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Subject: {ASSM} Sunday Morning 2/3: True, MF
Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2000 15:10:39 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Sunday_Morning_Part_2.txt" begin>
All rights remain with the author. Possession of a copy of this text 
does not imply permission to distribute it, other than for no fee and in 
its entirety, including this notice.

This story is true and autobiographical. Truth though is in the eye of 
the beholder and as this is my story, it is also my truth. It happened, 
just as you are about to read, over ten years ago. I still sometimes 
wonder if it was just a dream, something I imagined or pieced 
together from countless fantasises. It *is* in my real experience; it 
does not contain many of the absurd conventions of fantasy sexual 
encounters. Judge it by the measure of your own experience, for it is 
in mine.

This story is for adults, however that might be defined in your 
country. In mine everything recounted below is legal. Compared to 
many stories of this type it is probably tame in terms of 'steam', but for 
all that I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. I 
needed to write it; to allay the ghosts of my memories.

Joseph Lawrence, Copyright 2000

I apologise for the mass of minor errors in part 1. I only noticed them 
on reading back the posted copy. I hope they didn't ruin it for you. So, 
hopefully with fewer errors, here's part 2. While this story is true,
obviously it was a while ago and I don't remember every word. As it
was my first time I *do* remember most of it - how could I forget?

2. On The Stairs

	"Where do you think you're going?"
	My instinct told me to run. I held back.
	"Well?" The mother called again.
	In fear, I turned. While she could hardly do much to me, she 
could, and indeed had, make me feel worse about my hideous self 
than at any time in my life. In the doorway she stood, her robe done 
up more tightly than it had been upstairs.
	"I..."
	"Yes? What do you have to say for yourself?"
	"I'm sorry."
	"What for?"
	"For abusing your trust, and for loosing all my self-control."
	"Come here." 
	I looked at her as if to say "are you serious?".
	She grew insistent, "Come on, get yourself in here!"
	I walked forwards to the door. She stepped backwards and to 
one side revealing her bed. The covers were ruffled, and seemed 
almost as if there was someone lying there.
	"That bed is too small for the both of you. Use mine."
	My instinct spoke yet again. While I had gone over  this sort 
of situation, and many other equally unlikely fantasies over and over, 
I had never been able to prepare myself for the reality. My instinct 
said "Run!" I turned and was about to obey when her voice called me 
back once more. 
	"Stay."
	Another voice joined her from the bed, "Yes, please stay."
I looked into the room. The mother reached out her hand to 
me to allay my fear. I moved forward, into the room. A motion caught 
the corner of my eye. The bed cover was moving, revealing the 
daughter, all of her, releasing once more that intoxicating scent.
	I stepped forward again. I heard the door close quietly behind 
me and saw the daughter part her legs in front of me. She drew her 
knees up and I saw for the first time the delicate folds that I had 
already but touched. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, lifting 
her breasts against the dappled morning light filtering in through the 
still closed curtains. The shafts caught her young skin, elegantly 
smooth and perfect, and back-lit her pubic hair so that it glistened and 
glowed slightly. She drew her knees apart further; I looked on her as a 
startled rabbit looks into headlights.
	Without taking my eyes off her I hurriedly slipped off my 
clothes, fumbling ungracefully with the buttons of my shirt. She 
laughed gently, smiling at my awkwardness and a little later at my 
shyness as I dropped my underwear. Her laugh melted when I at 
length stood full length before her. She stretched out a hand toward 
me, beckoning me on, asking for me. My body was ready for 
anything. My mind reeled from everything. Then I saw that tears fell 
from her deep brown eyes. I stepped forward and leant over her, 
brushing the drops away from her cheeks. Leaning down I kissed her 
forehead and she grasped me once more. This time she didn't stroke 
me; she pulled me, urging me on to the bed. She let her nearest knee 
drop the bed, and her free hand pressed to my side, inviting me to join 
her on the bed. I wanted to explore her more, to see what made this 
little vision of feminine loveliness so inviting. I wanted to bathe in 
her, lick up every last drop of her, to devour her. She wanted more, 
and the force with which her hand pressed to me said she wanted it 
soon. It was my turn to draw back.
	"Please!" she pleaded.
	"It's ok," I said reaching down for my trousers and fumbling 
in the pocket. When I had found what I was looking for I turned to 
her, standing by the bed. I leant over to touch her, she arched her back 
to meet me. For a moment my hand hovered close to her mons, my 
palm almost touching her hair. "It's ok," I repeated as I leant down 
further to grasp her nipple with between my lips. My free hand found 
hers and held it tightly, a rectangular foil packet between our damp 
palms. I pressed my other hand to her, and felt the dampness that had 
made her hair glisten. Gone was the dryness of before, replaced by an 
all pervading slipperiness. Gone was the tightness, replaced by a 
willing openness.
	"Am I ready enough for you?" she asked.
	"Yes. Oh yes, you're hot and ready," I replied as I caught my 
breath. "You've opened like a flower and." I curled my middle 
