Sunday Morning 2/3: True, MF




2. On The Stairs

        "Where do you think you're going?"
        My instinct told me to run. I held back.
        "Well?" The mother called again.
        In fear, I turned. While she could hardly do much to me, she
could, and indeed had, make me feel worse about my hideous self
than at any time in my life. In the doorway she stood, her robe done
up more tightly than it had been upstairs.
        "I..."
        "Yes? What do you have to say for yourself?"
        "I'm sorry."
        "What for?"
        "For abusing your trust, and for loosing all my self-control."
        "Come here."
        I looked at her as if to say "are you serious?".
        She grew insistent, "Come on, get yourself in here!"
        I walked forwards to the door. She stepped backwards and to
one side revealing her bed. The covers were ruffled, and seemed
almost as if there was someone lying there.
        "That bed is too small for the both of you. Use mine."
        My instinct spoke yet again. While I had gone over  this sort
of situation, and many other equally unlikely fantasies over and over,
I had never been able to prepare myself for the reality. My instinct
said "Run!" I turned and was about to obey when her voice called me
back once more.
        "Stay."
        Another voice joined her from the bed, "Yes, please stay."
I looked into the room. The mother reached out her hand to
me to allay my fear. I moved forward, into the room. A motion caught
the corner of my eye. The bed cover was moving, revealing the
daughter, all of her, releasing once more that intoxicating scent.
        I stepped forward again. I heard the door close quietly behind
me and saw the daughter part her legs in front of me. She drew her
knees up and I saw for the first time the delicate folds that I had
already but touched. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, lifting
her breasts against the dappled morning light filtering in through the
still closed curtains. The shafts caught her young skin, elegantly
smooth and perfect, and back-lit her pubic hair so that it glistened and
glowed slightly. She drew her knees apart further; I looked on her as a
startled rabbit looks into headlights.
        Without taking my eyes off her I hurriedly slipped off my
clothes, fumbling ungracefully with the buttons of my shirt. She
laughed gently, smiling at my awkwardness and a little later at my
shyness as I dropped my underwear. Her laugh melted when I at
length stood full length before her. She stretched out a hand toward
me, beckoning me on, asking for me. My body was ready for
anything. My mind reeled from everything. Then I saw that tears fell
from her deep brown eyes. I stepped forward and leant over her,
brushing the drops away from her cheeks. Leaning down I kissed her
forehead and she grasped me once more. This time she didn't stroke
me; she pulled me, urging me on to the bed. She let her nearest knee
drop the bed, and her free hand pressed to my side, inviting me to join
her on the bed. I wanted to explore her more, to see what made this
little vision of feminine loveliness so inviting. I wanted to bathe in
her, lick up every last drop of her, to devour her. She wanted more,
and the force with which her hand pressed to me said she wanted it
soon. It was my turn to draw back.
        "Please!" she pleaded.
        "It's ok," I said reaching down for my trousers and fumbling
in the pocket. When I had found what I was looking for I turned to
her, standing by the bed. I leant over to touch her, she arched her back
to meet me. For a moment my hand hovered close to her mons, my
palm almost touching her hair. "It's ok," I repeated as I leant down
further to grasp her nipple with between my lips. My free hand found
hers and held it tightly, a rectangular foil packet between our damp
palms. I pressed my other hand to her, and felt the dampness that had
made her hair glisten. Gone was the dryness of before, replaced by an
all pervading slipperiness. Gone was the tightness, replaced by a
willing openness.
        "Am I ready enough for you?" she asked.
        "Yes. Oh yes, you're hot and ready," I replied as I caught my
breath. "You've opened like a flower and." I curled my middle
finger, slipping between her lips and on into her. I pushed my hand
down; my finger went in further, deeper and warmer, as she moved to
accommodate me. "I can't tell you how ready you are, you are so
beautiful, and so beautifully female." That's what I really thought.
Gone were any thoughts of her as a young girl, gone too were any of
her femininity. What I felt through my fingers and smelt and touched
was all female and nothing else. I prayed that I could be all male to
her.
        I slipped another finger between her now gaping lips, her
wanting flesh yielding to my touch, her heat growing moment by
moment.
