Chapter 1

Two years had passed since Jim and Jane had last spoken. He ended their final long distance telephone conversation, tears sliding out of both their eyes, with a shaky "Goodbye." They had resolved that distance was making their relationship expensive. Two and three hour conversations over thousands of miles. And it impeded their freedom. They were young and needed to be bold and go out into the world and take some chances. It wasn't real for them to be together anymore. They weren't together anymore.

Their relationship had been warm and adventurous and sexy. They had trusted each other implicitly, which opened them up to all types of play, from the nearly religious experience of the most intimate embrace, love saturated passion, to the most perverse of positions and places to play and places to penetrate.

Their love had never been severed except for the distance. Pure chance broke them apart, not a wish to be separated. He was staying home to go to University, and she was off at a dance school and at a college in Manhattan, NYC.

The post split remnants of their love settled deep into their consciousness. What the remnants became were expectations. His were eventually fulfilled. And more and more his Clark Kent vulnerable side, behind the black horn rimmed glasses where he presented himself to the world as a nerd of limited sexual appeal, was being shucked off for Superman, a young man of great strength and physical confidence. He continued working on his body to strengthen him for wrestling. The scholarship he needed to supplement the cost of his classes kept him busy with the wrestling team at University. Although twenty years difference in age separated him and his lover, he felt great confidence in his relationship with her. Sometimes she was dominant, but he could be dominate too. With their great respect for each other despite him being half her age, it all equaled out.

Jane's attitude was Jim's opposite. She had become passive, vulnerable, accident prone. Her relationships became skirmishes. She would be fascinated by a young man, giving herself over to his seduction. She enjoyed sharing her chambers with him. She enjoyed the company. These young men seduced her, disrobed her, entered inside. It was a frenzy of discovery, discarding the outer layers of flirtation and courtship in order to find what was hidden. Blind passion. Naked hard young flesh daggers pointing to her to pierce her. She would take their dagger in hand and guide it inside. They would pump their straining flesh against her and deep inside her where they popped, releasing the scalding brew. They would separate. They weren't inside her. And they slept. It wasn't enough. If they stayed together, time would strain expectations. They weren't there for her, but for their release. She was their repository. At least that's what she felt.

So many of the young men just didn't care or want to care how she felt. She met men who fought her every move to communicate with them, to have them respond beyond the bedroom. She met men who she found wild and exciting but learned that though she may have been desirable at the start, ultimately she was to them a bag of flesh to be stabbed, kicked and shoved aside. She found herself in several abusive relationships, the current one just ending after over a year.

It was two years to the night since Jane and Jim had last spoken, when Jim and his friend Harry stepped into the small club and saw Jane was standing beside the stage clutching a manuscript against her chest. Jim remembered that chest, those lovely breasts, the nipples he would tease with his tongue until they glowed in the candle light, a quarter inch long and taut. He remembered her large pliant breasts as pillows for his cheeks as he nestled his face against her. He looked up into her eyes.

She couldn't believe it was him. He looked handsome standing in the back of the club staring at her. And here she was going to read her poems. She thought she was nervous before. She caught his smile like he had tossed it from deep inside. She smiled at him, and it all clicked. She stood at the podium, spread the poem before her and began to read. When she glanced from the page to give the line of poetry out to the public, she kept getting caught. His smile, his intense gaze, kept catching the drift of her eyes despite the thick rimmed glasses affixed to his nose.

He could see she had lost her posture. The slouch and slight bend to the right to which she was prone through her Junior year of high school had returned. By the time they had begun their sexual relationship more than three years before, she had already lost the slouch and had been lovely and confidant. She was the most radiantly healthy creature when they said their good-byes, her flesh leaner, her movement more lithe and graceful. Her grace of movement was breathtaking. In the two years of separation, though, an invisible weight had taken its toll, and she didn't stand so tall anymore. Maturity kept her from returning to the full slouch her lack of self-worth had provided during her adolescence, but the effect was similar. She had become Plain Jane again. He could see she needed him.

