Life as Story Pt. 02

So, as I leaned into her back I was well into what amounted to foreplay and was only minutes away from the turn when I would attempt to get intimate, when she would see that this intimacy mattered to me. Was it really the surrender that got to me? No, I knew as I pressed the heels of my palms deep into her muscles, it was the touch, too, and the prospects of invasive physical intimacy but this is prelude to my own orgasm and the prospects of just how that would happen added a measure of intrigue.

"Pat told me about your story, how you and your partner wrote a detailed story about your future and you are walking right into that story like into a film. I think that's pretty neat, especially if it works. Do you think it can?"

"Turn over." She did, awkwardly but unselfconsciously; she is clearly relaxed, she appears to be ready. "Do I think the story can work?" I drizzled oil on the top of her chest and slathered it about her shoulders and upper arms. "Let me answer it this way. Say you were here and I knew you well and I thought I knew what's best for you and I predicted that after you leave here you'd be going to go and get a black, dark Starbuck's coffee because you love black, dark Starbuck's coffee; then you'll go to Zorba's and get one of their Greek salads for lunch because you really like their Greek salads — in my prediction I would have created a story for you. Would you want to live it? Yes, you would because you like both coffee and Greek salads. That's basically what she's done: she and her daughter have figured out what I want to do and what's good for me, outlined the blueprint in a story, and told me to get on with it."

"And this is in the story?"

My fingers were now on her very full, very rubbery breasts, her nipples, which were nicely stiff anyway, grew noticeably in moments and raked against my fingers — her eyes were sealed shut, she had a near blissful smile on her lips, her legs opened in anticipation. "According to them, I like touching women even more than I like having sex with them, so that ... this is in the story — I'm not sure that it's true but I know it's true that my partner likes being touched more than she likes having sex so it's a kind of transference," I laughed, "but I can live with it." I could see both hands down by her sides were curled in fists now and her legs were rigid. I moved to the side, poured oil on her swollen belly, quite a lot of it, then slathered it with my hands. "I needed to sell my business, I knew that, it was time. She knew it, too; she had it in the story — it was central to her story. So I did, I sold it. What to do with my time? I didn't know: my business had always been my life, my only life. I wanted to go back to school; she figured that out — they think it would be good for me. So that's basically the story she wrote for me and a bunch of other things they think I want and should have or do."

"So, the intimacy with this. Does that include sex ... penetration ... Pat didn't know?"

"I don't know either, maybe, we'll see — I'd think there'd have to be at least some meaning."

"Meaning?"

"That we wouldn't — I mean that with whoever we wouldn't just be rutting, I would be giving something the woman ... especially wanted."

She laughed."Especially."

"You know what I mean."

"So, you'll ask her?"

"Do you want me to?"

"You sure can with me if you want."

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

The tips of my fingers just touched her pubic hair when her chest swelled. I scratched her hair briefly then went down and stood in front of her legs and started oiling my way upwards.

She was ready now, it was clear in her gaping mouth, her near gasping breathing, her whitening fists, her stretching, yearning legs inching ever more open. After I got by her knees my fingers splayed and I pressed hard into her thighs heading towards their target.

"They're in the story, of course — it isn't just my story, it's our story, Sally's and mine with her daughter invading into it wherever she can."

I moved up to the side, my fingers slipped into her groin on a sheen of viscous oil and sweat, deep into her gullies, deep enough so she spread her legs even wider while letting out a gasp. I was talking to myself now, I knew that but I wanted to get it out.

"Basically it gets down to this: if they can keep me happy by identifying things they think I want and will enjoy — the Starbuck's coffee and the Greek salads, they can have what they want, which itself, they know, will make me happy."

She flinched and gasped and laughed when my finger went into her. "It can't really be that simple."

"How much time do you spend with your sex club?" I brought two fingers in now and explored where Sally had taught me.

"I'd be embarrassed to tell you."

"How much time do people spend watching movies, or watching sports, or watching porn, or doing recreation, or doing the things that bring enjoyment to their lives ... lives otherwise spent on work so they can pay for that enjoyment? For me, they identified sex as the key to my happiness, that, in one form or other, is the major focus of my story, the first part of the story anyway. They have been very perceptive and clever and diabolical. They've given me what I want and maybe even what I need, and in the process they've got what they want in return."

"You don't have to work?"

"I don't have to work. She ... they ... bought me this table, some oils, some towels, some scrubs and a calendar which they plan to fill as much as I want ... in other words pretty soon I'll be well into the story they have created for me."

"You keep saying they."

"Are you coming back sometime?"

"Are you kidding, my club would disown me if I didn't."

"My story really started in a fast food restaurant two months ago. I'll tell you about it, how a little under-nourished street urchin puppeteered my story. It's unbelievable."

When my fingers slipped deep into her she reached out and touched my erection. "Please."

I left my fingers in, I could feel her straining, feel how close she was as I pushed down my scrubs and underwear freeing my erection. Her hand was on it immediately, pulling me to her.

"I'm close," I said just before I got there.

"Oh, God, me too."

It was beautiful, really: the surrender turned to desire, the desire to need, the need to insistence. She sucked hard as she bucked at my fingers, it was exquisitely erotic, that old, fat body rejuvenated by lust.

I could feel her fluids flood against my fingers as I stroked and aimed at her breasts, the first act of my new story.