Encounters 4

1. Introduction

"Let's talk sex," Jane said, suddenly.

There was a brief silence.

Carol, Pat and Linda looked at each other, then at Jane.

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Jane said defensively. "Don't you get tired of this chit chat about movies 'n stuff? I do."

"But, Jane," Pat said. She was the definitive brunette. "Think where we are."

She looked around. The IHOP was mostly empty and the booths nearby unoccupied. Still!

"What? You're all ashamed? Of sex?"

"People will hear," Carol said. She was the definitive blonde, long hair thrown over one shoulder.

"So?"

"It's embarrassing," said Linda.

"Why? What's wrong with talking sex? Everybody does it, you know."

"But they don't talk about it," Pat said. "Not in public, at least."

"Well they should. And some do. I once sat in the next booth while a couple discussed the night they'd just spent together. Sounded like a 'first night'. But plenty of action."

"A redhead, probably. Like you," Carol said to Jane, a trifle sardonically.

"You got a charge from that?" Pat asked Jane.

"Well .. No actually. It was practically a monologue, she telling him what he'd done wrong, how Pete had done it 'this way', and Simon 'that way'.. Tell the truth I felt sorry for the guy. He hardly said a word. She was obviously an extreme narcissist."

"Sounds like a nympho!" Carol said,

"Why? Because she liked a lot of sex?"

"Just sounded obsessed with it."

"Well she was focused on herself, not doubt about that."

There was silence for a moment. Then Linda said, timidly,

"Look, if we're going to talk sex, then fine. But someplace else."

"Like where?" Jane said.

"Well ... er ... we could go to my place. Not enough chairs, though," Linda added, perhaps hoping this was sufficient to snuff the idea.

"Great!" Jane said. "To hell with the chairs. We'll sit on the floor. Let's pick up some Chardonnay and have some fun."

2. Linda's place

Linda was the only one of the four who had her own apartment. It was tiny, but she preferred to live alone. Linda's hair was neither blonde nor brunette but sort of brownish, and she had not lost entirely the freckles that had plagued her as a teenager. She thought of herself as plain, especially when compared with the other three, who were assuredly not. They knew they were attractive and all three, especially Jane, were not above flirting with a guy, then leaving him peremptorily with his tongue hanging out. They turned down ten dates for every one they accepted.

Linda was rarely approached. This was not because she didn't like sex, or was prudish about it. Not at all. Alone in her apartment, she masturbated long and often and her collection of toys would have done credit to a porn studio. But this was a private side of her. It was not apparent to others, either in her body language or in the clothes she wore.

Linda managed to find four glasses, which she punctiliously washed and dried. She possessed no cork-screw, but that did not matter. The wine bottles had screw tops. The table was shoved into a corner, the coverlet pulled from the bed and spread out on the floor along with all the cushions and pillows Linda could find. She'd produced candles. A nice touch. They flickered, then burned steadily. A soft, soothing light. Romantic.

The girls settled, sipping wine. They'd bought four bottles. One each.

"Not bad," Pat said, "for three bucks."

There was an awkward silence.

"Well go on, then," Carol said, aiming in Jane's direction.

"What?"

"Talk sex. That's what you wanted isn't it?"

"Sure. Ok. Let's talk sex."

She hesitated. Carol, Pat and Linda were looking at her expectantly.

"Well, go on then," Carol repeated.

"Look," said Jane at length. "If this is going to work we need to get in the mood."

"We are," Carol said, replenishing her wine glass pointedly. "Go on. Get on with it."

"No I mean really."

"What, really?"

Pause.

"How about we start by getting naked?"

"What!?

"Get real!"

"Why not? It's hot as hell in here. Be more comfortable, anyway."

Pause.

"It's not as though we haven't seen each other before, like, in the shower after volleyball."

"That's different," Carol said.

"Yeah! This is, well, a bit intimate," Pat said.

Linda said nothing. She was terrified.

"I don't mean do .. stuff," Jane said. "What's wrong with being nude? Hell, if I had my own place I'd never wear clothes. And I don't use underwear anyway," she continued, and raised her skirt to prove it.

Which proved also that red was her natural hair color.

"Well please yourselves. I'm going to anyway," Jane said, slipping off her blouse and unhooking her skirt. She was not fibbing. No bra either. In a few seconds, Jane regained her pose, leaning on the cushions and sipping her wine, naked except for a bangle on her left wrist.

The other three stared at her as though she were a ghost.

