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From: zagreus@aol.com (the lizard king)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 18 Sep 2002 19:53:21 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Rite of Passage (MF)
Date: Wed, 18 Sep 2002 19:10:04 -0400
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Rite of Passage (MF)

Obligatory warning: this story contains explicit descriptions of sex
between consenting adults. Children, prudes, and censors should look
elsewhere.

This story was inspired by the following strange but strangely erotic
image:

http://www.cofanifunebri.it/NOVEMBRE-DICEMBRE.jpg

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So there I was, just walking down the street, minding my own business.
I had been out of work for a couple months - a grim possibility that
hangs over every contract worker's head - and already I was going stir
crazy just sitting around the apartment and pretending that I was
doing something useful. This was the weekend that Sarah was in Chicago
visiting her family, so I was out on the street, moving from place to
place just looking for something that might help me pass the time.

I was moving along pretty randomly, not really deciding which streets
to take until I was already there. Red light? No problem, just turn
right or left and keep going. I was moving along, letting chance set
my path (though I did make a point to influence chance just enough
that I wouldn't walk down the streets where the street kids hang out).
So anyway, you've got the picture now - I was out, going nowhere,
doing nothing, not really sure where I was or even what time it was.
As I walked I was daydreaming, thinking about nothing in particular,
but I'd been doing it for so long that I was starting to get deep into
myself, almost to the point where I didn't really see what was going
on around me. Do you ever get like that, just so far into your own
thoughts that the real world starts to fade into the background?  That
was me, just drifting along, and then I saw her.

She was standing in a doorway down the street I was walking along, and
she was incredible. I consider myself an appreciator of fine women; I
mean, I'm subtle enough that Sarah usually doesn't catch me looking,
but when I go into a restaurant I know inside of ten seconds whether
there are beautiful women there and where they're sitting. My
hotchickometer is always scanning, and when someone comes within range
of its signal it starts beeping a mile a minute. And let me tell you,
this girl was as fine as any I've ever seen. I can't even compare her
to the ordinary rank of woman, the sort you might meet at work or at
the supermarket. She was way beyond that, out in the hazy,
metaphysical realm where professional models and actresses live - you
know, that place (like Hollywood, or at least the Hollywood you see on
television) where everyone is young, everyone is beautiful, and
everyone's body has been so perfectly tuned at the health club and so
carefully cut on the operating table that it almost hurts to look at
it.

There she was, standing in that doorway with a white paper shopping
bag in her hand and looking my way. Her hair was long and black and
very fine, and the body that you could see under her blue sundress
immediately caught my eye and locked it in place. I kept walking
towards her, and dimly I became aware that I was staring so fixedly at
her breasts - their gentle swell was achingly beautiful - that she was
going to notice what I was doing pretty soon. So with an effort of
will I forced my eyes up to her face, and that's when I noticed that
she was looking at me and smiling.

Now, I admit it - I'm not the most confident guy where girls are
concerned. I got off to a slow start romantically, and I had enough
serious disappointments in the early going that it took me a good long
time to believe that women might find me attractive. In truth, Sarah
nearly had to throw herself at me before I finally noticed that she
was interested, and while the years I've spent with her - good years,
great years - have made me feel a lot better about myself, I still
have a core of anxiety that crops up when I find myself confronted
with an attractive stranger. So when I saw this girl looking at me, I
have to admit that my first thought was, "She's probably smiling at a
really good looking guy right behind me." My second thought was even
stupider: "Is she laughing at me?" Finally I got my head around the
thought that she was, in fact, looking at me, and smiling at me, and
as I came up to the doorway she was still standing in I pulled my head
out my ass and smiled back.

"Hi," I said, still walking but slowing down because it looked like
she was about to say something. Up close she was even more beautiful
than before, and I could see that she was just about my height (or she
would be once she took her high-heeled shoes off; one look at her
manicured and red-painted toenails made me want to take them off for
her).

