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From: an624781@anon.penet.fi (Jordan Shelbourne)

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Reply-To: an624781@anon.penet.fi

Date: Tue, 18 Jun 1996 10:20:07 UTC

Subject: STORY: Cusps [Jordan Shelbourne]

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				 CUSPS



			  By Jordan Shelbourne



[Tedious legal material:



[Copyright by the author, 1996. The following permissions are granted:

distribution through electronic networks and a single hard copy for

personal use. All other rights are retained by the author.



[For permission to reprint, you can contact me at jordan@u36.com,

 or through snail mail:



   Jordan Shelbourne

   195 Park Street

   Kitchener, Ontario

   N2G 1M7

]



[For John and Carol]



Gwen padded back into the bedroom and it struck me once more what a

graceful, attractive woman my wife was.



"It's okay," she told me.  "The baby's asleep.  --What are you looking

at?"



"You," I told her.  "Your breasts.  Your posture, which gives you those

lovely clean lines.  Your neck -- oh, I love your neck.  Your lips.

Your other lips.  That mad tangle of pubic hair.  All the parts that

make you up."



"Huh-uh," she said as she went to her side of the bed.  "You missed the

jelly-belly from childbirth.  And what do you propose to do with all of

those parts?"



I said, "Make mad passionate love to them, wench."  I reached for her

from the bed; she stepped away.



"Oh, sweetie.  I'd love to make love tonight--"



It was in her voice.  I said for her, "But--?"



"But," she said, "I really don't feel like it tonight.  I've been up and

busy with the baby and I'm _so_ tired..."



"Um," I said.  "That's okay."



She got into the bed on her side.  I didn't move to cuddle her.  "We'll

make love soon, I promise."



"Okay." I turned out the light and we lay there in the dark.



She shifted herself over and reached for my cock.  It was still hard,

though my erection was fading.  "Oh, my," she said.  I didn't move or

respond, and she let go of me.  Finally she said, "It hasn't been that

long, has it?"



I sighed.  "Depending on whether you count the one time when the baby

was six weeks old, it's been either six months or ten months."



"Oh," Gwen said, and was quiet again for a while.  "I just don't _feel_

like it," she said.  I mean, I want to in my head, but my body..."



"That's okay," I told her again.  Again there was uneasy silence, and

somewhere during that, I fell asleep, maybe for a long time, maybe not.

I woke to the sound and shudders of Gwen sobbing beside me.  In my

fogged and crusty state I managed in my fogged and crusty state to place

a hand on her shoulder and to croak, "Hey.  Hey, what's wrong?"



"Oh, Rob, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to wake you." Her voice stuck on the

vowels.  I held her close to me until her crying subsided.  She smelled

of hot tears and sweet milk and floral shampoo.  "I hate not wanting to

make love, but I just _don't_.  My breasts are these _feeding_ stations

and they just aren't sexy at all and I'm so _tired_ and I keep thinking

you might-- might--" she was sobbing again; finally she managed to

squeeze out, "_leave_ me."



"Hey," I repeated, and calmed her again.  "I'm here for you.  I won't go

away."



"I just keep feeling you get so horny and I don't do anything for you

and you might have an--" Her voice was starting to hitch again so I

interrupted.



"An affair?  Sweetie, we left 'to be faithful' in the marriage vow and I

intend to abide by it."



She snuggled up against me, hot tears spilling onto my chest.  "You

promise?"



"I do," I told her solemnly.



"None of those women from your past would interest you?"  Gwen had never

asked much about my past.  She knew I'd had just over a dozen lovers,

and I knew she'd had three, including me.



"No," I told her, and then, because I was still sleepy and because it

was the truth, I said, "well, only one."



"Tell me about her," Gwen said in a small sleepy voice, so I did.



				 * * *



Her name was Merle, and at first I had to fuck her with my eyes closed.

