No Consequences Pt. 01

"I'll bet you get compliments." It's perfect. Instinctively, I pulled her in pressing my face into a rock hard cheek, running my hands up and down her thighs. "Is it your intention to drive me crazy."

She turned around and looked at me. "I was serious when I said I loved your book; there was so much goodness in it I wanted to meet you."

"Pretty brazen way of going about it."

Gums. "I could have waited for you to call." When she snickered I sucked up some courage and slipped my fingers under her waistband, surprised at how elastic the pants are and when I did she climbed on my lap and her mouth was on mine, her hands pulling my head in, her tongue edging delicately into my mouth. It stunned me, I had never been attacked like this before; for a split second I felt like a vulnerable wuss, then I began fighting back, my body pressing harder against hers, my tongue searching her glistening gums, the fingers that had slipped out of her pants went up under her t-shirt, feeling the heat and the solid strength of her back. That's when her hand pressed went down between my legs lightly but firmly gripping my balls. I actually felt violated for a moment then I did something I had never done before, I forced my fingers under her pants and underwear and gripped her cheek. I meant this to be as audacious as her move but it wasn't, not to her: she immediately pushed her ass back at my hand and my little finger slipped between her cheeks. That was it; I was instantly ready, but when I began pushing her away, anxious to get out of the chair and onto a bed she said, "No, no, I'm close, really close. Please."

I pulled my hand out of the back of her pants, pushed her away and when I awkwardly started peeling off her remarkably tight pants she hopped off me and did it herself making short work of both the pants and underwear then when she crawled back on my lap she guided my hand between her legs to her hot and hairy pussy and she put both her arms on my shoulders, her hands around my neck and as my fingers slipped further in she thrashed at my fingers with determined rhythm. Her climax came fast, within a minute then she slumped like a rag doll; her head on my shoulder.

"Already?" I was actually surprised but I deliberately played it up. "I thought we were supposed to come together — how selfish can you get? What am I supposed to do now?"

Her hands went immediately to my belt. "Ah, take off your clothes would be a start. How can I get at it through these?"

She worked fast on them; when she had them undone I helped her push them off then her fingers grabbed my prick like she was a longshoreman (I speculated). "Jesus, take it easy."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Haven't you ever done it before?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't."

How can a woman be so insistent yet so inexperienced? It occurred to me that it wasn't going to be easy to getting to know her, which, I had to remind myself, was my prime goal since I decided to make her my heroine. "It shows, take it easy, do it lightly, it's not a pole."

"So I see."

I pushed her back so I could read her. "What's that suppose to mean ... ya, do it like that, that's good." Her hidden breasts were just inches from my face. I pulled at her t-shirt ... she quickly took it off then I folded the bra under her right breast but when I did I broke it a bit.

"What are you doing? You wrecked it."

"It's just a little rip, look how old the thing is."

"You probably ripped my underwear, too. You ask me to be light on you then you tear up all my clothes."

I chuckled, I loved the false indignation. She continued stroking me and she had her arm around my head with her hand gently on the side of my face, lovingly, that's the way it felt. "Just concentrate, OK? You had yours, I get mine." When I closed in on her very stiff nipple she adjusted her position making it easy for me and it became suddenly blissful, her fingers on my cock, her wonderfully hard nipple in my mouth, the soft fat pressing against my face and her arms cradling me like I really meant something to her.

It didn't take me any longer than it did her and I didn't give her any warning. When it erupted it left a long trail from her navel up to the cup of her bra. "What are you doing?" she almost yelled.

"What did you expect?"

"I didn't expect that much, look at it, it's all over me. Aren't you supposed to catch it in something?"

I scoffed. "It's not all over you and anyway, it's supposed to go into a receptacle which wasn't exactly on offer."

She flicked a bit of it off her belly and tasted it ... then made a face. "And girls take this in their mouth?"

"And they love it."

She snickered, "As if you've ever tasted it."

I made a show of licking the fingers that had been in her. "How about your stuff, it got all over me too but did I complain? No. I appreciated it."

She snickered. "You appreciated it."

