by David Surface
(01/17/00)

One night he was getting up from the couch when his hard cock accidentally brushed the side of her face, grazing her cheek. "Sorry," he laughed.

"Don't worry," she smiled, looking up at him, "Is all right."

He looked down at her beautiful moon-face looking up at him in the dark and felt new miles of permission opening between them. "It is?" he said.

"Yes," she whispered, her smile turning a little wicked and dreamy. Feeling brave, he took his cock in his hand and rubbed it gently against her cheek. He'd spent hours exploring the more secret places of her body, but this was the softest, warmest thing he'd ever felt.

"Is this all right?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said. Like a cat, she closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek affectionately against his cock in a way that made his brain catch fire.

Feeling like he was standing outside of himself, watching, he slowly traced the outline of her jaw, carefully avoiding her mouth. He traced the shape of her closed eyelids, feeling her eyelashes brush against the soft skin on head of his cock. "Is this all right?" he whispered again. This time she didn't speak, but nodded her head slowly. He hated it when Carmen held completely still, but this was different.

When he took his cock away from Keiko's face he saw a thread of come stretch between her cheek and the tip of his cock, then break. He reached down and rubbed the tiny wet spot into her cheek with his thumb. She took his thumb into her mouth and sucked it for a moment, looked up at him and said, "Is all right?" Before John could answer, Keiko cupped his ass in her hands, drew him toward her and rubbed her face back and forth against his cock, brushing her nose and lips against it without taking him into her mouth.When he saw what she was doing, John felt his mind start to tear loose from his body. Keiko lifted her face for a moment, looked up at him and smiled, "Is alright?" This time it was John who couldn't answer.

No matter how much he enjoyed what they did together, he thought of Keiko as something he was going to have to pay for later. He kept waiting for his punishment but it never came. The fact that it never came just reinforced his feeling that it was out there waiting for him, gathering strength every time he went from Carmen to Keiko and back again.

While he was seeing Keiko he could not touch Carmen, though the cause was not obvious since he and Carmen had reached that point in their relationship where it was not unusual for a whole series of evenings to pass without their touching or kissing. She made him tea in her kitchen. No matter what else had changed, no matter how far either one of them went into their anger or silence, there was always the kettle and the brown mugs and the tea bags all the way from England. Life could not be that bad, he sometimes thought, if we can still do this.

Still, he hoped for more. Not to go back to what was, as it was dawning on him that what was hadn't been as good as what could have been, but to break through into something new. He still believed that was possible. Not now, though. There was still too much of the old, dead love around them. To feel the way he wanted to feel with her, they would have to become new people. He remembered something he'd heard in school, that human beings undergo a complete change of cells every seven years. That meant they still had two more years to go. He didn't know if he could wait that long. He'd have to find something to help speed up the process.

Carmen's room was at the top of a long narrow flight of stairs. Climbing those stairs in the dark lit by colored flashes from the TV above, John's heart would beat faster because he knew that Carmen and one of her friends would be smoking pot, which John had never smoked and was afraid of. Whenever Carmen brought out the red bong and the little lacquer tray of pot, John would turn away and keep his eyes on the TV while behind him he'd hear the flick of the lighter, the gurgling sound of water, then the long rush of released breath and the sweet, charred smell that made him think of Halloween. Tonight when Carmen's friend Eva routinely offered the bong, John took it, put his finger over the tiny hole the way he'd seen them do, set the flame to the thimble-sized bowl and drew in. He watched the white smoke curling up inside the red plastic tube like a genie taking shape, then shut his eyes and let the hot cloud roll into his chest. When he let go, things were already different. Carmen joined them, and he watched her bend over and take the white smoke into her mouth while the little flame lit up her forehead.

When Eva left, John and Carmen stayed on the huge bed, watching TV. He felt larger inside, more wise and generous, like there was room for everything inside him.

"So," Carmen said, "I didn't know you had a thing for Asian women." Part of John felt stunned, trapped, but then that feeling dissolved when he remembered that there was no need for that anymore. They were new people now, he told himself.

"Oh yeah," he smiled, "That. That was a while ago." He heard what she was saying and it stung him a little to realize he was still not past lying to her. Then, one more hit and he decided that it didn't matter.

