Andrea straddled Sean with her cunt hovering over his face. She placed her fingers gently on either side of his cock at the base and extended them down to glide over his balls. She spent a second staring at the slightly curving shaft of his rod as it poked up at her looking like a cross between the charging head of a rhinoceros and a limb of a new-born baby. Then she pursed her lips, placed them over its tip, and slid effortlessly down.
The delicious warmth, the insistent sucking, the wild tonguing, made it impossible for Sean to draw things out. Four, five, six strokes of his rod down her throat, and the storm in his genitals broke loose. Her fingers found just the right spot on the tubes that ran from his balls to the base of his cock and added that wild, dizzying surge that makes the come blast out in exuberant jets. For a brief flash Sean thought he should try to control the power. It would choke her. But then he remembered her merciless grinding on his face, her total abandon, and he knew she wanted him to be the same way.
He swiveled his hips and let his whole body swirl away to the rhythm of the rapid, maniacal drums that pounded between his legs. He was going to shoot so hard her stomach would be full of come before she could swallow.
Andrea wrenched her head back and forth and vibrated her tongue against the top of his shaft. Sean's hips started bucking. He reached up and grabbed her ass and watched her cunt as it bobbed above him.
With the first gush Andrea opened her throat wide. The hot spray, salty, tasting faintly of mint, flowed furiously in.
Hahaha! It was like when you were a kid and you left your water pistol out in the sun and then wanted a drink out of it. You stuck it into your mouth and pulled the trigger. (Was that why some women were afraid to blow men? Were they secretly afraid the guns would turn out to be real?)
Andrea drew up and sucked hard and swallowed as the second and third and fourth blasts came. Her swallowing squeezed Sean even harder.
Her mouth and throat flooded with gooey slime. She couldn't swallow fast enough. God, he had so much come! Her cheeks puffed out and the pressure broke the seal of her lips on him. Rivulets of semen flowed down his shaft and into the dark blonde of his crotch hair. But still she held on and kept stroking, her whole body wracked with his spasms-her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide and desperate, her hair flying around her shoulders and brushing across his legs.
This was really it: tasting, smelling, feeling, even hearing the eruption of a man's most primitive passions. You knew it all first hand when you took it in your mouth.
Sean had forgotten where he was, who he was with, what day… month… year… century it was. He thrashed and grunted. His cock ran away with him like a wild horse he was tied to with a piece of rope. His body bounced through clouds, sluiced through the warm water of a tropical ocean, drifted in bottomless expanses of flower petals.
Then, slowly, the feeling began to ebb.
His cock went limp and became part of his body again.
Andrea finished swallowing. She wiped her lips and cheeks with the back of her hand.
She wandered off and returned with a box of tissues. She cleaned them up and stretched out next to him on the floor.
"Lady," Sean muttered, "you give one hell of a blow-job."
"One hell of a short one this time," she observed.
"Only attests to the high quality. Damn, what a touch you've got with that tongue."
Andrea reached out and grabbed a small brass urn from the coffee table. "Feel like smoking a joint?"
Sean leaned back on his elbows and grinned as impishly as his rugged features would allow. "If we can possibly get any higher, let's do it."
"The sky's the limit," Andrea said, and lit up.
Then Sean thought of something. "But if I get stoned, I warn you, I'm going to get hungry. And thirsty. This was supposed to be a dinner-date, if you'll remember. And I haven't had anything all day since a pastrami sandwich for breakfast"
"A pastrami sandwich for breakfast?"
"Writers tend to eat what they have lying around."
Andrea looked down at her pussy. "I'll say." She took a hit on the joint. "Dammit," she said from between clenched teeth, "I rolled the fucking thing too tight." Sean watched her breasts flushing and heaving as she struggled to suck the smoke in. "Look, we could send out for something to eat… " She passed the joint to Sean.
"Sometimes if you roll them back and forth in your fingers like this… " He pinched the joint between his thumb and forefinger and spun it rapidly. "It loosens them up." He took a hit. "I know just the place to call. Where's your phone?"
