Atlantea Ch. 05

I then watched as Calista sparred with two different fighters, both male. She beat the first one, a taller man with lean musculature, pinning him to the mat after a few minutes. The second opponent, a much stockier man who was slightly shorter than her, proved more difficult. Calista lost, eventually slammed onto the floor and unable to break the hold, but only after about twenty minutes of back-and-forth. Being an avid fan of UFC, I felt like she could have won, but could not put my finger on why.

"Were you holding back, there, against that last guy?" I asked my sweat-drenched companion.

"Not exactly. I am not as skilled in proper Jiu-Jitsu as he, and of course, at this gym one must follow the rules precisely," she said. "Outside, it would be a different matter. His reactions are far too slow to best me."

* * *

Calista was coming out of the master bathroom, her hair still damp from the shower. Strangely, she had put on a new set of exercise clothes, sports bra and tight shorts, rather than change into something more comfortable. I was sitting on her bed.

"Jason?" she asked, looking up at me with big eyes, "Did you once say that you have some expertise in performing massages?"

My pulse quickened. I liked where this is going.

"You have a good memory. Yes, I did an internship at the UFC, and I'm working on my masters in athletic training, so, yeah, lots of massaging."

"I am feeling quite sore from that second match, I think I may have landed poorly during one of the throws. Would it be bothersome if I asked you to give me one?"

"Any time," I said eagerly.

"Would now be acceptable?"

"Now would work. Do you have a couple hours? I can go faster, but to do a thorough job it will take some time."

"You may take as long as you need," she purred.

I was not boasting when I said I was proficient at massage. Between my degree itself, the rotations in the university hospital's Physical Therapy department, and an internship, I had countless hours of training, including with martial artists. I ran out to a nearby pharmacy to get some massage oil, returned to her bedroom, and had her lie, face down, on the bed.

To be honest, I did not start out at my best. Every time I touched her skin, it felt like an electric shock would run up from my fingers. She did not seem to notice my clumsiness, however, and made appreciative grunts even during the first few minutes. By the time I moved down to her shoulder blades and arms, I was finally used to the sensation of touching her, and was able to pour every ounce of concentration into providing the best massage I knew how.

"Oh, Jason, that is divine," she cooed, as my strong hands pushed along her forearms and across her palms, working knots out as I went.

I made my way down to her wide hips, and then, after a brief moment of hesitation, began to massage her large, sculpted glutes. Her ass rose in a beautiful, sharply inclined curve from her lower back. As I massaged the upper left area, I hit upon the first slightly injured area of her body.

"Just there," she said breathlessly, "that is where I fell awkwardly."

Familiar with the treatment of minor bruises in this region, I was able to alleviate much of her stiffness. Once again, maintaining concentration was difficult. Her sheer exercise shorts had been sucked deep within the cleft of her buttocks, and deeply into her vagina as well. There was no way she was wearing panties, and little was being left to my imagination.

In the boldest move yet, I massaged, using my thumbs, the areas on either side of her perineum, where her upper thigh and buttocks met. Holding my breath, I was sure I would be rebuked.

"Can you perform that with more force please?" she said, almost, but not quite, moaning.

I pushed harder, and now she did moan. A growing wet spot formed where the purple fabric of her exercise shorts was pulled into her pussy lips.

When, much later, I had finished with the back side of her body, she turned over, and I got a view of her large and unusually firm breasts. Even lying down, they rose up much more than I would have expected. She caught me staring, and I averted my eyes, but it was too late. She laughed.

"My cousins called me 'missile chest', if you would believe that," she said with a grin, leaving no doubt that she'd seen where my gaze had lain.

"That seems a bit mean," I said automatically, rising needlessly to her defense.

"That was just how we behaved all the time, growing up; there was much teasing," she said, still grinning. "I had rude names to call them, too."

Despite the unrestrained boob talk, I had no legitimate reason to massage there, instead spending an hour on her forearms, hips, quadriceps, calves, and feet. I kept glancing at her midsection, where, to my undying pleasure, the wet spot continued to expand.

"Jason," she said, when the session was over, "I have never had a massage so expertly performed before. Would you be willing to do that again sometime?"

