Midsummer

"Oh my poor dear," she said, "I hope I didn't give you splinters."

"I just needed more fiber in my diet."

"You said a mouthful."

There was more, equally inane, bedroom banter. We thought we were being cute and creative, and basically I think you had to be there to appreciate it. I'm glad no one was.

She ended the conversation by rising half up and pushing me down to my back, then moving to crouch over my hips where she could look straight down at my penis. I knew she was going to take me in her mouth. Yes! She knelt right at it and held the head up to her mouth, red mouth and bright red cock, then looked me in the face and said, "Oh my love is like a red, red rose."

For a second I thought I was supposed to return an appreciative chuckle, though what I wanted more than anything else was for her to move down and swallow me. Which she did right then. She was on my left side, kneeling, and her hair fell across her face as she started sucking me. She grabbed my prick with her right hand and pumped it up to her mouth while she moved her head downward. Her left hand was folded somewhere under her. I wanted to see my prick in her mouth while I was feeling it, so I brushed her hair back.

She was sucking and doing something with her tongue that brought me up awfully fast, so I used both hands, one to grab my penis, the other to stop her head.

"Wait, wait." I was panting. "Stop. I'm almost coming."

"I know, darling."

"But you don't have to..."

"I know. Now lie back down like a good boy."

Of course I lay back down. I didn't have to be gentlemanly for her, so could just experience what she was doing to me. She stopped for a moment, breathing on me, a lot like I had on her, pumping me very slowly, and then she started again. I held her hair back again to watch her suck me. I wanted to feel where my dick went into her, so I reached my right hand out to where my penis met her lips. Deep in her mouth she was wet and hot and I could feel her flesh moving over me. It was happening. Soon I forgot to watch, and my hand fell away from her hair, but I kept my other hand right at her lips, where I could feel myself slide in and out of her mouth, and I felt her mouth with both my penis and my hand as she brought me up and over. When I started to come she sucked and pumped until I was milked completely dry.

* * * * *

In the shower I soaped her first. I stood behind her to soap her, and reached around to feel her slippery breasts move rubber-like through my hands, her nipples big against my palms. When it was her turn she worked my prick with soapy hands, and Lordy if it didn't start to grow. I washed her underarms, her pussy, the tight crack of her ass, then she did me, returning to my penis after everything else was soaped.

It was time. I said,

"I want to wash all of you."

I held her forearms, pulled both hands out, and kissed her left hand. I tried not to show that up close I suddenly found it grotesque. I hadn't expected that. Just for a second I wondered how long it would be before I could become accustomed to it. She didn't like any of this at all, and averted her head. She didn't jerk her hands away this time, but it wasn't good. One step too far, I thought, but I decided to brazen it out.

"I want all of you."

She spoke without looking at me. "Please. It's awfully hard for me. I don't want you to see it. Or to touch it." She nodded toward her left hand.

"I let you see how scarred up I am."

"That's different. Scars on men are okay. Also they're, how to put it," and here she did smile a tiny smile up at me, "alluring to me."

"Well, there's something about you that's alluring to me. You come as an alluring package."

But I let go of her arms and didn't press the issue any more. Instead we wrapped arms around each other and hugged. Her slippery belly was against mine, and again I felt her slippery breasts, though with my chest, and again they were rubbery and malleable, and I could feel her nipples easily. We kissed. My penis was half erect, busy being tickled by her pubic hair.

"I'm sorry," she said.

* * * * *

I hadn't yet fucked her and wanted to, not perhaps as much as she wanted me to, but enough. My poor penis wouldn't obey though, and wasn't going to get more than half cocked. There are only so many things you can do and so much time you can use before the end becomes obvious.

I asked if she had a vibrator. Of course she did. So we made spoons and I put my little cockette into her. She held the vibrator and brought it all the way down to where it touched both of us, touching the base of my penis and brushing my balls. The vibrations were intense and flowed all the way up to the tip, enough that they made me tense up. They helped me grow, so that I could move in and out of her without slipping out, and I could fill her better. My hands were free, allowing me to play with her body while she moved the vibrator. She roused quickly and I raised up to watch her face. I wasn't going to be able to come, but she didn't need to know that, and I got to watch her as she got closer and closer and started making those growls again and came beautifully.

I dozed. When I woke she was asleep, half curled and facing me. The blinds were open and the light was enough for me to be able to see her. I watched her sleep for awhile. She was breathing so deeply it was almost a little snore.

I moved closer to her and put my face on her cheek, lightly, then moved up and kissed her forehead through her hair. I didn't want to wake her, so I lay still with my face in her hair and touched my hand to her cheek. I caressed her arm just below the shoulder. Her breathing stayed constant, the only sound in the room. That empowered me to move my hand to the hollow where the flat area at the front of her hips starts to swell out to her belly and the skin is exquisitely soft, and I moved the backs of my fingers over her there, my fingertips just barely touching her hair. I did the same thing to the front of her breast. Her nipple was almost flat now.

Almost without a break in her breathing, she said "Hi" in a sleepy little voice. I pulled away just enough to see her face. She was smiling a sleepy little smile that matched her voice, and her eyes were barely open.