Her poetry was lovely and graceful. He loved the one in which two lovers in the park whispered to each other endearments, but instead of describing their partner's attributes, they described visions of the park. It was so lovely and graceful it broke his heart. This was the woman he had missed, only better. He enjoyed the private poetry readings in her bedroom, and her poetry had only gotten better since she had last recited to him. He had never been so lost in the visions she spoke. Jim felt the full force of guilt. As the pangs of love lost and found came over him for the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, he knew he needed to have the strength to resist. It would be too complicated to return to an ongoing relationship. He couldn't open up to her completely, and their relationship had been built on honesty and trust. He retreated from her beautiful mind and returned to her damaged body. Along with her unhealthy posture, her eyes seemed distracted, not steady. Skittish. Afraid she would have to present herself.

She slowly sunk herself into a self-deprecating morass. The past year had only thickened it. Frank.

Jane should have seen it coming. It was a pattern. She should have seen it when she thought of where they had met.

A bar. A meat market. It was where her crowd would hang out. The publishing crowd. A nice upper east side bar, with foliage and soft rock and soft stools on which to have found new company while leaning on the third drink. Frank had saddled up to Jane's empty stool halfway through the night. Her inebriation was just becoming apparent. She got louder and not in control, not reserved, which was more her character. The two new lovers played loose and free with glances, and arms would contact the other body via the large gestures they were using to talk. Accidentally on purpose sort of thing. The flirting game had begun in earnest.

By the time the lights burned the late night dark bar patrons wide irises to announce it was time for them to leave, Frank and Jane's lips sucked their hard liquor and nicotine saturated tongues into their mouth. Frank stood in front of Jane's spread legs as she sat on her high stool, pushing his slowly ascending flesh snake against the responsive top of her pussy, the keystone to what he hoped would be its new snake hole. They needed to move on to private quarters to bare their desires.

Arm in arm they leaned against each other, making the walk into the warm night a clumsy one. She only lived a couple blocks away, but found herself pulled into a cab by Frank. They raced past the sea of stragglers who had been waiting their turn for escape.

As they headed down Park Avenue for the ten or so miles to his place, they resumed their aggressive kissing. His strong hand held her breast, pulling on it as his thumb sought the nub. Jane undid the top buttons of her blouse. His hand slid inside, under her bra cup and held and squeezed her full soft breast. His fingers pulled and twisted her nipple. She sighed into his mouth, intoxicated by his manipulations.

She rubbed her hand against the unfurling snake encumbered by the cotton shorts. She solved this encumbrance by unzipping him and lifting his hot hard flesh out into the air of the cab. She grabbed it and pulled and pulled and pulled, causing Frank's cock to gain maximum girth and extension. He groaned into her mouth. One hand still occupied by her breast, he slipped his other hand under her skirt, along her naked thigh. He rubbed his fingers along the slit he felt under her silk panties, then slipped under them to leave his fingers to fully explore her depths. She was damp and slippery. His thumb found the rising little bit of flesh at the top of her slit and tapped it. She released her mouth from his and gave out a deep sigh.

She gave a sly, inebriated smile at him. She lowered her mouth until her lips kissed the purple helmet of his engorged snake. She licked it and then impaled her mouth on it. Jane had learned from Jim's mighty club to take a cock deep into her throat. This one wasn't the depth finder of Jim's, so she hardly gagged when she took it all the way in. Her lips sliding firmly up and down, her tongue dancing around it, then her lips fucking it again gave him the exquisite friction he needed. Her hand, gingerly tossing his balls around, felt them tighten up, his dagger vibrated, and she felt the pulse of cum as it sprayed into her mouth. She swallowed what she could, a bitter, drunken brew, and let some of the sticky fluid drip onto his shorts.

When the cab slowed to a stop, Jane quickly arose and buttoned up. Frank removed his hands from her breast and her cunny just as quickly if not quicker. In one motion he pushed the softening meat into his fly and zipped and slid his hand around to his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. The walleyed cab driver, hours into his shift, still managed a seamy smile as he took the money from the newly sapped man.

Taking her hand, he dragged her up the stoop, through the door of the row house apartment building, up the dark stairs to the second floor. He struggled with his keys until, victorious despite the incredibly sensuous licking of his ear by Jane, he turned the lock.

