Sappho and Catullus Ch. 09

INTO NEW TERRITORY

Michelle gets two letters: Catherine tells us how it was for her, once they got naked at the end of their planning game. Matthew tells of the promise he saw in Cynthia's eyes, and the way Pamela helped with his hopes.

My darling Michelle

Now that was fun. It was more than fun. You were hot and I was helpless. How much better can it get? Scheming how we're going to manage our first night with Matthew was clever foreplay, you scrumptious thoughtful girl, you! When you got down to shirt, bra and panties you're lucky I didn't ravish you then and there. But we made up for it.

That first embrace seemed to last forever. It's not that I haven't held you tight before, breast to breast, my mound pressing against your mound, your tongue in my mouth. This time was different. Our love has grown. The fun of the game had turned into passion. The longer we stood there, inseparable, our bodies fusing in sheer lust and desire, our pussies stroking each other with the slightest of movements, the stronger it became. I wanted you as never before.

So you knelt by the side of the bed while I spread my legs there in front of you, my breasts bare and my lacy panties inviting you to play. It stirred me, the way you traced the patterns over my bush, teasing me all the way to my hips, left, right, and then down to my V. The lace seemed to come alive and my clit tingled beneath it. And then, how you drew my panties down a little way and slipped your fingers inside. You see I have to remember every detail, relive all those moments of growing intensity. I can repeat those first moves for myself, now, lying back on my bed with my jeans off and my blouse open as the sun goes down outside my window. On my bedside table the wine glints in my glass. How you turn me on . . .

But I can't do to myself the things you did to me with your tongue. I can only recall them, and the heartache I felt as I melted under your touch. Do you remember how I reached out for your hair, so lightly you hardly felt it? How you stopped for a second and then gave me a slow, lingering lick that stretched my pleasure out until I took your head in my hands, fondled your beautiful, perfect earlobes and let you work on me, your mouth and my vulva finding each other, uniting, as the feeling washed over us both and I climaxed. Maybe you climaxed too? When two people are so attuned that they flow together into one limitless orgasm? Love knows no boundaries.

The thing is, I want to give myself to you so completely that I lose myself in you, and when your lips are on my cunt as they were then I feel no separation. When mine are on yours, as they were a few minutes later, you seem to pour yourself into me. And when you put your head on my breast and take your rest, murmuring endearments into my breasts, well, you put everything right that has ever gone wrong for me.

I'd like to imagine you as you are now, getting into your bath, your limbs gleaming in the light reflected off the water. I watch you dipping your toes and immersing your ankles and your calves and your thighs. And then your pussy goes under, the water's soft warmth swirling all around as you lower yourself, until I can see your face only, and the tips of your breasts. They say it is like going back into the womb. Maybe. All you need to do is find your vagina once you're feeling cosy and relaxed, and the rest will follow. Think of me while you're doing it? Think of Matthew, too. Think of what we have planned, of the next chapter in our strange, beautiful adventure.

And then close your eyes, and come.

Sleep well, my love

Catherine.

My Michelle of many parts

I envy your game with Catherine. You've always been able to add an extra dimension, an extra sweetness, to our love-making. It is stoking my desire and my love for you, for you both.

I would never have been able to find you and the sexual fulfilment I have with you if it hadn't been for Pamela, if it hadn't been for those lace-clad breasts I gazed on with delight so many years ago, it seems, the forbidden sight that beckoned me to all this joy. I hope she got half as much out of it as I did. My God, how we fucked the night I got back from my first date with Cynthia! We'd pushed each other to the limit beforehand, as planned, but afterwards, it was something new. I suppose it was because I was exploring new territory, and I knew, I just knew Cynthia was going to go to bed with me next time. You remember how you shared that feeling you had when you knew for sure that you were going to have sex with Catherine, how something clicked inside you and all your stress, all your anxiety, melted away? It was going to happen to me. Well, I relaxed when I was sitting across the table from Cynthia and her eyes flashed me the green light (Gatsby should have been there), but when I got home to Pamela, every nerve was aflame with my urgency. OK, I know Pamela wasn't my home, but, as they say, home is where they have to take you in when you have to go there, and she took me in -- heavens, how she took me in -- and I had to be there, to enter her.

