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From: declan@weirdness.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Alexandra Ch10(Slow, Romance, Literary Erotica)
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Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2007 12:10:04 -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 few days.
The complete novel and my other stories are also available on my
website www.DeclanStanley.com.
-----------

Alexandra Chapter 10

A month later I woke up and realised that I'd spent the last few weeks
of my life, since my break up with Alexandra, mopping around doing
nothing with my life. At first I felt such relief that I'd ended it
with her, but later on more and more I'd been unable to get her out of
my mind. I think I was half hoping that she'd come running back to me
with tears streaming down her face begging for forgiveness. Though I
knew in reality that wasn't going to happen.
I looked at myself in the mirror and said something along the lines
of, "Fuck me if I'm going to spend the rest of my life waiting for
that bitch to come running back to me." I looked at the sunshine
outside, "I've tried to make it work with her and she's made it
perfectly clear that she's not interested in me." I took a deep
breath, "There are millions of girls in the world. Most of them more
attractive than her." Though looking back I think that last statement
might have been a bit over optimistic.
Any way, I had a shower and got dressed, I even shaved, and over lunch
decided to find someone else to share my life with. Or at the very
least to console myself with. A nice sympathetic young woman, who'd
feel soft and warm in my arms.
I went into town and wondered around the shops trying to find
something I wanted to buy. I wasn't looking for anything in
particular, it was just that I felt somewhat depressed and there's
nothing for lifting my spirits than spending a month's disposable
income in one afternoon. I start feeling near the edge of safety
knowing I have no money left to spend. The trouble with credit cards
is that it tends to be next month's disposable income that I spend !
But that day I just wasn't in the mood. Maybe I wasn't depressed
enough. Or maybe I was more depressed than I thought I was. Even the
computer games in the Virgin Megastore couldn't tempt me. And that's
normally a sure fire way of getting me to depart with my money.
I guess I was feeling on edge already. It must of been the full moon
or something, because I just couldn't get interested enough in
anything to want to buy it. Nothing flared my interest. Or rather my
mind was only on one thing, finding someone to take my mind off
Alexandra.
I ended up in the Gallery of Photography. They were showing an
exhibition by some guy called Tony Ryan, who I'd never heard of
before. Apparently he'd spent six months living with some working
class families in Dublin and had produced thirty, or so, 3 by 5 foot
glossy colour prints documenting their lives.
One critic had described them as "overblown snapshots of uninteresting
family life". And had used the word "patronising" frequently in his
review. I won't say what I thought of them, as the artist might sue me
for liable. But let's just say that the critic wasn't far wrong.
However I stopped and looked at each one, partly so I could make my
own judgement of them, and partly as I'd discovered early on in my
career that galleries are a very good place to meet interesting people
(even better than supermarket and launderettes). And to maximize your
chances of meeting someone you have to spent some time there, rather
than just walking in, glancing at some of the exhibits and walking out
again.
Half way along the wall there was a little table with a comments book
on it. I very seldom write or read those comments, but as I walked in
I noticed an exceeding attractive girl, with long blond hair tied back
in a French plait writing in it. So as I passed I stopped to look. The
last entry was "Jasmine Smith : Pathetic".
The photographs didn't hold my interest for very long either. But as I
walked out I saw the same girl browsing in the little book shop they
have just inside the entrance. So I decided to do some browsing of my
own.
However I couldn't keep my interest on the books either. I kept
looking up to look at her, though she always had her nose in a book
when I did so. I had started at the opposite end of a rack to her and
we both slowly worked our way towards the centre. Getting closer and
closer. Finally we where standing beside each other. I could feel her
presence, though now that we where so close I couldn't bring myself to
look at her.
She put the book she'd been looking at back on the shelve and started
to turn away.
"Excuse me," I spoke before I knew what had happened. "But are you
Jasmine Smith."
"Yes," she looked puzzled.
"It's just that I was reading the comments book," I quickly explained.
"I saw you writing in it and I assumed that you'd be the last entry
and I'd like to agree with you that the exhibition is pathetic."
"Thanks," she smiled. "What did you write in it."
"Oh," I shrugged. "Nothing. I never do."
