The Thic of It

THE THICK OF IT

By

Norma Jane

1

The seven episode 'Andygyne' sequence I recently completed, about the initiation of a transwoman who had never had intercourse or climaxed, culminating in her consummating her long-held desire for her mother, Elaine, has reminded me of a delightful liaison over thirty years ago. A month's intense activity with an especially skilful and sensitive lover called, unusually, and appropriately, Kairos. Because that signified a sweet, opportune experience. He was one of the most wonderful lovers I have ever had, and I didn't find out until almost the conclusion of our affair the source of his unusual aptitudes, including ap-tit-udes. I'll come that later, because it is a wonderful story in itself.

2

Meantime. We met when he gave a talk to an adult education class in Greek drama, about the pronunciation of Ancient Greek. The class members had little knowledge of the language, and wanted to know how Sophocles sounded in his native tongue, and how the names should be spoken. Kairos was so stimulating that we were soon talking about other aspects of Fifth Century BCE Athenian and Spartan culture, including sexual mores and customs. Since homosexuality was accepted as part of a young man's development some of us wondered whether Lesbianism was common and equally acceptable.

Kairos reminded us of the poetess Sappho, who lived on Lesbos, and was famed for celebrating love between women. And we moved on to the lamentable fact that little is known about female sexual activity at that time. Thence we proceeded to ancient Rome, and he amused some, and shocked others, by informing us that there was in the women's bath-house in Pompei a little statue of Cupid with a prominent erection, which had evidently been used for 'invagination,' as he put it, by ladies frequenting that facility. The evidence, if any were needed, was that the penis was lighter in shade than the rest of the statue, suggesting a good deal of usage. Since the statue was apparently in the changing-room there was also the question of whether the women were happy to make use of it in front of each other. Maybe they took turns.

He had, in fact, been involved in archaeological excavations there, because his expertise was in 'Epigraphy,' the writing on tombs and monuments of all kinds. He told me later that he was a professor at an American university, where he also had a small apartment, but that he spent most of his time moving between sites all over Europe, and writing scholarly articles on his findings. Of course, he was fluent in Greek and Latin, and also spoke all the modern Romance languages (French, Spanish, Italian), which, he said, were easy when you already had Latin.

Physically he was medium height, five feet eight maybe, and compact, muscular, thanks to keeping fit in gyms, necessary for maintaining his peripatetic life, including, often, Spartan diet and accommodation. He was, I thought, Faun-like, though with shapely legs, his fair hair being short, fine, brushed back from his forehead. His atmosphere was warm, affectionate, accepting of whatever might come his way.

What came his way after that lecture was Norma Jane, for, though several of the other women, those who'd found the Pompeian Cupid's penis interesting, crowded round him, he ended up coming home with me, neither of us being in any doubt about what would follow the light supper I made.

When we arrived in my bedroom and embraced he simply held me for some minutes, enjoying the contact of our clothed bodies, before we began to kiss. His kissing wasn't urgent or pressing. He was simply enjoying it for its own sake, which was how be behaved in all situations, relishing each moment without needing to hasten to the next.

This was refreshing, and the first sign that his love-making was more like that of a woman than I was used to from a man. He even seemed to be waiting for me to move us on, or, better, for us to feel together that we might take the next step.

That step was that when we parted he didn't begin to undress me but took off his shirt and embraced me again. I felt that he was going to show himself, to give me the chance to decide that I didn't find him sufficiently attractive and terminate the situation. In fact, I liked his smooth chest and flat stomach, with their well-defined but not bulging musculature. He then went further, in a way I had seldom come across with a man before. He stepped back again and took off his trousers, revealing his neat, knicker-like, underpants, and stood awaiting my approval, which he certainly had. Registering this he took off the pants, revealing an apparently quite short but thick cock amid light brown pubic hair. He again awaited my approval, and I noted that there was no sign of erection, suggesting he wasn't going to get excited until sure that I had accepted him. That was fine by me.

