A Summer in the Flesh

This is a chapter in a fifteen-chapter novella, and each chapter is dependent on the one that precedes it. It is best to read them in order.

*****

And we hurried into the backyard, naked and oily, my hand in his.

He walked me on to the grass. The rain was less than a drizzle, but more than a mist. The air was warm. There was no breeze. The grass tickled my toes. He stopped and turned towards me, then pressed up against me. His cock felt hot against my bellybutton. He kissed me, and that familiar taste of beer and salt was diminished and sweetened by the fragrance of the oil. I thought of his tongue inside of my bumhole before, then I let it go. We kissed more passionately than we had before. We were wet, but warm, our skin was oily and glistening in the iridescent pale light from the bay window. He ran his hands over my ass, kneading it, pulling the cheeks apart, and then pressing them together. I grabbed his ass and squeezed it in a similar fashion. His muscles were firm, yet his flesh was soft and giving. He kissed my neck, my collarbone, my chest, my breast, my nipples, tasting the oil.

He bent down and I let go of his ass and he suckled at me, first one nipple, then the other. Again, my pussy swelled, and I noticed, for the first time in my life, that my bumhole also felt engorged with blood. He kissed my breastplate, my ribs, and dropped to his knees, hands still firmly gripping my buttocks. On he went – my bellybutton, my abdomen, my pubic mound. I spread my legs just enough, but he moved his lips to my thighs, his tongue to my inner thighs, then back to my mound. My hands were on his head, and I wanted to thrust his face into my pussy, but I waited.

His tongue darted about, that tongue that I was beginning to feel very fond of. Then ever so gently I felt the tip of his tongue begin its search for my clit. I turned my face to the sky and opened my eyes wide. The leaves of the trees sparkled with wetness. I could see millions of misty pinpoints of rain. Everything was wet – the leaves, the grass, the ground. The world was wet and warm and soft and seemed oily and vulnerable, like me.

His tongue found its mark. I heard myself groan. His fingertips pressed strongly into my ass. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I slid my hands between his face and my mound and I spread my pussy before his mouth, pulling up to expose my clitoris, to make it accessible. He cupped his mouth around it and suckled it, flicking it with his tongue, then pressing his tongue against me hard. He sucked my clit deep into his mouth and seemed to stroke it against the roof of his mouth. At least I think that’s what he was doing, It was a new sensation, and I liked it, and I pressed hard into his mouth, closing my eyes.

Everything seemed wet and juicy with oil. It was as if my pussy encompassed all that was around us, secreting the rain, soaking the earth, soaking us. My hips moved against his mouth. Suck harder, I thought, and he did. My clit felt huge, hot, hardened, electric. He kept kneading and spreading my sopping wet cheeks, his slippery fingertips now tugging at the cusp of my, pliant bumhole. Yes, please, yes, please, I crowed in my mind – and he did. First the finger from one hand, an inch, no more, then a finger from the other hand, pressing into me, carefully, gently. Rainwater tricked down from the small of my back and I could feel it enter me. As he pressed into my behind gently, he sucked at the front of me voraciously. His fingers slid into my asshole just past the second knuckles, teasing and gyrating, slowly, leisurely, wet, warm.

I was bending at the knees, legs a little wider, squatting ever so slightly to give him better access to all that exists between my legs. I had to let go of my pussy to keep my balance, and I grabbed his head and pressed him into me. The warmth inside me turned to heat. I felt like steam was billowing off of me. My knees were going to give way. I shuddered in pre-orgasmic delight.

His tongue lapped at my pussy, then worked its way up over my mound. No, please, no. But he was coming up. His fingers were still planted in me, lolling about in an excruciatingly wonderful way. He stood up, his mouth stopped to purse and tease my nipples. Up he came, mouth to mouth. He pulled me against him, and I reached between us and slid my rain and oil-drenched hand onto his swollen cock. My hand slipped up and down on him. The rain came down harder now, wetter yet.

“Let me inside you,” he whispered pleadingly into my ear. I wasn’t sure what he meant, what he wanted me to do, but I would do anything.

“Yes,” I said, and “yes,” again to be sure he heard me. Anything. Dare I say it?

His fingers slipped out of me. No, I thought, please no. I had to let go of him as he moved around behind me, till my back was against his chest. His hands clung to my breasts. His penis pressed against the crack of my ass, up and down and up and down he rocked on his toes. I reached behind me and I spread my cheeks for him, rocking against him, intensifying the motion. I arched my back and leaned forward. My God, what was I doing?

