The Old Man and the Sea

by D.T. Iverson

Copyright© 2016 by D.T. Iverson

Romantic Sex Story: Readers from both sites suggested that I port some of my better received stories over here. And who doesn't love a do-over? Especially if you can clean up a slightly buggy original and incorporate reader feedback? I can't tell you why I got off on my Hemingway kick - probably lack of creativity on my part. But, I can't think of any story that would be harder to adapt than the Old Man and the Sea. So of course I had to try it. I hope you enjoy it - DT

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual   Romantic   .


I was sitting in Captain Tony’s drinking a Papa Doble and thinking about life. The hundreds of autographed bras hanging from the ceiling ought to tell you everything you need to know about the ambience around THAT place.

The building itself has been everything from an ice-house to a whore-house. The current incarnation dates back to Hemingway’s day. It was originally called Sloppy Joes. But the landlord raised the annual rent a buck. So the owner took the entire saloon, lock, stock and name, down Greene Street to the present location.

The legend has it that Hemingway stayed put in the original building, which eventually came to be named after Tony Tarracino who was an even bigger Key West character than Ernie. The legend also has it that Martha Gellhorn paid the bartender twenty bucks to be introduced to Hemingway there.

That led to a flaming affair, while the two of them were covering the Spanish Civil War. And that affair was what ended Hemingway’s marriage to his second wife Pauline Pfeiffer, who had stolen him in turn from his first wife Hadley Richardson.

So obviously the 1960s didn’t invent fucking around on your spouse.

I was living on my boat, which was tied up at a slip down at the Conch Harbor Marina. I chose that spot because it was easy walking - or sometimes crawling - distance from my customary watering holes up and down Duval.

The boat itself is a C&C 40 which is a handful for solo cruising. But I am an excellent sailor and I wanted the room. I brought it down the Atlantic Inter-costal three years earlier. And short of a Cuban invasion I was planning on staying put.

My buddy Buster was my sole companion. He also happens to be my best friend. He weighs about 120 pounds and he looks like his prior job was guarding the gates of Hell. But he is utterly sweet, gentle and loving beneath his scary exterior.

The best part about my big smelly buddy is that he would never leave me. Which is more than I could say about any of the women in my life.


It all started at an elite Midwest University. I didn’t get into that place because I was rich or smart. I got into it because I was very fast in the water.

I would have rather been outstanding in any other sport. But unfortunately I was a fish. So I spent hours marinating in chlorine, building up long smooth muscles that made me look streamlined, not powerful.

I wasn’t a lion. I was a sea-lion.

And because the sport of swimming requires extraordinary physical endurance I had to spend every waking hour stroking up and down a pool while some sadistic bastard yelled insults at me.

He called it “coaching.”

I have to admit that the sport ensured that I didn’t carry an ounce of fat. But at six four. I was built less like a Greek god and more like a human torpedo. And since the aim was to reduce drag I had in effect also invented the skin head.

Needless to say I was not likely to be voted king of the homecoming court. Or even find a date.

Scholarship athletes were all housed in one dormitory. And my luck being what it was, I drew a football player.

Story of my life. I could have gotten a fellow swimmer, or a soccer player, or a gymnast. Or anybody else besides an arrogant asshole.

Brad was not hard to live with. That was because he spent his days hanging around at the local jock fraternity with his fellow Neanderthals.

But when he WAS around the room he treated me like an inconvenient piece of furniture. I especially enjoyed the nights that he decided to get laid.

Very early in our association he informed me that if he had his tie hanging on the door I was not to enter. So most nights I would study in the common room, while the moans and shrieks of his latest conquest wafted down the hall.

And then I was allowed to fall asleep to the pervasive odor of pussy.

His argument was that he would do the same thing for me. Which was a laugh since I had never actually had the pleasure. Like I said, being a gangly human torpedo has its drawbacks in the sexual experience department.