Having closed and locked the door behind him, he pulled her into the dark bedroom where she fell on her back onto the all too narrow bed. He pushed her skirt up above her hips and her panties down over her shoes and proceeded to lick her into a frenzy. Her knees lifted high beneath her arms as she opened herself completely to him. Her pelvis rocked her pussy into his face. His two fingers slid deep inside and out of her pussy, while his tongue set to work along its lips down to the ridge between it and her asshole, circled around the crinkled little hole. The tongue reversed directions, slowly licking her labia and returning to the clit. As he teased and sucked her engorged little, though larger than normal, morsel of flesh, she was reaching a crescendo. Her full sighs resonated in the small bed chamber, no longer needing to be quieted.

Removing his fingers and tongue from her pleasure trough made her nearly cry. He quickly removed his clothing and joined her on the bed. His legs straddled her head. His limp worm dangled inches above her lips, and his balls brushed her forehead. When his fingers and tongue and lips returned to pleasing her at her pussy, she sighed with approval. She took his loose melted tube of flesh in her hand, pulling it to her tongue. It wouldn't grow. The snake was inert. Slowly the pleasure he was giving her below was tapering off. It stopped as he relaxed beside her, his breath steady on her thigh. He had passed out. So close. So close. Her last sigh was one of frustration. She succumbed to the alcohol in her kidneys, relieving herself in the adjacent bathroom. She made it back to his bed before the alcohol in her bloodstream took effect, and she passed out, too.

Not a promising start, but all that changed the next morning. When she awoke on the strange bed, she was greeted by a smiling face and a mug of hot coffee. The face was still sagging from the hangover, but it was still handsome. The long disheveled blond hair framed his face with a subtle golden aura. His eyes were large and blue, and even if the blue was in the middle of an off white with red threads, she enjoyed looking at them and into them. Something sad and hurt was in those eyes. Her sight was lost in his. She sat up on the bed to retrieve the hot bitter but tasty coffee. She sipped and stared and sipped and stared. They were discovering each other, taking in each other's facades and digging deeper. Were these eyes, still strange and new, worth getting to know?

"You're very pretty," said Frank. His voice was quiet but still resonant like a stage whisper. There was surprise in it.

"You too," said Jane with a soft smile. He laughed.

She followed him to the kitchen. Her blouse was open and she was naked under her skirt when she sat at the metal card table that served as his kitchen table. The tattered white terry robe he wore was open to his nakedness. They talked quietly, and as they talked there was a quiet sexiness in the air. Each would glance down to study what bit of nakedness escaped the indiscreet cloth. Soft rounded flesh and nipple. Harder flesh with a trace of hair leading down the firm abdomen to... They both enjoyed their views. But they mostly enjoyed their conversations. They spent hours over several cups of cooling coffee getting to know each other.

Mostly Jane got to know Frank. Another clue she should have taken to heart. He was his most popular subject. But she found him exciting to know. Stimulating to the head, the heart and the loins.

Perhaps to get his engines revved he asked her about her life. She told him she was going to be a junior studying literature if the publishing house she worked for would provide the support she needed. She entered their doors a little while before, as a receptionist, in hopes of getting full benefits from a work study program and of moving up in the business. She had wanted to study dance too, but not enough to starve. She wouldn't have time. Besides she didn't seem to like it and/or she wasn't so good at it anymore.

Jane didn't want to take the conversation into uncomfortable territory, the territory of self-deprecation. So she swung it his way, and he took the hook. By the end of the conversation, two to three hours later, Frank had provided her with a complete autobiography. From a small city in Kentucky which he found suffocating in both the provincial aspects and the disastrous home life, he made enough trouble to be put into a parochial school back east. A good teacher became a mentor, encouraging his talent as a story writer. Once graduated and entering college he lived his life in the city while making passing grades. He was in search of adventures, of something to write about. He told Jane how much he loved the city and its extremes. He hung out with the bums and junkies, the lowest of the low, the people whose lives were forever balanced on the edge of oblivion, a couple of them even fell in and died. He hung out with the affluent, who were just as twisted and inebriated as the great unwashed, only cleaner. He would accompany his rich friends all over the world, Europe, North Africa, Mexico, pursuing a drug and alcohol stupor with as much drive as the poor crazy junkies in the Bowery. Only the background changed, albeit spectacularly. Throughout his adventures he clung to fellow artists. He enjoyed their intellectual and visionary inebriation thoroughly. He found such enjoyment in both worlds.

