Martha in America Ch. 08

With a muffled chuckle, Martha clambered over me and waited for me to open my mouth, opening hers after it was on mine, our tongues finding each other as my semen slid into my mouth.

"Let's go sleep in my bed," I suggested.

Martha felt the wet spot where she had come twice and nodded with a smirk and agreed: "That's a good idea," and then smirked again and suggested:

"We can come back here, if we want to do it again in the morning."

I snorted with a smirk of my own and asked:

"Wasn't that enough?" She grinned and replied:

"It sure was, thank you, but from experience ..."

"Um-hmm," I agreed with a smile adding: "I hope so," and she snickered with a nod.

Then we got up and went to the bathroom, using the toilet and washing and disposing of the rubber, and then went back and blew out the candles and in the dark found our way to my bed.

It was nice, joining her in a fresh bed, and then with my hand on her breast, after saying good night, we fell asleep.

I rolled over at sometime, vaguely aware of the narrower bed in my half sleep as I moved back from the edge, feeling Martha's hips and back against mine, nice and comfortable to know she was there, and then I fell asleep again. Then I was mildly stirred when she turned over sometime, but then was sleeping again.

When I woke up, at first aware of Martha behind me and then opening my eyes, a little surprised to me in my own room in the early light, but then remembering that we had come there after making love in her bed. I took a deep breath at that thought; we sure did that good, then thinking: it must be nice to be married; waking up every morning like that. And then I remembered that it was Saturday, that we didn't have to get up early, but that it was also our last day together, but still a whole day together and still one more night. Although a couple of days earlier I had sort of assumed that we would want to be trying to make up for all her lost times, that now didn't seem so important. No, that had been so nice the night before; the discovery that it was more intimate not to do it. Well, we had, but even better then - "a greater meeting of the minds." I took another deep breath and sighed at this somehow reassuring thought.

That must have stirred Martha; her hand slid over my side and down and held me.

When I held it with mine, she drew her thighs up behind mine and then said:

"Oh, it's you. Good morning," and then snorted as though she were a little surprised, and then added:

"I was dreaming," and she snorted again and then after a moment said:

"I don't know if I should tell you."

I just squeezed her hand in response, wondering what she could have been dreaming about this time: another man, or her brother? But she wouldn't hesitate to tell me about a dream about her brother, I thought, nor probably about another man.

Martha snorted again, and when I squeezed her hand again, she held my breast. Then I felt her take a deep breath, her stomach pressing against my back, and then after still another snort she said: "I was dreaming about next week, ... at least it was at the beach, and your sister was there." She snorted again before she continued: "Funny, I know it must have been your house, but - as I remember it - it was the summer house of our friends on the south coast - on ... well, near a beach. I don't know what your place is like, but it was on the beach, and your sister was there, so it must have been about next week, ... the dream."

Um-hmm," I agreed, not wanting to intrude further on what she was saying.

Martha snorted again and then continued:

"I was naked, ... again; ... you said that we would probably sunbathe nude."

I nodded

"Well, I guess that says most of it: we were nude, ... both of us, ... and, ... well ... you know what we talked about ..."

I nodded, wondering at first, but then remembering her saying that she wondered what it was like for me to do it to her - after she had said that I would like it, what she did.

"We didn't," she continued: "... but somehow that was what the dream seemed to be about, and she snorted again as she rubbed her hand up and down on me and added:

"And my only real thought was about how I was going to tell you. ... Funny."

Um-hmm," I responded, more as a snort than in reply, and then did:

"Well, I guess ... with your dream, you sort of did."

Martha chuckled and nodded, and then after moment, she snickered and asked:

"And that makes it all right, like the first night: Mom and your Dad?"

I had to snort and chuckled, myself, before I agreed:

"If you want it to, ... if you want to. ... At least you don't have to worry about having to tell me ... now, ... if that was what the dream was about."

Martha snorted softly again, nodding against my back again, and agreed: I guess not. ... And I guess I must have been thinking about it .... I must have been, ... I was, if it was in the dream ..."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, squeezing her hand again.

"Um-hmm," she responded: "... if you don't mind?"

