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Subject: {ASSM} from TxM6: Angela, Aaron and Henry Foursome?
Date: Mon, 11 Sep 2000 08:10:04 -0400
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From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/ (updated August 28, 2000)
http://www.farragher.com poetry site updated 9/8/00
mirror site: http://www.txm6.com
0854XA The Stairwell from 0058Xyam angela.txt
File: 0854XA from 0058xyam angela.doc
Foursome?
Aaron, Angela, Henry with Christina
and a year later, Laurie
June 1990
ANGELA
At 34, Angela, was truly dazzling: open red blouse
against faded bronze lipstick.
Reclined, sexually involved, Angela revealed ample
breasts and their cleft center lifted hugging prick
and balls rose with the arch of her cobalt eyes.
Blasted with Holst's and his tense strident harmony,
out of his Planets, when Jupiter's Heart closed too
early. Angela's wet mouth, luscious but too warm from
hours of kissing, rode now above Henry, covering his
face, loins, cock, keeping the dark in his place, and
as she devoured him, and he swallowed her.
Nothing was held back, then nor now. Angela remembered
how the two men had fucked her ass, cunt, tits and
mouth.
Holding Henry to her nipple she felt the warmth, the
drawing out and inside, as the rush, pulled down to
empty her milk in thin pools on his belly. Squirting
him in the eye, he slapped back playfully at her
nipples, striking them softly, pinching the left one
and sucking the right while she pushed him deeper
inside, grinding. Swarming above Henry, Angela
imagined the double cocks of her two lovers. Riding
his harness, she swirled her ass long black hair with
Henry's vibrating counter bass finally brushed
against, clutched by contoured clit and their blind
compulsion. Angela called fucking blind and in the
dark the one geographic compass that never spins out
of bounds unless he moves wrong and then you grab it,
insert it, almost annoyed, but driving after more,
making the multiple infusions from two cocks that
ultimate cocktail.
When she rested after fucking Henry and Aaron, Angela
let the semen leak onto her fingers, spreading her
legs wide she would rub it on her tits or into the
mouths of the men making them taste the other. Henry
welcomed it. Aaron, well, he would struggle, and I had
my way. I liked the struggle.
"This nectar keeps me alive," she 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, armpit, and
cleft, to rub, penetrate, stimulate and simulate.
Henry, Angela and Aaron bent knee to suck whatever was
there and not.
Now, after several orgasms, for her, had finished,
really finished the morning well.
As any good mathematician or artist, you must throw
another stroke or two. The dice never quit, and the
stars spin brighter than ribald climax or orgy. Dull,
bright, rusted and luminous, but never morose, the
colors congeal, as the ejaculating dark. If you're
innocent, you fell the thick semen or woman licks the
back of your thighs, coming between the ass and the
sun.
Few 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, and called death parts one to
ten octillions (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?
THE STAIRWELL From Aaron's Studio to Loft Apartment
Slowly and quietly, for such a large man (more than
six foot three and 240 lb.), Aaron 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.
Wednesday morning was Henry's alone, as Thursday was
Aaron's, and on Saturday and Sunday, the three lovers
played, inviting Christina, Henry's lover, to the
games, and 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"?
Henry seemed to Angela, 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 mocked, slightly defensive.
Angela understood Henry and Aaron's kinship, and she
passionately helped them cross and protect what had
been once for the three (or four) of them, a rigid and
forbidden bisexual frontier.
"OK for two girls and guy," Henry laughed the first
time she suggested the three of them fuck.
"But never two guys and a girl, right? Not even if I
want it. Not even if I want your cocks in my ass and
cunt and mouth all at once.
"You would need three men for that," Henry mocked.
"OK," Angela stood up, pushing her tits into Henry's
arm and her mouth against his, expecting a kiss.
"Who," Henry pushed her away, playfully.
"Finn?" Angela said it quickly getting right back into
Henry's face, this time rubbing her fingertips against
Henry's nipples pushing his tee shirt up, grabbing
him.
