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From: declan@weirdness.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Alexandra Ch05(Slow, Romance, Literary Erotica)
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Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2007 10:10:02 -0500
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Hi
I have posted various chapters of this novel to various newsgroups and
web sites over the last few years (and from several different email
accounts). I have lost track of where I post what. So I have decided
to post the complete novel here over the next week.
The complete novel and my other stories are also available on my
website www.DeclanStanley.com.
-----------
Alexandra Chapter 5

It wasn't that I didn't want to see her, or that I avoided her. It was
just that she was out every time I phoned and didn't show up at the
camera club. I even called around to her flat a couple of times, but
there was no answer.
At first it didn't cause me any concern. She didn't come to the camera
club the following Tuesday, but while I was disappointed it was
nothing unusual. I mean it isn't compulsory to attend every meeting.
And when I phoned on the Thursday and she wasn't in, again that was
quite normal. She didn't phone me from work on the Friday as she
usually did and then I started to worry. But not very much. I phoned
her back on Friday night, but she was out. It was no great surprise,
Alexandra was not the type of girl you'd expect to be in on a Friday
night.
But when she didn't phone me back on Saturday and was out both times I
phoned her, I realized that the bitch had gone away for the weekend
without bothering to tell me. Great ! I thought, here was I hanging
around all Friday and Saturday not doing anything because I was
waiting to arrange to do something with her and she'd disappeared
without a second thought. I was livid. I couldn't wait to get to the
club on Tuesday to tell her what I thought of that.
But, of course, she didn't show up. Neither did she bother to return
my calls the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. So
Saturday afternoon I went around to her flat to really give her a
piece of my mind. But there was no answer. She wasn't home. Had she
gone away two weekends in a row? Without bothering tell me either
time. Just to be sure I called back later. And again on Sunday. But
there was still no answer.
By this stage my anger had evaporated and a state of shock had set in.
I was exceedingly nervous about showing up at the club on Tuesday. I
didn't know what to make of her behaviour, nor how I should react. I
was even more frightened by how I might react if my anger resurfaced.
But I decided that staying away would not be any better.
As it turned out all my anxiety and worry was for nothing, because she
didn't show. I must have walked around in a daze for the next day or
so. I didn't know how to react. She'd obviously dumped me. And because
she hadn't had the decency to tell me to my face I didn't quite know
why, though I strongly suspected that it had something to do with our
last date. But neither did I have a chance to vent my anger at her.
She'd just disappeared from my life. I couldn't say or do anything
about it. One more frustration to end our relationship with.
Then I realised that tomorrow was Friday and I developed this
irrational fear that she'd phone me up. I walked around in dread for
the rest of the day. Half the time telling myself that as she'd dumped
me she wasn't likely to phone me ever again. The other thinking that
as she hadn't "officially" dumped me, that is told me to my face,
maybe she'd change her mind and decide to go out with me again. I was
scared shitless ! What was I going to do?
Then I came to my senses. She was avoiding me, not me her, I had
nothing to fear from meeting her again, she was the one with all the
explaining to do, not me ! She was the one who'd walked out on me. If
I ever met her again I was just going to play it cool, as if nothing
had ever happened between us.
I told myself this repeatedly over the next few weeks. Slowly
adjusting to the fact that Alexandra really didn't love me. That I'd
have to find someone else to share my life and raise a family with.
But it was still pretty depressing.
Then she showed up in the club one Tuesday night. I'd arrived late for
the meeting and found a seat at the back. The lecturer was showing
slides so it was dark and all I could make out of the people around me
were vague shadows. But a few minutes after I'd arrived I recognized
the shape of the head in front of me. I thought, that's Alexandra.
Then I thought, no it can't be. But my heart was already beating
faster.
I couldn't concentrate on the lecture. Which was a pity, because it
was by a guy who'd taken photos while pot-holing. He'd used all sorts
of intricate combinations of lights and flash guns to illuminate some
fantastic rock formations he'd discovered under ground. But I couldn't
focus on what he was saying. All I could think of was that Alexandra
was sitting in front of me. I could smell her perfume and the memories
of our love making came flooding back to me.
When the lecture was over she turned around in her seat and noticed
me. "Hi," she smiled. "Long time no see, stranger."
I opened my mouth to respond, but my mind went blank. I'd fallen in
love with her, she'd treated me with contempt, then dumped me with out
a word of explanation, and now she was acting as if we were casual
acquaintances who'd not seen each other for a few days.
"So what have you been up to while I was away?" she asked.
