John and Joan

"We could have stayed on the beach by the fire, I guess."

"Things were getting hot by the fire," she joked. They began laughing again.

I have an idea he said. How did you get to "Sport n'?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well did you walk, drive, take a bus?"

"No, I took the "L".

"I thought so, me too."

"So what does that mean?"

"I'll ride with you to your stop, walk you home, then go to my stop. That way we can stay together for a while longer in a, er, how should I put this? In a non-threatening environment."

Each was embarrassed to discover that neither knew where the other lived. As it turned out, his stop was on the way to hers, so she would walk with him to his place, then go back to the "L" to ride to her stop.

Along the way, about a twenty minute ride, they held hands chatted about limits and boundaries, lost hopes and forgotten dreams. John learned she had dreamed of being an actress, loved Shakespeare the theater, but never had the money to attend a professional performance.

Joan discovered that he had thought of himself as a writer, but had long since abandoned his half finished dream of the all-American novel, now gathering dust and cockroach droppings at the bottom of an old cabinet.

Both wanted children, but not yet; she, maybe only one.

Eventually the subject of sex came up.

Joan said it didn't matter at all to her. That she could take it or leave it. She didn't really see what all the commotion was about.

He said he could never be in a relationship with a woman in which there was no sex ever. Friendship was one thing, but. . . He did nor understand those to whom sex with another was cheating, even though they claimed not to care about sex. How was it cheating, he asked, if a woman didn't want sex anyway. He suspected women like that had just never experienced sex as it should be. Maybe he hadn't either, but he would die trying. I can't stand the term, "having sex," he said, "makes it sound like a disease. 'Well, I had sex, but I took a shot for it'."

"What do you call it then?" she asked.

"I call it 'making love'." he replied.

"So every time you have sex, you make love?"

"Except," he said, blushing, his freckles neon again. "When I am alone. But don't get me wrong. There haven't been that many."

"Oh yeah," she said, "how many?"

"Oh ho! So that's how it's gonna be? In that case, you first, How many?"

She paused a very long time. "It's okay," he finally broke in. "I don't care. It's none of my business. I must say, though, I love your honesty. Actually I am kind of in awe."

"Talk about honesty, she said, aren't you afraid of giving yourself away too much, too freely?

"It's one of my greatest faults, "he said.

"Maybe your nicest asset, too," she said. The look in her eyes was not worship, but close, maybe only appreciation, but it stirred his innards.

"Two," she said, clipping off the word as if with scissors.

"Two wh. . . Oh, I see."

"Oops. We're here, this is my stop!"

"Saved by the bell!" she exclaimed.

They both laughed.

On the El platform they were momentarily halted by the scream of many sirens. "Wonder what's up?" She said, looking East where the sirens seemed to converge.

"My place is in that direction," he said, a trace of anxiety in his voice. "Let's hurry a little if you don't mind." They surged on, not able to talk much while walking so fast.

Two blocks later, they turned left. Oh god," he said. "No!"

"You can't go in there folks!" A stout policeman stood before them.

"But I live that way, my house is. . . "

"What is your address, sir," the cop asked.

"Seven-thirty-four," John replied, seven-thirty-four Hudson.

Squawk, squeetch, the small box screeched as the cop pulled it from his belt. Speaking into it , he said "Yeah, seven-thirty-four. Wanted to know if can get to his place to deal with his personal items." The box squawked again a stream of gibberish forced its way out. " Ten. . . nineteen -twenty- two the

box squawked again.

"Let me through,"John yelled at the cop, "I live over there! Fuck it, I am going." Grabbing Joan's hand he nearly dragged her along.

"John, John, wait up. Please."

He stooped, shaking. "I am sorry, Joan, but I gotta go I gotta hurry. Come with, or you can go. I have had a wonderful time, but I gotta go!"

"What do you mean? I'm coming with. How did you know the cop won't follow us?

"Because he has a job to do can't leave his post. Now come on, hurry!" When they rounded the corner, John skidded to a halt. "Oh my god! Sir. Sir."

John kept poking at everyone who looked official. Finally a man approached. That he was an official of some sort was obvious. He resembled a collection of interconnected boxes. Very short dark hair rested on a square head, supported by a rectangular neck sprouting from square shoulders. His well-tailored jacket bulged with the possibility of a concealed firearm. "Sir, you have to move, you have to get out of here. You are interfering with firefighters."