"Not that fucker," Henry pinched her back.
"Isaac," she teased, letting Henry play with her
breasts, dropping her arms.
"He's 90," Henry continued to milk her nipples, softer
now.
"So," Angela said much too loudly, pulling Henry down
to the floor, letting them rest against the arms of
the white couch, feeling his hands inside her thighs
then inside her underpants rubbing her lips and
carefully avoiding her clit. Knowing that teasing
drove her crazy.
"Now, dear Henry, you know, if you can, you will be
fucking at 90."
"He's also has only one arm and is crippled with
drink," Henry added.
"No, he has a stump and that could be interesting. And
besides, I have a young friend who fucks him. She told
me all about it. Says it's great."
Henry laughed at Angela. "You're full of shit, you
know."
Pausing, Henry looked away from Angela, shaking his
head, almost doubled up. Suddenly, he stopped, Henry
quickly asked. Who fucks that old Vet?
"Laurie, Aaron's model, she answered. She told Aaron
and I about it when she posed last month. She told me
how Isaac helped her keep her head straight. I wanted
to give him something Laurie said. All I have is my
ass. He didn't want it. I cried and made him fuck me
with his stump.
"I met her. She's the most beautiful . . ."
Not letting Henry finish, "Laurie is more than that and
Isaac is not 90," Angela pushed Henry away. And
besides, she's not a whore.
"Doesn't matter, Henry added. OK OK. You like her.
Good."
Henry's sympathy for Laurie was obvious.
Angela loved Henry's compassion and she loved his
masks. Underneath the hard man, she mocked is a soft
dreamer.
"I know," Henry, added, turning to Angela, and
suddenly he remembered Laurie's red hair, green eyes,
and the turn of her long legs as they left his cab
last week.
"Wouldn't you like to see?"
"What," Henry was in a different place.
"What," Henry quipped louder, impatient.
Whispering to Henry up close in his ear,
"Wouldn't you like to watch me fuck Isaac?"
Henry quickly returned to Angela, and asked what
again?
"Fuck you," Angela said to herself, but she kissed
Henry again, realizing she was also at fault for the
Isaac Laurie distraction.
"Laurie and Isaac," Henry teased the question at
Angela again. "I knew she modeled for you. I had seen
her here, but I never thought you two were close. Have
you had her? Has Aaron?
"Ask Aaron. I never kiss and tell. Yes, I have loved
her. I don't keep tabs on Aaron. If I did, or he did,
you wouldn't be fucking me right now."
Henry had just slid into Angela silently feeling her
heat swallow him while he carefully watch her eyes
slowly close as he slowly entered her.
"What are you thinking about," Henry asked Angela?
"You watching Laurie and I," Angela laughed, opening
her eyes. Correcting herself, suddenly, she added,
"No, you and Laurie and Isaac fucking. Shut the fuck
up and fuck, please."
Half an hour later, Aaron slowly appeared. Angela's
legs were wide apart. Her cunt was swollen, exposed.
Her lips were thick. Her tits, milky.
Angela had just had this most perfect orgasm, she
claimed. "I kept thinking of that old man and his
stump."
Henry hearing her fantasies after they fucked
imagined Laurie and Isaac while Angela made Henry come
with her mouth. "Only she wasn't sucking Henry. Isaac
fucked his stump against her cunt while she sucked his
soft cock. He came in an instant. I knew he would.
Next time will be better."
DOUBLER STUFF
Two weeks later, at a drunken party, Angela led the men
to fuck her ass and cunt at once. It hurt, she
remember, she had forgotten the KY.
For the past three years, Angela clearly had enjoyed
the men. Never could go back to the simple number two,
Angela posed, crossing her arms, taking on that gray
delusion called physical strength.
Isn't it wonderful how these men bless and anoint my
life, Angela thought; they bring so much to our kids
and us? We are in this together; Angela pressed Henry
for more space, when Henry complained that he only
wanted Angela and not Aaron.
Amazed on how the threesome grew, planning for each
event took on more and more attention.
