Dance Me to the End of Love

All of This and Nothing

Having spent at least the last five minutes adjusting the water temperature to my liking, I had just gotten in the shower, when there was a loud knock on the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in, like, five ..."

"Sorry—do you mind—Ah gotta go

real

bad!"'

"Oh alright, sure."

Laughing as she entered, Callie said, "Promise Ah won't look!"

A minute or so later, the movement of light and shadow, visible through the shower curtain, told me that she had stood up. The toilet flushed, and almost immediately, she shouted,

"Look out! Oh mah God, Ah'm so sorry about that!"

I jumped out of the way of the scalding hot water, and found myself almost face-to-face with a very naked Calliope, who was peering around the edge of the shower curtain, eyeing (with what could only be described as an evil grin on her face), the sudsy by-product of my arousal.

"Ah see

someone's

been enjoyin' themselves in the shower. What'cha been thinkin' about, huh, dude?"

Making a half-hearted attempt to turn around, I stammered, "Um, nothing, really." (This was a wildly transparent lie—I had been furiously jerking off, as I tried to visualize kissing and licking most of Calliope's body. And I

think

she knew it.)

"Well, may Ah join you?"

"Wait, Cal. Are you, um, sure this is a good i--?"

"Hmm, Ah see you like using

mah

soap too, uh, to—" adding, with a tiny flick of her head, "How should Ah put it?"

"I like the way it smells," I mumbled.

"Uh huh, Ah just bet you do. And?"

Totally busted, I figured I should come at least partly clean

[I know—terrible pun, but too good to pass up, don't you agree?],

and admitted, in a would-be suave tone,

"It reminds me of you."

"Cute."

"No, what I meant to say—"

Climbing in, she squeezed past me to get under the shower stream, which was still too hot for me. I tried to hide my surging hard-on, keeping my back to her.

"Oh yeah? Ah believe," she chirped, "what you

meant to say

is, 'Um, Calliope, Ah was daydreamin' about what it'd feel like to use your pretty-smellin' soap to lather up those little titties of yours. But then Ah got all hot'n'bothered..."

And, though I couldn't see it, I knew her well enough to guess that she had accompanied this soliloquy with a mime of a guy masturbating, adding,

"An' Ah just had to use it to, y'know—'"

She reached around me, wagging her fingers to demand the soap, and when one of her hands "accidentally" brushed my dick, she giggled softly.

I turned slowly—so unmistakably, totally, achingly (un-

hide

-ably), hard, that I was afraid I'd come if I even looked at her. (And I'm

sure

she knew that.) As my eyes met hers, she did a little shimmy which made her breasts jiggle (which, in turn, redirected my gaze), and said,

"Well, here they are, dude—lather away!"

We switched places awkwardly, and I began, gingerly, to soap up Calliope's little boobs. As she closed her eyes, I remembered how sensitive her nipples were, and I delicately traced patterns over and around them, rolling them between my fingers, and occasionally pinching them hard, causing her to moan out loud. Gradually, I swirled the fragrant, slick, foamy suds over more and more of her—shoulders, arms, hips, belly, but she clamped her thighs together on the hand that had migrated between her legs. Eyes still closed, breathing deeply, she released my hand and turned around.

Continuing this sensuous soapy massage, I kneaded her shoulders and neck, then down her back. Crouching to get all the way to her feet, my hands sent an occasional shiver through her, as I touched some especially ticklish spots.

As I rose back up, Calliope abruptly leaned forward, arms outstretched to brace herself against the wall, and shoved her butt straight back at me. I had to grab onto her hips to keep from toppling backwards; this had the dual effects of saving me from likely injury, and nestling my still-rigid cock between those soap-slick, supple, orbs. She called out,

.

"Ah think you missed a spot!"

and began to gyrate her hips, her butt bouncing wildly.

[Ed. Note: The term "twerk" had not yet been coined at this time.]

Gasping, then letting out a long breath, trying to maintain, I sighed,

"Oh my God, Cal— Cal, wait! Cal—!"

Giggling, she ground her ass against me even harder, overriding the paltry amount of control I still had. A little geyser erupted, splattering cum all over her back, and even reaching into her hair. This caused her to laugh out loud and shout,

"Hah! Dude, y'all got a big fuckin'

mess

to clean up now,

don'cha

?"

