Shakespeare's Valentine Pt. 02

"That's maybe the third joke you've made about cutting off my penis. Should I be concerned?"

"Hey, color me obsessed. I've been trying to get a look at it since the first day of rehearsal."

"Not to completely betray an origin myth of the Heterosexual Male, but it's honestly not that impressive."

Cherri gave a little chuckle. "Honey, not to reveal another of the great Secrets of the Sisterhood, but pretty much none of them are. But yours happens to be attached to somebody I find...hmm, interesting, and amusing, and talented, and handsome, and sweet, and maybe a little maddening, but altogether very, very sexy. Besides, it's been...Jesus Christ on Christmas, almost three years, since I've seen one in the flesh, as it were."

I was stunned. I tried, without much success, to set aside my own personal fascination with my Lady, and look at her...objectively? That was a joke, but still: Cherri Morganthal was a beautiful woman. Mid-40's; who cares? Besides, she could look ten years younger, when she wanted to make the effort. More than that, she was smart as a whip. Maybe that turned some guys off. And sure, she could be a little...performative; but she was an actor for fuck sake! I gave up.

"Cher, I'm...No. I've got nothing. I was going to say I'm sorry, but maybe you're not, or...I guess, and this is on that same week's acquaintance, I can't imagine you without the inclination or the opportunity, or...hell, I don't know." Then a new thought struck me. "Wait, almost three years, so the last was..."

"Yup. The last man I was intimate with--and by the way, you wanna talk about the dictionary definition of 'not very impressive'--pled nolo contendere to avoid serving time for diddling the fifteen-year-old he dumped me for. And I'm testifying against him in a civil suit." She sighed. "So yeah, something of a long-term mood killer."

Cherri skooched back towards me on the couch. She unwrapped herself from the comforter, and handed me one end. When we were both covered, she snuggled under the crook of my arm and gave another little sigh.

"And guess what finally broke me out of that funk, I mean in addition to lots of therapy?"

"No idea."

"You did."

"Me. Seriously?"

"At that stupid party for that awful As You, (in which I should have been Rosalind, by the way!) I think maybe three or four guys--including Kal, who has trouble with small words, like "no"--hit on me at that party. But you didn't. And I could tell you really wanted to, but...I don't know. I thought: maybe he's shy, or maybe he's with somebody. But when I got back to the place I was staying that night I realized: I'd thought about it. I'd actively wondered why a guy who had obviously found me attractive didn't make a move on me. And thinking about it, I was disappointed. I mean, don't let it go to your head; I didn't stop eating or anything. But for the first time in more than two years, I let myself think about it. I let myself enjoy thinking about it, enjoy wondering what might have happened if I'd hooked up with this shortish, bald, broad shouldered...decent guy."

For some reason, her frank, if not particularly flattering, description of me troubled me not at all. In fact I was elated. I could feel the warmth of her body next to me, and her hair tickling the side of my face, and I could smell her perfume mixed with a little something else: the booze, a little sweat? And then she stirred, raised her head until her mouth was right next my ear, and whispered:

"And tonight, I'm going to find out."

42.

I said: "Huh?"

Cherri kissed my ear, traced it slowly with the tip of her tongue, and then gently closed her teeth on the lobe. "I can't wait any longer," she breathed, "so I've decided that you're not leaving this apartment tonight, and probably not until Tuesday."

I thought about turning my head to look at her, but she'd begun nuzzling my neck, and I decided not to interrupt. "So we're giving up on...?"

"We're not giving up on anything, my Thane," as she spoke, she planted soft kisses on my ears and neck. "I love your little idea, and maybe, if I don't actually fuck you unconscious, maybe I'll sit in your lap and tell you how helpful it's been, but Dai?"

She reached for my chin, and drew my face around until I was looking into her eyes, pools of deep green fire.

"Yes, Cher?"

"The Macbeths are going to be fine, better than fine. We're going to be wonderful. We have all the tools: we have passion, we have technique, we trust each other! God, I've never felt so free with another actor as I do with you!"

"I'm glad," I said, "I feel the same way about you. It's pure joy. It's...everything this work can be: a perfect play, a perfect partner..."

She was smiling and nodding. "So tonight, my Thane, we're going to rehearse that one little scene we haven't staged yet."

"And which scene is that, my Lady?"

