The Earth Moved

My mom and sister were in LA for the big 1994 Northridge earthquake. Their experience inspired this story, which ran as an Incredible Seductions piece in the September 1994 issue of Penthouse Forum.

I woke up at 4:28 a.m. as the bed shook violently. These were no magic fingers, either—this was an earthquike! I groped in the dark for the edge of the bed, aware of lamps crashing to the floor around me. Each time I almost boosted myself out of bed, another jolt shook me back into the middle. How was I supposed to get to safety if I couldn’t even get up off the bed? I pulled a pillow over my head, hoped that the ceiling would not collapse on top of me and waited for the shaking to stop.

When the rumbling noises and rolling earth finally calmed, I could hear sirens off in the distance and the raised voices of panicked people in the hallway, all muffled by my pillow. I poked my head out tentatively, squinting in the darkness for any fallen beams of anything else that would be dangerous. The coast looked to be clear. I managed to get out of bed, but my legs were shaking almost as much as the bed had been a few minutes before, and I was covered in a film of nervous sweat.

I grabbed my robe from the easy chair, tied it tightly and leaned out into the hallway. Fellow hotel guests were milling around in their doorways trying to decide if they should dress, take their valuables and get the hell out. A few were arguing over whether to take the elevator down to the lobby. “Perhaps it would be a better idea if we took the stairs,” a firm voice behind me said. I turned to see an interest-looking, middle-aged man in a deep burgundy terry robe. “If there are any aftershocks, an elevator is not exactly the best place to be,” he stated matter-of-factly, and turned in the direction of the stairwell. Reassured by his authoritative tone, I followed him, not really caring if the other guests did the same.

When he got to the door he must’ve heard me rustling behind him, because he held it open for me. “After you,” he said politely, and when I stuck my head through, checking for protruding metal railings or fire or flood or anything else that smacked of a disaster film, he gently placed his hand on the small of my back and urged me forward, following closely behind. “Don’t worry,” he said, “these stairwells are the sturdiest structures in the building. They’re built to withstand almost anything, since they’re our only way out, really.” The tiniest bit of worry tinged his voice, but he still sounded so sure of himself that I relaxed and started down the stairs.

The stairwell let out on the back of the lobby, where a crowd had already gathered. All of the armchairs were taken, so the burgundy-robed guest and I leaned, side by side, against a large marble table that had held a giant floral arrangement when I’d checked in, but was now covered in chunks of porcelain and fallen lilies. We brushed off a few bits of the debris before getting as comfortable as was possible and waited to hear what the official-looking, clipboard-toting man in the cener of the room had to say.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, turning from one side to the other in order to include us all, “you’ve all just been shaken out of bed by a 6.6 quake, the biggest in this area in quite some time.” And just as the word “biggest” came out of his mouth, the chandeliers started tinkling and then the ground shook, but only briefly. The volume of voices in the room rose a few notches. “Quiet, quiet, please,” Mr. Clipboard shouted. “You’ll no doubt be feeling more aftershocks over the next 24 hours and whenever you do, be advised to do whatever possible to get to a safe place. Interior doorways are the best, but any reinforced structure will do if necessary.”

“Yeah, like how about a nice, reinforced 747 out of this godforsaken city,” a short man off to my left cracked in a sharp Brooklyn accent.

There were uncomfortable snickers from the hotel guests as the official man continued. “We’ll be handing out candles. We have already checked for gas leaks and I’m happy to say that our lines are all in good shape. However, it may be a while before our electricity is restored, so in the meantime you’ll have to rely on candlelight. Our building was built to the latest earthquake-safe specifications, so you need not worry about your hotel room walls tumbling down.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Clipboard continued. “Please, if you’d all return to your rooms, we’d like to invite you back down for further information and a free breakfast at, let’s see, shall we say eight o’clock? Thank you for your time and attention.” And with that he turned and disappeared behind a door.

“Well, he certainly didn’t provide us with an overwhelming amount of information,” my brave neighbor said, standing and brushing off the back of his robe. “I wish I’d brought my WatchMan.”

“Oh, I have one,” I volunteered, and babbled, “I use it to watch the ballgames while I’m lying out.”

“Let’s go check it out and get some more informative news,” he replied, and I padded along behind him, back up the stairs to my room.

