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Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6  Aaron fucks Henry, Angela and Laurie
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 From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon   (new work posted 8/1/00)

TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher


0998XAaronLeven0058X
AARON LEVEN

 19 June 1992 at 10:00:23

'Time and circumstance,' as the song goes, will take care of
that, but my dear beautiful, zaftig Angela knew better.

AARON

Wearing faded blue jeans and paint spattered rosy flannel
shirt, Aaron Leven, 43, having stopped work on his gray,
umber, and vermilion floor to ceiling neo-abstract
expressionist canvas mural, had slowly and quietly, for such
a large man (more than six foot three and 240 lb.), climbed
the noisy iron staircase of his well organized, three story
machine shop art studio to watch his wife make love with his
best friend, Henry.

At the studio, Henry, Aaron, Angela and Laurie traded
partners and the four shared the same California king size
bed.

Wednesday morning was Henry's alone, as Thursday was Aaron's,
and on Saturday and Sunday, the three lovers played, inviting
Laurie, Henry's lover, to the games. Although they tired of
artificial divisions, as Henry often mocked, the use and
abuse of schedules kept power and disorder divided.

"How artificial," Henry complained.... How do we know what we
want?

For Aaron, Henry, as he called him, seemed, at almost fifty,
more the ample, insatiable child than the gray and white hewn
poet and flamboyant adult bassoon of writing workshops and
taxi cab unions.

Having been Henry's friend for almost fourteen years, Aaron
trusted the poet more naturally than his mundane CPA brother,
David. "It was more than the brotherhood of the arts," Aaron
told Henry."

Angela understood Henry's and Aaron's kinship, and she
helped them cross and protect what had been once for the
three of them, a rigid and forbidden bisexual frontier. As
that boundary eased, Henry seems more comfortable with his
relationship with Aaron and then with Laurie when he realized
how much he loved Aaron's favorite nude model.

"its true," Angela told Laurie, I savor the tension and
resolution. "I am happy you love Henry. He is a difficult
man. He really believes in you, Laurie.

"I love him too much to ever lie to him," Laurie said. "That
is why I will tell him as soon as I can that the baby is his.
I lied for stupid reasons.

Angela told her friend that sometimes she found it hard to
give Aaron all he needed. "He has so much love to give back,
but do I have enough to sustain him?"

For the last six months, Angela had enjoyed Henry and Aaron
with Laurie. They had all known each other for years. Angela
knew Laurie fucked had always had a school girl crush on
Henry. Angela knew that Laurie had been Henry's student long
ago before Angela and Aaron knew either of them.

At a party four years ago she remembered walking in the
bathroom and finding Laurie giving Henry head sitting on the
ledge of the bathtub. Henry facing her straddling the ledge
of the tub. Odd but the shower was running, and water was
every fucking place. They were both half naked in wet tee
shirts and shorts. I was drunk wearing just shorts and no top
having lost it somewhere earlier. All I know, Angela
remembered, I needed to piss so I did and Laurie looking my
way for a second smiled, finished Henry off while I
contemplated my cunt rubbing it after my pee. I didn't leave
until I kissed Laurie after Henry collapsed. After the kiss,
when Laurie helped Henry out of the tub, and I ran to Aaron
for a kiss and smiled at the taste I gave him. He simply
said, who did you suck? Henry is missing, must be him. Shit.
I remember he smiled and pushed my head down to his cock. It
didn't matter to either of us that we were no alone. I did
him while my gay buddy walked by with his lover. Jay quipped
that I should let him finish Aaron off, that men do it
better. His boyfriend was not pleased with the remark.

ANGELA HOPE MANNINO LEVEN
June 1991

At 35, Angela, was truly dazzling: open red blouse against
faded bronze lipstick. Dark black hair and gray white eyes
contrasted with an early summer tan that Angela seemed to
wear year round.

Reclined, sexually involved, she revealed ample breasts and
their cleft center lifted hugging prick and balls rose with
the arch of her large eyes to blast with Holst's and his
tense strident harmony, out of his Planets when Jupiter's
Heart closed too early and Angela's wet mouth, luscious but
too warm from hours of kissing, had ridden now above Henry,
covering his face, loins, cock, keeping the dark in his
place, and as she devoured him, he swallowed her. Nothing was
held back, then and now, Angela. remembering how the two men
had fucked her ass, cunts, tits and mouth held Henry to her
nipple feeling the warmth, the drawing out and inside, as the
rush, pulled down, had swarmed above the double cocks of her
two lovers, riding their harness, swirling her ass long black
hair with Aaron's vibrating counter bass finally brushed
against, clutched by contoured clit and its exo-geographic
compass that she held inside spinning out of bounds to thrive
after multiple infusions.