"I did." I reached down, picked up her pants from the floor, quickly pulled her panties from them and started to clean her.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? You're not happy with my gift, I'm cleaning it off."

"Your gift," she smirked.

"This stuff is valuable, especially from an award-winning author. Do you have an idea how many really ambitious women are out there who would pay big bucks for the creativity, the sensitivity, the artistry ... you might say the brilliance of my evolutionary soup? And you're complaining? God, for a stalker you're unbelievably ungrateful." I scrubbed hard against her cup and when I finished I held up the panties dramatically. There was a slight rip but they were well worn so it was probably already there before I got to them.

"See, you did wreck them, too. You got a ziplock bag? I should bundle these up as evidence."

That stunned me. "Not funny." I didn't know her, didn't have a clue about her and the thought that being with her could somehow end up in court had already occurred to me.

She was going to fight back but didn't. "No, it isn't. Sorry."

"I'll get you some new stuff and it will be a fuck of a lot prettier than these."

"Make sure you do," she said, snatching her panties from me.

I turned and kissed her nipple, noticing it was still wonderfully stiff. "Are you staying the night?"

She kissed the top of my head. "I want to be here in the morning to make you coffee. I brought a bag of the strong stuff, the stuff you couldn't handle, you wuss."

This pissed me off. I almost sprang up. "You told me to ..."

She laughed at me mockingly then disentangled herself from me, slid to the floor pulling me with her. "This is fun," she said, slithering on me like an amorous seal. She kissed me on the mouth, gently, then on both eyes before she crudely licked my lips. "I'm ready again. You?"

I rolled, taking her with me and when she was on her back, I got between her legs, sat up and, stupidly, flexed my biceps like an adolescent. "Finally the way it's supposed to be." Then I collapsed down on my hands and she eased me into her.

It took just minutes for us to arrive together then I was on my back and she crawled on me. "I knew it was going to be like this, not the fun part, that surprises me. I knew I'd be right about you; now we have to figure out how you can be right about me. How are we going to do that?"

"How about more of this?"

"Anything else?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"Don't know if this is going to be enough."

"Well it is for the time being."

"Ya, well I have some depth and I want you to look for it."

I snickered. "You saying I haven't? You saying I'm small?"

She sneered at me. "I'm saying I really like you and I want you to really like me ... that's why I'm stalking you." She sat up, cross legged, reached for her panties which were by the chair and wiped herself a few times with them then looked at the result. "You can really make this stuff can't you."

"That's the one reason there's hope for the planet."

She laughed and when she threw the panties at my face I could feel my own wetness. I pulled them off in disgust, wiped my cock with them — then I threw them back at her. She let them fall off her face without even a flinch; she gave me some gums then made short work of her bra.

Her breasts are even more fabulous than I imagined and she has a fantastic bush that spreads wide and high with a little trail of hair pointing up to her navel. I could feel my erection rising; she could see it — she grinned.

"You're really comfortable with your nudity, aren't you?" I said, impressed.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"As in, if you've got it flaunt it?"

"Am I flaunting?"

"It's like you've spent time at a nudist colony."

"I love looking at the human body."

"You must have a lot of mirrors."

"I like looking at bodies, so sue me, I'd even like looking at yours, if you'd let me. Why are you so shy?"

"I'm not shy."

"Ya, you are."

Ya, I am, a bit. I shrugged and changed the subject. "You've never given a guy a hand job before. Really?"

"Nope." She lay down beside me and kissed my prick. "And I've never done this before either." She kissed my prick again then licked it before sucking on it, just the top. There is an astonishing allure to her body or was it that I just hadn't had much sex in the past few years? Whatever, my head was spinning when I pulled her in pressing my face between her legs, taking in all the sensations, the taste, the scent, the heat and the tickle of her hair. When she curled her leg to make a pillow of her thigh I relaxed as I never have before and when her hand found mine I held it as if the connection linked our souls.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"28," I muttered into her pussy.

"How many girls have you slept with?"

"None of your business," I mumbled again, muffled by her muff.

"No, seriously, how many?

I pulled back a bit. "How many men have you slept with."

"Two ... two guys — they didn't mean anything to me I just wanted to try it."

