The Abecedaria Ch. 01

Part 1 of 4 – Armpits

Armpits, bukkake, cunnilinctus and doggy-style sex

(A story of unwelcome love, welcome passion and pleasant perversion)

I have been dating Amanda for a month now and have seen a pleasant chemistry developing between us. When I wake up in the morning and cuddle into her, I know she will respond. And when she turns her face to me, she will neither try to simulate fake bliss or coy indifference. She will behave naturally, without artifice or agenda and will respect my opinions without putting them onto a pedestal. When we we sit up together after a few minutes of powwowwing, she will know what it is I want - Conversation or sex and will not impose herself on me. I was a beady eyed relativist before I met her - How could one ever read the reactions of others and how could one not believe that one saw exactly that in other people's faces what we write into them? But magic had been accomplished seven years and six girlfriends later when I would look into her face and read the fine print in the six inch columns.

I would not go so far as to say her mind was an open book to me but I would say it was a coda in an ancient language to which I had a dictionary. Or to put it more simply, I may not be able to predict her actions, but I can understand them. No, that is pitching it a little low - Its more than that. Perhaps the following way is better. I understand her sufficiently that I am vaguely terrified of making an error in her presence, terrified because I respected her and did not want to make a prize ass of myself and only vaguely because the chances of that happening, given my understanding of her are fairly remote. Or to make my meaning perfectly clear, clear to the point of aridity, I have gotten on so far that I can pretty much figure out from the way she backed into the driveway if she wants it doggy style or greek.

She is gay and vivacious and very opinionated on a whole bunch of unimportant matters. We debate long and loud on sundry issues, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing at stake. Slender and willowy, with heart shaped lips pouting out irresistibly, she caught my attention at once at a pool side party given by a friend. I sipped my drink assessing her and my serious intent seemed to have caught her eye as she strolled over a few minutes over.

"You have to have spent too much time in cattle markets."

I smiled and replied, "My father always said you can tell the breeding from the way she holds her head."

Well, as this is a pornographic story I will pass over these adscititious details and get right to the point. I have read pornographic stories and I have read pornographic stories and I have read pornographic stories and I have... Consider the story 'Vacation in sunny Cyprus,' for instance. The author evidently has not got past his ugly past as the geography whiz of his class, the first person to memorize the capitals of all the American states. He spends half the rotten book talking about the flora and fauna of that seaweed ringed island, more flora and less fauna and the four legged kind at that. My member goes into a state of aestivation and it takes a viewing of 'Madame Tissier's establishment' ere it comes to life again. Or take for instance 'Night in an African village: True story of an ivy league anthropology major.' Hadn't you better have submitted the first part to the journal 'Studies in primitive peoples?' Dammit, so the Hutu headgear commemorates their whatever victory in whichever battle, but not even the semi-religious public orgies that follow can quite temper the irritation of the first half. I mean think of the sorry plight of the man who came to a theater to watch 'Colours of the fall: Wild girls run free' and later realised it was a double bill! Oops, there I go again. Back to the task.

She is beautiful in a way that arouses without intimidating. Slim retrousse nose, nicely arched eyebrows, slightly asymmetrical eyes that twinkled merrily, the elfin look accentuated by one eye being green and the other blue. Straight blonde hair, carefully brushed, delicate makeup and a lovely choice in earrings. Medium sized breasts but with a superb cleavage but most of all, in preference to all and above all others lovely, exquisite smooth shaven armpits.

A word about my fetish for armpits. There is nothing that is at once ugly and beautiful, disgusting and pure, raucous and sweet as a pair of well manicured armpits. Of their own nature odoriferous, extruding a ammoniac sourness, they are also susceptible to the smooth blandishments of lotions and deodorants. Sex is after all a manifestation of our urge to quarry the dark and hidden places, an expression of the garbage-sifter in all of us, to look into that which is best left unknown, an expression of the explorer that takes upon himself the burden of going places, an act oh so often dangerous, dreary and uncomfortable.