"Hm-umm," I agreed: "... why not? I did, ... and she was curious, ... is curious."

"Um-hmm," Martha agreed, and then after a moment added softly: "Me too."

Her hand slid down from my breast, past my navel, and then found my hair, her fingers gently playing in it for a moment, and then slipping down and gathering up my balls, pulling my soft skin up until they could hold them both and then massaging them gently. I murmured:

"You'd like it, ... I do, ... and those other girls do."

Martha snorted slightly as her fingers continued to move - they were good at that - and then chuckled and said:

"I think you want me to. ... That's funny, being like this, and you telling me I'd like doing it with a girl," then she snickered at what she had said, maybe a little nervously at having said it.

"I guess so," I agreed with a snort: "... but why not? Can't think of anything better to do together?"

"Hm-hmm! Hm-umm!" she agreed softly and then after a moment added: "I think I would, too, ... like it, ... but ...? And those girls told you, after sleeping with you again, ... and were going to do it again ...?"

Her fingers were still as she waited for my answer:

"Um-hmm, those two at least: 'the best of both worlds'."

Martha snorted sharply and replied: "I guess so, ... if you find out you like it, ..." and she snickered again, and her fingers resumed their massaging as she added: "both ways."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, wondering if they would and thinking that it seemed easier for girls to find out, somehow less of a hang-up about homosexuality, at least for the ones I knew. From the way they had told me, they just did it - let it happen - when the situation arose. For myself, I knew I would like to do it - like the girls - enjoy doing it with my mouth, per se, but I had a big hang-up about the homosexuality, a much bigger one, apparently, than about breaking the taboo of doing it with my sister.

"Would you do it?" Martha asked.

"A real big hang-up. I don't think so, despite admitting that I'm curious from hearing you and her say how much you like to.

"Um-hmm," Martha murmured understandingly and agreed:

"Yes, I guess maybe it could be easier with girls; we are ..., can touch each other, embrace, without anyone thinking anything about it, so ..., yes, I guess ... it could be easier for the situation to arise."

"Um-hmm," I agreed: "... and girls can be more direct - tactfully, subtly, empathetically - about suggesting what they want, like your 'I'll be in my room' Sunday night."

Martha snorted and massaged my balls and then replied:

"Maybe. I'm still a little surprised at myself, ... that I just said it, like that, without really thinking about what I was saying."

"It was just right," I answered and started to move so that I could lie on my back, and then put my arm under her head as I continued:

"It settled everything, without saying anything but the obvious: that you would be there, and wanted me to know. Of course, I was wondering, but I didn't know what to say."

She squeezed me gently as she looked up at me and nodded with a smile and agreed:

"Yes, I guess so. Oh, I wanted to, all right, at least, continue kissing, and was worried that maybe we wouldn't after I went to the bathroom, not seeing us just go back in the living room again. It just came out, before I realized what I was suggesting."

She smiled again as I nodded and repeated:

"And it was just right."

"And I've got to go again," she remarked and let go of me and pulled herself half up on top of me, and then up a little higher on me and gave me a kiss, and then asked with a smirk:

"Want me to say it again?"

"If you want to," I replied as she rubbed my cheek, making me think that she could be suggesting that I shave first. As she started to get up, climbing over me, she said:

"Let's go first, ... and shower. You have to anyway, and then we'll see what happens."

I nodded and got up and followed her back to her bathroom, wondering a little: her reply hadn't sounded as though she wanted to say it again, but it still had been a question. But that was all right; we had all day, and besides - as she had said before - it was nice that we didn't just have to.

Then we were in the bathtub, "going," just chuckling as we wet each other's legs, neither having suggested we do more, and then we showered - washing each other thoroughly but not arousingly. Martha stayed in the tub, watching me shave.

"You're sweet," she said with a smile and then added:

"... I would have said it if you had asked, but I like better that you didn't. It's nice to feel that we don't ..., to feel that neither of us wants to insist that we do."

I nodded as I started to shave my other cheek, agreeing with an "um-hmm" and smile.

She smiled back and then went on:

"Oh, I wanted to, every time ... and want to again, but it's special, knowing we can, but don't have to. ... Hmm! At home, we always wanted to, had to, when we had the chance, felt like we had to when we could."

