|Good Things Come to Those...
Part I: Prologue
by Endlessly ©
It had been 7 months since I had met him, 6 months 3 weeks since I had known him, and 6 months in which I had loved him. His name was James. He had unruly hair, fashionably cut and the most intriguing shade of brown, like dark chocolate; when looking in his eyes, one wondered if they contained all the answers to the mysteries of life and love, or if they were just-opaque. His body was slim and muscular, and more inspiring than any sermon or painting.
But none of this was within my realm of knowledge. Not at first.
I'm a fairly sarcastic, sardonic individual; though I spend a good deal of time on my computer, I've always found the people pathetic enough to develop online relationships to be excellent fodder for my caustic wit. Suffice it to say that, after meeting James in a chat room at the online community for which we both work, I realized how amazingly wrong I was. He met me word for word in our banter; he admired the handiwork of the walls I had erected around myself, and I admired the craftsmanship of his. It took me a week to decide I wished to break the walls down around both of us.
James had problems-problems mostly with trust. I wanted him to believe in me more than anything else-I wanted, no, NEEDED him to know I was who I said I was; even more than his love, I needed his trust. Which was why, four months after I met him online, I skipped buying books for my inaugural semester of college (don't tell my parents!) and used the money to buy James a verrrrrry special birthday present: a plane ticket across the country, and two weeks with me in my dorm room.
When I first bought him the ticket, I never dreamed he might be as attracted to me as I was to him-in his pictures, his masculine beauty was so awe-inspiring, and next to him, I felt plain, perhaps even on the homely side. Women are so good at picking out their faults! I know I'm no beauty queen, but I wouldn't say I'm hideous-my skin is perhaps a tad bit too pale, but my legs are long, and though my figure is on the full side, it's an hourglass, and quite proportionate to my height. My only really outstanding feature, I'd say, is my hair; jet-black, and falling nearly to my waist. I sighed with months of pent-up relief when James told me how much he loved black hair.
In the three months between me surprising him with the ticket and his visit, James and I got remarkably close, perhaps culminating in the few days right when I arrived at college. My parents drove me to the campus the day before check-in, and we stayed in a hotel close to campus. It was that night that I first spoke to James on the phone... The conversation was innocent and idle, though one exchange sticks out in my mind: as a complete non-sequitur, James said, "It's a theory of mine that the topic of any conversation between a male and a female degenerates into sex."
This struck me as a bit of a surprise, but I thought I handled it well. "I.. Well, I'm sure you're right."
"Right about what?"
"That it degenerates into sex."
It was the first time he and I had spoken, but I still knew him well enough to know he was smiling. "Sorry. I just never heard you say the word 'sex' before."
This, however, was not the first time I heard his voice-I had a toll-free voicemail number, and he'd recited one of his favorite poems on it. To this day, I remember listening to his voice over and over, lying on my back on my waterbed at home... cupping my breasts gently and crying tears of joy-silently, so as not to mar the beauty of his voice.
As an incoming freshman, I'd never spent a large amount of time away from home before, and the first night in my dorm room struck me far harder than I ever could imagine. I could only think of one way to beat my homesickness: calling the young man who had become my home, even if he didn't know he had.
We talked about nothing for the longest time, and then he started complaining. "My grandparents are visiting, and they're sleeping in my room. Dammit, I can't get online and look up any erotic stories. How'm I supposed to sleep tonight?" Erotic literature was one passion that we both shared; it was the only way to beat insomnia at times.
I chuckled. "Well, I'd read you one of the ones I have, but I've got neighbors now."
That bare sentence drove him wild. "Oh, God, Moira... You have NO idea how in love I am with your voice. Please... Please..."
That did it. I was young and in love; I would have done anything he asked after he used the L-word, and read him an erotic story was the least of it. I quickly chose a wonderful story about a blindfolded woman who was teased with ice at the side of a pool.. One that had gotten me through many a lonely night back home.