finger, slipping between her lips and on into her. I pushed my hand 
down; my finger went in further, deeper and warmer, as she moved to 
accommodate me. "I can't tell you how ready you are, you are so 
beautiful, and so beautifully female." That's what I really thought. 
Gone were any thoughts of her as a young girl, gone too were any of 
her femininity. What I felt through my fingers and smelt and touched 
was all female and nothing else. I prayed that I could be all male to 
her.
	I slipped another finger between her now gaping lips, her 
wanting flesh yielding to my touch, her heat growing moment by 
moment. 
	"I'm sorry," I cried as I drew away from her breast, "I have 
to do this." A desperate need had grown in me, I simply had to give in 
to it. I withdrew my fingers and ran my hand down her thigh, my 
other hand mirroring the motion as I twisted my body round. I pressed 
out with my hands. As first she resisted. "Please, oh please," I 
moaned; moments later her resistance melted and she let my hands 
press her legs wide apart. "Forgive me,"  I said as I reached out with 
my tongue to taste her. The feelings of love and life and lust mingled 
and overwhelmed me as I ran the tip of my tongue over her puffed 
lips. I slipped my hands up her thighs, clasping her outer lips and 
pulling them wide apart. Her scent filled me and I drank it in. My 
tongue slipped between her inner lips, lapping up her moistness. She 
had an almost metallic taint now, it mixed with the fruit and smoke 
and carried me deeper into her. I suddenly plunged my tongue into her 
as deep as I could. I wanted this never to end, for her to be mine 
forever. She squirmed and writhed beneath me, straining for the best 
stimulation. I withdrew my tongue and ran it up her lips to where they 
met in a hooded fold. She cried out, a wordless cry, a timeless cry, a 
worldless cry. For me too the world had gone. All there was now was 
this woman. This woman who now held me and pulled me closer....
	I don't know what she felt as I licked on her lubricated flesh. 
If her feelings were even half as good as those which her tongue gave 
to me then she must have been higher than the clouds. While she gave 
my glans no more than three or four sucking strokes with her lips, it's 
a feeling I'll never forget. A moment of pureness, a moment of joy: a 
moment together. Her lips on me made me lick her faster. I slipped 
two fingers back into her, she was so wet and open they went in so 
deep that my other fingers, bent tightly back, pressed hard against her 
steamily humid mons. She drew her breath in short gasps, her thighs 
clammed with sweat, her chest pumped with her breathing and 
fluttered with her heartbeat. Suddenly her mouth left me and her hand 
pressed on my hips, pushing me down her body. I didn't want to rise 
from her glorious depths, but her hand insisted vigorously. 
Reluctantly I rose from her and followed her urgings. She pushed me 
until I got on the bed and then moved over her to lie between her legs. 
I held myself up above her as her chest heaved powerfully below. I 
felt her hand fumbling beneath me. I rose up a little and then felt the 
chill touch of the latex. She rolled the condom over all of me in two or 
three movements. I felt so alive, so electrically alive that I had to fight 
off the urgent feelings deep in my loins. She pressed her hands to my 
buttocks, urging me forwards.
	"Now," she gasped, "do you want me?"
	"Yes, oh yes I want you. Help me, please help me." I was 
afraid. I was about to fulfil my wildest dream yet I knew not what to 
do. I didn't know how best to position myself and I was afraid of 
hurting her. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt this perfect fresh 
flower. She sensed my fear and with one hand guiding me she pulled 
me to her. We touched, latexed glans on silken lips. Twenty-one years 
of life had passed for this moment, twenty-one years of preparation 
for this instant and now here it was. She drew in a deep breath, and 
fought to retain it. She pressed on my buttocks and I pressed forwards. 
Everything had prepared me for a fire in her, but she did not burn me. 
I had half-expected her to launch heavenwards there and then and for 
ever after, but she didn't. I expected some resistance, but there was 
practically none. We were together, albeit by the smallest of depths, 
and surprisingly it was not at all like my fantasises. It was much more; 
it was a warmth that suffused my being. It was an openness that 
embraced my heart. It was like nothing I had ever felt or imagined. It 
was simply beautiful. Yet it was not pleasure; it was the joy of spring, 
the rush of flight; looking down from upon the earth in all its beauty. 
It was the day and the night, the winter and the summer, and with a 
gentle movement forward it just got better. On outstretched arms I 
lifted myself and looked down and pulled back. I saw my shaft 
disappearing between her hair and on into her. I knew then that this 
was really happening. After eight long years of self-satisfaction only, I 
was making love. I pushed forwards again, she rose to meet me, my 
shaft disappeared as our bodies came together fully.
	I felt a new need. Still all this beauty could all be just a 
dream. Dropping lightly on to her chest I moved a hand down her 
side, caressing her hips before slipping it round to where our bodies 
met. I withdrew a little and slipped my hand past her hair. There, 
between our still yet heaving bodies, I felt my shaft and her full inner 
lips pulled out a little as they stretched around me. It was real, it was 
really real. It was real. At last it was real. I pushed in hard, she rippled 
deep inside and I drew back and pushed again. It was real. Out again. 
