Don't Kiss Me There

This is not a stroke story, by any means. In fact, it goes to some very dark places before it gets to the finale which happened a few years ago. It's taken me that long to be able to put my head back in that place again and write it all down.

Many thanks to my volunteer editor, Alys21, whose considerable investment of time made this a much better story.

[All characters engaging in sexual activity, past or present, are eighteen or older.]

* * *

PART ONE: From the Beginning, but First...

I'd been having an affair with Elaine Danielson for six months. More accurately, she was having an affair with me. She would call me every month or so and ask if I was busy and would I like to "hang out." She never admitted it was an affair which was odd.

Predictably, she was only available on weeknights. I'd pick her up at her apartment, we'd go out for dinner; and then we'd usually see a movie, hear some music, or go dancing. If she was particularly horny, she'd say something like "I'm too tired to go dancing" or "I'm not in the mood for a movie." Her code for "let's go home and fuck."

I met Elaine through my in-laws who lived back home in another state. As far as they knew, Elaine and I were just casual friends.

What puzzled me was she never had any restrictions about where we went or what we did. Surely there would have been places where her paramour or his friends would see us? The one time in the past when I was sneaking around like this on someone, I had very strict no-go zones where it would have been too risky to show my face with another woman. Elaine never had the slightest hesitation about any of our choices--all part of the charade apparently.

That night we had been dancing at a steamy little nightclub in the Silver Lake district of Los Angeles. As soon as we got back to her place, she announced she needed to take a shower first. Elaine was very fastidious about her grooming and hygiene.

"Yuck! I'm so sweaty!"

She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her mini dress and whipped it over her head in one clean motion.

I admired her tall, lean body--like a dancer's: well proportioned, shapely arms and legs, minimal bust, and sleek muscle tone. A testament to the positive effects of yoga and exercise. She wore her dark brown hair in bangs, letting the rest hang down to her chest. At least that's the way she had it that night.

I never saw her wear a bra. She liked to have her prominent nipples accenting whatever top or dress she wore; it was part of her look. And she definitely got looked at. I think it was her way of compensating for her "don't really need one" physique.

She kicked off her shoes next to the colorful print dress slumped on the floor. I wasso glad she had gotten over her hang-up of needing lengthy amounts of clothes-on foreplay before having sex.

I should explain that last comment, but I'd be getting way ahead of the story. Let's start at the beginning.

* * *

Elaine and I had a history that went back many years. I met her through my younger brother's wife, Stacy. She was the older sister of Stacy's best friend Lisa Gentry, but I'd never seen Elaine before at any family events. I didn't even know Lisa had an older sister. Even though Elaine and I had both come to Los Angeles from the same city and the same circle of relatives and friends, we had never met until I was home for the holidays one year.

I was at a New Year's Eve party. Elaine was the only unattached female and was doing an exemplary job of leading on every one of the dateless guys there--and then complaining to her sister Lisa that they wouldn't stop hitting on her.

When Elaine and I were introduced, Lisa and Stacy both gave us the silly "I can't believe you both live in L.A. and don't know each other" comments.

I was at the party with Mary Mendoza, an old girlfriend whom I often got together with when I came back home. She shot a disapproving look at Elaine. "So who's the tall, skinnymorena dressed like a hooker?"

I explained that was the look favored by fashion-forward young women in L.A. that season.

"I should have known. She's looks like a real piece of work. Do you know her from out there?"

"No, just met her. You know my brother's wife Stacy. And you've met her friend Lisa. She's Lisa's older sister. This is the first I've heard about a sibling. I think she's around my age."

"Well, I think she's coming on to you."

"She's coming on to every guy here, attached or not."

"You're right, she is. I guess I'd be offended if she had skipped over you," she laughed. "That would be a reflection on me."

Elaine collared me later and supplied me with more info about herself, bragging that she worked for a record producer in L.A. I'd heard of him; but even if most people at the party wouldn't know who he was, they'd certainly recognize the artists and their hits he had worked on.

"If you like music, I can get you on the guest list at the clubs and the large concert venues."

It just so happened I spent an inordinate amount of time and money seeing live music, so I gave her my contact information.