"Well," she stood up and took a step back, so that she was standing in front of the couch on which I was still sitting. She began to undo the tie of her robe, "it's that scene just after the one..." she shrugged the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, and she was left wearing the oversized nightshirt. "...where you come home and catch me," she began unbuttoning the nightshirt, "just after I've been...ooh, let's say 'ravished' by all those evil spirits, and right before..." She turned her back, "the one in which Banquo blathers on about birds."

I said: "I don't remember a scene between..."

"Sure you do, Honey. It's the one in which Lady Macbeth entices her handsome, sexy, husband into their bedchamber," the nightshirt fell from her shoulders, and she turned to face me, "and fucks him stupid."

43.

I blinked, once, twice; sure as I could be that the vision in front of me would evaporate. Nothing that beautiful could possibly be real. But she didn't. Evaporate, that is. My beautiful Lady stood, with her hands on her hips smiling down at me. Apparently I'd fallen off the couch onto my knees. Didn't remember doing that. Didn't matter.

She was dressed in black, a lacy babydoll, with a scoop neckline which showed off a deep cleavage between plump, full breasts. Lace trim concealed her nipples, but the rest of the nightie, which ended in a band of lace less than an inch below her vulva, was diaphanous black mesh. Looking through it, I could see what looked like lace-trimmed panties tracing a steep, suggestive vee from the tops of her hips to the swollen, puffy lips of her pussy.

"Oh my God, I don't know what's hotter, the look on your face, or the fact that you're on your knees!" I said nothing; didn't move. I was still transfixed. Everything about her was perfect: those incandescent eyes, those full, pouty lips now curved in a seductive smile, her long, slender neck, the alluring curve of her body down from her breasts, in towards a delicate waist, and back out to the gentle swell of her hips, her gracefully sculpted legs, even her feet looked sexy. I didn't think I had a thing for feet, but maybe...

"You told me you fantasized about me in black." she purred, "You said you thought it would look good against my skin. Well," her hands glided up her body to cup her lace-covered breasts, "does it?"

I got up slowly and stood facing her, our bodies inches apart. Her breathing quickened, making her bosom rise and fall beneath the lingerie. I reached out a hand and brushed the backs of my fingers lightly against her cheek. Her smile widened. "Aren't you full of surprises?" she cooed. "Somehow, I didn't think that would be the first part of me you'd want to touch."

She'd put a dab of perfume at the base of her throat. I could smell it rising and mingling with the heat of her body. Beneath my fingers, the skin of her cheek felt like warm silk. I smiled, said: "I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

Cherri laughed softly. "What a lovely man you are, my Thane. Now," her arms snaked around my neck, "I'm ready for my goodnight kiss, and then," I could hear the smile in her voice as her face moved to mine, "let's fuck."

44.

Over the past week, I'd discovered any number of delightful ways to kiss my mercurial Lady, some hot and heavy, some gentle and warm. But this time was different: a beginning rather than an ending. We were both smiling as our lips touched. And we kissed languidly, taking our time, enjoying the taste of each other's lips and tongues as our bodies began to move together. I coaxed her mouth open with mine, and then pushed my tongue past her lips just as my hands found their way beneath the lace of her nightie and cupped the bare cheeks of her tight, peach-perfect behind.

I felt her mouth smile, and then she pulled out of the kiss long enough to whisper: "Oh my, my Thane, what big, warm hands you have!"

"All the better to fondle this gorgeous ass of yours." I replied, and then began kissing her throat. She moaned softly, and then pushed me away just far enough to begin undoing the front of my shirt.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Cherri purred. Her long red nails were making it hard for her to manage the small buttons. Eventually she lost patience. She stepped away from me. "Get it off!"

"Ask nicely?"

Cherri didn't answer. Instead, a wicked grin spread across her face. She took another step away, crossed her arms over her chest, and reached up to slip the spaghetti straps of her babydoll off her shoulders. Covering her breast with first one arm and then the other, she freed her arms from the straps. With a couple of seductive little wiggles, the nightie fell in a lacy pool at her feet, and Cherri Morganthal, the woman I had lusted after for months, (and, by the way, at whom I'd vowed to myself I would not make a pass less than a week ago,) stood smiling at me in nothing but a pair of lace-trimmed thong panties.

"That nice enough?"

45.

