Quicksilver

He collapsed on me, then pressed up on his elbows to shelter me. I squeezed him to draw him back down, to spread his weight over my body. Our mouths and groins remained joined. We were two edges of one organism. I was complete. I twitched all over, a happy spastic.

His cock softened and slipped from me, lying wetly on my thigh. I would not let his tongue slip away. I inhaled him.

I finally pushed him off me so I could gasp more freely. He held me close, gasping too, our sweats mingling, our heat radiating.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Damn," I echoed. "Can you stay the night?"

"I brought fresh underwear. Do we need to change the sheets?"

"Probably. I have a small laundry in the bathroom. We can wash the sheets and your clothes."

"I think I'll need the bathroom anyway. Do you have a shower?"

"It's just big enough for us to fit in together."

"I gotta pee. You gotta pee too? Let's pee on each other's feet, it's antifungal, fights off Athlete's Foot. Hey, you know what astronauts get? Missile Toe."

I slapped him gently to shush his chortling. Then I hugged him close, and kissed him, and rolled on top of him, and squeezed as tight as I could.

"Hey there, easy on my bladder. Almost too much wine, I think."

I eased off his abdomen but kept my breasts pressed into him.

"Nate, I think I—"

"Don't say it," he interrupted. "Let's clean up."

Was I going to say I loved him? Probably. But he was right. We were a mess. *I* was a mess, for sure. I gently kissed his lips, rolled off him, and did not stagger too much when I stood. His cum drained down my leg. He stood. My juices stained his pubes, slicked his cock. We were beautiful. But smelly.

We peeled off the sheets; we would replace them after we had cleaned. He fetched his sweaty underclothes and riding shorts; they joined the sheets to fill my little washer.

I started a flow of warm water in the shower and urged him in. He stood and pissed on my feet; I squatted a little and unleashed a golden stream on his. We laughed and shampooed each other's hair; massaged each other's scalps; tenderly but thoroughly soaped each other's bodies; rinsed each other carefully; taste-tested our efforts. My shower was too small for bent-over fucking. Damn.

We dried each other. We hugged tightly and kissed deeply. I swatted his butt, opened the door, and went to the living room to close the window and drapes. Figgy was curled on the sofa. He strutted to the bedroom, buffed Nate's ankles, inspected the bed, and meowed his approval.

"Are you sleepy yet?" I asked. "We can't crash till the washer and dryer are done, maybe a little over a half-hour. Want some more wine and the other side of the record?"

I really wanted only to inhabit this wonderful man if he would let me but that would have to wait. For now, we had Mussorgsky music and the rest of the wine. I was pretty blitzed and quite ecstatic.

I sat naked in his naked lap on the sofa. Our arms enfolded us; our kisses connected us; our flesh enticed us; his reviving cock would have joined us, but Figgy hopped into my lap and purred like a windstorm. He can be a bother at times.

We all sat pleasantly lap-cuddling until the washer stopped and I had to move its load to the dryer. I returned to find Figgy ensconced on Nate. That cat knows what he likes! And so do I.

I managed to clawlessly fold Figgy's furry form into my arms and resume my seat on Nate's groin, but not quite as close. Figgy purred happily; I did, too. Human tongues danced. Human breaths mingled. Human noses bumped.

We stayed like that until the dryer and record player stopped. It was time to sort things out. Shut down the living room. Fold the laundered sheets and Nate's underclothes, oh so tidy. Return to bed and fuck again, more slowly, more feelingly, and longer. Sleep a bit, half-waking when hands and mouths encountered sensitive bits, and for pee breaks. A luscious night!

===== Friday, week 2 =====

My alarm sounded. I hit 'snooze' and we kissed and hugged until it sounded again, dammit! I fixed a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and a ton of oatmeal for Nate. Exercise burns carbs. Figgy sat in his naked lap while he watched my bare breasts. We brushed Figgy's hairs off him, dressed each other, and walked to Geary Street to take the same bus downtown, a little early for me because he had to transfer for his South-Of-Market workplace. We held hands until he hopped off.

I unlocked the office door just as Mr Salman arrived. He raised his eyebrows and hinted at a smile when he saw my face. I guess I glowed.

"A pleasant night, Miss Barnes? Not merely eager for work, I assume." I probably blushed.

Anthea arrived fairly early with a drop-off and a pick-up. She poured and sugared a tall coffee.

"Does Nate have another special run today?" I asked the lively Quicksilver Girl.