His hands were on my hips now. I felt him take one away. I closed my eyes tight. Up and down, his rod rubbed against my anus, and it felt warm and greasy and fantastically naughty. And then I felt the head of his cock push against my burning asshole, guided by his free hand, and I was terrified. What had I gotten myself into? It was too late, I thought. It felt too good, too, nothing like anything I could have ever imagined. I gave in to the moment and follow where it led. I pulled at my cheeks more purposefully. My flesh parted and the wetness filled the space between us, and slowly, carefully he entered me.

I had to put my hands on my knees. I steadied myself. All the way in he went, till I could feel his pubic hair against my ass. I gasped, and couldn’t regain my air. With both hands again on my hips, he pulled himself into me, deeper. He filled me. I felt faint.

Again I was scared. I didn’t want him to thrust. I clenched. He groaned. I relaxed. He sighed. Less scared, I clenched again, squeezing him as if to push him out of me. He leaned into me and groaned. I relaxed.

“Oh baby,” he cried out to me.

He reached down from my hips with both hands and pressed them against my pussy. With wet fingers, he plied it open. He pinched my clit between his thumbs, and two slippery, hot fingers, one from each hand (the same ones as before? I didn’t care) slid into my vagina. My knees were bent, and I pressed with my hands and pushed my knees out to the side, opening myself wider. I clenched and relaxed. He used his hands to press me harder against him when I clenched down. His hands relaxed when I relaxed. I clenched – he squeezed my pussy, my clit, and pushed against me. I relaxed – his hands relaxed, he pulled his fingers ever so slightly from me, and he eased the pressure pulsing inside me.

“Like this,” I cried, “just like this.”

Yes, this felt good. No thrusting. Just wet, throbbing fullness. My hair was dripping, matted about my face. It felt as is every pore in my body was bleeding a pungent, warm, sweet oil. I realized I couldn’t possibly be in the most attractive or feminine of positions, and I didn’t care. I was in a sexual position. I was exposed and vulnerable. I was filled with an unfamiliar heat. I clenched and relaxed with more vigor. He followed with me. The whole wet world melted away, and all there was the warmth and substance and wetness that filled me and squeezed me between my legs. The harder I clenched, the better I felt. The faster I went, the more the tingles shot up my spine.

“Oh, fuck, your ass is so beautiful.” He yelled loud enough for neighbors to hear. I didn’t care.

“I’m going to come,” he all but shouted.

Come! Yes, please, I thought. More wetness. More fluid. Fill me with your come.

“Come inside me.” Did I say that? What was happening to me?

We rocked more firmly. I could feel his penis throbbing, twitching. His breathing went sporadic. We lost our rhythm. Spastic, knees wobbling, he pressed as hard as he could into me. I bore down on him with all my might, clenching my teeth.

“Oh fuck!” He yelled again. And then the hot fluid oozed within me.

We stood motionless, wet. I started again, rocking my twat against his hands. He groaned. He started to slip out of me. His hot come filled the void. His penis was smaller. My ass ached, but I was not in pain. I worried before that he would rip me if he thrust into me, but he didn’t thrust.

Now, smaller, his come lubricating me even more, he thrust, and I quivered with the sensation. Again, and again, and again, and I marveled at the way it felt. Just as I settled into the sensation and wanted more, he slipped out of me.

He pulled his hands away from my pussy and used them to turn me at the hips. I straightened up, and the come trickled out of me. I turned to him. He hugged me. I hugged him. His come trickled down the inside of my thigh. We kissed, and I noticed the rain was pouring down on us now. When had that started? It pelted us. My skin was hot, the oil was washing off of us. The rain began to hurt.

I whispered in his ear. “Whew wee, now that was kind of different.”

We went inside.

I hardly remember what happened for the rest of that night. I remember a much-needed shower, and sleeping together in my bed. We made love in the morning, sleepy, slow, warm, relaxing love. We had breakfast at Steve’s Diner, a short walk from the house.

Everyone came back to the house that afternoon. For a few days I felt awkward around him, but he didn’t change at all. Time went by, it began to seem as if nothing had happened. I didn’t want him to think I was following him around like a hound dog, although part of me wanted to do just that. I kept my distance. A three days went by. I think he was purposefully tantalizing me.