Andrea watched his cock as he got up and she answered, "In the kitchen." It bounced around and then settled to hang straight down between his legs. When it was soft it didn't look much more than average size, but it had an incredible expansion factor.
Andrea mused about cock sizes as Sean finished another deep toke on the joint and bent over to return it to her. She'd heard a lot of talk about 12-inchers but she'd never had the least desire to see one, much less be in bed with one. On the other hand, she didn't share the sentiments of lots of her girlfriends who liked small ones better than big ones and said that men with small ones generally fucked better. Sean had a good, fat eight-plus inches hard, and that was just perfect for her. She'd have to open herself up a little extra to accommodate all of it, but that was fine. In fact, it was exciting. But more might have been painful. Sean wandered off toward the kitchen, giving Andrea a chance to assess his physique from the rear.
Sean's body was lithe and slender and smoothly, thoroughly muscled. He had broad shoulders obviously built up by some kind of athletic activity. The only thing a little strange about his body was that the muscles joining his shoulders to his neck were more prominent than usual. Andrea could see he hadn't been a wrestler or a weight-lifter; his muscles weren't bulging or knotty and they weren't rock-hard. They gave the impression of lean, enduring strength concentrated in his upper body-strength that could last through endless repetitions of strenuous but graceful activity. His hips were slender. His ass jutted out slightly. But for that he would have had the shape of a torpedo. When he turned sideways to walk into the kitchen she noticed that his chest was deep and his stomach flat. His movements were sure and his body seemed to conceal some kind of bidden tension that indicated lightning-fast reflexes.
From the kitchen Sean mumbled a few words into the phone, hung up, and rejoined Andrea, who by this time was holding the roach of her joint delicately between her fingernails and casting her eyes about the room in search of a roach clip.
"This it?" Sean asked, picking a scissors-like surgical clamp from among a pile of empty record jackets on an end table.
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"The end's black. Besides, lots of people use these. And I figured you didn't perform too many operations in your apartment. Some food will be coming along in about half an hour."
"Yeah? Who do you know?"
"I did a favor for a guy once."
"Uh huh. Say, where'd you get the beautiful body?"
"What?"
"I said, where'd you get that beautiful body? Looks like it was sculptured by Michelangelo."
Sean chuckled and let himself down onto the couch. "I didn't think it was much of anything anymore. In the last few years a lot of muscles have gone to pot." He poked his biceps. "These have gone down like somebody stuck a pin in them." Andrea lit up another joint and passed it to him. His head was light already and everything in the room seemed to have moved back three paces. "I used to be a swimmer."
Ha. The torpedo shape. She'd just about guessed it. "High school? College?"
"Prep school. And before. I was one of these child wonders-you know, AAU meets when I was thirteen. By the time college came along I was swum out Decided to play lacrosse instead."
"You were a good swimmer?"
"Yeah… I guess so. I was undefeated my senior year in prep right through the Easterns. Took 3 firsts. Broke some records. The college coach was pissed as hell when I didn't come out. Told me I was Olympic material.'
"Were you?"
"I suppose. But you just have to give up too much to make it to the Olympics. What the hell, I made Ail-American in lacrosse, and it was a hell of a lot more fun than swimming up and down a pool six hours a day competing against a stopwatch."
The conversation sputtered into silence as Sean regarded Andrea's wistful green eyes through a haze of pungent smoke. She turned sideways on the couch and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her thighs and clutching the outsides of her legs to keep her knees pressed tightly against her breasts. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling and fixed there as though she was taking in some weird fantasy show playing on the white plaster.
"This is some damned nice dope," Sean mused absently. "Hey, do you mind if I put on a record?"
"No, man, go ahead." Andrea's lips looked as though they were being moved by remote control from far away. "Something mellow, though. And no downers. The dope is Mexican. Supposed to be Gold. Looks sort of gold. All tops, too. The only thing about it is it hits you in the head like a hammer. Too heavy if you have anything important to do. Like, I can't perform on it"
"How about the Dead?"
"They could perform on it."
"No, I mean for a record."
"Sure. Perfect."
"Side with Sugar Magnolia ok?"
"California mindlessness. Yeah, I could use that."