"No ma'am, it's trickier than that. Glen Cannon, one of our drivers, broke his leg and will be out for a while, and we're short on qualified drivers. Jenkins has Nate scheduled for a commercial licence course today and tomorrow so he can be tested and licensed on Monday," She sipped her still-steaming coffee.

"We bikers don't stray far from downtown. Anything big or beyond goes by a compact pickup, like around town, and the airport, and across the Bay, and further if needed and paid for. Nate will be off his bike for a couple months at least. You'll see me here a lot. Hey ma'am, you have good coffee! You wouldn't believe the glop Wells Fargo offers." Her face pinched at the thought.

Anthea was back a couple of times that day, always smiling and polite, always taking more sugared coffee. I escaped at my usual time and bused to the gym.

Julia greeted me. "No Nate today?"

"No, and I won't see him at work for a while unless we have a distant delivery. He'll be a trucker, not a biker, at least for the near future. I hope he comes for workouts."

Julia smiled. "He doesn't look like a guy to flab-out. Romero will happily torture him with stiff, healthy routines."

"Nate was a competitive athlete," I said. "See who tortures whom."

I performed my exercise and swim rituel, dressed, walked home, re-dressed for comfort, and ate a Chinese salad. Figgy ignored me after devouring his kibble. I still did not have Nate's house phone number and I wanted to drive over to see if I could snag him for a Friday night out so I skipped the wine.

I parked by his house and rang the doorbell. Suzie's voice came over the intercom. "Yes?"

"Hi Suzie, it's Lydia. Is Nate home?"

"Uh well, he's kind of busy right now. Can I take a message?"

He is busy? Does that mean in bed with someone? Already? With Anthea, maybe?

"Just tell him I stopped by, okay? I'll catch up with him some time. Thanks."

He never told me of his usual Friday night routine. I did not know quite what to expect. Should I feel disappointed? Used? No, we have not promised anything. I only wanted his time.

I drove up Twin Peaks and watched the Bay Area light up at night. Then I drove home and drank wine. Figgy watched me masturbate but knew not to get too close. I drank more wine, smoked some hashish, and fell asleep watching a classic Creature Features movie on TV, 'The Crawling Eye'. I crawled back into bed alone. My dreams vibrated and warped.

===== weekend, week 2 =====

Saturday was warm-ish with fat clouds skidding across the sky. I drove to the Embarcadero, set my easel, folding stool, and paints in a sheltered spot at the Ferry Building, and splashed vivid sky- and bay-scapes all day, breaking for a salad lunch. All my paintings tasted like Nate. I did not rip-up any. With the Saturday night schedule he claimed, I did not try to track him down.

Sunday was clearer. I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and up Mount Tamalpais to paint Bay scenes from above. Nate still filled my vision, even during my tuna salad sandwich and lemonade lunch. I thought to clear my mind but I was horny. I spent that evening with Stan. I would not drop him quite yet, not as long as I cum first and he is not too over-the-top arrogant. Does he suspect he is disposable?

===== Monday, week 3 =====

The day was not too bad. Anthea arrived a few times with minor deliveries and, in the afternoon, she took more taped depositions for our Chinatown transcription service. I knew she would bring in a heavy load of transcripts tomorrow. Our secretaries and I are happy not to deal with that.

I bused to the gym, exercised and swam, and ate a light dinner at home. I thought to try Nate at his place again. I put on a dress, sweater, and sneakers, drove to quiet Noe Valley, parked out front, and rang the doorbell.

"Hey Lydia, is that you? I thought I saw you drive up. C'mon in." His cheery voice sang on the intercom. The door buzzed unlocked; I climbed the carpeted stairs. He hugged me at the top.

"Whew, m'lady, thanks for coming, and for waiting till after the Star Trek reruns." Spicy incense drowned most dinner scents. "C'mon in and get comfortable."

He ushered me through his door; I slipped my shoes off. He pulled me to sit beside him on the raised bed. Its covers and pillows were neatly rumpled and did not smell of sex. His jeans and black tee were fresh.

He held me and kissed me. I responded happily. We finally freed our lips to talk. He rubbed my shoulder. I rubbed his thigh. His jeans tightened a little.

"How's your new work situation going? Anthea mentioned some changes." I just HAD to know.

"I'm a licenced commercial driver as of today and the other Quicky drivers are very happy not to have to take Glen's runs as well as their own. I'm damn sorry I won't see you every day but I'll still work-up nasty sweats calling for pool time at the gym. Pay will be better but I won't get the exercise. Guess we'll be doing workouts together, okay?"

I hugged him close and kissed him thoroughly to show how 'okay' it would be.

