Mate Ch. 02

We walked, hand in hand. No snow and we spoke idly of global warming when we met Dr Walrus. He was jogging, no polar bear in pursuit. I don´t know why, but that sight was to me the conclusive proof of global warming. Of course I intellectually knew it was the sad truth, I can follow scientific reasoning, but this was proof on an emotional level. He gave us a cheery wave with his flipper.

I suppose we were easy to recognize, my face was still looking really banged up and Magda´s black eye wasn´t as faded as I had thought, now that I could look at her for all of five seconds. Daylight was more revealing, too. It was more like a yellow and green eye now. She still intended to go to work next day and I wondered how to survive all those hours without her. I wondered even more how I had survived all those years without her. I did not want to think of how to survive when she left me. People were looking at us a little oddly, probably wondering what had happened to us. I was glad that I was the most wounded one. That way hopefully no one thought that I was the one who had hit her.

We had coffee and waffles, still holding hands. I was thinking of bee-keeping (don´t ask me why) when she wanted to know more about me and chess.

"I discovered it by accident." I said. "I was eight and I had an assistant teacher then because I was so confused that nothing worked out for me in school. It was manageable if I could sit by myself in a small room and sometimes this guy was with me. One day he wanted to play chess and I beat him. I just made the moves that seemed right. We played again and I won. He said that he did his best and that he was a fair player. He thought I should join a chess club. I did. Not that I really cared about chess, but it was nice to be good at something."

"I see like lines of power, and danger zones smell bad. I played a lot, first I played the other kids, then the adults. I usually won, but the game itself was getting dull. Winning was not so exciting anymore and I had...problems with the rest of my life. I started to pretend the chess-games were battles to make them more exciting. I really got into that for a while, my escapist trip to get away from everything, I guess. I discovered that the more I could pretend that the game was a real battle that really meant something, the better I play."

"These days my games are all grand adventures. I save the world from the forces of evil or free the slaves or whatever. Every game (almost) is exciting while it lasts. When they are over I usually feel let down and low, because it´s all pretend and means nothing. My fantasy-battles are no more meaningless than chess itself, though. I have never been able to understand why anyone would pay people to play that meaningless game."

Magda

Poor dear. He was so sad. I tried to cheer him up:

"I can´t say that the chess-playing means anything to me either. I don´t understand chess that well. But clearly there must be people who see the beauty of chess played well and are prepared to pay for it. To them you are creating something worthwhile. You´re like a musician."

"Well I can see that. But musicians should make music they like themselves. If they make music just to make money they are whores. Like me."

I kissed him. I felt we had had enough of existential angst for today. "So. Do you think we will have sex today?" He had a great big coughing fit then, seems I had startled a piece of waffle so it lost its way to his stomach. If so - where had it been when I kissed him? Life is full of these unanswered questions. My question about sex was not to remain unanswered, though:

"Today is fine with me."

"Good. I´m on the pill, so pregnancy is not an issue. Am I correct in assuming that I don´t have to worry about nasty surprises with you?"

"You are."

"Good. I cannot guarantee that Roger was not cheating on me, but far as I know I´m clean"

"Good enough for me."

"Good. Take me home and fuck me."

"Good. Fine. Yeah."

"Good." So much for my plans of a slow and careful seduction. But I felt that he was ready. I sure was. We walked home, holding hands, he a little pale.

Peter

This was the scariest, most wonderful walk of my life. I tried to plan ahead, drawing on instructions I had read and films I had seen. But I kept getting distracted by the here and now fantasticness of holding her hand, watching her hair dance and feeling that animal smell which was growing stronger all the time. Planning ahead has never been my strong point.

"I want to be under water." she said when I unlocked the house with trembling fingers. She walked into my waterbed room, spread arms and legs and said: "Undress me!"

I was nervous but not unbearably so. I had pushed my limits many times already in my short time with Magda, this was not scarier than meeting her parents, really. I decided to take it slow, I had read that the typical beginner´s mistake is to be in too much of a hurry.

I rubbed myself against her like a cat, all over. This while enjoying her symphony of smells, growing richer all the time. I moved from high to low and back - sniffing her hair, kissing her toes. I stroked her with my good hands and wished I could use both since my right hand reveled in the feel of the fabric electrified by her flesh beneath. I undid a button, proud to manage that with one hand without a fumble. Another button.

I dared to explore her buttocks, the firm muscle hardness but softness. The colors were too many and diverse to name, the music slow but majestic, like Mozart´s Requiem but without the sadness. I kissed her neck, throat, shoulder, belly. I nibbled a little. My hand ventured beneath her shirt and I felt her smooth warm very living skin of her beautiful back. She was breathing more rapidly, which encouraged me to tog at the shirt, off you go and it was off, I guess Magda helped.

Oh, the beautiful skin of her beautiful stomach. I kissed her, sniffed her navel, stroked her back. Magda took my hand and put it on her breast and it, too, was gloriously alive through the thin cotton black bra. I realized my dick was painfully stiff and tried to rip right through my trousers. Well, he just would have to wait.

I was busy burying my face in her tits, gradually removing her bra with my nose, when Magda apparently was done with taking it slow. She quickly got rid of her trousers and pants, then my trousers and pants. She turned round and bent over. "Fuck me right fucking now!" she said.

I had a fleeting thought that maybe we should move to the hard room, but then my freed dick took over and buried itself in her. I could manage this position with one hand and I let go of all caution and let rip. I even slapped her a few times, like in the films. She seemed to like it and then she smelled even better and screamed. I realized she had an orgasm and now it would be ok for me to come too without being premature.

I felt proud and happy and wild and pumped away. It felt better than anything ever, raw and primitive and tender at the same time. Finally I came with a roar (which I suppose was too much for my sore throat, but fuck that) and she came with me and we collapsed on the water bed. I lay there, stroking her, realizing that I just died. Peter the weird freak is dead. Peter who fantastic girls want to make love to is born. And he could hope for just about anything.