Martha in America

Then it all came back to me in a rush, starting with the image of her standing in her nightgown in the candlelight, and she must be lying behind me now, I thought, Martha. Yes, I considered without moving, the sheet wasn't there on my back. How was it going to be, getting up with her? Or not yet getting up with her? It seemed pretty early still. Would it be just like we seemed to have assumed in the night? How was that? "Making up for it," her lack of sex in America. Or would she feel different about it all in the light of day?

No, she wasn't like those girls last winter, not the way she had so openly talked about her experiences, and certainly not the way she decided to do it - and then told about it so charmingly; and not in the bathroom, telling about going standing up, and I had to stifle my snort at the recollection of her telling about having to watch out not to do that in the school showers. Oh no, it was going to be just about the way we had been assuming. Should I wake her?

I moved my foot back a little and touched hers.

Immediately, her hand brushed my back, and she asked softly:

"Awake?"

"Um-hmm."

"Me too. ... Hm-hmm! ... That was funny, waking up, and then opening my eyes and seeing you. ... Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, very well. Good morning. You too?"

"Oh, yes, Good morning. Real good, of course. ... Is that right: 'real good', when you said 'very well'?"

She rubbed my back. I had to think for a moment and then said:

"Maybe 'real well' is more correct, but I'm not sure, and ... - hm-hmm - ... in this situation your 'real good' sounds more positive. 'Very well' sounds a little formal, restrained."

"But you said it?" she commented, and now let her hand slide over my side.

No, it was going to be no problem getting up with her, I thought as I found the answer:

"In answer to your asking if I had slept well, I repeating the word you used."

"Oh, that makes sense," she agreed and rubbed her hand on my chest, and then let her fingers play in my hair as she commented: "I like that; I didn't notice that last night, that you have hair on you chest. ... That was wonderful."

"It sure was," I agreed, liking her mentioning it - in contrast to the girls in the winter, who acted like nothing had happened the next time we met, even if we had done it more than once and were meeting for a date that ended up the same way.

Her fingers moved a little more and she returned to that subject:

"Most men in Norway don't have much, or any, like my brothers."

She snorted and held me a little closer as her hand held my breast, and I felt hers against my back. She continued:

"That was funny; I was dreaming about my brother, the younger one, dreaming we were sleeping together. Not like that, when we were little. We shared a bed in our old apartment. I can't remember him sleeping with his arm around me, but maybe he did, and yours reminded me for the dream. He's only a year older, almost a twin. I was an accident, at least, coming so soon."

"A very lucky accident," I rejoined.

She hugged me in response, and then chuckled and said:

"I've dreamed - dreamt - about him before, not when we were little - after I had done it - but only much later remembered, and then just very ... 'cloudy'. There's a better word for that."

"Vaguely," I suggested.

"Yes, vaguely, not really sure what happened."

She snickered and then continued:

"Of course, till we started school, till he did, we saw each other. Almost all kids that age in Norway don't wear anything on the beach, don't think anything about it. A few years ago, I saw two boys playing in a fountain in Oslo like that.

We both chuckled again, almost laughing, and I rolled over, and she looked at least as attractive as I had remembered.

"Good morning, again," I said and gave her a kiss, just a smack, and she gave me one back and said:

"Good morning to you too, again. What time is it?"

I looked at my watch, and it was only seven o'clock, and she smirked at me suggestively with a chuckle, and I had to grin, and then rolled her over on top of me, and she looked down at me expectantly and then said with a sly grin:

"I'm not sure that really counted last night," and snickered, her stomach moving delightfully on mine.

"Oh, I'm sure it did," I replied to tease her: "... we agreed on that."

"Okay, then it did," she agreed with a grin:

"... but you promised me we were going to 'make up for it', for almost ten months, and I wanted it at least once a week," and she grinned again. I joggled her ass and replied:

"That's about forty times, that's probably more than we've had together, each of us, ... with ... seven, six, Thirteen partners - that sounds wicked - and eight times a day. That's not going to happen."

I grinned, and she did too with a nod, and then replied:

"I don't think I could either, but we could start." Then she laughed and said:

"At the end of the week, I'll tell you if we got to Christmas .... oh, Hanukah."