"You just read them," she said. "And never bother to write anything."
"Well," I admitted. "I usually don't read them either."
"But you made an exception in my case," she smiled.
"Well, yes," I said, beginning to wonder if I'd done the right thing
in talking to her.
"Then you can make an exception and write something as well," she
started to walk towards it. "Come on," she didn't look back to see if
I was following.
But I was. I didn't much choice but to follow her. She picked up the
pen and, turning to me as I stopped beside her, handed it to me.
"Off you go," she said.
"But why?" I asked.
"I just think it's unfair that people should read them without adding
any of their own," she said.
"O.K." I shrugged and bent down to add a comment. I didn't give it
much thought then but I've just realised that ever since I always
write comments in the comments books.
Nobody else had written anything in the book since Jasmine's entry, so
I wrote, "Kevin Stanley : I agree, Jasmine".
She looked over my shoulder as I wrote. "Kevin," she said. "That's a
nice name."
"So's Jasmine," I replied and immediately thought, that's a stupid
thing to say.
We looked at each other for a moment. Then I looked away not able to
think of anything to say.
"Do you fancy a drink?" she asked. "I know a very good wine bar just
around the corner."
I swallowed hard, and tried to keep my voice casual. "O.K.," I
replied, my knees starting to shake a little.
I can't remember the name of the bar. I haven't been in the Temple Bar
area of Dublin for months, and I'm not about to interrupt my writing
of this novel to go and find out what it's called. However I do
remember that it was beside a Barbers in which I once got a very bad
haircut. I could have made up a name and avoided writing this
paragraph. But I decided to include it to up the number of words in
this novel, because I have been told that most international best-
sellers have at least One Hundred Thousand words in them.
Anyway it was a small poky place with a couple of tables outside and
about half a dozen tables and a narrow bar packed inside. Jasmine and
I sat a small table at the back. It was dark, but there was enough
light that we could still see each other clearly. Jasmine picked up
the wine list and quickly scanned it.
"Do you know much about wine?" she looked up from it.
"I know that I like Muscatel and Cote de Rhone and a few other names,"
I shrugged. I was going to add "And that Spanish wine tastes like
piss", but decided that she might like it, so I'd better not. "But I
couldn't name a single vineyard," I added.
"Split a bottle of Cote de Rhone with you," she offered.
"O.K.," I smiled back.
The waitress came over and took our order.
There was a couple of moments of silence. Then I said, "So, do you
come here often then."
She laughed softly. "If you only knew the number of times that line
has actually been tried on me by morons," she shook her head, "you
wouldn't try to make a joke about it."
"I have an off beat sense of humour," I half explained, half
apologized . "So if I insult you I'm probable trying to be funny."
"Yeh, I remember," she smiled.
"You remember?" I had a sudden sinking feeling, does she know me form
somewhere?
"You really don't remember, do you?" her smile broadened.
"Eh, probably," I didn't remember her at all. "I just need a bit of
prompting."
"We did a programming course together," she said.
"Ah," it began to come back to me now. "In Rathmines."
"No, in liberty hall," her smile faded.
"Shit !" suddenly I remembered her. "Jasmine Smith. You used to always
hang around with Mary Brown and Emma Cocks."
"Yes," she nodded. "That's right."
"You used to have short hair," I said.
"Yes," she ran her hand across the top of her head. " Really tight. It
looked dreadful."
"No it didn't," I replied. "But it made you look completely
different."
"Well I really wanted to look 'Hard' back then," she smiled.
Then I began to laugh. It was a sudden release of nervous energy that
I couldn't control.
She looked at me. "What is it?" she half smiled.
I couldn't answer her, I was laughing too much.
"What's wrong?" she was unsure how to react to my sudden fit.
I took a deep breath. "It's O.K.," I held up my hand. "It's just
that ..." And I started to laugh again. I had been physicking myself
up to impress this beautiful stranger, to sweep her off her feet. And
then to find that she already knew me, that all the adrenalin pumping
through my veins wasn't needed. Well I just couldn't stop myself from
laughing.
"What?" she lent forward smiling, even though she didn't know why.
