Two Thousand and Ten Ch. 05

Saturday, October 2nd 2010 - 11:56pm

Peter stayed up as he normally did on Saturday nights, watching a horror movie on DVD with Lindi beside him on the sofa, with a selection of Thai take-out cartons he had ordered in, spread out before them on the coffee table.

Since that night when Lindi discovered that Clive had been charged with rape, something that he himself had been charged with, albeit falsely, earlier that year, she had been in an ebullient mood. She wasn't quite back to her old self, and Peter knew it'd be a while before she was back to the old Lindi he knew and, yes, loved, but to see her in a much better frame of mind helped ease his worries for her. And yes, he could finally admit to himself that he was in love with her. He loved everything about her, from her softly attractive looks, her intelligence, her love of teaching and her enthusiasm for her chosen subject of history, to the passion she shared with him for getting an adrenaline rush whilst expending as little effort as possible. Peter could finally admit to himself that he loved everything about her.

And then of course, there was the way she looked naked. He had to confess to himself that yes, he felt she had a fabulous body, and just picturing that body made him feel a stab of arousal every time he envisioned her standing before him, naked, for his appraising gaze. Her skin was soft and pure, her figure was just right within the sweet spot of being neither too curvy or too skinny, she had the most wonderful breasts, crowned with nipples that just begged to be suckled on, her bottom was so smooth and perfect it wouldn't look out of place in a work of art by Botticelli himself. And then of course, there was the delightful, perfectly neat little cleft that lay between her legs, painstakingly bereft of any pubic hair and framing the gateway to her private inner sanctum of feminine sensuality.

Unable to concentrate on the movie, with the object of his desire sitting right there beside him, his mind filled with recollections of his friend in all her naked splendour. Much to his embarrassment, he found he had become monumentally erect by the very notion of her close proximity, and his shameless imagining of her without the plain black t-shirt and pink shorts she was wearing as she curled up against the arm of the other end of the settee. But the images he recalled of her were not those that he had most recently seen, the images on Clive's memory stick of her in lurid and pornographic poses, the image he recalled now was of the slightly unsure Lindi he had seen naked in the swimming pool changing cubicle they had shared earlier that year.

Peter recalled that incident now. They had been swimming at the local leisure centre and got out just as the local swimming club descended on the place and commandeered all the available cubicles. Rather than stand around shivering in only their wet swimwear while they waited for a single-person cubicle to become available to each of them, Lindi suggested they share a family-sized cubicle that had just at that moment become available.

He was a little unsure at first, but she persuaded him to join him, arguing that it was better than standing around in their wet things and risking hypothermia. Peter had known Lindi for virtually his entire life, having been at school with her from an early age, but he had never on any occasion, not once, seen her naked before. As she stood there before him in that cubicle, and took off her candy pink swimsuit, his mind was utterly blown by the sight of her in all her feminine beauty. The way he thought about her changed forever.

Back in the real world, as the credits rolled on the horror flick, Peter knew he couldn't help himself. Lindi, much to his relief, had excused herself and politely declined his offer of a glass of sherry by way of a nightcap, and in a matter of moments, as soon as Lindi was out of the place, his lounge pants were down around his ankles and his stiffly engorged member was in his hand. In all the years he had known her, he had never lusted after her like this, he'd never thought of her as anything like an object of lustful desire. Peter masturbated himself with a furious abandon as he remembered the perfection of her naked body. He knew he wanted her, wanted to make passionate love to her. All he had learnt from Alison, from Stevie, and from Sandy, he wanted to show her his new-found prowess as a lover.

Such was the intensity of his masturbation, and the graphic realism of his mind's recollection of Lindi's nakedness, it was only a matter of a minute or so before he felt himself about to climax. Sure enough, he felt the sudden flash of orgasm rush through his veins and his semen burst forth from his twitching, throbbing erection.

The moment having passed, Peter suddenly felt a brief stab of shame at having just masturbated himself to the mental image of his friend, but he cast those thoughts from his mind almost immediately. So what if she was as much a sister to him as she was his best friend? Did that really matter anymore? After the kiss, the handjob, and everything else that had happened since that New Year's Eve all those months ago, that had slowly and inexorably drawn them closer and closer together.