Now it was obviously my turn to strip, and be scrutinised in turn, and he wasn't going to undress me. He was going to watch, and, I understood, relish every second of the process. So, without haste I undid my shirt buttons, pulled the garment out of my skirt and took it off. He smiled in appreciation of my embra'd bosom, which I was myself quite pleased with, because in those days my breasts were mature, nice and full, and still firm. I decided not to reveal them yet, but to take off my skirt next, which I did slowly, laying it, with the shirt on a chair. And there I was in my accustomed all-enveloping, white cotton knickers. He continued smiling, and nodded. The next part of the parading was to turn round and give him the benefit of my pantied bottom. This elicited a little 'mmm' of appreciation, which was gratifying, because my bum has always been on the large size and not all potential partners like a big one. Evidently, Kairos did like a fair sized one.

Still with my back to him I pushed my knickers all the way down and stepped out of them, removing my shoes with them. It was, I considered, now time for him to become a little more active. Which he did. He moved behind me, stroked my cheeks and tucked his now hard penis between them, the signal that we might now proceed towards greater intimacy.

I stepped away enough to turn round, and we embraced again, his rigid cock probing at my thighs. We kissed again, a long time, and he reached behind me and undid my bra. He made to move to take it off, content to wait until we parted again, when it would come free. Meanwhile he caressed my bottom, which is the moment to say that he had the most electrifying touch. Wherever he touched his hand, his fingers, seemed to transmit a kind of glow, not simply warmth but something more penetrating, as if he were directly inserting himself into every nerve-ending.

As I became aroused, so did he, until we were lying on my bed, side by side, he passing his lips and tongue over my nipples and I holding his penis, which, I realised, was of average length, six to seven inches, but at least half as thick again as the average. I was already imagining that big bulb parting my labia and expanding my vagina. But there was no hurry to get to that point. He was clearly enjoying my breasts greatly, and I was enjoying them greatly, too. That magical touch was present in his lips and tongue, and my nipples felt as if they would go on erecting forever. They were also on the verge of starting my orgasm, which he at once understood, for he gripped the right one against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and he took the left one between thumb and two finger-tips and squeezed, and I came sure enough, starting somewhere deep within my system and rapidly spreading like wildfire along my whole network of nerves.

The man was a conductor, directing the orchestra of my body, for, after the orgasm had faded, he released my nipples and transferred his attention to my vulva. He slid a hand under my bottom and inserted a finger into my vestibule, at the same time applying that tingling tongue to my clitoris, which rose readily to the touch.

I must pay this man the highest compliment: his cunnilingus, or cunniclitoris, was as good as a woman's. He seemed to know exactly how hard and how fast to lick, darting his tongue like a lizard, teasing and caressing, and within three minutes I came again, the climax radiating out from behind the clit and above the vagina. His enjoyment of the orgasm was almost as much as mine, I felt, judging by his 'mmm' of appreciation and delight. This was a person who loved to give pleasure, without yet pursuing his own. I understood he would happily go on all night, caressing me into coming for as long as I wanted and needed.

However, I now longed to engulf that club-like cock, to watch it, feel it, slowly glide into my well-prepared cunt. And, yet again, he knew that was what should happen next. And still without haste, he knelt up, got between my thighs as I lifted my knees, and moved forward, poised to penetrate. He paused, realising I wanted to see him enter, because I had raised my upper body for him to double up my pillow and put it behind my shoulders.

He looked into my eyes, making sure it was my wish for him to slide home. Then he felt for my entrance, delicately, as if taking a partner for a dance, engaged his tip between my labia and edged in a little further, his shield slowly parting my lips. Then he paused again, to relish the sensation of my warm, slippery vestibule welcoming him in. He looked into my eyes again, and pushed slowly on in, until his pubic hair was mixed with mine. He was all the way in, and surely ready to ejaculate.