I chuckled and nodded with a smile and agreed:

"Like me, last winter."

Martha nodded and chuckled, too, and agreed:

"Yes, I guess. It was never like this, with all the time in the world, ... real good. Hm-hmm! And better and more than I knew. God, I'm glad I came to New York. I could have gone to a family with small children in Connecticut, and people warned me about the 'Big City' ..." "A nice young father...," I interjected.

Martha grinned as she shook her head and replied:

"I doubt it, and ... and even if he had been, it wouldn't have been good ..., and certainly not as good as Mother's 'young gentleman'," and she grinned again.

"Thanks," I replied with a snort and smiled at her.

Then I was finished shaving, rinsing my face under the shower, and we started to dry ourselves. Martha snickered and remarked:

"I never thought it would be like this, not doing it when I had the chance and was with someone I liked and had done it with," and she snorted and added:

"Well, after getting married, probably. I don't guess married couples do it every night and morning."

I chuckled and nodded and agreed:

"Me neither, and I won't ask my older sister."

I suddenly remembering that she and her husband were also staying on Fire Island for the week, that she was pregnant, and wondered if she had asked my younger sister anything about our week together, then thinking that it was good that she hadn't been just alone with our parents. Martha had chuckled at my remark and nodded again with a smile and was already speaking:

" That's what is so good here, ... with us, talking like this, just talking. At home, we always did, if it happened, but then, even though no one asked at home, it was always still a little embarrassing, thinking that they might be wondering and have their own thoughts about it."

I nodded, wondering what my parents' thoughts were; they had certainly had some late misgivings about leaving us alone together - justifiably so.

Martha continued:

"Oh, I guess it will be like that tomorrow," and she smiled:

"... but just once for a whole week ..."

I nodded again with a wry smile as I hung up my towel and agreed:

"For me, for sure. I was just wondering what they are thinking, ... like you said."

She nodded with an "um-hmm" as she hung up her towel and replied:

"Maybe something about liberal Scandinavian girls."

"Maybe," I agreed as we left the bathroom:

"... good thing you didn't give them any reason to think about that all winter."

"Um-hmm," she agreed with a smile and glance at me, and then it seemed that we were going to the kitchen.

We made and ate breakfast, and I was continually wondering if we were going to make love again before we went out, but we were just discussing what we wanted to do - "Something to write home about" - museums, Staten Island, ...? Then I remembered the Circle Line boat tour around Manhattan for tourists, and we agreed that that was a fine idea: easy, informative for her and maybe for me. And I thought that it was good because it allowed us to be together without fear that I could meet someone who knew me.

I called and found out where to board the boat and that one left on the hour, and then we cleaned up the kitchen and got dressed, each in our own room, both smiling a little sheepishly when we met again.

She was wearing a skirt and blouse and had put on lipstick, which looked a little strange, not just because I was accustomed to seeing her without, naked, so to speak, it occurred to me, making me suddenly wonder if we had spent more time together naked than with clothes on - definitely, six nights, not even counting the time sleeping! But I recognized that all the girls in New York used make-up, eye-shadow, whatever, and Martha only had lipstick.

She snorted softly and smiled again and asked:

"Why didn't we ... this morning?"

"I don't know. I was wondering, myself. No one suggested it. ... Maybe we wanted to prove that ... we're not just bunnies."

Martha laughed and said:

"I don't think so. At least, I hadn't thought of that, but that's a nice answer."

She lowered her voice - she had a nice warm alto voice - and added:

"and I think so, too, that we're not just bunnies."

I nodded in agreement, appreciating that we both felt the same way, but then she surprised me with a grin and a brighter tone, saying:

"But it sure is fun being one, ... the week before midsummer night." I laughed and agreed to that, too, and she laughed with me.

And then we were about to leave, but I suggested that I go ahead by myself and wait for her a few blocks down the avenue. She agreed, and I took the elevator down and headed down the avenue, wondering how long she would wait before following me. I walked purposefully for a couple of blocks and then slowed down, window-shopping to wait, crossing over and doing the same, always glancing back to see if she was in sight.