If exploring is the urge to darken the map and if that is permissible and also glorious, then why is the parallel urge to mark the dark places of our imagination with white, vulgar or even any the less noble. And if sex is indeed so, then do not armpits provide fit objects for study, nay veneration? And is not a predilection for armpits a gift even, as you are usually in prospect of armpits ere you screw a girl - But when it comes to pussies, the customary object of fetishization, you find out only too late that many an angel has had her nether parts wrought by one of the makers worst apprentices. Pig in a poke really. You can't go wrong with armpits, that's what I always say.

The OED defines armpits as "The hollow under the arm where it is jointed to the trunk" and mentions that the word arm comes from an Indo-Aryan stem meaning to join. This gives credence to a pet theory of mine passionately held and eloquently expounded that in the beginning was the armpit and then the arm. Think about it, permitting a basic ball and socket construction(the most efficient and versatile of joints), no matter how our arms were shaped or how curiously constructed, we would always have armpits. Armpits are the primitive elements in the upper torso physiognomy and the arm should be defined as that outgrowth off the trunk that branches off immediately above the armpit. Armpits are as inescapable as they are ineluctable. You can't ignore them.

More poetry has been inspired by armpits than by er... I am with my passion for truth on slippery ground here, molasses stained marble, sir, even if a majority of it(the poetry that is) is by me. As I write this piece, I see a couple of nymphets walk by in all their glory, this being the first blast of spring, and one of them lifts up one bare arm to smoothen away her hair. But five minutes later as I continue this piece after a couple of minutes spent searching for a handkerchief and a further couple of minutes cracking it open and a brisk bout of gasping, I notice a further couple of girls walk by. These would not have any ships or even dinghies launched for them but in the armpit department, they are quite all right. To justify ugly girls, men often delusionally and part-satisfactorily look to their minds. Armpits will do just as well and lot more powerfully.

Lovely, smooth armpits, shaven and wondrously curved. I could stare at that smooth abscission, that valley set amidst low hills for hours at end, building up the tension slowly till I would lean over and bury my nose deep in that empyrean. My hands would then gently caress her left breast in slow sweeping motions and then come to rest in that counterbalancing other armpit. Nuzzling quiescently, making inarticulate sounds of barely-suppressed bliss, the truth of the universe would become clear to me. Not that it was easy to convince her to let me use her so.

"You are out of your mind. That's so disgusting." This over the speak-easy in my office after I had sent her a torrid letter outlining this private fantasy of mine. We had decided to get a little kinky a couple of weeks after we had first slept together and she had sent me a letter(we had decided to do the old-fashioned string-parcel, perfumed letter and envelope shtick) where she expressed an urgent desire to nibble at my knee, then suck the big toe and gnaw at the smaller ones. Oops! The advantage now with me, I had faxed off my armpit craving in one hour flat and had transferred my center of the universe to the blue telephone that occupied the left corner of my overlarge desk. It rang presently, and she showed a little more force in her disgust than I had anticipated. "Hold your horses, let me put my hat on and get my spittoon first."

Amanda, "Well armpits are there, can't wish them away, but for them to be the sole and absolute object of sexual desire is a clinical condition."

"Hey, what's so disgusting about it. This armpit thing is a perfectly mainstream, completely acceptable fetish!"

"You must swim in the main of a very strange stream indeed. Look, I have heard of toes and rubber pillows and water beds(?) and match sticks and telephone cords(??) and curiously coloured stones(???) being fetishes but armpits?"

Damn, this was incoherent - This must be an elaborate joke. "Don't tell me you haven't admired your own armpits in the mirror and haven't ever blown kisses at them."

"Oh, Jesus, have you..."

"No, no, no, only smooth shaven ones - I grow hair on mine that I may pluck them out when I am distracted."

A stroke of genius - There is a little of the scatological and the smutty in dear old Amanda and this got her laughing uproariously.

I pressed my advantage - Many of the classic texts mention and even privilege the position of armpits during sex. There is a clinical term - axillary sex, meaning coitus with the armpits shouldered - What has a clinical term cannot be bad. Amanda, slyly, "What about the early ones who believed that any species with a scientific name, that had been classified, was holy and important."