"This nectar keeps me alive," Angela said. I thrive. Watch
the bloom, notice how my eyes are full and my hands a fever,
dancing with fragrant musk.

When sex radiated, Angela played perfectly round with sharps
and flats, and every whole in one sharp breath, more than a
scream rising out of temporal waves to flutter past eyes and
fingertips.

During this mass, her breasts, arms, wings, branches, twigs
were deftly gathered then tenderly bound by Henry and Aaron,
as offering.

In Angela's church, Nave and transept were generous and
graceful, softly gathered, entirely glamorous, her natural
veils framed her pale neck, dark, thick sienna nipples,
bounded with the pale blue sky of mother's milk.

Angela simply had, more than that voluptuous sheen and flesh
arbor that Rubens and Renoir seduced more simply and with
greater resolution than Euclid's ancient Greek wistful
theorems. How sex changed when there were four outer arms to
caress one woman.

Good friends: Henry and Aaron, (when the stars were right,
Angela often quipped), took turns making love with Angela,
who had four months earlier, given birth to a daughter by
Aaron, named Sarah, who now slept in a cradle in a small well
lit room off this larger darker one. That it was morning and
the sun washed hot and bright seemed odd when you consider
how night dominates the calculus of sexual play.

We forget how daylight and that other side, fear, step up to
the horizon and pull us to oblivion. We need that gray
twilight. We aspire towards absolute abandon as lovers creep
atop tits, ass, balls, cunt, cock, clit, arm pit, and cleft,
to rub, penetrate, stimulate and simulate as Henry, Angela
and Aaron bent knee to suck whatever was there and was not,
and now, after several orgasms, for her, had finished, really
finished the morning well.

Then, as any good mathematician or artist, you throw another
stone or two, and the dice never quit, and the stars spin
brighter than ribald climax or orgy, and then dull, bright,
rusted and luminous, but never morose, the colors congeal, as
the ejaculating dark, or if you're innocent, you fell the
thick semen or woman lick the back of your thighs, coming
between the ass and the sun. as if any of us are truly
innocent (man, woman, priest, or Rabbi). We are not done in
by too early, too furtive passion. We are murdered by fear,
hidden agendas, and that simply too awful prescience, we
scrambled in a thousand million dreams called death parts one
to ten octillion (10 to the 27th power).

Throw another and, yes, it grinds dark, almost painful,
remote and skewed like a more dismal art than sun and
invisible dancers. What is the key? How does pleasure mingle
with pain, as if arousal and expulsion, acceptance and ache
can be forgotten once proclaimed.

1978-1991

Henry and Aaron had studied poetry together with Henry the
mentor. Aaron had been Henry's mentor with painting. They
were unique in their friendship, Angela believed. When I told
Aaron I wanted them both together, Aaron told her, "when have
you not had us."

"After that I never wanted to change that connection with
both men," Angela told Laurie. "It was beyond any sexual
pleasure. We just enjoyed everyday life especially when later
you were there."

Amazed on how the threesome had grown into a foursome,
planning for each event had taken on more and more attention.
Sometimes too much time they all complained.

"I could never live with out Henry and Laurie," Angela told
Aaron", who agreed but added, sometimes I don't have enough
time to be just Aaron and Angela. Laurie has the same
complaint. She says that Henry seems distracted when he fucks
her."

Angela knew Laurie was not jealous, but just before Laurie
left the last time, Laurie's voice had trailed off, asking
Angela to watch out for Henry if something happened to her.

II.
When Laurie was with Henry, living with Henry, Angela  missed
Henry. "He's a pain," she told Laurie, "as you know - but his
sense of humor does make up for some of it."

When Henry lived with us, she told Laurie, I felt like I had
all of my needs, no matter how small handled. You know I
didn't like that as much as I thought I would. I need
conflict and unresolved expectations. Can we too happy,
Angela looking at Laurie, suddenly smiled showing Laurie that
she was not completely serious."