For the first time, I began to interject some anal stimulation into my masturbation fantasies, but nothing felt like what happened to me that night. Tom haunted my fantasies anyway. I couldn’t think of anything else – just long fuck sessions with him. I had finally made up my mind I was going to jump him when he surprised me in my room one night, knocking on my door with a six-pack of beer. Ha, I thought, I outlasted him.

We listened to the radio, and made love, missionary style, the way I like it, simple and straight, nice. In fact, it was great, but I won’t bore you with the details. I finally surmised that his interest in me was purely casual, sexual and platonic. No strings, no baggage, no jealousy, no rules. I felt relieved, in one sense, though part of me wanted him to follow me around like a hound dog, begging for my attention and my mercies. I accepted the challenge and convinced myself that he was just a housemate I occasionally rubbed up against naked. Nothing more. I liked that idea. I wondered what the future would hold for us.

In the month that followed Tom and I made love about twice a week. He graciously attempted to please me a few times with oral-anal sex, but I could never regain the rapture of that night in the living room and backyard. I think I learned that that sex is only as good as the passion of the moment. It’s no use trying to recreate moments in the past. Each new moment and new experience must take on its own life and power.

As the summer progressed, there were some silly, sexual episodes around the house that didn’t amount to much. One night, on an impromptu “double date,” Amy and Charlie and Tom and I went to a club and danced to a local Ska band till the place closed. When we got back to the house, I announced I was going to take a shower. Actually, I just wanted to be first in line, but we were hot and sweaty, and more than a little drunk, and it was Amy that suggested we all take a shower together.

We each went back to our rooms, and then we met at the shower room in robes or a towel The shower room was the size of a small bedroom, with six showerheads in all. I was nervous at first, but Amy disrobed without hesitation and started a shower. After Tom and Charlie had entered, I took off my robe and hung it on a hook. We each took a separate showerhead. I’ve had some fantasies about what might have happened from there, but once we were clean, we dried off and after an awkward moment we split up as couples.

We went to our usual rooms that night to have our usual sex. I did, however, get a glimpse of what might have so interested Amy so interested in Charlie. Nerdy as he was, he had an amazing cock. I felt embarrassed to look at it when we were all in the shower together precisely because I really wanted to look at it. It wasn’t gigantic. Certainly not in that Harry Reams “Deep Throat” sort of way – that’s just sick-scary. No, for Charlie’s penis the right word was substantial. His cock was meaty. It hung from him thick and full, nicely proportioned. I imagined it would feel heavy in my hand, if I ever were to have it in my hand (and I would – patience). In any event, it intrigued me, and I suspected that was why Amy seemed somewhat possessive of Charlie.

As well as Amy and Charlie were getting along, I noticed that Amy flirted with Tom and Mike quite a bit. Of course, I could have been misinterpreting her intentions (I wasn’t – patience again). She was always rubbing their shoulders and touching their hands and hugging them. I concluded at the time that that’s just the way she was. She rubbed my shoulders and touched my hand and gave me hugs, too, and I didn’t think much of it. I struggled a little bit, however, with my feelings about the way she flirted with Tom. Jealousy is an ugly thing, and I tried to reason my way out of those feelings. I had no reason to be jealous, both because I was sure there was no way she had anything going on with Tom (I couldn’t help but think of her as Charlie’s girl), and because I had no claim on Tom whatsoever (I kept telling myself this). Deep down, though, I know that it is very difficult to share yourself sexually with someone (especially with the reckless abandon I shared with Tom) and not feel some kind of emotional investment and attachment. I really liked him. The funny thing is that if he had treated me any differently, like he was invested in or attached to me, I wouldn’t have liked him nearly as much. It was the casualness of or relationship that turned me on. It was just about the sex, and for that time in my life that was just fine by me. I was going to California very soon to start a new life, and I thought this was a great way to ring out my old life.

The semester wound down. My last final exam was scheduled for Friday, July 20. That Saturday I’d kick back, pack up, and then on Sunday I’d say my good byes and drive home. The following Tuesday I’d say good bye to my folks, get into my crappy, beat up 1972 Chevelle, and say goodbye to my Midwestern world. I tried to stay calm as July rolled on, let each day go by as it would, but inside of me I wanted to scream with excitement. I was nervous, but in a good way – a great way.