Not that she was ugly, quite the opposite.  She was striking to look at,

raven-wing hair framing a clean strong face with pale blue eyes that

held the noon sky.  Even when she was lying beneath me, wisps of that

ebony hair sweat-plastered to her, she was hypnotic.  I knew I could

lose myself in gazing at her, lose the urgent rhythm of my cock in her

slick wet pussy.  Instead, I buried my face in the hollow of her neck,

sucking and biting her earlobe and her sturdy neck, and inhaling her

wild scent.



The truth is, she intimidated the hell out of me.  In one sentence,

Merle knew what she wanted.



"Your cock," Merle murmured.  "I love the feel of your cock sliding into

me.  It's so _big._"  She pressed her hips up against me, trying to

capture my entire cock within her.  I pulled away again and teased her

with the head, popping the mushroom cap in and out of her with short

eager thrusts.  "Oh, Jesusssss--" she said, and the final syllable fell

into a long sibilant sigh as she came again, her splendid body

tightening against mine and then falling slack for a moment before she

was ready to go on.  "Fill me," she urged.  "Fill my pussy with your big

fat cock."



I adjusted position, pulling her knees up around my shoulders and

bracing myself for fast hard strokes.  I fixed my gaze on her breasts

as,  I fucked her hard, filling her with the full length of my cock on

every stroke, slapping my balls against her ass, grunting with the

effort.  Her breasts bounced and sagged slightly over her ribs as she

thrust against me.  Her broad brown areolae were soft again after her

orgasm.



"Touch my clit," she whispered.  "I love the way you touch my clit." I

tweaked one nipple and was rewarded by a slight change in texture, a

nubbly stiffening; I traced a path down to her tidy arrowhead of pubic

hair.  Her clit was as sturdy and eager as her body, a hard marble of

excitement, and I played it with my index finger.  She was wet, always

wetter than any other woman I had ever known, and every stroke and

caress made her gasp and tighten, until finally I had reduced her

vocabulary to a single obscenity, over and over:



"Fuck," she whispered and gasped and moaned.  "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,

ohhhhh fuck fuck fuck..." and I did.



I changed positions again, putting her legs back down: this time I

wanted to fuck her slowly.  I wanted to come inside her.  For me with

Merle, that meant moving so I wasn't fucking her as much as I was

rubbing the top of my cock with her cunt.  "I'm going to come in you," I

told her.  I sensed her nod in the jostle of her breasts and the

movement of her hips and the slow bounce of the bed.



Her pussy held my cock, caressed it as I slowly pushed it into her and

pulled it out -- Merle gasped as the head came out and again as it slid

in.  Her nails dug into my back, hurting me but that was only a spice to

the age-old banquet, the slippery velvet tingling that moved along my

shaft, to the corona and glans and back again.  I kept my pace

deliberate; the pressure built within me until I couldn't stand it any

more and I groaned, "I'm commmming."



She moaned "Unnnh" as I frantically shoved the full length of my cock

into her, grinding my pubis against her clit.  My cock jerked and

throbbed with orgasm, and I filled her with my come.



				 * * *



I stopped then.  My cock was very hard, and I thought that Gwen had

fallen asleep.  With luck, I thought, I could manage a quiet jerk-off

without waking her.  As I shifted to roll away, she reached up and held

my hard-on loosely in her hand, the way the baby holds the rattle while

she sleeps.  Gwen murmured, "Tell me more."



				 * * *



Merle wasn't the first woman I fucked, or made love to, or slept with,

but she was the first I did all three with.  I met her in a grocery

store: I was wandering through the aisles, buying whatever looked

interesting, when I glanced at her as she passed by me.  She was, as I

said, striking.



I made a show of having bought the wrong thing (silly of me; they were

oyster mushrooms, and you can't really mistake them for anything else)

and backed up to get another look.  Sometimes you glimpse a face and

your impression is quite different from the reality.  Other women are

striking but only from one angle.  But Merle really was that striking,

from every angle, and I was dumbfounded.