We both laughed as I calculated that that would be about a dozen times, still a pretty impressive effort for the coming five or six days, then recalling that my sister and I had that many times, but days and nights. I remarked:

"Spread them out," ... only twice a month - that's more realistic - and then maybe we'll get to Passover and Easter."

She laughed again with a nod and said:

"But if it had really happened - like I would have wanted - it would have been twice a night - at least - so we're still just back at Hanukah."

"And you're going to be disappointed, ... if you're just counting the times."

"I know. It was only a joke," she agreed more seriously.

"But a good one, ... but we better start now."

"That's what I was going to suggest," she replied and kissed me. And we did.

She was surprised that I didn't want to be on top, but then she liked the freedom to move the way she wanted to, and that was real good, and she was surprised when I started to touch her, but then she liked that too - not just letting it feel good, but then telling me with her lips on mine. And then she was just wanting it, waiting for it, her pussy wanting it, clutching as she moved under my fingers, and then we both came, together and real good,

As she slumped down on me with great gasps, I suddenly recalled Masters and Johnson, that they had written that experienced first time partners could do it as good as couples that had experience together. "Hm-mm, hm-mm, hm-mm," she was still moaning softly with each breath.

Finally, she raised her head and kissed me, and then got up and said she had to go, and went to the bathroom. I was a little surprised that she didn't say anything, but thought that from her experience there wasn't much to thank for. The guys did it, just did it, and the girls were just lucky if it was halfway good. I took off the rubber, and followed her.

She was already standing in the bathtub, facing me and "going," smirking and then grinning at me, and then watching me as I dropped the rubber in the toilet and used it. Obviously she was going to shower immediately, and there wasn't enough time to take a shower together, so I flushed and told her I would shower in my bathroom. She nodded with a smile, and I went back and picked up my things and went to my room.

"What do you want for breakfast?" she called to me.

"Scrambled eggs," I called back, remembering that she made breakfast for the family.

When I joined her in the kitchen, dressed for work, she was wearing a simple summer dress - and not much else, I surmised. She noticed that I had been watching her and glanced at me with smile and said:

"I know, your mother wouldn't approve, but lots of girls in Norway go without a bra in the summer."

"But they probably do up another button,"

"I wanted to be sure you noticed," she said as she dished up the eggs, and we went to the kitchen table.

"You don't mind eating in the kitchen?" she suddenly asked as we were about to sit down.

I didn't, and we ate, sharing a couple of smiles and smirks at first, but then talking about what she planned to do during the week: the Brooklyn Museum, and the Met again, and she wondered if it was worth going uptown to the Hispanic Society. I didn't know. And she wanted to take the Staten Island Ferry, almost a day's outing, and I suggested that she include a tour of Federal Reserve Bank - see the gold bars - or do something else downtown.

And then we were finished, and it was time for me to leave. As she accompanied me through the apartment to the door, she said:

"This evening I'm going to cook a Norwegian specialty for you, 'fiskeboller' - fishballs, ... fish dumplings. You probably won't like them, but I do, and discovered where I can buy them. And I'll buy some more beer."

"At my expense, ..." I replied, and she nodded with a smile:

"... but at least do up another button before you go out."

She smirked and undid another one, almost revealing one of her nipples as we stood at the door. I grinned and said:

"And tomorrow I'll take you out for oysters, ... at the famous Oyster Bar in Grand Central." She smirked and replied:

"Oh, that will be good, thank you," and then smirked again and added:

"I bet I'll like them," eliciting a smirk from me, and another one as she added:

"Today - after the shopping - I'm going to take off everything and wait for you. I like to go nude - like up in the mountains."

"Me too," I agreed: "... just sit on a towel on the upholstery."

She nodded with a smile and said:

"Oh, that's good. I wanted you to know, just so you won't be surprised this evening. When will you be home?"

I thought I would be back by six o'clock, and then remembered that my sister had given me "Lady Chatterley" to return to the bookshelf and rushed to my room and and found it, giving it to her with the comment:

"If that's what you're planning to do, then here is some appropriate literature."

She took it from me and looked at the title and smirked and said:

"Thanks. I guess so. I didn't see it there. Your parents said I could use your library. Where was it hidden? Did you find it?"

"Not really hidden, above head height, my sister found it."

"Which one? And told you?"

"The younger one," I replied before I realized that it would have been a lot better - and more acceptable - to have said the other one had.

"She was reading it? Last week?"

"No, just had it along."