"You where away?" I didn't know what to say.
"Yeh," she smiled again. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."
"Oh, I noticed all right," I replied. "I just wish you'd bothered to
tell me about it before hand."
"Sorry?" she stopped smiling.
"I missed you," I said. I thought, If I make a fuss about her
disappearing will she get offended and walk out on me for good? I
couldn't risk it. I'd have to show the true strength of my love for
her by accepting her back and loving her even more.
She smiled back. Then looked down. "I missed you, as well," she
whispered.
My heart jumped. I reached up and stroked her cheek. She looked up and
I went weak at the knees as our eyes met. I cleared my throat to say
something, but lent forward to kiss her instead.
Once again we ended up in her place again. And once again I caressed
and stroked her. Once again she kissed and hugged me back. Once again
I kissed and licked and sucked her, ran my hands all over her body,
gloried in our physical intimacy . Once again sure of my love for her.
And once again, when I'd made her come, she asked me to leave without
returning the compliment. Once again we could have sex, but I couldn't
sleep with her. Once again I'd told her that I loved her and once
again I felt rejected even though she'd not rejected me.
So there I was left wondering what she felt for me. Could I love
someone who didn't love me? Could she love me and treat me with what I
was increasingly calling contempt? Was I just an easy lay to her or
did she have stronger feelings for me? Would this uncertainty ever
end? Could I ever love her properly and know that she loved me back?
And then it was Friday night and once again I was standing outside
Easons wondering if Alexandra would turn up. A month before I had been
wondering if I was going to spend the rest of my Friday nights
standing here waiting for her and just the week before I'd thought I'd
never have to do it again. But there I was once more, waiting for her
to pop out of the crowd.
I was saying to myself, I don't know why I agreed to see her again.
She obviously doesn't love me. I'm just going to be hurt again. She's
just going to fuck me about again. I should be old enough to know
better by now. I should just go home now and forget about her.
But I didn't. Looking back I suppose I was trying to be noble. To take
the moral high ground. To prove myself better than her by treating her
decently, even while she used and abused me. But more importantly I
couldn't forget the feel of her in my arms. The taste of her when I
made love to her. The trill of making her come. The smell from my
fingers that would linger for days.
And then she was there. Walking towards me through the crowd. A smile
on her face as she saw me. She was wearing a long black skirt, and
black leather boots. On top of which she had a chunky wool cardigan,
black with green flecks through it. Her long black hair was tied back
in a pony tail with a red ribbon. And her green eyes shone out at me.
"Hi," she said as she stopped beside me.
My mouth was dry, but I managed to respond. "Hi," I smiled back, my
heart beating faster, my balls tightening at the thought of making
love to her.
Once again we had a nice pleasant evening out. We had a drink, saw a
movie and went to Bewley's for coffee afterwards. All the time we
chatted about this and that, about photography and movies,about work
and shopping, about her tennis and my writing. About almost
everything, but what I most wanted to talk about, what I felt for her,
and what she felt for me.
It wasn't until we where on our way back to her place that I managed
to get around to bringing up the subject. But once again my
frustration worked its way to the fore.
"So what does us having sex mean to you?" I asked.
"Sex?" she almost laughed. "Where was I when we had sex?"
"What do you mean," I was astonished. "We had sex on our first date."
I added quickly, "And most dates since."
"What?" she seemed surprised.
"When we made love," I explained.
"Oh, that," she smiled. "That wasn't sex."
"O.K." I took a breath to control my anger. "So if it wasn't sex what
was it?"
"It was ..." she searched for words. "... just foreplay."
It was damn well just foreplay for me, Bitch ! I glared at her as the
thought burned through my mind. You made dam sure it was nothing more.
She smiled, and I wanted to smash her face in.
"What made you think it was sex?" she asked.
I fought to keep myself under control. "I made love to you and you
fucking came, that's what made it sex."
"No, Kevin," she smiled as she gently shook her head.
I was humiliated. To have made love to her. To have worshipped her. To
have given her the greatest pleasure I could. The greatest pleasure
she'd let me anyway. And to have her dismiss it as something totally
trivial. Something she'd almost overlooked. I was shaken to the core.
To have put her in such a central position in my life and to have her
regard me as something so inconsequential was devastating.
One part of me knew that this was just what she wanted me to feel.
That this was all part of some perverted scheme she had. And another
part of me knew that she really loved me. That I couldn't make love to
somebody, and have her react to me the way she did, and not have her
fall in love with me. That surely nobody could open themselves'
physically without exposing themselves' emotionally as well. That sex
couldn't be meaningless to her.