We stand at the doorways to new lives every day.  I don't know what

you'd call those possibilities: epiphanies, or maybe cusps.  You have to

be ready for one, though, or the doorway is closed.  The first time I

saw Merle was one of those cusps for me.  I followed her for three

aisles before I worked up the courage to use the oldest

conversation-starter in the world.  I said "Hello."



It was a bumpy conversational start and I got the impression that she

was _amused_ by me, but I kept talking to her, about anything that came

to mind -- except sex, at least overtly.  I remember asking her what the

"virgin" meant in "virgin olive oil;" she told me.  Finally she invited

me to her place for dinner because she lived alone, she said, and if no

one came over for dinner, she'd eat out of cans.



Four hours later we were fucking, and I've already told you about that.

(My fault, mostly, as it turned out.)  Merle had standards, and I had to

live up to them, in the bedroom as well as elsewhere.  And after we

settled the disease and birth control issues, we continued to fuck.



But this is about how we made love, and that came later.



Some relationships which start in bed never move out of it -- they never

find those cusps -- but Merle and I had good prospects.  We talked,

before and after sex, about everything.  Mostly we talked about sex, of

course: what we liked and what we didn't like -- I learned a great deal

about what Merle liked and didn't like; for instance, Merle could

deep-throat a man, but she didn't particularly enjoy it.  I discovered

some things about what I didn't like, as opposed to what I _thought_ I

didn't like.  And we talked about our other partners.  She was quite

circumspect about names -- it was always, "Well, I knew a guy--" or

once, "A girlfriend and I--"



So one night after sex, she began telling me about this guy, her first

lover and her first real love.  And she had a nightgown, a red flannel

nightgown from her grandmother, whom she adored.  The guy had a problem:

he was vicious.  He was not only vicious in big ways -- he hit her a

couple of times, but he always said it would be the last time, she

always believed him, and it always was, for a while -- but he was also

vicious in small ways.  He left the toilet seat up, because it bothered

her.  He lost things, but only her things.  I pictured him saying, "Your

virginity?  Geez, I don't know what happened to it.  It was around here

someplace."  And smirking.



One night, this guy wanted sex, and she didn't.  It was cold, she was

dressed for bed, he'd come in half-drunk, dropped his pants to reveal

his hard-on and announced his need.  They argued about it, and finally

she agreed to a quickie.



Merle laughed ruefully at this point and called herself an idiot in

those days.  But I think that each of us has someone who gets under our

skins, who reaches places in us that no one else does, and for whom we

do the unthinkable.  This guy was like that for Merle, just as Merle was

like that for me.



Well, the quickie wasn't coming quick enough for him, and he tore the

nightgown off her.  He didn't quite tear it in two, but it was

unwearable.  Merle let him finish -- she said it didn't take long, with

another rueful laugh -- and after he rolled off her and rolled into a

deep drunken sleep, she packed and she left.  She said she didn't even

clean his come from her until she arrived at a friend's place, because

she wanted the discomfort to remind her of how stupid she had been.



She had kept the two pieces of the nightgown, because she meant to do

something with them, maybe make them into throw pillows or something,

but she couldn't bear to destroy the nightgown any further.



The next morning, she was off to work early and I was left behind to fix

my own breakfast in her place.  I explored a bit and found what I

needed, and I stitched together the nightgown as best I could.  I wasn't

too pleased with the results because my stitches were big and sloppy but

I kept remembering what my dad used to say, that a thing worth doing was

worth doing poorly.



By the time I was done, I was certain that this was absolutely the wrong

thing to do, and that she was going to hate me forever for desecrating

the nightgown but I didn't have time to undo it before I went off to

class myself.  After class, I went straight back to her place, maybe to

sneak the nightgown out and unfix it.



But she'd had a shitty day at work and she wasn't feeling well and she

just said to me, "No fucking tonight," and I said, "Fine."  And she

looked at me as though she expected me to take off immediately once I

knew we weren't going to boink; she was surprised I hadn't left a hole

in the air as I left.  She stood before me like a fighter stands when

he's facing the last of a line of opponents.