If only he had known what Lindi was up to, right at that very moment, in her own flat two floors down, immediately below his.

After catching his breath, Peter stared down at his still hard, but gradually wilting erection, glistening with the greyish-white sheen of his semen. With nothing else to hand, he used his hastily removed lounge pants to dab himself clean; he would just have to put them in the wash straight away. As he wiped his cum away, he suddenly became aware of what appeared to be a small grey mark, around a centimetre across, on the sensitive pink flesh his glans. At first, in the dim lamplight of the room, he thought it was perhaps just a stray patch of fluff from the lounge pants he was wiping himself with, after all, they were pretty much the same colour. But, once he tried to wipe it away with his thumb, to his shock and surprise, the little grey mark stubbornly remained.

Feeling suddenly alarmed, Peter hastily stood and turned on the main light. He suddenly felt numb as he realised the mark on his penis wasn't stray fluff or anything else that could be easily explained away.

It was a lesion.

A small, grey lesion that didn't look very healthy at all. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, but then he realised that he never really looked very closely at the head of his penis, concealed as it usually was within the protective sheath of his foreskin. He tried to recall the last time he had looked at himself with his prepuce retracted to expose his naked glans, and couldn't recall any incidences in at least the past few weeks.

For a moment, his imagination went into overdrive: what if it was some kind of venereal disease? What it it was some kind of allergic reaction? And then, he almost felt his heart stop.

What if it was cancer?

He had heard of penile cancer -- he'd read an article about it on a men's health website a couple of years earlier -- so he knew just how devastating a disease it could be. One of the treatments was a penectomy -- a partial, or even total, amputation of the penis. The very thought of losing his penis made his blood run cold - it wasn't a pleasant notion to dwell on.

But then, the logical, rational part of his psyche kicked in. Penile cancer was rare - very rare, in fact. He recalled further details of the article he had read. If he remembered correctly, the chances of having penile cancer were around 1 in 100,000, with only sixty or so recorded cases in Britain each year, from a population of around 30 million men. And then he recalled the description of the condition on the website: a blister-like sore on the head of the penis or on the foreskin. Whichever way he looked at it, the mark on Peter's penis did not resemble a blister as such, but even though his initially terrifying thoughts of having cancer disappeared almost as quickly as they had entered his mind, it was clear that there was something amiss on the head of his penis.

But there wasn't much he could do about it at past midnight - it would have to wait for another time. He resolved to keep an eye on it - if it was still there in a week, he would have to consider seeking some advice.

Saturday, October 2nd 2010 - 11:56pm

Meanwhile, two floors down...

Lindi felt like a massive load had been lifted from her shoulders, now that she knew Clive was locked up on remand in Lewes Prison, awaiting trial for the litany of rapes and other sex crimes he now stood accused of. It still rankled her that she couldn't see what a slimeball he really was, or how she could've been taken in by his lies for so long. After all, she considered herself an intelligent person. How on earth could she have been fooled for so long?

The magistrate's hearing had been pretty swift, or at least that was what had been reported to her. DI Crawley assured her there was no need for her to be there, so she decided to stay away. In the end, the whole thing was over and done with in less than half an hour.

She knew her opinion of men ought to be marred forever, after having come across such a repulsive example of masculinity's dark side, but she knew that not only was it unfair to condemn an entire half of the world's population based solely on the actions of just one man she encountered, it was also a deplorably sexist notion in itself. And besides, it wasn't as if femininity didn't have its own dark side, and she was sure there were plenty of repulsive women out there too. But the knowledge that Clive was off the streets and unable to harm any other young women gladdened her immensely.

Still, Clive's sudden and shocking removal from her life had left behind a massive hole. For, however much she wanted to deny it now that she knew exactly how depraved he was, she really missed the sex. Though it made her feel ashamed to admit it, he had been the best lover she'd ever had. Since her discovery of Clive's horrendous acts of coercion and sexual assault in his studio with a litany of only-just-legal young women, she felt she ought to hate, loathe and despise every inch of his body, and every ounce of his soul. Much to her chagrin, she couldn't help but miss the joyous sex they had together.