"I'm too selfish," Angela insisted. I couldn't handle any
other woman but you having him. I love you myself. Shall we
get married and tell the men to fuck each other."

Laurie laughed, and said "that is not as stupid an idea as it
sounds.... but you would have to grow a dick next to your
pussy, yes, I have to keep some of Henry for myself like you
keep Aaron, we are lucky. Considering all that has happened
these past years, jealousy is small shit. Without Henry I be
dead, or so deep into coke I would be sucking dick again just
to get high. How did I ever let myself get so strung out."

"Being alone drives us to be self destructive," Angela said,
taking Laurie into her arms, holding her like she was her
only sister.

"Women need each other just as much as men need that bonding
crap," Laurie said. "What they really want is to fuck the
guy. Afraid of being weak, they bang each other's back and
fail to feel the absolute connection. Like I do now, I could
feel your tits against mine and we both want . . . ."

On the word tits, Angela pulled her tee shirt up, unhooked
her bra, and did the same to Laurie. Here are my tits she
said, and then Angela kissed Laurie deeply on the mouth.

Breaking apart from the kiss, Angela said, I wish we had time
to finish this. Have to pick up Aaron at 4 PM. I am already
late.

Later Darling, we will get rid of the boys and rub each other
good, saying that Laurie cupped Angela holding her cunt and
feeling the harder breathing.

Getting up from the couch the women touched each other's
mouth sucking on their finger tips, Angela hooking her finger
into Laurie's mouth, refusing to let go, until she suddenly
and silently left. Laurie following her out of the Studio to
the garage.

I know, all Aaron talks about is Henry, Angela thought. I
have no real sisters. Laurie has selfish ones. Next time I
see her I will tell her that.

Watching Angela drive away, waving, Laurie thought. One of
the reasons I love Henry, and then Laurie paused and thought
of Angela's cunt and how warm it felt. Henry keeps me present
inside. I know he does.



III Later that night

"When I love him," Laurie said, kissing Angela and then Aaron
and then Henry, "I feel eyes, mouth, and I imagine Henry with
tits and Aaron with a cunt."

When Henry comes, I imagine Christ Tina or Angela grinding
against him, and I am the grand director. At the end, I
usually cry when he comes, missing my own breath at the end.

"How I miss you," Angela told Laurie, kissing  Laurie's
nipples, then kissing hair, and feeling the quiet lift of
breasts pushing against her hand.

"How odd what we feel at times," Angela said, turning back to
Henry and Aaron.

"Finding the closest man," that's what I need, Laurie
laughed, in a trance, I need a cock tonight Angela."

"But darling, I am the Resurrection and the light of your
tits and ass," Angela paused, intent, aroused when she
fondled human nipples, and then held two cocks in place
astride one than the other (or both together) while she
distorted her childhood masks that shuddered dark, gray and
white flashing inside the playhouse of her almost ordinary
sexually precocious childhood.

I am always the bridge between Aaron and Henry, Angela
insisted, pretended lamentations. They are really Roman
twins, don't you see that Laurie. As Angela was talking,
Aaron told her she talks too much. Henry and Aaron attacked
the rasp of Angela's face kissing inner ears, shadowing the
blush of her breast with their tough and tender knuckles and
palms.

No hesitation. No soft tongue nor limp prick dark performance
inhibited a very careful, well oiled penetration by Henry and
Aaron of Laurie and Angela. They became one giant mass of
cells like coral embedded in each of their former lives but
continuous as well.

Laurie laughed when Angela acted out the mimicry of ear lobe
kisses, and breast fucking movies as one tongue became two,
moving Laurie out of Aaron, or Henry astride Laurie dressed
between more lubricant than action..

Male or female parts were obscured, and the blur flashed
opened cunt and ass warned by the close when semen rose in
sails and milk flooded the swells. It was so perfect it
seemed pretentious at times. The last time they became just
too cute with each other, Laurie mocked acted and said.

"I gave them my belly, and they healed my emptiness with
their ardor. I gave them my breasts, and they ran my milk as
blue words and red space, forging love from the chaste canvas
of my cunt, their balls, pricks, and even the half dreams
from phonetic whims of poem and unsettled verse. I called
them my fountains for obvious effect, and I raged with each
flare of semen, shine of saliva and rave of blood. Each human
face will become the foil for the other's grace."