"And?"

"I have masturbate a lot, like a lot; I wanted to see what the real thing was like ... that's what you're all about. You've got to care about the guy you sleep with, that is my take-away, that's why this has been so great."

"God, are you always so frank?"

"I want you to get to know me. How can you do that if I'm not open with you ... like, along with the two guys, I've slept with four women," gums, "not together ... so I've slept with six if you count the girls, which I do. I think the national average for a girl my age is something like eight partners so I'm one short ... counting you as lucky number seven."

I was trying not to show my shock. "Does that mean you're gay ... part gay?"

She grinned. "Probably, but not very, the first three were years ago, the last one is a friend."

"Oh, well then, that explains it all." I was trying to stay cool but this kind of thing is entirely new to me: I knew about lesbians, of course, but recreational sex with the same gender?

"How many?" she repeated.

"Three ... and one quite old lady, she's 62."

"You have sex with a 62 year old woman!" Finally, I shocked her.

"Yep, she's my agent."

"Jeez ..."

"I first slept with her because I needed her, now it's for the experience." My deepest darkest secret was suddenly out there and I loved the feeling.

The shower was an experience, too. Once we were wet she handed me a bar of soap and turned around leaving me with the soap, her back and my imagination. The moment I pressed the soap to her shoulder she looked over that same shoulder and gave me full gums. "Wouldn't it be great to be with someone who really wanted to do this?"

"I really want to do it." I watched the soap trail its film along her healthy pink skin.

"But you know what I mean ... like in a possessive way, like a guy soaps a girl like he was soaping an old car he loved."

If she was making all this stuff up on the fly she was pretty good at it. "Well, I've never washed an old car or a woman's back ..."

"But you know what I mean?"

I slid the bar around the fascinating contours of her back thinking about what she had said. Ya, it would be kind of nice to have that kind of familiarity, that kind of intimacy, I've never thought about it before. "It's like that classic pic of a monkey picking nits out of another monkeys hair; I've always loved that pic — I think it speaks volumes about their relationship."

She immediately wheeled around. "It's exactly like that, that's exactly what I mean."

And there I was, faced with exactly that situation ... it was like I could see a nit crabbing across her hair: would I reach up and pick it out or would I turn from it in disgust? The question was in her eyes, sparkling with excitement; the question was in my prick, rising rapidly. The response was immediately: I reached up with my soapy fingers and when I gently took her breast we both leaned in and, bam, the question was answered: that's what we both wanted ... to pick nits off each other, the hunger for it was in our mouths, in our fingers and, in a moment, in our ferocious fusion as we lay in the tub, the water beating down on us.

She found me in front of my computer; the clock off to my left read 4:37.

"Who writes in the middle of the night?"

I didn't turn to face her. "Writers write when and where the spirit moves, much like the way you have sex."

"Why do you think I'm up? The spirit moved but so had you ... so what are you writing?"

"Notes ... I've decided to pattern my heroine on you so I wanted to get down some of the things you said and did when I could remembered them — snatches of your words, for instance."

"You want to pattern your heroine on me? Why?"

"Because I'm going nowhere with the one I have and I find you interesting."

"Because I'm basically the only girl you know."

"Who stalks, ya, I want that element in my heroine ... that brash who-gives-a-fuck-about-the-law-type."

She snickered. "What else have I got that you want for your character?"

"Your body, that will help."

"My face?"

"God no, she's a dark smouldering beauty."

She punched me hard on my shoulder. "I'm sensitive about my looks, you should know that."

"Ya, I've noticed how sensitive you are ... that's the one word I'd use for you. Here, let me write it down, s e n s i t i v e," I pecked it out, "I just wrote it down beside brash, headstrong, aggressive, incorrigible."

"What does incorrigible mean?"

"Set in your ways."

"Well, I'm not that ... that's why I'm stalking ... to find new ways."

I swivelled around to face her — I didn't know if she was kidding or not. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't wander around my house like that ... I tend to get this," I flicked my rising boner.

"Get me a nightie when you get the underwear ... no, get me a negligee, I've never had a negligee, burgundy, that would be nice, one that will hide all the bits that offend you."

