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The Story of N
I was taking a Classics course at the University, evenings, when I met N. You went in by this neo-Gothic archway, through a garden of bushes and round modern light globes, and into a classroom with wooden floors and stone walls. It is a genre environment, a museum of scholasticism, a container whose shape spoke of its purpose, sui generis. It was a nostrum and a stupediction, by some lights, because not everyone who went in there as meat and came out as sausage was actually an educated person capable of critical thinking. Anyway, into this lovely, lovable cliché marched a dozen of us to be read to be a fussy little white-haired man with liver spots, a too-young looking blue blazer and khakis, and the early trembling of, sadly, Parkinson's. He was very erudite, and had mothball breath under jaundiced skin. He spoke of ancient Athens and Rome as if he had walked their streets, and judging by his age, perhaps he had.
Sitting beside me was a leggy woman with skin the color of cocoa and a broad smile and mischievous eyes: N. During the break, we walked past the smokers and those who insisted on showing their sophistication by badmouthing the University. She seemed as out of place among the rest of the class as I felt. "What are you doing here?" N asked as if we had long known each other.
"I'm actually sort of interested in ancient history," I confided. "You?"
"I'm taking this as an elective," she said. "I'm actually a graduate student in Chemistry. I was missing one undergraduate class in Liberal Arts. I work during the day, and I have a child in grammar school, so this night course seemed like the perfect thing. It's actually pretty interesting."
"Must be a nice break for you from all those molecules and their bonding."
She had an infectious little laugh, and nice white teeth in a wide mouth. If you teased her with even the most obtuse word play, she read right into it.
"Would you like to team up as study buddies?"
"You being my study buddy?" She laughed. She said brightly: "Okay."
We started that very evening, and the subtext was unspoken but clear to both of us. Her little girl, Nminor, stayed at N's mom's house on school nights. That created an obvious set of windows, two evenings a week and Saturday mornings, for about sixteen weeks. Actually, four of us teamed up after about a week, which gave us really nice coverage as we pooled our knowledge and insights. N always signaled for me to stay after. By then, we were burned out on Classics and preferred to numb out. So she always made cocoa with marshmallows, and we would sit together on the big leather couch near the fireplace in her old Victorian apartment. We particularly liked watching cartoons or really old movies, anything that took our minds as far away from the present as possible.
There is, in the beginning of every relationship, that brief time of getting to know the other's broad preferences. Later, there is the point you cross where you admit whatever it is that you like that's a little kinkier, from toe sucking to the more complex penetration fantasies and so on. N was a straightforward, kind girl (woman; older woman; she was 29 but could pass for my age easily). Her finely knotty black hair was shaped in a simple but elegant kind of Afro, not too big, but sculpted so that it rose toward the back and widened across the sides, kind of like a pheasant's tail. She wore a white band in it across the front. She had a narrow forehead, high and intellectual, and a small wide nose, and prowed pink lips. She had a dimple in her small brown chin. I describe her in detail because she was really statuesque.
When we first became intimate, she smiled (her gums were so pink they almost shone against the fine-grained, dry cocoa of her downy skin) and said "I'm easy," meaning a whole bunch of things (and some, not). She got right to it, she could cut from A to Z in analyzing a situation, she was sometimes too logical and analytical. The latter meant she didn't do well at fantasies, but she had a different quality—she could be mischievous when it suited her, or regal and aloof at other times. By deceiver, I mean if you saw her in street clothes—jeans, blouse, short jacket, you might notice that she had long legs and a pert behind, but she was breathtaking when naked. I had not gotten that far when we became intimate. This happened on our third or fourth study date, because N was also a tease who liked to stretch out anticipation and desire. When she said "I'm easy," it really meant she wasn't easy until she was ready to be easy.
We had been watching our usual Porky Pig and Bugs Bunny cartoons, laughing at our own silliness, when I had enough of being nudged away and avoided. I crawled across the couch to her. She said "What do you think you are doing?" but did not try to escape from the lion who was stalking her. This was a hungry lion by now, who had been teased with dusky shadows under white blouse, and scarred ankle with gold chain on it, and other tantalizing glimpses. She gave that mischievous laugh and swung her legs off the couch so that she knelt before me. "You stand up here before me, honey," she commanded.
I rose obediently and stood before her, cupping the gorgeously formed back of her skull in my palm through the soft frizz of her hair. "Now, honey, I'm going to open this zipper here, and I expect to find a nice dinner bun in the oven. Am I going to be a happy woman?"