"But that's my house," he cried, pointing. "Can't anyone tell me what is going on?"

"Jeez," the plainclothes person said. "Your house, huh? Lemme check. The one on the left, right, what's your address?"

"Seven-thirty-four Hudson."

After a good deal of murmuring, the boxy man looked directly in John's eyes. "Well sir," he said. "You won't be going home tonight. So far your house is not burning, but they are pouring a lot of water on it to keep the fire from spreading. Is there somewhere you can stay for the night?"

"Yes, sir," Joan said immediately. I'll take care of that. Thank you for your help. Come on, John, come with me."

"But, but, my house!"

"It's only things," she said. "Just things."

John shrugged in resignation, let himself be led back to the El station, from there to her place.

"My place is a mess," she said, guiding them through a door down a hall Now it's just a little apartment, nothing special, but I try to at least keep it clean."

It was not a girly place of pink frills lacy doilies, but rather somber, in neutral shades of tan, ocher amber, yet fully, unmistakably feminine. So clean and neat he was afraid to sit.

"Want a drink" she asked him. "I keep a bottle just for such occasions."

"Disasters you mean," shaking his head as if stricken.

Oh I don't know, she said, my daddy always said what looks like tragedy can sometimes be a blessing."

"You see a blessing in this?"

"Well," she said, "you've managed to worm your way into my apartment, but you didn't have to go to such extremes."

She was busy for a time, clunking away in the kitchen only a few steps away. She returned with a drink for each of them, holding one deftly in each hand as she sat, folding her legs under her.

"Wow, you did that pretty smoothly."

"When I was little I wanted to be a ballerina," laughing. Then my butt got too big."

"I think it's. . . "

"What? What? Go ahead, say it."

"The word I was about to use was 'luscious', but it wasn't quite what I wanted to say."

"What did you mean to say?"

"I haven't found it yet. Until I do, how about 'delightful.'"

"You are a sweet man, John Smith. Here. She handed him a snifter of amber fluid. This is fine Spanish brandy, the finest in the world my daddy said. And he should know. He probably tried them all. Sip it carefully, caress it with your tongue. Let it glide down like liquid flame, but in your belly, it's more like a fire that's banked; it lingers, keeps you warm, body and soul. Now don't gulp it down while I am gone. I'll be back in a few minutes. I only have the one tiny bathroom, so if you need it, you'll have to wait. I won't be long."

In her absence, he pondered his situation Obviously she intended him to stay the night, but in this tiny apartment he had spotted only one bed.

She returned wearing a simple white, floral print peignoir, with eye hook lace at the bodice and baby blue ribbon trim. Over one arm she bore blankets, sheets a pillow, answering the question he had asked himself. She melted beside him as before, the simple, beautiful sleeping dress puddling about her. She had shaken out and brushed her hair so once more it accented her breasts. He marveled that a simple long dress with high neck and long sleeves would augment rather than hide her figure. The utterly feminine effect enthralled him. He had a lump in his throat to be so near. When her fingers lightly brushed his hand as she reached for her drink, his breath stopped.

"Sorry," she said," seemingly aware of her effect on him, "you'll have to sleep on this little couch. Tomorrow, if we find out your place is unliveable, or whatever, if you, have to, uh, stay longer, maybe we can rent a roll-away or something. We'll see."

"It's okay, John said, it is very nice of you to let me stay here even one night. After all, you hardly know me."

"Well actually I have known you for two years, gingerman, she said, smiling at him. Did you forget tonight is our anniversary? But who's counting? Get up" she said. "Let me make this into a bed."

"I can do that he said, "there's no need for you to. . ."

"It's my house," she told him, "now move aside let me do this the easy way," Finished, she sat beside him sipping her brandy, they talked and talked. Every few minutes, they kissed. And kissed. And kissed. Moist and lingering. Soft and dry. Deep and wet and sloppy. The head of John's penis was sore from rubbing on his jeans.

Joan's dress was collecting a small wet spot beneath her. At last his eager hand closed softly on her breast, her nipple through the cotton, rigid against his palm. At first she responded, arching her back, pressing outward against him. But then she stiffened "I am exhausted," she said, wriggling away from his touch.

"Wait," she said. "That wasn't the truth. I'm tired, sure, but that's not why I stopped. I'm scared. John, look at me." She kissed his lips softly, but pushed him away when he reached to enfold her. "Just wait, just listen. . . I can't. I. . . I am terribly attracted to you. I. . . want. . .you. My body says I should lie down with you, right here, right now, welcome whatever comes, but my mind, my spirit is afraid. I need time, you dear man, to think, to adjust, to figure things out, to cool down a bit."