"What else could you use?" Sean clicked a switch and the record fell with a splat onto the turntable. He waited a second to adjust the volume.
"That's a suggestive remark."
"When you asked me how many times I could come I assumed you had an interest in a number greater than one."
Andrea laughed smugly and blinked once or twice, indicating she was awakening partially from her trance.
"So how about number two right now?"
"May as well get it in before the food arrives."
"Ugh… that was terrible."
"Shall we go into the bedroom?"
"Sure."
Sean turned the stereo up and followed Andrea's daintily vibrating buttocks down a wide wood-paneled hall and through a heavy oak door beneath a stained-glass transom. The apartment was posh throughout and furnished with a somber elegance that made Sean suspect Andrea hadn't decorated it herself. The rent had to be high. At least $500. Andrea was doing ok but she was hardly the kind of star who could pay for a place like this. Maybe she'd inherited money. Or maybe the place was a loan from a rich relation.
"It's funny," Sean mused as Andrea pulled down the antique crocheted bed-spread and lounged languidly across pale yellow sheets. "Suddenly I just had this bizarre feeling… like you and I have been married for ten years."
"Shit, don't say that," Andrea chided. "You'll scare the piss out of me."
"All over your clean sheets, too. No, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure as hell not looking for any wives, and you're not in the market for a husband, either, right?"
"Right as rain." At this Andrea spread out most invitingly on her back.
"What I meant was, I feel very relaxed with you. We don't have to play any games. You have no idea how much easier things are for a man when he meets a chick like you-a chick who digs sex as much as he does and admits it It's like-your body is just there. I don't have to sit up and beg like a puppy-dog to get a piece of it."
"Boy are you stoned." Andrea eyed him with amusement as he sat down on the bed. "I have one idea what it does for a man when he meets a woman like me."
"What?"
"Makes him full of hot air."
Sean dove on her laughing and they tussled among the bedclothes until the sensuality of skin rubbing against skin got to be too much for them.
"Oho!" Andrea exclaimed as she felt Sean's rod stiffen between his legs. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around it "I think we're coming up with something!"
"Ok, wise girl," he breathed, straddling her and pinning her down, "how do you want it?"
Her features tightened and a hungry look came into her eyes. "This'll do just fine, baby." She spread her legs and drew her knees up and reached down to spread herself open. "You got something that'll fit in there?"
Sean let go of her shoulders and leaned back to gaze down at her yawning hole. It was wet and hot and aching for it. He grabbed his rod and waved at her. "How about this? Think it'll fit?"
Andrea was getting eager. "Yeah, yeah, that looks just fine. Let's try it on for size."
Sean turned it down and rubbed its tip teasingly across her clit. She winced with pleasure and closed her eyes. Her hips shoved up and her fingers spread her hole still wider. She lunged forward, trying to snare the tip of his cock with the grasping trap of her cunt. "Come on," she whispered hoarsely, "give it to me! I'm ready!"
Sean smiled down at her and let the head of his weapon wander down the slippery valley of her slit toward her hole… with maddening deliberation.
Andrea was getting impatient. The demanding emptiness inside her was like a dull pain. And yet it was delicious.
It was getting closer. That hot cock was getting closer. It was a big blind water buffalo seeking a mud-hole on a blazing hot day. And it was onto the scent.
But it lumbered so slowly.
"Come on! Fuck me, Dammit!" She was laughing and crying and thrashing and throwing her tits back and forth on her chest.
Sean slammed it home all at once.
"Ooomph! Agh!" Andrea groaned as though she'd taken a hard punch to the stomach.
Then there was nothing but that glowing poker squirming inside her, filling her with radiant warmth, that thing that had no job in life but to please a pussy. She grabbed it with all the power her belly and thighs and buttocks could muster.
The world was upside-down and she was riding a horse. She had the saddle-horn up her cunt and her clit was bouncing against the polished brown leather at its base. From up above the shocks of her mount's hooves sent jarring fragments of fuzzy yellow fire jolting through her. This was a ride she'd never forget.
Sean got right into her rhythm.
Unh… Unh… Unh… Unh… Unh…
He could feel her about to come in a rush.
