Becoming One Flesh

Note to readers: this Summer Lovin' story contains sex during "that time of the month." It's not the main focus -- this couple is having sex despite that inconvenience, not because of it. I didn't put this in the Fetish category because I don't consider sex during menstruation to be a fetish -- it's just a part of life. So if you are overly squeamish about such things, consider yourself warned. Otherwise, enjoy...

********************

The crunch of metal and the jolt that snapped her head back into the headrest was

almost

, but not quite, the last straw. She held it together until the city cop was writing out a report, with her license and the other driver's license stuck under the clipboard and the traffic finally whizzing by a few feet away. If the traffic had been whizzing earlier, this never would have happened. Stop and go, stop and go; stop, creep up, and go on a hot Friday afternoon. She stopped, the jackass behind her neglected to stop for once, and his grill and her bumper merged. He was apologetic, but she wished he had been attentive instead. At first she thought maybe it wasn't too bad, but then saw that the bumper was dragging the pavement and all the rear lights were broken.

Not going to get to drive home today

.

No, the last straw was the nonchalant attitude of the cop when he asked if she had a preference for a wrecker service.

No, I don't have a fucking wrecker company on speed-dial!

This was just another day at work for the cop; for her it was the cherry on top of the sundae of a week from hell. She was almost in tears when the tow truck driver arrived, and when he finally dropped her off at her apartment complex just a couple miles from the garage where her car was going to be parked for the foreseeable future, the tears were streaming down and she could barely see to slide her key into the door lock.

Wine. She needed wine.

Julie was a year out of college and in her first real job at a large national company. It was a challenging position, and she had done well so far and had been given more responsibilities pretty quickly. But this week had tested her abilities and stretched her nerves to the limit. For some reason she went into the week with an ominous sense of unease and impending doom; an unusual anxiety about life in general. Prescient? Maybe.

On Monday she found out that the district office she worked in was downsizing; there were going to be cutbacks by the end of the year. Jobs were going away -- some positions would be cut, some personnel would be moved to corporate headquarters, and no one knew, or would disclose, any details.

On Tuesday she realized 30 minutes before the scheduled time that she had forgotten to reserve the large conference room for her presentation to the corporate honchos from Cincinnati, and had to make do with a smaller space and unfamiliar AV equipment on short notice for her presentation. It rattled her, and though she had managed to salvage the talk for the most part, her boss definitely noticed the screw-up. Not a good self-sales pitch before impending layoffs. Wednesday, a major potential client she had been involved in wooing for 2 months announced their decision to go with another firm.

Today she had spent most of the day on the phone with Tech Support, trying to troubleshoot the new software that seemed to be designed by sadists with a sick sense of humor and no grasp of the English language. And then the wreck.

And Oh!, by the way, her period had started yesterday morning, so she had just felt crappy all day Thursday for no other reason. And now her car was sitting in a garage and there was insurance to deal with and a deductible and getting a rental and... She was starting to wonder if this whole week was a hormone-fueled bad dream -- maybe she would wake up and everything would be right with the world.

The knock on the door interrupted her pity party...

"It's open. I think. Come on in," she said.

Matthew opened the door, in his green swimming trunks and a T-shirt, with a towel across his shoulder.

"TGIF! Ready to go for a swim?" he asked, before noticing the tears and the look on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"Just a bad day... a bad week actually. Nothing serious." She realized it wasn't like she had cancer or anyone had died or the apartment had burned down. Things could always be worse.

"I got rear-ended on the way home from work -- my car is banged up, that's all." She didn't want to get into the work crap.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm not hurt; it's just my car that's banged up."

He sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa, eyeing her quizzically; the sweatpants and grungy T-shirt, the half-empty wineglass. She could tell he saw that more was going on with her than a fender-bender.

"A swim would probably help the situation -- let's hit the pool," he said.

"No thanks." She didn't feel like a swim; she just wanted to sit here in her sweats and commune with this Chardonnay until the bottle was empty, then maybe drift off to sleep on the couch, or if she got really energetic, go climb into bed.