Friday the 13th of July was my last day of classes. I thought that was appropriate. I woke up to a muggy room that morning. It had been a relatively hot summer, but it felt particularly hot and humid. By the time I left the house for my 10:00am class it was already 80 degrees.

Amy was loading a few things into her car in the driveway when I stepped out, and I was a little early so we chatted. She casually mentioned to me that she was going to meet her boyfriend at a resort up north. A boyfriend? No “boyfriend” had ever visited her at the house, at least not while I was there. I thought of all those nights I could hear her whopping it up with Charlie in her room. I would be in the ladies’ bathroom brushing my teeth or letting out my hair, and I would hear her moaning, or calling out a command or two that I couldn’t quite make out through the wall. A boyfriend? – well good for her, I thought. She said she would be back on Sunday, and we said goodbye and I went off to class.

I was very excited when I got back to the house early that afternoon. My classes were finally over, and the exams I had left were going to be easy: Business Psychology on Wednesday and Modern Fiction that Friday. Piece of cake. I really didn’t even have to study. D minuses or better, and I was through (I ended up with Bs, in case you were curious).

I wanted to talk to someone, but no one was at the house. Mike had already left for the weekend the day before. Tom and Charlie had said they would be around that weekend, but they were nowhere to be found. I put on my bikini, opened the windows in the living room, put on the radio. I stopped at the bar and rubbed some tanning oil into my skin. The oil was fragrant and familiar of summer. I thought of the baby oil, and looked at the bottle and smiled. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator as I went through the kitchen and went out back to stretch out on the chaise.

It was gloriously hot. The air was thick and muggy. The sun massaged my muscles with heat, and the humidity pulled the sweat from my pores. After an hour, and a second beer, I was feeling lightheaded and distant. I was almost in a dream. I tried thinking about Tom, and sex, but then my thoughts turned to Charlie instead.

Poor Charlie. I wondered if he knew about Amy’s boyfriend. Certainly, Amy didn’t care if he knew, or she wouldn’t have told me. Not that I would say anything – I wouldn’t, but she couldn’t be certain of that. Maybe he knew. Who cares, really?

In my minds eye I saw Charlie in that shower, wet and tall, skin glistening in the dull florescent light. I was there too, naked and wet, but it was just the two of us. I was admiring his penis again, this time without the shame or fear of being caught looking. (When did I become such an admirer of penises?) His penis was a beautiful thing to behold. As I had that night in the shower, I wanted to hold it. I reached out for it in my dream. On the chaise, in the backyard, I felt my hand slide over my oily skin and into my bikini bottoms. My skin was hot and slippery. I pressed my middle finger down into the soft crease of my pussy, and I was hotter and wetter still. It was like I had a fever. My finger burned. I shuddered ever so slightly.

In my dream I was holding his stiffening cock in my hand, squeezing it, marveling at its heft. In the chaise I was fingering my clit, dampening my bikini bottoms with my wetness, my slippery sweat, and the humidity. Without thinking about it I brought my knees up and spread my legs wider. I heard myself sigh a moan under my breath. I rubbed my clit more vigorously, and it hardened and sensitized. What if someone sees me? The thought drifted by. I didn’t care. And then I heard something, and I did care, a lot.

“Hey, Annie, what’s up.”

My hand shot out of my suit and my dream vanished. I sat up. It was Tom in the doorway leading to the kitchen. I was embarrassed. Then I thought why should I be, It’s just Tom? And then I thought of a reason. Oh no!

“Where’s Charlie?” I asked, and the panic I tried to suppress in my voice betrayed me.

“Beat’s me. I was working out at the Rec Center.” There was a pause. “It’s cool,” he said reassuringly, but it only refueled my embarrassment. So, he was definitely on to me. Oh well.

“Want a beer,” he asked casually.

“No thanks,” I replied, “I’ll just fall asleep.”

Who cares, I thought. So a guy I’ve made love two at least ten times (who’s had his dick up my ass for chrisakes) catches me giving myself a feel in the back yard. Big deal. I thought I’d try to change the subject.

“Pretty hot, eh?” Oops.

“I’ll say,” he said slyly.

He walked over to me. He was wearing khaki shorts and a short sleeve, white button down shirt, untucked, just a couple buttons holding it on. He should have been on the bow of sailboat. I lost my breath for a moment.