"I think we know each other now," I said. "Can we exchange phone numbers?"

"Yikes, I should have thought of that before." He pulled a notepad and pen from a nook in the secretaire desk. "Here's the house number." We swapped our information.

He took my hands and pulled me in for another kiss. A brief eternity, and then he pulled away.

"I'm really glad you're here but I'm working on a song." He gestured at music paper and a bound composition book on the secretaire's open surface; his guitar leaned against the desk. "I've got the chords and melody but the lyrics still suck." He moved to the chair by the desk and strummed the guitar, then played a catchy ragtime-y piece. He sang something awful about the seven deadly sins and marauding squirrels. I winced.

"Yeah, pretty awful. They all start about this bad. They stay instrumentals if I can't fix them." He picked raggy riffs up and down the neck. "Sometimes I'd better shut up. Maybe I need a lyricist. Do you write poetry or verses?"

"Hah! I write postcards to my family and not much more. Well, also a few haiku about work, but they're even worse than this." I pointed at his lyrics book.

"Enough, then. So, what now? Cheap wine? A joint? Heavy making-out?" He leered; I giggled. "Wait, I know what! A good game of chess. But not the usual. No, make it strip chess."

"Strip chess?" I was not really afraid to ask.

"Sure. Each piece lost also loses a piece of clothing, and castling gets an item back. We keep our socks on — this hardwood floor gets cold — but otherwise we keep playing when we're naked, paying for further losses with sloppy kisses. Winner rides on top first, so nobody loses. Wine helps. I only have Red Mountain but I can fix it. Wait now."

He kissed me again, hopped up, and trotted through the door, leaving it part-way open. I heard muffled male and female voices from down the hall. Nate returned with two clean tumblers and a can of generic lemon-lime soda. He closed the door and set his small load on the desk. He put the guitar aside, cleared the papers from the desk, and pulled a gallon wine jug from the closet floor.

"Sangria Time!" he called.

He poured each tumbler about a quarter full of soda and topped them off with a so-called Burgundy. He pulled two sugar cubes from a box in a desk nook and dropped one in each glass. A teaspoon from the same nook stirred them, but not too hard. He set the wine jug and soda can atop the secretaire and passed me a tumbler. We clinked our glasses and I dared to drink. It only burned a little.

"It gets better after your taste buds are numbed, I promise. But wait, I'll get this set up."

He brought a chess board and bag of plastic pieces from the shelving. His folding stool emerged from the closet; he set that at one end of the desktop, and his chair on the end near me. He took a black and a white pawn from the bag, held them behind his back, and brought out clenched fists.

"Take the chair, m'lady, and choose."

I took white. Yay! I am quite good on offense. But should I let him win? No, I don't think his ego is weak. And he said nobody loses in strip chess!

Pawn exchanges and sacrifices soon had us down to his black briefs and my red panties. His bare chest looked good to me and he seemed to appreciate my luscious breasts and hard nipples.

"What do we do after the next lost pieces? I don't want to ooze on your chair." Yes, I was oozy.

He brought two clean, folded bath towels from a cabinet drawer. "We stay comfortable." He emptied his glass and I emptied mine. He reloaded both. We resumed play.

I took a knight; he lost his briefs and sat nude on a towel. He took a bishop; I was naked on my towel. I castled, and barely covered my breasts with my unbuttoned blouse. I moved a pawn into a sacrifice; he took it and I was naked again. I made another positional move. He took my exposed rook as I intended. It was sloppy kiss time.

"You're down two pieces on me so I get two kisses," he smirked.

He stood and stepped to me. He wetly slurped one excited nipple, and the other, then returned to his stool, his cock sticking out. I knew what his next penalty would be.

I took a knight. "My turn. Stand up." He stood. I knelt before him, my knees cold on the wood floor, and took his cock deep in my mouth. I pulled away; a string of saliva hung between us.

He took a bishop. "My turn. Lay back on the bed."

I turned the covers down and obeyed. He spread my knees (they were warmer now), kissed my inner thighs, and "licked my slit from taint to clit" again. I did not swoon.

A few more exchanges and sacrifices brought more wet slurps. This was my best chess game ever! But it was 'Kill Time'. We finished our wine and our moves. A perfect leap by my remaining knight exposed his king to crossfire from my queen, the knight, and my other bishop. He tipped his king in defeat.

"We both win," I said, "but you get to lay on your back on the bed. Get down there, buddy! I'm Lady Guenevere and you're my horsie, Trigger!"

