Chapter 8A

The week preceding Martha Jane's last weekend of packing before she left her charming apartment near Memphis State was a long, numbing one. As far as I knew, it would be my last chance to spend time with her before she moved to East Memphis under her new stepdad's watchful eye. Although we spoke by telephone briefly during the week and set the schedule for my Saturday visit, there was no mention of what might or might not happen after that weekend. I was too fearful of bringing it up.

When Martha Jane arrived in her Chevy (which she still didn't like), I felt distracted and dull. My feeble attempts at appearing cheerful fell flat. When I couldn't think of anything to say I sat humming an aimless tune and looking out the car window, pretending to be engrossed in the passing scenery.

At her apartment I dove into the work of packing, working so quickly and efficiently that Martha Jane was left with little more than to stand around and watch. By three o'clock that afternoon I'd packed everything and there was nothing else to do.

"Well," she said, forcing a cheerful smile through the tension that had been written on her face since we arrived. She looked around at the boxes stacked along one wall of the living room. "That's that. Good work, cowboy, we finished two hours early."

"Yep," I said, knowing that I sounded terse and sullen. But I didn't know what else to do. I walked into the kitchen to wash my hands.

She called from the living room, "So what's next?"

I sighed. "Can't play records or anything. It's all packed." I stood in the kitchen doorway drying my hands with a paper towel. "Hate to see you give up this place."

Martha Jane cleared her throat and said with an air of mystery, "Well, there is one more thing. I don't know what you'll think about this... I mean, it's kinda... silly."

I gave her a weak but indulgent smile. "Try me."

She blushed and hesitated before starting for the bedroom. "Follow me," she said.

She led me into the bedroom and then into the rear bathroom. Her toiletries were still on the floor in two small shoulder bags. She bent over the tub and turned on the water. "First, we need a warm tub..." She adjusted the water flow and then turned to me with a naughty smile. "Can you guess yet?"

"Looks an awful lot like a bathtub filling up with water, lady."

She winked and wagged a finger. "Not... quite." She reached into one of the shoulder bags and pulled out a package of blue bubble bath powder and held it up to me.

"Remember this?"

Blood rushed to my head. And to a couple of other places. I smiled, still a little unsure, and reached out for the package of bubble bath.

She jumped back playfully. "No, no, that's *my* part. I get to open the package. Your part is to get nekkid first."

I squinted. "Is this supposed to remind me of what I think it's supposed to remind me of?"

She winked. "Yes. See, I told you it was silly."

A sudden and chilling thought passed across my mind but, not wanting to kill the mood for her, I kept the question to myself: did this ritual mean that I was not going to see her again?

I unbuttoned my shirt. She came to me with a playful gleam in her eyes and helped me undress, pausing now and then to touch my neck and sides and to help me unzip my jeans.

She turned to dump the powder into the water. She watched the blue bubbles expand and rise. When she turned around again, I stood naked in the middle of the room. Seeing me, her eyes lit up and she walked over to me. Her face hovered near mine. As she watched my eyes she trailed her fingers down my tummy and onto the tip of my cock.

"Remember this, too?" she whispered.

"Hmmm. Yes."

"Feel good?"

"Yes. Like the first time."

"Hmmm. Nasty boy." Her hand continued to graze my now twitching penis. "You have no idea how often I've remembered the first time we did this." She kissed me on one eye and then the other, and whispered near my ear: "And since then, little Speedy has grown into a warm, lovable, sensitive young man. And a wonderful lover."

I managed to keep myself from breaking into tears. I resolved that this moment, if it was to be our last intimacy, would be as she wanted it. But my unvoiced questions persisted, and so far my mind was still uneasy on that score.

I put a wet, open lipped kiss on her neck and saw and felt goosebumps rise on her back and arms. I said, "Hey. The water's ready."

"Oh, yeah," she said. She saw that the tub was now half filled with blue bubbles. "But we're both bigger now and we need a little more than we used to. You go in first."

I pointed at myself as if to question "Me?", and she grinned and nodded. I settled into the tub, the bubbles engulfing me with an audible hiss.

She began to undress. "Turn it off when the bubbles are high enough."

"How high?"

"Nose high."

"Okay."

In a moment she was naked. My cock lurched under the bubbles when I saw her. She was slim and firm; her legs seemed rather long for a woman of her relatively petite stature, an illusion caused by her nineteen-inch waist, the moderately lush flair of her hips and the firm roundness of her tush. Her breasts sloped smoothly and swiftly into rounded globes with its dark pink nipples. Her mound was topped with a fine, curly, almost transparent auburn fuzz that crowned her outthrust smoothly lipped vulva and extended halfway down the length of her prominent slit, which now was only slightly parted. But it was all these bound by a perfection of creamy flesh -- skin so tight and toned that it glistened along her shoulders and hips and upper thighs -- that, and her long-necked grace, gave her body an alluring mixture of woman and girl, harlot and angel.

She grinned as she approached the tub and stepped inside. "You hard under those bubbles?"

I nodded.

"Well," she said, settling into the nose high foam and facing me, "hold that thought j-u-u-st a little longer." She grabbed the bar of soap and lathered her hands and then reached under the bubbles to stroke my cock with her slippery fingers.