I could never live with out them, she whispered to
Christina, Henry's old lover, one of Angela's best
friends and a long time sexual partner.
For almost five years Henry had lived with Christina
and her bisexual lover, Jean.
In 1989 Jean was killed in an auto accident. Jean had
been badly hurt but survived. Henry was not with them.
All of this was true, especially when Christina
complained that Henry seemed too distracted when he
makes love to me, but above all, Angela thought,
Christina did make it clear she was not jealous. But
just before leaving, returning back to the world, this
image of this unholy man takes place within and at the
end. Christina's voice would trail off, speaking to
her, convincing some ghost, perhaps.
"When Laurie was with Henry, living here with you, I
often wondered how Laurie could stand it, I never
could let him, keep all of you, I'm too selfish,"
Christina insisted.
Got to keep some of him for myself, and then Christina
would laugh at her silly objections, considering all
that had happened these past years. How small jealousy
is," Christina said, but "I'd give Henry up, Angela, to
bring my lover Jean back."
"One of the reasons I love Henry," and then Christina
paused. "Henry helps me keeps Jean inside. I know
he does. When I love him," Christina kissed
Angela and then Aaron and Henry; I feel her eyes, her
mouth, and her breasts inside Henry. He is more than
male, and less than female. He plays in Jean's heart
with me. He is Jean. We were such an incredible play
of hands and mouths. All of us.
And when Henry comes I imagine Jean grinding against
him, and then, almost beside myself, I cry, when I come,
missing Jean's laugh as I would miss great rivers or
dark gray green sunrises.
"How I miss ... How we miss her, Angela kissed
Christina, kissing her hair, and feeling the quiet
lift of Christina's breasts pushing against her hand.
How odd what we feel at times, Angela said, turning
back to Henry or Aaron. Finding the closest man,
that's what I need, Christina laughed, in a trance,
sadder as we assumed.
Death can claim more than our breath. Making the dream
shorter than the folly. Is reality folly, after all?
Wait.
"I am the Resurrection and their Light," Angela paused,
intent.
Aroused Angela loved to fondle human male or female
nipples. Two cocks at the same time rubbed against the
other was another fantasy she had made real. Two cocks
in tow holes. Seems too natural to be perverse, she
laughed at herself. Suddenly taken back to her
childhood. Angela played a fond movie over and over. So
vulnerable sitting there she remembered.
"I watched. he playhouse walls so dark. He came with me.
Was fifteen. We hid in much younger sister's
playhouse. Told him in no uncertain terms. I wanted to
play there. He said he felt foolish. He was 23.
I kept his attention and got what I wanted. I was
vulnerable. There was a dark gray ocean flashing into
scarlet. I remember it every time Aaron and I make
love. He had a sister who would sit there and watch.
She was older. I loved the way she touched herself and
hated that she touched her brother. She was my best
friend. The first time June and I made love, she was
fourteen. I was 13. I was never innocent and initiated
the pleasures. She refused to love me when her brother
was present, and couldn't stop touching him when he
caressed my sex. She looked intent and I opened my
arms. She shook her head, and her brother looked
around like he had been caught fucking his own sister.
Drunk, one darker night, she confessed that she let
him touch her breasts while she made herself come. He
never fucked me, she insisted. I sucked him off once,
and he was shocked when I let him come in my mouth. He
never fucked me, she repeated allowing the liquor to
slur her kisses. I tasted her clit that night and she
came screaming. I laughed."
I am always bridge Angela would insist, faking it
sometimes, pretended lamentations, as the men, really
Roman twins, Aaron and Henry touched the rasp of her
face kissing inner ears, shadowing the blush of her
breast with the knuckles of clasped brows.
January 1992
TWO YEARS LATER BEFORE LAURIE IS ABDUCTED
Neither man had ever wanted a man, but in this
bisexual triad, or quartet, - Laurie flew above
divergent rivers, palisades and plateau to leap free
style, seduced and ribald, playfully fucked out of the
sky into canal, river, vagina, mouth, and anus.