They were laying on the far side of the bed from each other, and the space between them felt dangerous and electric to him. Carmen was laying on her side, leaning on one elbow with her head propped up in her hand, looking at him with a strange mix of amusement and curiosity, like she was seeing something different in him. He felt the same way. "You know," she grinned, speaking slowly as if she was surprised by what she was saying, "I really feel like making love to you now."

John felt his blood surge inside, flooding his body with warmth. "You do?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

"Yeah," he returned her smile. "I do."

She reached over and kissed him once. Her kiss seemed to stay on his mouth for a long time, even after she stood up to leave. "Excuse me," she smiled, "I'll be right back." John watched her go, then took off his clothes and pulled the covers up to his waist. It crossed his mind for a moment that this might be some kind of joke, that she was not coming back and that the next person through the door would be her brother or her Dad. Then, that thought dissolved in the taste of her kiss still in his mouth, and he relaxed and lay there alone, watching the TV throw its changing colors on the ceiling, his whole body humming in anticipation of what was going to happen.

The ease. That was what stunned him. The ease of it.

Soon she was back, wearing a black kimono-like robe with white flowers. "That's nice," he said, genuinely surprised and pleased. He'd never seen her wear anything like this before.

"Thanks," she said, crawling up from the foot of the bed on her hands and knees until she was poised over him. Through the split in her robe he could see the beginning of her heavy white breasts hanging down and the deep black shadow between them. "Well..." she smiled self-consciously, then giggled. He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth down to his the same way he had the first time they kissed. The familiar taste of her tongue was a welcome jolt to his brain as they gently explored each other's mouths with the familiarity of animals. He reached up with his hands and parted her robe like curtains and looked at the creamy softness of her naked body, the fullness of her breasts swaying above him. The covers were still on him, and he struggled to get them off.

"What?" she asked, "What's the matter?"

"I want to feel you," he said. She helped him pull the covers away and climbed on top of him again, their warm legs sliding in and out between each other, her soft pubic hair brushing against his thigh, the warm weight of her breasts on his bare chest. It was almost too much for him. "Wait, wait," he said, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut tight against the white hot light rising fast inside him.

"It's okay," she said. "It's okay."

"No," he gritted his teeth, "I don't want to come. Not yet."

"It's all right," she said again, "Really."

"No," he said, opening his eyes again and looking at her, "Not yet," he struggled for a way to say what he wanted to say. "I want to stay. Like this. I want to stay like this a really, really long time." And saying that made him suddenly feel like he could.

They lay there together for a minute without moving, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, the familiar smell of her hair in his face. He ran his fingertips over and over down the length of her body, from her shoulders down the curve of her back and over the cheeks of her ass until he felt her quiver. She rose up on her arms and looked down at him with a dazed, serious look in her eyes. Then, still looking into his eyes, she reached down and took his cock in her hand and gently placed the head at the mouth of her pussy. John groaned and tried to push up deeper inside her, but she drew away. "No," she said, "Like this. Lie still."

He did what she asked and watched her slowly moving herself back and forth over him. She rode him so the tip of his cock pushed just inside her lips, then out again, no deeper, but she seemed to like it because he began to hear wet kissing sounds from down there and her face took on that sleepy, feverish look she always got right before she came. He wanted to grab the warm cheeks of her ass and pull her down on him, push his cock all the way up inside her, but he made himself lay still the way she asked because he wanted to give her what she wanted. When she came, she bowed her head and started puffing hard breaths through her nose ("like a little freight train," he used to say), then she bent her head back and opened her mouth, her lips moving silently like there was a word she was trying to say.

When she was through, she lay quiet for a minute while he stroked her ass, feeling the last little quivers run through her muscles. After a while, she looked up and smiled, "Do you want to come?"

"Will you do something for me?" John asked.

"What?"

"Will you rub me? With your breasts?"

Carmen closed her eyes like she was picturing it, then, smiling sleepily, crawled over John on her hands and knees and lowered her heavy breasts down onto his belly, then slowly leaned forward on her knees, dragging her breasts up John's stomach to his chest. He bent his head forward to watch. She didn't look into his eyes but kept looking down at her own breasts and what she was doing to him -- it was her sleepy, serious smile that drove him crazy. John watched until he couldn't stand it anymore. "Here," he said in a choked voice, "Come here." Carmen understood and brought her breasts over John's face. He took her left breast into his mouth and sucked hard, rubbing his tongue back and forth across her nipple until it felt pebble-hard, loving her faint salty taste. Suddenly, she rose up on her arms and pulled her breast out of his mouth with a wet, popping sound. "Hey," John groaned, "Come back..."