The Bedroom

Protected in her lap, Henry Whitman, poet and arm chair taxi
driver, drew Angela's milk into his mouth, one half of his
face concealed by her round breast, satisfying one thirst
while Aaron, painter and a much quieter man than Henry
perched in an ancient rocking chair, perched under one of
Aaron's portraits, stretched halfway across the other side of
the room, Aaron's feet up, pushing slowly against the wall,
rhythmically pumping his legs against the wall to propel
himself.

Sometimes the loner, Aaron liked to sway in his rocking chair
at the foot of the bed. Five or six feet from the couple, he
seemed closer, rocking gently, as if he were holding an
infant. Aaron, as the artist voyeur, had fused with Henry and
Angela.

Painting quite a picture himself, Aaron was obviously aroused
but also intent on not showing his feelings. His hands may
have been clean, but his face, streaked with Payne's gray and
umber, suggested that the assured painter was wild and
possessed, possibly more out of control than his attitude
suggested.

"I can't get enough of both of you," Aaron said, smiling,
"you're perfect."

"How long you been there sweet heart, Angela, smiled at Aaron
brushing her hair back, and squinting. I can never see you
when I am not wearing my contacts."

"That's not important. I can see you," Aaron rocked softer
holding the arms of the moving chair lifting himself up and
down as he rocked.

"Angela, you have the most beautiful breasts and Henry, your
mouth is full like a sacrificial blow job."

Aaron laughed, almost giggled. Angela lifting her head,
throwing her hair back, "you are one terrible con artist,
Aaron," she laughed. Why don't you pull that moveable feast
of a chair closer, and I'll provide curb service," saying
that she lifted up the other tit and make it squirt. "That is
if you don't think my ass is too fat."

"I look inside, love," Aaron paused, motionless, trying to
decide if he would move closer.

"At my fat ass, yuck," Angela softly shook her head, and
Henry, who had seem truly a silent mewling infant looked up
for a second without fully releasing the nipple, before
Angela gently pushed him back down.

"No trouble," she admonished Henry.

"Fucking Madonna, you agree Henry," Aaron said in his fake
Irish accent to mimic Henry's sometimes affectation, adding
at the end, "I'm just not sure which one."

"Jealous, dear one. "There's one here for you too," Angela
said, grasping her free nipple again, teasing it, making the
swollen tip, shine.

Sometimes Angela called Aaron dear one as she called Henry,
Sir, mocking them. Angela liked to play, and what she loved
about both these men were their capacities to laugh at
themselves with her.

When Aaron didn't immediately respond to Angela's invitation,
she playfully, directed several wisps of her pale, white milk
towards Aaron missing him by several feet. Actually, the milk
had landed on Henry's arms and chest, and Aaron, pretending
to dodge the track, stood up, moving towards Angela, who now
closed her eyes, shifting her face upward in a grand gesture
that was obviously sincerely felt but at the same time could
be interpreted as affected.

Aaron meanwhile, was licking Henry's arms and chest, cleaning
the milk, and then leaning into Angela, Aaron caressed hair,
eyes, and open lips, quietly, Aaron settled down, moving
forward back to the most distant corner of their bed,
finally, resting, leaning hard against his mural sized,
massive but serene, blue, gray and russet painting that Aaron
had set up to reflect late morning light from the front
bedroom window. Within that framed heat the luminous painting
obscured the beauty of the New York City skyline as seen from
365 Gorge Road, Cliffside Park, New Jersey.

The effect of the changes in light drew Aaron physically
closer to Angela.

Aaron admitted he felt odd, but very turned on when he
encouraged Angela's intimacy with Henry. Sex was not usually
a problem. They, by agreement, could be sexually involved
with any partner. Angela recently had explored her attraction
to lipstick lesbians.

"I wish I had my camera," Angela said.

"Why," Aaron was startled by the comment

"You're beautiful," Angela said, especially when your body
frames your larger than life paintings. Set against the flat
blue field of your work, you would make a dynamic and
inscrutable photograph."

"I always wanted to be the subject of a coffee table book,
Aaron posed. "What if I was naked, would that work?"

"Only if you had a hardon," Angela laughed, caressing Henry
who seemed almost asleep, his wet lips pressed to Angela's
tit.

"I know the caption," Aaron stood up walking towards Angela,
as he drew an imaginary line against the field of his
painting, "The artist fucks with naked friends while the
children sleep."