A real woman. In hard. Inside a real woman. Out and in. Deep inside. 
Out and in and out and in. Hands clasping on me. In and in and in. 
Breath short. In, in, in. Cry out, pushing deeper than ever. Hard in, 
hold in, coming in....
	The world came back to me slowly, and with it came guilt. 
Even my shaft seemed to shrink guiltily away.  In the heat of the 
moment; heat like no other moment; I had forgotten that there were 
two people in our union. While the teat now slipping from her was 
filled with ample evidence of my ecstasy, where was the evidence of 
hers? In my virgin's rush I had forgotten her and had taken my 
pleasure totally selfishly. I shrank away from her even faster. I had 
failed her, and my failure lay hard on me. In my dreams I had always 
given her what ever she needed before I took myself. But as the 
golden memory of my finger on both my rigid shaft and her succulent 
lips reminded me, this was not a dream. It was real, and in reality a 
virgin male could barely hope to last any more than a few thrusts on 
his first time. I was no different, I knew that now, but it didn't make 
me feel any better. I had failed to satisfy, or even get close to 
satisfying her, and I felt disgusted by myself. I desperately wanted to 
thrust back into her, and thrust and thrust and thrust until she cried out 
in unending bliss for me to stop. I lifted my spent body, but I hang 
uselessly, the condom teat trailing limply through her hair. I looked 
down, vainly hoping the sight of her would rouse me again. I smelt 
her scent, as strong ever. I slumped on to her and started sobbing, 
whimpering.
	"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I failed you. I was useless."
	She stroked my head softly and reassuringly. Her other hand 
cupped my softness. "I don't call this useless," she said as she rolled 
the teat between her fingers. She pulled it, the latex slipped off easily. 
She dropped the condom and then gently took me between those 
fingers. She slipped them back and forth, lubricated by my semen. 
Her touch, while not unwelcome, had little effect. I had been lead to 
believe that even the first time boys, and in the stories they always 
seemed to be boys and not men, would re-grow instantly and be able 
to go forever. This, I reminded myself was not a story. It was real, and 
in real life things are different.
	"I call it useless. How can I make you come? I need to make 
you come."
	"Touch me. Hold me. Stay with me now. I still hold the 
memory of your fullness inside."
	I wasn't sure what she meant. I wasn't sure if she had come, 
maybe while I was away on my own climax. I rubbed her breast with 
my cheek; it was still firm and wanting. I reached down to her mons 
and beyond to her gaping pussy. She was open wider and fuller than I 
had thought possible. She radiated heat,  desire and passion. She 
shuddered at my touch, she lurched as my hand slipped over her lips, 
she moaned as my fingers pressed into the opening I had filled. Lips 
on nipples, mouth over breast. Fingers on her other nipple, rubbing, 
caressing. Teeth gently nipping, nibbling at her turgid buds. Fingers 
slipping in and out: one then two then three. Her legs straining, her 
thighs opening wide to give herself fully to my touch. Her inner walls 
surging around my fingertips. Her dampness covering everything, 
coating her, making her good enough to eat from head to toe. 
Reaching into my soul, her scent reached so deep into me that I had to 
please her, I had to give her what she so desperately needed; what I 
desperately needed to salve my soul. She gasped over and over, never 
once saying a clear word. She had closed eyes on a head thrown back 
hard. Her heart thumped under her breast, her hips lunged and bucked. 
She reached for my hand and pulled it up. I thrust in as deep as I could 
and felt, at the tips of my fingers, the side of a rounded protrusion 
deep within her. It felt strong and powerful. It was not at the end of 
her, rather it was to the front, or as she was lying, at the top. I had 
seen the books, but their two dimensionality had never prepared me 
for this. I know knew that all the stories of boys probing past a 
woman's cervix were wrong, for here it was, and there was no way a 
man's glans could turn at the close to ninety degrees necessary to do 
it, or be strong enough to open it. It felt utterly wonderful and female, 
and it managed what her fingers alone had not done; I was stiffening 
strongly once more.
	Her body arched, her breath shallowed, her hand gripped 
mine and pulled it out and up. Guiding my finger she showed me 
where to touch, and showed me she wanted considerable pressure. 
Now, with my fingers rubbing frantically at her clitoris and one nipple 
and my tongue flicking over and over the other, she opened her mouth 
and caught her breath. She went stiff, holding her body rigidly off the 
bed. She uttered just one word from her breathless mouth, "Now!"
She clasped her thighs tight around my hand as beneath her 
flesh began to tremble. I rubbed, licked and fumbled on as her breath 
began again in desperate gasps interspersed with thrashings of her 
body. She was alive and yet dying. I wanted so much to share this 
moment with her, I wanted to have given this to her while joined with 
her. I wanted it to be like the stories, but it wasn't. I was a spectator to 
this spectacle of human desire, this was something so private that I felt 
almost as guilty for seeing it as I had been for not providing it. With 
one last breathless lurch she collapsed onto the bed, clinging 
desperately tightly on to me, looking through me with unseeing eyes.


To be continued.

Joseph Lawrence, copyright 2000.
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