"I think that you already know the answer."
She giggled. She gave a nod. "Um-huh."
"I know you have felt the bulge in my pants brushing against your leg or your arm as we were watching cartoons. I've been sitting here with this big hard-on next to you, and you must have felt the heat emanating from it."
She fumbled with my zipper. "Come to think of it, I once had a boyfriend with a big noisy Corvette and, yes, when he came over to see me, the heat just emanated off that big red car. What is this?" She got my zipper open and pushed down my underpants. My dong flopped out. "My, my, Peter, this is definitely a thick dick. You have a handful here, my beloved friend. It's not a long dong, but this dick is thick. Look at that. I feel as if I am at a ballpark." She held it in both hands, like a dog in a bun, and opened her mouth wide.
I made two or three baby steps forward, and that cruiser went right into her schmoozer. She moaned lightly as she sucked on it. I mentioned this girl had pink gums. Those gums fit around my dick as if the two had been made for each other. She was not a deep throat kind of woman. She was a head-turner, meaning she sinuously wrapped herself one way and then the other around that pink, wet gearshift knob.
I held her frizzy hair in my hands, enjoying the feel of her skull like a shapely vase or container, or work of art. It was sexy to think of such a brilliant mind in that vase, focused on exchanging maximum pleasure with my regenerative organ. If that sounds esoteric—she and I could have conversations like that when we were not watching Porky Pig cartoons. She palmed my balls and fondled them, rubbing them lightly while she sucked on me. "Baby," said in a voice grown tight and faint with sensuous overload, "you know that I am going to suck your little pussy all wet and good."
She had small chocolate breasts with smooth bluish nipples that stiffened into handles as her breasts bobbed around with her every motion.
"Mm-hmm," she murmured, nodding, without missing a stroke. She held it and licked underneath it, and then bobbled my balls with her tongue, creating a shiver of sensation that ran through my entire body. She pushed my thighs apart and licked under my balls. She pushed her tongue up into the darkness between my scrotum and my thigh, first on one side and then on the other.
She seemed to take great pleasure in treating the looseness of my scrotal sac almost as a food item to be played with. She sucked and nibbled on my scrotal sac that way I would play with a woman's labia. She made loud smacking noises as she did so, and I grasped my rod in both hands because I was beginning to think I was going to ejaculate. She looked up at me with a mouthful of nut and murmured "Mmm?" Seeing my face, she pushed down her jeans. She stepped out of them on long, dark, elegant legs. She twisted around and showed me her white panties, which had little flowers on them. She slapped them slightly to show me how round and tight her buttocks were.
In one motion, I let my pants drop. I pulled those delicious panties down, noting the wideness of her hips, and gave her cunt a quick rub to check it out. "You are dripping wet," I said. "You bad girl. You have been hiding a wet cunt from me."
I was going to say more, but I was overcome with the first throes of an orgasm that wasn't going to stay out of town another minute. I turned toward the couch, and she circled around so that she could lean her fingers on the cushions. I slipped into her, appreciating and loving the warmth and moisture of that tunnel. Given how long her legs were, I did not have to bend down. All she had to do was support herself and be comfortable. Had she been wearing almost any kind of shoes, I would have had to stand on something to get inside her.
I thrust rapidly and deeply, and she started moaning. "Baby," she said, "did I make you wait?" ("Yes.") "Did it make you hard?" ("Yes.") "Does it feel good now?" ("Yes.") "Are you glad I made you wait?" ("Yes.") "Are you glad I am letting you fuck me?" ("Yes.") She slapped herself on her buttock and told me: "I want you to fuck me all night so that you have enough to last until next class night. Want to do that?"
I started to answer my chorus ("Yes.") but was overcome by my orgasm. As I thumped against her in a rapid series of slapping sounds that echoed in the room like rocks dropping in water, each stroke weakened me. She sensed my coming collapse, and bend her knees, letting me guide her beautiful plum-colored ass cheeks down on the couch. She ended up sitting on my dick as I pumped the last few strokes into her. She wasn't very heavy. She wanted to get off me for fear of hurting me, but I held on to her buttocks and hips and kept her there. "You are so precious," I told her in the delirium of the moment, "I want to keep you there forever."
Ever the wit, she flashed a laugh over one bony shoulder. "We'd starve to death here. People would find us here a thousand years from now and wonder what strange ancient American ritual we were engaged in."
