Ronda's trips to the kitchen, the first trip with a dustpan in her left hand and dragging the broom on the carpet behind her in the other, Amy let her gaze fall to the collection of four or five magazines neatly stacked on top of one another. In bold yellow lettering, printed on the front cover of the first magazine in a half circle, were words of a language Amy didn't recognize, German maybe, or it could have been Pluto-nese for all she knew. Just under that were two naked people. A woman on her hands and knees, and just behind her on his knees with his hands on her ass, was a man fucking her. Although the lower cheek of her ass obscured the view of actual penetration, his penis was definitely inside her.
"What do you think of that?"
Amy jumped at the sound of her friend's voice, and felt as if she had been caught scratching her ass or checking her armpits for a foul odor.
"Uh, I haven't given it much thought yet. Do you need some help over there?"
"Nope. Go on, Amy, look through them and let me know what you think," Ronda said as she went about her chore.
After Ronda plugged in the vacuum cleaner and Amy was sure she wasn't being watched, she picked up the first magazine and opened it to page one.
Amy remembered those first pictures as thought it was yesterday as she rubbed her pussy. Long sweeping movements that started at the very bottom of her hole and went well over her clit. Her hand was making the blanket move in a way that would leave no doubt as to what she was doing.
She reached under the sofa and retrieved the magazine from where she had hidden it. It was already on page one hundred and thirty-two and she was able to find her spot more quickly this time.
Twobivirgin continues in her letter: "David's kiss was breaking all the rules, but my will was diminishing and the internal voices grew lower in volume and intensity. I felt Vicky's hand move to the bottom of my bra and push the cup up over my breast. She then squeezed the entire breast gently. David released my lips and kissed his way down momentarily stopping on my neck—and then in what seemed like a perfectly choreographed movement, Vicky lifted my shirt and David sucked a nipple in his mouth.
Once again my conscience raised its cogent voice in protest. "You've already stooped low into the bowels of decency, stop now before it's too late—too late—too late," said my inner voice now sounding more like my mother than me, but it was already too late. My juices were flowing and my groin felt heavy and excited; I wanted David, and if Vicky was part of the package—so be it.
My eyes were closed and the back of my head rested on Vicky's shoulder as David sucked on my breast. Someone's hand wedged its way between my thighs and I let my legs fall open to its advances. There was a sucking sound as David released my nipple from his mouth and then kissed his way to the other. I felt my bra loosen as half of the two pairs of hands unfastened it, and then pulled both bra and shirt over my head leaving me naked from the waist up.
I took David's face into my hands and gently pulled him up, and then pressed my lips to his. I invaded his mouth with my tongue in a long and passion driven kiss. The hand had arrived at its intended target and I moaned into David's mouth. My body bent at the hips as I ground my vulva against the fingers that rubbed my crotch. Vicky, unknown to me, had removed her blouse and bra and was now reaching to undo my pants.
No words were spoken—and none were needed as I felt Vicky at my pants. Almost as a reflex action, I kicked off my shoes. For the first time since David's first kiss, I looked over at Vicky when I felt a tug at my pant legs. She was standing and bent over my feet, her heavy breast swinging as she moved.
David gave me a gentle push and I fell against the back of the sofa. He started sucking on my breast and put his hand between my thighs. A song on the sound system filled the room with its raunchy blues-driven sound and a sax blew out a solo that sounded like sex incarnate. Vicky began to sway her hips; her eyes fixed on mine as she unzipped and then unbuttoned her pants. She slid them, and her panties down in one quick movement stepping out of them without missing a beat. My eyes went straight to Vicky's naked sex; the V of her groin was completely void of hair. The small labia reminded me of a tongue stuck out from between two large pouting lips. I wondered if it itched much.
I let out another moan, louder this time, as I felt a finger penetrate my vagina. His thumb had found my clit and was rubbing it as he finger-fucked my pussy. I closed my eyes and moved my pelvis to the rhythm of his touch—which also seemed matched the beat of the music. David moved my hand to his crotch, he was the only one dressed now, and I felt around for his penis; I found it and gave it a squeeze.
Now that Vicky had lost her audience, she came over to help David undress. I felt a light, almost nonexistent, kiss on my hand and it caused me to open my eyes. Vicky was kissing my hand along with parts of David's crotch. She pulled his zipper down and then with both of her hands, unfastened his pants and then pulled both his underwear and pants down to his ankles. His cock, all five inches of it, sprang up as his pants and boxers slid past it. I marveled at its beauty; it was as straight as a Popsicle, just as yummy looking too, and the skin was smooth with no scary veins bulging out that looked like they were about to explode.
I suddenly felt an urge that I had never experienced with my husband; I actually wanted it in my mouth. Leaning over him, I took his cock in my hand, and then pulled his foreskin down away from the head. It wasn't round and fat like my husband's; it was more like an arrowhead with its pee hole set perfectly at the tip. I squeezed the base, and in a milking-like move, pulled the foreskin back up. A small bead of pre-cum oozed from the little hole and began to run down the glands: I quickly licked it up.
Vicky kneeled in front of me and rested her arms on my thighs. I turned my head and looked at Vicky, who was now smiling at me and gently pulling at my thighs. The look on her face with her cute dimples, caused by her upturned mouth, made it impossible for me to say no. I let my legs fall open and scooted my butt to the edge of the sofa. I turned my face back to David's penis.
I slowly masturbated David and more clear fluid formed at the tip, and then spread over the entire head as his foreskin moved up and down. Vicky's first kiss on my inner thigh caused me to jump. 'It's the moment of truth, ' I thought, and then wrapped my lips around the head of the second penis of my life to be between them."
Amy's clit buzzed with excitement and she burned with the heat of passion like never before. Suddenly an orgasm of a level ten magnitude on the Amy-Richter scale exploded through her body. She clamped her legs around her hand as spasm after spasm jerked her body. She turned to her side and the vowel "O" echoed in the room as the first tear of many splashed onto the couch when it fell from her cheek. A long hidden memory fought its way up from deep inside a box marked, "Sweet Poison" in the furthest corner of that dark room in Amy's mind. But the door to the room slammed shut, and the key quickly turned in the lock—and the memory faded.
The warm glow of satisfaction wrapped itself around Amy as she lay still on the couch. The great clock in the corner of the room ticked loudly—almost deafening. Amy opened her eyes to a sliver and let them grow accustomed to the bright light of reality that lit the room. Her face was wet; she only discovered this when she scratched a tickle on her cheek. 'Tears, ' she thought, and then asked herself why but could not come up with any logical answer.
She had a strong craving for beer. It was strange really, she hardly ever drank alcohol and if she did, it was usually wine. She forced herself to move and got up off the couch, pulling down the hem of her nightshirt even though there was no one around to see her naked ass, and went to the kitchen to raid John's stash of beer.
There was the swish-fizz sound as Amy twisted the cap off the bottle on her way back to the couch; she stopped by her bedroom to check on John. He was facing away from Amy towards the wall and snoring. He didn't have the kind of snore that rattled her teeth or kept her awake at night, but more like the sound a cat makes when it curls up in your lap and you stroke it. She felt lucky to have him—still, there was an itch he couldn't scratch, and she didn't think it was because he didn't want to. He was, after all, a skillful lover and the mechanics of it came easy to him.