After a few more seconds, she turned around, and reached up to kiss me—just a quick peck on the cheek. Wriggling and shimmying downwards, she rubbed her soft belly and firm tits on my sagging, but still-sensitive dick, then sucked the head into her pert mouth so hard, there was a soft pop when she released it. Offering a cheerful "Mmm, yeah!" when I shuddered violently, she methodically cleaned up the last couple of pearly drops with the very tip of her tongue. I shuddered again, involuntarily.

Rising again, she smiled broadly, and said, in an disarmingly polite, charming voice (with some gratuitous eyelash-batting thrown in for effect),

"Sir, would you be so

kind

as to help me get cleaned up?"

When I merely held out what was left of the bar of soap, she whined,

"Well, that's no

fun

. 'Sides, Ah can't even reach that part of mah back y'all covered with your

jee-izz

!"

"Uh, sorry. Of course I'll—"

"Awwh, thank you!"

I washed her beautiful dark hair, and gently washed the rest of her body, caressing and kissing each spot as I went.

When I was done, Calliope stepped out of the shower, then turned and looked back at me. Her expression was calm, but unreadable. I leaned down toward her and she kissed me deeply (this gave me a renewed tingling feeling all over), then just let go, and stepped away wordlessly. I finished showering, then stepped out carefully, as she was toweling off and drying her hair. (The bathroom was tiny, making it almost impossible for our bodies not to touch, causing the tingling sensations I'd felt moments ago to crystallize into something more tangible.)

"Are you mad," she asked, in a voice at once taunting and matter-of-fact, "that Ah kinda took advantage of ya?"

"Well, no, but—"

"But," she prodded, "you're a little mad?"

Then she bent over, with a little, sighing "Mmmm," to get something from the cabinet under the sink, again proffering her cute, round ass to me, with a little shake. I gulped, and tried to respond, lamely offering,

"I, uh..."

[I'm surprised that I was even able to emit those two syllables, as I pictured myself exploring that sweet, dark rosebud—so purposefully displayed—with my tongue, imagining the noises she would make. Dammit—I'm getting hard again!]

"Oh, I'ma make it up to ya, alright!" she said, straightening up and turning back to me in a flash, batting her eyelashes again, as she observed the effects of her little tease.

"That's not what I—"

"Matter of fact," she stated, now very businesslike, "we're gonna take care of this right here and now!"

Reaching into the flowery, chintz pouch she had just retrieved, she pulled out a tube of K-Y jelly, and dropped to her knees in front of me. Within a few minutes, the desired outcome achieved, she stood up and said, huskily,

"It should take exactly ten seconds to reach that ol' sofa out there. I'll give you

five

!"

Then she bolted from the bathroom, laughing.

Sprinting into the living room, I saw Calliope, breathtakingly splayed out on the couch in the thoroughly decadent attitude of an odalisque. Throwing one foot over the back of the couch, she let the other one flop to the floor, and hissed,

"Ah need

you

inside-a

me

!"

Wasting no time, I moved toward this sumptuous, obscenely-offered delight.

Very slowly and gently, I started to drag my well-lubricated glans up and down through the silky folds, pausing every so often to tease her opening—she was already very wet, and getting wetter fast. I leaned in, my weight pinning the whole steely rod against her vulva. I began to run it up and down, like a canoe sliding through water, every so often whipping it back and forth across her clit, and thought I felt a mini-orgasm course through her body. Her breathing became faster and more intense, until she rumbled,

"Now, give it to me.

Hard

!"

Lightly circling the entrance, letting it relax and continue to open, I gradually introduced the thick tip of my cock, a fraction of an inch at a time. When it seemed that she could just about accommodate the entire head, I grabbed the lube which she had conveniently brought with her from the bathroom, and squeezed a big blob onto it, then whispered in her ear,

"Ready?"

"Ah just

told

you," she growled, "Give it to me

NOW

, you fuckin' sonofabitch!"

I plunged straight down into her; as the head of my cock breached the vestibule, and started entering her fully, she gasped. I backed gently out, and heard her exhale with another little shiver. Grabbing the lube, I drained the tube onto both of us, and resumed—advancing a little farther into her, one short stroke at a time.