"I'll give you a call when I get back and tell you what shows are coming up. I can put you down as a 'plus one'. Lots of free CDs, too, if you want. Here's my card."

I breathed a little easier when she assumed I would be going to these shows with a date. I thanked her and said I'd be awaiting her call. I was still a bit leery of accepting favors from Elaine in case she was expecting something in return. I wasn't so sure I wanted to get mixed up with her, just based on her demeanor and personality.

As Elaine flitted away, I glanced at her business card:

Elaine Danielson

Executive Assistant

Patration Records

I wondered why her last name wasn't Gentry, like Lisa's. Maybe a stepsister. Or she's divorced. Who cares? I probably wouldn't hear from her anyway, and I surely wasn't going to call her. I quickly stuffed the card in my pocket as Mary headed my way with a seductive look on her face. I didn't need much convincing to leave the party, even before midnight.

* * *

Mary and I were both in heat, so we headed back to her place. I got a roaring fire going, and she got out a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and put some ice in a bucket.

"Here, you open it. I've got another one if this isn't enough, but this is the good bottle."

While I worked on the cork, she brought over two champagne flutes.

"House rules: each time someone gets bubbly poured in their glass, they have to take off an article of clothing. OK?"

I readily agreed and filled her glass halfway. She took a sip and began unbuttoning her blouse. Soon my shirt joined hers on the floor.

Usually when there's a mixed gender game of strip poker, the women stall by taking one shoe or one sock off at a time. That didn't appear to be Mary's strategy that night. She knew the sight of her boobs swelling up out of her skimpy bra was getting me hotter than the fire.

Mary was decidedly my type: warm, easygoing personality, no airs--the exact opposite of Elaine. And she was completely free of any hang-ups in the bedroom. She handed her glass to me and coyly asked for a refill. I tipped the bottle up, let it flow, and watched as she unfastened her bra. She took a sip and looked over at the clock on the mantle.

"Half hour 'til midnight. I didn't get any noisemakers. I guess it's up to us to fill that void."

We drained that first bottle fairly quickly. She returned with the second, padding across the living room carpet wearing just one sock. Our glasses were promptly refilled as the last bits of clothing came off. My cock was already at full attention when I sat down on the sofa. Mary straddled me and asked for a small favor.

"Play with myconcha."

I was more than happy to oblige. She started to groan and run her fingers through my hair as I coaxed an ever-increasing wetness from between her legs. Sexual anticipation burned like the wood in the fireplace. We sipped our champagne slowly.

"OK, I'm ready," she proclaimed several minutes later as she placed my cock where my fingers had been. She lowered herself on me and clinked her glass against mine: "¡Feliz Año Nuevo!"

We had to put down our champagne once we got into it. The fire was going at a nice clip, sending sexy flickers of soft light and shadows across Mary's face as her hefty boobs bounced around. She wassuch a great fuck.

We easily lost track of the time. I found myself pounding into her from behind while she held tightly to the edge of the sofa. Mary moaned as another orgasm ripped through her body. I slowed down but kept sliding in and out as she caught her breath.

"Oh, Jay, that was motherfucking awesome! We don't do this enough."

She raised her head and glanced at the clock.

"Oops, it's 12:20," she chuckled. "Oh well..." She turned and looked back at me. "Let's keep going."

We'd probably still be together if I hadn't moved to L.A.

PART TWO: Put Me on the Guest List

When Elaine finally called me, I took her up on her offer; and soon I was going to more clubs and concerts than I thought were possible. She was surprisingly reliable in getting me on the guest list--there was never a problem. Often my name was right near the top.

I rarely saw her when I attended these shows unless there was a VIP section. She seemed frazzled from trying to do ten things at once; but she always gave me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and asked if I was having a good time, even when I had a date.

She was usually with some older guy whom I assumed was her boss based on his casual swagger. There was a constant stream of sycophants coming up to him, glad-handing and back-slapping, hoping to curry his favor. Later, I looked through the records I had of the artists he produced and found his picture. He looked a lot younger in the photo, but it was the same guy.

