Touch

Author's note: Before you drag your keyboard onto your lap and write a comment, remember just three things. 1. This is fiction. 2. This is fantasy. 3. This is a fictional male's fantasy as I expect he might tell the tale, exaggerations and all.

*****

Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Maybe I should explain. A number of years ago, before I turned thirty, I picked up a book lying on a table at my girlfriend's apartment. It was a short discourse on how people react to other people and how different approaches affect them. The premise was that how people experience you transforms how they treat you in return and that different people have different triggering experiences of you.

There are a number of different approaches that will result in positive responses. The trick is to know which approach is the best with each person. Fortunately, there are only a few primary methods to gain a person's trust.

For example, many people are positively influenced by affirming their words and deeds. With these people, feeling accepted is experienced as good feelings and the person offering the positive feedback is immediately liked and trusted. Another person may respond to receiving gifts. The trick is to know what motivates the person and provide the appropriate inputs.

I borrowed the book and eventually broke up with the girlfriend. Gifts were her big thing and inconsistent with my small income.

I got pretty good at reading body language and offering the proper social offerings to each person. I practiced for so long it became natural to me. It was amazing how my associations with my friends, relatives and even strangers improved and flourished. The system worked with both men and women.

Unfortunately for me, I discovered my primary requirement was touch, physical touch. Touch is a touchy subject. The ability to offer the appropriate words or deeds to someone is socially acceptable and easy to provide. Touch, on the other hand, crosses a social line. Many people don't like to be touched and it's difficult to know without potentially disastrous results.

For me, shaking hands became a crucial element in meeting new people. Watching each new acquaintance as I shook their hand became a focus of my attention. How they shook hands told me a lot about whether further touching was possible. For instance, if they shook hands firmly or prolonged the handshake, it was a positive signal. On the other hand, if they had a limp handshake, extended their hand at arm's length or looked away while shaking told me to forsake further contact.

I also learned by watching each person interact with others. I learned a cheeky air kiss while leaning in was less inviting than a hug and a full body hug was really positive.

I found that women who liked to hug were my best opportunities for dating and, when I added showing real interest in their conversation, looking at them and nodding appropriately, the relationship blossomed.

Beginning with the handshake, I was able to progress to touching an arm, a hug, handholding over dinner and exploration of their naked assets. None of them lasted very long. Eventually, everyone had something irritating in their, or my, personality and one us opted out of the relationship. Fortunately, the sex was great, while it lasted.

In every case, however, I was the pursuer. I don't remember a time when one of the women actively made me the object of their interest, until I made the first move. Fortunately, dying changed all that.

Two years ago, I was on the golf course when lightning struck a nearby tree. It came out of nowhere, a clear sky, no thunder and, bang, I was flat on my back, unconscious. I was in the hospital for five days, three of them in a coma. The doctors told me my heart had stopped on the course and if my caddy hadn't known CPR, I would have died.

I recovered at home for another two weeks before I tried to socialize again. When I did, I went to my usual watering hole and sat with the blonde bartender. Monica listened to my story with the appropriate nods and smiles. We had a history that hadn't ended well but, somehow, we remained friends although we agreed never to be physical again, ever. During the conversation, I noticed an especially attractive earring she was wearing. I reached out and lifted it to see it better. While I held it, and her ear lobe, I complemented her on the beauty of the bauble. She smiled and thanked me for the complement. Touching her hand and then her ear lobe, seemed more tactile, even tingling, than previously, but I thought nothing of it at the time. The rest of the evening was uneventful and I went home alone.

I was back three days later. Monica was her usual friendly self. A good bartender and a great listener. Four days after that, she still a good bartender and great listener but seemed to spend more time at my end of the bar than usual.

By the tenth day, Monica was spending all her time talking to me. She was getting complaints from others at the bar and was late in serving the customers. She was different. More touching. More involved. Sexier. About three hours after I got there, she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I need to fuck you, soon."

Her break relief came in about a half hour later. On her way to the back, she passed me and whispered, "Follow me."