He blinked. "Different eras but I get the idea. Okay, let's giddyup!"

He lay prone. I slipped between his legs and ensured he was steel-hard and wetly lubricated. I climbed aboard and slid him into me without hesitation.

"Ah," he said.

"Oh yeah," I whispered.

I fucked myself silly on his cock, helped by his nurturing my breasts. I managed to not scream and annoy or entertain his flatmates. He put me on my hands and knees and fucked me from behind like a rutting bull, his hands still on my boobs. I came again, and rolled on my back, and pulled him deeper into me. Our lips joined, too. I could scream into his mouth now.

I came and came. He came strongly and stayed inside without going too soft. I licked his manly nipples and felt him solidify again. More kisses, more stiffening, more fucking, and he came yet again. I am so glad I found a young one!

We laid together in his bed, close, kissing and stroking, not too sweaty but a bit goopy.

"Want to shower? And can you stay the night?"

"My clean work clothes are at home so I can't stay. A shower will probably sober me enough to drive home. Damn, I'll have to bring fresh clothes next time I'm over. And I need to pee. Can we piss in the shower here?"

"With the bathroom door locked, nobody will know. Let's grab the towels off our seats and wrap ourselves for whatever passes for decency. Hang on while I get my shampoo and soap."

We covered ourselves and snuck down the hall. TV sounds emerged from under another door. The toilet was in a closet next to the bathroom. A floral plastic shower curtain hung around the porcelain clawfoot tub.

We lathered obscenely, kissed thoroughly, and laughed quietly, trying desperately to not splash water around the room. We dried, re-wrapped ourselves, and scurried to Nate's room before being discovered. We kissed again. I reluctantly dressed and left. The drive home was lonely.

===== Tuesday, week 3 =====

I called Quicksilver to schedule a fat packet for express air to Boston. Nate came in for the pick-up. I glowed! He rushed. "Sorry, Miz Barnes, but I'm double-parked out front. Hey, this is my first airport run! See ya soon!" He dashed out with a small coffee in hand. Would all his stops here now be this brief? Should I call him tonight?

===== Wednesday, week 3 =====

Nate didn't arrive during the day but I got a call from him at the office just before closing time.

"Good afternoon, Salman and Johannes LLC, how may I help you?"

"Hello, Miz Barnes, it's Nate Kramer. I'm nearly through for the day and I could use some exercise. If you catch the same bus as last time, we could ride there together. Can you do that?" He sounded ambitious.

"Why yes, Mr Kramer, I can work a little longer and meet that schedule. Thank you for asking." I needed to always be professional in the office, else Mr Salman would gently disapprove. Mr Johannes is more relaxed but he is not who signs my paychecks.

Mr Salman is the brains behind the firm, planning and writing extensively, and Mr Johannes is the blustery, effective barrister in court. They, and the secretaries and paralegals and I, make an effective team, if I may say so.

Nate was on the bus when I boarded. He wore long jeans and a not-too-sweaty Quicksilver tee under a light jacket. He did not have his small pack so I knew he had no change of clothes and would not overnight with me. I sat with him but did not clutch or deep-kiss him, merely held his hand. Making-out on the bus would be too exhibitionistic for my taste.

So we chatted. I told him of my vacation travels around the States and Canada. During my absences, my landlady Beryl daily descended from the flat above to tend to Figgy, who was always perturbed and aloof when I returned. I would eventually be forgiven.

I especially liked state and national parks, their landscapes and visitors.

"I painted a fast watercolor of the firefall in Yosemite, with silly tourists peering at the contrived spectacle through binoculars even though they were very close. Too bad I could not paint the idiot who later asked, 'When do they turn the waterfalls off and on?' Morons don't render well. But I could symbolize them. I painted Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone lofting garish idiots into the sky, with flying red bat-winged demons hovering nearby."

He laughed. We arrived at the gym. He went to his locker for his Speedos, and I to mine for my exercise leotard. Gym workouts came first, alternating with weights, treadmill, crunches, and also pushups for him. He really poured into it. I love watching him sweat! Then into the showers and finally the pool, me in the racy bikini I now kept here. Leila and Shahira swam slow laps. Shahira saw us first, and waved. Her wet, tied-back Afro bounced behind her head.

"Hey guys, I'm glad to see you both back. You going to be here pretty often, right, Nate?"

"As often as I can," he said, surfacing after a clean dive. "It could get tricky. My job has changed for now, I'll be driving instead of biking, so I'll really need workouts here. But they may put me on earlier or later hours to meet client schedules."