"It's just that I didn't remember you," I started to explain. "That's
not the funny bit. That's just me being a fool again." I took a deep
breath and stopped laughing. "But I thought that I was being some sort
of macho stud by chatting up this beautiful woman. A complete
stranger, like." I laughed again, "And then to find that you knew me
already." She didn't see the humour, I shrugged "Well it was just ...
so ... typical."
"I see," she sat back and relaxed. "You were never much of a macho
stud."
"Thanks a lot !" I faked indignation.
"Oh. No," she put her fingers to her lips. "I didn't mean it like
that." She looked down, "I meant I liked you because you weren't a
macho ..." she shrugged, "chauvinistic ... pig." The last word was
barely whispered.
"Well, thank you," I replied. "That's one of the nicest things anybody
has ever said to me."
She looked up and we laughed.
The waitress came back with the wine and a couple of glasses. She put
a glass in front of each of us and poured a taste of wine into mine. I
smiled at Jasmine and gestured at the glass. "You ordered," I said.
She reached over and took the glass.
"Oh. I'm sorry," the waitress was embarrassed.
Jasmine sip the wine, said, "That's fine," and took the bottle from
the waitress. Who quickly retreated behind the bar.
Jasmine poured some wine for me and filled her own glass. "So, what
have you been doing for the last six years?"
"Oh I got a job when I finished the course," I smiled ruefully. "With
a company which went bankrupt four months after I joined."
She smiled. "Yeh, Irish software companies do that a lot."
"Well," I continued. "I went to London. Worked for a couple of places
over there. Ended up in a merchant bank. Decided I didn't want to
become the type of person I was working with. So came home to become
an unemployed writer."
"Wow," she smiled. "Six years in one breath."
I laughed.
"And a complete jump in lifestyle," she said. "From a hard working
software genius to an 'unemployed writer'."
"Yeh," I nodded.
"Just one thing, Kevin," she asked. "Exactly what is an unemployed
writer."
We smiled at each other. "It means that I gave up my job to devote all
my time to writing. But as I haven't published anything I have no
income, so I'm penniless and unemployed," I shrugged.
"So what do you write?" she sipped her wine.
"Well I've written a few short stories. And I finished a S.F. novel
last year. Which nobody wanted to publish and which when I read it now
really stinks," I smiled. "And I've been working for the last few
months on another novel, which is light years ahead of anything I've
written before."
"What's the current novel about?" she lent forward.
My smile widened. "It's about a guy who falls in love with this girl,
who doesn't fall in love with him," I said. "Then another girl falls
in love with him. And he starts going with her to seek some solace and
comfort." I filled my voice with irony, "And to ease the pain of his
broken heart."
She laughed with me.
"Autobiographical, is it?" she asked.
"Well," I waved my hand. "It's vaguely based on one or two things that
happened to me in the dim and distant past. And," I added. "Lots of
things which might have happened to me if I'd done the type of stupid
things the 'Hero' of my novel does."
"Oh," her eyebrows arched. "What type of stupid things does he do?"
"Well," I smiled. "He mistakes lust for love. And physical intimacy
with .... " I rolled my hands as I searched for the words, "... a
deeper, more meaning full communication." I shrugged again, "He makes
the mistake of thinking that because this girl has sex with him it
means that she loves him." I leaned forward, "Which maybe she does,
but she expresses it in a form that he can't understand. And he
expresses his love for her in a form which she can't understand or
accept as being valid."
"Boy !" she gently shook her head. "That sounds like one hell of a
'heavy weight' novel, full of angst and deep introspective passages."
I nodded, "Yeh, there's a lot of that in it. What you might call
'heavy reading'. But," I smiled, "It's interspersed with lots of
steamy sex scenes to keep the reader interested."
"Steamy sex scenes," she sipped her drink. "That must make for
interesting research."
I sat back and laughed.
"Speaking of research," I looked across at her. "I have an interesting
question you might be able to help me with."
"Oh yeah," she smiled back. "This sounds serious. But go ahead any
way."
I took a deep breath and asked, "How important is it for a woman to
have an orgasm when she has sex?"
"Why do you want to know that?" she seemed more amused than shocked.