"Better save some blue milk for Sarah," Aaron teased, forcing
his head against Henry's, jostling his friend to dislodge his
mouth from Angela's nipple.

Failing to move, Henry, pretended annoyance. Aaron, starting
from her belly button then licked and suckled at Angela's
other breast, accepting the quasi equality.

"I've plenty," Angela said. "The more you take the more I
make."

"I see you are bloody John Lennon now, Aaron grinned.

"You mean Vladimir Lenin," Henry stopping for a second,
pulled Angela down, pinning her arms, very much alive,
fucking her quickly while Aaron watched, moving closer,
holding his own cock, while Henry pushed deep inside and
Angela pulled Henry tighter and with her other hand brought
Aaron down to the bed to feel him against her breast while
Henry had her cunt from the ass.

"Quiet, pulling Henry deeper with one hand while she sucked
Aaron's nipple and massaged his cock with the other.

Feeling the milk leaking, Angela said. "Besides, I nursed the
baby just before you guys got here. She'll be sleeping for a
least an hour."

"You hope, Henry said, as he stopped fucking for a moment,
pulling out, smiling up at Angela who stopped playing with
Henry's ear and turned Aaron on his back, climbed on top of
him and fucked him furiously while Henry kissed her.

"Don't ..., Henry purred, that feels too ...

"GOOD," Aaron cried, leaning up, stopping, his chin wet, now
I am no longer jealous, he teased.

"You should be," Henry mocked, "I got the chocolate one,"
opening his mouth, self satisfied, almost smug.

"You always did have a preference for the darker values, as
Aaron, who sometimes played the outsider, the black, the Jew
to Henry's holy WASP, seemed almost sarcastic, which seem
somewhat out of character.

Perhaps, he was slightly put off by Henry's possessiveness of
his wife. Aaron truly loved Henry, and Angela, who was in
perfect tune with Aaron, understood the disruption, and she
took control.

"Hey," Angela protested. "get back there," as she gently
pulled Henry's hair, directing him into her liquid breast.
"You guys have no idea how good this...sure you could have two
women suck ..., but there's much ...more. I can't believe how
wet... "

Henry and Aaron resumed furiously, ignoring Angela's hint.
Quietly they fed like twins. Angela noticed how Henry curled
up his fingers like Sarah and Henry suckled harder than
Aaron, used his teeth, gently, but the discomfort was good
and she encouraged Henry to nibble by her sighs while she
twisted his nipples, then twisting him as hard as she could.

"Stop. Feels too good," she said. "No, Aaron, you can't bite.
I told you that. You know I like it, but If you make me too
sore, I won't be able ... to nurse ...Sarah."

"Hey, that was me," Henry, said not Aaron.

"Who gives a fuck who it is," she laughed. "Don't you fucken
stop," she said, pulling Aaron back, who faked resistance.

Aaron stood up, now, fully erect, having withdrawn from
Angela after his orgasm. He played with his softening cock,
as if it itched or needed something more. He looked at the
happy couple, mother and child, he thought. Need my sketch
pad, and he stopped feeling lost. "I really don't mind," and
he smiled.

Angela grabbed Aaron's playful hand pushing it away from his
cock, startling Henry, with her loss of concentration.

"That's mine," Angela said, pulling Aaron back towards the
bed by his cock. She did it gently, not insistent, and
Aaron's knees buckled, as he sat down on the edge of the bed
half facing Angela and Henry, enjoying the play, when
suddenly Henry reached up, seeing the action, and placed his
hand on Angela's, helping her, feeling her intense heat from
Aaron's cock through her hands. Henry wasn't actually
touching Aaron, exactly, not that he minded. In helping
Angela soothe Aaron, Henry said to the husband and wife, I
love you both. Henry didn't need to speak. They knew, and
Aaron, falling closer to Henry, brushed Angela's hair,
caressing it.

Suddenly Aaron pulled away, but sensing a turn, Angela held
Henry's head firmly to her breast while she took Aaron's
fully hard cock in her lips. Taking just the head, slowly,
she leaned forward swallowing it, then pulling away, going
back, licking the head, she concentrated on his hole,
allowing her tongue to linger on the ridges, then she
stopped, rose up on her knees kissed Aaron, pushing him
against the now erect Henry who sat up in the bed, wondering
not what had happened, but where this was going.