"So what of it, sweetie," one of her coworkers would say when her work was not quite right. She would continue with, "I don't walk on water, and they shouldn't expect perfection."
'So what of it, Amy, ' she thought to herself. Maybe she expected too much from him, maybe it's like the itch on your back that appears in one place, only to disappear and reappear somewhere else when someone was kind enough to scratch it for you. How could she expect him to satisfy her needs if she didn't even know what they were? Life was such...
'Sweet poison, ' she thought. Amy wondered for a moment, 'where had she heard those words before?' Unable to recall, she raised and lowered he shoulders in a gesture of surrender and went back to her sofa.
Amy pulled the blanket over her body but before she did, she removed her shirt. There was something naughty about being naked in the living room and it seemed to fit her private evening's motif. The magazine had fallen to the floor and was open to a photograph of a woman lying on the floor and perched on one of her elbows. Her legs were spread and one hand spread the lips of her vulva. She wondered what it would be like to display one's self like that to strangers. Amy picked it up and turned to the page where she had left off. Before she started to read the last of Twobi's letter, she pushed the blanket to the floor; she hoisted one leg up on the back of the sofa and displayed her wet, open pussy to a mythical stranger that was watching her.
Twobi writes that there was another kiss from Vicky but this time it was at the crease that separated her thigh from he groin. Close enough to smell her sex and see David's fingers as they poked and rubbed at her vulva. How far would she go? Would she kiss her there, and lick her there? Even her husband had only done that once—and that didn't end well. She envisioned Vicky looking up from between her legs with a disgusted expression on her face, as if she had just eaten some bad sushi.
"In the next wonderful moment, I felt both of David's hands on my head giving gentle direction to my unskilled fellatio. There was a sensation of wet heat at the top of my vulva and I realized that Vicky was sucking on my clit. I felt one, or maybe two fingers enter my vagina and wiggle inside. I let go of David's penis and fell back into the couch; my whole being, my whole world, became concentrated in a six-inch area between my legs. My groin met each down-stroke of Vicky's mouth and I could hear noises you would expect to hear at a hospital for the grossly insane.
My orgasm was at its peak before I even knew it was coming. I reached down and pulled Vicky's face into my sex and held it there firmly, not daring to move—or even breathe. When I could finally take in air, and my heart had resumed its task of pumping blood through my body, I released my grip on Vicky's head. With each accidental brush of Vicky's hair or movement of the fingers still inside my body, I would lurch uncontrollably. Even Vicky's breath as she exhaled, sent small electric-like shocks through my clit that were amplified by my body. My legs that had gone up and out, and had almost connected with David's chin on the way, slowly descended.
Still in the grip of orgasmic after-burn, I looked down my body and through my open legs at Vicky's face. The two small dimples, the ones that always accompanied her smile, were back. They gave an illusion of innocence that seemed out of place just inches from my pubic hair. Vicky moved up and over me, pivoting on her knees, and placed a sweet kiss just above my navel, and then another between my breasts. She continued upward and her lips touched mine. Then again—and again, but this time I felt Vicky's tongue push its way into my mouth; I could smell and taste my own sex.
While my attention was on Vicky's kiss, she had moved from between my legs and David had taken her place.
"Is it okay if David puts it in you?" Vicky whispered in my ear.
I opened my eyes that I had closed during Vicky's kiss, and was surprised to see David masturbating between my legs. I wanted him, but then there was that inner voice again; the one that sounded far too much like my mother. For an odd moment, I remembered a television commercial where a mom follows her teen-aged daughter around, and then instructs her on safety and values. "Look both ways before you cross the street," the mother would say. There were other bastions of wisdom, but she couldn't remember them. Come to find out, the mother wasn't really there but her teachings were—the creation of inner voices, I mused, and hers was up to its old tricks too. 'Don't, but if you do, use protection.'
"Does he have a condom?"
"Of course honey, wouldn't have it any other way."
David pulled out a drawer in one of the end tables beside the couch. He picked up a small package, ripped it open and what appeared reminded me of a miniature nipple for a baby bottle. 'How ironic' I thought. I watched in fascination as he placed it at the tip of his penis and rolled it back onto the shaft. Vicky massaged my breasts with one hand as the other grabbed hold of David's cock and placed it at the mouth of my vagina. I braced myself for the inevitable penetration.
David's first thrust separated the lips of my vulva as it sank into the fleshy folds inside. The pain that I usually felt when I had sex with my husband—didn't happen. There was just the pleasant feeling of fullness and a sliding sensation that worked its way up to my clit. His pubic hair meshed with mine as his balls slapped at my butt as if to punish me for "ever" doubting him. Vicky wasn't idle either—they were a team. A two for the price of one deal; she would hand him the ball and he would run with it. And in the end, she would cheer, "give me an S—give me an E—give me an X... "
For a moment, I thought he had cum when he stopped fucking me. His hand went down between my legs and held onto his cock as he backed it out of my pussy, but I didn't see any semen in the little nipple at the end condom. David and Vicky each took one of my hands and led me down the hall and into their bedroom. The room was dark except for three candles they had placed around the room. The headboard of the spacious bed was centered on one wall and protruded out to the middle of the room. The music that had fill the living room was also fed into speakers that hung on two walls.
David turned to me and pulled me to him in an embrace, his arms under mine causing me to put my arms around his neck. Behind me, I could feel Vicky snuggle up to my back. Her arms embraced the two of us as David and I started a long and sensuous kiss, which ended with David trailing light touches, not kisses really, of his lips down my face and neck. He would pause now and then to give me painless bites. Vicky wedged her hand between my buttocks and massaged my anus and vagina with her fingers, and then moved on to my clit. She pinched it between her thumb and finger using the lose skin around it like foreskin on a penis to masturbate me.
I nudged David far enough away to reach his penis with my hand. The only experience I had had with condoms was one that my friend had shown me, and it felt so odd on David's cock. I wanted to feel his penis not wet sandwich wrap: I grabbed the little nipple on the end and pulled it off—there was a snapping sound and David bend forward with a resounding, "OUCH!"
"Oh my god, did I hurt you," I asked.
David sat on the bed clutching his genitals and after a moment said, "That's okay—I didn't need those four or five pubic hairs anyway."
Vicky fell over on the bed holding her tummy, as she laughed so hard that I, again, thought she would bust a gut. She suddenly jumped off the bed, and with her hands cupped between her legs she ran for the bathroom shouting she had to pee.
"I'm so sorry—I didn't think of..."
"It's okay—it's starting to feel better."
I sat beside him on the bed, and then took his hand and placed it in my lap.
"Here—if it makes you feel any better you can yank a few of mine."
David put his hand in the thick of my pubs and took a hand full, and for a brief moment I thought he "would" do it.
"Na—I think I would rather do this," he said as his hand went to where my legs come together.
As David's finger entered my vagina, I laid back and spread my legs as wide as I could. Each thrust of his finger was met with an upward push of my groin.
I must admit that even now I have no clue as to what came over me. I sat up and straddled his lap, and as I did his penis entered my vagina. David started to say something but it was too late. I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms were in a strangle hold around his neck.
"Fuck—I'm going to cum, I said as the grunting sounds that came from my mouth grew in volume with each thrust. Suddenly, there was another pair of hands on my hips and they were assisting my movements on David's lap.
"Twobi—I'm—going to—cum—condom," was all David could manage to get out.