I replied, "Absolutely, and not the least femina pulchrituda, no make that femina moechata (beautiful female, horny female)."

The trick of the art of conversation is to be dazzling - often this is accomplished by non sequiturs and funny but irrelevant statements.

A laugh down the line. Pardon me for being a sexist, I quite disagree with that, no one loves the ladies more that I do and I would privilege them above everything but venison and Shakespeare - All right, I am being suave and dapper, all right bubblingly suave and dickheadedly dapper, forget the Shakespeare - but I have noticed that the ladies seem to laugh a lot more at a joke if they have already heard it and know where it is going. But I refuse to cavil at that - let them do other things with the pretty little heads of theirs than think, god bless them. And Amanda had already heard the joke once - she thought it was very clever - damn it, she was being defensive and imputatious - I immediately told her a more obviously funny joke, in English this time and all was well. Well as I said, as soon as she knew when she had to laugh and which way to, she did and there we twain were cleft. I did tell you that I knew her inside out didn't I - seven inches and counting.

I went on, "The kamasutra says that the best way to excite a woman is to start at her nipples, smack her butt a couple of times, draw patterns of coconut leaves on her armpits, first left then right, etc etc. The holy book says Thou may not have sex with your neighbour's daughter, but never does it say you may not slobber over her armpits. There is an episode in the tale of Hammurabi when he has a dream and finds an armpit draped over his face invitingly. And in 1913, Mata Hari took Paris by storm by a cunning combination of a silky voice, wit, lissomeness, pussy and armpits.

"The wind is in the palm trees

And the temple bells they say

Your armpits are a calling

And I will heed their call today"

to paraphrase Kipling. I really was caught between And I will heed their call today and Ah, madame if I may and I am sure my eventual choice was much the inferior. Verse, even shockingly bad verse always gets them ladies.

Amanda decided, "I am ticklish as hell and bashful to boot but I will give you five minutes between the reverse cowgirl and the pleading to the debtors. And now put your cock back in your pants."

Bingo and blazing bodkins! The skies had opened and the land breathed once more!

I landed up at her place that evening, dressed like a twerp, in a high state of excitement and a book of dirty jokes - Dirty Harry's scatoloica proclaimed screamed the title and much good had it done me, oops it had done me much good, pardon the mistake - I am being serious here, not sardonic but put it down to a veritable blizzard of euphoria that had enveloped me, that me made me skip where I would walk and sing where I would talk. Here's a sample from the scatologlica - Why did the priest take fright at Penelope's confession? Because Penny dropped, ha, ha, ha. Bad choice, most jokes are better and dirtier, the second before the first. Flann O' Connor says in his preface to 'At Swim two birds' - This is just the book to give your sister if she is a loud, boozy, dirty girl - He might have said sister. Behind the coy demeanor of the best ladies, lies a love for the bizarre, the mephitic and the gross - Take my word for it. So there I was with a smirk the size of Brooklyn bridge at her door that evening, feeling at the top of the world and even a little dizzy. She opened the door, "Come in you scabrous burbler, virtue isn't safe with you outdoors"

I clicked my shoes and entered.

"There are more problems than not with pussies - the main being the preponderance of at least one of the three great H's - the three great horrors - hairy, hare-lipped and huge. Of these, only the first assails armpits and social convention and lack of residual shame conspire to make it very small problem indeed," I was in full flow, and in state as pontificator maximus. Amanda looked on in indulgent amusement as I went on,

"Blake says in one of his latter poems -

In the blue visage of your armpit nether

I see the sound of rain,"(Blake certainly didn't say that and that poem is indeed as absurd as it sounds, gentle reader).

This got her, "Whatever got you started on this fetish - A picture in a newspaper, a conjunction, happy, of sight and random thought, sheer bloody-mindedness?"

"Oh no, my dear, none whatsoever - I am indeed surprised the articulation of this fetish and a positive fetish it is evokes mixed responses of horror and indignation. As I remarked earlier, it seems to me to be completely natural. When I was quite young, in the tradition of a famous poem, I set out to devote a sonnet to each aspect of a woman's apprearance and the best of the lot was Sonnet number 17, To the armpit, beating out comfortably the competition from Sonnet 43, To the curve of the instep and sonnet 67, To the hip joint. She tinkled merrily and showed me her perfectly set teeth, though if the truth be said, they could do with a little flossing.

