The Valentines Day Fiasco

We spend the next hour or so sitting at the breakfast bar sipping on coffee laced with Cognac. We sit talking and touching. Nothing sexual, just holding hands, brushing finger tips over each other's arms and faces; that sort of thing. Kind of getting to know each other a bit better. We manage to slip in a small kiss every now and then. I now understand why I love this woman so much. It isn't just her exquisite appearance; she's a beautiful person inside too. Suddenly, the bounds of social and financial differences no longer matter to me, this is the woman for me; the woman I have to have for the rest of my life. I wonder if she is thinking the same thing.

We both laugh when Marsha's stomach growls like an angry bear. "Excuse me," she giggles. "I'm starving; I didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning and we seem to have missed lunch too."

"Why didn't you say something? I'll fix us something right now," I reply. "I'm sorry, I don't eat a lot and sometimes I don't even think about it."

"Well, you better get used to eating if you're going to be around me very much. I'm a big girl. My mom says I eat like a horse," Marsha says; a sheepish grin crosses her face.

"Hang tight for a few minutes and I'll slap the old feedbag on you," I tease.

"A sandwich would be great," she replies.

"How about if we walk across the street. There's a great Italian place over there," I suggest. "It would be faster."

"I'd rather stay here, alone with you," she says in the sexiest voice I've ever heard.

"You've got my vote," I reply, digging into the fridge to see what I can quickly toss together to feed my goddess. "How about spaghetti?"

"Don't cook anything," she says. "A sandwich is fine."

"It only takes about twenty minutes to make," I reply. "I open a really mean jar of sauce."

"Okay, that sounds great," she agrees.

I place a couple of chunks of cheese and some crackers on a plate for her to nibble on while I get supper ready and sit the plate on the bar in front of her. "Here ya go, Sea Biscuit, this should hold ya until the spaghetti is ready," I tease.

"Sea Biscuit?" she snaps.

"Hey, you're the one who said you eat like a horse, not me." I smile; praying my little joke didn't offended her. That's one of my bad habits; sometimes I speak before I think about what's going to come out of my mouth.

"Oh yes, Sea Biscuit was a famous racehorse," she laughs, tosses her red mane back over her shoulders and digs into the cheese and crackers.

My heart gradually settles back into its proper place in my chest at the wonderful, sweet sound of her laughter. Thank God, I say to myself, I thought I'd blown it there for a minute.

She looks so delicious sitting there in that white-lace shirt and the big Valentine boxer shorts with the lips all over them. I stand there staring at her the whole time the spaghetti cooks. She just keeps packing the cheese and crackers away. I think to myself, what a wonderful Valentines Day this is turning out to be. God, I hope she thinks so too.

We sit in relative quiet while we eat, enjoying the spaghetti and a nice blush wine. What conversation does occur is mostly about our families and a bit about our backgrounds. Marsha was right, the lady could put some food away. If I ate half as much as her I'd be as big as a house, but it doesn't seem to grow on her anywhere. I hate that. I love food, especially sweets, but it sure doesn't like me. People who can eat like that and not gain any weight make me angry.

Throughout the meal, it's extremely hard for me to keep my mind on eating, well, eating food anyway. Marsha looks so delicious. Her gorgeous breasts showing through the thin lace fabric are just begging for my attention. Yep, I know exactly what I want for dessert, and it's sitting right beside me.

When supper is over, I waste little time with the dishes. They hit the sink, and that's where they'll remain, waiting for a more convenient time. Right now I only have time for Marsha.

"Aren't you going to change into something a little more comfortable?" Marsha asks as I clear the counter.

"Sure, if that's what you want," I reply.

"You don't look nearly as comfortable as I am." She smiles, inching her hands down the lace shirt and over her breasts.

"Why don't you go search through the bottom drawer of my dresser and pick out a nightie for me to wear tonight. I'll be there in a few minutes; I'm almost done in here," I suggest.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you," she purrs, gives me a quick kiss, and rushes from the room. Her beautiful behind and hips move just as sexily in the boxer shorts as they do in a skirt at work, a wonderful vision of perpetual motion in action.

Entering my bedroom, I find Marsha sitting on the edge of my bed. "What'd you find that you like?" I ask, stepping up in front of her.