I had a few girls who would condescend to go out with me. But there were rarely second dates. I am not sophisticated. And I had nothing to recommend me beyond the fact that I was a scholarship jock.

The problem was that I was in a sport that was anything but glamorous. Every Saturday afternoon, Brad, who was the university’s quarterback, would do heroic things in front of 100,000 screaming fans.

You watch swimming every four years at the Olympics. It mostly involves people standing around. And it typically draws as many viewers as the bike racing.

Plus, the only thing that anybody sees is splashing and the occasional view of a face frantically gasping for air.

Perhaps you can understand why Brad was fucking a lot of hot coeds. And my romantic moments were limited to my hand.

The one good thing about my situation was that I was never under the illusion that I would be doing anything other than going to work after college. Swimming was just a means to an end. So I hit the books, while Brad spent his time socializing.

Brad, was thinking about the millions he was going to make in the NFL. Needless to say he ended up selling life insurance.

Toward the end of my junior season I came back from the library. And there was the ubiquitous tie. I had a meet the following day. And I was not in a mood. So I banged on the door.

The urgent moaning stopped and a couple of seconds later I heard Brad’s voice yell, “I’m busy. Go away!!” I was pissed. So I yelled right back, “I have a meet tomorrow and I need some sleep. Take it someplace else. You have five minutes.”

I heard a questioning female voice and grumbling from him but it sounded like they were getting their shit together preparatory to putting it on the road. So I just leaned on the wall and waited.

Disheveled doesn’t begin to describe what emerged. Brad gave me a pissed off look. I didn’t care. I am a half-a-head taller than he is. So it was never a matter of physical intimidation.

I said as sarcastically as possible, “thanks’ and started into the room. That was when I really looked at who he had been fucking.

Most of Brad’s women are the usual sorority skanks and football groupies. They wander the campus in herds. Every one of them is hot. But their faces tend to blend together into a universal blur of “pretty”.

This was a completely different breed of cat.

She had thick copper hair that disappeared down her back in healthy waves. The totally perfect state of her hair was amazing in itself, given the fact that she had been getting seriously fucked a mere five minutes earlier.

I think it was her eyes though. I am not usually a fan of pure redheads. That milky skin and all of those freckles scare me. But when I looked into her superb emerald eyes there was real heat and intelligence. She almost seemed amused.

She gave me an appraising nod. Then she and my roommate executed an archetypal walk of shame toward the elevator. I was sure my roomie was headed for plan B, the jock fraternity.

I fell asleep to the accustomed smell of sex. It was more disturbing than usual. It must have been her pheromones. But I almost felt jealous of the moron.

I didn’t run into her again until the last few days of that semester. I was at the classic fraternity kegger. I lived in the dorms because I was on scholarship. But the fraternities like to have varsity athletes around as display items. And there were even a couple of houses that courted swimmers as affiliate members.

Needless to say they were the minor fraternities. Not the prestigious jock houses, or the snooty frats that my social betters hung out at.

I was standing in my usual party position, which was holding up a wall with my back. I had one of those 16 ounce Solo cups full of a yellow foamy substance, which I was praying was beer. It was hard to tell.

She walked in with some species of preppy frat-rat. I had only gotten a passing glance at her as she and my roomie exited the building. But I was impressed by her twitching buns. Now that I had a chance to fully check her out I was blown away.

She was gorgeous. But then again, most of the coeds you see around a frat party are by-and-large attractive. Nevertheless, it was something in this one’s manner that set her apart.

She radiated total self-assurance and absolute femininity in the way that she walked and held herself.

Then she started to dance with the dude. She was only about five foot two but she had extraordinary muscled legs and very tight round hips. The rest of her was lithe and nubile but it was that perfectly proportioned face and those sparkling green eyes that had me mesmerized.

A cooler guy might have gone over and tried to cut-in. But I am socially retarded, hence my little virginity problem. So I just stood there staring at her.