"Literally whenever you want," I said, holding her hand.

"Oh, good," she said.

Sweaty and oily from the massage, she returned to the shower. I simply sat on edge of her bed, my head in a fog, unable to think about anything other than her luscious, dark olive skin. She returned, this time wearing the green bathrobe that I had worn the night before last, and sat down next to me.

"I just want to say--", she started.

She had placed herself so close to me that our arms were touching, albeit through a layer of fabric from my shirt and the terry cloth of her robe. I could no longer stand it, and before she could finish her sentence, cupped the back of her head and drew our mouths towards each other. Before our lips made contact, she grabbed my head with much greater force, causing a rapturous collision. We made out for I don't know how long. There was no "foreplay"; we went straight into tonguing each other greedily. I felt like the room was spinning around me, and barely noticed when we fell onto the bed together, continuing our passionate embrace. Just as I began to reach under her robe to feel a breast, Calista sat up.

"Jason," she said, once I had sat up too, "I need to ask you something."

"Of course," I said, although I doubt I could hide the disappointment in my voice.

"Do you wish to have vaginal intercourse with me?" she asked.

"Um, well, yes!" I stammered. "I might not call it 'vaginal intercourse', of course," I added, trying to seem more casual than I actually felt.

"That is interesting; what would you prefer that it be called?"

"Well, people normally just say 'fuck' or 'have sex' in this situation."

"No. I do not like that vulgar term, and 'have sex' is too generic," she said.

"'Bang'? 'Get it on'? 'Make love'?"

"I dislike euphemisms when it comes to sexual terminology. What about 'coitus', perhaps?"

"You know, let's just stick with 'vaginal intercourse'," I said, taking her hand. "Do you want to have vaginal intercourse with me?"

"I do. More than you realize, most likely."

"Well, that is possibly the best news I have ever heard in my entire life, and I am really not exaggerating. Is there some kind of problem, though?" I asked.

"In a way, yes, there is a kind of problem: we cannot engage in intercourse right now."

"We can't?"

"We both need to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases. There is a clinic we can go on Monday morning, but we will need to wait until then."

"That is very responsible, and I agree. We could use a condom, though, if we, uh, don't want to wait?" I said hopefully.

Calista looked deeply into my eyes.

"Normally that would be my suggestion, as well. But with you, I will never use prophylaxis. Not even the first time. Especially not the first time, in fact."

The many implications of this statement sent a wave of euphoria shooting through me.

"So you will have to leave now," she said, bringing my mood crashing back down to earth. "Do you think you will be able to sleep well enough by yourself tonight?"

"I think I'm okay now... but why?"

"If we stay within each other's presence for much longer, we will have vaginal intercourse, even if we try to avoid doing so."

Although deeply disappointed, the moment she said this I knew the truth of it. She kissed me, then pushed me gently away.

"I will send you a text with the location of the clinic, as well as what time to arrive," she said.

* * *

Driving home was fraught. The moment I closed the front door behind me, I began, irrationally, to miss Calista, even after so short a time apart. By the time I got to my apartment I felt mildly depressed, a feeling that was alleviated once I saw that she had sent me two texts rather than the one I had been expecting. The first was the address of the clinic. We were to meet there on Monday at 8:30AM.

The second text, thankfully, showed how much she missed me, too. "I enjoyed watching strictly ballroom, do you have any other suggestions? I am bored."

I took this as an excuse to call her, so I initiated a video chat. She picked up immediately. We started off talking about movies. I thought she might like "Lawrence of Arabia", and it turned out she knew far more than I would have expected about both the film, and the man who wrote the book that had inspired it.

"T.E. Lawrence is famous in my home country," she said.

Somehow the conversation kept jumping seamlessly from one topic to the next. We never did decide which movie to watch, and when I finally thought to look at the clock, it was after 2AM.

"It is after two, you know, Calista," I said.

"That is not good," she said. "Humans need sleep. Perhaps it would have been healthier for us to have had vaginal intercourse, after all."

By this time, I knew her well enough to recognize when she was making a joke, at least most of the time. She had a masterful poker face, and only by looking at the corners of her eyes could one get a sense of how serious she really was. I burst out laughing, and then, at last unable to maintain her decorum, she did too.