I felt the first blast of David's seed fill my vagina, and I suddenly realized what I had done, but my climax was upon me and it shot through every part of my body in orgasmic intoxication. My head went back and I felt my upper body fall into Vick's arms. My legs were locked around David's waist to prevent him from moving, but with each ejaculation, his cock would twitch and it caused my body to jolt.
It seemed like a long time before anyone moved or said anything. Giving into a need for comfort, I leaned forward and off of David. As I did, I could feel the thick fluid that David had just pumped into me begin to drip down my thigh. Vicky noticed David's cum- soaked dick and then shot a quick glance between my legs.
"David—you didn't use a condom?" Vicky said.
"It's not his fault Vicky, I wasn't thinking and I climbed on,"
"Do you use birth control?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Whew—at least we don't have to worry about that," said Vicky—who now took an interest in my crotch. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?" Vicky asked, pointing to my crotch.
I didn't answer with words, I drew up my feet and let my knees fall to each side. Vicky climbed onto the bed and slid in between my legs, and then gently inserted a finger into my soggy hole. She then rose up on her knees and took hold of my hands pulling me to my knees as well. Vicky then lay down on her back. I had no idea what she was up to till she scooted up between my legs. I turned my head to look at David, who had been strangely quite all this time; he was sitting in one of the two chairs in the room and was slowly pumping his dick.
I bent my body at the waist and assumed, what I have heard called, the doggy position. Vicky flashed her dimples up at me just in time for a drop of cum to hit her squarely on the tip of her nose. She laughed and asked me if I did it on purpose. I smiled and shook my head, but I still felt a bit uncomfortable with the lesbian behavior of my friend.
Vicky reached up and grabbed me by the hips and pulled downward. I lowered my body onto Vicky's so that my crotch now hovered just above Vicky's face. I could feel Vicky doing things to my pussy but I had no way of knowing what precisely. Vicky's question echoed in my ears, "Do you use birth control?" Of course I had lied and told her I did. At that moment, I wasn't sure how I would handle it if I were to get pregnant. I turned my head toward David, resting my cheek on Vicky's thigh, and looked closely at his body features. I didn't think it would be "all" bad—to have his baby.
"Move closer David—so I can watch," I said.
David griped the seat of the chair and dragged it with him as he moved to the edge of the bed. He put his feet on the bed and spread his legs so that I now had a close up view. I could even see his anus peeking at me from between the muscular lobes he sat on. His balls hung heavily and would bounce as he played with himself. Vicky's pussy was only inches from my nose and I could smell the unmistakable odor of her sex. I found the smell pleasant—quite to my surprise.
Something had discovered my clit, and that something was getting my excited again. Maybe it was a finger or a thumb, or maybe even Vicky's tongue, but it really didn't matter, it felt wonderful. I watched David move the foreskin of his cock up and down over his arrowhead-shaped glands, and I could hear the sound of his fist colliding with his groin as he quickened.
"No," I said.
We locked eyes for a moment, and in a language that can only be described as "intuition," he understood what I wanted. He rose from the chair, and in a precarious looking knee-walk, joined me on the bed. I raised my head up toward David and used my index finger in a come- down-here wiggle. He took this to mean that I wanted a kiss, but that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to whisper in his ear; to say something I didn't want Vicky to hear.
As he started to kiss me, I turned my face and put my lips to his ear. Little bumps of anxiety rose up on my skin and my stomach took a turn, as if I were on an elevator at the first floor but my stomach was still on the third.
"Save it for me," I whispered.
"Save it for what?" he whispered back, and then kissed me behind her ear.
"Maybe I do—but I'd still like to hear you ask for it."
The bumps on my body doubled in size and my stomach took a leap towards the fifth floor. 'God' I thought. "I can't believe I'm thinking it, let alone, asking for it." Vicky's tongue was engaged in villainess behavior between my thighs and it was hard think. I know I can justify my desire; after all, he had already cum in me once. Would it really matter if he did it again? 'Yes, ' she thought, because it wouldn't be an act of seduction on their part or a stupid mistake on hers; it would be little Twobi, all around good girl asking for it, and if he made her beg—she would.
"I want you to cum inside me again," I said. My voice had an unmistakable tremble.
He didn't answer, and I was thankful I didn't have to say it again, but what he did next made me question the very ideals I had lived my life by.
David grasped Vicky's knee, the one closest to him, and pulled it around himself as he knee-walked up between her legs. Vicky had raised both knees and I had to persuade her to move the one that was now in my face. The knee went down and to the side away from David; I used the soft, fleshy thigh as a pillow.
There was a pang of jealousy as I watched him rub the tip of his cock on Vicky's pussy, and I had to remind myself that it was his wife he was about to fuck. He made small circles around her clit and then moved down to her hole—and pushed the head in. He pulled it back out and then he held it up to my mouth. He didn't push it at me or try to force me to take it; it was an offer—an offer I "could" refuse.
The head of his penis was wet with Vicky's juices, and the eye set perfectly at the tip looked as though it were crying. A tear of pre- cum was about to fall to the bed, but it held on by the thinnest of threads. I could smell the distinct odor of sex; not the smell of a cock or a pussy, but the fragrance that was left in a room after a couple of horny newlyweds had been screwing all night, only stronger now. I looked up at him from under his cock, and there was a moment of doubt, but it passed quickly. I took the beautifully shaped head into my mouth in much the same way I would jump into cold pool water. 'Just do it, ' I thought.
Although the taste of his penis had changed, it wasn't unpleasant. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and pumped the foreskin back and forward while my tongue poked at the little hole, and each time I sucked him in, it went further down my throat. 'Deep- throat Twobi', I thought. Once when I had tried it on my husband, his large dick choked me and I actually barfed all over his lap. That seemed to cure him of his desire to shove that big ugly thing down my gullet.
I knew I had it all when my lips widened and the light brown pubic hair around the base of David's cock tickled my nose. 'It's silly--young girl stuff, ' I thought, but I felt a sense of pride and confidence that I had never felt with my husband, and maybe—I "wasn't" the frigid woman that my husbanded had claimed, and I had believed. David pulled his cock from my mouth and there was a sucking sound as I let go—reluctantly.
"Put it in her," David said as he aligned himself with Vicky's vagina.
I didn't "want" to share him, and a feeling of jealousy gnawed at my gut once again. 'Stop it," I thought as I looked up to his beautiful face. I want him, and just him. David and Twobi in bed together, kissing, fondling, sucking and—"YES," burst from my lips as I thought, 'his seed deep inside my barren womb'. The feeling had dug itself deep inside me and was now over-shouting reasonable thought. My orgasm peeked in a sparkling splash of colors that flashed on the dark side of my eyelids.
Twobi writes; it was like a line out of an old movie, "my whole life passed before my eyes," but—in reverse. It was my future not my past, and it was lived with David "and" Vicky. I took hold of David's cock and pulled him forward and into Vicky. He sank into her and trapped my hand between them. With each outward stroke, I massaged Vicky's vulva with my fingers letting David's slippery penis slide between them as I did. My mind was now clear of the drug- like effects of my orgasm and I was on a new mission. That mission was Vicky's pleasure; a well-deserved pleasure and I would do whatever it took to give it to her.
I, literally, had Vicky's "amor Veneris, vel dulcedo" in the palm of my hand, and I could feel the excited little organ as my hand was slammed into it by David's thrusts.