I believe that women are equipped with some sort of special antenna that tells them when they are being scanned. She was in the middle of putting her arms over her head and grinding her pussy on her date. It was like she had lifted the move out of a “Step Up” movie. The date looked blissful to say the least.

Anyhow, she glanced up alert, like she had sensed something, and looked directly at me.

I was not looking into the typical vacant coed eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was like a cat toying with a mouse. Something passed across her face. I am sure she was used to being stared at. So it wasn’t the gaping. But I got a sense that I had disturbed her.

I am not socially equipped to deal with angry females. If she was going to give me outrage, I was going to get the fuck out of there. So I circulated out of the main room and moved to a chair in a little side room. Later in the evening that room turns into the make-out spot so it was dark. The only light came from the open door.

The night was still young so it was just me and my beer at that point. I was trying to decide what my next move ought to be when she poked her head around the corner. It gave me the impression that she was looking for somebody, probably her date.

No such luck.

I was sitting there doing my best “lone wolf” imitation. When she spotted me. Then she very purposefully marched over to confront me. I rose from the couch. It was a protection move.

She stood in front of me in that classic aggressive female posture; feet apart, with hands on hips thrust slightly toward me.

She silently looked me up and down. Actually it was kind of funny. I was a full 14 inches taller than she was. So she was checking me out like she was appraising a horse. I almost expected her to pry open my mouth and count my teeth. Not a word was said.

Then she spun around and marched out of the room leaving me standing there gawking. I was totally blown away by the power and spirit in those eyes. I eventually got my act together and followed her. But when I got into the main room she was back to dry humping her date. I headed home.

I had never met a female who troubled me so much. I mostly go with the flow. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

So the next day I asked Brad. I said, “I ran into that hot little red-head you fucked last month. What’s her story?”

He laughed and said, “She’s a freak. That’s her story.”

I said, “Freak? What do you mean? Is she kinky?”

He said in his usual dismissive tone, “Any woman who isn’t grateful after I’ve fucked her is a freak. She was an absolute animal when we were together. Then when I called her up for a rematch she totally blew me off. It was like I was bothering her.”

Since that is the way Brad treats all of HIS conquests I wasn’t sure who had conquered who.

I said, “Do you know her name?” He said, “Kari Winter, but you aren’t going to have a chance with her.”

I said, “Why not? I know I’m not YOU but I have had the occasional woman.” Of course I was lying. He said, “Because she only dates awesome guys like me, not dweebs like you, no offense.”

I said, “None taken.” What could I say? Brad was a conceited prick. I would have done better arguing with an orangutan.

He said, “She’s probably fucked eight guys that I know of beside me. And everybody says that she’s the hottest piece of ass they’ve ever had. She is way out of your league.”

I smiled sardonically and said, “Just asking.” And I filed Miss Kari Winter away in the big pile of women who I knew to “avoid at all costs.”

Early in my senior year I was stepping up on the blocks for the 200 fly, which is definitely NOT my best event. As I customarily do I looked into the sparse crowd.

And who should I see sitting there but Kari Winter.

She waved.

I false started.

Actually I more-or-less fell face first into the pool.

After that ignominious beginning I dragged myself back on the blocks and set an individual, pool and conference record. I knew what the motivation was. But there was no way I was going to admit it.

Of course, I had to acknowledge her presence later that evening. She was standing there when I came out of the locker room. I am not totally dense. I knew that I would have to say something. So I walked over toward where she was.

She turned and sashayed away before I got there.

As she turned to walk away she said over her shoulder, “Follow me.” There wasn’t the slightest question that I would NOT follow her.

She was wearing a pair of beaten out jeans that probably cost 300 bucks to get the tears in the right place. The most strategic ones were the 4 inch horizontal rips right at the place where her big round butt cheeks joined her muscular legs.

I followed along watching those rips move up and down. It was hypnotic.

We were walking into a little ornamental park between two of the dorms. She got to a secluded bench and sat down. I came up and stood in front of her.