"Oh, I just want to know so that I can make more believable female
characters in my novels," I really wanted an indication of how
important it had been to Alexandra. She had never openly admitted to
me that she had come. And the only time I'd ever mentioned it directly
to her she had slapped my face.
"Well, I can't speak for all women," She toyed with her wine glass.
"But I suppose that it really depends on the man. Or rather on how the
women feels about the man." She looked up at me, "And of course how
experienced she is. If she expects the earth to move every time or if
she's used to little warm feelings."
"Little warm feelings?" I smiled at her.
She shrugged and looked around the restaurant. "Well that's how it
sometimes feels to me."
The was a lull in the whole Bar and we where both lost in our own
thoughts for a moment. I mentally kicked myself for thinking of
Alexandra when I was trying to forget about her.
"So tell me then," Jasmine looked across at me. "What does it feel
like for a man when a woman fakes her orgasm?"
I smiled at her, "Well if she does it good enough he'll never know.
Will he?"
"And if she's no good at it," she smiled back.
In my most paranoid moments I'd often thought that Alexandra had
really faked her orgasms, but could never understand why she would.
Especially when she supposedly hadn't even considered that we were
having sex. But if she had faked them, she was good at it. Or at least
good enough to fool me.
"If any girl I've made love to was faking it then she was good enough
to fool me," I shrugged my half truth. "So I don't really know."
We were both leaning closer to each other across the table, secure in
our intimate conversation in the subdued atmosphere.
"But the best thing about making love to a girl, for me anyway, is
making her come," I remembered the feeling of elation I used to feel
as Alexandra tensed in my arms. "Especially if I'm using my fingers or
even better my tongue." I was lost in my memories of Alexandra coming
for a moment.
Then I looked up at Jasmine. She was smiling at me.
"You mean that you don't like coming yourself?" she teased.
I smiled back. "I mean that my own orgasm would only get in the way of
my appreciation of her's," then I realised that wasn't right either.
"I mean," I added. "When you both come together it does make it
better. Both from the physical point of view and intellectually to
know that she is coming as well. But," I searched for the words to
explain just what I meant. "When you make somebody come .... When I
give head to somebody it's a completely different feeling. To actually
know without doubt that you've really hit the right spot. To have her
come when you're so intimate with her." I sat back and caught my
breath. "Well it's just great."
She thought for a moment. "You mean you like to be able to enjoy the
ego trip of making her come."
"Well," I replied. "Don't you like the ego trip of a guy coming when
you swallow his prick?"
"Touch�,"she lent back and laughed.
We were both silent for a moment. Then a thought occurred to me.
"I notice that you didn't have to ask how important it is for a guy to
come when he's making love." I gave her a sly smile.
She grinned back. "I've never heard of a guy not coming when he had
sex."
"Well, I've never made love to a woman with out her coming, But that
doesn't mean that I don't think it doesn't happen." I shrugged, "O.K.
so sometimes the earth didn't move. But she always had an orgasm."
She smiled broadly, "Well you obviously know how to do it properly."
"Well thank you," I nodded to her. "But flattery aside. You seem to
think that the man always comes. Were as I ..." I stopped and
backtracked quickly. "... know that it's quite possible for a man to
make love to a woman and not come."
She nodded thoughtfully, "Well it's physically possible." Then she
looked up, "But what would think of a man who thought only of his own
pleasure and didn't bother if the woman came or not?"
"Well I'd say he was a selfish little bastard." I smiled, "With the
emphasis on the little."
She laughed softly. "Well, that is what I'd think of a woman who'd let
a man make love to her and wouldn't return the complement."
The conversation moved on and all thought of Alexandra left my head,
with out any effort on my part. Suddenly I was enjoying the company of
a beautiful woman
 with no thought of any perverted power games, or feelings that I was
being used or i was using her. We were just enjoying ourselves.
Jasmine and I did a lot of laughing over the next few hours, as we
joked about the times we had together while learning how to program
computers. Then we told each other about the various jobs we'd had and
the people we'd worked with. And I began to wonder how I could have
forgotten her. Or rather, as we were never very close friends, how I
could have overlooked her in the first place.
When she invited me back to her place I accepted, with no thought that
I might end up spending the night sleeping with her. Though looking
back I can't see how I could have overlooked that either.