I had nothing to lose by confessing at that point.  So I went to her

dresser and I lifted out the nightgown and put it in her arms and I

left.



I hadn't gotten to the stairs when she called hoarsely to me.  Her

cheeks were wet with tears and those blue eyes were red-rimmed.  She

held out her arms and we held each other for a warm fragrant time.  Then

she kissed me, and it was like no kiss I'd had from her before.  It

was...the difference between a photograph and the real person.  This was

the real Merle, and her kisses were tender and sweet and hot.  I kissed

away her tears from her jaw and her cheeks and the corners of her eyes.



Merle opened my shirt and began to kiss her way down my chest: hollow of

neck, collarbone, nipples and ribs (I giggled from nervous ticklishness)

and then down to my belt.  She pulled me back into her apartment and

into her bedroom.  The dampness of her kisses cooled on my skin and

hardened my nipples.



She rimmed my belly button with her tongue while she stripped me of

pants and underpants.  My thickening cock brushed her blouse's collar.

She knelt in front of me and, gently grasping my cock behind the head,

guided it into her mouth.  Her mouth was liquid fire, swirling and

tickling me.  I closed my eyes, because Merle was very good at this.

Then, holding the cheeks of my ass in her hands, she began to bob up and

down the length of my cock.  I felt her relax the muscles of her throat

as my cock grew and hardened.  I had never had a woman take all of me

down her throat before.  This was, I understood, a gift.



It felt...nice.  I didn't find it to be the ultimate sexual experience:

I was worried about her, about hurting her, but I was very flattered and

turned on that she had decided to give it to me.



After a few minutes of this, she pulled her head back from my cock, a

clear string of saliva still connecting us, and she smiled shyly at me.

I pulled her up beside me and kissed her.  "Thank you," I whispered.  I

stepped free of my clothes and began to undress her.



I eased her blouse off her shoulders, onto the floor.  Her black skirt

and her pantyhose followed.  She stood before me in her lingerie, and I

admired her for a moment.  Striking, I said before, and she was.

"You're beautiful," I told her, and I meant it.



She smiled.  It gave her a dimple in her left cheek.  "Thank you."



I kissed her again, and we fell giggling onto the bed, mouth to mouth.

Her tongue flicked over my tongue, my teeth, the tip of my nose, the

inside of my ear, the roughness of my chin.  I wanted my cock inside

her, but I also wanted this to go on forever, and I was afraid that once

I was inside her, I would come immediately.



We struggled for a moment to get her demicup bra off, and then it was on

the floor.  Merle liked a lot of attention to her breasts: I kissed and

sucked her big brown nipples until they stood to pebbly erection.  I

sucked one entire breast into my wide-open mouth and tongued it; then I

bit delicately on the nipple.  I cupped the other breast in my hand,

pressing and stroking it with my thumb.  I scraped the undersides of her

breasts gently with my stubbled cheek.  I stroked one breast with the

back of my hand while I scratched the other lightly with my fingernails.

Every once in a while, she gasped and thrust her hips into the air.  I

could smell her excitement, sweet and musky.



I kissed my way down her ribs and belly button and between the horns of

her hips.  Her panties were transparently damp, betraying her raven

pubic hair and swollen inner lips.  I tasted her mound through the

cloth, hungrily.  She pressed herself against my face.



I sat up to peel off her panties.  She scooted down the bed so my hard

cock rested between her lips.  I rubbed the length of my cock along her,

teasing her, caressing her big hard clit with the head of my cock.  I

tried teasing her by holding my cock right at the entrance, only a

quarter-inch of it penetrating her, but she moved and captured it.  She

felt so good that I pushed and suddenly I was buried deep within her.