It was one of those unspeakably beautiful early fall evenings in Michigan. Still warm with a soft breeze wafting the scent of burning leaves. I could hear the katydids and crickets busily chirping in the manicured shrubbery and smell the freshly turned earth beneath it.

I looked at her inquiringly. She said, “Sit down, we need to talk.”

I looked at her even more questioningly and said truly puzzled, “Why?”

I was aware that the woman was campus royalty. Anybody who has ever attended college knows what I’m talking about. 20,000 students knew her name. Every female wanted to be like her. And every male just plain wanted to HAVE her.

I sat.

She said in a reproachful voice, “Are you gay?”

I spluttered, “WHAT??!! OF COURSE NOT!!”

She said, “Then why haven’t you made a play for me? Why haven’t you asked me out?”

This conversation was a waste of time.

I cut right to the chase. I said, “Women like you don’t date guys like me. You’re miles out of my league and we both know it. So why should I give you the satisfaction of turning me down?”

She looked disgusted and said, “I’m supposed to decide that - not you. What makes you think that I wouldn’t want to go out with you? I’ve been attracted to you from the moment we met.”

Okay, so where was the camera? I knew that I was on an episode of Punk’d.

Neither Kutcher nor Goldberg stepped out of the bushes.

Kari just kept on talking. She said, “I assume you know my reputation? The moron that you are living with must have filled you in about me.

She grimaced and said, “I admit that I have kissed a lot of frogs over the past four years. And so far I haven’t found any princes. Just randy frat boys and jocks. I was hoping that maybe you’d be different.”

She actually looked vulnerable. That had to be an optical illusion.

I said, “Brad’s a well-known dumb shit. I wouldn’t listen to a word that he said. But I also know that you are considered to be the hottest female on campus. You could have any guy eighteen to eighty in the surrounding tri-county area. So what is it about me that you find so interesting?”

My tone of voice conveyed my ultra-skepticism.

She said, “You are a star athlete but you don’t seem to know it. You spend your time in the library preparing for life, not going to parties. You are big and good looking. And I like completely bald men.”

The last was said with a kittenish smile. I knew that everybody called me the “bald eagle” behind my back because of my big nose and shaved head. She added, “What isn’t there to like?”

Well, that was an astonishing state of affairs. I said, “Let me get this straight. You want to try out a real boy-girl date because you think I’m interesting? I know that sounds a little self-doubting but I am still not believing what I am hearing here.”

She looked appraisingly at me and said with irony, “And, the boy is delightfully insecure.”

I took a good look at her. From the top of her thick copper hair to the tip of her bright red painted toenails, this woman was a movie star. Notwithstanding her legendary performances in bed she was also clearly smart, confident and very comfortable in her own perfect skin.

With all of that faultlessness the only question was, “Why me?”

She was looking at me quizzically, like she wanted an answer.

So I thought to myself, “Stop being such a weenie!!!”

I sucked it up and said, “Okay, let’s go out. I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we can try this on for size. But I am warning you that the instant you don’t show me the proper respect I am taking you home.”

She said a little irritated, “Respect? What does that mean?”

I said, “You know what I’m talking about. You are going to be hit on multiple times while we are together tomorrow. When you do, I want you to remember that you are with me.”

She actually looked impressed. She said, “So no flirting or leading other men on, I promise.” And she gave me an impish grin.

I picked her up at her apartment the following evening. She had rich parents and so she lived in an off campus apartment by herself.

I didn’t want to think about the events that might have gone on in that place. I wanted to do my happy dance. Not be eaten up by jealousy even before I rang her buzzer.

She greeted me at the door. She was in a little clubbing dress that would have been demure on my sister. But it set off indescribable waves of yearning in me the way she filled it out.

She is not well endowed. But what she had was full and neatly gathered in two beautiful little mounds on her chest. Nevertheless, her long waist and lithe round hips and perfect muscular legs were all anybody would notice. And the dress displayed her assets without looking the slightest bit slutty. Her four inch heels only made those legs look rounder and fuller.

