Sensuous

24 May — Monday

“I love you, Jennifer.”

“No you don’t, Greg. Or you, Paul. Neither of you loves me. Nobody loves anybody.”

“We all know that. Let’s lie and say we love each other.”

“Why lie?”

“It might not be a lie, Jennifer. There are ways I love you. Ways Greg loves you. Ways Greg and I love each other. The word doesn’t hurt when there’s no promise in it, no demand, no this-for-that. You know us and we know you. No woman ever knew me before. Love you, Jennifer.”

“Love you, Jennifer.”

“Love you, Greg. That’s a lie. Paul, I’ll lie and say I love you.”

“Lies or truth, we love each other. I must love you, you touch my stomach and it doesn’t tickle. My body knows you. The flesh on my stomach is the litmus paper of love, Jennifer. Love makes me unticklish. Kiss me. Oh, yes.”

“And we’re both going to make love to you, Jennifer. Paul and I, both at once, making love to you.”

“Yes.”

“Sharing you.”

“Yes, sharing you. Fucking you, you angel. Fucking each other with your good woman’s body.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, do. Ah, yes, yes. Ah, yes, do.”

Not tonight, not last night. A few days ago all this happened. Wonder how real the conversation is that I’ve typed. How much is as it happened, how much is as it has been filtered by my mind and worn smooth by time.

Ought to be close, anyway.

Sit here summoning up the memory of this incident and seeking to transfer it to the page, the pages, seeking to feed it into the typewriter and make it come out on the paper, and for an odd and I think new reason.

Not because the scene is so vividly in mind. Not because there are things about it I want to discuss with myself, or to record, or to understand. The incident itself was chosen carefully after several minutes of studying blank paper, and I picked it less for its impact upon me than for its pure erotic value.

I want to write something sexy.

Don’t know why, don’t care why. Doesn’t fucking matter. Want to recreate the episode in words and get the full absolute flavor of it in print. Odd, because not for me to read, no, not for anyone to read. Why is a question to ask later or never, and better never than later. Why is a crooked letter. Why is — bullshit.

Forget why. And forget all the other bullshit that clutters my head in the course of sex and my paper in the course of writing about sex. Concentrate purely on what, not why or how but what. Be a camera and tell what the lens sees. Nothing but a camera, a camera which records without interpreting, a camera not guided by a skilled director but mounted immobile on a tripod, taking it all in and making no comments on what it sees.

I am in a king-size bed, lying on my back, one leg straight out before me, the other leg bent at the knee, its toes resting on the calf of the straight leg, my thighs slightly apart. Paul is on my right. He lies on his side, facing toward me, his hand on my...

No.

Get rid of I, get rid of me. Third person throughout. Just say what happens.

Arlene is in a king-size bed, lying on her back, one leg straight out before her, the other leg bent at the knee, its toes resting on the...

No.

Jennifer is in a king-size bed, lying on her back, one leg straight out before her, the other leg bent at the knee, its toes resting on the calf of the straight leg, her thighs slightly apart. Paul is on her right. He lies on his side, facing toward her, his hand on her shoulder, his mouth at her neck. Gregory, on her left, also faces her. His body is positioned slightly lower on the bed so that his head rests on her upper arm, his mouth a few inches from her breast. One of his hands rests on one of her thighs, the thigh of the leg that is bent at the knee.

Paul kisses her neck, small tentative nibbling kisses at first. Then he begins to let his tongue run over her soft skin. He pauses in his licking to tell her how soft she is, commenting again and again on the smoothness of her skin, the appeal of its texture. As he licks and kisses her throat, his left hand settles on her hip, rubs, strokes. His hand moves downward until it touches the top of her triangle of pubic hair, then reverses its direction and moves over her hip, across her abdomen, crossing the bottom of her rib cage and reaching her right breast. On the way a finger brushes lightly over her navel and she quivers at the touch. When his hand fits itself gently around her breast a small sigh escapes her lips. His hand is still for an instant, then gently begins to knead her breast flesh. Her nipple goes rigid against the palm of his hand and she sighs again.

On her other side, Gregory strokes her leg, down toward the knee, then upward toward her loins. The flesh on the insides of her thighs is silk-smooth and very sensitive. Each time his fingers move higher and the muscles in her thighs begin to work involuntarily, flexing automatically as his hand moves closer and closer to her loins, then relaxing as it halts and heads downward toward her knee. His head moves closer and his tongue darts out to touch the nipple of her left breast. She draws in breath sharply. The hand on her leg moves higher than ever and her hips give a tiny thrust, trying to meet it. But the hand draws away even as the mouth comes forward to reach for her breast. She feels his penis, hard and large, pressing against the meaty exterior of her thigh. With a silent sob she turns toward him, and his lips part to take in the tip of her breast even as his hand moves the final few inches to touch her loins.

She is on her side now, facing Gregory, clutching his head to her breast. He is sucking urgently at her nipple while he rolls her clitoris deftly between thumb and forefinger. Her juices flow. Still toying with her clitoris, another finger steals into her vagina and strokes her.

She makes small sounds and squeezes her eyes tightly shut. Her thighs lock around the invading hand, imprisoning it, unwilling to let it escape.