        "I'm sorry," I cried as I drew away from her breast, "I have
to do this." A desperate need had grown in me, I simply had to give in
to it. I withdrew my fingers and ran my hand down her thigh, my
other hand mirroring the motion as I twisted my body round. I pressed
out with my hands. As first she resisted. "Please, oh please," I
moaned; moments later her resistance melted and she let my hands
press her legs wide apart. "Forgive me,"  I said as I reached out with
my tongue to taste her. The feelings of love and life and lust mingled
and overwhelmed me as I ran the tip of my tongue over her puffed
lips. I slipped my hands up her thighs, clasping her outer lips and
pulling them wide apart. Her scent filled me and I drank it in. My
tongue slipped between her inner lips, lapping up her moistness. She
had an almost metallic taint now, it mixed with the fruit and smoke
and carried me deeper into her. I suddenly plunged my tongue into her
as deep as I could. I wanted this never to end, for her to be mine
forever. She squirmed and writhed beneath me, straining for the best
stimulation. I withdrew my tongue and ran it up her lips to where they
met in a hooded fold. She cried out, a wordless cry, a timeless cry, a
worldless cry. For me too the world had gone. All there was now was
this woman. This woman who now held me and pulled me closer....
        I don't know what she felt as I licked on her lubricated flesh.
If her feelings were even half as good as those which her tongue gave
to me then she must have been higher than the clouds. While she gave
my glans no more than three or four sucking strokes with her lips, it's
a feeling I'll never forget. A moment of pureness, a moment of joy: a
moment together. Her lips on me made me lick her faster. I slipped
two fingers back into her, she was so wet and open they went in so
deep that my other fingers, bent tightly back, pressed hard against her
steamily humid mons. She drew her breath in short gasps, her thighs
clammed with sweat, her chest pumped with her breathing and
fluttered with her heartbeat. Suddenly her mouth left me and her hand
pressed on my hips, pushing me down her body. I didn't want to rise
from her glorious depths, but her hand insisted vigorously.
Reluctantly I rose from her and followed her urgings. She pushed me
until I got on the bed and then moved over her to lie between her legs.
I held myself up above her as her chest heaved powerfully below. I
felt her hand fumbling beneath me. I rose up a little and then felt the
chill touch of the latex. She rolled the condom over all of me in two or
three movements. I felt so alive, so electrically alive that I had to fight
off the urgent feelings deep in my loins. She pressed her hands to my
buttocks, urging me forwards.
        "Now," she gasped, "do you want me?"
        "Yes, oh yes I want you. Help me, please help me." I was
afraid. I was about to fulfil my wildest dream yet I knew not what to
do. I didn't know how best to position myself and I was afraid of
hurting her. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt this perfect fresh
flower. She sensed my fear and with one hand guiding me she pulled
me to her. We touched, latexed glans on silken lips. Twenty-one years
of life had passed for this moment, twenty-one years of preparation
for this instant and now here it was. She drew in a deep breath, and
fought to retain it. She pressed on my buttocks and I pressed forwards.
Everything had prepared me for a fire in her, but she did not burn me.
I had half-expected her to launch heavenwards there and then and for
ever after, but she didn't. I expected some resistance, but there was
practically none. We were together, albeit by the smallest of depths,
and surprisingly it was not at all like my fantasises. It was much more;
it was a warmth that suffused my being. It was an openness that
embraced my heart. It was like nothing I had ever felt or imagined. It
was simply beautiful. Yet it was not pleasure; it was the joy of spring,
the rush of flight; looking down from upon the earth in all its beauty.
It was the day and the night, the winter and the summer, and with a
gentle movement forward it just got better. On outstretched arms I
lifted myself and looked down and pulled back. I saw my shaft
disappearing between her hair and on into her. I knew then that this
was really happening. After eight long years of self-satisfaction only, I
was making love. I pushed forwards again, she rose to meet me, my
shaft disappeared as our bodies came together fully.
        I felt a new need. Still all this beauty could all be just a
dream. Dropping lightly on to her chest I moved a hand down her
side, caressing her hips before slipping it round to where our bodies
met. I withdrew a little and slipped my hand past her hair. There,
between our still yet heaving bodies, I felt my shaft and her full inner
lips pulled out a little as they stretched around me. It was real, it was
really real. It was real. At last it was real. I pushed in hard, she rippled
deep inside and I drew back and pushed again. It was real. Out again.
A real woman. In hard. Inside a real woman. Out and in. Deep inside.
Out and in and out and in. Hands clasping on me. In and in and in.
Breath short. In, in, in. Cry out, pushing deeper than ever. Hard in,
hold in, coming in....
        The world came back to me slowly, and with it came guilt.