Suddenly, as if to say it's Henry's turn, Angela surprised
Henry, and silently she tenderly elbowed Aaron off the bed.
Aaron didn't resist. Getting up, he pretended to slump to the
floor-- a wounded bird, struck in his heart.


Part III
Angela at the top of the stairs

"You fucken guys are too much," Aaron said seeming almost too
sincere. "Anyway, have fun. I got to get back to work. Some
of us have to earn a living," patting Henry's ass, slapping
it hard, as he moved away, then returning, almost an
afterthought, hitting Angela equally hard on her rounded ass,
raised upward, on her side, striking what he knew was the
sweet spot, showing no favoritism.

"You deserve one too, darling," Aaron watched Henry nestle
with Angela, looking almost too certain of himself, too
comfortable, and then throwing his head back, Aaron left the
room quickly, falling down the spiral staircase, looking back
only once. His eyes reveled nothing of the longing he already
missed.

Shit, my belly aches, Aaron thought, and for a moment, he
fought the urge to return, as he paused on the stairs, near
the last stair, out of sight of the busy couple, resisting
the urge to fly up the stairs to join them again, knowing he
could, but that he couldn't take back what he knew was not
his, but at that moment, when will turned, he saw the furious
lips of his latest half finished mural pressed against the
wall, illuminated by interior light: reds, grays, browns,
covering canvas 5 feet by 8, filled more than his hands, and
his cock gently hardened.

Aaron painted to restore himself, and what he borrowed from
life and dreams was not tangible unless he renewed himself
with the fundamental work of mixing paint with canvas and, of
course, lips with skin. More than synergism.

Painting was not better than making love; it was making love,
and he knew that Angela understood that, and how
unconditionally he loved her, and she him.

What better "bottom line, what sustenance, " Aaron said out
loud, to no one, laughing with himself at the "delicacy" of
his allusions. Aaron knew the patterns of their pleasures.

Later that night, after five or six hours of painting, and a
few hours of mutual sleep, when Henry left his bedroom,
retiring to his own room, Angela would be ready, horny,
alone, and terribly turned on, teasing Aaron with her blow by
blow description of what she did with Henry --tempering her
story, but also giddy, adding, in her generous manner how
Henry had at first too eagerly responded, of course, wanting
more than the grace of his poems, but lacking that essential
control, unlike you, dear, Henry seemed to give up too early,
but he made up for it later.

"We love Henry," Angela added, trying to include Aaron, not
that he needed her refrain. No chorus was necessary. Angela
knew her partners. This certainty made the threesome more
than pleasure. Everyone knew what they could give or take
back. Boundaries were not perfect, but sublime, and they
teased one way, or another, at the edge curled back, or
forward on the lip of the sea, as the flood pressed outside
and one partner became the other's convoluted tease, and the
spirits fused.

Simple? Almost too?


LATER THAT NIGHT AS PROMISED

As she spoke, or didn't speak, Angela held Aaron's face in
both her hands, possessing him by lifting her ass, tightening
her thighs around his waist, pulling his (and then their)
gasp inside, holding it by its rush, anticipating the tilt
and lift of her cunt, and then the lunge of his mouth or cock
from that moist promontory to fact, fantasy and then the
return as lifting up the hill the skier drops faster, or
holding the line the yacht keeps high on the wave out of
reach of the wake.

One orgasm becomes a thousand, in fact, uncounted.

Yes, Aaron and Angela had an easy, undefined longing. They
knew the joy of enduring triangular proportions. Want and
need were entangled, but not confused. Held in balance by the
reasonable symmetry of patience and the knowledge that grace
bestows on those who know how to let go of what they cannot
possess.

The blend of their limbs with their sexual parts lifted the
puzzle from the table to the mirror, and the two men and one
woman laughed at that partial, distorted reflection.

"How can we know from the outside, what we cannot reasonably
know from the inside," Angela mused, kissing Aaron, helping
him as he quickly undid the buttons of his shirt.

"Let me catch up," Aaron said, racing higher, his mouth open.

"Slow down, darling," Angela continued, breathing softly,
teasing Aaron, as she caressed and then lifted first one and
then another of her breasts out from her nursing bra, feeling
the comfort of the air and the loss of control, finally
throwing the thin cotton tee shirt she wore for comfort and
ease of access across the room before arching upward, her low
voice, its pitch reduced by ardor, trembling, amplified,
leaping into what some would have once called, centuries ago,
forbidden "dirty," prurient magic; the ones Angela sang or
uttered for Aaron as welcome resembled the echo of the whale
as they returned.