Most of my communication with Elaine was over the phone when we talked about what shows I wanted to see. I took her to lunch a couple of times to thank her for all she had done. I never considered asking her out on an actual nighttime date. She was too edgy and self-absorbed for my tastes.

She always suggested some restaurant where celebrities and industry execs would be. It was a guilty pleasure when I felt important sitting there with a woman everyone was looking at--and probably thinking, "Who's that dork she's with?"

* * *

The next time I was back home for the holidays, I was with Mary again. We found ourselves at another New Year's Eve party but this time with fewer people and out in the country at a friend's ranch. We'd all be spending the night there, so full speed ahead on the drinking.

We were all surprised Elaine brought her latest boyfriend from L.A. Mark didn't seem like her type, to say the least: short, burly, full beard, laid back--a jeans and flannel shirts kind of guy. Elaine had a different look than the prior year, but it was still music industry plumage designed for maximum male head swiveling. Mark looked like someone from a nearby farm who had been checking on his livestock right before coming over.

Elaine seemed to be casually flirting with me. I didn't pay it much mind, particularly after I got Mary behind closed doors. I was glad she and I were both in a situation again where we could have some guilt-free fucking. But I knew I'd be facing a lonely, dateless social calendar when I got back to L.A.

* * *

A few months later, Elaine surprised me when she called and asked if I wanted to meet her for drinks at a popular old-school Italian restaurant the following night, a Wednesday. The bar there was a legendary pick-up joint. This was a very unusual request for her. I was a little suspicious.

"What about Mark?" I wanted to find out what was going on.

"Mark's not going to be there."

Let's review: weeknight, late notice, boyfriend not coming. The picture was crystal clear. There were a thousand reasons not to go through with this, but I had been without a woman since my last time with Mary and couldn't think clearly.

"Sure. What time?"

* * *

The restaurant's lounge area was packed, even on a Wednesday. Everyone was carousing and keeping the bartenders busy. I was lucky to find an open stool amid the revelry. She showed up promptly at the agreed time.

"Hi, Elaine. Here, take my seat. I can stand. Can I get you a drink?"

She was friendly and chatty, no different from the times we went to lunch together. What if this was just a couple of friends having drinks?

She bought the second round. It was getting noisier; we had to get very close to each other so we could hear over the din. Each time we leaned in to talk, I felt her hand touch my shoulder and her hair brush against my face. Her perfume gently wafted across my olfactory receptors. It wasn't strong--just enough to cloud my judgment even more. Delicious sexual tension was tingling in every cell of my body--and making me very thirsty. I waved my empty glass at her.

"Shall we have another round?"

"Sure. Let's have it back at your place. It'll be quieter there."

I wasn't strong enough to say no.

* * *

Elaine had brought some weed to smoke, and I opened a bottle of wine. After that third round, she was getting a little tipsy. The next time she came back out of the bathroom, she made her move.

Moments later, we were kissing passionately on the sofa. I was extremely conflicted about where this was headed, but little did I know she had already decided that "first base" was as far as I was going to get that night.

She asked me to dim the lights. We stretched out together on the couch and resumed our embrace, entwining our legs. I slipped my hand over her breast, but she politely repositioned it on her shoulder. What? A second attempt minutes later was met with the same outcome. I hadn't done a prolonged make-out session in years. It wasn't an activity I was very nostalgic about. My balls began to ache as I felt precum dampening my underwear; my erection begged for attention.

After more than an hour of nothing but kissing, Elaine said she needed to get back. She was very friendly and matter of fact about it. No explanation, no offer to get me off--that was it. As we headed back, our conversation was just as casual and effortless as it had been earlier that evening. When we came up to the restaurant, she told me to slow down.

"That's my car right there."

I pulled over to the curb and parked.

"Jay, that was fun. I had a great time. I hope we can do this again."

She leaned in and gave me a long, sensual kiss. She was particularly good with her tongue.

Elaine said good night and hopped out. I watched to make sure her car started and she was on her way. As her taillights faded into the distance, I shook my head. What the fuck just happened? I was completely flummoxed. Was I back in high school again? It took me several minutes before I was composed enough to drive. What in the world is going on with that woman?