"I'll show you, but turn around first," she says.

I turn my back toward her and feel her gentle fingers working at the zipper on the back of my dress. I feel the zipper glide down my back, nearly in slow motion. The dress slips over my shoulders and falls to the floor around my feet when she gives it a little tug. Her long fingers slip under the waistband of my half-slip, sending it slinking to the floor too.

I moan quietly at the sensation her fingertips are creating as they slide up and down my back and over my nylon-covered behind and thighs. Those wonderful fingers wiggle under the waistband of my pantyhose, peeling them down my legs like a snake shedding its old skin. Almost without notice, the clasp at the back of my bra separates; the garment falls down my arms to join the rest of my clothing on the floor.

I feel Marsha's gentle but persistent hands on my hips, turning me to face her. Her fingertips roam over my tummy, slide around my hips and over my behind again. It feels like electricity is dancing all over my body. Every spot her fingers touch seems to sizzle like bacon in a frying pan.

I gasp for breath when her hands close around my breasts for the first time. My nipples instantly become so hard I'm afraid they might explode. I had thought her fingertips were electrically charged until the tip of her tongue glides around one of my swollen nipples. My God, what a sensation! But when she tenderly sucks that same nipple between her lips, I suck up every ounce of available oxygen in the room.

I feel my panties sliding down over my hips and continue down my thighs. The tormenting pleasure Marsha is creating in my nipple never lets up until she switches to the other breast and it starts all over again.

My heart is about to pound its way out of my chest. My lungs are apparently supplying enough air to moan and groan, because I can't stop the sounds from escaping my throat. My mind races. This isn't exactly what I'd expected. It's so very much more. It's happening backwards. I'd thought I'd be the one doing the seducing, not the one being seduced. Everything I'm discovering about sweet Marsha is surprising the hell outta me. She's even more wonderful than I could've possibly dreamt.

Finally she leans back from me and looks up into my eyes. I take her gorgeous face between my hands, hold her head upward, lean over to her, and kiss her like I have never kissed anyone before. By the time the kiss ends, she's lying back on the bed, with me lying on top of her.

"I take it, that means you enjoyed what I was doing," she whispers, her lips pressing tenderly against my ear.

"Enjoyed, is much too small a word," I mumble between the moans her lips are causing as she kisses my ear.

Her hands roam over my back and behind while her lips taste my ear and neck. I battle with the buttons on the lace shirt one by one until I finally manage to pull the shirt open all the way. The fight with the big boxer shorts require a little assistance from her, but in short order, they slide down her legs and land on the floor beside my clothes.

"Where's the nightie I'm supposed to put on?" I ask.

"You're wearing it," she whispers, with a sexy grin.

The moment my quivering naked flesh presses against her hot nude body her tongue darts deep inside my ear. My breath seizes up in my lungs again. My legs open, winding around her hips. My womanhood presses hard against her tummy. My juices immediately begin flowing. My body shakes. My legs tighten around her hips. My moans and groans become a low squeal. I press harder against her.

Her tongue slips from my ear long enough for her to whisper, "Come on, Sweetness, let it go, give it up for Marsha."

Giving it up or letting it go, isn't a problem. The moment her searing tongue glides into my ear, my body decides it's time to come unglued. Indescribable pleasure courses through me. She hasn't even touched between my thighs yet, but my womanhood is showering her tummy with my juices.

"That's it, Baby, let it happen," Marsha whispers. Slipping her tongue from my ear, she turns my head the opposite direction and that wonderful tongue darts deep into my other ear. It started all over again.

The aroma of my own sex mingled with the soft fragrance of her perfume puts my head in a cloud of delightful ecstasy. I have no control over anything. Her tongue in my ear keeps requesting more and my body is only too pleased to oblige. It just keeps giving and giving. My God, I wonder to myself, what's it going to be like if I ever get that exquisite tongue between my thighs? She'll drive me nuts!

It doesn't take long to find out. Marsha rolls over, dumping me on the bed on my back. Her fantastic tongue wiggles between the wet folds of my womanhood, and continues without hesitation, deep into the center of my being. The pleasure I'd experienced moments earlier had been a mere warm-up exercise compared to the orgasmic explosion that, without warning, detonates deep in my core.