Only the foretaste of some blessed anxiety slowed the
pace and the lascivious chase.
No hesitation. Neither soft tongue nor limp prick dark
performance inhibited a very careful, well oiled
penetration.
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 with Laurie dressed between more
lubricant than actor.
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.
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. I deeply dressed my orgasm with their
tender satisfaction as they did mine with the congress
of their fingers and lips. Each human face was
becoming 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 and leaning against one of his
portraits, stretched halfway across the other side of
the room, Aaron's feet up pushed slowly against the
wall, rhythmically pumping his legs against the wall
to propel him.
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 he, 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.
"ow long you been there," 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. "Angela, you have the most beautiful breasts
and Henry, your mouth is full like a sacrificial
blowjob."
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 up
a chair, and I'll provide curb service, lifting her tit
up to him and making it streak blue against the white
walls.
"That is if you don't think my ass is too fat," Angela
sang. "You know. I love it."
"I'm looking inside, love," Aaron paused, motionless,
trying to decide if he would stay put, or move closer
towards them.
"At my fat. Yuck," she softly shook her head, and
Henry, who had seem truly the silent infant looked up
for a second, without fully releasing the nipple,
before Angela gently pushed him back down.
"No trouble from you now," she admonished Henry.
"Fucking Madonna, you agree Henry," Aaron said in his
fake Irish accent affected to mimic Henry, 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, 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. And when
Aaron didn't immediately respond to Angela's
invitation, suddenly, she playfully, directed a wisp
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 licked 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. Resting, at peace, he leaned hard
against his mural sized, massive but serene, blue,
gray and russet painting that he had set up to reflect
late morning light from the front bedroom window, and
within that heat, the painting, luminous, framed the
NYC skyline.
The effect of the changes could have drawn Aaron
physically closer to Angela, but his stiff, closed
posture although superficially jocular and light
strained at the noose of indifference. Aaron said he
felt odd, but turned on, when he encouraged Angela's
intimacy with another man. Sex was not usually a
problem. They, by agreement, could be sexually
involved with any partner. Angela recently had
explored her attraction to very feminine women.
"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. What if I was naked, would that work?"
"Only if you had a hard-on," Angela laughed, caressing
Henry who seemed almost asleep, his wet lips
presumably pressed to tit.
"I know the caption," Aaron stood up, walking back
towards Angela, as he drew an imaginary line against
the field of his painting, "The artist fucks with
naked friends and children."
"Better save some for the baby," 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."
"Paraphrasing Lennon, now," Aaron paused, grinned.
"You mean Lenin," Henry stopping for a second, pulled
Angela down, pinning her arms, very much alive.
"Quiet, you."
Pushing Henry back up, and then quickly kissing him,
Besides, I nursed the baby just before you guys got here.
She'll be sleeping for a least an hour more.
"You hope," Henry said, as he stopped for a moment,
smiling up at Angela who stopped playing with Henry's
ear.
"Don't," Henry purred, "that feels too ..."
"GOOD," Aaron cried, leaning up, stopping, his chin
wet, "now I am 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, got us
mixed up."
"Who gives a fuck who it is," she laughed. Don't you
fucken stop," she said, pulling Aaron back, who
seriously resisted. He seemed annoyed, which was out
of character for the placid Aaron.
Aaron who had stood up, now, fully erect, played with
his 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
slightly put out by Angela's mistake. I guess I really
don't mind, and he smiled, and Angela grabbed his
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. 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, she
stopped, looking up into his eyes, she 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.
[Fade to White then Black, White again warming
crimson]
Top of Leven Household Stairs... Moments Later.
"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 laughed,
watching 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. Knowing he could, but that he couldn't
take back what he knew was not his.
At that moment, when will and sense turned, Aaron 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 feet, filled more than Aaron's hands and his cock
gently hardened again knowing the pleasure of
painting sometimes exceeded the pleasure of making love.
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.
Adding, in her generous manner, layers of details that
she knew fed Aaron's sexual imagination. She described
Henry easily and demonstrated what he did by
approximating (where possible) on Aaron.