"Come on then. Let's talk sex," Jane said.

Pat looked at Carol, and Carol looked at Pat. Jane's body was slender, small breasts with pronounced nipples, a flat stomach, long, slim legs. They did not for a moment admit to themselves that the sight aroused them, just shrugged as if to say 'Hell, I'm not ashamed of what I've got.' Both wore underwear, a minor impediment. In ten seconds, they'd sprawled out in the soft cushions on the coverlet, Carol naked except for a pendant around her neck. Pat wore only an ankle bracelet.

"Cheez, you guys," Jane said. "Look at those red lines. Why d'you do that to yourselves?"

Carol's body was milk white, marked only by the elastic of panties and bra. Pat's skin was darkened slightly by the sun, except for her breasts and her lower belly, which were white -- a brief bikini to be sure, but one which covered 'essential parts'. Jane's body was an even brown. Not a mark, no line to be seen.

Now Linda was truly terrified. Sure, they'd all showered together often enough. But Linda was self-conscious about her body. The towel came off with her back turned, and went around her again the instant the shower was turned off.

In truth, she did not need to be self-conscious at all. When she bowed to the inevitable, stripped with her back turned away, then, sighing, slumped down on the cushions, the body that Linda revealed to Jane, Carol and Pat made theirs seem girlish. Linda's was the body of a woman, curves in all the right places, a slight belly, largish breasts which bobbed rather than sagged. And those puffy areolas, tipped with large dark nipples!

She tucked her legs beneath her, but anyone would have told her there was no cause to hide firm thighs, slender ankles. Every part of Linda's body matched perfectly every other part.

Jane, Pat and Carol could not help but stare.

"What?" Linda said, crossly.

"Sorry, Linda," Pat said. "I guess I'd forgotten how gorgeous you are."

She stroked her own, smallish breasts, perhaps in envy.

"If that's meant to be a joke, it's not very funny," Linda said, in a sulky tone.

"Hell, No! Of course not," Carol chimed in. "You have it all, in all the right places. Don't tell me you don't know that."

Linda did not know it -- fashion models were positively skeletal. She was not.

"They're right, Linda," said Jane, sensing Linda's disquiet. "What we wouldn't all give for puffies like those."

"Oh! Shut up!" Linda said, not quite so crossly now. She did not know quite what to make of it, but perhaps even at that early point in the proceedings made a decision. Once she was alone, she'd study her body in the mirror she'd been avoiding for years. Maybe her friends were sincere, and right.

"Ok," Pat said to Jane. "We all got naked. What now?"

"First tell me, though," Jane replied. "Doesn't it feel nice? To be completely nude, I mean? It's only when I get rid of silly clothes that I feel like I'm myself."

"Well that's you, Jane," Carol said, tossing her hair so it fell onto the coverlet like a waterfall. "We're not all made the same way."

"True, Carol," Pat said. "But she has a point. I mean, you can hide lots beneath clothes. But when you're nude, you're.. well .. naked. No hiding."

"Precisely," Jane said with emphasis. "And that goes for the inside of you as well as the outside. I mean your brain," she continued, realizing suddenly that the remark could be misconstrued. "Off with the clothes, away go the inhibitions. You become free."

There was a brief pause while the other three girls reflected on Jane's remark, sipping wine as they did so.

"Seriously," Jane said. "Anyone feel uncomfortable? You Carol?"

"Well, No! I suppose not."

"Pat?"

"No! I think you're right. To be honest, I'd do the same as you, when I'm alone. But it's not so easy with two guys in the house."

"What?" said Jane. "You don't screw them?"

"Hell No! They're housemates. Guys, girls all together. We're friends. We each have our own room and it's sacrosanct. That's the deal."

Jane kept her thoughts on this to herself. She said,

"What about you, Linda? You looked uncomfortable before. You ok now?"

"I guess so," Linda replied, and was surprised to find she actually meant it.

"Ok!" Pat said. "Enough horsing around. We're here to talk sex. Your idea, Jane. What's next?"

"Well.." Jane paused.

"Well?"

"I have a suggestion. Get things going, kinda thing."

"Which would be?"

"We each recount an event in our lives, an erotic encounter we've had. One that stands out in memory."

Long silence.

"Look, if you don't like the idea, that's fine. You guys come up with something."

Carol looked at Pat, who looked at Linda, who looked at Carol. Three shrugs, of resignation?

"Ok!" said Pat. "You go first, Jane."