All of a sudden I couldn't work the fucking buttons either. I tore three of them, getting the shirt off my torso, and nearly decapitated myself yanking off my undershirt. Cherri took her time letting her eyes travel over my body. Her smile widened, and her breath seemed to deepen. I'd never been particularly proud of my body. I suppose I was fit enough: thick through the torso with some definition in my arms and shoulders from dragging life's necessities up to a fourth floor walkup on the Upper West Side, rather than from hours at the gym. But now, Cherri's reaction to seeing me shirtless--eyes wide, and lips parted--made me feel like Superman.

"Yummy!" she giggled. "Now the pants."

I said: "What about...?" and nodded at the hands covering her breasts.

But she interrupted. "Uh uh. My house; my rules. Besides," her voice was like honeyed velvet, "we both know you're completely under my spell. You've been dreaming about seeing my tits for months, remember?" Then she giggled again. "I think you're really gonna like them." She opened the hand cupping her left breast and made a show of examining it. "They're so nice and soft and full...and my nipples are really hard right now; oh, and I've put just a dab of that perfume you like so much right here..." Her right thumb traced the top of her cleavage. "That's right..."

I'd knelt to take off my shoes and socks and set them aside. Now I stood up, undid my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and let them fall to the floor. We stood facing each other: Cherri in her thong, and me in a pair of blue boxers. For a second I watched those beautiful green eyes take me in. Then I felt my face quirking into a slightly embarrassed smile, and I dropped the boxers.

46.

I was 45 years old, as I stood naked in that apartment. On the other hand, I was standing in front of a fascinating, vivacious, bewitching beauty of a woman, and apparently my penis had forgotten our last twenty birthdays. It stood away from my body, swollen with blood, thick and erect; maybe even a little painful. Once again, Cherri's stare flattered me. Her mouth opened, and the tip of her tongue caressed her lower lip. I think the gesture was unconscious, but it sent my imagination into overdrive. Didn't think it was possible for my dick to get any harder. Apparently I was wrong.

My Lady spent some time staring at my cock, then her eyes rose to meet mine, and her smile became mischievous. In a deliberately casual tone of voice she said: "That's a very nice cock, Mr. Brenner."

I said: "Thank you, Ms. Morganthal. May I please see your boobs now?"

She chuckled. "We're a couple of lunatics, you know that?"

I grinned back at her. "Oh, we're actors. We're fucking certifiable."

"Ain't it the truth!. Well," she drew out the single syllable, "I suppose, since you showed me yours..." And she threw back her shoulders, and slid her hands down to her sides.

47.

If you're a heterosexual guy living in the 21st century, you've probably seen a lot of tits. I certainly had. I'd seen the bare breasts of lovers and those of the occasional exhibitionistic co-worker. One time, during a production of Hamlet, I'd been a member of the Norwegian army: a dozen of us frozen upstage while the Prince meandered through "How all occasions do inform against me..." As soon as we were in the freeze, and Hamlet's eyes had turned in upon his soul, or wherever the fuck they turned while he was butchering soliloquies, an assistant stage manager, a dresser and a fly op had all three peeled off shirts and bras and begun dancing around and fondling each other in the upstage left wing. And of course, I'd seen porn, because these days, how can you not?

But I had never seen more beautiful breasts than Cherri's: soft and pale, large and round, and natural. I hadn't been sure, but now as her hands fell away, they swayed and bounced gently, with a liquid motion no plastic surgeon ever replicated. Her nipples were large, as she'd said; thick as gumdrops, red and swollen and erect, set like jewels in the center of perfectly round rose petal pink areolas.

Beautiful breasts. Great tits. And I was a tit guy. Loved me a nice pair of knockers. And for once I had permission to ogle. Cherri stood there with her shoulders high, and her arms behind her back, a sultry smile on her face...wait a minute. Why was I looking at her face? I dropped my eyes back down to her chest, and found myself fascinated by the way the light and shadows in the room defined a gentle curve beginning at the bottom of her breast and winding up to the top of her shoulder. My cock throbbed, and I was having trouble taking a deep breath.

"Jesus, Dai! I want to fucking bottle the way you're looking at my body right now, so that I can take a sip whenever I'm cold or sad or lonely! Baby, your eyes are getting me so worked up; now I'm not sure if I want you to fuck me or paint me!"

I said: "Honestly, I'd think I'd like to do both," and I could feel the grin spreading across my face, as I continued: "but I don't know how to paint."

"Oh, well then, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go into my bedroom and close the door." She turned and began to walk, giving me a view of her thong disappearing between the cheeks of her gorgeous ass. After a few steps, she stopped and smiled at me over her shoulder. "I want you to count to thirty, and then I want you to come into my bedroom. And then, I want you to put me on my back, spread my legs and...not paint my brains out!"