"And gave it to you ... told you about it?"

"Just to bring back. She didn't read it. I haven't either."

I haven't, just heard about it. Hmm? And she wanted to read it, in case she was bored last week?"

"I guess so."

She smiled, and I gave her quick kiss and departed, seeing her wave the book as I closed the door.

After this delay, I was about to take a taxi, but then the right bus came. The ride didn't give me enough time to answer my questions. Why did I have to think to give Martha the book? She needed any need any erotic suggestions, and I had only implied that my sister could have wanted some, but not after talking to her sister. And she hadn't read it, so if she had been wanting some, what had we been doing to instead? I knew too well!

I was at work on time. The students in the program introduced themselves, and we were told about our work.

There wasn't much time for daydreaming, but, of course, my thoughts returned to Martha, wondering where in the apartment she might be sitting naked and reading Lady Chat. Was she really going to greet me naked at the door? And what were "fiskeboller" like? Fish dumplings? Something like fish cakes? If "love goes through the stomach," does that also mean trying to enjoy a favorite food of hers? But we both knew it wasn't love, just a very opportune affair, and from what she had told, having sex was something one did when one could, pretty much my attitude, but it seemed a more generally accepted one in Norway, at least from what she had said - maybe not in all parts of society - just as it wasn't in our crowd.

These thoughts occurred in many short mind-wanderings during the day, reminding me of the coming evening, and then finally it was time to go home. On the way, most of them came back to me again, along with some others, like wondering how my sister was getting along, and that from my experience, maybe young people in America were about as liberal as those in Norway, but it just wasn't as open. Then, as I was walking to our building, I again wondered if Martha would really be naked, and if we were really going to spend the next evenings try to make up for her ...? "Abstinence", the word came to me as I greeted the doorman. Would she be? In the elevator, it occurred to me that "deprivation" was a better word for it.

She wasn't, smiling a little wryly when she saw my questioning look, and then closed the door before she said anything. Then she grinned and said:

"I was. I did it after I came back - yes, I buttoned up - and it was funnier than I had anticipated, just being naked everywhere in the apartment – such a contrast to the formal surroundings and how your parents are. I really felt like I was breaking a taboo - more exciting than doing it at home."

"I can imagine," I agreed with a grin, envisioning her naked in our living room.

"Um-hmm," she went on: "... but I did it - turned up the temperature on the air conditioning - and then put a chair in the sun at a window and read. ... She wanted to read that?!

"Hmm? I guess so. She didn't," I replied, hoping Martha wouldn't ask more questions about her, and tried to look non-committal.

Martha glanced at me and then went on:

"Anyway, reading in the sun was nice, but then the phone rang, and it was your mother, and I really felt naked - as though she could see me, right there at the telephone - and that wasn't helped by her asking what I had done yesterday. She's always been nice about showing an interest in what I have been doing, but not just then: asking if you had come home safely and what we had done in the evening."

She looked at me with big eyes - big blue-green eyes I recognized now in the daylight - as I nodded recalling my mother's calls to Fire Island. Martha continued:

"Luckily I could tell her that I had been to the movie with Helga, so there wasn't much evening with you to tell about," and she smiled at me:

"... that we chatted for a while, talking about my family - that was true, sort of - and went to bed." She grinned and added: "That was also true, but I hope your mother didn't ... When I said it, I wasn't thinking that it could be ... understood another way."

"Misunderstood, construed," I suggested.

As she nodded, I said that I doubted she would have, and then grinned and said:

"Maybe you should tell me something more about your family. I don't think my mother would want to hear about your brothers and your mother, at least the little I know about them."

She snickered, and then laughed, and then suggested that we didn't have to keep standing in the entrance hall. She followed me on her bare feet to my room as I took off my jacket and tie and hung them up and turned back to her.

"Is that all?" she asked, looking a little disappointed, and I noticed that another button of her dress was undone, as she said softly:

"You said you liked to, too."

I nodded and started to unbutton my shirt, and she looked more satisfied as I said:

"If you want to."

She nodded with a grin as I stripped off my shirt and tossed it on my dressing stand. As I took off my trousers, I asked:

"And what are we going to do if she calls again?"

"Oh?," she said, and then said: "Oh, she won't. She said they were all going over to some friends for supper. That's why she called."

