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Authors: Unknown Author
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idea given the news reports about the coed discovered Thursday on the banks of the Poudre, her body mutilated in ways only hinted at.
“Maybe you’d accept a ride. I’d drop you wherever.”
Nice game. Sherry was smiling. Katt said, “Sure.”
“And maybe . . . you’d like to see my place first?”
Butterflies within. All those messages exchanged, an uninhibited expression of pure psychic fantasy, lusts safe behind anonymity. Then they’d met. Katt had come to know her, observed her in a casual orgy, a rich mix of emotions drifting in from this woman, nexus ever on her mind. “Why not?” tossed off with a look across the table nowhere near as casual.
Together they rose.
Sherry had no sooner closed the door than they flowed together, not even the pretense of a tour. Solid alluring Katt (the name fit), sweet and unhurried in embrace, not a hint of freakage when fantasy became reality. Odd perhaps her reluctance to abandon anonymity. But Sherry had given her name, her place of residence, had made no attempt—and would make none—to hide mailings addressed to her. There must surely soon and inevitably be full disclosure between them.
Whenever.
In its own time.
Fortunately she’d thought to bank the blinds when she left, just in case. Random angles gave
neighboring condos glimpses into her privacy, and she certainly wanted no one with a mouth to blab watching this. Katt’s face was soft, aromatic, her hands knowing and unhesitant.
Still, as in the glowlight of her living room she and Katt slowly undressed one another and the odd vacancy that pervaded her sexual being eased in, Sherry decided to keep her drawerful of toys out of it. The joys of dental dams, of strap-ons and Magic Wands, could wait. She was content simply to unclothe and explore a new lover, the transition from BBS abstraction to physical incarnation now coming to completion. Between kisses, Katt said words of some sort, soft distances gone, but Sherry ignored them and they soon fell away. No. She liked the look and touch and taste of uninterrupted skin, red band marks obligingly disappearing at waist and wrap of thigh as she caressed and kissed them into forgetfulness. Words only distracted.
Katt’s fingers touched her scar tentatively at first, then relaxed upon and about the letters, turning MINE into one more part of her, as it was. Through hazes of vacancy and fleshly fascination, an inflected word floated down to her ear, taking time to resolve: Bedroom? Umm, yes, both rising, hand to hand, then arms about waists and slow hips sliding down the hall. She closed the miniblinds tighter so that sharp thin slits of sunlight struggled against the slats, lit an oil lamp, went to Katt watching her from the bed. Embracing warmth, moving along open arms, thoroughly there and not there, standing apart and observing even as, sensually engaged, she slithered into the wonderfulness of their lovemak-ing. Since Derek’s branding of her, numbness in sex had been safer, her passions engaged but empty.
Now all was Katt. Friday it had been Marcus, posture somewhat similar to this woman’s now, but with thick riots of hair, his middle-aged angularity, and the hot stiffness that drove him across country and made him groan when part of her, any part, paid it attention. Marcus was good, his need for her pure and gratifyingly obsessive, though maybe because of that laser-beamed love, she felt even more gone and apart from him (though he hadn’t a clue) the closer he drew to her in nakedness and desire. Katt turned her over and softly attacked her arousal, and it felt right to urge her elusive friend’s hips about, easing them down, causing a diagonal reorientation above the blanket for more spread and length, no toes bumped against headboard. An obedient body, hers, spry and ardent and responsive to the slap and tickle of love. But she felt dead inside. The same death pervaded her at the head of the class, professor prized by students and colleagues
“Maybe you’d accept a ride. I’d drop you wherever.”
Nice game. Sherry was smiling. Katt said, “Sure.”
“And maybe . . . you’d like to see my place first?”
Butterflies within. All those messages exchanged, an uninhibited expression of pure psychic fantasy, lusts safe behind anonymity. Then they’d met. Katt had come to know her, observed her in a casual orgy, a rich mix of emotions drifting in from this woman, nexus ever on her mind. “Why not?” tossed off with a look across the table nowhere near as casual.
Together they rose.
Sherry had no sooner closed the door than they flowed together, not even the pretense of a tour. Solid alluring Katt (the name fit), sweet and unhurried in embrace, not a hint of freakage when fantasy became reality. Odd perhaps her reluctance to abandon anonymity. But Sherry had given her name, her place of residence, had made no attempt—and would make none—to hide mailings addressed to her. There must surely soon and inevitably be full disclosure between them.
Whenever.
In its own time.
Fortunately she’d thought to bank the blinds when she left, just in case. Random angles gave
neighboring condos glimpses into her privacy, and she certainly wanted no one with a mouth to blab watching this. Katt’s face was soft, aromatic, her hands knowing and unhesitant.
Still, as in the glowlight of her living room she and Katt slowly undressed one another and the odd vacancy that pervaded her sexual being eased in, Sherry decided to keep her drawerful of toys out of it. The joys of dental dams, of strap-ons and Magic Wands, could wait. She was content simply to unclothe and explore a new lover, the transition from BBS abstraction to physical incarnation now coming to completion. Between kisses, Katt said words of some sort, soft distances gone, but Sherry ignored them and they soon fell away. No. She liked the look and touch and taste of uninterrupted skin, red band marks obligingly disappearing at waist and wrap of thigh as she caressed and kissed them into forgetfulness. Words only distracted.
Katt’s fingers touched her scar tentatively at first, then relaxed upon and about the letters, turning MINE into one more part of her, as it was. Through hazes of vacancy and fleshly fascination, an inflected word floated down to her ear, taking time to resolve: Bedroom? Umm, yes, both rising, hand to hand, then arms about waists and slow hips sliding down the hall. She closed the miniblinds tighter so that sharp thin slits of sunlight struggled against the slats, lit an oil lamp, went to Katt watching her from the bed. Embracing warmth, moving along open arms, thoroughly there and not there, standing apart and observing even as, sensually engaged, she slithered into the wonderfulness of their lovemak-ing. Since Derek’s branding of her, numbness in sex had been safer, her passions engaged but empty.
Now all was Katt. Friday it had been Marcus, posture somewhat similar to this woman’s now, but with thick riots of hair, his middle-aged angularity, and the hot stiffness that drove him across country and made him groan when part of her, any part, paid it attention. Marcus was good, his need for her pure and gratifyingly obsessive, though maybe because of that laser-beamed love, she felt even more gone and apart from him (though he hadn’t a clue) the closer he drew to her in nakedness and desire. Katt turned her over and softly attacked her arousal, and it felt right to urge her elusive friend’s hips about, easing them down, causing a diagonal reorientation above the blanket for more spread and length, no toes bumped against headboard. An obedient body, hers, spry and ardent and responsive to the slap and tickle of love. But she felt dead inside. The same death pervaded her at the head of the class, professor prized by students and colleagues
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