The following day, a Sunday, I became thankful I had an unlimited data plan for my phone. We spent most of the day on video chat with each other, neither willing to hang up, even when in the middle of the most mundane chores. We watched a movie together that night, synchronizing the playback, then somehow stayed up until after 1AM before finally breaking off for, in my case, at least, a fitful night's sleep; the nightmare had not returned, as far as I could tell, but for some reason I kept waking up anyway.

* * *

The clinic was on the 12th floor of a medical/dental building which housed a number of private practices. It was less than two blocks away from three of the city's largest hospitals. Calista had not given me the office's name, so I only had the office number, 1269, to go by. I tried to find it on the large, wall-mounted directory near the security desk, but all the offices on the twelfth floor had numbers below 1250. I had to trust that Calista's information was correct, and made for the elevator banks.

When the metal doors of the elevator slid open, I wasn't sure where to go, so I followed the signs to office 1250, assuming the clinic would be located somewhere beyond it. This proved incorrect, and in fact office 1269 was about twenty feet past office 1210, on the opposite side of the building. The door, once I found it, was a sturdy, all metal affair. It had the office number embossed on it, and had no visible handle or doorbell. The telltale eye of a video camera was mounted a few inches to the right. I stood there, feeling confused, unsure of what to do next.

"Please state your name," a melodious female voice intoned from an invisible speaker after a few beats.

"Um, Jason. Jason Walker," I said nervously.

"Welcome to our clinic, Mr. Walker," the voice said, and the door swung slowly open on silent hinges.

Inside was a brightly lit waiting room, and to my undying relief, the beautiful Calista. She got up and we embraced fiercely. She kissed me full on the lips before letting go. A doctor, whose name tag read, "Anderson Kirkpatrick, M.D., Ph.D.", watched us fondly.

"Ah, to be young again," he said, which struck me as odd; I would have believed him had he claimed to be thirty years old, or even twenty-nine, at a stretch.

The doctor introduced himself, and then explained the procedure. Calista and I were sent into different exam rooms. Surprisingly, Dr. Anderson himself followed after me. Another doctor, a dark-skinned, green-eyed woman with short curly hair, saw to Calista.

"This is going to be mostly quite quick," he said, "Are you okay with needles? These are not very long, mind you."

"I am," I said, and he poked my arm with several square pads, each about an inch across, and each having a short needle sticking from one side.

"Great, just great," he said, "And one last thing, we will need a sperm sample for the fourth test. I'm sorry, I know it's awkward, but the alternative blood work would take several days to get through the lab, and my understanding is that you and Miss Corey would like results as soon as possible?"

He gestured towards a wide-mounted, graduated cylinder made of blue-tinted glass. It was on a metallic shelf next to a little door.

"When you're, ah, done, please put the sample on the other side of that door and give a couple of knocks, would you please?" Then he added, "Also, the test works best with larger samples, so do try not to miss."

I agreed, and he left the exam room. Ordinarily, I would have found it difficult to produce a semen sample under such odd and sterile circumstances. But in this instance, I merely needed to visualize what Calista and I, hopefully, would be doing soon. Three minutes of stroking and fantasizing later, my cock was shooting into the cup. I had been pent-up, and a surprising amount of fluid came out. I could not help but look at exactly how much before turning it over to whomever was on the other side of the little door. Once the sperm settled, it was hovering around the 23ml mark. Shrugging inwardly, as I had no idea if that was a lot or a little, I put the sample on the other side, closed the hatch, and then knocked several times.

Back in the waiting room, Calista and I began to make out again, heedless of propriety. There were no other patients around, in any case, so it hardly mattered.

"Ahem," Dr. Kirkpatrick said after some minutes had passed.

We had not noticed him entering the room.

"I am so pleased to tell you that neither of you have any sexually transmissible diseases. And in fact, these tests rule out a number of non-sexual diseases, as well, but I'm afraid that I am not at present allowed to inform you of which ones, per FDA regulations."

This last part made little sense to me. Why would the FDA not want me to know that I did not have some random disease? I hardly cared, though, as only one thing was on my mind. I turned to Calista.