The two thoughts combined to make me believe that she was rebelling
against her love for me. That she couldn't accept that she loved me,
or that I loved her. That somehow she couldn't trust her own emotions.
So that on the one hand she was drawn to me and let me make love to
her. But on the other she couldn't accept that our feelings for each
other were valid. She couldn't respond to me in the way that I wanted,
simply because I'd told her that was how I wanted her to respond.
Then the notion of sin came to me. She'd told me that she was a
Catholic, that she went to mass every Sunday. And I thought that she
probably couldn't admit that she was having sex with me, because
having sex was a sin. That she had reasoned that if I didn't penetrate
her vagina with my penis, that if I didn't come, that it mustn't be
sex. And the safest way to ensure that was to ignore my penis
altogether, to make sure that I didn't come. A sort of home made
version of "Safe Sex" for repressed Catholics.
We continued back to her place, but when we got to the door she
stopped and turned to me.
"I not going to invite you in tonight, Kevin," she looked down.
"Oh," I said, wanting to ask why, but knowing it would only start an
argument if I did. "O.K.," I shrugged.
She put her arms around my neck and we kissed. I put my arms around
her and hugged. She stepped back and turned to unlock the door. I
started back down the garden.
"See you next week at the club," she said.
"Yeh," I replied. "See you then." Wondering if I would or not. I made
my lonely way home.
Looking back on my relationship with her I realise that one of my
biggest mistakes might have been that I'd usually asked her those
"tricky" questions after she'd come, when for all intents and purposes
she seemed to have no further interest in me. Maybe if I'd asked her
before hand she'd have been more interested in talking to me about
them. But then I'd have run the risk of having an argument with her
and not getting a chance to make love to her. And I'd wanted to make
love to her so badly. Maybe I had only been interested in "having my
evil way" with her after all.
But yet we'd not really argued this time and still she hadn't invited
me inside.
So maybe I should have pushed her into arguments more often. Maybe
then she'd have believed how important those things had been to me.
But then I had told her how I'd felt and she'd just not believed me.
And I feel now as I felt then that if the only way I could make her
accept what I told her I felt was what I truly did feel was by having
an argument with her, then she wasn't worth the bother needed to
convince her. I guess it was the sin of pride that made me unable to
plead and beg for understanding.
But the next time we made love I was going to make dam sure she didn't
ignore my penis.
She didn't actually turn up at the next meeting of the Camera Club.
Which didn't surprise me. By this stage I knew that if she said she'd
see me at the Club than she'd not turn up. But what did surprise me
was that she was in when I phoned her the next Thursday. So I arranged
to meet her the following day, at the same time and place.
Once again she took my breath away when she arrived, so I didn't mind
having stood there for twenty minutes waiting for her. We went to see
some Hollywood blockbuster. I can't remember which one it was, but the
smell of her perfume and the feel of her snuggling against my shoulder
for over an hour gave me a pleasant hormonal buzz. And when we came
out of the cinema we headed straight back to her place.
By this stage we'd made love often enough for the trill of discovery
to be somewhat abated. It was still exciting to make love, but we had
started to develop regular habits and favourite positions. One of my
favourite to this day is me lying on my back with her on top, one
breast in my mouth, a hand on the other, with my other hand stretched
down to caress her to orgasm.
But this time I tried to encourage her to take a more active interest
in my. I wanted her hands to caress me to orgasm as well. So when we
started to make love I deliberately put her hand to my crotch so she
could feel the bulge of my erection through my jeans. I encouraged her
to stroke and caress me. I got completely naked, even though she only
stripped to T-shirt and panties.
And when she took her hand from my genitals I took mine from her's,
though we continued to kiss and rub each other. She put her hand back
on my penis and I slipped my fingers back into her vagina. We had a
long slow delicious session, slowly building up to a climax.
We started off fully clothed leaning against one of the arm chairs.
Then we where half naked lying on the floor, first her on top of me,
then me on top of her, then her on top again. It must have taken us
over half an hour just to strip. All the time kissing and cuddling and
caressing each other.
By the time I was completely naked we were both more than ready to
come. We where on the floor. I was sitting between her legs leaning
forward to kiss her. She was resting back on one arm, her other hand
on my penis. Her T-shirt was pulled up and her breast was in my mouth,
nipple hard against my tongue. Her hand rubbed gently across the tip
of my erection. Much too gently to make me come, but more than enough
to stimulate me.
My fingers once again found their way to her vagina. She was wide open
and hot. And I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't deny her orgasm.