Even my shaft seemed to shrink guiltily away.  In the heat of the
moment; heat like no other moment; I had forgotten that there were
two people in our union. While the teat now slipping from her was
filled with ample evidence of my ecstasy, where was the evidence of
hers? In my virgin's rush I had forgotten her and had taken my
pleasure totally selfishly. I shrank away from her even faster. I had
failed her, and my failure lay hard on me. In my dreams I had always
given her what ever she needed before I took myself. But as the
golden memory of my finger on both my rigid shaft and her succulent
lips reminded me, this was not a dream. It was real, and in reality a
virgin male could barely hope to last any more than a few thrusts on
his first time. I was no different, I knew that now, but it didn't make
me feel any better. I had failed to satisfy, or even get close to
satisfying her, and I felt disgusted by myself. I desperately wanted to
thrust back into her, and thrust and thrust and thrust until she cried out
in unending bliss for me to stop. I lifted my spent body, but I hang
uselessly, the condom teat trailing limply through her hair. I looked
down, vainly hoping the sight of her would rouse me again. I smelt
her scent, as strong ever. I slumped on to her and started sobbing,
whimpering.
        "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I failed you. I was useless."
        She stroked my head softly and reassuringly. Her other hand
cupped my softness. "I don't call this useless," she said as she rolled
the teat between her fingers. She pulled it, the latex slipped off easily.
She dropped the condom and then gently took me between those
fingers. She slipped them back and forth, lubricated by my semen.
Her touch, while not unwelcome, had little effect. I had been lead to
believe that even the first time boys, and in the stories they always
seemed to be boys and not men, would re-grow instantly and be able
to go forever. This, I reminded myself was not a story. It was real, and
in real life things are different.
        "I call it useless. How can I make you come? I need to make
you come."
        "Touch me. Hold me. Stay with me now. I still hold the
memory of your fullness inside."
        I wasn't sure what she meant. I wasn't sure if she had come,
maybe while I was away on my own climax. I rubbed her breast with
my cheek; it was still firm and wanting. I reached down to her mons
and beyond to her gaping pussy. She was open wider and fuller than I
had thought possible. She radiated heat,  desire and passion. She
shuddered at my touch, she lurched as my hand slipped over her lips,
she moaned as my fingers pressed into the opening I had filled. Lips
on nipples, mouth over breast. Fingers on her other nipple, rubbing,
caressing. Teeth gently nipping, nibbling at her turgid buds. Fingers
slipping in and out: one then two then three. Her legs straining, her
thighs opening wide to give herself fully to my touch. Her inner walls
surging around my fingertips. Her dampness covering everything,
coating her, making her good enough to eat from head to toe.
Reaching into my soul, her scent reached so deep into me that I had to
please her, I had to give her what she so desperately needed; what I
desperately needed to salve my soul. She gasped over and over, never
once saying a clear word. She had closed eyes on a head thrown back
hard. Her heart thumped under her breast, her hips lunged and bucked.
She reached for my hand and pulled it up. I thrust in as deep as I could
and felt, at the tips of my fingers, the side of a rounded protrusion
deep within her. It felt strong and powerful. It was not at the end of
her, rather it was to the front, or as she was lying, at the top. I had
seen the books, but their two dimensionality had never prepared me
for this. I know knew that all the stories of boys probing past a
woman's cervix were wrong, for here it was, and there was no way a
man's glans could turn at the close to ninety degrees necessary to do
it, or be strong enough to open it. It felt utterly wonderful and female,
and it managed what her fingers alone had not done; I was stiffening
strongly once more.
        Her body arched, her breath shallowed, her hand gripped
mine and pulled it out and up. Guiding my finger she showed me
where to touch, and showed me she wanted considerable pressure.
Now, with my fingers rubbing frantically at her clitoris and one nipple
and my tongue flicking over and over the other, she opened her mouth
and caught her breath. She went stiff, holding her body rigidly off the
bed. She uttered just one word from her breathless mouth, "Now!"
She clasped her thighs tight around my hand as beneath her
flesh began to tremble. I rubbed, licked and fumbled on as her breath
began again in desperate gasps interspersed with thrashings of her
body. She was alive and yet dying. I wanted so much to share this
moment with her, I wanted to have given this to her while joined with
her. I wanted it to be like the stories, but it wasn't. I was a spectator to
this spectacle of human desire, this was something so private that I felt
almost as guilty for seeing it as I had been for not providing it. With
one last breathless lurch she collapsed onto the bed, clinging
desperately tightly on to me, looking through me with unseeing eyes.