"Wine?" she said and walked up to the drinks cupboard swaying gently in an electric blue dress cut very low, backless and frilly at the base that dappled over her thigh a couple of inches above the knee. As I looked her over, a flood of emotion surged through me - There she was - Perfect - very little make up- just the suggestion of eyeliner, little earring stubs, hair done in a perm, maroon coloured lipstick - the look of a society lady holding an informal parlour meeting - damn, she did know what moved me but then so did I - she would remark later in the evening - However did I know just the right kind of shoes to wear - patent leather with a flat tip.

"White wine my dear, Chardonnay and swirl it will you before you bring it over."

It didn't fool her for a second, "You had better stay off the subject of wine. Do you know quite how ridiculous you sound." Her back still to me and turning she saw my mischievous smile, Ah, ah, ah, I might have known. She tossed her head back prettily and in a smooth motion ran her fingers through her hair.

"Ahh, the gates of heaven open wide and smite this sinner through," I moaned liminally at the sight of that lemniscate perfection and buried my head in my hands.

In a concerted motion, she laid the wine aside, I pulled my head out of my hands and rose swayingly, she lifted her hands to her temples in an expression of mock horror, I reached out to her and swept her up, holding her by the heart of the matter and turned a half-circle with her feet a few inches above the floor, she opened her mouth in a round O, her eyes wide, her eyebrows arched, her hands higher still, I swung her down, turned her half towards me, my nose buried in her left armpit, my right hand groping for her twat, finding it and entering my particular combination, and as she erupts into a long moan I release a drawn, soft cry of sheer animal delight.

I carry her over to the large four-poster(damn it, this is the girl the entrails predicted for me), and lay her down softly, softly. There is a frozen moment, we exchange steady glances and sweet bashful smiles(damn, if at this age, she makes me feel like a high schooler...). Amanda, "I thought this was supposed to be rough and tumble sex, please, I don't want any emotional baggage," but her voice is uncertain and she cannot hold her gaze.

"License my roving hand to go

Above, below, beneath, beyond, above,"(silly poetry again) I strip my cuff-links off and get in with her. I reach down below her back resting on the soft down and extend it till I have her in the curve of my hand, she anticipates me perfectly and we move towards each other till our lips meet. We go through the classic quadrille, my lips playing the piccolo of her upper lip and then her lower lip and she reciprocating in turn. And then gradually I push her back, my face across hers, my lips embracing the fold of skin at the base of her upper lip. Her tongue pushes through my lips and we swirl our tongues together furiously. She gives the inner skin of my lower lip a perfect bite, drawing the slightest amount of blood - This is a cue for us to get animated and pulling my tounge out, I breathe down her neck, moving down and across, weaving crazily. She pulls her head back, sucking her breath in and pushing her breasts out - I know, don't ask me how, I just know that she wants me to rip her dress and draw it down, tearing it a little and I oblige - She shudders as the dress slides down her body revealing her pearly translucent orbs and then past her hip where I cannot help but see an imaginary girdle and on till I am in prospect of her love knot for it is true, she is wearing no panties.

He body free of encumbrances, she leaps up with gazelle like agility and fuses her groin with mine, then pushes away. I furiously apply my tongue to her nipples, rouging them in spirals descending to their rosebud tips. She massages the back of my neck in contrapuntal pattern, lowering her hands then to the small of my back and the tricky zone of the tail bone. I pass my hand over to the gap between her thighs cleaving it and eliciting a short gasp of pain from her, leading her to rake my back. I then turn back to her nipples with redoubled intensity. She is breathing deeply, in tense anticipation for penetration - I tickle her clit with the purplish bulb of my penis, her hand draws down to feel the familiar throbbing vein along the side of my shaft - I bring my lips very close to her eyes, kiss them gently and say, "First your promise, my love."

The long night is just a beginning.