We dozed lightly under the sheets, warm and heavy with the smell of our love making. The sheets had been deliciously cool and crisp hours ago, when we had first stumbled across the unoccupied room and then into bed, tumbling into a world of our own making, yet nonetheless an unpredictable world. I knew her name (Kathy) and her age (just forty).

I first saw her sitting at the bar, listening distractedly to a woman friend recount her own adventures that evening. She'd been wearing a dusky brick-red dress that stopped high above the knee, but not shockingly so. The dress had clearly been taken off and put back on several times already that night, each time a bit more carelessly. She'd lost track of her shoes, and was unconsciously gripping and ungripping the brass foot rail with her toes. Her hastily brushed thick, black hair reminded me of Sophia Loren.

An ache of such longing and despair gripped my belly so hard that I nearly cried out. "I have no chance," I said to myself, competing with the dozens of sophisticated, practiced men her own age and older who crowded the house.

She restlessly turned to survey the room and I caught her eyes, dark and glistening with the wild careening of sexual excitement at its sweetest pitch. Instantly I grasped the arc of her life, the trajectory that had carried her into, amongst and then through and beyond the narcissists to land her in a new world, with new rules, new possibilities. Perhaps a guy, sweetly awkward, twenty-six, hungry for the moment when a woman takes her own pleasure in his presence, had a chance after all.

Now, an hour later, I curled my thighs snuggly against her bottom while my penis, heavy and aching from the intense love-making, nestled in the heat between her cheeks. Propping my head up to watch the fire over her shoulder, I saw what a magnificent room we'd found. Large, with dark wood, big old oil portraits on the wall in the Victorian style and a brick fireplace with a murmuring fire. The generous bed sported a heavy canopy. The other rooms we'd tried had been occupied. This one had been empty, and unbelievably the bed had not yet been disturbed.

I smothered my nose in her hair.

A noise at the door. Looking up, I saw a young boy coming into the room. His hair was an ordinary brown color, like my own, tousled as if he'd just woken from a pleasant dream and was looking for someone to tell it to. Small blue and red birds wheeled across white cotton pajamas. He'd buttoned his fly wrong. It gaped open slightly where the metal nipples in the snaps had missed their true mate, the metal glinting in the firelight, festive ornaments in a setting of soft cotton.

He seemed sure of himself, as if he understood what he wanted. That was not like me at his age. I'd wanted and needed and imagined things that I understood only later, when it was much too late to seize them in their purity.

Kathy stirred, feeling his presence.

"Michael?"

"I couldn't find you," he said in a sleepy, petulant little voice.

"You buttoned your pajamas wrong again." She deftly popped the two snaps apart with the fingers of one hand. A thrill leaped through me.

"I washed, just like you said," the boy reported proudly.

"Let me see." Her hand disappeared inside his pajamas and his little boy sex appeared, nesting in her palm like a baby chick freshly hatched from its shell. My penis stiffened against her bottom. She pushed back against me, wedging me deeper into her.

"You're a good boy, Michael."

"I can't do it so good by myself. The ladies helped me."

"You didn't pester them, did you?"

"No. One of them put some perfume on it."

Kathy leans over the edge of the bed into him and inhales deeply.

"Uhm, you smell delicious." She toys with him gently, affectionately, pulling him closer and stroking the small penis between her thumb and the palm of her hand, the long, delicate fingers reached into he open fly and disappear inside his pajamas. She rests her cheek on the bed, languidly studying the little boy's genitals as they begin to stir.

"You're almost a man, Michael, you know that?"

"I am a man. Watch." The boy's penis is no bigger around than Kathy's thumb but it rises into the air, a soft, slender stem. The testicles are just budding, two smooth knobs. Her eyes shine at the sight of this delicate and infinitely sweet morsel. Of their own volition, Kathy's plum lips part. She exhales softly, her mouth inches from the boy. Under the sheet, hidden from the boy, I feel Kathy's hand fumbling for me from between her legs. My heart pounds against my ribs, an ocean roars in my ears.