I thought his speaking voice was the most erotic thing I'd ever heard until I heard him moan and sigh; I was scarcely paying attention to the words I read, listening to his reactions. He growled and moaned my name, and I knew he had climaxed. His breath returned to normal slowly, and I was as dazed as he was. I'd only spoken to him once before, and he'd just shared something with me so intensely personal... Finally, he spoke.
"Did you touch yourself at all?"
I blinked in surprise, and blushed profusely. "...No, actually."
There was a pause of disbelief. "Aren't you the least bit turned on?"
My blush deepened. "Of course I am. God, your voice..."
He sighed, then chuckled. "Moira, you were very bad not to pleasure yourself, and you're going to pay for it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well... I'm lying on my bed, completely naked, covered in sweat with a stream of cum pooled on my abdomen. You did that."
That picture seared my mind like a branding iron: James lying in the half-darkness with the sheen of perspiration giving his skin an almost otherworldly luminescence; and the cum pooled on his well-chiseled abdomen, a pool of sweet liquid moonlight. I let out a low exhale, and my hand began moving instinctively down my prone body.
The exhale was all the response he needed. "Have you ever tasted a man's cum before?"
In the darkness, my hand paused only momentarily in its descent. "No."
"Have you ever wanted to?"
My breath caught shakily. "Yes... I just haven't found a man I trust enough to let cum in my mouth."
His voice lowered, silken and soft and erotic, as warm and wet as the feeling between my legs... As if his voice was seeping from within me. "Oh, but you know you can trust me." He chuckled gently. "Would you let me cum in your mouth?"
My hand moved to my clitoris with neither my knowledge nor consent, and I gasped. I wasn't complaining. "Yes."
"Would you let me crawl between your legs? Flick my tongue gently against your clit? Could I drink your wetness?"
I moaned. "Yessss.."
His voice was suddenly businesslike. "Good." He said nothing else.
He chuckled. "I told you, you'd pay for being bad tonight. Are you still dressed?"
I looked down at my body; it was late, and I was wearing a short satin nightgown and some white cotton panties, high-cut. "More or less."
"Make it less. No, make it not at all."
I nodded until I had regained my wits enough to realize he could not hear me nod over the phone. "Hold on."
"Make it quick."
My hands trembled and fumbled, but I made short work of my nightgown and panties.
"Are you naked?"
"Of course I am." I shivered, feeling exposed; there was a diffused half-light filtering through my pale white curtain, allowing the hint of moonlight to seep in like mercury. My skin, normally pale, seemed so white it was almost light; the smooth surface of my torso was only marred by goosebumps. I laid back down on my bed, shifting, naked in the moonlight.
"Good." He sounded satisfied, and I was happy. I wanted to please him so badly.. "I would love to see you naked right now."
"I would love for you to see me." And oddly, it was the truth; I'd always been so self-conscious when it came to my body-I'm not overweight, but I'd be a bit top-heavy if it weren't for my wide hips. These proportions might have been considered 'sexy' way back when, but one visit to a five-seven-nine store showed exactly what the modern opinion was of women built like me. I'd always felt ugly.. But I would have loved for James to see me in that moment, long white legs draped across eachother, lean abdomen, palest skin save for the light tan aureoles on my breasts, the black of my hair fading into the shadows. It was amazing; James made me feel beautiful.
"Are you wet?"
That was a silly question; I was going to have to wash my comforter tomorrow I was dripping so much. "Of course."
"Are you touching yourself?"
I blushed. "No."
He sighed. "I'D be touching myself, if I were you."
"You would be?" God, the idea of him inhabiting my body.. Dictating my actions..
"You bet I would be. I'd be running my palms across my breasts, down my ribs.." My hands instinctively followed his words, and it felt incredible.. My skin felt like rough silk beneath my hands. "Over my hips.. Across my thighs.." When I moved my hands across my thighs, I gasped; it was as if the pads of my fingers had sent an electric shock straight to my clitoris. "Right to my inner thighs.. And up." A finger went directly to my clitoris, which was slick and hard as a moss-covered pebble at the ocean. I moaned softly. "What do you taste like?"
"I.. I don't know."