"Come on, it's a hot day, you're tired and frazzled, let's go jump in the pool."

"Look, I've got my period, and I don't want to go jump in the pool. I just want to sit here and drink my wine!" She snapped forcefully. She immediately regretted the tone: "I'm sorry, I'm just stressed out and not feeling very good."

He just looked at her for awhile with a slightly bemused look on his face; not laughing at her or mocking her, but conveying his own sense of "things could be worse and we'll get through this and I'm here to help."

"Let's go out and get some supper," he said. "I'm sure we can find a bottle of wine to go with it too."

"You promise there'll be wine?"

"I swear."

"Okay, let's go get some supper," she consented.

He kissed her on the forehead as he got up to leave. "Alright, we're going out. I'm going for a quick swim first. You go take a shower and put in a fresh tampon."

So that's what she did.

***********************************************************************

They had met on Memorial Day weekend, at the swimming pool in the apartment complex. She had seen him around for a few weeks; going from his car to the building next to hers, dropping a trash bag in the dumpster, coming back from jogging all sweaty and hot. Once, they had nodded "Hello" at the block of mailboxes that served the west half of the complex; she had surreptitiously noted that he opened box #105D. So he lived in the next building over, in the apartment that corresponded exactly to her apartment location -- same floor plan and everything. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes that were accentuated by the dark blue shirt he was wearing. However, it was his trim butt in tight jeans as he walked away that piqued her interest the most. But it wasn't till that unseasonably hot Monday afternoon at the pool that they finally shook hands and exchanged names.

He had just moved to Louisville in early spring from a small town in Mississippi for a job, and didn't know anyone here. He was easy to talk to, and they hit it off pretty quickly. Before long he was rubbing suntan lotion on the 90% of her body not covered by her tiny purple bikini and they were sharing strawberry daiquiris in plastic cups from a small cooler he had brought.

They kissed that night, but it wasn't until a couple weeks later that they had sex for the first time -- they had been out clubbing at the bars down near the Riverwalk and gotten back to the apartments about 2 AM. It was her idea to go for a swim -- it was a hot muggy night and they were all sweaty and grungy -- a dip in the pool sounded wonderful. Sneaking in after hours to the closed pool like teenagers on Spring Break made it even more appealing. One kiss while treading water in the deep end of the pool had quickly led to him fucking her by the edge of the pool; her legs wrapped around him as the beach towel underneath her barely kept the concrete from bruising her ass and his knees.

All summer the pool had been their point of connection, their escape from the heat and the stress of work and rush hour traffic. One or two evenings a week after work they usually met for a swim and maybe a drink or two, and often it led to a hookup in one of their apartments.

She wasn't sure what to call their relationship. It wasn't love but it was more than a one-night stand. "Fuck-buddies" seemed too coarse and vulgar a term, but it was pretty accurate. They really didn't have a lot in common. She was a big-city girl; he grew up in the country 15 miles from a small town. She was liberal, he conservative. He liked the outdoors -- camping and hiking and fishing; she couldn't understand the appeal of sleeping on the ground in a tent with no electricity when there were perfectly good beds available in air-conditioned rooms with televisions. He listened to classic rock and country music; she hated country and barely tolerated Zeppelin. She didn't even know who Neil Young was, a fact that irked him immensely and led to a crash course: "Cinnamon Girl," "Comes a Time," and "Cortez the Killer" blasted from the stereo the night of that revelation.

But physically, they just "clicked." Like no one else she had ever been with. His kiss could melt her into a puddle of pussy juice and desire. The way he licked her pussy dispelled any doubts or misgivings about how she looked or smelled or tasted down there. She had always been a little reluctant and nervous about letting a guy go down on her, but not with him. He ate her with hunger and passion, and brought her to orgasm so quickly and easily. She loved to suck his cock; loved the feeling when his hot cum spurted into her mouth, loved the way he thrust harder as he was cumming, or if they were in the 69 position, the way his hands gripped her ass tighter and his tongue swirled more insistently on her clit as he filled her mouth...

"...so if they offer you a position in Cincinnati you think you'll move?"

"What?"