She lived in an small, old terrace house in Rathmines, just down from
the canal. And, the thought flared in my mind, just five minutes walk
from Alexandra's flat.
"This looks quite nice," I said as she ushered me inside and opened
the door from the small hallway into the sitting room.
"Thanks," she smiled. "But you should have seen it before, or even
while, I was decorating."
"Was it bad," I looked around the room as she pulled shut the
curtains. It was decorated in whites and creams and rich browns, I
couldn't imagine it stripped bare waiting for wallpaper and paint.
"It was empty for years before I moved in and it has taken me two and
a half years to get it to this sate," she switched on a standard lamp
beside the sofa and switched off the main light.
"Is there much left to do?" I asked.
"No, most of its finished by now," she took off her coat and held her
arm to me. "Can I take your coat?"
"Sure," I took it off and handed it to her.
"Make yourself at home, while I see to these," she went back out into
the hall.
I sat on the sofa and automatically started to take my shoes off, I
usually lounge about in my bare feet and it shows that I'm feeling
relaxed when my feet are naked.
Jasmine came back carrying a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses.
She smiled as she sat beside me. "Clean feet," she smiled down at
them.
"Well," I replied. "I only took a shower this afternoon."
"Good, I hate smelly people," she handed me a glass and started to
pour. "Say when."
"When what," I joked.
"When I've poured enough into the glass," she continued to pour.
"Can't you tell that by the size of the glass," I smiled.
"Not everybody's so greedy that they want a full glass," she stopped
pouring, but she'd filled my glass.
"Thank you," I squeezed her shoulder lightly. "But I do have to admit
that I tend towards being a little greedy."
She was pouring wine into her own glass.
"What I need," I looked at her. "Is someone who'll teach me good
manners."
She looked up at me and we held each others gaze for a second. Then we
both looked away.
"So," she put the bottle on the coffee table in front of us. "Here's
to you finding someone who'll polish your manners for you."
We clicked glasses.
"Cheers," I sipped my drink.
"Cheers," she replied, then sat back on the sofa.
I sipped my drink, but couldn't think of anything to say.
"So," she put her glass down on the coffee table, her shoulder
brushing against mine as she sat back. "How close do I have to sit to
you before you'll put your arm around me?"
I smiled, "Well I suppose you're close enough now." I slipped my arm
around her shoulders and rubbed my nose against her ear.
She half turned to face me and put her hand to my cheek. "Hmm," she
ran her fingers along my jaw. "You've a nice strong jaw line."
"You smell delicious," I brushed my lips against her's and rubbed
noses.
We kissed. At first just using our lips and taking short pecks at each
other. Then I used the tip of my tongue and her lips parted and sucked
it inside. And her hand was at the back of my head pulling me closer,
her other hand had some how squeezed between me and the back of the
sofa to reach around and hug me. My hand tightened taking hold of her
hair.
But my other hand held my glass, still half full of wine. I tried to
ease my way towards the coffee table to put it down with out spilling
it.
Jasmine sat back a little.
"I sorry," I gestured at the glass. "I didn't want to get this all
over you."
"That's O.K., Kevin," she smiled. "If you don't want to ruin my
sweatshirt I'll take it off." She did pulled up up over her head and
off her arms to reveal that she had nothing on underneath.
I hadn't noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra, but I could feel a
tension in my loins at the thought. My eyes locked on her breasts and
I'm sure my tongue was hanging out.
"Come on," she said, taking hold of my hand and standing up.
I followed as she led me out of the room and up the stairs, turning
out the lights as she went, and into her bedroom. She sat on the bed
and smiled up at me.
I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. We kissed, our
arms embracing each other. Then suddenly I felt very awkward. I
remembered the last time I'd done this with Alexandra and I froze.
Jasmine looked puzzled.
"Listen ...." I started to talk but didn't know what I wanted to say.
"It's just that ..."
"Shush,"she whispered, putting her finger to my lips. "It doesn't
matter now." She took my hand and put it to her breast, "Just relax
and don't worry about anything." She squeezed my hand against herself.
"O.K." she said.