I opened the drapes so I could find my bag. I was still a bit reluctant to use my candle, but my new friend, who eventually introduced himself as Kenneth, lit his, commenting on the romance of candlelight. Given my present state of mind, the comment was more or less lost on me. In the dim light cast by the early morning sky, I managed to find my WatchMan and sat down on the bed, adjusting the dial until I found a station that came in well.

We sat together watching the newscast, live from Northridge, live from the Santa Monica Freeway, live from Indian Hills, and after seeing the amount of damage done only miles away, we both thanked God that we’d been spared the worst. When the TV station began repeating the same sordid stories, the two of us began our own conversation, starting with what we were doing in L.A.—he, pitching a large corporation on a new complex his architectural firm had designed and I was on a advertising shoot—before meandering off to what we thought of L.A., California in general and our comparative lifestyles at home.

“I’d give anything to be able to RollerBlade 365 days a year,” I said, glancing out the window at the dawn of yet another sunny day in paradise.

“Yes, I suppose this weather is conducive to outdoor sports,” he agreed, “but I’m convinced that the sun does something to people’s brains out here. I never seem to be able to connect with anyone, if you know what I mean,” and he turned to face me. I looked into his eyes and nodded, not sure if I knew exactly what he meant, but beginning to have a vague idea.

“Usually, when I’m out here, I’m so busy with work that I don’t have an opportunity to connect with anyone,” I said, returning his gaze. “I suppose this little shake-up will more or less put the brakes on getting any work done—at least for today.” I wondered if he was feeling the same electric spark that I was.

“I would say that this little shake-up has provided us with the perfect opportunity to, uh, connect,” Kenneth said, lowering his voice and gently brushing a long lock of my hair behind my shoulder.

That brief moment of contact doubled my heart rate. I inhaled—an almost imperceptible gasp—and moistened my lips, not sure what to say next. The sudden rumbling of the earth, accompanied by rattling windows and rustling trees, prevented me from finding words. Instead, I threw my arms around Kenneth’s neck and clung to him for dear life. When the shaking stopped, he was kissing my shoulders and caressing the small of my back.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, it’s just another aftershock,” he whispered, but I shook my head, embarrassed.

“Damn, they’re worse than the earthquake! How many more will there be?” I actually expected this confident man to have an answer.

“There’s no telling, really,” he replied apologetically. “But they’re never as severe as the initial quake. That should be of some consolation.”

“Humpf,” I shrugged, and nuzzled into his neck. He smelled wonderful, a slight trace of expensive cologne, but mostly sweat. His masculine body odors mingled with the lingering smell of his shampoo and his deodorant. I wanted to lick him, taste him, to see if he was salty, but I didn’t want to appear too bold.

“Here, lie back and relax,” he said, fluffing a pillow for me and leaning my body back. I surrendered to his self-assured authority. “Close your eyes and try to slow down that pulse of yours.” Had he felt my heart fluttering right through our terry cloth? He smoothed my robe along the contours of my body and began to trace small, hypnotic circles into my skin.

He started at my temples, pressing gently into my throbbing pulse-points, and moved his hands slowly over my face, stopping to caress my lips. He felt for the tendons in my neck and played them, softly, before continuing down to my chest. He nudged the lapels of my robe out of his way and drew imaginary spirals along my collarbone, down my cleavage and then out to my breasts, eventually ringing my nipples, which were straining at his touch. I held my breath.

Then his hands circled back to my cleavage and started down my belly. He stopped there, laying his warm palms on me, and asked if my stomach felt queasy. I barely nodded and he circled his palms on my belly, chasing away any nervous trembling, replacing nervousness with anticipation.

He changed position on the bed and began kneading my thighs, bunching my terry robe until he finally brushed it aside, exposing me. Rather than being distracted by my revealed sex, Kenneth continued down, past my knees, and wrung out my calves like so much soggy laundry. The only tension left in my body was concentrated in my groin, which was burning for this tender, attentive, take-charge man.

Then his hands found my feet and he delicately fingered my toes, rubbing each one, before moving his thumbs up and down my soles in search of knotted muscles. At first I didn’t know what I was feeling when something warm and wet squirmed between my toes, but as Kenneth lapped the arch of my foot it became clear. He was bathing my feet with his soft tongue, tickling between each toe. Before long he started back up my legs, nibbling at my ankles and sucking at the soft flesh on the side of my knee.