But he was in no hurry. He was going to relish my vagina to the full, and I became aware that this man gave everything he did his whole attention. Most people are giving only a proportion of their attention at any one time. It may be 90% in some, rare, cases, but there is usually some other factor as well. For instance, the average man with his cock lodged in a vagina is probably thinking ahead to his ejaculation, or congratulating himself on being in that situation, or wondering how soon he can finish and go, or whether she'll want him to do it again. Kairos, however, was a hundred percent present, not thinking at all and simply absorbing every tiny detail of our union.

He was also looking into my eyes, with a warm intensity which induced a kind of hallucination, because I found that I was seeing myself as he was experiencing me. I was feeling his feeling of my swollen breasts and protruding nipples, and beyond that I was imagining the appearance of his cock within me so vividly that I actually wondered whether he had some source of vision in that questing cock, which was moving a few millimetres back and forth. What was the source of the light in there? Did his penis shine somehow with the intensity of sensation? The other marvel was that he knew what I was mentally 'seeing,' and he was waiting for me to reach maximal awareness before he came.

And I so much wanted him to come. The longing for that increased moment by moment. I just had to see, to feel, his sperm gush into my folds. He was still gazing into my eyes, and through that I registered the way our weight was compressing my bottom, tightening my hold on his penis. And then came the right moment, and I felt his cock expand and harder yet further before his semen flowed inside me, and I had the illusion I was watching it, absorbing it into my tissues, even sucking it up through my cervix, So that I was surprised that it began to ooze out of me. And as he came I saw it in his eyes, as if it were a flash of light arcing between us. And, of course, I came, as if his sperm had passed at once through the walls of my vagina and was permeating every nerve.

3

We were able to make love several times a night, whenever he was available, between his engagements at universities and museums around the country. And we knew without speaking how we wanted to go about it. For example, one evening he arrived late. and I let him into the house, and without pausing turned and bent forward, and he cast up my skirt, pulled my knickers down, pushed down his trousers and pants and plunged into me, thrusting in and out, so that, my cunt initially rather dry, quickly flowed round his cock.

We paused, as if to make sure he was safely lodged and that we were both ready to come, and then he increased the speed of his thrusts, holding my hips to steady me against the force of his rutting. He continued until he knew I was about to come, then he slammed home and spilled himself as deeply as he could, and we came together, my vagina pulsating round that thick cock.

During that month there were, naturally, five days of my period. But that did not disgust or discompose him for a moment, as we at once developed a routine. He lay on the bed on his back, and I stood beside him, on his right side, so that I could massage that massive member with my oiled right hand, while his right hand, also oiled, caressed my bottom and his fingers slid down my crack and between and under my cheeks, along and up my vulva, taking care not to pull on the string of the tampon, and nudged my clit. Mutual masturbation at its best, until, as we came simultaneously, I bent forward to catch his sperm on my breasts, which finally triggered my orgasm.

After the last time that was necessary he said, 'You know, Norma, your

cheri

is almost as good as you

kolpos,'

your hand is as good as your cunt.

4

He was due to fly hack to the USA at the end of a month, and just before he left he told me of his upbringing and how he had learned to make love to a woman, starting by saying, 'My mother taught me everything,' and, as with Andy's account of her home-coming, and coming, to and with her mother, I will cast this as a first person narrative.

My parents married in their late thirties, and probably didn't expect to have children, though I don't think they made any efforts not to. They took the chance, I suspect, because it was wartime and everyone was both fatalistic and defiant about such eventualities. My father was a classical scholar, pressed into code-breaking because of his knowledge of languages - thanks to working in Italy and Germany before the war he was fluent in German and Italian, and he was not sent on active service until nearly the end of the war, when he quickly learned Serbo-Croat and was parachuted, virtually untrained, into former Yugoslavia, to liaise with Tito and his partisans, and he was killed.

My mother was pregnant with me, so I was a fatherless child. She was also a classical scholar, working, and boarding, at a private girls' school, where my birth was accepted calmly, so that I grew up surrounded by females. It was not a conventional childhood for several reasons, for instance, my mother, Dulcie, and I spoke Ancient Greek and Latin as much as English, to give me a head start in the Classics.

