A Memoir in the Third Person

"I don't want that," she said.

He said, "I know you don't. Of course you don't." His head went down between her legs again. Now he wasn't just licking but actually sucking, a complete first for her. A light rapid sucky-sucky-sucking, literally drawing her in. Her thighs quivered and her hips tilted toward his mouth.

He paused maddeningly to say, "It sticks out enough, the hood doesn't cover it." He moved her hand to the base of her belly, exactly there, not yet around and below. "Here, pull. Get it uncovered. Stick it out and give it to me."

"Fuck," she moaned, and did nothing.

"For real," he said. He repositioned her hand, forked her fingers, folded them under, pressed them against her. "Do it," he said, and went back to sucking.

She moaned but didn't go blank or stupid. She could feel her thighs shaking and she had enough brain left to worry embarrassingly how that must look. But the rapid suck-suck-suck was driving her insane. So she simply did it - an "it" she'd done before only when she was alone and absolutely never when she was with a man. She curled her fingers and pulled upward, firmly. She knew what was she was doing: retracting the hood, baring her clit. She knew and didn't care. Or else she knew and meant it. In any case it was what she did, and she did it seriously, did it so that it worked, did it the way she did it when she was all alone.

He sucked. She moaned and shook. He kept sucking, harder, deeper, perhaps for one minute, or two, or five. Then his fingertip touching her anus. Then it went in. Then it went further, turning inside her.

She began to cry. Her hips still tilted toward his mouth, her thighs still trembled, her clit still pulsed and throbbed between his lips, between his teeth. He sucked and sucked and sucked while she wept.

He lifted his head to say, "I love an old married virgin." His finger kept moving. "I'm going to pop this ring for real."

He added, as an afterthought, "That's one thick clit." She was still crying.

Deferred Memory (3)...CONTINUED

It wasn't hypnosis that got Karen onto her knees and elbows with her butt in the air. It wasn't choice, either. It wasn't anything she could make sense of. A kind of willingness? Inevitability? Hope, desire, need, self-destructiveness? What she knew was the shame and fear of being "positioned," of "positioning" herself.

She felt him against her. Then it happened.

It was only afterward that she could feel it and could hear herself, as if memory were her only resource, not experience in the present tense. She gave a loud, pained yelp -- something midway between a wounded scream and a dog's bark. She yelped several times more as he slid deeper. But the pain eased soon -- much sooner than she would have expected -- and as it faded she was acutely aware of the huge humiliating fullness and movement in her rectum. He began to stroke in, out, in, out, in, out. She no longer wept. She was literally sobbing with helplessness and shame.

"It scares you, doesn't it?" he said. "You almost feel like you're shitting."

He pushed deep. A visceral noise came out of her mouth. She was still sobbing. "You make me sick," she said.

"You make you sick." He pulled out and thrust in again. The same noise come out of her mouth. "I make you come."

H leaned forward over her back and made short, stabbing thrusts that went very deep. One of his hands groped under her chest and pulled at her nipples, alternating left and right, pulling firmly and twirling at the same time. "I'm fucking you right up into your guts," he said. "Feel it?" She was still sobbing, though less loudly, and the same new visceral noise was coming out of her. His hand slid below and his fingers found her clit, stroked it, rubbed it, rolled it.

She didn't know why the words came out just then, but they did: "What am I, what am I?"

"One thing you're not is an anal virgin." He thrust again. "You're an assfuck now. And you love it. It makes your clit hard as a stone." He thrust again. "You're going to come while I screw you up the ass. It's not even going to take very long."

It didn't.

Deferred Memory (4)

...to be continued.