textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/story1c.txt

Subject: Jack, Betty, and Al


     In 1975, I was living on School Street in Belmont, Massachusetts,  not
far from where Concord Avenue dives under the B&M railroad underpass on the
way to Belmont Center.  I had been divorced for nearly five years, and  the
woman  I  loved most in the world was in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, trying to
decide whether or not to leave her husband.  I was not involved with anyone
at  this time; later in the year, I found myself involved with a co-worker,
a roommate, and my lover from Pennsylvania.  I was in my late twenties  and
still  pretty  fit,  this being long before I started spending every waking
hour behind a VDT.

     Poking around the  New  England  sexual  underground,  I  had  started
corresponding  with  an  older  couple  from Providence named Betty and Al.
(They were both married, but not to each other,  although  I  didn't  learn
this  until  later.)   Betty  and Al were curious about group sex, but they
were cautious and didn't want to rush into things.  In addition to the  na-
tural  concerns  about  disease and the risk of entanglement with psychotic
individuals, Al in particular had two concerns:  first, he wasn't sure  how
he  would feel watching another man fuck the woman he loved, and second, he
wasn't sure how he felt about possible bisexual activity.  The bottom  line
was  that they wanted someone sensual but non-threatening to introduce them
to things at a pace they could handle.

     One rainy spring night, they drove in from  Providence  and  rented  a
room in a motel near the Howard Johnson's at Fresh Pond in Cambridge.  When
they had had dinner and gotten settled, they gave me a call,  and  I  drove
over  to meet them.  It was a beautiful, warm, spring night, when a medium-
heavy rain falling, and I felt good as I  parked,  walked  past  the  front
desk, and knocked on the door of their room.

     It was a typical motel room:  two large double beds with a night stand
along  one wall, and a small table surrounded by several chairs over by the
window.  Betty was seated at the table, and Al and I joined her.

     Al was in his early fifties, 6'4" tall, and still in excellent  shape.
He  was a humanities professor at a New England university.  All in all, he
looked like a benign Charleton Heston,

     Betty was beautiful.  She was in her early forties,  5'10"  tall,  and
had  a trim figure that Jane Fonda would have envied.  She was a successful
real estate agent and dressed the part:   she  was  wearing  a  knee-length
skirt,  blouse,  stockings, and three-inch high heels.  The latter were for
my benefit:  as a short man (5'6"), I found it frustrating that many taller
women  wouldn't consider sex with a shorter man.  I had discussed this with
Betty, and she had promised to make herself as tall  as  possible  if  that
would excite me.

     The ground rules we had agreed on were as follows:  any sexual contact
was  fine,  but I was not to penetrate Betty.  Al and I had talked it over,
and he felt too threatened by the idea, although any other caress  was  ac-
ceptable.   As  for  bi activities between Al and myself, we had decided to
leave that up to Betty.  The plan for the evening was to give Betty as much
pleasure  as  possible:   if  it pleased her to see us touch each other, we
would; otherwise, whatever happened, happened.  We  were  comfortable  with
each  other:   neither of us was particularly attracted to men, but neither
of us was homophobic, either.

     We made small talk for awhile, sitting around that tiny  motel  table,
talking about the weather and their drive from Providence and whatnot.  But
at some point, Betty stood up, clearly ill at ease, and said,  "I've  never
done anything like this before."

     "I have," I said.  I stood up and stripped to  my  underpants.   "It's
easier if we get into bed," I said.

     Al followed my lead, except that he stripped down totally.  He  really
was in great shape:  strong body, flat belly, medium-sized cock, and a good
pair of balls.

     And Betty surprised me.  She was nervous, but she wasn't shy.  It  was
obvious  that  she  liked  taking  her clothes off, and it was obvious that
she'd stripped for Al before.  If you know Randy  Newman's  "You  Can  Keep
Your  Hat On" or David Bromberg's "Sharon," then you know what I mean.  She
slipped out of her blouse and skirt with delicate twists  and  turns,  then
kicked  off  her shoes and turned to face us in her peach-colored bra, pan-
ties, garter belt, and stockings.  She was  lovely:   slender  legs,  round
breasts, and a beautiful bottom that broke my heart.  If I had not promised
that I would not penetrate her, I would have wanted  to  take  her  in  the
rear.   She put her hands on her hips and swayed over to me so that I could
unsnap her bra.  She removed her stockings, slowly sliding  each  one  down
until I thought I would go mad.  Finally, she moved over to Al, who slipped
her panties down to the floor.  She stepped out of them,  pulled  back  the
covers on the bed, and lay down.

     Al and I joined her.  I lay on her right, and he lay on her left.   As
I  slid alongside her, I found that her skin was exceptionally smooth.  She
smelled sweet and clean, with possibly a touch of Chanel.  She was a little
tense, sandwiched between the two of us, but she wasn't afraid.