Behind her, Paul presses the full length of his body against her. She feels his hard cock in the cleft of her buttocks, his thin body against the length of her back. His mouth is on her neck, the back of her neck now, and he is alternately kissing and biting, thrilling her with the sharp touch of his teeth, then the soothing moisture of his mouth. His fingers touch her ribs. She raises her body slightly in response, and his arm slips beneath her chest as his other arm moves over the top of her body. His hands fasten upon her breasts and grip them firmly. He holds the left one as Gregory sucks its tip, grips the right one and works its nipple with his fingers.

Her hips press backward and she feels Paul’s cock like a bar of warm steel against her buttocks. She savors the touch, then thrusts her hips outward and feels the throb of Gregory’s cock against her thigh. Her hands take hold of Gregory’s head, urge him upward, and her mouth finds his. Her tongue probes into his mouth, then withdraws as her own mouth accepts his tongue in turn.

Paul’s cock is the first to enter her. He moves off from her for a moment to anoint himself with K-Y jelly. Then she feels his hands on her buttocks, feels the cool moisture of another dab of jelly on his forefinger as he presses it into her anal opening. His finger works the jelly around the area, then withdraws. His hands clasp her buttocks and draw them apart, and the head of his penis takes the place of his finger and begins the process of intromission.

Several times he stops in answer to her gasps of pain. Her buttocks automatically, instinctively, close themselves to repel the assault, and it is work for her to will the instinct to subside, to will herself to open to him. He enters her half an inch at a time, moving in tiny fits and starts. Finally he is halfway inside her, and suddenly progress is easy; it is as if her anus suddenly relaxes and sucks him inside like a vacuum cleaner, and at once he is in her to the hilt.

They lie joined this way without moving. Throughout, Gregory has been kissing her mouth as he works her pussy with skilled fingers. But now, with Paul snug inside her, she is able to focus her attention on his kisses and his fingering. She feels the fingers move downward, slip behind her, to touch Paul’s cock for a moment. Then they are back in place and he is playing with her as she sucks his tongue.

For only a moment he draws away from her, ending the kiss, losing the contact of his hand upon her loins. He moves down on the bed and presses his mouth to her cunt, the tongue racing over the clitoris, dipping into the moist musk pool, then retreating as he resumes his original position. He kisses her mouth and she tastes her own flavor upon his lips. Then his hands open her legs and she sighs again and his cock, so stiff and hard, so much thicker than Paul’s but its equal in length, slides directly into her cunt. She is hot and wet and open, and in an instant he is all the way within her.

Paul in back and Gregory in front, and each of them in her to the hilt, and neither of them moving. Paul’s hands around her to hold her breasts, Gregory’s mouth on her mouth, and both of them motionless, herself motionless as well, as she savors the sensation of the dual assault of two penises. They are separated only by the thin membrane that separates anus and vagina, and she feels the two of them pressing together and knows they can feel each other through the instrument of her body.

Her flesh begins to sing.

It is Jennifer who first begins to move. A slow, gentle, rocking motion. Forward first, thrusting down on Gregory’s cock, feeling his deeper penetration as she feels Paul’s slight withdrawal from her asshole. Then backward, tasting slight sweet pain as Paul’s cock rams into her ass again while Gregory slips slightly out of her.

She establishes the motion, sets the rhythm. And they pick up their cues from her and meet her thrusts with thrusts of their own.

“All at once,” someone says, as the crises approach. “All come together, all, love, divine—”

But Paul comes first, shooting jets of hot sperm into her asshole, filling her with a sticky salty enema. And before his spasms end it is Gregory’s turn, and her cunt grips him as he comes deep inside her.

And Jennifer follows a split second later, her cunt twitching spasmodically, her asshole rippling like a wheat field in strong wind, her whole body giving of itself and getting for itself as she is caught up in the delicious deathlike magical ecstasy of orgasm.

Bullshit.

All true except the very last.

Jennifer didn’t come.

Loved it. Could hardly have loved it more if she had come. Could hardly have been happier and more fulfilled had she reached that dizzy orgasm.

But let us keep our facts straight.

Jennifer got close. She got hot, she got into it all, as she so often does.

But she didn’t come.

As she so often doesn’t.

What oh what is all of this about? What the value of writing it down?

Why the impulse?

It didn’t get me hot to write about it. Sort of thought it would but it didn’t. Perhaps because I was outside watching, but no sense in that because it is usually being outside watching that does it for me. Perhaps because too conscious of construction, too intent upon the technique of it, the mechanics of writing purposely erotic material.

Don’t know.

Silly, all of this. Vaguely disturbed now by everything set in motion by writing this. And yet feel slightly better for having written it though don’t know how.

Or why.

Funny, all of this. Funny, me. The word person that is ARjenniferLENE.

I don’t think I’ll see Paul and Gregory again for a long time. If ever.

Doubt they need me any more. Doubt I need them. Pleasure — they pleasure me, but I seem to want something beyond pleasure lately. I go seek situations that bring me less pleasure than other situations I have already been a part of. Seeking what’s new to me, even though I doubt it will be that good, rather than what I have already experienced, regardless of how much I have already enjoyed it.

Extending myself?

Partly. More — what? More what?

Don’t know.

Something more than pleasure. Something more than orgasm — have orgasms now and then, one way or another, alone or with help, but orgasm almost incidental. Not what I signed on this cruise for. Something, but what???