But of course it was her face and those eyes that captivated me. She said lightly, “Are you going to stand there gawking, or are we leaving?”

I said, “We’re leaving but you are absolutely stunning.”

She dimpled – God! She even had cute dimples - snatched her little clutch purse and we left.

What can you say about the evening when you meet, “The One?”

We talked all the way to the restaurant. It turns out that she was the daughter of two LA lawyers and she was at the University to do the full Law School route. She also turned out to be very smart, intellectually curious and she had a fabulous sense of humor.

She said that she dated slugs like Brad because they were the only guys who asked her out.

Unfortunately I could see what she was talking about. I’m a normal guy. And I wouldn’t even consider approaching a woman like her, let alone dating her.

She said that any guy who she DID go out with got one date. And if they were not interesting or sufficiently clever then that was it. Which explained her one time with Brad.

She said that the kind of date that she had with Brad didn’t happen often. But it DID happen. Which was why she had run up the score with all of the local studs.

I wasn’t buying any of that. It sounded like a rationalization. So I said, “Do you always fuck them on the first date?” I was being an asshole but I was certain that I would never see her again.

She looked a little hurt and said, “I know it seems that way. But I could go out with a different guy every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Brad is yummy and he was very insistent. Plus I was drunk. I would never have fucked him otherwise. He just doesn’t cut it in the grey-matter department. I didn’t even consider a second date with him.”

I kind of understood all of that. Kari was just THAT attractive. And she was white-hot. You could tell that in every move she made. Her sensuality was obvious. Even in the simple things that she did from getting into the car to the way she held the menu at dinner.

A lot of women are either neutral about sex, or they don’t like it. Kari radiated total mastery of the bedroom arts. And there was nothing about the act of sex that frightened her. She was supremely self-confident.

I could see where lesser women would want to burn her at the stake

It was obvious to both of us that we were connecting on a lot of levels. She was such a delightful companion that her extreme beauty and sexuality quickly faded into the background.

We were both dedicated students. We both had a long term perspective on life. We cared about serious matters. And most important of all Kari loved to laugh. She was openly passionate in the way she enjoyed every aspect of life.

I couldn’t have asked to spend the evening with a better friend, or more interesting companion. And for a short time I believed that she felt the same way.

That was until Rayford Johnson dropped by our table. He was frat-boy extraordinaire. Alpha dog in the pack of self-important over-entitled douchebags who inhabited that school.

And he made it obvious that he and Kari had a very long and sweaty history together.

He came smirking up to the table and without even looking at me said, “Hi, Kari, we’re having a party at the house tonight and there are a lot of guys who would LOVE to see you there.”

I didn’t have to be a savant to read between THOSE lines. The top off my head almost blew off like a cartoon thermometer.

She gave me a quick secret glance and then looked up at him bewildered, like she couldn’t place him.

Finally, she got one of those head-smacking d’oh looks on her face and said, “Oh yes, your name is Ray isn’t it? What would make you think that I would want to waste my time with the boys in your silly little fraternity Ray?

Then she paused for effect and added, “When I can be out with a REAL man? Ray meet Danny.”

I rose to shake his hand. The one advantage that I have over most guys is my height. And I was well over a half foot taller and maybe 30 pounds heavier than he was, just big enough to be intimidating.

I stuck out my paw in a friendly fashion and said, “Pleased to meet you Ray. I’m sorry but I’m planning to take up Kari’s time from now on.”

Where in the heck did THAT come from?!!!

He looked me up and down and sneered, “All you’re going to do is join a long line of guys who have fucked her.”

Then without shaking my hand he spun and walked away. He was pissed. How delightful.

I sat back down and said as sarcastically as I could, “Nice fellow.”

If Ray was pissed, Kari was absolutely foaming at the mouth.