"You know Henry." she said. "Aaron is always too eager. He
likes it too fast. I slow him down. Can't have him
finishing before I get going."
Angela lied of course. Instinctively, she knew she
loved how both men took control. Henry wanted Angela
as he drove his poems through her skin.
Angela wanted Aaron painting her body with his brush.
Laughing at the thought, she remembered how she almost
came when Aaron literally painted her body with schoolhouse
paints. "He made my nipples muddy." Angela laughed. "He
made my nipples leak through the paint. I wanted the grace
of both their arts."
Lacking that essential control, "unlike you, dear Aaron,
Henry seemed to give up too early," but he made up for it
later," she added, lying again.
Aaron knew Angela liked to protect him. He knew she
loved to be touched and fucked in a human way by men
and women. He knew she loved multiple partners. He
knew she loved sex beyond the experience of any one
man or woman.
Actually, Aaron believed that Angela preferred women
to men. She told him once that she would love to make
love for hours with one woman, and then quickly fuck
at the end, with one man or many, so at the end
penetration would quiet the yearning for more.
"I never have enough," Angela said. "I never know when to
stop. My body aches for days afterwards. I love to be
taken and take. I love to control and be spanked. I
loved to hurt and be hurt. I love to feed and be fed.
I love to watch an orgasm as much as I love to know it
from the inside." Saying this to Aaron, one night,
Aaron walked away. He came back with Henry and some
lady Henry was fucking.
"Fuck her. I want to watch," Aaron said. The girl
laughing said to Henry, "you sure know some wild,
fucken folks."
Henry, startled, stopped for a second. Tried to get
out this challenge. Angela kissed the woman and took
hold of Henry's cock, and the four of them were wound
together like wondrous beasts sprawled into their own
nebula.
"We love Henry," Angela added, trying to include
Aaron, not that he needed her refrain. No chorus was
necessary. Angela knew her partner, Aaron. This
certainty made the threesome more than pleasure.
Everyone knew what he or she 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?
As Angela 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.
Angela felt 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 and Henry 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, stopping 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, she threw the thin cotton tee shirt she wore
for comfort and ease of access across the room. Tits
arched upward, her low voice, its pitch reduced by
ardor, trembling, amplified, she leapt as sorcerer
into what once would have once been called, centuries
ago, forbidden "dirty," prurient witchcraft.
Sometimes the songs Angela sang or uttered for Aaron
resembled the echo of the whale as they returned to
greet the long limber dick of the bull as it slithered
underwater into a cunt large enough for a man's body.
Angela was wet as she thought about the great horses
or whales copulating, and yes, oh so ready for Aaron
to finish what Henry had started.
"See," Angela squealed to herself, under her breath,
racing her heart, feeling the moisture gather louder,
lifting her fingers up, cooling them in the January
air.
"Yes, you felt it too, that inhuman song didn't you,"
and 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, while he marked her in his
mind with a half opened mouth and an expressive
tongue. Whales are more profound. Whistling it, he
said, "shut the fuck up," and laughed.
Aaron didn't hear the last phrase. His mouth, and the
last phrase trapped Angela's breath, and its
direction, was swallowed inside Henry, 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 yours, my husband, is more rounded,
complete."
Angela mused, 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's mine." she spoke so soft it
was barely sound.
Angela ruffled Aaron's hair, charmed by its thinning
and the crows feet around his eyes, as Aaron suckled,
she felt his comfort and vulnerability.
"Good and Plenty," Aaron giggled, almost coughing.
"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.
Angela turned suddenly crushing her other tit against
his 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 laughed 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 ..."
"First you are full, then released. Years, later,
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, and the ache quickly restored closes the
circle between birth and termination. No, I mean
death. 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 is it heaven and brimstone.
Please dear husband stay with my breast and let me
come into your ear with my growl."
-------
Comments appreciated
seanfarragher@msn.com
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 (updated 8/13/2000)
TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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