I grab for a pillow. Ripping one from the bed, I slam it over my face. The scream I sense building in my heart will shake the very foundation of time if I can't stop it or at least, muffle it somehow. I know I can't stop it; it will not be denied. The pillow is my only hope.

Three years of pent-up desire and six months of unexpressed love suddenly find their way to the surface. Wave after wave of the most incredible pleasure I've ever experienced crashes through me. Like tidal waves, they slam against the banks of my soul. They crash into each other and ricochet back to shore as smaller repetitive waves between the thunderous-monsoon-type monsters raging within me. The screams running rampant under the pillow echo through my head, but I can't stop them any more than I can stop the cloudburst greeting Marsha's hungry mouth pressed so tightly against my flooding womanhood.

All at once, the scream fades from my ears, the eruption from my core ceases, and I don't realize anything else until I awaken sometime later to the delightful gentle flicking of Marsha's tongue dancing over my thighs.

I hear her sultry voice. "Well, welcome back."

"What?" I mumble.

"I said, 'Welcome back'," she repeats. "You checked out for a few minutes."

"I'm sorry," I reply. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, that's okay, I had plenty to do to keep me busy while you rested a bit," she teases.

"I don't know what you did, but it was fantastic," I say.

"You definitely seemed to enjoy it," she says, smiling up over my tummy at me. "I'd sure like to experience an orgasm like that someday."

"I promise you, I will do everything possible to see that you do," I say. "I've never passed out like that before."

"You were experiencing total ecstasy. Your body had to shut down long enough to recover a little. You were drained," Marsha says. "I was so thrilled when I saw how excited you were becoming. The more excited you got the more I wanted to excite you even more. I was downright proud when I knew you had passed out." A huge smile covers her shiny-wet face.

"Why don't you come up here so I can kiss you?" I ask.

Marsha eases her way up the bed to lay down beside me, half on the bed, half on me. Our lips meet. They mingle in what has to be the softest, most loving kiss of all time. No rush, no hot desire, just a slow, gentle tasting of each other's mouths. I can smell and taste my own juices on her lips and tongue. I gently kiss her face clean of my moisture. I could lie in this loving embrace enjoying her wonderful kiss for days. It is a kiss that communicates pure love. It has nothing to do with passion or desire, just warm, sweet love.

Marsha slips from my arms and gets out of bed. She pulls the covers down on one side, rolls me onto the sheet, and pulls the rest of the blanket down. She walks to the closet, takes off the white-lace shirt, hangs it on the hook in my closet, turns off the light, slips back into the bed beside me, and pulls the covers up over both of us. She snuggles back into my arms and holds me like she never wants to let go of me, I pray hard that she never will.

Lying between the cool satin sheets and feeling Marsha's warm slender body literally wrapped around me is the most comforting feeling I have ever known. I lay for several minutes just letting her hold me, letting the feeling of peace and security surround me. For the first time in my life I understand what people are speaking of when they talk about the feeling of actually being loved. Marsha hasn't said it, but I can just tell that this wonderful woman really loves me almost as much as I love her. I can feel it in the way she holds me, the way she is constantly kissing my forehead. And by the way her soft hands continuously stroke my arm, my neck, my shoulder, my side, my hip. Anything she can touch is generously treated to the sweet strokes of her marvelous fingers.

I know this all sounds like the ranting of a love-struck lunatic, but I know Marsha is in my bed right now because she loves me, and wants to hold me, and be held by me. At the moment it isn't a matter of sex; that can wait. Right now, it's love, like we're passing it back and forth between us as if by osmosis. I am content to lay here and enjoy her presence and the way she seems to be enjoying mine.

Like I said earlier, this was turning out to be the best Valentines Day of my life.

The next thing I realize, the setting sun is weakly peeking between the window curtains trying to pry my eyes open. We still lay in each other's arms, in the same position. We must have dozed off together for a couple hours.

Marsha's gentle breath brushes over my forehead as she sleeps. There's barely enough sunlight in the room to allow me to see her face when I look upward. She is so beautiful in her sleep and looks to be at complete peace with the world.

The important thing is that she's still here. The whole thing hadn't been some far-fetched dream. She really has been in my bed all evening. She really had created all of those fantastic sensations in my body earlier this afternoon.