I did. Why not? I had nothing to lose and based on how she was acting, everything to gain. She'd been very clear about her intensions and I hadn't been laid since before playing golf.

We went into a small, empty office in the rear of the building and she locked the door. She was on me before I could comment. She kissed me without hesitation and had her hand on my crotch at the same time. I leaned on the only desk and she had my cock out and in her hand, and mouth, seconds later. When she was satisfied I was ready, she stood up, lifted her dress, pulled down her panties and leaned over the desk. "Now," was all she said.

I entered her from behind and pumped away. I didn't last long. I apologized but she shook it off. "You'll do better next time," she said as she pulled up her panties and straightened her skirt. She left the room with me standing there with my limp cock poking out of my pants and dripping on the floor.

I organized myself and returned to the bar. Twenty minutes later, Monica came back on duty. I had another drink and stood up. Monica winked at me as I left.

At home I thought about what had happened. I couldn't figure it out. A week later, I was back in the bar. Monica was her usual self. She acted as if nothing had happened and I didn't bring it up. Her comment about "next time," seemed forgotten.

I couldn't get it out of my mind. Eventually, I remembered the difference in the feel of touching her although I couldn't believe there was a connection.

I was back in the bar again three days later. I experimented with touching Monica's hands as often as I could without seeming forward. Monica showed no change in mood. A week later, Monica was wearing another attractive set of earrings. I complemented her and touched one, and her ear lobe. Ten days later, we were in the office again.

I was completely mystified.

I experimented touching many of the bar regulars. I shook their hands and hugged them. I touched them on the arm or shoulder. Nothing developed, either immediately or after two weeks.

The next time I was in the bar, I noticed a cute brunette as she came into the bar. I'd never seen her before but I noticed her demeanor as she greeted several men and one woman as she walked to a booth on the wall.

Monica walked over and took her order. I took the drink from Monica and walked over to her booth. "Hi, I'm Tim," I said as I put the drink on the table and out my hand to shake hers. She looked up. "Thanks," she said. "Linda."

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"I haven't seen you here before," I said lamely.

"I haven't been here before," she replied.

"Then, why today?"

"I needed a change of scenery."

"Well, I hope you find it here. You go a long way to sprucing up the place."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a complement."

"Complement intended. I like your earrings. May I take a closer look?" I asked.

"Sure. Why not? You seem like a nice fellow."

I reached over the table as she leaned in and turned her head. I took the earring in my hand and simultaneously touching her ear lobe. "Thanks. I think I know someone who would like earrings like those. Can you tell me where you got them?"

She told me, I thanked her and excused myself to return to my usual seat at the bar. Monica already had my drink ready. As I sipped my drink, Monica asked, "You know her?"

"No, but I think I'd like to."

Monica punched my arm. "Always on the prowl."

"Maybe. We'll just have to be patient. You'll be the first to know."

"Monica," I said, "are you up for a little experiment?"

"Depends," she responded, "on the experiment."

"It has to do with the back office."

"If you mean us in the back office, I enjoyed it both times but I can't explain it."

"I think I can but I need your help to be sure."

"Does it mean a walk down memory lane?"

"It does if I'm right."

"I can risk it, I think."

"Okay," I said. "Lean over and let me see your earring."

Monica leaned in and I fingered her earring and her ear lobe."

"Done," I said.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Yep. Now we wait," I said.

It was eight days later before I was back in the bar. Monica came over to me, carrying my usual drink. As she placed it in front of me she commented, "That woman you were talking to last week was in here looking for you yesterday."

"Thanks. That's very interesting."

"I've other news for you," Monica continued."

"I'm listening," I said.

"I've been thinking a lot about you the last couple of days. Can you explain that?"

"Not yet. I'll be back day after tomorrow and we can talk more."

Two days later, I came back to see how Monica was doing. She was waiting for me. One of the other bartenders grabbed me and told me, "Monica's been pacing like a caged tiger all day. Do you know what's going on?"

