Martha in America Ch. 01

And then she raised her head and whispered eagerly:

"Oh, they were right. Thanks for telling me. I was so aroused to be doing it, at the start. And then after you said 'very', and I was doing it again, I recalled that you had said: 'only the "very" ones', and was thinking that maybe I could be one of those. And then - after tasting and liking that - I didn't want to be just 'very, very'; I wanted to be the 'nicest, best, worst', and wanted it to be best for you ..."

"It was," I interjected. She grinned and continued:

"And then I was wanting you to - like that girl, wanting the 'proof of your pleasure' - and thinking how it was going to be, all that white stuff shooting in my mouth - however it tasted. I wanted it, was all aroused at the thought that I was doing it, and that it was going to happen, that I was going to make it shoot like that time, but in my mouth. Oh, and then it did, right into my throat, and then so much, again and again, and I wasn't caring how it tasted, just wanting it, aroused and pleased that I was making you do it, ... and a little proud of myself, that I had dared to ... and been rewarded by discovering I liked it."

She sank back down on me again, and I hugged her as I said:

"You're pretty good at talking about it too - that was delightful - and not just the talking about it."

She snickered and raised her head, smirking, and replied:

"Now I know something else I can do with my mouth."

We both chuckled, our stomach muscles moving on each other. Then she said more seriously:

"That was good, when you said 'soon', warning me, and I liked the confirmation that it was being so good for you, even more arousing in anticipation. But when you said 'now,' I had already felt it - not shooting, just a few drops. But when you said 'now,' it sure did. Oh, it tastes strange, but how else should it taste? You wouldn't want it to taste like anything else. It tastes the way it should."

"Um-hmm," I agreed with a nod and then smirked and said:

"No, you wouldn't. Imagine what it would be like if it did, maybe like ..., I don't know what. And every time you had that, you had to think about this."

She giggled and then laughed, and I, with her, and then she said:

"And half the women at the table thinking about doing it."

We laughed again, and I jiggled her ass. She kissed me and then let her head down next to my shoulder.

Then I remembered the rubbers and asked:

"Did you think we would need three ... condoms?"

"They were all I had," she replied cheerfully with a snicker:

"... but I didn't want us to run out of them."

I snorted and agreed, and then remembered what she had said before and added:

"Yes, like you said. He could tell you he was going to be careful, but he might start - like I did - before he knew it. Always use them."

"Um-hmm," she agreed with a nod and then said:

"That's what my brother said, too," and she snorted:

"... always to use them, not your explanation. My eldest brother, he gave them to me."

I snorted and replied:

"The whole family trying to keep you out of trouble in the Big City."

She snorted too with a nod, and then remarked softly:

"But I didn't need them," sounding a little disappointed.

"We're going to try to make up for that," I reminded her. She kissed my neck and answered: "You already have, at least a start, a real good start." I held her ass and moved her whole body a little on me.

"I've got to go again," she murmured: "... it must be late."

"I do too," I agreed.

"You can use my bathroom."

She got up and then as I was getting up, maybe hesitating, to let her go by herself, she remarked:

"I've seen guys do it before, ... well, one, ... the one in the mountains, ... after we started really doing it. Before that we were a little more private about it."

But she wasn't being now, turning and sitting on the toilet, smiling a little wryly as she started, and then said cheerfully:

"Then I started to do it standing up with him, both of us giggling at seeing it."

I chuckled with her, noticing that she was looking at my cock - of course, wanting to see it in the light. I offered her her washcloth - it was still damp - and she took it with a little snort and used it as she said:

"I guess you have, too."

"Um-hmm," I agreed as she got up without flushing, just raising the ring for me.

"They're all curious," I added, and then wished that I hadn't said it, but she picked up on it immediately and asked:

"How many? Now you have to tell me."

"I'll have to count them," I replied:

"I usually only think about one of them ... at night." She snickered and said:

"Oh, that's polite of you, a real 'young gentleman'."

I had to keep from laughing so as not to miss the bowl. Then she handed me her washcloth and remarked:

"After that, I liked to do in the shower, standing up so I could see it, but then I had to watch out after sports at school. It gets to be habit, feeling like you have to go under the shower." "I can imagine," I agreed as we chuckled and then I flushed and rinsed out the cloth, and we went back to her bed. As she got into it, I picked up my clothes and blew out the candle and then joined her.

She was lying on her back, and I just lay next to her with my arm over her.

"How late is it?" she asked.

"Well after midnight," I replied, thinking that couldn't be wrong.

"When do you have to be at work?"

"Eight-thirty" I answered, wondering what my job would be like.

"Oh, that's not too early. Do we need an alarm clock?"

"No, I replied, remembering that her room got the morning sun and that the curtains and blinds weren't closed.

She snorted mildly and said:

"Count. How many?"

I started, in chronological order: "One, two-three, four, ..." and then to get my sister out of the way - and keep it interesting - said: "Five, the one who tasted it, ..."

I felt Martha nod: "and then a couple last year at college, ... but they were more like the way you mentioned."

I felt her nod again and then she added:

"And me, ... if that counts."

"And you," I agreed:

"... it certainly does count, and if it doesn't, we'll make it count."

She chuckled and agreed:

"Oh, we will, ... but not tonight."

I nodded. She rolled away from me, and I moved a little closer and found her breast as she said:

"I never slept all night with a boy, not like just sleeping. Oh, we slept some - a couple of times - but - you know - I had to get up and go home."

I squeezed her breast, and she held my hand and murmured sleepily:

"And this is great, just wonderful, ... just real nice ... like this, ... all relaxed."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, also sleepily, adding: "Good night," expecting her to responded, but then I felt her snort silently, and then she asked more brightly:

"What would have happened if you hadn't had one of my beers?"

"Hmm? Maybe you would have still offered me one ... and then ..."

"Um-hmm," she agreed, and snorted again silently under my arm, and added:

"... was sort of planning to, if it seemed ... appropriate."

She snorted again and admitted:

"I had one with Helga after the film - she's another Norwegian au pair - sort of to get up my nerve. But it was easier, when I saw that you had already taken one."

I had to snicker and commented:

"Your mother wouldn't have liked that."

"Nor your father," she replied: "... but it was my idea - the beer, at least - and she's further away, so I'll take the responsibility." I squeezed her breast again, and she squeezed my hand.

"Sweet dreams," I murmured.

"You too," she responded, but then snorted softly again and added:

"They could be better after this evening, but not tonight. Good night."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, and we went to sleep.

At some time in the night, I was half awakened by her rolling over under my arm, and maybe I thought she was my sister as she settled down again without waking up. It just seemed nice and familiar, and I dozed off again. When I woke up, I was lying on my other side and recognized the sounds of the city, thinking: yes, back home again. After a few moments, I opened my eyes, surprised that I wasn't in my room and wondered where I was, and then recognized our guest room.

Then it all came back to me in a rush, starting with the image of her standing in her nightgown in the candlelight, and she must be lying behind me now, I thought, Martha. Yes, I considered without moving, the sheet wasn't there on my back. How was it going to be, getting up with her? Or not yet getting up with her? It seemed pretty early still. Would it be just like we seemed to have assumed in the night? How was that? "Making up for it," her lack of sex in America. Or would she feel different about it all in the light of day? No, she wasn't like those girls last winter, not the way she had so openly talked about her experiences, and certainly not the way she decided to do it - and then told about it so charmingly; and not in the bathroom, telling about going standing up, and I had to stifle my snort at the recollection of her telling about having to watch out not to do that in the school showers. Oh no, it was going to be just about the way we had been assuming. Should I wake her?

I moved my foot back a little and touched hers.