'It's only fare', I thought. I knew what it felt like to be on the lonely side of sex; after all, I had lived there for the last fifteen years, and had even grown comfortable in its company—too comfortable. I kissed Vicky's thigh, and as I did, I raised my hand and stopped David in mid-stroke. I placed another kiss lower and closer to the joined genitals of Vicky and David. My tongue licked the length of David's shaft up to the point where the gentle folds of Vicky's pussy coddled his glands. I took hold of his cock and pulled him out, and then rapped my lips around the head in a final slurp.
I turned my attention to Vicky's pussy. I have always liked the word, "pussy," and it seemed to be a term of affection rather than crudeness, like slit or cunt, and that was what I felt—affection. I moved to the center between Vicky's legs, and using the fingers of each hand, opened the miracle before me. Without pause or regret, I kissed the opening to Vicky's vagina, and then inserted my tongue. The soft ridges and bumps inside, tickled my taste buds as I fucked her with it.
My finger replaced my tongue in Vicky's hole as I kissed my way up her sex. There was a soft moan from under me as I licked the small lips that lay limp between the larger ones. I sucked them into my mouth and fellated them in much the same way I would a penis. I lightly chewed on the elastic skin and stretched them out using the suction of my mouth—and then let go causing them to snap back to their former position like drunken guards of the gate.
There was the sound of whispering behind me, and then the bed shook as David climbed off and on again. I looked over my shoulder and David had assumed the position behind me. His penis slipped inside and he began to fuck me, horse style, as Vicky watched from below. It was my turn to moan and I did so, loudly, as my pubic hair became reacquainted with his. My tongue returned to Vicky's pussy and I added a second finger. With my free hand, I reached back between my legs and rubbed my own clit. I didn't want to be obvious, but I wanted to know.
There had been the whispering I heard before he mounted me. Had Vicky made him put on a condom? 'Put a raincoat on the little fellow, ' I could imagine her saying. 'That's the rule.' My fingers were only two or three inches away, and all I would have to do is ... but I didn't, and decided it was better not to know—not yet anyway.
For the moment, it all seemed so unreal to me; there were moans and squeaks and the sounds that a body makes when it collides with another skin to skin, and all to the accompaniment of the music that was pumped into the room from the all-night-with-the-blues show coming to them straight from Chicago in glorious FM. Shadows on the walls of three bodies; hands moving, heads bobbing, legs bending and then striating, flickering from the three candles that lit the room.
Vicky's clit hardened under my tongue and her hips danced the age-old dance. They did the bump and grind at a steadily increasing pace that ended with an upward push that didn't recede. Her breathing had quickened at the same speed and was now holding fast as Vicky made noises that I was "sure" sounded just like a woman in heavy labor. Vicky's body convulsed with each move of my tongue so I stopped licking and held firm on the hard little ball.
David had also started to show signs of approaching orgasm as his groin made slapping noises against my ass. He had a tight grip on my hips, and he used them as leverage to pull me back to meet his thrusts. My own orgasm hovered in a kind of stand-by mode in anticipation of the warm splash of semen I hoped to feel inside me. As David smashed against my ass for the last time, and his cock had penetrated as far as it would ever go, I felt a hot gush deep inside my pussy and it spread quickly through out.
Our bodies were frozen in the posture of copulation and ecstasy for endless seconds as my hovering orgasm finally landed, and the sounds of birthing had returned to the room. For a fraction of a second, I thought Vicky was cumming again—until I realized the sounds were coming from me. Behind my closed eyes, small dots of light kept rhythm with my pulse, and the twitch of David's cock as he ejaculated—caused my body to lurch uncontrollably.
The last paragraph in Twobi's letter had gone on to describe the next few weeks in her life and how she was torn between the euphoria of what she had done, and the sheer madness of it. She wrote that even the relief she had felt when her period finally showed— "better late than never," she had thought, didn't satisfy the guilt. Her husband had never even asked about the weekend she spent with Vicky and David, nor did he seem to care. It was like nothing ever happened, but it did happen—and would likely happen again.
Twobi ended the letter with a promise of an update.
Amy set the magazine down and had coaxed the last few drops of her beer from the bottle, when the idea struck. All the old jokes about bottles and women came rushing into her mind and she felt a moment of shame for even thinking about it. 'Only a slut would do something like that, ' she thought. "Slut," she said out loud. "Slut Amy," she said again, but this time it produced a quiet laugh.
The thought of waking John for a brisk 'roll in the hay, ' as her mother once called it, did cross her mind, but tonight she wanted something different, and although he was a good lover, he did lack imagination when it came to sex. Tonight she wanted to be bad. Tonight she wanted to be "slut Amy," even if it was all by herself. 'Ha—ha, ' she thought as she went to get another beer.
She bent down to the lower shelf in the fridge where the beer was kept and thought of her imaginary friend again. Only this time, he was peeking in the kitchen window that was directly behind her, and masturbating as he watched her bend over. She purposely pushed her naked ass high into the air to give him a better show. Then she thought, 'what if there "is" someone watching me? Some crazy pervert from the mental institution less than a mile away.' She checked the back door to be sure it was locked.
Amy didn't drink much, but when she did, two or three beers could make her a very happy, or sad—or sometimes both, drunk. She sat on the sofa and eyed the empty beer bottle on the table. 'They do kind of look like a soldier, ' she thought. Someone had called the empty bottles "dead soldiers" but she couldn't remember who it was, "I may just have to burry him—poor thing," she said to herself.
The magazine was still open to the last page of Twobi's letter as she picked it up and stretched out on the couch. The blanket laid on the floor in a heap where she had left it earlier, but this time she elected to cover her naked body. She thumbed through the pages of the magazine looking for something that would capture her interests. The pictures were graphic in nudity, but lacked any real sex—like the ones Ronda had shown her. 'Sweet poison, ' she thought, and for a moment she could even hear Ronda say it—but like one of Amy's mini-gasms, it was just a tease, a precursor to the real thing, which led her...
Where? 'To Ronda, ' she thought. Amy closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to that special night. Ronda was bent over; her pink-panty covered ass hovered over the carpet in a squat, and the vacuum cleaner roared as it sucked up the broken glass. There was an occasional "ting" sound as the small shards the broom had missed, went flying up the hose.
Amy was seated on the sofa and thumbing through the pages of the first dirty book in the stack. Blood rushed to her face as she looked through it, and her ears felt like they were on fire; they did that sometimes, when she was digging—or when she let a boy touch her breast.
Any questions she had about erections were cleared up buy the time she got half way through the magazine. The nude man was shown many times with, and without, an erection and she found it fascinating how a penis could be so small, and then grow so big. In one picture it laid limp and hung down between his balls, and in the next, it stuck out straight, fat and rigid. But now, her inquisitive mind asked, 'if a man's testacies were so sensitive, and she knew they were, how come men didn't scream in pain when they closed their legs and squished the poor little things?'
And then there was oral sex; fellatio the books called it, but her friends just said, suck or blow—so, which is it? Suck or blow, breathe in or breathe out, push or pull, black or white—which the hell was it? The woman in the pictures didn't look like she was "blowing" on the penis, if anything, she appeared to be sucking on it—like she was eating a popsicle or an all-day sucker—and she seemed to be enjoying herself.