I held motionless for a moment, afraid I'd come, and then I slowly

withdrew.  She whimpered.  When only my head was left within her, I had

to decide if I wanted to come: and it took almost all my willpower to

pull out entirely.  I kept moving down the bed until my knees were on

the floor and my mouth was on her pussy again.



I ate her with little cat-licks: gentle tongue caresses from the outside

in.  I slowly moved from back to front, tasting every inch.  I sucked

her marble-hard clit into my mouth and diddled it with my tongue.  I

slipped a finger into her, then a second, then a third, and I massaged

the inside of her pussy as I played with her lips and clit.  She tasted

as delightful as she smelled.



Finally I pulled my head away and gently stroked every slick fold of her

flesh.  Merle moaned as I circled her clit with my middle and

forefingers.  Her throaty moans excited me.  I held one finger just

above her, and the rhythmic thrusts of her hips brushed her clitoris

against my finger with a feather-light touch.  She began to pump her

hips, seeking my finger.  I moved it away and clambered up the bed to

lay beside her.



"Now," she said to me.  I positioned myself over her body, and she

guided my hard thick cock into her.  I gasped as her warm wet pussy

gripped me tightly.



"I'm glad you like it," she murmured.



"I do," I told her.  "I do."



We were familiar enough with each other by then that there was no need

to talk:  a shift of weight or a tiny gasp said as much as we needed.

We settled into a comfortable rhythm, one that would sustain us.  And we

kissed.  I tasted myself on her, she tasted herself on me, our scents

and flavors mingled like our bodies.  If our fucking had been a dash for

orgasm, this was a leisurely stroll.



I broke free and raised myself up once, to admire this goddess beneath

me.  She moved her hand to where we were joined and said softly, "Thank

you."



"My pleasure," I told her.



"It's mutual," she said.



Eventually our need grew, and my thrusts grew stronger and faster.  Her

hips twitched against mine and our bellies slapped together as I drove

my cock in and out of her.  We held hands, twining our fingers together

as we both sought release.  She came first, with a long drawn-out sigh,

pulling my hands down against the bed and pressing her feet against the

sheets.  Shortly after that, I grunted and then moaned as I poured my

orgasm into her and I saw her face surrounded by stars.  I sank down and

nestled against her.



And in that moment of silence afterwards, Merle whispered, "I love you."



I said, "I love you too."



				 * * *



Gwen's eyes were still closed, and she was breathing evenly and deeply,

as though she were asleep.  But her hand was moving slowly, almost

absent-mindedly, up and down my hard cock.  She knew she could hold me

at this level for a long, long time, and she knew how, with only a minor

variation, she could make me come in a minute.  I wiggled my hips,

trying to convince her to give me that release, but she said, "Tell me

more.  Tell me about when you slept together."



I didn't want to, but I did.



				 * * *



Both Merle and I had been at one of those cusps the day I mended the

nightshirt, and we crossed that doorway together.



But togetherness is tough work, and there's a new cusp every day, and

finally I was -- metaphorically -- alone in the house.  The signs were

small ones, and if I'd been good enough at reading those signs of

ripeness as I was at reading the signs of departure, I might have gone

with her.  That's the best explanation I can find for the fact that

after six months, we had a very decent conversation, and a lot of tears.



"It's not you," she said.  "It's me."



"No," I told her, "it's me."  We cried a bit.



"I'll always love you, you know," she said.  "But I'm not _in love_ with

you."



"But I'm in love with you," I told her.



"It won't work," she told me.



"Why not?"



"Because of me," she told me.  "It's not you, it's me."



And finally, after we'd gone around that a few more times, she asked me

if we could still be friends, and because I was young I said yes.



And she took me up on it.  We had lunch every week.  She told me her

problems over salad and entree.  I told her about my life, making it up

over dessert.



My heart ached when I saw her, though I was trying to be a friend, to be

sympathetic to her problems, even though I desperately wanted her to

leave the thirty-two-year-old advertising account executive who suffered

from premature ejaculation.  I once made a joke about being willing to

finish her off when he came too soon; if she realized how thoroughly I

meant it, she didn't let me know.