"Will you take a transfer or look for another job here?" he asked.

She had told him all about her week at work, but then lost focus, thinking about their summer affair. "I don't know. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

The restaurant was a familiar one, close to the apartment complex, and her grilled salmon was very good and as promised there was a bottle of wine to go with it. By the time they left, in his car of course, she was feeling much better.

***********************************************************************

She invited him into the apartment, thinking maybe they would watch a movie together.

But as she reached for the TV remote, she felt his breath on her bare shoulder as he cupped her breasts in both hands and snuggled against her from behind. She leaned back into him, welcoming the touch and feeling safe and comfortable, and comforted, in his arms. And to her surprise and dismay, sexually aroused as well. She often felt horny during her period, especially toward the end of it, maybe because of abstinence -- she had never felt close enough to any guy she had dated to have sex during her period -- so it had always been a week of celibacy even when she was dating someone. But the last few days had been so stressful and overwhelming that sex hadn't even crossed her mind.

Now she felt a longing; a rising ache that she didn't want to encourage. Sex right now would be messy, embarrassing, and incomplete. Going down on her was his favorite thing to do and

Damn

!, he was good at it -- it had become her new favorite thing as well. But she was certainly in no condition for that.

"Be careful what you start. Remember, I've got my period," she said.

"I didn't forget. You seem like you could use a massage though; that okay?" With that he moved his hands to her shoulders and began rubbing the top of her shoulders and kneading the soft flesh above her collarbone, gently massaging the base of her neck, running both thumbs up the back of her neck in alternating circles against her backbone, and then back down slowly to her shoulders again.

It was better than okay, and she answered him with a soft sigh and by moving her hair up out of the way with her hand to give him unfettered access to the back of her neck. He responded with kisses to her neck that gave her chills that seemed to run straight to her clitoris, as he continued to massage her shoulders. The next thing she knew, he had unzipped the back of her dress and deftly slipped the top over her bra and down her arms and dropped it to the floor; she was standing in bra and panties with the dress pooled around her feet. Almost as quickly, he unclipped the bra strap and her bra joined the dress on the floor.

"What happened to just a massage?"

"I'm still massaging," he replied.

Indeed he was -- hands cupping her breasts; squeezing and kneading and caressing, forefingers and thumbs tweaking her nipples -- another jolt running straight to her clit. This was getting out of hand. She wanted to stop him before it went any further, but she couldn't bring herself to actually make a move to take his hands away from her breasts.

He solved the breast problem: taking her by the hand he led her toward the bedroom; she had to slip off her heels and kick the dress away to keep from tripping over it.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"If I'm going to give you a proper massage, I think you need to lie down on the bed."

So they were going to the bedroom. One step closer to sex that she wanted but didn't want to permit, or really just an innocent massage for a stressed-out and depressed girl?

She lay face down on the bed and he straddled her legs. His massage was firm and thorough. He started at her shoulders; both hands kneading her tight, tense muscles from the top of her shoulders, moving down to her shoulder blades, then along her spine down to the top of her black panties. Then out to the sides on her lower back, and back to the shoulders again. He alternated between deeply massaging her muscles and lightly caressing the surface of her skin, and no spot was neglected. Next to her arms; she felt both hands on her left shoulder, gently positioning her arm alongside her body; hand at her waist, then giving her whole arm the same treatment -- deep muscle massage and gentle skin caresses. Now her hand -- he gently picked her hand up off the bed and began massaging.

This is new.

No one has ever massaged my hands before.

From wrist to palm, down each finger from base to tip. He spent several minutes on her left hand, then repeated the whole sweet, heavenly process on her right side. She had never been this relaxed; it was almost a meditative experience. All the details of her week from hell faded away; she was aware of her breathing and of the sensations of his touch, and little else. Her libido was in neutral, just idling along in the background.

He gently placed her arm back alongside her body, and moved briefly to the top of her shoulders again before focusing his attention on her neck. With his thumbs along her spine, she felt his fingers sliding up into her hair as he began massaging her scalp.

Okay, this was the entrance to Nirvana!