By the time his tongue reached my upper thigh I was groaning softly. I reached down and began twirling his stiff, corkscrew curls around my finger. He pushed my thighs apart and nestled his head between my legs. His hot breath stirred my pubic curls.

Kenneth ran his fingers through my triangle, combing the hairs away from my labia and exposing my sex further. Could he see how excited he had made me? I wondered. I was inflamed and hot, both eager and impatient for his tongue to reach its intended destination. In a heartbeat, I felt his finger impale me and knew he was immediately aware of how his ministrations had affected me. He let out a soft groan and added another finger, twisting and turning, churning my insides.

When his tongue finally made contact, I squealed. His fingers moved in and out of me noisily, slick with my juices, while his tongue flicked casually at my clit. His thumb grazed the tiny hairs around my asshole and my muscles contracted. “Mm, you’re tight,” he whispered, and I pressed down on his head, arching my pelvis up to meet his mouth, aching for his tongue to continue.

His fingers were plunging into me rhythmically as he nibbled and sucked at my clit, and when I tensed and ordered him, “Right there! Yes, right there,” he pulled his fingers out and, in seconds, replaced them with his stiff cock.

He pounded into me, the lapels of his robe brushing against my face, and I gripped him tightly around the waist with my legs, the better to pull his body against mine and increase the friction. As a long-awaited orgasm surged through me, I rode him harder, arching up to meet his pelvis, answering every powerful jab he thrust into me.

I lost count of the waves of sensation that rose up from my loins and crashed through my body. Our sweat made our bodies seem like one, and I attempted to make contact with as much of his skin as I possibly could. When he finally cried out and froze, mid-thrust, I could feel his cock releasing jolt after jolt of come. Then, the earth moved. The windows rattled and anything that had been left standing after the previous rumblings went crashing to the floor. While the earth heaved itself up at improbable angles, Kenneth shifted his hips slightly, moving his cock mere millimeters, and emptied the last few dribbles of his sperm deep inside me.

The earth shuddering—and my quaking—subsided soon enough, and Kenneth and I talked softly to one another. “What do you say we throw all caution to the wind and take a bath?” he asked. “These tubs have built-in air jets that make them almost as good as jacuzzis!” I giggled at the thought of the two of us in a bathtub full of bubbles as the world clattered around us, and agreed.

As I ran the bathwater, rummaging in the courtesy basket for bubble bath, Kenneth called downstairs and asked if it would be possible to have our free “earthquake breakfast” sent up with room service. “Great! Fine. Room 2012” he said, and hung up. “They’ll be up in 10 minutes. We can have breakfast in the tub!” He sounded like an ecstatic little kid.

We had our breakfast, such as it was, in the tub, sipping coffee and nibbling on semi-humid croissants. At one point Kenneth smeared a dollop of jam on my nose and playfully slurped it off, his bathtub antics belying his quiet dignity. When another aftershock rocked the hotel, our bathwater sloshed over the side of the tub and spilled across the tiles, but we just laughed and made jokes about being in a lifeboat of water.

Once our bath grew tepid, we slipped out, dried each other with the fluffy bathsheets and returned to the bed—and the WatchMan—to hear further updates. We made love and watched disaster unfolding on the tiny screen for the remainder of the day, riding out the frequent aftershocks. When dinner approached, I tried calling my client, but the line was out. I told Kenneth that it appeared I was stuck in the hotel for the evening. His dining companions were unreachable as well, so it was decided.

We called down for more room service; afternoon unraveled into night and more of the same. Although we fell asleep early, we woke up during the night to that panicky feeling of unsteady ground. And when another sunny day in paradise dawned outside my hotel room, I found myself alone.

When I walked past Kenneth’s room on my way to check out, the door was open and the maid was humming to herself as she plucked pieces of broken glass out of the carpet. He had already checked out. Handing my charge card to the girl at the desk, I regretted not having asked for the name of his architectural firm. Not that I had any intention of traveling to Atlanta anytime soon, but… When the girl pushed the receipt around for me to sign, she set a business card down beside it.