I came out of my erotic reverie for a second to blink. "I.. I don't know.. That's a bit.."
"What? A bit kinky? You're masturbating on the phone with someone you've never met. Don't even TRY to tell me tasting yourself is kinky."
James had a point. I brought a finger to my lips, and licked it tentatively-the taste was amazingly good. I brought the finger into my mouth to suck on. James chuckled at the silence. "How do you taste?"
"I.. I like it. It's tangy.. And sort of sweet."
"Just the way fresh pussy should taste. Lovely." I could hear him smiling, as odd as it sounds to say so. "But don't forget to put that hand back to work."
I nodded dumbly and my finger, wet with saliva, went back to my clitoris, rubbing slowly as I moaned underneath my breath.
James sighed. "You should be louder."
"I'm surrounded on all sides by neighbors.. It's my first night here, I don't want to wake them up."
"And you don't want to give them something to talk about? Why, Moira, I expected more from you.." He chuckled; then the prepaid phonecard I had called James with insistently informed me I only had 30 seconds left. "Ah, I suppose I'll leave you with your fantasies for the night."
"But I didn't cum yet!"
He chuckled evilly. "I know. I told you you'd pay."
"I hate you!" I tried not to laugh.
"Oh, no you don't. Well.. Enjoy the rest of your first night in college."
My first night? ..I'd forgotten. Shifting on my bed, I heard a sticky sound from between my legs. It seemed as if the ache and loneliness and homesickness had seeped out of me, and nothing was left but a warm contentment (and a certain amount of horniness). "Thank you, James." My voice was soft, grateful, as I realized what he had purposely done for me.
I would have bet money that he was blushing, there in the darkness. "Oh, it was nothing. Sweetest of dreams, Moira.. And get your computer hooked up before I begin to miss you." The operator hung up on both of us, and later that night, I drifted off to sleep.. Lying naked on my bed, the back of one hand against my cheek, the other gently cupping my pussy.
That was three months ago. Now, at 8:30 on some idle Saturday morning, I was pacing nervously in a dingy Greyhound bus station. Being so early, it was fairly empty; there were bums sitting near the entrance, and a few Mansonite-looking kids with various piercings playing video games. I felt very conspicuous; a timid fresh-faced college girl who'd never in her life had a reason to be in the "bad" part of a town she was fairly new to. Brushing my hair until it shined, choosing the most casually flattering clothes and my clean white platform sneakers made perfect sense in my dorm room; now, these things just added to my feeling of not belonging to this place or time.
I then heard the bus pull up and stop.
Even now, it's difficult to describe the feelings that shot through me at that moment.. Panic-panic sounds pretty apropos. Adrenaline shot through me like a street-corner drug, and it took every ounce of my conviction to keep from bolting out the door and into my car, leaving that place behind. I wasn't ready to meet James. I couldn't be ready to meet James. I wasn't what he wanted, I was far too plain and dull and unintelligent and-
There he was.
It sounds trite to say the world went mute and time stood still. I don't care; it's what happened. I couldn't hear anything-he moved toward me like we were underwater. In that moment, I memorized everything about him: the mole on the lower left of his chiseled chin, the pebblish-soft texture of his black leather jacket, the oddly attractive bony bump on the bridge of his nose, the exact degree of the curves on his full lips. But more than anything.. Those opaque eyes. They seemed like black diamonds, like faceted onyx. How something that deep and dark could sparkle was beyond me, but they did.
Many thoughts flew through my mind as he came nearer. I should say something. Should I kiss him? Shake his hand? Slap him on the shoulder? We weren't in a relationship, we were close friends who had shared a few things that brought us closer. I had no idea how to react..
My arms opened without my permission, trembling slightly. He walked into them, as I always knew he would, and they closed gently and firmly around his form. His eyes closed and he melted into my body, nestling his head in the crook of my neck with a sigh that sounded ancient, as if it had been pent up for centuries.
In the middle of this dingy, frightening, ugly bus station, surrounded by freaks and weirdos.. I felt like I was home.
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