The room fell quiet and Amy looked up; Ronda had unplugged the vacuum and was rolling up the power cord. She was now standing but still bent over. Her pink panties had bunched up to one side and a healthy patch of black pubic hair extruded from her crotch. Amy had seen her naked before, mostly at gym in school, and her pubic hair was of the straight verity, and she enjoyed some good-natured harassment from the other girls because of it.
"Your 'fur' is showing, Ronda," Amy said, and then laughed. Fur had become Ronda's nickname in gym class. Amy's had been "Red," of course.
She turned, and in an exaggerated movement, fixed her panties, and then stuck out her tongue.
"What do you think about the pictures?"
Amy looked down at the magazine, and it lay open to the page where the woman had the man's penis in her mouth, and her left hand was massaging his balls. Like most redheads, Amy's skin was pail, and just the slightest hint of a blush would stand out like a tall tree on an open prairie. As her face filled with hot blood, she shrugged her shoulders in answer to Ronda's question.
"Oh, come on Amy, you must have an opinion? I'll admit it, they turned me on; I was hotter than a virgin in a whore house—sorry, I must have read that somewhere."
"It was..." there was a long pause while Amy searched for the right word, "educational."
Ronda left the vacuum where it was and walked swiftly over to Amy and started to sit.
"You want an education, try this out," she said as she picked up the dildo that was lying on the couch. She sat and placed the rubber phallus in Amy's lap.
"I think I'll pass on that one Ronda. I can't believe you put that—thing, inside you."
Amy's statement felt like salt being rubbed into the self inflicted wound of her own guilt. Ronda hadn't believed it herself after she had done it, and the blood on the bed had scared her. Her dreams that night had been filled with nightmares; of trips to the hospital and doctors asking her how it happened, and her mother crying as she sat beside her on the gurney and listened as her baby girl confessed to blatant debauchery.
"Whats the matter Ronda, you look kind of pail?"
"Oh, nothing. You want another beer, I think I need one?"
"I've already had two. I'll get drunk for sure, and you know how I am."
"Please have one with me, will ya?"
Against Amy's better instincts, she agreed. Ronda did look like she needed something—maybe just a friend.
While Ronda was gone, Amy shuffled the magazines in front of her; she would look at the cover and then set it aside, and then pick up the next. At the very bottom, was a black book with one gold embossed word on the cover, "Letters." She was about to open the book when Ronda came back in the room.
"No, not yet." Ronda said as she walked over to Amy. "Here, I'll trade ya," and she handed her the beer, and then grabbed the book.
"Okay, Ronda, what's up with the book?" Amy said with a slight hint of frustration in her voice. 'Not yet, ' she thought. 'The dildo, the dirty books, and now this particular book and she says, "not yet." This was all planed—but why?'
"It's a book I found and I wanted to share it with you."
"More dirty pictures?" Amy said, and then took a sip of her beer.
"—Yes go on."
"Love letters. Not just any love letters, but secret ones."
Amy laughed and said; "I don't think they could be 'too' secret if they're published in a book."
"Well, maybe 'anonymous' would be a better word—first names only, and they were changed to protect the—well, you know. It's sort of like peeking through a window of someone's life. Their real life, not the sugar coated biographies you see on TV. These letters are the bones of the proverbial skeleton in the closet that are usually left out."
"Okay you sold me, let me see it," Amy said as she reached for the book.
"No, please. I—I want to read one to you. It's important."
Ronda's eyes grew big, and she wrapped herself in a protective cocoon of body parts: her shoulders bent over, her elbows pulled into her sides and her legs crossed. One lone tear escaped the corner of Ronda's eye, and Amy watched it as it followed the contour of her cheek and made its way down and under Ronda's chin. In a swift movement of her hand, Ronda swatted at it, as if to shoo away an invisible fly, and then screwed up her face in a look of disgust and shook her hand.
"Sorry, it's a very sad letter."
"That's okay—are you all right?"
Ronda nodded and took a deep breath, but avoided looking at Amy as she continued. She cleared her throat.
"Dearest Sweet Poison."
Amy tried to recall the letter—but it was lost somewhere in the years that had gone by since. Still, it seemed important.
Ronda closed the book. Her face was red, and there were more tears. 'All the friends and relatives of the first one, ' Amy thought, but quickly discarded the unsympathetic string of words. She moved closer to Ronda and put her arm around her friends shoulder. Ronda turned and surprised Amy with a full embrace, and then laid her head on her shoulder.
There was an awkward moment when Amy didn't know what to do with her hands; she placed them on Ronda's shoulders, on her lower back, and then settled on patting her upper back. She was trembling and Amy was tempted to say something like, 'its only a movie, ' or something funny to relieve the tension, but thought better of it.
"Can I ask you something?"
"I guess—sure," she said as she closed her eyes, but opened them quickly. The third beer had begun to do its work, and the room had gone into a spin when she closed them.
"Do you still dig?"
Five whole seconds had gone by before Amy understood the question, and when she finally did answer, her voice started from a low pitch and slid up into the vocal stratosphere. "—WHAT!"
"Ouch," Ronda yelled as she pulled back from Amy and stuck the tip of her finger into her ear, and then gave it a shake. "Did you have to scream in my ear?"
"Did you have to ask such a—personal question? Jesus, Ronda."
"It isn't like we've never discussed it before. We used to do it together—years ago, remember?"
"Yes I remember, but that was more like playing doctor or something, you know, I'll show you mine if you show me yours type of thing. Not digging."
"I know, but I need to know—if I'm, well—abnormal or..."
Ronda's face had wrinkled up and her mouth pulled to one side. Her lips were slightly parted and showing just the tips of her teeth. 'She just wants to know if it's normal to masturbate, ' Amy thought, but she also felt that there was something else, something she wasn't quite ready to talk about.
"No, I don't think your 'abnormal, ' everyone does it, they just don't talk about it."
"Really, you think everyone does it?"
"Yes I do," Amy answered, but her mind instantly excluded 'some' people.
"So—you're saying that you do it too?"
Amy was afraid to open her mouth. If she had tried to answer at that moment, it would have come out in a series of 'buts and ahs.
"Well?" asked Ronda as the corners of her mouth slithered up into a crooked evil grin.
Amy realized she couldn't avoid the answer; she shrugged her shoulders and said, "yes;" only the "s" rolled off her tongue and ended with an "a" and came out like, "Yessss-a."
"What about the pictures?"
"What about them?"
"Didn't they make you want to..."
"Could I have another beer?"
'This will be a record breaking beer, ' Amy thought as she watched Ronda go to the kitchen. Three had been the former, but her mouth was dry and she wanted to change the subject. She "was" curious though, about the pictures, and if she were to tell the truth she would have to admit they did turn her on—a little.
Ronda returned with the beer and sat close to Amy, thigh touching thigh, and set the bottles down. There was a blanket on the back of the sofa and she reached over her shoulder to pull it down, and then spread it over their legs. She raised her beer bottle.
"To 'Sweet Poison.'"
Amy raised her glass but had no idea why; she just did it.
"Sweet Poison," she said, and then poured a healthy, or unhealthy depending on your point of view, amount of beer down her throat.
"Sweet poison," Amy said to herself as she thought about that night with Ronda. At least she could remember where she first heard it. Still, there was a cloud that surrounded those words and she tried to jump ahead; fast forward her memory like a videotape machine, but that button was on the fritz. No matter how hard she pushed it, the video in her head would only plod along feeding her one scene after another and in its proper order.