“A gentleman left this for you.” I quickly signed my name and snatched up the card. Printed on the back in fine, angular, geometric letters: “I FELT THE EARTH MOVE. CALL ME SOMETIME. KENNETH.”

I blushed warmly and pocketed the card, thanking the girl as she handed me my receipt, and carried my bag to the curb.

Luminous Pearl

This piece was written for my friend and editor of the “seminal” NYC fanzine, Happyland, Selwyn Harris. Pearl actually was his girlfriend and there certainly are kernels of truth in the tale. In retrospect, I did an impressive job of writing a lesbian scene, given I’d never had sex with a woman at that point. I published it in the debut issue of my fanzine, Porn Free, in the summer of 1994.

A gentleman friend of mine worships women and firmly believes that all men are scum. His favorite—if not his only—sexual fantasy is to see two women pleasuring each other, writhing in each other’s sweat and juices, as he jerks off, watching from the sidelines. Although I’ve had fleeting thoughts of sex with a woman, I was continually assuring him of my avowed heterosexuality. He’d have to find someone else to fulfill his fantasy.

That was, of course, before I met his newest girlfriend. Pearl is an enticingly ripe 18 years old, 135 supple pounds artfully distributed over her delicate six-foot frame, with flashing green eyes and a crown of curly, cascading strawberry blonde hair.

When I first met her, in a pressing, humid crowd at a party, she took my breath away.

“What on earth have you done to deserve such a stunning creature?” I asked my pal. He shook his head and shamefully admitted that nothing he had ever done, or ever considered doing, warranted the gift of this radiant beauty.

“She is definitely one of the most delicious women I’ve ever seen in the flesh,” I gushed, pleased to see such a proud expression on his face. He jumped on my use of the word delicious.

“Does she look good enough to eat?” he asked, licking his chops.

“Oh, gee, I don’t know…maybe…” I answered ambiguously. And we were interrupted by an arriving group of revelers.

A week later, slumped side by side on barstools, Sullivan was regaling me with tales of his newly electrifying sex life.

“She is absolutely amazing!” he crowed. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had!”

Don’t men always say that? I arched my eyebrows over my beer in a facial question of, “Yes, so, do tell.” And Sullivan proceeded to do exactly that.

“She’s way more experienced than an 18-year-old has a right to be,” he said enthusiastically. “She can fuck for hours, and she wraps those long legs of hers around me like a monkey. She’s not too great at giving head, but she’s learning, and since I’d rather eat her than have her eating me, well…” His voice trailed off and he sat staring dreamily off into space.

Since I’d met her, I had been waking up almost nightly, wet with sweat from scorching dreams starring the sweet, young Pearl. In every one I would seduce her in some crafty, world-wise way, maneuver her into my bedroom and have her poised, luscious legs spread, for the most tantalizing gash-lashing she’d ever had in her life. And every time, just as I was about to dive into her glistening cunt, I’d wake up, all damp and stuck to the sheets. Now I desperately wanted to hear about their sex together, hoping that their reality would help to extend my fantasy. I elbowed him to continue.

“So, you’re eating her out, and…?” I inquired, egging him on.

“Well, it’s like, no matter where we are, she manages to fold herself into the most incredible positions. She must’ve taken dance classes of gymnastics or somethin’.”

“Give me a specific instance,” I urged, shifting uncomfortably on my barstool.

“Okay, we’re at her grandmother’s house and her grandmother’s all comfy in front of her TV downstairs in the living room and Pearl whispers in my ear that she’s been getting wetter and wetter thinking about me all day at school and could I come upstairs with her and make her scream. I ask her what about, you know, her grandmother, and she tells me, ah, don’t worry, she don’t hear so good, and she drags me up the stairs to this big, old bed with one of those canopy things over it. I’m like, isn’t this your grandmother’s bed? And she’s like, don’t worry, don’t worry, and she drags me down on the bed. I go to pull off her panties and she’s already got ’em off. She just about crams my hand up inside her but then I take over, you know, the experienced older man.”

“Mmm,” I mumble, imagining the feel of Pearl’s moist pussy on my fingers. “Go on.”