The lunch dates became monthly and then bimonthly and then it was a year

since she'd left me.  I took stock and realized that I'd been insane in

a clinical sense and started dating other people: drab boring people as

it turned out.  Then it was a year and a half since she'd left me, and I

realized I'd been insane six months ago but I was far better now.



I rediscovered simple pleasures:  laying in the sun, Baroque music,

massages (giving and receiving), punishing exercise and bubble baths.  I

was in the tub one summer's night, soaking after my nightly regimen,

when someone let him or herself into my apartment.  About a dozen people

had keys.  I wrapped myself in a big terrycloth robe and padded out to

the living room to see which of the dozen it was.



Merle was standing there, soaking wet and dripping rain onto my welcome

mat.  Still striking.  Still beautiful.  My heart filled my throat.

"Hi," she said sadly.  "Mind if I come in?"



Over her?  I suddenly realized that I wasn't over her at all.  "Please

do," I told her.  I took her coat and she started to shiver.  I called

myself stupid, and busied myself:  I put her in the bedroom with a towel

and some of my clean clothes while I made tea.



She came out in my new blue jeans, stiff and rolled at the ankles, a

singlet and a green flannel shirt that lent her eyes the color of the

sea.  I almost couldn't breathe, she was so lovely.



My apartment had no washer, no dryer, so we arranged her wet clothes on

radiators and lampshades to dry: blouse, skirt, hose, bra, panties.  The

place looked like a Gypsy encampment when we were done.



Wrapped in my comforter, she curled up in the corner of the big

fake-leather couch with her tea.  I perched at the other end, ready to

fetch anything she might need.  Ready to be of service.



She looked at me and misunderstood.  "Don't worry," she said.  "I'm not

here for long.  I won't disturb your life."



"That's okay," I told her.  "You can disturb my life any time.  What

happened?"



"Men," she said.  "Me.  They're a bad combination, Rob."



"I thought it was pretty good."



She smiled in an exhausted way.  "You were sweet.  No, this was David."

David was the advertising executive.



"He didn't...hit you, did he?"



"What?  No, nothing like that.  Rob, why will someone who has been

avoiding marriage, avoiding commitment, suddenly decide that nothing

else will do?"



My heart swelled in my throat.  "Cusps," I said to her.  "He, uh, he

proposed?"



"Oh no, you sweet turkey.  I proposed to him."



My heart sank then, like the Titanic, though the band played on.  "And

he turned you down?"



She nodded.  "Just as well.  I think life with him would be hell.  But

still -- all of a sudden, I _want_ to be _married._"  She laughed.  "A

hell of a thing.  And _who_ I marry doesn't seem to matter so much."



"Well," I said, as lightly as I could, "I'm still available, though I

would have to check my calendar."



She laughed and that was the moment I knew I would never have her for my

own.  Though she said it didn't matter who she married, she would not

think of marrying me.  Halfway through the laugh her tears started

coming, and I went to her and cradled her in my arms.  I stroked her

hair for a long, long time as she cried.  "I'm sorry," she finally

managed to say, "I'm so _tired..._"



I picked her up though my aching muscles protested, and put her on the

futon.  She gave me a little help in undressing her and I yearned for

her as I peeled off clothes to bare the woman I had dreamed of for the

past two years.  I covered her with the comforter; before I could leave,

she touched my sleeve and said, "Please stay."



I dropped my robe and lay beside-behind her, spoon fashion, her cool

still-damp buttocks pressing into my pelvis.  My erection fit neatly

between the cheeks of her ass, poking me in the stomach.  I rested my

head on my right arm, and curled my left arm loosely over her, my hand

resting between her breasts.  I was too conscious of her to sleep,

though I dozed now and then.