She sat up and wrapped the blanket around her and went to the kitchen to get another beer. The blanket dragged behind her on the floor like the long train of a wedding gown. Amy reached for the refrigerator door—but just stood there puzzled. It was one of those things she did maybe ten, or more, times a day—open the refrigerator door. She had tried to open it from the left side—but the handle was on the right. She moved her hand to the right and opened it—it felt awkward and unfamiliar.
Maybe John had switched it around; he was always screwing with things around the house, but she hadn't noticed it earlier—she was sure it had opened from the left. She squatted and looked for a beer, there were none on the bottom shelf. She grunted as she bent down lower to see if there were any hiding in the back. 'Oh well, ' she thought, 'I must have taken the last one.' As she rose back up, she saw that there were seven or ten bottles of beer on the top shelf.
Amy took a step back, and any residual effects from her three- beer limit were now gone. She slammed the door shut. Small white- tipped bumps formed on her back and arms and she could feel the short hairs on the back of her neck move as the skin under them tightened. 'They were "all" on the bottom shelf—I know they were.'
"John—are you here—are you screwing with me?" She asked, not expecting an answer. There was no place for John, or anyone else for that matter, to hide in the kitchen—not a full-grown man anyway.
The lock on the back door was still in the locked position, and without a key, it couldn't be locked from the outside—or even locked and then closed, it was a deadbolt. She slowly turned, her senses heightened, looking for anything that might...
The window, the one that faced the kitchen from the dinning room wall, seemed to have shrunk. It was only half, or maybe even a quarter of its original size. Movement from behind the glass had caught her eye—no, not movement—it...
Fogged. She stood frozen in panic, unable to move or even scream. It fogged again—and again—and again; someone was breathing on the glass.
She turned and ran.
"John," Amy screamed as one foot shot out in front of her, and her body pivoted on the other. She ran past the short wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, and then down the hall. Her mind raced well ahead of her feet, and she could see herself waking John, and telling him about the window, and how she could see "his" breath, and...
"DOOR! Where's the FUCKING DOOR!" She had reached the end of the hall. She turned quickly looking left and then right; there were "no" doors—just a long, blank hallway. Amy fell back into a corner and slid slowly down to the floor. The thick-pile carpet that had once tickled her feet was now gone as well; replaced with a hard, multi-colored tile.
"John—John, were are you," she cried. Her knees had pulled up to her chest and the blanket was wrapped tightly around her body.
'I'm here, ' said a masculine voice that seemed to come from within he own thoughts.
Somehow, it reminded her of an old movie she had seen called, "The Three Faces of Eve." The voice "felt" real—as if someone else had taken up residence inside her head—maybe even a male version of Amy.
"Here?" Amy asked.
Amy had an "almost" irresistible urge to ask him who the fuck he was and why he was inside her head—but said:
'Because I'm your guide.'
'Yes, I'm sorry if I scared you—but I had to get your attention.'
There was a clicking sound and Amy suddenly felt secure and safe rapped tightly in her blanket; like an unborn infant in her mother's womb. She could hear John's gentle snoring from the room that had previously disappeared, and in fact, everything had returned to normal. Amy stood; she had to steady herself against the wall when the room had begun to spin. 'Too much oxygen, ' she thought, and slowed her breathing.
"Did you do all this?"
'Yes, but I had to get through to you.'
Amy peeked around the door, the one that lead to her bedroom, and John was sleeping soundly. Despite her first desire to wake him up and fill his ears with exotic and impossible happenings, she was drawn back to the voice.
"What are you guiding me to?"
"What truth would that be?"
'Ronda, and the letter.'
Amy felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck, a sure sign of a bad headache coming on. She walked back to couch and sat down.
"I can't remember the letter, I've tried."
'You can and you will.'
His words chased the pain in her neck up to the top of her head and it pulsed in time with the lightning that struck behind her eyes.
"Stop it, STOP IT," Amy screamed. "My head is going to explode."
There was a clicking sound again, two clicks to be exact, and the pain stopped. The flashing bolts of light behind her eyes flashed once more—then again for the last time. She took a deep breath, and then fell to her side onto the soft cushions of the couch and felt very relaxed.
'Do you feel better now, Amy?'
"—Yes," Amy said after a long pause.
'That night with Ronda, when she was sitting beside you and showing you the erotic magazines, what happened next?'
Amy's jaw tightened and her eyes closed so hard that her eyebrows came together over her nose.
"She took my hand and put it under the blanket in my lap—and told me to dig."
"I don't think I can do that Ronda," Amy said, but didn't remove her hand from under the blanket. "We're not kids anymore, and this isn't show and 'not' tell."
Ronda didn't speak; she opened the magazine to the first page and then the next. The pictorial was of a couple engaged in various forms of sex, and Amy found she was attracted to the young man in the photos. He had an athletic build and his penis was more in line with what she thought its size "should" be. It didn't look threatening.
Amy tried to resist the overwhelming urge to dig, but settled for a stealth-like approach to the problem. She moved her hand lower in her lap, until her fingers found the small hard bump under the thin material of her panties. The nipples of her breast, however, were not so discreet; they tightened and became erect revealing Amy's excitement.
It was disturbing, this sudden reversal of rolls. It had always been Amy that led the way, and Amy that consummated new ideas and gave them the thumbs up or thumbs down, but here was timid Ronda forging ahead into unknown, unexplored territory.
Ronda moved her hand under the blanket and began to dig. There was not attempt to hide it, or even pretend that it was something else like scratching an itch or adjusting her panties that had crept into the crack of her ass. She was masturbating. Ronda moaned and Amy could visualize Ronda's finger finding its target; working its way through the folds of her vulva and under her clit.
The magazine fell from Ronda's lap, and there was another moan when her other hand crossed the barrier that separated Amy's thigh from hers. Her fingers dug in as she grabbed a hunk of Amy's flesh and held on as if she were afraid of falling off the couch. Ronda's body stiffened and a primitive grunt, like something you would hear from the ape section of the zoo, came from Ronda's throat. It was followed by several high-pitched versions of Amy's name.
Ronda released Amy's thigh as her body sank back into the thick cushions of the couch. Her eyes were closed and the crotch of one side of her mouth slid up into half a smile. The hand that had gripped Amy's thigh with such vigor, now massaged her leg in ever growing circles that, with each rotation, inched closer to Amy's sex.
Amy's eye's grew large and round as she watched her friend cum. She had been so captivated that she hardly noticed Ronda's hand on her thigh, but now it became the focus of her attention. Ronda's hand had bumped into hers, and she had been caught with her finger's on the sweet spot. A wave of guilt and embarrassment roared through her and the pail skin of her face and neck flushed with blood.
It was all too fast for Amy's mind to comprehend; the alcohol had taken its toll, and before she could move past one emotion and onto the next, Ronda's hand was in her panties.
A feeling of impending doom overwhelmed Amy as she replayed the past in her mind. It was as if she had heard screeching tires on hot pavement and she was waiting for the thunder of the crash.
Amy grabbed Ronda's arm and was about to extract the invading fingers from her crotch, when one of Ronda's fingers snuggled up under her clit and tickled its length. A classic dig formation if there ever was one. Amy's other hand joined the first and gripped Ronda's forearm. She could feel the muscles and tendons pulsate in rhythm to the stoking of her clit and it seemed to intensify the sensations.