"Hi," she said in a slightly accented voice. French? I couldn't tell
for sure, but I thought so - maybe French Canadian. "Can I talk with
you about something?"

She motioned inside and without a thought I followed her. She could
have been planning on robbing me but I wouldn't have cared; I would
have surrendered up my wallet and let her knock me cold, all the while
trying to sniff her perfume. That's just how gorgeous she was.

The first thing I noticed inside the building was the smell - very
flowery, but also a sort of heavy smell, like you get in an old lady's
apartment or somewhere else where the ventilation isn't very good. I
noticed right off that there were a lot of cut flowers inside, all
over the place: on tables that lined the entrance, on a desk off to
the right, on small endtables that were scattered amid the wooden
chairs that lined the walls. Of course I knew by then that we weren't
inside the girl's apartment, but it wasn't until I caught sight of a
coffin in the next room that I put two and two together: for the first
time in my life I was standing in a mortuary.

Apparently we were alone, because the girl motioned me towards the
room that held the coffin and I saw no one around, anywhere. That
seemed a little odd but I didn't think to question it; it was as if I
had entered the land of Faerie (or pick some other imaginary,
dreamlike land if you prefer), and as long as I had such pleasant
company I wasn't about to complain. I followed her into the room and
drifted between the rows of empty folding chairs. Behind me I heard
the door close, and when I turned around I saw the girl marching
towards me, a very serious look in her eye.

She motioned with her head towards the coffin. "That's David," she
said. Then, looking past me, at the coffin or out into space, "Or
that's what's left of him. I like to think that the best part of a
person - the true part, really - doesn't die with the body. It just
keeps on going. Don't you think?"

I nodded. At times like this it doesn't really matter whether you
agree with the bereaved, you just need to help them deal with it. The
girl looked remarkably good for someone in mourning, I thought, but
when you looked closely you could see something around her eyes that
said she had been crying. Not just now, but recently.

"Cancer," she said. "It wasn't a quick death. It was bad at the end,
his body didn't want to give his spirit up. There was a lot of pain,
even with the drugs. That was bad. But it was good too, because it
gave us a chance to talk."

She looked at me, as if for confirmation, and I nodded again.
"Closure," I croaked, surprised at the sound of my voice. Then,
feeling that the word sounded stupid on its own, I expanded lamely:
"It's important to settle things. Before the end."

I cringed inwardly, kicking myself for having nothing important or
interesting to say, but she just nodded again and looked back to the
coffin. "We agreed on something. It was David's idea, but I think it
was a good one. That after, when it was over, we should do it one last
time. David said that we should say goodbye the way we said hello."
She barked a quick laugh, remembering. "The first time we did it, we
hadn't even talked yet. We talked later, sometimes all night, but that
first night it was just our bodies."

I had no idea what she was going on about, so I just kept on nodding
like a fool and wondering what she was leading up to. Why was she
telling me this? And why the closed door? I hate to admit it, but part
of me was thinking that this was going to turn into something
religious, that she'd hand me a pamphlet or something and ask whether
I've accepted Jesus Christ - or Krishna, or the Prophet, or whoever -
into my life. That's what I feel bad about now, that a stranger -
during a difficult moment in her life - was pouring her soul out to
me, and all I could be was suspicious. I should have been a nicer guy
than that, but at least I didn't say anything. I just kept nodding and
surreptitiously sniffing her perfume. And I admit it - I was looking
at her breasts. So sue me, I'm a guy.

"David thought we should do it the last time like we did it the first
time," she was saying. "He said that would make it easier for me,
after. I don't know about that, but I made a promise." She looked at
me, her eyes suddenly very intense. "I made a promise to David."

I was transfixed. Partly by those eyes, which were such a dark shade
of blue that they were almost black, beautiful in their depth and
surrounded by long and lush eyelashes. Partly by her lips, which were
full and sweet and begging to be kissed. Partly by the determination
in her face, which did not entirely hide the shadow of grief. Inwardly
I made a vow: whatever this woman wanted of me, I would do. I would
join her church, I would give her money, I would build her a house
with my bare hands. Whatever it was, I would promise it to her.