“Well, she loves for me to lick her asshole, you know, and so before I have a chance to even ask what the hell she’s doing, she flips her legs up over her head and rests her knees on either side of her head, you know. So I can look at her face and her cunt, like they’re right next to each other. I tell her that she doesn’t look very comfortable and she tells me sure she is and to hurry up and eat her.”

So I give her a big, sloppy kiss on the lips and then start licking her thighs all over but she keeps poking her cunt at my face. She’s got no patience, I tell ya! So I just cram my tongue way inside her and she kinda screams, ‘Yeah, yeah, do it, Sullivan!’ So I lick all around, sucking a bit, you know, really workin’ her.”

I imagine my face buried deep in her pubic curls and squirm on my seat.

“Her little slit is stickin’ right out at me, all hard, so I start flicking it with my tongue and she starts panting ‘Come on, come on!’ So I flick faster and faster, her poking and pushing her pubes all in my face and this scene just gets like a blur, me licking and sucking like crazy, until she grabs for a pillow, crams it over her face and lets go with this long, wild scream. I shove my tongue as deep into her pussy as it’ll go and feel her insides twitching around. She just sort of stays there in that ridiculous position, her pussy still pushing at my face, but slower and slower, and she’s still got that pillow over her mouth, only now she’s giggling. I tell ya, she’s really wild…” and he trailed off.

I “ahemed” and waved my hand in front of his face, which brought him back to reality.

“I gotta go take a piss,” he rasped and he quickly disappeared into the john. A piss, yeah, right, I thought. And sure enough, when he got back his face was all flushed and he was drying his hands on his shirt.

“Hadda go jerk off. Good just thinkin’ about her gets me so fuckin’ hot!” and he took a long sip of beer.

I felt the need to do the same thing, so I excused myself and hurried into the ladies room. Sitting on the toilet, I opened my legs wide and jammed my fingers deep inside my pussy. I was dripping. Sullivan’s story had gotten me incredibly turned on.

I spread my juices from my asshole to my clit, which stood out like a tough little pebble in all that soft, sopping flesh. With two fingers pumping in and out of my cunt, I rubbed at my clit until my moans were echoing off the tile walls and my juices were dribbling into the toilet. I sat there, with my fingers jammed inside my cunt, feeling my inner spasms, and tried to catch my breath.

When I returned to my seat next to Sullivan, he gave me a curious once-over and said, “Looks like my Pearly gets you hot, too.” My already-warm cheeks burned as I admitted that, yes, indeed she did. “Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do about that,” and his smile got so big I thought his face might tear. The mere thought of her lithe body stretched out in front of me started my pussy twitching all over again.

A couple of weeks passed by with no trace of Sullivan—or his beautiful Pearl. They’re home, fucking like rabbits, I thought enviously. I couldn’t believe how badly I wanted her! My dreams were no longer abbreviated by soggy awakenings and unfinished fantasies. No, now they progressed all the way through Pearl’s exhuberant climaxes and then faded, with me watching her head of shining curls disappear into my crotch. I had to advance my imaginings to the next level—to see how it ended.

I finally got the chance to complete my fantasy—and Sullivan’s—one hot summer night. We were at a party that was packed with the usual suspects, and we’d all had a couple beers. The air conditioning wasn’t working too well and everyone in the place wore a sheen of sweat. I had parked myself next to a window hoping for a breeze and was practically gasping for air when Pearl sauntered over and stole the last few molecules of oxygen from my lungs.

“So, I hear Sullivan’s been sharing our sex life with you,” she said and, unsure as to her feelings about his divulgences, I had no idea how to respond. Before I said a thing, she smiled and added, “Don’t worry, we’ve been including you in our fantasies and you’ve spiced up our sex considerably!” Like they needed their sex any spicier! Her hand brushed lightly against the side of my thigh, sending a shiver right through me. As a rivulet of sweat ran down my cleavage, Pearl watched it disappear between my breasts and volunteered, “Sure is hot in here, huh?”

I panted, “Unbelievably!”

“I know a cool spot,” Pearl said brightly, and she took my hand in hers. Her skin was soft and moist and I could feel the heat radiating from her body. She was wearing a short, thin, cream-colored dress that was precariously anchored at her shoulders by small string bows. The filmy material clung damply to her curves, providing a distinct silhouette of her breasts. They hung on her slight frame, seemingly suspended. Her small nipples cast faint shadows and I wondered what they would feel like sliding between my teeth. We wove through the party, Pearl nudging people aside. She led me through the bedroom to an open window, then out onto the fire escape.