I nodded, but I wasn't really listening to her words. My eyes were
entrapped by the sight of my hand on her breast and the sensation of
her warm skin under my fingers was rapidly filling my brain. I lent
down and brushed my lips across the top of her breast, then a little
further down to suck her nipple.
She lay back on the bed. I followed her down, keeping her breast in my
mouth. She slid her hand down my body and grasped my erection through
the denim of my jeans. I pushed her breast out of my mouth, then ran
my tongue down and across and up to her other nipple to suck that
breast in. She bent her head down to lick my ear.
I brought my hand across from her hip, and unbuttoning her jeans,
slipped my hand inside. She sucked my ear into her mouth. I put my
hand to her crotch, feeling the heat from her vagina through her damp
panties. She brought her hand to the other side of my head and clasped
a handful of my hair. I pushed her jeans down. She lifted her hips to
let them slide onto her thighs. I brought my hand back up to stroke
her. She wiggled under me, squeezing my head between her tongue and
her hand.
I could feel she was very aroused, so I slipped my hand into her
panties and ran my finger along her slit. She sighed. I slipped my
finger inside, running the length of my finger against her clitoris.
Her breath came hot against my ear. I rocked my finger in and out,
then slipped another inside.
She moaned, her vagina tightening around my fingers. I thrust my
fingers in deeper, pressing my thumb against her clitoris. Her body
tensed against mine and I lifted my head from her breast to look at
her face. She opened her mouth and we kissed, her tongue responding
aggressively.
I thrust into her and she responded, her body rocking against mine in
time. Our tongues wrapped around each other. Her arms where around my
shoulders, hugging me tightly, pulling down each time I thrust inside
her. My mouth slipped from hers and I buried my face against the
pillow, as her breath came hot against my ear.
She moaned, her body tensing as she did so. I continued to work my
hand. Then she moaned again, longer this time. And again, deeper. And
again, her back arching. And again, her body lifting against mine.
Then she convulsed, her whole body as hard as iron. My fingers
squeezed inside, but I still rubbed my thumb.
Then she relaxed. Going completely and utterly limp under me. I took
my hand away and pushed myself up to look at her. Her mouth was open
as her breathing slowed, but her eyes were closed.
"Oh, God," she smiled. "You sure know what to do with those fingers of
your's."
She opened her eyes and I smiled at her. "Any time I can be of
service."
She laughed softly, then hugged me hard. We kissed lightly and her
hands rubbed up and down my back.
"Roll over," she kissed me.
"Why?" I kissed back.
We kissed again.
"Guess," she smiled as she brought her hands underneath me to push me
over.
I rolled onto my back and rested my shoulders against the headboard.
She sat up beside me.
"I won't be needing these now," she said as she slipped her hands
inside her panties. She knelt up, pushing them and her jeans down. And
then sat down with her legs across me to pull them off and toss them
onto the floor.
"Nice legs," I said.
"Nice?" she smiled, running her hands down her thighs. "They're
brilliant. My best feature." She took hold of my hand and press it
palm first against her thigh, "Here, feel that." She rubbed it along
her skin. "Soft, humm?"
"Very," I agreed .
She sat across my legs. Taking my other hand and pressing it against
her other thigh. She ran them down and inside and back up to brush my
fingertips against her pubic hair. Then out around and down again. She
slipped her hands down my arms and across to unbutton my jeans. I
continued to stroke her thighs as she pulled my jeans open.
"Hey," she said. "I think he's going to sleep again."
"Humm," I'd felt my erection had softened as soon as she'd come.
"I'll have to waken him up again," she lent forward and kissed my
penis through my underpants.
I could feel my balls tighten immediately.
"Humm," she whispered. "Still a bit sleepy."
She knelt up and started to pull my jeans down. I lifted my hips to
let them slip down. She pulled them off and tossed them on top of
hers.
"They can get to know each other," she lent down to speak to my penis.
"While I get to know you."
She slipped her hands inside my underpants, hooking her thumbs in the
legs and pushing her fingers up to pull the waistband down.
"Humm," she looked up at my face. "Your pubic hair is a lot darker."
She smiled, "You don't dye you hair, do you?"
"No," I smiled back, slightly bemused.