It was what I least suspected. Abruptly she handed me the shopping
bag, and opening it I found it full of men's clothes. At the bottom
was a pair of dark brown loafers, about my size. I looked up at her
questioningly.

"You will make love to me, yes?" she said, as if it were a perfectly
reasonable question for a woman to ask of a man she had only just met.
"On the coffin?"

I was speechless. Ten minutes before I was a nobody, unemployed and
mostly broke, and now suddenly I had stumbled onto the set of a porno
movie. I resisted the urge to look around for the cameras. Surely
someone was going to yell, "Cut!" and shout for the real actor to get
on the set. She must have sensed my disbelief because she hurried to
explain.

"David and I made a vow to make love one last time, after he was gone.
Here, at the ceremony - his family will be coming soon. David is here
in spirit, but his body is in that box, so you will take his place.
You will put on his clothes, and you will be David, and you will make
love to me." She paused, suddenly unsure of herself. "Will you do that
for me?"

By then my jaw must have been hanging so far open that a small child
could have crawled into my mouth and built a fort there. No doubt
about it, I was dreaming. At some point my alarm would go off and I'd
roll out of bed, thinking about the sweet, sweet dream I had just had.
The alarm could sound at any time, though, and time was wasting. So
with a "Hell, yes!" I started hurriedly pulling the clothes out of the
bag. The girl gave me a little smile, turned, and began walking
towards the coffin, slipping out of her dress as she went.

That brought me up short. I was still emptying the bag of its
contents, but it was an empty, mechanical operation. My complete,
undivided attention was focused on the gorgeous woman getting naked in
front of me. She wasn't wearing anything under the dress - I had
already guessed that, before she started to undress - and as each inch
of tanned and flawless skin emerged, my cock pressed harder and harder
against the crotch of my jeans. Her shoulders were narrow, her back
slender, her waist small, her hips round, her ass tight, her thighs
creamy, her calves toned but not overly muscular. As she stooped to
remove her shoes she turned slightly, enough that I caught a glimpse
of one magnificent breast in profile. My breath caught in my throat;
gripped by the sudden fear that I might come in my pants, I pulled my
shirt up over my head and started hurriedly fumbling with my belt.

Now, you girls out there might be thinking, "You pig - what about
Sarah?" And to tell you the truth, if you had asked me that question
at that moment, I would have replied, "Sarah who?" The woman who loves
me - the woman I love - had been driven so far from my mind that I
never once thought of her during the entire time. In a way, then, I
wasn't unfaithful to her. I hadn't set out that day to sleep with
another woman, and now that it was going to happen I wasn't thinking
about how great it would be to cheat and get away with it. In all
honesty it was like my previous life didn't exist, or more that it
existed outside, on the street and in my apartment, but not inside
this place. For as long as I was there, the girl and I were the only
two people in the world. For whatever reason she had decided that she
wanted me, and I wanted her desperately in return.

Anyway, I was undressing as quickly as I could, and being a clumsy
fool because of it. I tried to take my jeans off before removing my
shoes, and didn't give up on that until I got one of the pant legs
stuck on my foot. So I pulled them back on, took off the shoes and
socks, and then took off my pants. Then I glanced down and noticed
that my cock filled out the front of my bikini briefs, looking like I
had jammed a cucumber down there or something. So then, a little
embarrassed, I turned my back to the girl while I pulled them down. I
admit it was a little silly of me, trying to hide my erection from the
girl who had just propositioned me, but it seemed like the right thing
to do at the time.

Then I started getting dressed again. That was the weird part; a naked
woman was waiting for me, but first I had to put David's clothes on.
Luckily he was pretty much my size - maybe that's why she picked me
from all the guys walking down that street - so no seams ripped and
nothing hung too long once I put on his underpants, slacks, and blue
button-down shirt. There was a scent on these clothes, and not the
same one that the girl wore; apparently David was a cologne man. I
kind of liked the way it smelled on me. I slipped on the loafers and
at last it was time to close the gap.