“Isn’t the breeze wonderful out here?” she asked, and I watched as that breeze caressed her curls and her nipples stiffened, pushing at the flimsy gauze.

“C’mon, let’s go up on the roof. It’ll be really cool up there!” She turned and started climbing up the steep, metal steps. I followed behind, blessed with a breathtaking view of her perfectly rounded little ass. A thin strand of material rode up between her cheeks and I could see the beginnings of her curly mound. The breeze had stirred my nipples to attention and every nerve in my body tingled. I wanted to reach up and pull at that little strand, to probe the folds of her pussy so tantalizingly close. I kept yanking at my underwear, trying to ease the constricting sensation.

As Pearl left the last step and stood on the roof, she turned and offered me her hand. She looked like a goddess up there, the dark sky providing a dramatic backdrop. Tiny wisps of her hair caught the ambient light and twinkled in concert with the stars. As she pulled me up onto the roof beside her, our eyes met and she kissed me deeply. And I returned her kiss. Our arms wound around each other’s waists and we stood like that, poised at the top of the fire escape, kissing, for the longest time. When her lips left mine, I gasped for air.

“Come, here,” she whispered into the tense air between us, and she guided me to a plush down quilt spread out in a corner of the roof. As I stood beside it, she kissed me again. Her hands moved over my body, rubbing here, pressing there. They slid slowly down to the small of my back and then to my ass, which Pearl gently hefted in her palms. With a crablike motion she gathered my skirt up, bunching it into her hands, until it was wadded around my waist. The damp spot in my underpants caught the breeze and sent a cool chill across my sweltering cunt. I shivered.

“You aren’t cold, are you?” Pearl asked. “Here, let me warm you up.” She tucked the folds of my skirt into its waistband, slipped her hands beneath my cotton panties and slowly sank to her knees, kissing and caressing as she went. My underpants fell to the tar and Pearl’s freed hands skittered back up to my thighs, reaching for my swollen pussy. Her touch felt cool and dry on my feverish folds. Her fingers poked and prodded, occasionally brushing against my throbbing clit or slipping inside me. I was leaning back, barely able to keep my balance, taking in the stars and the heavenly smell of Pearl’s hair.

Soon the temperature around my cunt changed as Pearl’s tongue slid across my labia. My knees wobbled. With a quick shove, her fingers were deep inside me, twisting in and out, while her tongue lapped at my rigid clit. I looked down to watch her mass of curls moving in my groin, the exact scene that had woken me in a sweat so many times. I rocked my pelvis in rhythm with her fingerfucking and squeezed my nipples through my blouse. My knees began to quiver and I was afraid I would collapse, but I had to ride this out—climax astride Pearl’s beautiful face, sensuous tongue and her nimble, probing fingers.

I disregarded my quaking knees and focused on the slippery flicking at my clit. I began to cry out sharply, “Make it come!” and Pearl licked faster than ever, sending my head reeling, my knees shaking crazily and evoking powerful spasms from the depths of my aching cunt. I clutched my breasts and swayed giddily with Pearl gripping my hips, preventing me from melting to the tar. I felt like I was actually swooning! I may have even lost a few seconds there somewhere, waiting for the stars in my eyes to be replaced by the stars of the sky.

I was weak from an almost immobilizing orgasm—but still standing. Pearl continued kissing and nuzzling as my unsure sea legs readjusted to land. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I merely stood enjoying her caresses, digesting the episode. Clearly it was time for me to demonstrate my appreciation—of her alabaster body, her fabulous tongue—to the amazining Pearl.

Placing my hands on her upper arms, I gently lifted her off of her knees. As she stood, her face gazing questioningly into mine, I was barely able to speak. I lifted my hands to her temples and ran them lightly across her fine features.

“You are exquisite,” I whispered, as her eyes fluttered and closed. I raked my fingers through the thick waves of her hair and she tilted her head back, exposing her neck. Then, beginning with her tiny earlobes, I carefully, softly began a trail of kisses down Pearl’s lucious body.