She could tell he was a wild young man. But his words were so quietly and gently uttered that she was falling in love. She wanted this man who was both exciting and warm. Her sexual need for him was not overwhelming but was thrilling. Dampness and a gentle throbbing in her cunny perfumed the air. But it was more background to their conversation than a need to embrace her libido by embracing him. Besides they were both a little sick from their drinking the night before. She decided she needed to go home and bathe and sleep in her own bed and return if he wanted.

They made a date for the following evening, Sunday night.

Frank brought the blanket up to the roof of his row house along with the chilled cabernet sauvignon. Jane brought the corned beef sandwiches, the coleslaw and chips in a picnic basket. As they enjoyed the sandwiches and poured the cold wine into plastic cups and down their throats, they enjoyed the glances. He studied her pretty face, her lean long neck, her breasts pressing under the shear white blouse, her nipples becoming more excited, pushing harder against the fabric. She studied his soft facial features, especially the warm blue eyes and the plump almost feminine lips. She enjoyed his strong shoulders under the tight t-shirt and his defined chest and flat abdomen and his snake beginning to press against his tight white shorts. He studied her long legs stretched open on either side of his legs, the smooth muscles, and how they led up to the vortex of her panties peaking out from the edge of her short white skirt hinting at the dampening and swelling pussy lips underneath.

He leaned forward to kiss her. For a long voluptuous moment the sucking in of lips and the tangle of tongues were their only physical contact. A sudden need for more made his big thick hands grab hold of her hips, his fingers pushing deep into the flesh of her ass as he pulled her loins onto his. Pushing and releasing her onto him at the physical apex of pleasure, his hardening mound of flesh was sliding between her hot damp lower lips in a dry hump. Their upper lips still clung together as they sighed into each other's mouths.

When their lips separated and he gently lowered her onto her back, he said with a smile, "Now where were we?"

He took hold of her panties, slipping them off when Jane lifted her derriere. Kneeling between her legs, he massaged their graceful length with his hands, his fingers slowly closing in on the vertex point, her hungry cunny. Kissing her just below the massaging hands, his lips moved all the way up those legs. Once the tip of his fingers touched the lips of her cunny she moaned and opened her legs and thus her cunny lips even more for his touch. Fingertips played at the entrance, feeling the liquid of her pleasure secrete around them, until the slow ascent of his mouth finally reached the top point.

"Aaaah," she sighed and squirmed against his face. "Oooh," she continued when his tongue licked up and down the entrance to her pungent hole. Her sighs shortened and pulsed at the rate of his licks and his fingers plunging and pumping inside. When his fingers found her g-spot and his tongue her clit, her moan rumbled from her as her body vibrated. He could feel the pulse of her hole throbbing as she reached her first climax. It was a rapturous release. The substance of orgasm, the deep sighs, the warmth, the vibrations, the secretions, had been building inside for hours and hours, and they all flooded out...

She squirmed away from his tongue glancing off her sensitized clit. Her hands pushed against the side of his chest to hint at her desire for the sixty-nine position. He was in tune with her gesture. "I think this is where we left off last night," she said, her voice thick with desire fulfilled and getting more fulfilled.

Quickly standing, he slipped out of his shorts and underpants. She watched his long thick snake bounce into the open air. His thighs straddled her head, careful that his knees wouldn't clamp her hair down onto the roof floor. Her tongue stuck out as far as possible to catch the underside of his cock as it bounced near her mouth.

Not quite comfortable enough, she moved from underneath him and eventually negotiated him onto his back, straddling his head with her thighs. As he gently resumed the licking of her cunny lips, she held his fully extended snake in her hand, her fist around it pumping up and down. Her breasts swung above the tip of the snake. Slowly lowering them, her nipples rubbed and slid into the snake's tiny mouth.

She moved lower to encircle his cock between her tits, to slide it between them and lick the tip when it neared her tongue. Frank had to sit up to continue his cunny licking. She was on her knees, her ass high, her pussy fully open at the apex of her position for Frank's burrowing tongue. He held on to her hips. His arms wrapped across her lower back. He burrowed down. Her high round ass cheeks were pushed against his face. He continued to dive inside her with his tongue. His snake needing lubricant to make it more slippery between her breasts, she sunk it into her mouth, its head finding passage inside her throat.