It was one thing if I'd tried and failed, but I was much too
experienced for that. I knew what to do, and I really couldn't help
myself. My fingers found their own way across and around and inside. I
pumped her for a few timeless moments, then she shuddered and gasped
and came.
When she'd relaxed and I'd taken my fingers out I realised that her
hand was no longer on my penis. She'd brought it down to push my
fingers away. I lent back on my elbow, expecting her to resume her
caresses. But instead she stood up and walked out into the bathroom. I
was left reclined on the floor, with an erection, wondering what the
hell I was supposed to do now.
This was worst then being ignored completely. To have been aroused. To
have her acknowledge my arousal, even stimulate and encourage it. And
then for her to just walk away from it was .... well unbelievable .
Yet she'd done it. I was living through it. I didn't want to believe
it. Yet it had happened. I couldn't ignore it. I was in a state of
complete and utter shock.
What was I supposed to do? Rush into the bathroom and rape her ! I
tell you I nearly did. Much as I hate to admit it, I nearly fucking
raped her. And I'm sure there's not a court in the land that would
have convicted me of the crime either.
But I am not an animal. I am not ruled by my hormones. I was not so
frustrated and degraded that I'd lost control of my actions. I was
devastated, yes. But I was not going to exact any revenge on her. I
was not going to stoop to her level. I wasn't going to start playing
her fucked up little games. So I started to get dressed.
As I was tucking my T-shirt into my jeans she came out of the
bathroom. "Oh, are you leaving," she seemed genuinely surprised.
I said nothing. Just sat on the end of her bed and pulled on my shoes.
She sat beside me. I put my hand on her knee. Then moved it up and
squeezed her thigh. I looked at her. I wanted to say so many things.
That I loved her. That I wanted her. That I needed her. That I
worshipped her. That I wanted so much to understand her. So much to
reach her. Just once to believe that we'd really understood each
other. But I couldn't.
So instead I slid off the bed onto the floor in front of her. She
brought her knees together, so I kissed and licked them. Working my
way up her thighs. I wanted to grab her and make mad passionate love
to her. For her to respond and embrace me, open her legs and let me
come inside her. To forget everything else and unite us in an act of
total surrender to each other.
But she pulled my head away. And smiled down at me. "You're lively
tonight," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "But I think you've
really had enough."
I looked up at her, my hands on her thighs, her hands pressing against
my ears as she held my head away. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't
say anything. I swallowed, but still couldn't speak. So I looked down
and nodded.
"Come on," she stood up and got my coat from the back of the door.
I stood up and put it on. She opened the door to let me out. I stood
in front of her for a moment. Then she was in my arms. My face was
buried in her hair, pressing against the side of her neck and her
shoulder. My hands caressed her hips and back through the cotton of
her T-shirt. Then my left hand was underneath, pressing her panties
into the crack between her buttocks. My fingers reaching down and
around to caress her.
She stepped back and pushed me away. "My, you're spunky tonight," she
smiled and kissed my cheek. "See you next week."
"Yeh," I replied, my hand gently cupping her breast. "See you next
week."
Then I was outside, walking away, with the door closing behind me.
On the next date I decided to try another tack. Instead of going
straight to the cinema I suggested we go for a drink first. Once we
where settled at a table with our drinks I tried to talk to her about
how I felt for her, how she felt for me and what type of relationship
she wanted us to have. But instead I found myself talking to her about
sex. Why couldn't I talk to her about love without mentioning sex? It
was as if my desire for her was so strong and I was so frustrated,
after having my hopes raised and dashed so often, that all my energies
seemed to be channelled into lustful thoughts.
But she had no qualms about talking about sex. Just as long as the
conversation didn't get too personal. And I didn't say anything that
she could interpret as either asking to have sex with her or implying
that we were having sex.
I can't remember what strange twists and turns our conversation must
have taken during our first drink, but half way through our second we
ended up talking about masturbation.
"So what would you tell your twelve year old son if you found him
masturbating?" I took a sip of my drink.
"Well ... " I felt she was going to just shrug it off, but she didn't.
"I'd tell him what it was all about. What it was for."
Visions of her inaptness at doing any thing for me came to mind and I
wondered how she was going to tell her son how to masturbate properly.
I doubted if she knew that there was more than one technique. So I
asked, "What do you mean?"
"You know," she smiled. "About the birds and the bees."