The ache in my balls was intense. As soon as I got home, I jumped into bed and began my relief efforts. That was supposed to be her job, I thought. I wouldn't have had a problem with our working up to full intercourse over several dates--as long as we could do other things along the way. Other things that went to completion.

It had been years since I had suffered sexual denial for hours like that. My ejaculation was acrobatic.

PART THREE: Sliding into Home

I had several weeks to contemplate the Elaine situation before she called again. Was I available for drinks? Same time, same place? I figured, why not? Let's see where this goes.

She was ready to leave after the first round--back to my place again. She had her weed, I opened some wine, the lights were dimmed. After a very long session of kissing, I tried to do a boob feel; but this time she didn't move my hand. I took ample advantage of this new privilege; she seemed to respond well to it.

Naturally, I ventured a little further, slipping my hand under her blouse. Oops! My hand was gently moved back to the outside. I tried a second time just to make sure I had reached the allowable limits for the evening. Yes, external boob feel only.

We continued our make-out session on the couch until it was time for her to go--about two hours later. Same goodnight kiss before she got out of my car back at the restaurant. Same wish for future encounters.

* * *

I didn't have anything better going on my end, so I accepted another tryst with her a month later. A pattern started developing. I was allowed to do the inside the blouse feel that had been rebuffed the time before--but nothing else. Over the next few months I kept coming back for more, a little more each time. It was like I was following a trail of sexual "bread crumbs" through the forest, looking for the pot of gold at the end.

All this time we never went back to her place. I didn't even know where she lived. It was always the meet-up at the restaurant. At some point she had agreed to conduct our lengthy "kissing plus" sessions on my bed, each time getting a little more intimate--but no release on either side. Mark's name was never mentioned.

I can't remember which time it was--the sixth, the seventh? We were rolling around on my bed fully clothed when she reached down and started to undo my belt. Finally!

While I stood and fumbled with my pants and socks, she sat up and moved to the edge of the bed and hiked up her skirt. She leaned back and pulled her panties to one side.

"Don't you want to take your dress off?" I wondered if she was self-conscious about her modest bustline.

"No. Come to me."

She grasped my shaft and guided me to her pussy. I eased into her and began a slow thrusting. Oh, what a sweet sensation! But it soon became clear... Elaine wasn't that good in bed. I was surprised.

Maybe she felt guilty and couldn't relax? Her movements were awkward, and her expressions of passion seemed forced and repetitive. Even so, my sexual anticipation had been pushed so far into the red zone that I had an explosive climax. Barely a minute later, she announced she was ready to go back.

Even after a few more encounters, it never got any better. I couldn't figure it out. The pot of gold was a pot of zinc instead.

* * *

At some point, I think Mark might have been out of the picture since Elaine suggested we go out on a Saturday night--but who knows. I knew something had changed. One thing that didn't change was the lame sex. And there were still immense amounts of foreplay before taking off any clothing.

Now, I can appreciate the novelty of a tease and denial, particularly the powerful ejaculation, but only as an occasional choice--to spice things up. And even then, thirty minutes, tops.

Another shift in the routine was my going straight to her apartment to pick her up. We rarely went to my place since she never wanted to stay over. That required my taking her home and then heading back alone to my house. Way too much late-night driving after a draining climax.

So, we settled on screwing at her apartment since it was right in the middle of the area where all of our dining and entertainment activities took place. Also, she seemed surprisingly comfortable with my leaving right after I got off, even to the point of preferring that. Most women are insulted when you pull on your clothes and split--not Elaine.

I wasn't sure what our relationship status was. Maybe she was still involved with some other guy? Elaine always initiated the date requests; it was clear she never expected me to call her. And it only happened about every month or so, sometimes less frequently.

Having spent a lot of time with her at that point, I realized that I didn't like her personality that much. I learned if I wanted to see movie A and she wanted to see movie B, then I should always defer to her choice. The few times I insisted on doing what I wanted, she acted like such a pill--pouting and arguing--that I learned my lesson. Same thing for choosing where to eat or go dancing. But her snits didn't seem all that childish, actually. They were more complex and anxiety fueled.