The other unusual aspect of it was that it seemed to be taken for granted that we would eventually have sex. After all, the relationship between Aphrodite and son Eros was distinctly ambiguous, as well expressed in the painting by Bronzino's

Allegory of Cupid and Venus,

in which both are naked, Cupid has his arm round his mother in a distinctly unfilial manner and they are about to kiss in an even more incestuous fashion.

Dulcie was happy to be naked around our little flat, and so I knew what a woman looked like from an early age, down to asking her to part her labia for my inspection when I was eighteen. She was happy about that, too, and that occasion was highly significant for me, because it was the moment I fully understood that I didn't just want to look, I wanted to enter. I'd had no sexual relationships before, and had been working too hard at university to bother myself about such things, perhaps because I knew at the back of my mind that she would take care of me in that respect, as in all others.

And the crucial moment arrived when I had eased open her bedroom door enough to watch her fingering her clitoris, lying on her bed, legs parted. I knew she did this, having seen her through her half-open door at a time she thought I was out walking, and I had been driven in by rain. Of course, I knew what she was doing and found it overwhelmingly arousing.

So that I made a habit of silently opening her door a few inches to watch, meanwhile easing myself off into a pair of her knickers, taken from the laundry basket. And on the night in question I accidentally pushed the door further open, and she caught the movement. Her hand stopped moving, and, before I could hide the knickers and pull up my pyjamas, she had got off the bed, walked across and pulled the door fully open.

I was a little embarrassed, but not too put about, being rather relieves, I think that the sexual tension might now be resolved. She said, 'Would you like some help with that?' And as I stood there, she took the knickers from me and held them in front of and below my cock, which she grasped firmly, sliding her hand to and fro with the loose skin, and, naturally, I ejaculated almost at once. 'Better now?' she asked, much as if she were treating me for some childhood ailment, and said, 'Good-night, sleep well,' folded the knickers to hold the sperm, gave them back to me, patted my bottom, went into her room and closed the door.

I put the knickers back in the laundry and went to bed, where I slept better than for some time, because I knew we were on the way to full intercourse, and I must just wait to see what happened next.

Dulcie was in her fifties by, but exercise and a spare diet had kept her in good shape. She was actually quite a large women, bigger than you, Norma, her breasts a little floppy, but beautiful to me, the areolas large and irregularly shaped, the nipples standing firm when aroused. Her bottom was bigger than yours, and also a little flabby, but that meant she had a deep crack between malleable cheeks, and it was very exciting.

What happened next was that at bedtime soon after that first occasion she asked me if I'd like to spray (her word) her knickers again, but with her wearing them. Of course, I was eager for that, and we were soon in her bedroom, she lying face down with her arm and hand underneath, so that she could reach down the knickers to trig her clitoris, while I stood naked by the bed and rubbed myself off onto the splendid expanse of her knickered. She told me to say when I was about to spray, and when I announced I was imminent she also contrived to come, clearly finding my completion arousing enough. After a few moment, she got off the bed, took off the knickers and folded them round my spermatozoa (she always used the full Greek word), and gave them to me to put in the laundry basket.

We had taken a step towards closer intimacy, but what next? I wondered. Was she proceeding by stages to lessen the sense we were being incestuous? Did it only become incest when the son's penis entered the mother's kolpos? Until that point it somehow didn't count. Though I didn't think either of us had ever been troubled about such niceties.

Two nights later she asked me again, at bedtime, if I'd like to spray inside the knickers. So, there we were in her bedroom again, she on the bed on her back this time, hand down the front of the knickers to engage the clitoris, and I was sliding my cock under the elastic of the right leg of the knickers and she was pressing on it with her other hand. My glans penis was into her abundant pubic hair, which I had been admiring for years when I had the chance to view it, and butting up against the hand attending to the clit. Again, I was instructed to warn her when I was going to ejaculate, and that did not take long, and I pumped a good measure into the fuzz and over the inside hand. Once again, she got off the bed, peeled off the knickers, folded them and told me to drop them into the laundry basket.