"Oh! No! We're going to do this, we do it properly. Look, this bottle's empty already. We spin it and whoever it points to goes next. Ok? ... Oh! One further rule. No commentary, right? Everyone gets their turn, the others shut up. No interruptions. We talk only at the end. OK?"

A fresh, full bottle o wine was unscrewed, the empty bottle duly washed out...

...And spun.....

3. Carol's Encounter

"It was back in college. I suppose we all have great memories of college. Shame it couldn't last for ever.

A perfect summer day. Blue sky, hot sun, flowers, lush green grass. You couldn't be in class on a day like that, not even with exams coming.

I took a book out onto the big meadow -- you know the one. I nestled into the grass beneath one of those lovely old oaks with their shady leaves and kicked off my shoes. The book was a collection of Chekhov's short stories. Required reading. A sap to my conscience I suppose.

Don't get me wrong, I love Chekhov. But that day I just could not get into it. It was too wonderful to be out amongst the trees, birds twittering, flowers in full bloom dotting the meadow. I let the book fall and lay on my back, stretched out, looking up through the leaves at the sky.

I suppose you could say he snuck up on me. One moment there was no-one, the next he was there, lying beside me, on his back also, maybe for quite a while. Hard to tell how long he was there before I became aware of him. I wasn't at all frightened, though I suppose I should have been. There'd been a spate of rapes on Campus and we'd all been warned. But in broad daylight, with plenty of other people lying about within hearing distance, doing what I was doing, drinking in the beauty of the day? All I'd have to do was holler.

I sensed that he'd turned on his side, towards me and was looking at me. You always know, don't you, when someone is looking. I turned too, in his direction. A young man, maybe a few years older than me. Dark complexion -- Hispanic, maybe, I thought -- a simple white shirt, an amulet around his neck and blue jeans. He was rather pretty. In fact so pretty, my instant thought was that he may be gay.

He said nothing. He didn't even smile, just looked at me, directly in the eyes. I felt the need to speak, but he raised a finger to his lips. His eyes held mine. For some reason I remained silent. We just stared at each other.

I know this is going to sound odd. But it's the way it was. I can't account for my behavior. It just happened this way. His touch was so gentle, a thrill coursed through me, a shiver, which intensified as his fingers slid slowly up beneath my dress, caressing my thighs, higher and higher.

I wanted to close my eyes, but he sensed this too. Softly, as though from the far distance, his voice:

"Please keep them open. I want to share your pleasure."

"Someone will see," I said, shakily, as his hand moved higher still, and reached the band of my panties.

"They will see a man and a woman lying side by side. That is all."

Then,

"Your pleasure will be greater if you slip them off. No-one will see. No-one will know."

Those eyes. They had a mystic hold. And not only on my eyes. He had some mysterious hold on me, all of me. We broke gaze for the brief moment it took me to glance about, then in a single movement, slide my panties off. They lay on the grass between us, a pink flower.

As his fingers grazed their innards, caressing so softly one could almost imagine they were made of silk, my thighs shook, and parted slightly, allowing a finger in between. Its tip touched the moist lips of my pussy, retreated, advanced, opening me out so slowly, so heavenly slowly.

His face showed no expression. Just his eyes, which mine clung to as though in a vice.

My thighs had edged further apart, willing his fingers in, one, then two, then three, caressing the wet inner walls of my pussy lips, round and round, back and forth.

My body began to quiver.

"Be still," he murmured. "Show me only with your eyes."

One finger now explored the outer walls of my vagina, the other two spread my petals, always moving, stroking, pressing lightly. I was so, so close. The moment he entered me, I knew I'd come. So did he. Two fingers, sliding in, then out, then in, a bit further, then pressing up....

My thighs clamped tight on his hands. I could no more control this than the exhalation of breath. I fought to still the shaking of my body.

What showed in my eyes, I know not. But they did not close. My thighs had, but as the palpitations of my vagina abated, they opened again, wider.

His fingers began again, two in, deeper now, two out, in again, out. My groin moved down, inviting, begging a finger on my clit. One touch, and I'd be over the top again.

But that touch was denied. In, out, in out, steady, slow, regular, on and on until he saw it in my eyes. In, out, up, press....

"Still," came his voice from afar.

But my body refused to obey. My vagina quivered, then tensed, relaxed, tensed, faster and faster until it was vibrating right up to my innards. My thighs were clamped again tight on his fingers, and the utterance I let out was inadvertent, though muted,

"OhMiGod!"