Finally I saw her, wondering that she had waited so long. She saw me and waved, and then I had the pleasure of watching her athletic walk, suddenly recognizing that it was similar to the way girl gymnasts strode on the mat before their run and flip, but they didn't have a dress on, but Martha's strong thighs moved visibly beneath hers, nicely, somehow a little sexy. Not just in my eyes, I thought, when I saw one and then another man notice her as she passed them.

She joined me, and we kissed as though we were starting an all-day date, instead have having spent the night in bed together.

"That was nice," she whispered as we strode off: "We haven't kissed today."

"Real nice, especially nice after watching a couple of men noticing you, letting them see that you're mine."

Martha smiled at my compliment, but then asked:

"Am I yours?"

"For another day. ... Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She clutched my hand and replied softly:

"But for a whole week."

"Um-hmm," I agreed with bitter-sweet feelings as I squeezed her hand.

Then we walked on in silence.

We had a good time on the tour around Manhattan, being entertained by the guide's continuous description and sometimes witty comments. We held hands and just enjoyed being tourists, enjoyed being with each other, and - it seemed - enjoyed not having to say much. The most personal thing was when we skaaled each other, our glances more meaningful than most of the times in the apartment.

The tour ended in the early afternoon. Manhattan on a hot summer Saturday afternoon can be surprisingly quiet, and we didn't have much to say. I explained to Martha that the pier numbers were forty numbers higher than the nearest cross-town street, pier 83 for the Circle Line, 42nd Street. We ambled to Times Square. Martha had been there, but said she felt more comfortable this time in my company, and we snickered that we didn't need any of the attractions that it offered. In 44th Street, I showed her the Algonquin Hotel, since I knew she had read the "New Yorker" at home, and explained what little I knew about the connection between the hotel and the magazine.

Then I pointed out the adjacent NY Yacht Club, then the holder of the America's Cup trophy, pleased that Martha knew about the famous race. Next door, at the NC City Harvard Club, having been there once by invitation, I boldly took her past the doorman and showed her the great hall. She was impressed, also by my chutzpah. We ambled on uptown, and stopped for a drink in the NY Athletic Club, where I was a member - trying not to think about the two weekends in bed that I had once spent there with a girl. I show Martha around a bit.

Then we ambled through the park, without much to say. After we had looked at the bowling greens and wandered on in silence, Martha held my hand a little tighter and glanced over at me and asked:

"Can I talk about us?"

She sounded so serious, I only nodded, looking in her eyes.

"We've talked about it, 'making love.' We've made so much, so good, ..."

She glanced at me again with a loving smile:

"... we made so much, more than I can use up. Hmm! Martin Luther said something about twice a week being enough. Hm-hmm! Maybe he meant, at least twice a week. Doesn't matter, we've made so much. I've just got to say it, ... I feel like I have this big bundle of love that ... I can't take with me, have to leave behind."

She looked at me again, and I nodded, and she asked:

"Does that make sense?" blinking her eyes.

"Maybe it's our bundle," I replied, adding: "It is," feeling a tear in my eye.

She gave me a sweet smile and seemed more relaxed, snorting softly before she said:

"It's more like a too full dish of soup; it's slopped over a few times."

I smiled at her simile - and at her - and she smiled back. I agreed:

"It has; we just couldn't hold it level, and sometimes it was so full it ran over, anyway."

"Um-hmm, like that, saying it."

"Um-hmm. Don't. It'll just make it run over again."

Martha drew my hand back around my waist and said:

"I was about to. You said that just in time," and blinked a couple of times more.

She smiled again, this time more relaxed, almost with humor.

I freed my hand and put my arm around her shoulders, and she hugged my waist to hers, and we ambled on, walking slower in our embrace.

She smiled at me again, and I said:

"I guess it wouldn't help if we both slurp at the edge of that soup plate."

"Hm-umm! ... Bad manners, ... and sounds too much like making more."

We both chuckled, holding each other a little closer for a moment, but able to enjoy our shared humor.

"And it's probably still too hot to slurp," I suggested.

"It is," Martha agreed with a nod.

"Maybe it isn't soup; you said it was a bundle."