After one of those brief naps, I discovered my insistent cock nestled

between the lips of her pussy, warm and wet.  Moving my hand slightly, I

felt her nipple harden under my fingertips.  Her hips made a

nearly-imperceptible movement.  Perhaps I imagined it, but I took it as

an invitation.



I began to move my hips, sliding my cock back and forth along her lips.

The quality of her breathing changed, became a little shallower, a

little faster.  I rediscovered the path from her nipples down her belly

to her hot hard clit, and I began to stroke her, occasionally touching

the heavy head of my cock.



I don't know how long I kept up this torture; the sweet urgency built in

my hips, my balls, my cock.  With every slide back, my cock rested at

her entrance.  I pressed slightly but did not enter her.  It would take

a little -- very little!  -- help from my hand, but I didn't do it.  I'm

not sure why.



After some more time, Merle moaned softly.  She reached down and

adjusted the angle and the head of my cock popped into her.  "Ooooh,"

she sighed.  I started to push my cock in farther with each stroke,

fondling her as I did so.  Not just her clit; all of her, careful to

make it good for her, holding myself back.  She responded in the old

familiar ways, and very soon, her body tightened and she sighed as she

always sighed when she came.  She rolled onto her stomach, the signal

that she was done.



I was not near orgasm yet.



It seemed to me that she didn't care if I came.



She had never cared if I loved her.



I began to fuck her angrily, with full harsh strokes, in and out, her

thighs gripping the length of my cock.  My hips slapped against her

asscheeks as I pushed my hard cock into her, again and again.



I didn't care if she liked it, I didn't care what she wanted or what she

thought of me; I would never have her, and there was a kind of freedom

in that.  In my anger, the feel of Merle beneath me, prone and warm and

helpless.  I reached up and held her wrists down against the futon.  She

gasped, but did not struggle.  If she had, I might have really tried to

hold her wrists, really tried to restrain her, but she didn't and I

didn't.



Instead I thrust my heavy cock into her, thrilling to the feel of her

captive body beneath mine.  I don't know how long I fucked her like

that, careless of her needs or wants, slapping her ass with my hips,

driving my cock in her cunt.  Somewhere in that I let go of her arms,

concentrating on the feel of her pussy, the rubbing of her thighs

against my shaft.  She lay still beneath me, moaning in time with my

thrusts, faster and faster.  My orgasm was pure, beneath words: I barked

with pleasure as I came.  My cock throbbed inside her several times, and

then I lay quietly on her.



I rested, feeling our heartbeats slow down and the slight pull of

sweat-sticky skin each time we breathed.  After my cock softened and

fell out of her, dollops of my come oozed out and tickled down the limp

length of my cock.  I shivered, and pulled away from her.  Finally I

slept peacefully.



The next morning, I was sure it was over between us, that I could look

at her as just another woman I had known once, and it was almost like

that.  But at the door, as she was leaving, she kissed me goodbye like

this: with her mouth open and her tongue caressing mine.  When she was

done, she whispered, "Thanks for last night."



And that was another cusp.  But she went out the door, and I stayed

behind.



				 * * *



As I spoke, Gwen changed her grip on my cock and I squeezed my eyes shut

as I came, shooting semen onto my chest and belly.  A third pulse ran

over her fingers and into my pubic hair.  Before I opened my eyes, Gwen

sucked my cock clean as it softened in her mouth.  Finally she let it

fall from between her lips, where it lolled on my thigh.



Gwen clambered up my body and licked the come off my chest.  She kissed

me with surprising force, sharing my come with me.  The astringent

aftertaste of it caught in my throat.  "You'd have an affair with her?"

Gwen asked me, her voice throaty.



I couldn't back out of it now, and besides, it was true.  I nodded.



Gwen's eyes were fierce.  "If you do, I want you to know--" I could feel

the damp heat of her crotch pressing against my belly.  "--I want to

watch."



On the cusp, at the doorway, whatever that meant, I took a deep breath

and stepped in with my wife.  "You will," I told her.  "You will."



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