I brazenly looked around her naked body not caring she could easily see my erection. "The only thing that offends me about you, so far, is your aggression. I don't know how to deal with it."

She grinned her gummy grin, reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet. "I'll show you."

I found her the next morning lying half submersed in the bathtub, her breasts floating like water wings.

"Sorry, but this is how it works when you've got a woodie." I was leaning awkwardly over the toilet, bent in deformity, pushing my cock down so I could get at least some of my piss into the bowl.

When I stood up and flushed I put my razor and shaving cream on the sink. "I was thinking you might like to trim, you know, for appearances sake — you can call me appearance." I was testing her, I wanted to see if I had any influence over her at all. I looked down at her floating in the water, amazed yet again at how absolutely comfortable she is with her nudity.

She looked up. "You do it, that way there can be no complaints."

"No way ... one nick and that razor'd go into the evidence bag with your underwear." When I walked away I was wondering what chance there was that she would use it. Jennifer Carter definitely would never efface herself for a man.

When I sat down at my computer I immediately went to my Characters folder and called up Jennifer Carter. She was wrong, all wrong, completely wrong, unworkably wrong and I had to finally admit it — she might work in other situations or for another writer but she wasn't working for me and I had to get rid of her — the facts of her, not the idea of her. Konrada Remp would be her stand-in, not necessarily the Konrada Remp I was getting to know but an idealized version of her, certainly not the gummy-grinned version now debating with herself whether she should reach for a razor to please a man.

I did a command-A to the pages and deleted everything there, then I stared at the vast expanse of empty space and wondered how much should I take of Konrada Remp's emerging reality? Jennifer could be anyone I want, bits and pieces of everyone I know, real or imaginary. But that was my problem. I'm just not good with people. Stories? I'm terrific, I have the imagination to manipulate near infinite and complex variables. But people. No. I knew the characters in my first book were mere stick figures who happened to be doing wonderfully interesting things — I knew this because my agent beat me over the head with it all the time. And I knew this was the reason I couldn't kick Jennifer Carter's ass into gear: she was an incomplete, totally vague non-entity. Konrada Remp ain't that so I decided to put her down on the page as accurately as I could, glistening gums and all. The body could make up for the beauty deficit.

When I broke mid-morning for coffee I was surprised Konrada wasn't there — I hadn't heard her leave, she didn't say goodbye; I felt strangely disappointed and that surprised me — I've spent years on my own, then she comes in for less than a day and suddenly her absence makes the place feel empty.

As the coffee brewed I walked around the house thinking about how strangely she was effecting me. She couldn't possibly be anything more than a lay to me — she just isn't my type, in looks, mentality or spirit. The body was great though and that's what I was thinking about when I sat back down in front of my computer. As I drank my coffee I was flashing back to memories from last night and pretty soon was caressing my erect cock through my pants. It was her absolute willingness that got to me; I had never experienced anything like that before.

I had my prick in my hand before I finished my coffee — I wasn't going to get anything done feeling like this so I stroked for a bit with her images floating through my head then I abruptly got up and went looking for anything that was her's, anything she may have left behind, anything that might remind me of her or have her scent on it. Nothing. The bed was made with no sign of anything superfluous lying around, not there and not in any of the other rooms ... until, heading back to finish off at the computer, I remembered and detoured to the bathroom.

The razor and can were there on the sink where I had put them. When I picked up the razor I could easily see it had been used: bits of various lengths of hair were clogging the blades. It saddened me. I could see her alone in here, doing something she probably didn't want to do but she did it for me. She would have been sitting here on the toilet, her legs apart getting rid of something that offended me. I felt a bolt of power but it followed quickly with disgust. Would I even comb my hair for her? No.

I soaked the hair from the blade and put the shaving stuff away. When I sat down at the computer again my erection was gone but it took just a single flashback to last night to get it back.

She was lying with my head on her belly when I took her hand and placed her fingers between her legs. She guessed what I wanted; she played with herself, showed me how she did it; then when I sat up to watch she really got into it, caressed her breasts, writhed a little then she said, "Do you want to see how else I do it?"