48.

I counted, and then I walked down the hall, through the door, and into the bedroom. Same layout as mine: queen-sized bed against the far wall with two small tables on either side, chest of drawers on the right hand wall next to a small closet, and a long narrow window with Venetian blinds on the left. Couple of differences. This bedroom was lit by the flame of half-a-dozen candles, and there was a beautiful naked woman standing at the foot of the bed. My Lady had mislaid her thong.

Maybe the door slowed me down, but if so, not by much. I can remember finishing my count, and then I had my hands in Cherri's hair, and her tongue in my mouth. Maybe I ripped the damn door off its hinges. No idea. Don't think so, but also, who cares?.

Kissing Cherri 2.0: both of us naked. No rationality left. No talking, no flirting, no banter. Two purely sensual beings, or perhaps one. It was impossible to tell. Taste: Cherri's lips and mouth; still a hint of whiskey, and something...lip balm? Something with mint. And her taste, the taste of her tongue and her saliva, and the back of her teeth...mint, she'd brushed her teeth. When? I hadn't, but...she didn't seem to mind. Smell: that sexy perfume, strong and close. Behind the ear? Can you get drunk on a smell? Musk and lilac, maybe, and something spicy. And the way it combined with the smell of her body; her sweat, her...something tangy, in the background but developing...oh God, the smell of her wetness, her arousal...we deepened the kiss, or maybe I did, sucking on her lips, lashing our tongues together. I moved my face to kiss her cheek, my nostrils pursuing that smell from heaven, from between her legs, then...

Sound: Cherri's moans and coos, and my...pants, and hums and groans, and then a quick, breathy "No!" and Cherri's hands gripped my head, pulling my mouth back towards hers, and...touch: Cherri's lips back on mine, mouth opening, tongue and...but that wasn't all. Touch: Cherri's body, warm and silky against mine. Her breasts flattening against my body, hard pebble nipples tickling the hair on my chest, and lower: my hands on her hips. When did that happen? Cherri's hands, warm on my head, her hips thrusting gently back and forth as she maneuvered herself onto...heat! Delicious, slick, wet heat on the shaft of my cock, as Cherri ground against me. More sound: Cherri groaning "Uh, yes, oh yes, yes, please, oh..." My hands on her ass, pushing her into me, under her now, lifting. Her arms tight around my neck; her long legs wrapping around my torso. The wet warmth of her slit above my cock. Could I line us up? Should I?

No! Your first time with this goddess, and her first time in years. Don't fuck it up. Go with what you know. I pulled my mouth away from Cherri's, found her eyes on mine. Sight: beautiful green eyes, half closed above cheeks flushed pink with desire. No part of me wanted to lose contact, but it wouldn't be for long. I tossed her gently, ass first, onto the bed.

49.

Cherri squeaked softly as she landed, sat up, brushed a little hair off of her face, and looked at me, eyes hooded and lips parted, supporting the weight of her torso on her forearms. Then she extended a finger, crooked it at me, and slowly parted her legs.

Her pussy was completely bare, shaved or perhaps waxed. I could see the dusky brownish pink flesh surrounding her labia, and just a hint of her slick, seashell pink opening. I climbed up onto the bed. On my hands and knees my head was just about level with her abdomen. I skooched back a few inches, and lowered my torso until my face was between her legs. I inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of my Lady; the intoxicating aroma I'd first scented when we were kissing. I turned to kiss the inside of her thigh, but she reached for my head. With no hair to grab hold of, she had to content herself with pulling my ears. The image struck me as funny, and I raised my head to see her shaking hers.

"Uh uh, not now! Please, Babe, I want you inside me so bad..."

I crawled up her body, pausing briefly at her breasts to give one nipple a quick kiss, and to enjoy my Lady's pleasurable moan. When we were face to face, I gave her a quick kiss.

"Are you sure, Cher?" I panted, "You're so hot, and I've...wanted this...you, for so long, I'm not sure how long I can last."

"Shh, I don't care! I need it now! I need your cock inside of me, please, Baby, please, put it in! Please, please..."

I kissed her again, harder. "Shhh...whatever you want, Love, here..."

I reached down to grab my shaft, and position the base of it against her slit. I rocked back and forth a few times, moistening my cock with Cherri's wetness, and listening to her panting become deeper and more ragged. Finally, I found her entrance with the head of my dick, and began to push.