"Margi, I'm going to fuck you. You OK with that? Want me
to sink my hard cock into you soft cunt, girl?"
She pulled back, took a breath and almost screamed, "YES!
Yes. FUCK me--I want it--I need it. Fuck me, please!"
Unthinking, I leaned over her, pushing the head of my cock
below her fingers. She pulled out and grabbed my cock, guiding
it into her core as I slowly sank into her, no more than a head's
depth.
"Want more than the head in there, girl?" I asked, trying to
drive her crazy."
Jean's voice entwined itself in our reverie, "Fuck her,
Billy! Fuck her while I watch. Yes, fuck her while she eats me.
Oh, God. Oh, shit. This is so hot. Put it in. More!"
"More, Margi?"
"Oh GOD, don't tease me. I'm gonna die. Push it in,
Please!"
I eased in another inch, maybe two.
"Yesss," she hissed and humped at me.
"Yes," echoed Jean. "Oh Christ, Billy. I've wanted this
and I've been afraid of this for so long. Fuck HER, Billy and
think about fucking me!"
Bending forward and thrusting her hips out that she might
see Margi better, Jean added, "Come on, girl. Suck me. Eat me
while my brother fucks into your cunt. Give me the fuck energy
he's giving you. Fuck me with your tongue."
I lost all restraint as I pulled back and then slammed into
her as hard as I could. I touched something back there, in the
back of her cunt. She grunted and bucked under me as I began a
trip-hammer pounding, kneeling between her splayed thighs, my
eyes locked with Jean's as we climbed higher and higher onto some
impossible pinnacle. I lost track of time. I lost track of
Margi. It came down to just the two of us.
There was just me and there was just Jean, eyes locked,
fucking and fucking, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
She started first, as her head fell back and she grabbed her
own breasts, humping Margi's mouth, her moan drawn out to a
rising crescendo. I remember thinking for a brief moment that
I'd watch this erotic sight, but my own runaway orgasm caught me
by surprise.
I couldn't remember what we'd decided about her risk. I
pulled out and fisting my cock, I stroked it once, twice and a
third time when I exploded. The first thick white rope of cum
landed on Jean's thigh. The next on Margi's chin and throat and
the last on her chest and belly. A few more dribbles ended up in
my hand. I looked at the warm white puddle in my hand and then
reached out and wiped it across Jean's breast. Her nipple was
pebble hard.
We fell silent. Frozen in the tableau, Jean sat back on her
heels, freeing Margi's face. I fell back on my heels and looked
at the wreckage. The only sound was our panting. I couldn't
really tell which was mine.
Margi slowly lifted her head and make eye contact. We
looked at each other but didn't talk. Couldn't talk. We were
drained.
Margi ran her finger through a glob of my cum on her chest
and looked at it. She looked back at me and then placed the tip
of her finger in her mouth, tasting me.
Jean watched silently and then similarly picked up a clot of
my jism with her finger and tasted it as well.
The CD was still playing, but I'd not heard it in the past
while. Gradually I heard again the waves on the beach as I
reentered reality.
I looked down. I was still holding my cock, now soft and
shriveled. It looked almost pathetic, that once proud weapon now
reduced to a soft, wet noodle.
Jean cupped her cunt and held it for a moment before asking
in a whisper, "Well, stud, how do you feel now?"
"There are no words."
"We finally got to 'do it' Billy."
"Yeah. I wonder if we'll ever get any closer, Jean?"
"I don't know, Billy. Maybe not. Maybe this is it. I just
don't know. But I am sure of one thing . . ."
"What's that?"
"We'll never be able to go back. You can't go home again."
Because we're still very much alive, Jean and I, there's no
real ending to this story. Still, for now, it needs to end
somewhere and this is it.
I've taken the remembering, the reliving, the healing of it
all as far as I needed to. I have other things to write, things
apart and away from Jean.
More, I have a jazzy life to live and the vibrancy of the
moment, the here and now, is more vital than the sweet memories
of what once was. Given then and given now, it's a no-brainer.
I'll go with the present moment any day.