'Stop, ' she repeated over and over in her mind, but her body rebelled, and like an angry mob it pushed ever-forward breaking through her defenses. There was a tug at her hips and the sound of ripping paper—no—it was cloth. Ronda was on her knees between Amy's legs and had ripped out the crotch of her panties.
Ronda bit her thigh—and it was a hard bite. It would leave a mark that Amy would find later and curse the day she met Ronda. Amy grabbed handfuls of hair on Ronda's head in an effort to push her away, but her arms and hands ignored her commands. They were part of the coup; the great conspiracy of body over mind—and they were winning the war. Even her throat, larynx, and lungs joined in with shouts of pleasure and lascivious remarks encouraging Ronda to continue her assault.
Amy saw the large dildo in Ronda's hand; it bounced and wiggled like it was a living thing. A snake of massive proportions— but with only one eye, and it stared at her. 'I will have you my darling, ' it seemed to say. She wanted to scream and run away but again her body refused to retreat. There was relief when Ronda turned the ugly monster on herself. Amy watched in utter disbelief when Ronda sat on the thing, and she looked to be in pain as it penetrated her sex. Great beads of sweat trundled down her face and did a little dance before falling to their doom deep within the carpet fibers on the floor.
Then her face softened and her mouth made odd shapes that could have represented all the vowels. "A—E—I—O—U". She would rise and fall as if she were on a carousel, and all the while, tweaking and pulling and massaging Amy's clit.
Their eyes met, and even as her face slowly descended to the fine wisps of red pubic hair, their eyes remained locked in meditation. As Ronda lowered herself onto the creature between her legs, her chin would dip down and touch that small bundle of nerves, the brains of the rebellion, and squeeze it against her finger.
An orgasm lurked in the shadows of Amy's mind. It was a beast that threatened to consume her very soul if she would let it, and give into the revolution, become part of the coup, become a co- conspirator. 'It's not you we're after my sweet; it's your innocence, your chasteness—your virginity.'
Amy struggled, but the odds were against her. Now Ronda kissed her pubis. Kissed the top of her left, and then her right thigh. She ran her tongue down the crease where thigh meets groin, and then kissed the very center of her sex. Like a soft, warm breeze that tickles the fine hairs of Amy's arms, Ronda's tongue grazed the small lips of her vulva, touching—but not touching.
Ronda's orgasm came swiftly as she rode the snake monster; her hands had held onto Amy's torso as she bounced and bobbed. She stilled—her fingernails dug into the soft flesh Amy's tummy and several high-pitched squeaks escaped her taut lips. She didn't move or even breath for what seemed like several minutes. Amy felt sure she would fall over dead any second, but she didn't; air finally rushed from her lungs and she released the now sore, and fingernail-tattooed tummy flesh she had strangled for her pleasure.
Ronda kissed Amy's tummy and licked her way to her bellybutton using her nose to push up the nightshirt. She licked around and inside it. Amy tried to turn her body away from Ronda, but she still had no power to do so. She screamed at her to stop, but what came out of her mouth was a low sensuous moan.
Ronda moved up between Amy's legs and brushed her lips lightly across Amy's. A thin string of saliva stretched and then broke.
"I've always wanted to do that Amy, you lips are so sweet."
Amy tried to answer, 'get off me now! I hate you—I hate you! Why? Why did you do it?' But nothing came out.
Ronda kissed her again, this time taking Amy's bottom lip between her teeth and gently pulling at it and then sucked it into her mouth. There was a slurping, slushy plop sound when she let it go.
"You're kisses are like poison—'sweet' poison," Ronda said as she bent down for another kiss. Her tongue pushed past Amy's teeth and preformed an age-old dance that has never gone out of style. "And this," Ronda said, after finally releasing Amy's lips, "is the antidote— the second kiss—and..." She kissed her again, and then on her chin, neck, between her breast, her tummy, and then her final distention— her clit. Ronda sucked it into her mouth and performed a kind of female-to-female fellatio. Using her fingers to pull away the lose flesh that protected the stiff little organ, and she raked it gently with her teeth.
Amy could hear herself moan as Ronda inserted a finger inside her virgin hole, and her pelvis answered with a thrust to achieve a depth never before explored.
'No—why—why am I letting this happen?' Amy asked as she felt the finger enter her body, but nothing had penetrated her vagina as she lay on the couch, and she was helpless to stop it. She couldn't change the past—or even understand it yet. She was only along for the ride. There were two Amy's, Amy now, and Amy then. It was like some new interactive movie that guaranteed the realest of real adventures. And then there was the third—Amy? No, she didn't think so, he had answered to the name of John, her husband's name, so who was he?
A second finger interrupted Amy's thoughts as the wave of pleasure almost made her cum; a feeling that she had not desired nor welcomed, but was unable to avoid. Amy could see Ronda between her thighs licking and sucking on her clit even though she new she wasn't really there. The separation between reality and memory grew vague and transparent, and then disappeared altogether. Amy was no longer in her home with John snoring in their bedroom down the hall—she was at Ronda's—ten years in the past.
There were two sets of arms and legs. Amy reached down to push Ronda away, while her other phantom-like limbs, caressed and pulled Ronda in closer. She was now Amy within Amy, a completely separate person with no real substance, and no control over the actions of the other. She could only watch—and "feel" the events unfolding before her.
Amy had heard of ghosts walking the earth with unfinished business and thought that this must be how it feels, to be powerless to right the wrong that had been done to them—or others, and powerless to change the "one" thing that triggered some catastrophe that ended their lives as they knew it. Amy could see and feel the first domino that stood ready to fall and strike the next, and to set in motion— 'What?'
The dildo, now held at the entrance of Amy's vagina, bathed in the wetness of her sex. Amy of the future sat up, and then stepped out of the body of her former self. Momentarily stunned by what she had just done, her fingers and toes turned cold—and her stomach felt as if it had been left up on the twentieth floor of a tall building that sported a particularly fast elevator. She steadied herself on the armrest of the sofa and turned slowly to look at Ronda and—what, Amy number two?
Not quite trusting her sense of balance, Amy remained bent over and holding onto the cushions of the sofa as she moved closer to the lovers. She hadn't floated up to the ceiling and her hands sank into the sofa, and she could feel it. She hoped she could...
Amy's hand went through and into Ronda's shoulder as she tried to get her attention, and she quickly snapped it back. She shuddered and fell back onto the couch. Everything seemed real except Amy number two and Ronda. She could even smell the beer on their breath and feel the movement of the sofa as Amy thrust her pelvis up to Ronda's face, but they were like phantoms—'ghosts of Christmas past or something.'
Ronda held the dildo between the lips of Amy's pussy and had stopped mouthing her clit. The Amy of the future new what was about to happen and yelled a long and resounding, "NO," but as she did, there was a sharp pain in her groin. She opened her legs and saw a small trickle of blood. It started at the bottom of her vagina and had started to seep into the fibers of the cushion. Panic set in as she reached over to Amy number two and tried to console her other self.
"It's okay Amy—It means nothing—please."
There was a grunt, and... "Shit Ronda, what the hell did you do to me!" said Amy number two.
"I'm sorry—did I hurt you?"