She said, “He’s a total asshole. I don’t know what I was thinking. Like I said, I have kissed a lot of frogs looking for a prince. That one was more like a horny toad.”

Then her face softened. She reached across the table and took my hand. She said with genuine emotion playing across those incredible emerald eyes, “And I think I’ve finally found him. Can we skip the dancing and just go back to my place?”

Which created a major dilemma.

I’m not bad looking and I am tall and well-built if you like them aerodynamic. You almost wouldn’t believe that I was a 22-year-old virgin, would you?

But as I said, I was either studying, or swimming and I am not exactly the most self-confident guy in the world. Especially when it comes to women. So I had never shed my amateur status.

I am sure that Kari would expect a performance similar to what she had gotten from the dozen or so guys who had taken advantage of her gorgeous body. And I didn’t even know how to step out on stage, let alone act.

We went back to her place and she got me a beer. We sat on the couch in her living room and talked some more. She kept looking expectantly at me.

I finally decided that it was time to lay my cards on the table. She had been brutally frank with me. And I needed to give her the same respect by confessing my total LACK of experience with no less ruthless honesty.

I said, “I know what you are thinking. And I have a secret that I have to get off my chest first.”

She looked at me in horror. It was like she thought that I was about to confess that I really WAS gay. I moved closer to her on the couch and took her little hand in both of mine. I hesitated. I didn’t want the time with her to end.

In the meantime, she was backing away with anxiety written all over her face. I could see that she was thinking that I was going to tell her that I’d like to see her hogtied in a rubber suit, or something like that.

I said,” I hate to admit it. But I’m still a virgin.”

I could tell by her response that was the last thing she expected me to say. I probably could have announced that I was really from the planet Hoth and I would have gotten a less surprised reaction. How could a modern college male make it all the way to his 22nd year and not have had sex at least once? I was mortified.

Then she began to laugh. First the mirth came into her eyes. Then it took over her entire face. And finally her whole body was convulsed in uncontrollable paroxysms of laughter. Okay, that was roundly insulting!!! I didn’t come here to be laughed at.

I started to rise in a huff. But she grabbed my hand and pulled me back down HARD. I was off balance so I fell face first on her big couch.

As I fell, SHE was arranging herself so that I would fall on top of her. Her legs were spread incredibly wide. I immediately pushed myself up on my arms to take my weight off of her. In the meantime she was frantically scrambling around with her hands in the area of my zipper.

The next thing I knew I felt an extremely hot and wet sensation on a part of my anatomy that had never experienced such an amazing, out-of-this-world feeling before.

She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down to an open mouthed kiss that duplicated the wonderful phenomenon that I was feeling at the other extreme. It was like she was totally open to me on both ends.

I had watched enough porn that I had the process in concept, if not actual practice. So I began the age old motion stroking in and out of that fiery three centimeters of paradise. She went absolutely nuts.

She threw her head back, mouth wide open making extreme effort noises. It was like she was choking to death. Then she let out an unearthly cry and threw her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck in a way that she was plastered to me from shoulder to pussy like a spider monkey.

I don’t use a word like “abandoned” very often. But that was how she gave herself to me. I was probably lucky that I had never had sex before because I didn’t know what to expect. And the fact that I wasn’t distracted by how she was reacting slowed my own release a lot. Maybe ALL women acted like that?

Kari, on the other hand, would buck shout, and quiver wordlessly. Then she would go right back to throwing her hips up at me. That motion is very similar to what you do in the water and I have the endurance that you get from all those years of doing it. So I just kept on-and-on and she kept bucking, shouting and quivering.

I finally looked at her face. She had the drawn expression of somebody who was s right on the ragged edge of losing it. She was exhausted. She started saying with urgency in her voice, “Cum Danny, you have to cum in me NOW. I can’t take it any longer. Please cum. PLEASE!!!”

Those must have been the magic words because what followed was an experience that made all of those lonely nights of self-flagellation seem like a firecracker next to the detonation of a hydrogen bomb. I pounded on her like I was trying to break her. She took me to the hilt making hoarse grunting noises as I came.