She draws my cock, the fulfillment of that young promise before her, down and toward her. I'd come three, maybe four times that night already, but I am as stiff as a novice in the second week of his vows. Kathy's sex, slick with her own juices and the sperm of a dozen different men, has swollen shut with excitement. Even her fundament hadn't been this tight. My cock is barely inside her, but I have to stop and press my eyes and ears closed to slow the onrushing crisis.

"What is he doing?" the boy asks.

"He's tucking it in, dear," she says, her voice soft with tenderness.

"That's what we do."

"Yes," she breathes.

"Don't you want me to tuck it in?" he says, more puzzled than hurt.

"Yes, I do my love. I have a special place for you tonight, O.K.?" He smiles a small boyish smile.

"O.K."

"Would you like me to kiss you?"

"Yes."

Just as the baby sucking his mother's breast returns in pleasure what he receives in sustenance, this woman now returned in pleasure to her son. First she gently teases him by blowing her mouth on him, then takes quick, tender laps of her tongue along the length of his youth. Finally she enfolds him in her mouth, taking in the small erection little by little. The moisture from her mouth evaporates off his cock in the warm air, and he laughs from the tingling sensation.

I slide further inside her, pressing up against the bottom of her belly, just as his budding testicles go into her mouth and disappear behind the plum-colored lips.

She devours him. Her tongue flicks out under his balls, probing his anus with its tip. He laughs girlishly and struggles to pull away.

"You're tickling!" He pops out of her mouth, glistening with wetness.

"You don't like it when I touch you there?" she says, laughing herself.

"It tickles."

"Let me do it again. I won't tickle. I promise." He nods, trusting her. "Come here. Put your foot up. Further apart. That's right." She puts his right foot up onto the bed, and pushing his balls up and away with her lips she reaches her tongue up under him. She clutches his penis in her hand as she plays her tongue. The two of them are quiet for a few minutes, only the muscles in her throat moving. His eyes are closed. His breathing becomes labored. "Does that tickle?" she says, pausing.

He shakes his head.

"Get up onto the bed. I can reach you easier."

We pull the bedding aside and he kneels over her, his bottom over her face. She's twisted around, shoulders are flat on the bed, so she can look straight up between his legs. He has a good view of my penis coming up between her legs and entering her from behind. His knee is down on the bed between the two of us, but she's pulled me over to embrace his leg so I can see what she's doing. It is difficult to keep myself inside of her. The boy's penis is within easy reach.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes," the boy answers.

She gently spreads his cheeks, revealing the sweetly puckered rosette hidden inside. Perfectly hairless and smooth, this tight little mouth gleams like a garnet in its setting. Wetting a finger, she very softly touches him there, savoring the satin texture. A faint perfume of boyish sweat wafts down around us. Her finger circles the indentation, pressing for a moment at the closed door, then retreating. She brings the finger to her nose, sniffs, then puts it in her mouth and sucks lightly.

Touching him again, then offers me the scented finger. I taste. Fresh, sweet, with a hint of forbidden spice. Her cunt throbs, squeezing me tightly, but her tongue tip returns to the satin flesh. Again. Again. And once more.

Then, more forcefully, she presses the breadth of her tongue up into his cleavage. Pulling away, her eyes examine the result -- a wet glistening trail from balls to tailbone.

The fire flares up in the hearth, making the shadows dance across the bed. The boy's head hangs loosely from his shoulders, tangled hair wild over his ears and eyes, his arms shakily locked at the elbows to prop him up. The world has shrunk to this room, this bed, we three lovers, and yet simultaneously expanded to encompass all infinity in one body, one orifice, a maelstrom of desire and longing.

She laps at his hole again, very slowly, dragging her tongue from bottom to top, then repeats the caress, stopping, her mouth pressed to the little anus, and inserts the tip of her tongue. The boy groans and almost gives way.

The tongue slips out of her mouth and into the boy. She pulls out. In again, this time as far as she can reach, and stays. When she can't breath anymore, she falls back onto the pillow, face wet, leaving a small, newly opened portal into his body. She gives me her tongue to suck and I kiss her fiercely.

I can feel his small hand exploring our privates, feeling her mound and my penis. My penis guides him as he pushes a finger inside her.

TO BE CONTINUED...

JUST STORIES