I shrugged my shoulders and took my regular seat. Monica was in front of me before I was comfortable. "I'm going to take my break now. Meet me in the back office, now," she ordered.

I went to the office and left the door open. Monica was less than thirty seconds behind me. She came in and locked the door. She wasted no time in opening my trousers and working my cock with both hands and her mouth. When she gauged that I was suitably erect, she pushed me into a chair, lifted her skirt, pulled off her panties and climbed on top of me. My cock slipped easily into her pussy.

While she was grinding on me, I unbuttoned her shirt and lifted her bra above her breasts. She shrugged both off completely as I fondled, licked and kissed her tits. She leaned back while I fondled and kissed. Soon she was approaching her rapture as was I.

She leaned back, let out a silent scream and came forcefully. I followed suit soon after, filling her with my ejaculate.

We sat there, Monica with her head on my shoulder, until I slipped out of her. She stood and cleaned herself with some tissues from the nearby desk. "Why do I think your experiment was a success, but I still have no idea why or how. Care to explain."

I stood, rearranged myself and fastened my pants. "Here goes. A while ago, after my accident, I discovered my sense of touch was different. It took me a long time to figure it out, but I believe I can touch a woman, I haven't tried it on a man, in a way that they'll want to have sex with me sometime later."

"It has to do with my ear lobe, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, and every other woman's ear lobe that I touch."

"And it never fails?" she asked.

"I don't think so. It seems to be a ten day interval between touching their ear lobe and then the rest of their body."

"Well, I like experimenting, especially now that I'm forewarned. I hope you don't mind if I force my ear lobe on you once in a while."

"Sounds terrific to me but we should plan more carefully. There has to be better venues than this office."

"Agreed," said Monica as she left the office.

I returned to my seat at the bar and continued to sip my drink.

About ten minutes later, Linda, the brunette from ten days ago, came into the bar. She looked around, saw me sitting at the end of the bar and came up to me. She looked at me intensely. I offered her the stool next to mine and she climbed up and sat.

"I'm glad I found you," she started. "This is going to sound awfully forward. I can't explain it but I want to have sex with you. It's become an obsession over the last couple of days. It's really stupid, but I get wet just thinking about it."

I took her hands in mine. "I really appreciate the complement and, given your enthusiasm, I don't see how I could refuse," I replied.

"Come with me," she said as she climbed off the stool and took my hand. "I live nearby."

"Another experiment?" commented Monica. I nodded as Linda led me from the bar.

Linda led me three blocks, walking at a pace I found it difficult to match, to a three-story apartment building. Inside, she started up the stairs. "The elevator is too slow," she exclaimed.

Inside her apartment, on the third floor, she closed the door and turned to me. She threw her arms around my neck and began to kiss me, her tongue immediately exploring my teeth and palate.

When she came up for air, I said, "Linda, I'm all in on where you're headed, but can we slow down and enjoy some of the finer moments on the journey?"

"Okay," she responded, "but I want to feel you inside me sooner rather than later."

She led me to her bedroom, pushed me down on the bed and began to disrobe. I watched as she removed all her clothing and was standing in front of me naked. She was bouncing up and down like a schoolgirl expecting a puppy for her birthday.

"Don't you want to come out and play too?" she asked.

I stood up and she helped me undress. I took her in my arms and kissed her again, with passion and the promise I knew she needed. I kissed her breasts and pushed her back on the bed. I kissed down her body and to her damp clitoris. All the while she was bouncing and trying to pull me on top of her.

I realized I was going to have to satisfy her immediate needs before I could properly enjoy her body. I slid up on her and, with her legs hanging off the bed, pushed my erection between her anxious labia and into her. She pushed back and pulled my body on top of her, forcing her breasts into my chest and kissing my neck. Within minutes she was convulsing and discharging fluid on me and down the side of the bed.

That took the edge off. I lay there, on top of her and slowly backed out of her. I still had an erection thanks to my encounter with Monica.

"Wow," she said. "That was unusually strong but I want the rest of it as well. I want to feel you cum inside me."