She said I should start stripping Cynthia in my imagination while I fucked her in reality, but it all got confused. Cynthia was fresh and new; Pamela was ripe for plucking and fucking. It felt as if I was exploring Cynthia's unknown breast-blossoms while I was going down on Pamela and squeezing her magnificent rising tits from below. And when I was inside her, Pamela whispered to me, "Go deeper into her, Matthew. Can you feel her cunt pulsating against you? Fuck her, fuck her gently." Yes, I was gliding inside Pamela, loving her with all my heart and pleasuring her with all the grateful length of my shaft, and she was dying the little death with Cynthia's pleasure in mind.

Sex is an amazing thing. Why doesn't everyone love it the way we do? It gives us so much, it holds nothing back, it takes us beyond ourselves. Pamela showed me how. Cynthia tasted the first fruits. You have given it all new meaning.

It wasn't long before I fucked Cynthia. Or she fucked me. That's the point at which that glorious Anglo-Saxon word fails. To hear you say "fuck me, Matthew", to say it to you, "fuck me, Michelle, fuck me hard", intensifies the pleasure, cranks up the desire. But in the end, we're not really fucking one another. There's no longer one satiating their desire on the other. We're simply lost in one overwhelming wave of ecstasy. It was like that with Cynthia, from the start. She surrendered to me; I adored her. We came together, because I had learned how to keep it back until she was ready, until I felt her rushing towards climax, and she cried out, "Matthew, I'm going to come". I waited a few seconds, and then I let go, and she was sobbing in my arms as her cunt convulsed over my cock.

Perhaps you're wondering why, after such a start, things didn't work out with Cynthia and me. It was beautiful and tender, but it was not for life. Wherever she is now, she carries with her the memory of that first all-consuming togetherness.

I think we're ready!

I will never let you down

Matthew

Dear Matthew

I felt like crying myself, when I read your letter. I'd just got one from Catherine. Maybe I'm just being soppy, but can you both possibly want me so much? As you said to Pamela, what have I done to deserve such happiness? People can say what they like: we're deluding ourselves, there's nothing special or spiritual or transcendent about sex, just go and grab it and optimize the orgasms and there's an end to it. Grow up and get your fucks when you can.

Are we just children at play? Or are we the real grown-ups, the ones who have found the secret and are living it?

Tomorrow will tell. Catherine brought herself to climax on her bed at sunset, dwelling on the way we made love after writing our script. I got mine in the bath, imagining her eyes on me. And when I came, it was with the taste of your cock in my mouth and the bath-bubbles caressing my hands as they coaxed the climax out of me. So we are primed. And you? If I know you at all, this is the one time when you're going to abstain. Am I right? You'd rather let those thoughts and images and possibilities build up in your mind.

Is there any substitute for sex? Not really. But when you know it's coming, when you can rest assured that you're about to have a day in paradise, you can wait. I'm not telling you that you must. Here I am for you: fuck me all you like. Or you can pour yourself a glass of single malt, stir the fire and play some Beethoven. You've heard it all before, but maybe, just maybe, this is the night for the Fifth Symphony, the first classical LP you ever bought. Just right for the night before these past few weeks reach their destined end and shower you with goodness. The fatness of the earth and the sweet flesh of women. Beethoven must have known all about it. Through the rousing first movement and the anticipation of the second and the languor of the third, to the fruition of the finale, imagine that crescendo, with its afterglow, foreshadowing the moment when your rekindled cock settles into Catherine's cunt, and I smile, and you begin your work.

It's going to happen, my love. And I won't let you down, either.

Until tomorrow

Michelle

Next time: In the last chapter of this series of letters, our three lovers find fulfilment.