I rolled off her the moment I got some rationality back. I am easily 100 pounds heavier and well over a foot taller and I didn’t want to smother her. She was lying on her back, legs spread wide and pussy leaking cum like a river.

That sight would have appeared wanton except she was out colder than that proverbial mackerel. I thought, “Great, I’ve met the girl of my dreams and killed her!!!”

I rushed frantically into her bathroom and got a cold wash rag. She was still just lying there. Her delectable chest was rising and falling with great intensity and her nipples were like little pink acorns. I considered that a good sign.

I pushed her gorgeous legs together, while examining her fertile hips and hard stomach. Hey!!! I’m a GUY. I notice those things. And I began to gently bathe her forehead. She came back to me slowly, like she had been someplace long ago and far away.

Those incredible emerald eyes focused and then she gasped. She said with wonder in her voice, “What did you do to me? I have never experienced anything like that in my life.”

I shrugged lamely and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never had sex before.”

She smiled weakly and said, “Well whatever you did I want you to do it to me over and over again. When you make a woman cum like that, she wants to be yours for life. Now lie down here with me and hold me. I obediently turned on my side and she snuggled those big round rock hard buns into me, she wrapped my arms around her and went right off to sleep.”

I lay there for a little while sensing her enticing smells and feeling her little jerks as she slept and I was scared shitless. There would never be another woman for me. But I had only known her for a day and I had no idea what to do next.

That was answered for me the next morning.

I awoke on a bright sunny fall morning. Her apartment was the ground floor of one of those old mansion-like houses in town. So the windows were 19th century floor to ceiling large, not the dinky little openings you see in modern houses. And the sun was just streaming into the room.

She was lying in my arms in the same position that I had been holding her when we fell asleep. But there was a new feature. I was sporting a hard-on that must have been using up 90% of the blood in my body. And it was jammed in the crack of her exquisite round ass.

I was trying to figure out a way to shift her onto the couch without waking her up when she moved. And what had been an embarrassing poking of her butt-crack became an extremely stimulating poking of her nether lips.

I swear she was sound asleep but as soon as I touched the entrance to her hole she moaned loudly and said sleepily, “Ahhhh yesss that’s it!! Fuck me!!!” and she arched her back, pushed her ass at me and I was suddenly hilted in a very hot and totally wet pussy.

That produced a snort of epic proportions and her head turned back toward me eyes wide open in surprise. She moaned loudly and threw her top leg over mine and her body back against me so that she was lying mostly on top of me.

Then SHE began to thrust herself back against me in a frantic bucking motion that ended perhaps 30 seconds later in her loudly yelling, “Oh God YESSSSSS!!!!”

And the high frequency quivering started again. It was like she was being electrocuted. As she worked through her orgasm her butt cheeks were frantically clenching on top of my lower stomach and her passage was fluttering with little nips and ripples. Finally she just lay limply on top of me panting.

I was still hard as a rock but I had no desire to cum. I just wanted to worship her. I couldn’t imagine the kind of inner fire and feminine spirit that could generate that kind of sexuality. I slowly withdrew. She moaned loudly all the way out.

She rolled off me to lie on her back on the broad couch. I propped myself up on one elbow. I looked into the perfect face and she was looking back at me with apprehension. I said, “You are a dream girl, far more wonderful than I deserve. I’ll understand if this is the only night. Since I will cherish what we shared for the rest of my life.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot and said merrily, “What gave you the idea that you will EVER get away from me? YOU have no choice in this matter. I have finally found my prince. You are mine and I will never let you go. We are going to be together forever.”

I know it was naïve and impulsive but we were kids. And we absolutely believed that we would die in each other’s arms. I never spent another night in the dorms.

She had a lovely spacious place and I just packed my things and moved in that same day. We married at the end of the semester and we spent the following three and a half years living a blissful married life.