While my lips explored Pearl’s supple skin, my hands were busy fumbling with the shoulder ties of her dress. As one bow became two draping tendrils, my lips continued their trek across Pearl’s shoulder. Her breathing faltered as I peeled away the front of her dress and my lips lit upon her breast. Then, ever so slowly, I kissed a circle around her puckered areola.

When my lips finally closed upon her nipple, Pearl moaned quietly and softly touched my hair. I ran my tongue around the little nub, encouraging its extension, then drew it into my mouth, sucking powerfully, and sliding it between my teeth just as I’d envisioned. Pearl moaned again and pulled my head to her chest. I quickly uncovered her other breast and rushed to envelope its nipple between my moist lips. This brought a deeper groan from Pearl.

While caressing and sucking, I cupped her breasts in my hands, feeling the light heft of their youthful suspension. Then my tongue danced across her flat stomach and found her tiny belly button. Probing it seemed to tickle her and she giggled. I looked up into her glazed eyes and grasped both her hands, pulling her to the quilt. She leaned back on her elbows, crossed her legs and grinned at me, as if offering me a challenge, which I met eagerly. I traced my fingers along her leg, from her upper thigh, slowly detouring to brush against her pale pubic hair, down, over her knee to her crossed ankles. I slid my hand between them and pushed her legs apart.

I leaned back to take in this tableau, the exact scene I had woken from those first few times, frustrated and panting. I had been looking forward to this moment for weeks—damp, sticky weeks. There had been sufficient anticipation. I dove in.

My tongue slid across her pussy, and I savored the strange, new taste. Like the many times I’d imagined, I felt every fold, every crevice of her with my mouth. I could feel the stiff protrusion of her clit and she squirmed when my tongue grazed it. I didn’t want to linger there though, not yet. I wanted to build her up to that point where her orgasm would be powerful, overwhelming.

From her high, round breasts to her tight, wet cunt, I rubbed my hands over Pearl’s body as my tongue worked in and out and around her pussy. Together we were a blur of motion as she writhed on the down, bunching and shifting the fabric. After what would have been much more than I could ever have withstood, I decided it was time to deliver that best-ever orgasm. I took a deep breath, slipped my thumb into her cunt and, with my fingers resting against her ass, sucked her hard little clit into my mouth. She screamed a sharp, high-pitched little scream and I went crazy. Alternating licks, sucks and light nibbles, I worked her clit, listening for which action elicited the deepest moans.

By the time Pearl was practicaly thrashing, I had determined that it would be sucking that would carry her to climax. Quickening the fuck motion of my thumb, and brushing against her asshole at every opportunity I could get, I just sucked rhythmically, as hard and fast as I could, on Pearl’s stiff clit. Her hips were frantically pumping higher into the air in time with my sucking, and her moans became words—first soft, quiet words that built to loud, demanding barks.

“Yes, yes! Yes, yes, YES, YESSSS!” and her entire body shook.

I kept sucking as the waves of pleasure ran through her. The walls of her cunt powerfully clenched at my thumb. Then, as her spasms came at longer intervals, my sucking softened to licking, then kissing, then gentle, dog-like nudging. I inhaled the scent of her come; the juices that had escaped her pussy ran down my hand. Pulling my thumb out of her cunt with a “tthhp,” I crawled up to her panting mouth. I ran my thumb, wet with her lubricant, across her delicate lips, then kissed her, the taste of her pussy mingling with the potion of our saliva.

Then, above the muted hum of the traffic below, I heard a small, sort of clicking noise. I listened closely as it quickened, then stopped, and was replaced by a muffled, “uh, uh, uuhhhmmm.” I looked over at Pearl and we both smiled, holding our breath, straining to hear Sullivan’s come hit the tar. I imagined I heard it splat faintly and we waited, still afraid to breathe, until we heard heavy footfalls descending the fire escape steps. We giggled, knowing that our friend had finally gotten his wish.

I felt spent. I stretched out on the quilt beside the luminous Pearl and she nuzzled her face into my breast, resting her head on my shoulder. I pulled the quilt up around us, wrapping our bodies in soft down. We lay, snuggled and silent, listening to the voices from the party join the sounds of the city in a deep, choral drone.