"Yes, Jason." she said.

"I didn't ask you anything yet."

"I know. Yes." she said.

* * *

We both called in sick to our respective workplaces and drove back to Calista's apartment. I had taken the bus, so did not have my own car. The ride to her place was equal parts agonizing, funny, and sexy as hell. The agonizing part was obvious; we were not having sex yet. The funny part was the matter-of-fact way she spoke about the topic, sticking to medically accurate terminology. And the sexy part hardly needs explanation.

"While we are driving to my home, perhaps we could discuss what sexual activities we like and dislike?" Calista put forth.

"Certainly," I replied.

"I do not like any from of bondage, or anything of a similar nature; unlike your friend Phoebe, I am not... a submissive person."

'She's jumping right into the deep end,' I thought, although I was not really surprised by her bluntness.

"I also dislike anal intercourse, and would prefer you never touch my sphincter or even my perineum, although in the latter case I understand that occasional contact will be unavoidable."

"No anal," I said, "no problem. What, um, do you like best?"

"Vaginal intercourse," she said without hesitation, then added, with an added lilt to her voice I had only recently been able to recognize consistently, "obviously."

"Vaginal intercourse: check," I said, and she smiled. "Do you like being eaten out?"

She looked quizzical. "Eaten out? Surely you are not asking about going to restaurants together?"

"Ah, no, I mean having your puss--, er, vagina licked. By a tongue. Mine, to be specific."

"Oh! You mean cunnilingus. Yes, I like that."

"A lot?" I asked, hopefully.

"To be honest, I am not sure. I have of course experienced cunnilingus many times, and have enjoyed it, but I would not say that any of my sexual partners have performed it for sufficient duration, or frequency, and I have not formed a definitive opinion."

"Would you be up for trying it for much longer?"

"I would be open to the possibility, yes," she said, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. "Now, what do you like?"

"Cunnilingus," I said, waited a beat, and added, "obviously."

Calista burst out laughing.

"You are a humorous male," she said, after recovering. "Do you like anything else?"

"Vaginal intercourse," I said, and peals of laughter erupted once more.

"Anything else?" she said after regaining composure once more.

"Well, I have enjoyed anal sex with several women, but I would not say I seek it out specifically. I would not be okay with pegging."

"Pegging?"

"That would be where you, uh, performed anal sex on me, with some kind of toy."

"Oh yes, we have a word for that, too," she said, without telling me what it was. "Luckily for you, that is not among my interests."

"I'm also okay with light bondage, but nothing that hurts; no spanking for example."

By this point we had parked in the garage at her apartment. On the elevator ride to her floor, we were unable to keep apart from each other, and embraced and kissed the entire time. Thankfully, no other passengers got on, leaving us to make out in peace as we were carried swiftly upwards.

* * *

In her bedroom, the first article of clothing to be removed was Calista's shirt, a tight, purple silk blouse. She did not have a bra on underneath, and thus it was that I saw her breasts for the first time. Her rib cage was slightly narrower in width than her shoulders, although not by much, but also unusually shallow, accentuating the size of her firm breasts, which sloped down at only a slight angle from her collarbones. Her dark areolae were the largest I have ever seen, many inches across, and in the middle of each was a prominent, thick, conical nipple. Any intention I might have had to hurry things along fled my consciousness. All I could think of was worshiping this part of her body for as long as she would allow.

I sat behind her on the bed, and began to massage her chest, starting at the upper part of her breasts, and moving down slowly towards her centrally-located nipples. My body flooded with heat as my hands made contact with the firm, pliant flesh. Gratifyingly, she enjoyed this more than I expected, even before I reached her nipples her breath became heavier, and she started to make subtle moaning noises. When I began gently massaging each nipple, she could no longer hold back.

"That is divine, Jason," she said.

This was an entirely new experience for me. While none of my ex-girlfriends disliked having their boobs fondled, and at times even sought it out, none of them had ever reacted so quickly to such a minor amount of contact. Calista's breasts, her nipples in particular, seemed so sensitive that I began to hope she could have an orgasm simply from my attentions. Deciding to prolong things, I moved my hands upwards again to rub the less sensitive flesh there.