"I want you too," he told her, "so much it hurts. But not in fear. Never. You wait. Just not too long okay? A man can only take so much. I hope you know you have nothing to fear from me."

"It's not you I am afraid of, John."

Tucked under the covers on the tiny couch, he tossed fitfully for hours, troubled by recurring erections. He had plenty to worry about, a fire at his house, his job tomorrow, but all he could think of was Joan. Early on, he had started to stroke himself, then stopped, thinking of her washing the sheets

He was suddenly startled by a strange tingling as if being watched. A "Prickling of his thumbs." Rubbing the sleep from his eyes like a three-year-old, yawning, he looked around for the source of his unease. Joan stood near, gazing down at him. The garish light from the streetlamp outside the window behind her silhouetted her petite but luscious form through the simple dress. "Hi she said. I couldn't sleep. Can I slide in with you?"

On the narrow couch, lifting the hem of her dress, she took his hand, placed it on her sparsely haired mound, showing him her wetness, her need. She rolled toward him, whispering into his mouth. " See how wet I am. I am still afraid, but I want you. Please be gentle."

"Joan," he said simply, putting his arms around her, rolling forward to lie atop her. They struggled then to remove the offending material between them; she, raising the simple cotton dress up over her head, he, kicking his legs to force his underwear off one foot.

There was no more struggle, no fumbling no manual assist was needed. She shifted her hips a certain feminine way. Urging his hips forward, he was suddenly, fully inside her. She cried out then, softly, "Yes John, oh, yes!"

He marveled that she was wet enough, open enough to receive him so effortlessly, then smiled to himself. It had been he need of him that caused such wetness. Cautiously, he withdrew, pushed forward again, softly again, softly again.

Joan giggled. "Not that gentle," she said, "I'm not made of glass. Do you want me to ask for it?"

"I thought maybe I should, I mean we should, do some other stuff, you know, uh, first."

"Do it," she said, "later for all that, for now, just do it."

"You sure you. . ."

"Geez John, Can't you tell I am ready for you. I've never been so ready!"

John, already on the verge of exploding, needed no more encouragement. But he knew if he thrust hard, thrust strongly he would cum too soon for her. He doubled the speed of his penetration, but kept control in long easy strokes, supporting himself on his hands, dipping down to kiss her often.

Oddly, she kept smiling, remaining silent except to frequently call his name.

Before long a soft mewling sound escaped from Joan, accompanied by a sort of loosening, a relaxed opening of her body, except for her strong vaginal muscles gripping him powerfully.

Her response was enough to push John over the edge. His orgasm, when it washed over him, was more

a gentle wave than his usual crash, but took longer to ebb.

Within seconds Joan was softly crying.

"Oh no," John said. "What did I do, was I, Oh geez, did I. . . I mean." Blushing furiously.

Laughing now, she clamped her palm over his mouth. "Hush silly. You were perfect, wonderful. I knew you would be. Oh John you are such a fine man. Are you real? Really for real? It seems too good to be true. That's what's so scary."

"I, I, I don't know about that. I m just an ordinary guy. I've made mistakes same as everyone, but I never well, I never intentionally set out to hurt anyone. You can be sure I would never do anything to hurt you. Especially you."

Why 'specially me? What's so special about me?" She asked, fishing.

"Well you're kind, sweet, beautiful, funny. I shouldn't forget funny."

"Uh, John?"

"Yes beautiful?"

"Ooh I like that. But you are getting kind of heavy. Could we move to my bed do you think?"

John nearly hurt himself jumping off her, then stumbled, forgetting he still had underwear around one leg, the streetlight from outside spotlighting his inadvertent ballet.

Joan sat up, pulling off her nightie where it was snagged on one elbow, tossing it aside, laughing heartily at his antics.

She came to him then, melting into his arms kissing him. "You'd be an easy man to fall in love with, John Smith."

His heart thumped in his chest at her words. "Love?" At his age? Was it possible?

"Wanna take a shower with me?" She asked.

"Uh, well, uh, sh, sure." He stopped her, held her waist. Drank in her beauty, bathed in the amber glow, bent and softly kissed her nipple. She shivered, goose bumps sprouting. When he stood straight again the tip of his penis touched her belly, just above the dark triangle of hair surrounding her center. She stepped back. For a moment he thought he had offended her, but she smiled looking down at his burgeoning erection. "Is that for me," she joked coyly. "Cummon, follow me."