I would occasionally run into Brad on campus and he would give me a look like he couldn’t figure it out. Brad couldn’t figure most things out so that was not rare. I cared not a damn that he and a dozen others had fucked my wife. I knew that I was the last man who was going to fuck her.

How did I know that? She spent our entire time together trying to find better and more creative ways to show me how much she was mine.

For instance, after we were married I still had to travel overnight for away meets. By all rights Kari should have stayed home and partied with her friends. But she wanted to show me that she was devoted to me and me alone.

So she spent her parent’s money to travel and stay in the same hotels. The coaches patrolled the halls. Consequently we were chaste the nights that we were on the road. But it was the thought that counted.

We graduated together and celebrated her admission to law school with two weeks in Jamaica.

Because she was still in school I decided to go all the way in my field too. So, I got into a doctoral program. We attended class all day, studied all evening and fucked all night.

She was my princess and I was her prince.

That was why it was so profoundly tragic when she was killed two days after she graduated from Law School.

You never think about the anguish that any given day might bring. You kiss your beloved wife as she goes out the door for her daily run. And the next time you see her is in the morgue.

All of that beauty, all of that energy, all of that potential and all of that love of life lying broken on an uncaring slab. That’s the way things really work. There are never any guarantees.

One-in-a-million circumstance – perhaps. But that’s life. We ping off each other like so many random billiard balls. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes you lose big-time.

He was a drunken package delivery guy who claimed he didn’t see her. His blood alcohol level was 0.19. He did three and a half years for vehicular homicide. And I got $1.6 million dollars in blood money from his company.

Thus ended my happiness.


We buried her in a beautiful little spot on a hill in southern California. It was near where her parents lived. I flew out with her and I went through the whole tear filled ceremony. Danny Jones was nothing more than a ghost now. I might as well have been buried with her.

Her parents were sympathetic, nay loving. They knew what we meant to each other. But they had their own special grief. Kari was their only child, their hopes, dreams and immortality.

They had the same haunted, despairing, tortured look that I had.

I plodded along after that because life is ruthless. You either march, or you die. I was afraid of dying so I marched. Albeit VERY unwillingly.

Nonetheless, all of the fairy tale certainties were behind me now.

I had honestly believed that my life would work out. Through fantastic good fortune I had met and married my soul mate. Our children would be beautiful and our lives would be fulfilling. But the Gods laugh at human pretense.

Instead, I fell through all nine levels of Dante’s hell.

Looking back over 50 years I NOW know that you move through a series of distinctly separate rooms in life. The room you are in is your present reality. And it seems like you have always been there. Even if the room that you were FORMERLY in was poles apart. It isn’t a matter of forgetting your past. It is more a case of the demands of human existence perpetually overwriting your situational memory.

That was the case with me. I had closed the door of paradise. Never to go back in my lifetime.

Because I had nothing to live for I threw myself into my work. Swimming had taken up a lot of time when I was an undergraduate. As a result I did okay academically, but not great. Now that I had all the time in the world and nobody to share it with I found that I was exceptional.

Kari was never far from my mind. And I felt like I had to live my life as a tribute to her. So after I got the Doctorate I did what all good little PhDs do. I started trolling for faculty jobs. I didn’t need to work. Between insurance and the settlement I could have lived comfortably on the interest. It was just that I was agonizingly alone. I HAD to do something to keep my sanity.

Given the quality of my degree and my research I had my choice of places. But I thought that I could make the most difference inside the Beltway. So I eventually took a position at a university in Fairfax Virginia.

Every good school demands the traditional tenure death march. I did that. And by the time it was granted I was 35 years old. God willing I would be doing the exact same thing, year-after-year, for 40 or 50 years. Contemplating the emptiness in front of me was like looking at a trek through the Gobi Desert without water.

They say that you actually die when the last living person forgets you. That’s why people like Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar have “The Immortal” stuck in front of their names.

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