"Okay," I said, "but this time let me control the pace."

I crawled up on the bed and moved her alongside me. I pushed her hair out of her face, avoiding touching her ears, and began to kiss her neck. I held her breasts in both hands as I kissed her nipples until they were as erect as my cock. Her movements told me all I needed to know. She wanted more.

I kissed down her torso and settled my lips on her clitoris. I used my tongue to move her clit in small circles while I slipped two fingers inside her. I worked with her using my mouth and fingers until she had a small orgasm.

I knelt between her legs and slipped my erection back and forth on her moist lips and then slowly inside her. I supported myself above her with my arms as I buried myself deeply inside her and began to move in and out. She matched my movements, trying to get me deeper into her each time I pressed forward. Soon, I could sense she was getting close. So was I. She began to quiver. She was saying, "Yes. Yes. YesYesYes," as I pumped into her. She began to thrash as she neared completion. Her vaginal muscles were clinching and releasing me in concert with her movements and taking me with her. I think we came together. I emptied myself in her as she spewed more fluid over me and the bed.

We lay there sometime before she moved. She sat up next to me and pushed me on my back. She took my limp penis in her hand. "Poor you," she said as she began to kiss and swallow my cock. I suspected she wasn't through yet. As might be expected, I responded well to her ministrations.

When I was fully erect, she straddled me and slid down on my erection. She rode me like that a while, until I sat up in front of her, lifted her up and turned her over on her stomach. I lifted her hips until she was on her knees and entered her from behind. I reached a hand below her and gathered a glob of fluid from her dripping pussy. I rubbed the fluid on her rectum until I could slip a finger into her ass. She responded well, encouraging me to push both fingers and cock into her.

I sensed the feeling wasn't new to her. I slowly slid my cock from inside her. She objected for a moment. "No. Don't stop," she cried. I pressed against her anus and easily slid into her ass. I was right as she cried, "Yes. Yes. Don't stop."

I moved one hand beneath her and slid my thumb into her pussy while rubbing her clit with my fingers. We moved together, we panted together and we howled together as we slammed together. She squirted all over my hand as I pumped semen inside her ass before we collapsed on the bed together.

We lay together, holding each other gently as the euphoria wore off. Eventually, we got up, I got dressed and we said our goodbyes. The last thing I said to her was, "Come by the bar again sometime," as I fondled her earlobe.

I was positive my earlobe touching was real and reproducible. I needed one more experiment to be one hundred percent sure. I needed to find someone who I was reasonably certain did not have sex on her mind, ever. I needed to find someone who was older, well past menopause, and, either a widow or a wife with a husband that never considered sex a possibility in their relationship.

I found the perfect subject at the opening of an art gallery downtown. I my search, I frequented theaters, museums, fundraisers and other social events attended by the upper echelons of the city's residents. Most of the attendees were older women, wives of the super rich, patrons of the arts and contributors to the many causes helping the less well off around the world.

Mrs. William Smithe was the perfect candidate. She was in her sixties, well endowed and impressed with her status. In other words, a stuffy old lady. Every time I saw her, she was alone. I never saw her husband although the society pages mentioned him frequently. When I saw her at the art gallery, I made my move.

I approached her when she was alone with a cup of tea in the back of the gallery. "Mrs. Smithe, how good of you to come," I said as I shook her hand. She looked at me pompously. She had no idea who I was. "I really like your earrings," I said as I touched the one on her left ear lobe. "Thank you again for coming," I said as I walked away.

When I looked back, she was holding her left ear and staring at me. Probably checking if I had stolen the earring. I left the gallery and went home to wait.

Ten days later, I put on my best dark suit and tie and I went back to the art gallery. The place was almost empty. I attracted immediate attention from the manager who began to follow me around making noises of approval or disapproval as I examined the offerings one by one. When he became bored with following me around, he approached. "May I help you, sir?"

"No thank you. I was here last week and I thought I would look around without the crowd. I see you have some new works. I would just like to browse by myself, if you do not mind."