Tears begin to slip down my face and over my nose. I try to control it, but I cannot. My shoulders shudder as I sob.

I hear Marsha's soft voice. "What's wrong, Pet?"

"Nothing," I reply "I'm just so happy I can hardly stand it. I've never been so happy."

Her arms tighten around me; my forehead is again showered with gentle kisses. "It makes me happy to hear that," she says.

She's awake. Now it's payback time. As she cuddles me closer, I slip down a little. Now my lips are less than an inch from one of her lovely nipples. The distance is closed in a flash. A gasp rushes into Marsha's lungs. A soft moan departs her slender throat. I suck her nipple deep into my eager mouth. A deeper moan is issued as my tongue dances around the hard swollen morsel in my mouth. A little nibble with my teeth is rewarded with another gasp from her. Her arms snake tighter around my neck and head.

I slide my hand down her slim waist and over her curvy hip. Her leg is wrapped up high over my hip. My hand roams over her soft smooth behind. How many times have I watched these gorgeous buns wiggle their way across the hall, and dreamed of touching them? Now, here they are in my bed, under my hand, and they feel even more fabulous than they've always looked.

While my hand glides over her wonderful buns, my fingers slip between her thighs from behind, my fingertips briefly brush over the delicate petals of the flower of her womanhood. Marsha gasps deeply. Her leg slides higher up my side, giving my hand better access to her center. My fingers gently probe their way between the moist folds of her womanhood.

A loud groan comes from her beautiful throat when my fingers find their way to the bud of her sexuality. After a few teasing trips around her swelling clitoris, I tenderly squeeze it between my thumb and finger. Her body trembles. Her moans grow louder. Her hips began to slowly gyrate back and forth. Her eyes close. Her head rolls back.

I ease from her encircling arms, twisting my body around so my upper body is lying over her. My breasts press firmly against the curve of her hip. My tongue slides over the silky-smooth skin of her behind. Each delicious cheek is given equal attention. My fingers move between her thighs. They gently circle her open womanhood. I briefly tease the sensitive, nerve-laden area around her tunnel. My middle finger suddenly forges its way deep inside of her. Her gasp and her body curling even tighter around mine are my rewards; a second finger deep inside of her is her reward. The slippery velvet softness of her insides clings tight around my fingers as I slide them slowly, teasingly in and out. My fingers and her thighs get wetter. Her moans grow louder, her hips move faster, my fingers probe deeper.

My heart shoots to the very upper limits of my chest! "What the hell?" I scream springing from the bed.

Sitting up in the bed, Marsha's eyes are still glassy, trying to focus. Her mind seems to be trying to shift from the intense pleasure it had just been experiencing to the startling, loud, heart-wrenching clamor of the building's fire alarm. "Does this happen often?" she mumbles, her eyes finally in focus.

"Never," I reply. "We'd better get dressed so we can get outta here if we need to."

She springs from the bed and hastily begins dressing. I quickly forget about the possible danger being so undeniably announced by the insistent wailing of fire alarms while I watch Marsha seductively slip the kissy-lip boxer shorts back on. The period of forgetfulness is only momentary. Someone is pounding on my apartment door, yelling for everyone to evacuate the building immediately.

Marsha glances up at me; a look of near terror fills her gorgeous eyes. "We don't have time to get dressed!" she cries out rushing from the bedroom.

Damn, am I ever going to get to make love to this gorgeous creature? I wonder to myself as I grab my trusty old sweat suit, hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door as always. I quickly slip it on and rush out behind Marsha. She's standing by the apartment door trying to get her still-wet high heels back on, wearing only the kissy-lip boxers and her big fur coat.

I rush back into my bedroom to get a pair of slippers for her. "Here, try these," I say tossing the slippers to her, in hopes the open back of the slippers will allow her to wear them.

Marsha's fur coat wrapped around her, wearing only my fuzzy bedroom slippers and the funny boxer shorts underneath; me in a sweat suit, we step out into the main hallway. At one end of the hall, a firefighter in full fire-fighting gear stands in front of the stairway leading down to the front door of the apartment building. He is directing residents toward the back stairway at the opposite end of the hall. Another firefighter stands in front of the elevator guarding against its use during the emergency. He directs us to the back stairway.