"I'm sorry," I said in just over a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh that's okay," in that same voice. She yawned, then swallowed, opening her mouth twice while she did it, like a small child.

"Go back to sleep, love."

"Okay." She yawned a second time, then she snuggled up to me until her head was touching my chest, and she was asleep again almost immediately.

I placed a hand on her shoulder and lay as still as I could, watching her sleep.

* * * * *

So went the weekend. She woke me early and we walked into town under a red sky, to a little breakfast place that had sections of the New York Times spread around for people to read. I wondered how they got it out here. We sat outside under an awning to eat, and she kept glancing up from the book reviews to catch me looking at her. A mourning dove cooed softly about being alone in the world.

She wanted to show me everything, and dragged me all over town. I was happy to go but needed sleep. After lunch we went back to her house and fucked softly with the blinds open, so that I could see her sweet body clearly while we did it. It excited her to think that a neighbor might see something and it excited me that she got excited. When we were finished we lay together on our sides, face-to-face, me still in her. Our legs were braided together. My left arm was under her head and I held her tightly to me with my right, and I kissed her face all over while we murmured.

I fell heavily asleep, so heavily that I didn't even notice when she rose. I slept for hours while she sat in her rocker beside the bed and read. Finally, in the evening, we collaborated on dinner, nothing much really, just being domestic together, desperately in love and not wanting the time to end.

None of this, nothing, prepared me for what happened when I walked up to her in the library on Monday.

* * * * *

Something was wrong, I could tell it before she knew I was there. Her posture was off, stiff, and her face was like a mask. What was it? What had happened?

"Why didn't you tell me about your book?" Her lips were tight. Her voice was tight, too. Suddenly her expression made sense. I knew exactly what was coming. She'd found my book about stigmas, and she thought she was a project of mine. How to respond?

"My book? What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean! How could you?" Her eyes had some tears in them, that she was trying to get past.

"Practicing Stigma. Did you really think I wouldn't ever see it? What was I, more data for you, for your next edition? Maybe about how girls with messed up hands try to deal with men?"

She was more hurt than angry, but she was angry enough. I couldn't get past that, knew it wasn't possible until time had passed, but knew I had to try, to start.

It was a miserable failure. Sometimes you can see what's important in life dribbling away, can know it's happening, and know you should stop it but not know how. The words, the sentences come later. Oh they're there in abundance after the fact, showing up after the battle is lost, asking "why didn't you use me?" You stand in a world that just moments before had been solid, secure, and experience an epiphany of desolation. The room seemed darker, and I felt myself grow smaller as I listened to her build a case for my guilt, a case I couldn't dispute. It was just so complicated. Finally she dismissed me, saying, "Please, just go away. I don't want to hear anything you might have to say." She waited until I started to leave, then turned away.

Trudging out, finding a path between the stacks, trying to be manly, trying not to be weak, failing, I finally turned and half shouted, "You're wrong. You're wrong. That book had nothing to do with us. It didn't. It just didn't."

She never turned back to look at me.

* * * * *

I was sitting on a concrete bench under a dogwood, near a little fountain. The fountain has only a weak string of water that scarcely bubbles into the pool. This is a tiny square formed from two old buildings and two old enclosed walkways. Only a small door and a low arch lead to it. They are connected by a sidewalk, and there are stepping stones to the bench. The ground is covered by moss instead of grass. It is a good place to be alone. I've never seen anyone use it, not even the squirrels who otherwise panhandle for food. I stared into the fountain until it grew dark.

* * * * *

Hollywood gave me another chance. She wouldn't see me, so I walked to her house and stood on her porch passively, ignoring the fact that she ignored me, until she couldn't stand the tension. I had seen this in a movie, and I didn't know what else to try. Probably she would have talked to me after awhile no matter what, but it must have gotten me points as an eccentric. Or a stalker.

She gave me five minutes and said that after that she would call the police, which I think she would have done. So, I quickly apologized about the book. Then I told her I could prove that none of that had anything to do with her, if she would come by my apartment. She wouldn't agree, so I told her that if the weekend had meant anything at all her she owed me this one thing. I had seen this in a movie, too. It seemed a better line than anything I could make up, and it worked. She would come. And I? I had seen Animal House and had decided it was time for a stupid and senseless gesture.

So, when she got there I pulled out a pair of modified gloves. I had sewn the fingers down so that the wearer would have to close her hands into fists to get them on. The gloves were long enough to reach her upper arms. I had fitted Velcro straps along them to hold them on tightly.

"Well?"

"Well, you're so sure that your hands are everything. So cover them. Put these on."

"That's idiotic! What do you think you're trying to prove?"

"Now just do this for me. You'll see in a minute, or you can walk out of my life."

As I said it I wished I hadn't added that last part. I wasn't at all prepared for her to walk away, and suddenly I realized how stupid this really was. Nevertheless, I took the gloves and pulled one up her left arm, then the other up her right. She tried to push her hands all the way through, not realizing the nature of the gloves, and she didn't figure it out until I had strapped them on securely with the Velcro straps.

"Now, you're just like any other woman who is bound for pleasure."