I wanted to explain to her that I meant if she had discovered him
masturbating after he'd been told about the birds and the bees. I
wanted to know if she would tell him that it was a sin and that he
shouldn't do it. But I felt that the guy sitting at the end of the
next table was beginning to take an interest in our conversation and I
didn't want to discuss this in front of an audience.
I decided to change the conversation again. Most people in Ireland,
regardless of religious or political persuasion, believe that the sex
education in Irish schools is inadequate. Though when it comes to the
question of what should be done to improve it opinions differ widely.
Which is probably why so little has been done about improving the
situation.
"Well I'm glad you'd tell him," I smiled. "Because if you left it up
to the schools he'd not find out about anything."
She seem surprised. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "We had very good
sex education classes in our school."
"I thought you went to a nun's school," I said.
"I did," she nodded.
"And they had sex education classes?" I didn't believe it.
"Of course," she smiled. "Didn't you have them."
"All the priests told us was that it was immoral to masturbate. And
that you shouldn't get your passions inflamed as it might to be
difficult to control them and you'd end up getting a girl into
trouble," I smiled then at how silly it had seemed. But when I think
now of the stupidity of it makes me so angry.
She laughed with me. "Really?" she asked.
"Really," I stopped laughing.
"We were taught all about sex," she said.
"By the nuns?" The thought of a nun being explicit about sex was
incredible.
"Well it was a lay teacher that gave the classes," she conceded. "But
the nuns must have known what she was teaching us."
"What?" I asked. "All about contraception. And how to make love. Or
even masturbate."
"Don't be disgusting, Kevin," She looked away.
"Disgusting?" I smiled. "Which one of those was disgusting?" I
thought, you sure find the thought of making love to me disgusting.
"They don't teach you that sort of thing in school," she said.
"I know," I replied. "I went to school as well."
There was silence for a moment. "So where are you supposed to learn
about that sort of thing if they don't teach you in school?" I asked.
"Well," she replied. "Where did you learn about it?"
"From books and magazines," I said. "And late night television
programs." I smiled, "Particularly channel Four."
We laughed. And I noticed she'd finished her drink.
"Do you want another?" I asked.
"No, Kevin," she shook her head. "I have to make an early start in the
morning, so I think it's time I headed home."
"O.K." I knocked back the remains of my pint while she put on her
coat. I think she was going to leave without me, but when she saw me
putting on my coat she waited for me.
We walked back down towards O'Connell st. I thought that we'd be going
back to her place as usual. But she stopped and took hold of my arm.
"Listen," she said. "There's just enough time for you to catch your
last bus home. Isn't there?"
I shrugged, "Yeh. The stop's just down the road. The last bus isn't
due to leave for another half hour."
"Well," she hesitated. "It's just that I have to get up early in the
morning to catch a bus home," she looked down. "So I don't think that
you'd better come back with me tonight."
I felt a familiar disappointment. "O.K.," I said. What else could I
say. "So you're going away for the rest of the weekend, then."
 "Yes," she looked up, but offered no other explanation.
I put my arms around her and leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed me
quickly and stepped away.
"I'll see you then," she said. Then she looked down again. "You know
it was a very interesting conversation we had tonight," she turned and
hurried away.
And left me with a lot to think about. I'd certainly achieved my goal
of finding more about what she thought of sex. But I'd failed
miserably in finding out just what she felt about me. I had this
unshakeable believe that she didn't know how she felt about me. That
she was unwilling to look at our relationship and decide what she felt
about me. Because if she knew she'd surely tell me.
But at least I now knew some more about her attitude to sex. It was no
wonder she knew fuck all about sex. If she thought what the nuns were
likely to have told her was all there is to know she must have been in
a bad state. I don't mean that they wouldn't have taught her anything.
I'm sure that she knew a lot more about menstrual cycles, gestation
periods and even genetics than I did. But I'm equally sure that she
knew little about contraception. And she definitely knew nothing about
making love.
And she didn't seem to have come to terms with the guilt of wanting
sex yet. I know that guilt, I was raised as a Catholic. And even now
I'm not sure that I've come to terms with the guilt that was instilled
in me at having normal feelings and emotions.
So I spent the next few weeks thinking. The poor little kid, feeling
all these desires that she was not supposed to have. Not knowing what
to do with them and so repressing them. No wonder she couldn't make up
her mind if she wanted to have sex or not. Or rather, that she wanted
to have sex, but she couldn't admit it, least of all to herself.
And all the time I ignored all the trouble I was having with my own
uncontrollable desires. Ironic justice?

-----------
Copyright Declan Stanley.
The full story can be found at: http://declanstanley.com/novels/alexandra/

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