"Hurt me?" said Amy. She stood and touched herself between her legs and then bought her hand up to her face. "Goddamn it Ronda—I'm bleeding!"
"I—I," Ronda started to say something, but before she could, Amy had gone into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Even now, Amy sat on the couch angry with Ronda for doing such a thing, but the anger was diluted by time and a premonition that something more important, and more dangerous than the loss of a thin membrane of skin, was going to happen.
When Amy finally came out of the bathroom, she had her overnight bag, which she always kept in the downstairs bathroom when she visited, and she was fully dressed.
"I'll get dressed and walk you home," Ronda said and she started to get up.
"Don't bother—you've already raped me. What's next—you going to sell me on the street? This was a setup, wasn't it—a fucking setup."
"Wouldn't what for God's sake? 'I' wouldn't have thought you would rape me—and drag me down into your little perverted world."
There was a slap sound as Amy's hand struck Ronda's cheek. It was so fast that Amy, the one still naked on the couch, barely saw it happen—but she remembered it. There was a feeling of satisfaction; it felt good—too good. She wanted her to hit her again.
Amy raised her hand again, but this time she made a fist. Ronda flung out her arms to protect herself from the coming blow—a mirror directly behind Ronda caught Amy's eye, and...
Naked Amy on the couch shivered. She wasn't cold—she was in shock. Not from an injury or loss of blood, but from a loss of reality. She reached for the blanket that had been tumbled to the floor, her own had not made the trip, but it gave no warmth or comfort. Like everything else here, she could touch it—and even feel it, but it was like trying grab hold of a gust of wind.
She had felt the pain of the rubber penis when it entered her and yet, it hadn't entered her—not the Amy of now. Amy could see and hear from two sets of eyes and ears, it was like she was in two places at one time. She could see the image in the mirror, but she could also see herself "seeing" the image. Was that even possible? She thought not. A dream, maybe its all just a dream and she'll wake up next to John and they would have a good laugh over it at breakfast.
Amy wanted to believe that, she "desperately" wanted to believe that, but—no, it wasn't a dream. The pain she had felt was real, the trickle of blood on her thigh was real, the feeling of her hand as it struck Ronda's face was real—it was all "too" real. The image in the mirror was...
Her fist was up and poised to strike; her lips pulled tightly across her white teeth and drained of blood. She could see the underlying muscles of her jaw, flexed and firm, as if she had bitten into something she was about to rip apart, and for a fraction of a second, she didn't recognize the face that stared back at her.
Naked Amy jumped up and stepped in between Amy and Ronda, willing to take the punch. As if in different layers, she could see three distinct images—all at the same time. She focused on her former self and tried to push her away from Ronda. After her hands made contact with Amy's chest, just long enough to build momentum, they passed completely through her. It was like climbing a flight of stairs in the dark, and thinking there was one more step that didn't really exist. She stumbled, past through Amy and slammed into the wall behind her.
"Ouch—God I hate that!"
She turned her shoulder into the wall. It felt so strange when she had passed through Amy. 'Dead skin, ' she thought. 'That's what it felt like; pealing off dead flaky skin after a bad sunburn.'
The younger Amy was headed for the door. Ronda took hold of her arm and tried to pull her back.
"Goddamn it Ronda, keep your fucking hands off me. Don't 'ever' touch me again—just—just stay away from me," she said as she stumbled out the door. The bottom of her shoe had nicked the threshold and caused her to momentarily lose her balance. She was able to stay upright, but her anger now teetered on the edge of rage.
Amy of the past turned and faced Ronda.
Amy of now new what she was about to say. Her gut tightened as she replayed the words from memory, a memory that could foresee the coming events only moments ahead of their happening. Suddenly, "she" was standing outside looking in. "She" was facing Ronda and saying the words that struck the second domino—the third, forth...
"You fucking dyke! You fucking whore! Don't ever—EVER talk to me again," she said. As she turned and left, Mrs. Langston, the neighborhood tell-all, was standing at the end of the walk. Her eyes and ears recording the event like security cameras in the mall, and surely would be played back to everyone with her own personal embellishments added.
'Shit, ' Amy thought. She turned within the living carcass of her former self and tried to go to Ronda, but she was unable to leave her body of the past. Ronda was on her knees in the doorway; naked from the waist down, and both hands covered her face. Mrs. Langston was halfway up the walkway and speaking to her, but all she could hear were the words, "all right."
Time had no weight in this world of two Amy's. She found that hours had gone by. The sun peeked into her bedroom window of her mother's house, and its beam inched its way onto her bed. The sun should have brightened the entire room, but the laser-like shards of light only pierced the darkness without warming or illuminating effects. It was morning.
As odd as it was to pass through bodies and solid objects, it was just as disturbing to blink her eyes and find that big chunks of time would fly by. The minute hand of the clock on the bedside table would make its way around the sixty-second circle, but only when her eyelids were closed. The bashful timekeeper would make leaps of twenty or forty minutes, and as Amy lay on the bed within the other sleeping Amy, she made a game of trying to catch the long hand move.
Blinking quickly would make the minute hand race around the dial, and conversely, slow blinking made it crawl. Eleven thirty-five held a special meaning; a significant place in time and space although she wasn't sure why—just that it was. She began a rapid succession of flickering eyelids moving the clock closer to that time. When the short hand was equally between the ten and eleven, fear began to rise up insider her and she stopped blinking.
"The letter," she thought. Her mother would deliver "the" letter to her bedside table at precisely eleven thirty-five. Somehow her mind had screwed up the sequence of things. 'That's why I couldn't remember the letter at Ronda's—I hadn't read it yet.' At ten thirty, she knew it was coming—but that was all. She batted her eyelids in a furious flutter and time advanced to eleven fifteen. There wasn't much more to remember than she had already been able to figure out for herself. It was from Ronda and it had something to do with the prior evening. Amy advanced time and space to eleven thirty-five.
There was a timid knock at the door.
"Amy? You awake honey?" said the wonderful soft voice of her mother.
Amy wanted to separate from her prison-like confinement. She pulled and pushed and kicked...
"Wake up!" Amy yelled at the sleeping Amy.
The door slowly creaked open and there was another knock before her head appeared.
There was no response from the sleeping Amy.
"Honey," she said again but this time gave Amy's shoulder a nudge.
The groggy, eighteen year-old looked up to her mother and said, "Yes—what's the matter?"
"I found "this" in the mailbox a few minutes ago," and she handed a sealed envelope to her.
Amy tried to understand what he mother was saying, but the effects of the alcohol from several hours earlier, had left her in a bit of a hung-over fog.
"Ah, isn't that were the mailman is supposed to put them?"
"Amy," her mother said, now inflecting a tone of impatience in her voice. "Look at it—there's no address, return address or stamp."
She sat up in bed and wiped ten or eleven hours of hardened gunk from her eyes, and squinted until the writing on the letter came into focus. There were only two words written on the letter. Amy, and Personal. Personal was about three times the size of her name, and followed by an exclamation point. She recognized the handwriting.
"Oh, it's from Ronda—we had a fight last night."
"She's never done this before, is she all right? Do you want to talk about it," her mother said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I'm afraid I said some mean things to her last night."
"I got a call this morning—Mrs. Langston."
"Shit," Amy muttered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I—I don't think I can talk to you about this."
"Well I'll be here all day—so..."