She was waiting for me, leaned up against the coffin on its pedestal,
her eyes far away even as she watched me walk forward. I came up close
and put my left hand on her hip, relishing the feeling of her soft,
warm skin. "What's your name," I whispered, moving in close.

"Marie," she whispered back, putting her arms around me and leaning
into my embrace.

I was in heaven. Here was the best-looking woman I had ever seen in
the flesh, and not only was she naked, she was pressed up against me,
her breath soft against my right ear, her hands drifting down my back
to close around my waist. I pulled back a bit, our foreheads together,
and kissed her. A little voice in the back of my head shouted out a
warning about halitosis, but it was a small voice and easily ignored.
This was a time for dreams to come true; there was no time to worry
about anything being less than pefect.

Her lips were perfect, and perfectly delicious, so I stayed there for
a while, my mouth working against hers, our tongues touching briefly
and then dancing away again. My hands moved up and down the smooth,
downy skin of her back, sometimes drifting across the rounded fullness
of her buttocks, sometimes moving up her back, following the path of
her vertebrae to take a handful of fine, dark hair and pull her in
even tighter than before. Still kissing me, her hands worked around to
start unbuttoning my shirt, and my own palms slipped forward to cup
her full and rounded breasts.

"Talk to me," she whispered into my mouth. "Tell me what to do, like
you always do."

I paused then, but only briefly. I'm not much of a talker during sex;
I go to a place that's simply not verbal, and so I usually do it in
silence. Sarah makes noise - sometimes a lot of it - but I'm as quiet
as a church mouse even when I'm really turned on. So when Marie asked
me to talk during the sex, at first I was at a loss. But almost
immediately the difficulty passed, because I realized that she didn't
want me to talk, she wanted David to talk. OK, I thought, I'll be
David for you. I let David's words come out of my mouth.

She stooped to kiss my chest, and hissing, the words burst out of me.
"Oh yeah, baby. That's it! Just like that." Her hands were working at
the button of the pants, working them open and teasing the zipper
down. Then I could feel her breath against my cock, even through the
cotton of the briefs. I groaned and put a hand on her head, twining my
fingers in her hair. "Do it. Do it, baby. Take it in your mouth."

She grasped my pants and briefs in both hands and pulled them down to
my ankles. My cock, free at least, thrust away from my body to slap
against her face. Her hand came up to close over the shaft, and her
tongue snaked out to slowly lick the full length of me. I looked down
to see her looking up, her eyes full of intense emotion, and then her
head turned down as she sucked my cock into her mouth.

I groaned loudly, heedless of anyone who might be on the other side of
the door. Until then Sarah had been the only woman I'd slept with, and
though she enjoys giving head she's not very good at it. I had always
suspected that there might be something better - I knew from
masturbation alone that there are better ways of giving pleasure than
the things that Sarah does to me - but I didn't know it for a fact. In
that moment, though, I knew it, because Marie was very good indeed.
The pleasure she could give me just with her mouth was incredible.
With tongue, lips, and hands she worked - sometimes slowly, sometimes
fast - over the head, shaft, and balls, and I had no idea that it
could feel that good. All the while I talked dirty to her, muttering
obscene instructions that she followed to the letter. Pretty soon I
knew that unless she stopped doing what she was doing I was going to
come in her mouth. That wasn't part of the plan, so with great regret
I pulled her up - my cock making a plopping noise as it slipped from
her hot mouth - and kissed her hard. Then I laid her back on the
coffin, spread her legs, and returned the favor.