His fingertips moved in firm but gentle circles on the back of her head, down over her temples, across her forehead. Her hair was getting tousled and messed up and it felt delicious. She couldn't believe how good this felt; she'd never had anyone massage her so thoroughly before. Finally, she felt his body weight as he sank down on top of her and kissed the back of her neck.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

It was an effort to speak. "Wonderful," she managed to say, "that was just what the doctor ordered. I've never had a massage like that before, thank you."

"You're welcome. But it's not finished yet; just a little intermission."

With that he kissed the back of her neck again, and moved down to her legs. Starting with the top of the thigh, he gave her left leg the same combination of deep massage and sensual caressing that he had bestowed on the rest of her body. She didn't realize how tense her thighs and calves were until his fingers dug into the muscles and slowly released the stress she had been feeling all week. Finishing with the left leg, his hands moved up to her buttocks, and massaged her ass cheeks through her panties. It wasn't overtly sexual, just a continuation of the full body treatment. Then on to her right thigh and down her right leg.

Finishing with the right calf, he scooted down a little and she thought the massage was over. But then he bent her left leg up, resting the toes against his chest, and began massaging her foot. His fingertips dug forcefully into the ball and sole of her foot, creating an intense mixture of pain and pleasure. It felt good, but it also hurt in a dull, aching way when his fingertips probed deep and hit a certain spot. The phrase "hurts so good" came to her mind. She remembered reading about some pseudoscientific belief that specific spots on a person's foot corresponded to different internal organs, and that pain when these spots were manipulated was evidence of some problem with the corresponding organ. If this was true, then her internal organs were a wreck -- it hurt all over. But just when the pain was getting a little too intense, his touch softened and he began lightly rubbing her toes, gently pushing the pain away from base to tip. She recognized that this whole massage was a balance of hard and soft, deep and shallow, gentle and firm.

What happened next both shocked and thrilled her: with both hands caressing her foot, his mouth engulfed her big toe.

Oh my God!

She had never felt anything like this -- this was exquisite!

He sucked on her big toe like a lollipop, then took in half the rest of her toes; tongue swirling and probing between the toes, sucking on each one, then moving to the next one, sucking in one at a time then two at a time, licking the underneath while his teeth grazed the top. Hot, wet, ticklish, erotic, sensuous, relaxing... it was everything all at once, overwhelming her senses. No one had ever done this to her before, and she hadn't even known what she was missing.

What else do I not know about?

He seemed to revel in giving her this pleasure; his tongue caressed and sucked on her toes as lovingly as his hands had caressed her skin.

After several minutes of this ethereal bliss, he released her foot and dropped it to the bed.

"Please don't stop, please do the other one

," she silently begged. The air felt cool on her wet toes and it seemed to take an eternity before her right foot was resting against his chest. She breathlessly anticipated feeling his hot mouth on her toes, but then remembered that the pain/pleasure of a foot massage came first. He was even more thorough with the massage on this foot, perhaps to tease her; making her wait longer for the pleasure he knew she was anticipating. Finally, with her whole foot throbbing with a dull ache that felt

So Damn Good

, his wet mouth took possession of her toes and her psyche. Time stood still as all the nerve endings in her body seemed to be concentrated in these 5 toes that were bathed in the warm wet embrace of his mouth. After what could have been seconds, or minutes, or longer -- she lost track -- his tongue traced a final lick across her pinky toe.

Her foot dropped to the bed, and for the first time in almost an hour, there was no touch, no massaging or caressing or sucking. She was totally relaxed and happy and at peace with the world. The next thing she knew, his nose was pressed against the back of her panties, and she felt his hot breath on her anus through the panties. His nose slid up the cleft in her buttocks, pushing the panties into her crack, until he reached her lower back. She felt teeth graze her skin on her left cheek, and then felt her panties slide down about an inch. Now his tongue licked all the way across the top of her ass to the right cheek. More teeth, and the panties slid down further.

He was taking her panties off with his mouth, a little at a time!

The wet tongue licked all the way across her ass again, then the panties slid down even further. Another inch and she knew her tampon string would be visible -- where was this going?