She grew irritated, angry. "You think I'll wear these just so you can have your fun and not have to look at my hands? How does that make me like other women? They wouldn't have to wear them for you! I'm not going to humor..."

"Oh no. Wait. If you'll just turn this way..."

I fastened the gloves together, then quickly lifted her, and put the straps over a hook above the door. She wasn't heavy. She had to stand partially up on her toes to keep from hanging by her arms. She looked up and pulled at the gloves and for a moment was stunned.

"You see, any woman at all who was going to experience helpless sex would need to be fitted like this."

I pulled her to me and kissed her. Her breath rushed in and out. She pulled at the fastenings, struggling. She screamed at me, "Let me go! What are you doing?"

"Wait just for a minute. No, wait. Okay. I won't hurt you. And I won't do anything you don't want. I'll let you down in a minute. There's a point. Just let me make my point. Please."

She quieted, standing bound with her hands pulled over her head, as odd a situation as I'd ever been in. I knew she wanted me to be able to set things right, and that she thought I was crazy.

"You hate your hands. You think you are polluted, right? I don't know if I can make you think I accept your hands, but listen."

I started in my best reciting voice,

"Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine
eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be."

Yes, I had memorized it just for this. For a moment she went completely slack, stunned again. I kissed her again during this. Then, her tired eyes grew a different look, but a complicated one, as though she were between states of mind. She started struggling a little again, but laughing too. Not a sweet laugh.

"So I'm the worst? That's what you think, wee Willy Shakespeare?" But I was ready.

"No. No, you're the best. Listen again."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

I kissed her again, and yes she did kiss back a little, but she also laughed again, this time a laugh with some possibility of happiness in it. When I stepped back to look in her eyes, I could tell she had decided that maybe it was okay to make a point this way. She leaned out to me to kiss, stretching in her bonds, then said, "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I really do. But that last couplet was written to a man."

But there was a hesitation, so that it took her two tries to say the last sentence. Perhaps that was because I started unbuttoning her blouse in the middle of it. She twisted back and forth, but not seriously, and her look turned to that of one who was beginning to enjoy the game.

"By heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied by false compare."

She stood quietly while I finished her blouse and reached around to unfasten her bra. She had nothing to say to this. I raised the bra and bent to kiss her breast, to take her nipple gently in my teeth and give a little bite.

"Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one."

"That doesn't mean what I think you think it does."

She had a hard time saying it, with the little gasps she was making. I slipped her skirt down off her hips to the floor, and then her panties. I ran my mouth all the way down her front, ending at her pubic hair.

"I like, slowly stroking the,
shocking fuzz of your electric fur,
and what-is-it comes over parting flesh... "

"That isn't Shakespeare, you cheater!"

She was breathing faster. She pressed her vulva out to me. I put my arms between her legs and spread them and put my face up into her and sucked on her. She groaned and pushed harder against my face.

I let her down, unfastened the straps, and slipped the blouse and bra to the floor. I wrapped both arms around her waist and hugged her to me, and she put both of hers around my neck, and we put our mouths on each other and feasted on each other. Her eyes looked almost feverish.

I wasn't done with perversity. Though it was in a good cause it was making my prick hurt, but it had its own magic, my magic, and it was working. I wouldn't let foolish consideration disenchant our world again. I told her, "Lie on the bed and stretch out all your limbs." It was my first bit of non-poetry in awhile, but I couldn't think of a line that said just that.

She spread herself out, looking me in the eyes, moving seamlessly between wantonness and anxiety, not sure at all but wanting to see this through. She hiccupped. I tied her softly to the four bed posts, then began tickling her body, licking her, then going back to her mouth. I took off my clothes while she watched. I squatted over her abdomen and pushed her breasts together and moved my penis back and forth between them. Ahh. Then I said, "Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"

She had an inspiration.

"My darling, sweet man, will you please shut up and fuck me?"

* * * * *

We are lying in her bedroom, the dark broken only by the moon, the stars, a street lamp, occasional headlights, and the five candles we had lit. It is the best we can manage, and it is enough because we are together. Early autumn here is cool. Her house is open and while there seems to be no breeze the drapes move just slightly. Her bedroom overlooks a creek, so we are serenaded by frogs and crickets.

We could watch leaves swim to the ground, one here or there, but we aren't watching leaves. We're playing serious games, I, on my back, looking up at her, she kneeling over me, my penis in her hands. She holds me erect in her right hand, and with her poor left she rubs up and down my shaft, then around the head. Her left hand is especially soft. She leans further down to take me in her mouth and excite me, and I close my eyes. After a bit I make a noise and move up into her mouth.

"Oh no, darling, don't move. Remember, you're mine tonight." Her tired eyes shine.

I love her not because she will take my penis in her mouth. Yes, for that too. Also, though, because she trusts me with her hands. Oh, too because she's smart and pretty and has large, lovely breasts and freckles, and she knows poetry, and... well, let me count the ways. Right now I love what she is doing. I hold my ass tightly to the mattress while she moves her wet mouth up and down my prick and pumps me with her hands. We don't wonder if we are being watched by court fairies.

End