I'm not going to say that I'm a sexual artist, but I know what I know.
As it happens Sarah really loves oral sex, so that's one thing that I
have a lot of practice at. With lips and tongue I worked the length of
her sex, pulling back the hood on her clitoris to work it with my
tongue, sliding one and then two fingers inside her and pitching the
speed of what I was doing to the way her body was reacting. At first I
thought she didn't like it, because she was really slow to respond,
but then her body began to come around. Marie started whispering
something in French that I couldn't understand, and just as my tongue
started to ache a little bit her sighs and whimpers became
synchronized with a trembling deep inside her thighs. The shaking
grew, and her moans got louder, and then with a loud cry she clamped
her thighs over my head and came. I licked desperately as she came,
and came, and came.

At last she lay still and I was able to pull my head free. I wiped the
girl juice off my face with the shirt I was still wearing, then
dropped that on the floor. I slipped the rest of David's clothes off
and hopped up onto the coffin so I could lay beside her. Marie was
breathing deeply, her eyes closed and her head turned off to the side,
but when I lay down she turned towards me and we kissed, our arms
tightly around each other. Her hand reached out and started working my
cock again, and in no time it was standing at full mast once again. I
rolled on top of her, spread her legs, and then began pushing my way
in.

I took it slow. I'm pretty big, and maybe bigger than she was used to,
so I gave her a chance to get used to me. Finally my cock was all the
way in, and we just lay there for a while, kissing, while I worked in
and out in very small motions. That's when her juices really got
going, so I started fucking her in earnest. She wrapped her arms
tightly around me then and started whimpering again. In between the
grunts and the moans I could hear her whispering: "Base moi ... base moi
... fuck ... fuck ... fuck me David! Fuck me!"

I did my best. We went at it hard and fast, the lid of the coffin
thumping beneath us. Marie's legs were wrapped around me and her head
was thrown back, her arms spread above her head and her eyes closed
tight as I rammed into her as hard as I could manage. I'm not usually
one for hard sex - I'm more the slow, romantic type - but I could tell
that this is what she wanted and I gave her as much as I could. In
truth it was like I was someone else, then. I groaned and roared. I
muttered obsenities into her ear. I pinned her arms down and kissed
her hard, so hard that our teeth clinked together. I had never fucked
like that before, and I don't know that I'll ever do it that way
again. Something had hold of me, though - maybe it was David after
all. And say what you will, Marie was loving every minute of it.

All good things come to an end, though, and finally I could feel my
orgasm building. Marie had already come two or three times by then,
but I could feel that she was close again so I brought a hand down and
started rubbing her clitoris. Between that and my still-pistoning cock
she moaned once, sharp, and loud, and then she was climaxing again.
When I knew she was in the full grip of her orgasm I let myself go,
and with a roar I came, my load spurting inside her. I kept pushing as
my cock throbbed, but then at last the well was dry. Gasping and
covered in sweat, I collapsed on Marie and took her into my arms.

We lay there for a while, catching our breath and feeling the sweat
evaporate off our skin. I kissed her a few more times, and she kissed
me back, but I knew not to press my luck. We were inside the dream,
the fantasy, and if I tried to get her phone number or asked to see
her again or did anything to stop being David in her eyes, this
scenario was going to end badly. That was the last thing I wanted.
Being with her was a dream come true, and I wanted it to remain
dreamlike until the end.

Eventually we rolled off the coffin and got dressed, her in the blue
sundress and me in my own clothes. David's clothes went back into the
shopping bag, and after that I don't know what happened to them. Maybe
she gave them to charity, maybe she kept them as a keepsake, maybe she
gave them to another guy in the hopes of capturing the dream one more
time. I had no words with which to say goodbye to Marie, so I simply
hugged her hard, kissed her on the cheek, and then walked home.

Sarah came home a few days later. I met her at the airport and made
love to her the next morning, surrounded by the scattered debris of
our breakfast in bed. The lovemaking was slow, but in its way no less
passionate than what I shared with Marie. I've wondered whether I'll
ever tell Sarah what happened, and I don't know whether I should. But
I know, that if I do tell her, the story will begin with the following
words:

"I had the most incredible dream."

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