Since the whole affair with the photo that ultimately led to his downfall, Lindi had unsurprisingly been in no mood to engage in anything sexual, either with another man, or even by herself. But now, with the reassurance that Clive was no longer in the picture, she was feeling a definite itch down below that needed to be scratched.

Earlier that evening, she had been up in Peter's top floor flat where they ordered in a hearty and wonderfully aromatic dinner from a local Thai place. They sat and ate from the various cartons of deliciously spicy dishes spread out over the coffee table as they watched one of their favourite horror films together. It had been an, if somewhat simple, enjoyable night in.

But there was something that was eating at her inside.

Though she was trying her best to conceal it, she felt herself becoming increasingly aroused. And it was the simple act of just sitting next to Peter that was getting her there. She felt a maddening mixture of emotions as she sat there on the sofa next to her friend - a desire to have his body, his naked body, pressed up against her own, mixed with an infuriating sense of shame for wanting the man who had been like a brother to her. She knew that, ever since that kiss in the theme park during their American road trip, the dynamic between them had changed irreversibly. That kiss had led to so much heartache for her, as unbeknownst to them at the time, Clive had seen the whole thing and became so enraged that he had taken out an act of 'revenge porn' upon her. Sure, his act of vengeance had backfired spectacularly, but she still felt as though none of it would ever have happened if she hadn't kissed Peter that afternoon.

Of course, it was also a ridiculous notion. After all, Clive had been preying on young women for months, possibly years, before he even met her. She wondered just exactly how long he'd been doing it -- what caused him to become such a twisted individual, and exactly how many unfortunate young women he'd duped into having non-consensual sex with him. And also of course, how many more young women he would've preyed on in future, had he not been so stupidly found out.

But try to deny it as much as she could, the feeling of being so close to Peter, his masculine scent in her nostrils, the aura of safe and noble maleness that surrounded him, made her feel a heated rush of arousal. Her body felt tense and restless, her breathing became quicker and shallower, her blood pressure increased, her nipples began to stiffen underneath the plain black t-shirt she was wearing. And, most of all, there was the moistness that was gathering between her legs.

She cursed herself for feeling that way about him. He was her best friend, and more importantly, he was her brother. Or at least, that was what she regarded him as, even though they weren't actually related in any way. But whatever emotions she was feeling about him, she couldn't deny that she urgently needed release from her current state of arousal.

So, almost as soon as the credits had rolled, she excused herself, politely refused Peter's usual offer of a nightcap, and headed straight downstairs to her own flat two floors below Peter's. No sooner had she closed her front door, her hand was down inside her underwear. Feeling how unbelievably warm she was down there, she removed her fingers and she looked at her hand to find her fingers smeared with her glistening vaginal juices, gossamer-thin strings of which connected her fingers.

It was quite a late hour to be taking a shower, as she turned on the water and began undressing, but she was feeling unbelievably horny - her appetite for sexual gratification having returned to her with a vengeance. It had been over a month since the last time she'd enjoyed an orgasm, and it was as though her body was telling her she had to put Clive behind her and get on with her sex life.

Naked, she stepped under the steamy deluge and immediately started lathering herself with hibiscus scented shower gel. It wasn't long before, once again, her fingers found her moistly aroused folds, and she delved the fingers of one hand up inside her vagina, and teased her clitoris with her other hand. It was definitely scratching the itch she had been feeling all that evening, but frustratingly, it wasn't taking care of it anything like as quickly as she wanted it to.

Having a sudden flash of inspiration, Lindi detached the shower head and repositioned it upside down so that it was spraying back up at her. She then guided her hips towards the fountain of warm water, so that it rained directly at her enflamed vulva. Simultaneously, she continued to tease her clitoris, and she closed her eyes and visualised her favourite beautiful, young Greek Adonis on his hands and knees before her, naked and with his beautiful erection bobbing up and down between his legs, as he lapped at her fleshy folds, driving her inexorably towards the all-over rush of orgasmic excitement.