She pushed him into the shower ahead of her after first adjusting the water very hot, then slipped in behind him.

Her breasts were softly exotic against his back, the hard nipples poking him. His breath caught in his throat when she reached around to grasp his dick, one hand from each side.

"Is this okay? Is it all right if I touch you?"

"Heh, yeah sure," he said. "Touch away."

"You are uncircumcised?" she asked. "I've never seen or felt a, er, one like yours before. Not that I have seen or felt many, but you know, books and stuff. . . Later you can let me, maybe. . ." Even standing with his back to her, he could feel her blushing. " . . . let me see it, uh, closer."

"My pleasure," he laughed. Then they both laughed. "But do me a favor?"

"Anything. Well," laughing harder, "almost anything."

"Call him a him, not an it."

"Turn around," he said, "picking up her shower gel, I'll wash your back."

"No," she said, "wash my front." His hand descended to cup her center. "Oh," she moaned. She closed her legs and held him there for a moment, put her hand atop his to show her approval. His touch was like a long drink of water to her pleasure starved body.

Once in her bedroom she stood him naked near her bed. "Stay right there," she told him. She returned with two great fluffy towels. drying him vigorously with one, then submitting meekly while he dried her with the other. She giggled.

"What's funny now?" he asked.

"Your, your thing, your, your, uh penis." she said

"So what's funny about that?" he wanted to know.

"Not like that," she said. "It's just, funny, you now, like the way it flips and flops all over the place. How weird to have it all on the outside like that all the time. Like before when you were stumbling round by the window, it was flapping around all overt the place.

"Didn't you ever see one before?"

"Well yes, mostly no. Almost always it was completely dark, well, they never, you know wanted me to do. . .anything. Just. Oh now I am too embarrassed to talk about it more."

"Who wants to talk anyway," John said, impatiently.

"Now you listen here John Smith. If were are gonna have sex together, we are gonna have some fun doin' it at least sometimes, okay. And we are definitely going to talk to one another."

"Girl, you are a strange one, you surely are. Anyway, I was only jokin'."

"Come to bed," she told him them, guiding him over. He lay on the bed, watching her move about the room, tidying a bit, turning off lights lighting several candles Her body's supple movements, the soft curve of her hip in the gentle light, the sway of her breasts, touched something deep in him, evoked primitive emotions that made him want to take her, use her, but also to keep her cherish her, protect her. "How could this have happened to me in so short a time?" He marveled. It was as if a mystic spell had been cast upon him, conjuring up the best and worst of his nature.

Joan moved about, stalling, setting a scene, worried she was being too forward. Certainly she had loved before. Or thought she had, but this was . . . different. She could not say exactly how, only that her need rose steadily to have it all, know it all, embrace it all. Surely she had given herself before, but not like this, this promised more.

"John," she suddenly said sitting on the bed beside him. "Would it be okay if I j, j, just sorta," now she was stuttering, blushing bright red over every inch. She bounced once on the bed, reminding John of Tigger. "Oh heck John, could I just look at you, check you out, play with it a little, just to see?"

"You mean you want to play with him, with my," he paused, "cock?"

His use of that word formed a knot in her throat. She bobbed her head rapidly. "Say it, he said. I don't want you ever be afraid to say it to me. Not now. Not any more."

She giggled a bit, looking down at the sheets, her words so low John could scarcely hear them. "I want to touch it, to play with your cock."

He cupped her cheek tenderly with his palm, drew her face to him kissed her. One thing, he said, "as long as you call him 'him' you never have to ask me again." He laughed hard as she squirmed around to lay her head on his thigh, at first merely looking.

"You know John," she said softly, "I am not like this. I never looked at any man's, uh, uh, uh. . . COCK!" she finally said resolutely, "never even knew I wanted to. This whole thing is highly unusual. Just a few hours ago I would never have imagined myself wanting to lie here watching a man's 'thing', wanting so much to touch it, to touch you. That moment, that instant on the beach when you took my face in your hands and kissed me. I. . .I don't know what happened, I only know I never felt anything like it. But now, now that we, that you, that you have actually been. . . inside. . . me, I am completely different. It is as if you and I became 'we' the moment you entered me. Did you notice how easy it was for you to, you know, put it, uhm, him in?"