Still our eyes held contact, and if he saw pain in mine, it was the pain of exquisite pleasure. I had not known it could be this sublime.

I recall mouthing something like,

"No more. I can't take any more."

He said,

"Oh Yes you can. You've hardly begun."

He waited for my breathing to return to normal, my thighs to unclamp. My vagina felt numb, but where his fingers were exploring now was not. The silent wish of my groin was granted and my clit was on fire.

If my first two orgasms measured 7 on the Richter scale, the third was an 8.5. It began in my clit and shot right up to my brain, then back again, up and down, in waves, on and on.

Eventually, the fingers on my clit desisted. The earth merely vibrated. And still my eyes remained fixed on his. I recall saying something like,

"Another one of those and I'll pass out."

He said,

"When you pass out, I will stop."

He was not joking.

I can't relate much more. I must have entered a trance like state in which orgasms followed so rapidly on each other they were practically continuous.

If heaven is like that, I'd die willingly on the spot.

And then, I guess, I did pass out.

When I came to, he was gone.

I'll always wonder who he was."

4. Linda's Encounter

"You guys know that I'm shy, and, Yes! lacking in self-confidence. I don't get many dates so don't be surprised if my story is nothing like as good as Carol's. Not much happened to me in College. I lost my virginity to an idiot -- the only men who try to date me even today are either ugly, or idiots, or both. Except for one...

It was not so long ago. Last winter. It was raining like crazy and I'd gone out unprepared. I was walking, half-running, home from work, trying to keep my hair dry with my shoulder bag, when this car pulls up beside me. Of course, this makes me walk faster, but the car followed me and in the end, I decided to stop, give the idiot an earful and hopefully send him on his way. I mean, which girl gets into the car of a totally strange male?

I did.

I can't define precisely what it was. Perhaps his opening line. I was expecting 'Can I give you a ride' or something like that, but what he said took me by surprise.

"I need to talk to someone."

I got a good look at him, much older than me, maybe 45, hair graying a bit around the edges, about my height, not fat. Quite presentable, really. And he did have the look of a man who 'needed to talk to someone'.

'How does such a man look', you may ask. I really can't define it. It was just so. As I hesitated, he said, simply,

"Please?"

And that was it. I still don't know what I was thinking. Maybe, well, you know, I don't have much of a social life -- you guys are about all there is -- and I for sure don't get to meet many men. This one looked distinctly unthreatening, he did not look like an idiot, and if 'I need to talk to someone' was a line, it's not in any dating book I've ever read.

So we drive a block or two in silence, me sitting in the passenger seat drying out a bit, him concentrating on the traffic. Then he says,

"I'll take you home, if you like. I don't want to be a burden."

Well, like, I'm going to lead a strange man to where I live? So I says,

"You said you needed to talk. What about?"

He didn't answer directly, but then said,

"My life's a mess. I don't know why I bother."

He seemed so morose, and his tone was so -- well, dead -- I wondered suddenly.

"What? You mean...?"

"I admit I've thought about it, but No! That's not the answer."

"It surely isn't!"

"Listen, I'm sorry. I don't want to burden you with my problems. Let me just drive you home, or tell me somewhere you'd like to be let out."

By now, of course, he's got me intrigued. I still don't see him as a threat. And I definitely don't want to read in the paper that some guy drove off a bridge into the harbor and drowned -- after I'd brushed him off. So I says,

"If you want to talk, let's go someplace where we can talk. A café, or a bar or somewhere."

"Really? You have time? You don't have another engagement?"

I mean, if he only knew.

"No! I have time. No problem."

"If you mean it, well, there's a very good restaurant not far from here. It would be a pleasure for me to invite you to dinner there. If it's not being too audacious."

"Sounds ok," I says. "But we go Dutch, right?"

"Whatever you like," says he.

Well, we get to this place and it's a fancy Italian. The whole works. I decide instantly that if he wants to pick up the tab, I'm not going to stop him.

Well, to cut a long story short, over a dinner you could only describe as fabulous, not to mention a couple of bottles of a Chianti Classico you're not going to find in any supermarket, this guy let's out what's on his mind.

He's married -- surprise, surprise -- the kids are at college, he's some kind of financial wizard -- who just got fired. He just tells me, very matter of fact.

"No reason given. That's what's happening these days. Even if you're good at your job, no mistakes, no scandal, you can get fired just like that. And once you're out no-one wants you. You're all washed up, discarded, irrelevant."