"Sorry," Carmen grinned, reveling in her power the way John had never seen her do before. She slowly lowered her breasts back onto his face and John began sucking again. Then he thought of the way her face had looked when she was touching him with her breasts, and he knew what he wanted.

"Will you do something else for me?" John asked. He felt like he could ask her for anything.

"What."

"Rub my cock. With your breasts." Carmen looked at him, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to refuse. He saw her sleepy, wicked smile come back, then watched her move back down and lean over his hips, her full breasts swaying back and forth over him. Then she lowered them down and brushed them back and forth. John felt her hard nipples graze the underside of his cock and thought he was going to faint.

Then she took her breasts away, and before he realized what was happening, he felt Carmen take his cock into her mouth for the first time. His whole body jumped like she'd touched him with a branding-iron. Stunned, he felt her tongue rubbing insistently against him like a living thing, the frightening graze of her teeth, the hot white light being drawn up from deep inside him. When he finally dug his head back into the bed with a loud cry, she pulled her mouth away and pumped him with her hand as he came harder than he ever had before, until the hot white light had left him and there was nothing more inside.

A moment later, she was back up with him again, curling into his side.

"That's the first time you've ever done that, isn't it?" he said after a while, talking softly into her hair. In her silence he felt the blood rushing to his brain to get there first and stop the blow he knew was coming.

"No. It's not."

In an instant she was leaning over him. "I'm sorry," she said in a frightened voice, "I just didn't want to lie to you." She held him closer like he was freezing to death and she was trying to save him. "It's just that you asked and I didn't want to lie to you. Don't you understand that?"

She wasn't crying, but he held her as if she was. "It doesn't matter," he said because he knew he should, then because he started to feel something. "It doesn't matter, it's all right, it doesn't matter," he kept saying it over and over. Grateful, amazed, and a little afraid that it felt true.

It was the red shirt that told him, finally. The red flannel shirt he'd never seen Keiko wearing before, two sizes too big and rolled up comically at the sleeves. He liked the lost child-like way she looked in it and asked where she got it without thinking of the kind of answer he might get. The look she gave him and the long difficult silence that followed told him all he needed to know, but she told him more, how it belonged to the guy she'd been seeing for two years, a graduate assistant in anthropology, how he'd asked her to go to South America with him next semester. She didn't have to explain that she'd said yes.

While she was talking he looked at the shirt and tried to picture the sleeves rolled down to their full length, the broad shoulders and chest filling it out, the untrimmed beard and pony tail, probably. He tried to hate what he was imagining, but before he could call that feeling up, the picture dissolved and there was only her, looking at him to see what he would do.

He took her out to a field where he used to run with his friends when they were boys. It was the first place he'd ever drunk beer and laid down under the stars. He'd been meaning to bring her to this place for a while, to explain what it meant to him and help her feel it too. But that didn't seem important anymore, and he was moving with a silent deliberation that felt new to him. Branches reached down and clawed their faces but he went on ahead, pulling her along behind him by the hand.

Under the harsh, blinding moonlight, he pulled her to her knees in the cold wet grass. "Not here," she kept saying, "Not here," even while he was rolling the red flannel shirt up above her breasts and pushing up her bra. When he took one of her breasts into his mouth, she stopped talking. With his mouth still on her, he opened his eyes and saw her allowing this, staring off at some distant point on the horizon. She was looking toward whatever was coming next for her.

There was a light on the horizon, a single streetlight shining through a row of black trees -- this was what she was looking at. He closed his eyes again and saw that light travel all the way across the field into her eyes, then down through her body into his mouth, filling him slowly. As it filled him, he was realizing that they could stay here like this until dawn and no one was going to come and take him away, lightning would not strike him, wild dogs would not tear him apart. Everything he thought he'd had was gone, but that was not how this felt. He felt the beginning of something inside his body; the longer he sucked, the clearer it grew like writing on a sign still too far down the road to read. He wanted to know what it said.

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