"Good, I like piebalds," she looked down again and slipped my
underpants off. She looked back up at my penis, but it still lay limp
across my abdomen, slightly enlarged, but far from stiff.
She ran her fingers across the sole of my foot. I squirmed at the
tickles.
Smiling she said, "Tender soles. But the skin at your heels and the
balls of your feet is rough." She looked up at me, "Do you often walk
around in bare feet?"
"Only around the house," I replied. "I always put shoes and stockings
on when I go out."
"Sensible lad," she looked down at my feet again as she continued to
stroke them. "That's why you've got such good arches."
I squeezed my toes as she stroked my soles again. She slipped her
fingers up to push against them.
"Humm, strong," she pushed again and I let them open. "Strong and
long." She glanced up at my penis again, but looked back down at my
feet quickly. She ran her finger along the toes on my right foot and I
closed them around it. She pulled gently, but not hard enough to free
her finger. "Hmmm," she smiled. then lent down and kissed my toes. I
relaxed my grip and she sucked each toe into her mouth, one at a time.
She glanced up, then did the same with my other foot.
Then her hands caressed my ankles. Then my shins and calves. She bent
my right leg, running her hands up and down it. "Nice, strong and hard
muscles," she whispered. "I like hairy legs," she lent close and
brushed her lips gently along my shin, while caressing my calf with
both hands. She pushed my leg down, knee still bent and repeated the
process with my left leg.
Then she slipped her fingers inside the bend my knees, her fingers
pressed between calf and thigh. She slowly kissed and licked and
sucked my knees. First my right, then my left. Next she worked her way
up my thighs. Switching between them, again and again.
It was only when she reached the top that I realized that my penis was
hard again. Smiling she lightly kissed each testicle. Then licked
under them and sucked them into her mouth. She held them there for a
long moment. Her eyes closed as she caressed them with her tongue.
Then she opened her mouth and sat up slightly, her eyes locked on my
erection.
"I think they're full enough now," her voice was horse.
My mouth was dry. I swallowed, but didn't speak.
She tore her eyes away to looked up into mine. Then keeping her arms
and legs to either side of me she crawled up to kiss me. The tip of my
penis just brushing against her stomach as our lips met.
We kiss, using just our lips. I opened my mouth to use my tongue but
she straightened to to kneel astride me, moist vagina poised over my
erection.
Slowly she lowered herself. She didn't use her hands to guide me
inside. She didn't need to, I entered her effortlessly. As she sank
down I sat up, reaching around her to hug her close. She put her arms
around my neck and gasped as she pushed herself all the way home.
She wrapped her legs around my hips. And I could feel myself thrusting
up into her. I could feel her pressing down all around me. A moan
escaped from my lips as my penis seemed to catch fire. She arched her
back, pressing her body against mine. Her fingers dug into my
shoulders. I breathed her breath. She started to rock back and forward
and the fire spread to my balls. I started to trust in time with her
and she smiled.
Then she lay back on the bed, bringing me down on top of her. I pushed
my legs out behind us and she squeezed even tighter with hers. I
rested my weight on my elbows as I thrust into her. She wiggled and
rocked back in time. I pushed deep into her and she squeezed me ever
so tightly.
The fire in my loins got hotter and hotter. The tension got harder and
harder. The sound of our moans, the feel of our bodies, the trust and
counter trust merged into background haze as my orgasm built. I pushed
and pushed and pushed. It burned and burned, harder and harder,
tighter and tighter. Until it snapped and I flowed into her. A burning
fire that stretched into infinity. Thrusting and thrusting, squirting
and squirting, until I was empty and exhausted, and collapsed on top
of her.
I lay there as our breathing slowed. Our sweat cooling as it flowed
together. My heartbeat slowed and she stretched her legs down and
relaxed. I started to cry. I don't know why, but I cried.
"What's the matter?" she whispered as she stroked the tears from my
face.
But I couldn't speak. This huge knot of emotion had just welled up
inside me.
She pulled my face to her shoulder and held me close. "It's all right,
Kevin," she cooed. "It's alright."
And I fell asleep, my tears mingling with our sweat, feeling safe in
her arms.

-----------
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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