Angela was wet, and oh so ready for Aaron to finish what
Henry had started.

"See," she squealed under her breath, racing her heart,
feeling the moisture gather louder, lifting her fingers up,
cooling them in the hot June air.

"Yes, you felt it too Aaron, that inhuman song, didn't you."

Aaron whispering now, slowed, resuming his normal pace.

"More a human song, Sweets," Angela caressed Aaron's face,
speaking softly, opening her mouth anticipating her kiss,
trailing off, "Whales are more profound. Shut the fuck up and
make me fucking come."

Aaron didn't hear the last phrase. Angela's breath was
trapped by his mouth, and the last phrase, and its direction,
was swallowed inside absorbed and comfortable in the fold of
his hands on Angela's face, neck, and lips.

 From no where, Angela spoke, breaking off the kiss, letting
the last tease of her tongue linger as a fuck between his
tongue and lips, "yes I love," Angela continued, "Henry's
"unabashed "vulnerability (resuming the flow of the previous
conversation), but you, my husband, are more rounded,
complete," Angela whispered, fondling Aaron's hands, then
breast and nipples, pressing her breasts against Aaron's arm,
as if to say, welcome, these tits are for you, they miss you,
we are full, brimming, hurting, almost, please, now, yes,
I've come home, found my own way back. Thanks for your gift.
Here are mine.

Angela ruffled Aaron's hair, charmed by its thinning and the
crows feet around his eyes, and Aaron suckled.

Angela felt his comfort and vulnerability. "Good and Plenty,
Aaron giggled," laughing and coughing at the same time.

"Now, hush, dear lover, swallow," Angela laughed at that
reversal. We don't want any mess, now do we?"

Aaron didn't laugh, but he smiled, returning, robust seizing
Angela's nipple, and said absolutely nothing more, answering
in his mind, yes dear.

Hopeless, he thought, looking up at Angela's eyes, mouth, and
the mountains of her flesh, holding that flush as memory,
while he tasted what was sweet, taking inside more than the
milk that was truly perfect, as Angela directed.

Suddenly Angela turned crushing her other tit against Aaron's
cheek, finding his dick, saying the word aloud, "where is it
now, that cock, dear cock, rubbing his balls deftly,
squeezing them, making his belly rise and fall (like
civilization she thought laughing to herself) as her breath
lifted into that plateau before the fall and rise, nine times
nine and more, but alas, perhaps no further.

How I wished I could rub my own cock while I nurse, Angela
giggled as she held him. Wouldn't that be wonderful. Having
dick and tits. We could share. Perhaps in this other world,
Aaron could bear the pregnancy and birth, endure the stress
before periods, and the anxiousness of wondering, as the case
may be, am I or am I not pregnant.

When I was fifteen, I held those fears invisible. I knew
nothing. But now, here, inside with my lover, I am well
learning more about how full and complex I can become when I
am love and not just in love. He knows me. No, he thinks he
does. I don't really know him. Yes, I do. Now, here I do. I
am inside his skin. Wait, let me tell him.

"You know, dear, no you can't," Angela said aloud then
stoking, starting from nowhere, yet speaking clearly and
softly, "that ache before being empty. Now, don't say a word,
listen "

"How can I not," Aaron smiled.

"First you are full, then released," Angela said.

"Years, later," Angela continued, "when you're dry, closed,
angry, just looking backward to this minute, now, restores
that ache, no love, and time compressed, simple resists until
the letdown revives. That ache quickly restored closes the
circle between birth and termination. No, I mean death,
Angela thought. Why can't I use the word "death" when I'm
nursing. Why does nursing make me linger there. The milk will
stop as my orgasm, no actually his. Yes, it does stop
sometime, but while it lasts, let the ache linger outside,
watching the skyline for deadly microbes and murder. How
morbid? Why do I feel as we all do, that call, backward to
hell and salvation, or heaven and brimstone.

"Please dear husband stay with my breast and let me come into
your ear with my growl," Angela opened fully and Aaron sucked
until she was completely dry.




More American Adventures in erotica and other works by Sean Farragher:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/


Sean  Farragher

Poetry Site: http://www.farragher.com

TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
http://www.taximurders.com/paradisio   (forthcoming)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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