"Ah," I gasped.

"Good?"

"Mmm."

"Don't cum, hon."

"Aw, no fair."

"Shh. I'll just hold it," and she did. "I have something to tell you. New house rules."

"Phooey. Rules."

"You'll like this one." She lowered her voice to a more serious octave. "From here on out, you're not Speedy anymore."

"No?"

"No. You're Steven. You don't look like a 'Speedy' anymore. You don't think like him and you don't fuck like him. You don't have a little boy's four inch dick anymore. You have a fine, perfectly shaped cock with soft dark brown pubic hair in just the right amount and just the right places. And a warm heart, and a good mind, and very handsome eyes. You're Steven now. Is it okay if I never call you Speedy again?"

At the end of her little speech I was a blue bubbled blob of silly mush with a melting heart and a very hard cock. If she asked me to shoot the Pope and steal his name, I would have said yes. I reached for her, and she moved closer to me and let my arms drape over her soft wet shoulders before she said, "Wait, there's more."

"Oh. OK. More."

"From now on, I'm no longer Martha Jane. I'm Martha. I'm not a teenage doll and not a kitten and not a Southern belle, and I'm twenty-one years old. Not long from now I'll be a professional and I'll dress like a professional, not like a schoolgirl. I want everyone to call me Martha from now on. I'll use that name on my resume's and checks and on everything I sign. And I'll insist on Martha from others. But from you, Steven--I don't want to demand, I want to ask... will you call me Martha from now on?"

Too choked up to speak, I nodded slowly and firmly, and then I pulled her into a hug under the bubbles, and she hugged me back. After a moment in this humid, bubbly clinch she tapped me on the back with one finger.

"Steven?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't call me Martha yet."

"I will. In a minute."

"Call me Martha now. I want to hear you say it."

"Well... you have your new rules. I have one, too."

"What's that?"

"I will call you by that name very soon, in just a little while, when the time is exactly right."

"When?"

"You'll see. Soon."

We soaped and rubbed each other, adding some playful touches and tickles. She said it was the first time she'd had her nipples and cunt soaped by another's hands. She enjoyed that for a moment and then said, "C'mon, I have to get you ready." She guided me by my shoulders and hips until I was sitting on the edge of the tub with my feet in the water. Then she knelt in front of me and covered her hands with soap and smiled up at me and said, "So you won't cum too fast when we get in bed." She wrapped a soapy hand around me and I moaned, and she asked, "Is that okay?" I answered, "Whatever you want, Scarlett." She said, "You're supposed to call me Martha." I looked into he eyes and said, "I will." She watched my face while she quickly jacked me off with the soap. It didn't take long. She grinned as the cum slurped onto her arm and hand.

Covered with bubbles, we climbed out of the tub. She stayed in the bathroom to powder and finish up, while I turned off all the lights in the apartment so that a soft, late afternoon glow filtered through the curtains.

When she entered the bedroom I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my legs under me. She stood a few inches away, fluffing her hair with a towel.

She asked, "why are you sitting on the edge of the bed like that?"

I said quietly, "C'mere. Stand by the bed," and when she dropped the towel and came to me I pulled her head close and whispered in her ear, "Remember this?"

"Remember what?"

"The first time I saw you nekkid. The first time you showed me how to get you wet."

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh. Yes." She backed away one step and spread her feet so that her love pod was more available. I whispered, "Let me fingerfuck you." As her hands found and squeezed my cock and balls, she opened her legs a little more. Between her smoothly muscled thighs was a small open alcove shaped and sized perfectly for the palm of my hand. I cupped her warm mound, which greeted me with a sliver of slippery moisture along the middle of my palm. She shifted her legs again, allowing me a little more room to slide a tantalizing finger along the slick edges of her firmly rimmed slit. She leaned into me and lifted a nipple to my lips and whispered, "Suck my tittie, hon."

I kissed, licked, and then she sighed pleasurably as a nipple entered my gently sucking mouth. At my fingers, her slit swelled and opened. Once more she made a fine adjustment with her feet, bending her knees a little to lift her portal upward and toward me.

She hissed, "Put it in me. Slow. Slow. Ah."

I whispered, "Squeeze my cock. Just a little. Little squeezes."

"Like that?... Mmm. Look. Wet."

Several years earlier when this scene was first enacted, I could hold out for hours. Now, even after cumming once, I'd be lucky if I lasted half a minute -- and when she spread precum over my shaft and circled her fingers around the tip, that interval was being seriously shortened.

With my free hand I held both of hers motionless at my crotch. "Wait," I whispered. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"Let me fuck you with my finger a minute."

She grinned and smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead so she could look down and watch my hand on her. "Okay."

For a few minutes I gently stroked and primed her clit, pausing now and then to fingerfuck her slowly and deeply and properly, searching her slithery inner walls until I found that rough spot just above the curve that lay beyond her portal and that made her moan and hug my finger. In a while her head drifted back and her eyes closed. She sighed to the ceiling, "Hon, that's so good." I was so turgid I felt I'd need a firearm permit if I got any harder. Soon she leaned heavily against me, murmuring, "My legs are getting weak, it's so good."