But it wasn't long before the anonymous Greek boy metamorphosed to take on another identity.

The boy's olive-toned, hairless skin lightened to become more familiarly lighter and more hirsute. His dark, curly hair gave way to straighter, brown hair. His eyes and face changed from being Mediterranean to being distinctly more British. In short, the Greek god of a young man became a vision of Peter, on his knees, and using his tongue to caress her centre of arousal.

Pretty soon, it caused her to crash headlong into a wall of erotic desire, and she shrieked as a sudden and all-enveloping orgasm consumed her. She gasped and trembled as her whole body felt incandescent, as the fire of feminine orgasmic sensations burned throughout her.

"Aaahhhhhh!!! Hahhhhhh!!! Nnnggghhh!!" She cried, unable to stifle her moans any longer. She wondered if the entire building could hear her in the throes of orgasm, but at that moment, she simply couldn't care less.

She wanted it to last forever, but alas it was not to be. As she felt her orgasm begin to fade, she rubbed herself between her legs with increased fervour, desperate to prolong the plateau of orgasmic enrapture for as long as she possibly could. But the vision of Peter lapping at her vulva shimmered away in her mind, leaving her alone in the glazed confines of her shower cubicle. Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she slumped against the wall and slid down in a sudden flood of tears.

They were both tears of joy after having felt such a long-awaited relief from her pent-up arousal, and bizarrely, tears of shame for having succumbed to her feelings about Peter, with whom she still felt a near-fraternal bond.

If only she had known what Peter was up to, right at that very moment, in his own flat two floors above hers.

Friday, October 9th 2010 - 7:27pm

Almost a week passed, and still the mysterious and unsettling mark on Peter's penis refused to budge. If anything, it was worse - where it once was grey in colour, it was now bordering on white. He was becoming seriously worried about it, and all manner of scenarios played through his mind; some depressing, others downright disturbing. He knew he had to take action, but like many men he was reluctant to seek help - after all, it was a rather embarrassing predicament.

He decided to turn to the one person he felt he could trust.

It was Lindi's turn to cook dinner that evening, and Peter resolved that as soon as they'd finished, he would break his silence and confide in her.

Friday, October 9th 2010 - 8:45pm

"Not bad for a first attempt at pan-fried sea bass." Lindi remarked, partly to Peter and partly to herself as she cleared away their plates.

"Yes, it was um... lovely." Peter replied, a little absently.

"Fancy some of my homemade apple strudel for dessert?"

"Hmm?" Peter answered, his mind elsewhere.

"Peter, did you hear me?" Lindi asked, now aware that Peter seemed to be a million miles away.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, do you fancy some of my homemade apple strudel?"

"Oh? Yeah, whatever." Peter said dismissively.

"Peter, is there... is there something the matter?"

"What? Er, no! No, there's nothing the matter. Some of your apple... whatever it was, would be lovely!"

"Come on, cut the crap, Peter." Lindi said firmly, "Something's wrong, I can tell. What do you take me for, hmm? Some kind of idiot? It's Clive isn't it, you know something about him that you're not letting on!"

"No! It's not that... scumbag!" Peter retorted, "It's... well, if you must know, it's my... Look, I've erm, noticed something sort of, odd."

"Odd?" Lindi queried, "What's odd?"

"I've sort of, found something unusual." Peter clarified, "On my... my... On my penis."

"What?" Lindi giggled in disbelief, "Has someone drugged you and given you a Prince Albert during the night or something?" Lindi chortled.

But the look on Peter's face that she received by way of a reply brought her crashing down from her jollity in a nanosecond.

"Jeez, Peter, I'm so sorry!" Lindi apologised, "What's erm, what's the problem?"

"I sort of, noticed a mark on my penis." Peter sighed.

"A mark?" Lindi asked, "Whereabouts?"

"Like I said," Peter replied, "on my penis."

"I know it's on your penis, silly!" Lindi chuckled, "Whereabouts on your penis is it?"

"What? Oh! Right, well it's erm, on the head."