Slowly, I built up to a solid rhythm, until I was sinking all but the last three-quarters-of-an-inch at the very thick base of my shaft deep inside her. As I pumped harder, Calliope wrapped her legs around me; her breath was coming faster, deep and ragged, punctuated now and then as she cried out,

"Ohhhhh, fuck yessss."

I slowed down a little, then suddenly withdrew entirely; grunting, she tried to pull me back with her (surprisingly strong!) legs, but I pushed them off, and stood up to face her, hands on my hips, my cock dripping and shiny, jutting out like a ship's bowsprit.

"On your knees," I ordered her, indicating a spot on the couch, "right there."

Surprised, I suppose, at my sudden assertiveness, she did it, then turned to look back at me, her eyes narrowed and lustful. Moving in behind her, I pushed her legs farther apart, and began sliding my rigid tool in and out between them. I wrapped my arms around her, and kissed her neck and shoulders, caressing and gently squeezing her tits, then pinching their dark peaks, hard. She squealed (literally!), and I pushed her away, her hands landing on the back of the couch. Guiding the slick purple head of my cock once more between her quivering thighs, I gently parted the gates of pleasure, and almost immediately began thrusting into her deeply.

The sensation of fucking her from behind was indescribable. Apparently, Calliope felt the same way, as she arched her back, and began banging her soft, cushiony ass into me, hissing,

"Oh FUCK yeah, yes, yes, yes, yessss!"

My fingers found her clit, and played it like an instrument, a wild syncopated rhythm accompanying my strokes. In a hoarse, constricted voice, she yelled,

"You

bastard

, fuck me like a goddam

animal

—DON'T STOP!"

Then her arms suddenly gave way, and she fell onto the couch, shaking, rolled onto her side, and curled herself into a ball. Hands over her face, she heaved great sighing breaths, interspersed with barely audible words. I could only just make out her whispering,

"What the—? Goddam— More— Come— Fuck..."

I dropped to the couch myself, sitting at Calliope's feet, panting. Playfully, gently, I swatted her ass, and heard a muffled, dreamy voice say,

"Ooooh."

When I spanked her a second time, a bit harder, she uttered a deep,

"Mmmm."

With my third, hard, slap, she issued a breathy,

"Yeah,

that's

right, dude."

But before I could raise my hand again, Calliope had turned over, crawled on top of me, and in one motion, guided my still-hard, pulsating rod into herself, ensheathing almost all of it. Eyes closed, she ground her mons veneris against my body, little cries escaping her open mouth. Electric sensations coursed through me, and as I felt myself starting to come, my hips jerked upward uncontrollably, forcefully, completely burying my cock in her wet, sloppy, divinely tight little snatch. Now stretched to the limit, she exhorted me to press on (

not

in those words, as you might have guessed).

She must have been very close to orgasm again herself, because moments after a few spurts of hot, sticky cum flooded into her, I felt her pussy tighten, vise-like, around my thick shaft. She shuddered and writhed in ecstasy for a minute, then fell limp onto my chest. When I had caught my breath again, I shifted around and stretched out on the couch, with Calliope draped over me.

When we stirred again, she looked up and, with a very fake (and very pretty) pout, asked,

"Now, what kinda gentleman makes a lady lie on a big ol' wet spot like that?"

She had pointed at one random spot--out of dozens--on the couch. I had no choice but to reply,

"Cal, do you

really

think there's a single dry spot to be had here?"

We both laughed a little, then wrapped ourselves in the old quilt, and fell asleep on the couch, sweaty, sticky, and bathed in the heady, woodsy scent of our warm, entwined bodies.

Callie wasn't lying there when I woke up the next morning; it seemed that she had gone out. I didn't see her for days.

<<Years later, you would help me realize that these "disappearances" were the first intimations I would see, of a darkness she had buried so deeply that it felt safe. But it would continue to claw at her soul for years until, with no energy left to fight it, she swallowed the entire contents of a bottle of pain meds she had been prescribed (but had never taken) after an accident, washed them down with at least half a bottle of tequila, lay down on our bed with her arms around her babies, and fell softly asleep.>>

*****