tagIllustratedA Woman's Story of Love Ch. 67

A Woman's Story of Love Ch. 67


A woman's story of love in one hundred episodes

Part 67.

"The Real Thing" (H)

I think when Mitchell said my going down on him resembled a fight between Godzilla and Mothra he had something very specific in mind. Those two science fiction monsters who battle in the famous movie from my country were very different from each other. Mothra flew (was based on a moth), fluttered, and is probably what he imagined as my mouth, while the standing monster Godzilla represented his penis.

Mitchell said he liked me to approach from the front rather than the side because a line at the juncture of my hip showed. He must have thought that added to the composition. He said he liked my black and white animal print top because of how the fabric stayed close to my skin, clung flat at my upper chest and followed the swell of my breasts, came to points. He said he liked the black strap on or off my bare shoulders. He had a clear aesthetic or other purpose.

The next time we met was at my place. I suggested we use my roommate's space, which was wider and carpeted. She was out and wouldn't be back soon. No one else was expected, though the building super had said he had to drop by some day to fix something. I meant we had a long time to relax together.

I'd worn the slinky animal print top Mitchell wanted- and got cat-called outside later even though I was with him- and he asked me to take it off right away. He had brought his camera but said that could wait. He undressed too. It was a sunny afternoon and his penis felt good in my hand, excitingly lively and reactive.

Those were the first days and our energy seemed to merge like nuclear fusion.

I remember how he appreciated my patch of bush the sun painted coffee color.

We looked haunted by each other in timeless photographs.

I feel so happy to write about it, like I could kiss the page the way I kissed him.

My soft and his hard fit the words of the day, vowel hitting consonant: erECtion, ejACulation- and gentler ones: smooth, slide, stretch, bend.

And funny wet- Mitchell's fingernails massaging my scalp- Pop! Pop! Pop!

Outside trees. Wind. The whisper of their leaves reaching us. Branches in glowing silhouette backlit by sinking sun.

I talked at the party. People had asked how Mitchell and I got together.

Two things stood out. In the student lounge with view to campus green lawn, through picture window, someone had a pet bird that was special, looked from the distance where I sat like an ordinary one, parakeet or that kind, but instead of a beak had a bill, not long, soft and flat, snub, with two nostril slots on top, the kind associated with aquatic fowl.

The students (more than one) were showing friends and others, including Mitchell and me- we came to look at how tame the bird was. It was known, the owner told us, for taking food by hand.

Mitchell, never averse to speaking out, challenged, "I don't see how that's possible. I bet if I had the bird it would never let me feed it from my finger."

"Look," the student said and put on a demonstration.

"You have to give it the idea, gentle training. You're right. It won't do the trick on its own unless you show it how."

As he spoke, he started bringing his fingers smoothly up the side of the bird, which did not move away, instead accepted them, having been gently trained to, slid the fingers caressingly, reassuringly, to the bird's head, whereupon it began to softly crane open the end of the beak. The bird took the end of the finger inside, gently held on, as we watched. It was very cute.

"I see," Mitchell said. "You have to seduce it."

Joker that he is, Mitchell added after a pause, "I wish I could do that with Midori."

We hardly knew each other then but had a mutual infatuation.

Another time, just a week later, we were together in an administrative office where I was applying for a part-time job on campus. Mitchell had come in on an errand of his own and on learning my purpose kept me company while I waited, maybe thought I was nervous about the job interview or bored biding my time in the place where I didn't know anyone.

We sat across a fiber-board folding table on folding chairs, grey-brown molded metal. I didn't remember- couldn't tell the guests at the party- what we talked about. It was a pleasant conversation. Maybe Mitchell asked about my country. I answered enjoyably, the words flowing quietly, sweet feeling, almost intimacy between us. Remember, we were still just getting acquainted but saw, felt promise.

Happy. At the same time, my home, people and activities there, seemed very far away talking about it in that American office, and I was glad of Mitchell's presence, reassuring steady, to at least buffer the loneliness.

When an answer I'd given ended, the words trailed off to peaceful silence, a harmony between us, Mitchell suddenly reached to the side of my face, the right, I remembered, touched my cheek, lightly powered with makeup I'd applied for the appointment. His touch was light but sure and felt good, persisted. The impression of that fingertip made the curve of my cheek feel broad, even.

Mitchell had acted on impulse, drawn by silence and potential, a welcome, opportunity he felt. I didn't pull my face away, as the pet bird before hadn't withdrawn from the touch of its owner, and the contact lasted, but finally I felt I had to interrupt it- embarrassment overtook me; there were other people in the office waiting area, but really it was Mitchell right in front of me, the effect of his eyes, mine back at him, I found too much.

"What?" I asked, smiling, still not moving my head away from his hand, the peace, contact sustained. Mitchell had to break it then.

"Oh, there was something I just couldn't leave there," he said, a speck on my cheek he lied he'd reached to remove.

I'd behaved with cowardice and he'd responded with his own, but neither of us were at fault. That was the ordinary cowardice that made life move on.

Sometimes you wanted a stop, a breakdown, opening, courage shared, love starting, given a chance to unleash its power.

He'd taken his hand away- in the space of a moment we'd gone from lovers to two people who again hardly knew each other, fallen back on conventional social conduct, poetry returned to prose.

A sad disappointing moment in which the practical felt dull as it hadn't before. But we would connect again in the near future. We shared faith even as we pretended to feel nothing, acted as just a man and a woman passing a few moments in an office, not very meaningfully.

Of course I hadn't gone down on Mitchell yet then. We'd come nowhere near that, but on those two occasions he already introduced the idea between us, with his finger, with his eyes, through our words and pauses.

I didn't tell that part of the story.

"Did you get the job?" someone asked, and I laughed, reddening.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"What do you want, for me to put a box of ice cubes down your back?" He'd asked for special treatment. The request surprised me. I made that joke because I didn't know how else to respond.

What he wanted was for me to use my mouth ("mouth play") and let him photograph me in clothing he chose (a black and white print "slinky" top he'd seen me wear before and liked- "and nothing else").

"Ice cubes don't come in boxes," he said.

I was still new in this country, learning the language, and even newer with him.

"Some time," I said, giving myself wiggle room. Not "next time." I also hadn't said "never."

Was "next time" what he heard?

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous12/07/18

re: Why?

Notice that this person mostly commented on other people daring to state their own opinions, and only commented on the story itself almost as an afterthought. That tells you a lot about the value of thismore...

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by Anonymous12/06/18


Would anyone discourage a writer from writing? It’s a sad thing that someone would go out of their way to dismiss someone’s work when the simple alternative is to ignore it.

Writer: keep writingmore...

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by Anonymous12/05/18

re: You started out advertising this as a 72 part story (which is kind of a joke, to begin with), NOW it's ONE HUNDRED CHAPTERS?

It's possibly even worse. Considering it decided to make Chapter 59 six parts, it's either going to post 94 or 105.

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

You started out advertising this as a 72 part story (which is kind of a joke, to begin with), NOW it's ONE HUNDRED CHAPTERS?

You could probably wrap this up in one "chapter", and maybe a handful of people would notice. Here's some unsolicited advice: 5 chapters is more than enough for anyone's attention span. 10 chapters ismore...

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