I said: "The ancient rituals of fuckus-comus."
"That's the Classical scholar talking. Muckus-suckus."
"I am going to suck your lips," I told her.
"You and what energy, White Boy?"
"Me and this big Enron between my thighs, Black Girl."
She wiggled her bottom and squealed. This was going to be the first of many nights that I stayed over until morning. Grandma was taking little [N-minor] over to grammar school, and N would pick her up after school. Until late into the night, N and I could play.
When we had recovered a bit, she had me sit on the edge of the couch. N had that peculiarity, that she wasn't so into fantasies as the queen of them, K, but she had a way of orchestrating little things that we ought to do. So she got on all fours sideways to me, and had me spit on my middle finger and insert it in her anus.
She rocked her long lithe body back and forth, touching herself below, so that she was fucking herself with my finger in her ass while she masturbated. I stroked the long, lightly-muscled surfaces of her back, which gleamed dry and brown before me. I bent down and licked along her spine and around her shoulder blades.
Suddenly, she uttered a series of shuddering breaths and collapsed on the floor before me. "I just came," she said breathlessly. "Stay there. Be very still and look at me." She lay on the floor with her heels beside my thighs on the couch. As lay looking up at me, with her left hand she pulled her dark left labia open and with the fingers of her other hand rubbed the bright pinkness of her pee hole and clitoris.
I watched her clitoris grow like a little bubblegum-colored bee hive with a swollen kind of tiny head on it.
"Just watch me," she said. She stared at me intently. Her eyes grew large and beseeching as her fingers moved faster. She alternated hands a few times.
I was allowed to fondle her feet at my sides, and nothing more. Much as I wanted to get down and lick her torso—anything, to be closer to that wondrous action—I had to stay between her feet. I looked down through her spread legs and watched the pink bud in her clam grow larger and harder.
Her mouth opened in a silent cry as she stared at me with big, hungry eyes. Her eyes beseeched me, even if I could not touch her, they beseeched me to send her the relief that she so desperately needed. She was going into the throes of another orgasm, but it was slow and moving deliberately the way a massive storm crawls over the landscape, enveloping hills and trees in its foggy thrashing fury. She cocked her head this way and that. I rubbed her feet, pulling them against me. I felt her big toes stroking my ribs as she tried to caress me with her feet. I lifted her feet away, spreading her legs even more, but brought her feet to my mouth so I could like their orange bottoms. The sensation in the pits of her arches made her start moaning. "Yes, baby, that's good, you found the way to help me. Oh, baby," she wailed, "I need you to do that so badly...please lick them hard...push your tongue in there so I feel it rippling all the way up my legs into my cunt and up my tummy to my titties. Oh!" Her cries became loud, almost tearful, and incoherent, as her tight behind thrashed around on the hard wood floor. Her wide hips moved up and down as she fucked her fingers, and her buttocks slapped on the wooden floor in rapid strokes, pop pop pop... or, looser if she shifted positions, plop plop plop...
I stood up and hugged both of her ankles while continuing to lick the bottoms of her feet.
"Lower me!" she cried.
I squatted so my balls hung down. She reached around and fondled them with one hand while sticking her fingers deep in her cunt. Then she stiffened. Silent for a moment. She yelled, a truncated scream. Fell silent again. Turned, so that she faced to my right, staring away along the floor. Twitched. Then her contractions began, and she doubled over in a fetal position while stuffing her hands between her legs and mangling her clitoris among several ravenously wiggling fingers that seemed to want to gangbang her all together. She let out a choked, truncated shout with each contraction, and shoved her fingers deep into her hole, before she stopped moving.
We moved into the bedroom, where we threw ourselves on the bed. I watched her lithe body streak across the sheets and land on a pillow. She turned, with open arms, and invited me into her embrace. I reached out with my left hand so that our fingers entwined, while I kissed my way to her mouth inch by inch after sucking on her toes a while. As I drew near, her other hand welcomed my free hand, and now both hands were entwined. I walked on my knees into the simple paradise of a missionary position fuck that lasted about another forty minutes. A quaint little clock somewhere in the dark, still corridors chimed midnight as we pulled up the blankets, spooned as tightly as we could with me behind her, hugging her, and fell asleep together after a few awkward but sincere kisses over her shoulder. This is some of what we did during those long, delirious evenings after studying the ancient Romans and Greeks, who would have been proud of our inventiveness and our ardor for one another.
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