     "Touch my breasts," she said, and Al and I obliged.  Her breasts  were
nice:   medium  sized,  very  firm, and with nipples that soon became quite
hard.  I alternated between cupping her breast  with  my  hand  and  gently
pressing  her  nipple  between my thumb and forefinger.  Feeling her nipple
harden excited me, and my cock stirred slightly.  She moaned a  little  and
shifted  on  the bed, but she was still tense.  She touched my thigh tenta-
tively with her hand.  She was moaning  more  strongly  now  as  Al  and  I
brought  her  nipples  to hard little points of desire.  She twisted slowly
from side to side as one or  the  other  of  us  sent  particular  pleasure
through her.

     But she was still holding back, in spite of the pleasure she was feel-
ing, and I decided to see if I could move her to a level that would involve
her total surrender to enjoyment.  While continuing to manipulate her  nip-
ple  with  my left hand, I slipped my right hand in a slow caress along her
flat belly, stroked her thigh for a few moments to prepare her for what was
coming,  and  then  began  to  touch her pussy.  She was not yet wet, and I
didn't want to rush things -- instead, I gently fingered her  outer  labia,
feeling  for  that  magic  connection that is almost always there.  She had
soft pubic hair, like the down on a newborn baby's head, and I could feel a
ripeness  in  her  that made me dizzy.  I used the flat of my hand to press
against her clit, still buried in the folds of her mound.  The  electricity
was  there.  I touched her slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, telling her with
my hand what her choices were, asking unspoken questions as her clit  began
to  stiffen.   She  made  her decision:  with a deep, shuddering groan, the
tension drained from her and she abandoned herself to my hand.

     The ice was broken.  She was breathing more rapidly now, moaning  with
pleasure  as  Al  and I touched her.  We continued at a slow, relaxed pace,
and eventually I felt her pussy become slippery  with  lubricant.   I  felt
Al's  hand touch mine as he reached down to caress her.  I let him continue
with her pussy; I slipped my hand away to stroke  her  thighs  between  her
knees  and  her  pussy.  She had delicate knees for someone so athletic.  I
looked over at Al and smiled, and he grinned in  return.   I  noticed  that
Betty was holding his cock and that he was quite hard.  I was wet and still
not stiff, but I wasn't worried -- I knew what would get me hard.

     Sitting up, I slipped out of my undershorts and moved down to kneel by
Betty's pussy.  I spread her legs gently and moved between them, then began
to eat her.  It was intoxicating:  between the warm,  sweet  smell  of  her
pussy  and the salty-sweet taste of her fluids, I was completely bewitched.
I alternated between slipping my tongue inside her and  licking  her  clit,
which  by  now  was quite responsive.  I could feel the colors move through
her as I moved my tongue.  I glanced up for a moment to see what Al was  up
to:   he  was working on both of her nipples with his hands, and the two of
them were kissing deeply.  Slowly and carefully, I slipped  my  thumb  into
her  while  continuing  to  suck  on  her clit.  She was gasping for breath
between kisses with Al, and it was obvious that it was not a matter of "if"
so much as "when".

     It was clear from Al's erection that he was ready to mount her, but  I
was unwilling to relinquish the sweet wetness of her pussy.  Incredibly, we
solved the problem without speaking a word:  I moved from between her legs 
and lay beside  her "69"  fashion,  my  face  at her pussy and my feet by 
her head.  She turned onto her right side, so that her back was to Al and 
her navel was  near  my chest.  Al lifted her left leg slightly, twisted 
around to get comfortable, and slipped his cock into her pussy from behind.
He reached around her  to continue fondling her nipples.  By now she was 
moaning and panting continuously, which had me very aroused.  Once Al was 
positioned, I began to  lick her clit again while his cock moved in her.

     We remained this way for nearly an hour.  From time to time, Al  would
slip  out of her, and I would have to put him back in.  The first time this
happened, she exclaimed, "He put you back into me!", but  after  that,  she
just  groaned.   His  cock felt like mine, except that he was slippery with
her juices, and it was marvelously strange  to  touch  him.   I  felt  very
powerful when I placed his cock so that he could penetrate her again.

     Al was incredible.  I'm no flash-in-the-pan, but I'm no marathon  man,
either  --  my forte is frequency and quantity.  But Al was something else.
He seemed like he could go on forever, pumping and thrusting in  a  steady,
relentless way that kept Betty moaning and crying like a wild thing.  Some-
times he moved with long, full strokes that took him nearly outside her (it
was  on  these  strokes  that I occasionally had to put him back into her);
other times, he moved with a staccato rhythm that I  thought  would  surely
bring  him to climax.  But nothing seemed to shake his control:  by his own
groans, I knew he was savoring every inch  of  her  cunt,  that  they  were
locked into an intimacy that they knew well.