"That's a relief," I replied as I hung up my trousers, and then turned back to her and took off my t-shirt, adding:

"For you too. I was thinking about tickling you while you were talking to her."

She laughed. As I took off my socks, she started to shrug her shoulders out of her dress, letting it slip down as I looked back up at her, watching her help it slide down over her hips, revealing her cotton panties, and then we each took our underpants off and looked at each other, smiling when our eyes met after they had glanced at the rest of each other.

She had fuller hips than I expected or remembered from the night before - not fat, "strong hips" - accentuating her waist, and strong legs, maybe not ideal, but they seemed attractively appropriate on her. And, of course, her breasts were lovely; I knew that already.

"Oh," she said: "... I was planning to kiss you at the door."

That was all the suggestion we needed. Later, I thought it was very subtle of her, but probably it was just the impulsive, honest remark that occurred to her, and we did, much better than we would have at the door, with the expected consequence, both of us wanting to be in bed, but I knew that I had forgotten to take my rubbers out of the pants I had had on the evening before, and the others were in my toilet kit.

But that didn't matter. When we loosened our embraced, and I flung back the covers, she immediately lay down with her feet on the pillow, looking at me longingly as she said:

"I want to do it again."

She raised her thigh, inviting me to, exposing her pussy with its light covering of more reddish than blond hair, and then we were doing it, my mouth on her as she drew him to hers before we had settled comfortably. I wondered if we wanted to take our time, but she didn't - maybe after reading all day - sucking him deep in her mouth. And her fingers crept a little between the cheeks of my ass, and a little further. She wanted me to touch her there again, and I did. She nodded and moved her fingers, and I nodded, and she understood that it would be arousing for me too, and it was, also to know she had thought it would be and that she wanted to do it!

She wanted me to come, was so eager to make me come, so eager to have me come in her mouth again! Even if she had been reading about it all day, she couldn't be so aroused already that she would come as soon as I was going to. But I wanted her to, was doing everything I could to make her, wanted to have her come in my mouth, come all over my face! But I wasn't going to be able to; she was making him surge and thrust into her mouth. Oh, yes! Take it! Have it! "Unn!" Right in your mouth! "Unn!" All that white stuff! "Unn!" You want it! "Unn!" I want to give it to you! "Unn!" Like that! "Unnn!" The last of it, her mouth full of it as I relaxed and felt her tongue moving it, her head still, just gently holding him with her lips.

But her hips moved, and my mouth moved again on her, but now there was no hurry; just let her enjoy it and let me enjoy doing it. And we both were, as she seemed to have the same thought, just letting me do it, encouraging me with little moans as she still held him, and occasional movements of her pelvis, and I let my tongue explore the length of her pussy, sometimes going deeper into her, and then at the other end caressing her firm little knob, delighting when that made her gasp cool air in past him. But otherwise, she was just gently sucking on him, nursing on him, and I could tell he was smaller from the way she was sucking more of him into her mouth. And for a while we just enjoyed that, maybe both of us enjoying more what we were doing than what the other was doing. And maybe she was holding back, wanting to enjoy it for as long as possible.

But then I began to think about how good it was going to be when I made her come: how she was going to move, how her pelvis was going to move - asking for it - and then her thighs quivering in uncontrollable anticipation, and then her sweet love juice spurting in my face. It was going to be so good! And for her too! And I wanted that, no longer just enjoying the feeling of her pussy, now trying to make it better for her. And she nodded and sucked on him more vigorously, not just nursing on him, sucking and licking. My own anticipation of her becoming more aroused was arousing for me too. And she was becoming more aroused, just like I had anticipated. Oh! And he was too! Her nodding not just moving him up and down but now in and out, rubbing in her mouth! "Uhn-hnnn," I hummed against her pussy, and then kept humming with each breath as I sucked and licked her aroused clitoris. Her rocking pelvis was asking for it, and her moving head asking for it from me again. My fingers were moving too: not just rubbing her asshole - probing. She nodded again - or maybe she was just moving her head on him more vigorously - and started to press on me with a finger, finding my hole and pressing in it. "Uhnnn!" I hummed with my lips and tongue on her clitoris as I clutched her ass to my face, and when she relaxed after that, my finger slid into her a little, and she held it as she sucked him deeper with a moan that vibrated on him, making him surge and my asshole tighten under her finger, but when he surged again, it clutched her fingertip.