Lucky for Frank that he was busy pleasuring Jane's hole, because her explosion lifted her head up off his throbbing snake so she could groan her exquisite pleasure, baying her moans into the sky saturated by the bloody sun huge on the horizon, its last shout of color before its descent and disappearance. If she hadn't released his cock at that moment, he could easily have erupted. He turned around underneath her. His hands took hold of her hips, pulling them down. At last he was driving his hungry snake deep inside its new home. The walls just made a narrow enough hole for its ascent. Sinking his fingers into the firm yet giving flesh of her ass cheeks to the bone, he took command of her movements despite her being on top. She let him. Starting with slow strokes, he was soon bouncing her fast on top of him. He was out of control, pummeling her with a passion that had short circuited his brain. After one quick jerk out and then in, he was frozen, penetrating her to the deepest part of her cunny and letting loose his seed. "Ahhhh," he rumbled.

Him pressing deep inside, pushing his pubic bone against her pubic bone, was nearly enough to send her over the edge of her plateau. His cum burned inside her. His snake twitched with the effort to send it so deeply. All his consciousness was the spurting penis.

She took over her movements on top of him. She stuck her ass back far enough to slide his still pulsing cock against her clit. After three long hard slides, she was finding her third orgasm taking over. She pushed his snake deeply into its hole. She lay her body across his. Her arms held him tight against her. Three times' the charm because it was a loving cum, shared and escalated by the sharing. His cock shivered and those inner walls of hers around it shivered, creating a counterpoint of movement, a mesh of pulses. The East Village air was full of the duet of moans and panting. She wished the moment would last.

Once gone though, it was the last experience of its kind in their long relationship. It was the last time she would be with him when he was sober (or at least somewhat sober) or wasn't hung over. She still enjoyed his company most of the time, or must have. Why be with him a year otherwise? Often he would be sloppy and have even less complicity with her feelings, less giving and more getting. She often found herself trailing behind him, trying to keep up with him as he walked. And if she ever wanted a change of direction, he would get furious. No matter how trivial, any discussion that dared to include argument was an attack on his humanity or his manliness more likely. As the relationship progressed, she became more daring, trying to locate herself when she was in his company. Her challenges were beyond his composure. They would set him off, and he would strike at her. First these were abusive outburst. Then they became slaps and pushes. She would scream her pain, but it wouldn't sink in to his thick skull right away. He'd slap and push until he stopped suddenly, finally realizing what he'd done. He'd crumple to the floor at her feet. Disgusted and disgusting.

In this bad place, he would start conversations. It was as if he had a multiple personality. Crumpled at her feet, he would talk calmly about his writing, how the book was coming, plans for another book. He would slowly rise to his knees and ask her how her writing was coming. She found herself lost in conversation. He would be really interested in her work, and even her opinion of his work, which was mostly positive, though occasional suggestions or confusions would enter. And he was shockingly okay with that. He would lap it up. But when he finally had lifted himself to be beside her, she didn't feel comfortable with the touches. He would lap her up, twisting and sucking her clit with his lips. She enjoyed the attention but from a distance. Occasionally a twinge, when he hit it just right, would thrill her. Then a dull fog would return. In some ways she hated him, and it was almost a rape he was performing. But he would pause in his attention to her pussy and say something odd, something funny, something cute, something wise, and a love would surge up in her. It was as if he was projecting it there. As if he was hypnotizing her. When her grotto was damp enough so he could slip in his semi-hard snake, he would fuck her slowly, fuck her talking into her ear. He would complement her on her beauty, tell her what excruciating pleasure she gave him, tell her how deeply he loved her and how much he needed her. She would reach to touch his scrotum, to gently fondle his balls which had the effect she wanted, hardening him. She began to like the friction inside her and wanted it stronger. She whispered back to him to fill her, to give it to her faster. It would quicken him. The friction was what he needed to trigger the eruption of his seed, which occurred before she could be sent into orgasm. The gray funk would return.