     And my mouth was always there, my lips nibbling on her clit, my tongue
tasting  her  clit  and labia, nibbling and tasting, with her clit hard and
stiff in its sheath.  Al's smell was different from  hers,  but  they  were
both  delicious.   Whenever  Al thrust forward, she thrust forward too, and
when she thrust forward, I gave an extra lick to her clit.

     While I was licking her, she was not oblivious to my  own  desire  for
pleasure.   She  caressed my cock and balls, and her hands were very skill-
ful.  Too skillful, in fact, because it became obvious to me  that  if  she
continued  touching  me like that, I was going to spill onto the bed before
we had gotten anywhere.  Reluctantly, therefore, I moved my cock away  from
her so that I could more fully focus on licking her.

     She came four times in that hour.  The first  two  times  were  sharp,
sudden,  aching spasms that passed like summer cloudbursts.  The third time
was cataclysmic:  she screamed, screamed again, and continued to scream un-
til  I  thought  she would pass out.  My mouth was on her clit, and I could
feel the paroxysms sweep through her as Al's cock impaled her  like  a  pin
through  a  butterfly.   She went on forever, longer than I would ever have
thought possible.  The fourth time was almost  anti-climactic,  a  sort  of
quiet aftershock that left her quivering and shaking but finally satisfied.

     Freeze-frame tableau:  Betty resting quietly, Al's rock-hard  cock  in
her pussy, Jack's mouth on her clit.  Quiet time passes.

     "Stand up on the bed," she said to me.  I got to  my  feet  and  stood
facing her, my back to the wall, my feet straddling Al's shoulders.  Al was
lying on his back, looking up at me.  Betty twisted around so that she  was
straddling  Al's  cock  and  facing  me.   She moved down so that Al's cock
penetrated her again, then took my cock in  her  mouth.   She  caressed  my
balls  with one hand and used her other hand to circle the base of my cock.
She looked her age now, but her face was beautiful with her lips around  my
cock, her face suffused with sensuality and satisfaction.

     I've had better blow jobs.  It was partly  psychological:   I've  been
blown  by women who truly wanted to swallow my semen, and that mind-set im-
parts an enthusiasm and uninhibited quality that  is  impossible  to  fake.
Betty  didn't  have  it:   it  was clear she didn't want me to spill in her
mouth.  It was partly physiological:  her mouth was  really  too  small  to
stimulate me properly, although I'm not particularly large.  But she sucked 
me with a cool efficiency that was  almost professional and which had an 
appeal of its own, as if she were a dental hygienist working on my teeth, 
and watching her beautiful  lips  working on  my  shaft,  I felt a rush of 
power and desire that made up for any mere failure of her technique.  I 
ached for her, and  holding  her  head  in  my heads  so  that I could 
better thrust into her mouth, I was overcome with a feeling of utter 
tenderness for her.

     "I'm going to come," I finally said, and she slipped  me  out  of  her
mouth  and  massaged  me  with  her  fingers.   As she took me the last few
strokes to orgasm, it was clear to me that her talent was in  her  fingers,
not  her  mouth:   she  was  just enough out-of-sync with me that her touch
first delayed my climax, moving me millimeter-by-millimeter closer  to  or-
gasm  but never letting me quite reach it, and then amplified it with a few
agonizing strokes that were totally in sync, so that  it  was  my  turn  to
scream uncontrollably as my seed spurted onto her breasts and splashed down
onto Al's chest, and she looked up at me with an expression  I  knew  well,
the look of power that comes with giving another person total satisfaction.

     Freeze-frame.  Tableau.

     Until my knees got weak and I slipped down onto the bed, and her  head
fell  forward  to rest on Al's chest, despite the splashes of cum.  I moved
down to smell her cunt, and Al's limp cock slipped out of her, and  it  was
then  that  I realized that he too had finally finished, had finished while
she was sucking me.  I licked her tentatively, trying to determine  whether
she  was  truly satisfied, tasting the chlorine-spicy flavor of Al's semen,
but it was over:  she was done.

     And at some point, while the three of us lay there in the  post-coital
euphoria  that  one of my lovers called "Bliss Hotel", we started to laugh,
partly from joy, partly from relief, but mostly from pride, pride in having
pleased each other, at having pulled it off.  It felt good to laugh
together, the smells of our bodies filling the room, and the sound  of  the
rain on the window.

     While Al showered, Betty and I lay there together, her head resting in
my  lap,  and my eyes admiring her trim lines.  She really was built like a
gazelle.  At some point, I said, "You really are something else,"  and  she
smiled an enigmatic smile.

     I never saw them again.  We corresponded for awhile, but eventually my
lover  from  Pennsylvania left her husband and came to live with me, and my
life became incredibly complicated.