"Not yet, baby"
Unh…
He drew out and skipped a thrust, leaving her insides to clamp down on nothing.
Unh… Unh…
He drew out again.
He kept her careening along just below the speed of sound. The barrier, unbroken, receded before her every time she surged forward to shatter it.
He went about getting himself to the same place.
He reached down and sunk his fingertips like talons into her ass cheeks. They tightened and loosened in a ragged rhythm as Andrea humped and grasped after him.
The sounds of fucking grew in volume until they were deafening. There was the sticky squishing of his rod in and out of its swampy sheath… the chaotic symphony of bated breaths… the slap of his stomach against hers… the background noise of the heavy brass bed creaking and complaining and shifting on the hardwood floor…
"Come on, baby, give it to me! Fill me full of it! Fuck me hard… HARD!"
And then suddenly, for a split second, there was something wrong. Maybe it was Andrea's words. Maybe it was something in her tone. But her pleas fell on Sean's ears as demands. "Oh, be a good stud! Come on! Come on already! Can't you make it? Can't you come? What's the matter with you? Are you fucking impotent?"
Before Sean could tell himself Andrea hadn't meant it that way she sensed what was happening. Sean had concentrated on pleasing her and left himself behind. She cursed herself for being so damned inconsiderate. Sean deserved better than that.
She closed her cunt tightly on him and sucked him with it. She milked him. She was jerking him off with her cunt. She went faster, then slower, seeking for his natural rhythm.
She opened her eyes. Sean was staring down at her with a mixed look of amazement and gratitude.
He was beautiful.
Then she felt a sudden tightening of his body and waves of heat like moist gusts of warm sea-air. She'd hit the rhythm. It was just a little faster than hers, but nothing to worry about. She locked into it and humped.
She was enough outside herself for a thought to flash across her mind.
Each person had his own unique sexual rhythm. It was as much his own as his fingertips or facial features. It was like a train running perpetually at a certain speed inside him. It was more than just the rhythm of fucking. It was the rhythm of a whole sexual existence. It determined how often that person wanted or needed sex, and so in a way sometimes near, sometimes remote, exerted an influence over all of the rest of his life. You could see or sense it in the way a person walked, talked, gestured, danced… And if you wanted to get on a particular person's train and ride it to the end of the line you had to get on your horse like a bandit and sit beside the tracks and wait till the train came along… laboring up a grade, slowly enough for you to ride along beside it and jump up. And then you had to run up to the engine across the tops of the cars and get right up there behind the headlight, hanging in there in the engineer's cabin, waiting for the pell-mell ride down the other side of the mountain.
If what got you excited more than anything else was that feeling of your lover's excitement things were easier.
If your lover felt the same way you were in heaven.
Sean was just about there. For a split-second Andrea'd been a selfish bitch but now she was a saint again. He'd never been with anyone like this in his life. He stared straight into her eyes and all he saw was passion. He could see her seeing right through him to the essence of his blind, mad hunger, and welcoming it.
She was right up behind his headlight and he was right up behind hers. They were past the point of different trains. Their fireboxes were fused and the heat multiplied insanely.
There was one thing down between their legs: one eternal machine doing the one thing it was designed for; blowing up and breaking apart again.
One flesh machine. One machine of glistening, pulsating, thrusting, grasping fury. One battery with two poles-earth and sky. One womb drawing forth the cosmic satisfaction of the lightning-bolt.
Sean and Andrea stared at each other and they knew they were going to hit it big.
They were going to smack that see-saw hard with the big hammer and the gong in the sky was going to clang like a mother. They were going to take home the giant pink teddy-bear.
The giant pink teddy-bear!
Maybe that's what it would look like afterward. Ludicrous. Grotesque. Sham. Cotton-candy fur. A shyster's prize. Eat it all, kiddies, 'cause it won't keep! But now it was the whole big brassy end of life.
He shoved.
She reached.
She shoved.
He reached.
Somewhere, far off, a bee droned in the clover.
Wavelets shattered with brittle fancy as a sailboat tacked aimlessly in and out of a harbor.
Fluid changed bodies.