textfiles/sex/EROTICA/U/unwrap.txt

			      UNWRAP PARTY

			   Jordan Shelbourne

			    1: Dancing Dirty

     The wrap party had been going for hours, and Ben sat apart from
it.  He had made a vow this year not to get involved with anyone --
not to have a "show romance" -- and he had kept it; this made him feel
both proud and obscurely sad. So after the speeches had been made, the
gag gifts had been presented (Ben got a gold star with a Groucho nose
and glasses drawn on it), and most of the cast and crew had split up
into smaller groups, Ben headed for the spare bedroom in the basement
where the coats were stored:  Another year done. 

     Before he reached the stairs, someone touched his shoulder; it
was Sarah.  She was drinking a beer.  _She_hates_beer,_ he thought.
Ben looked around for Richard and didn't see him.  Sarah's face was
flushed and the roots of her blonde hair were dark with sweat.  "Come
on, Ben.  We're doing the Purity Test."

     Ben flicked her a tired smile.  "Wish I could," he said, "but you
know, you do the Purity Test, next thing you know you're talking
dirty.  Pretty soon everyone's feeling good and excited, then someone
kisses someone else, and an orgy of mad sexual abandon follows." Ben
shrugged.  "Well, that could lead to dancing, and I'm a strict
Baptist...."

     A potato chip bag flew past him.  Sarah asked, "What was your
score?"

     "I'm not telling."

     There were some boos and a flurry of commentary:

     "Fifty, Ben?"

     "Remember, he's eaten a lab dissection."

     "He's dated Pidge -- there's ten points."

     "I bet a hundred.  He just talks a good game."

      "All technicalities count, you have to be still-born to get a
hundred.  But Sarah's hoping to break ninety."

     Lois, who had worked props, said, "I got ninety-six." It might
have been a boast.

     Ben shook his head. "Infants.  I'm dealing with a bunch of
infants."

     "Isn't that worth points?" someone asked.  General laughter.
Most of them turned away to the skinny redhead who was reading the
questions. 

     "Aw," Sarah said to Ben.  "I was looking forward to hearing you
talk dirty." Her voice was brittle and too bright: she was drunk, far
drunker than Ben had ever seen her, and Richard was nowhere in sight.
Ben touched her arm.  "You okay?"

     "I'm fine," she said.

     He shrugged.  He could hardly force her to talk about her
problems.  Probably it was just exhaustion and alcohol; this had been
a rough run, and everyone was coasting on the dregs of their
adrenaline.  He gave her a quick hug, and she whispered in his ear, "I
got eighty-three.  Now you tell."

     He whispered back, "Sarah, darling," and swatted her blue-jeaned
bottom. "I'm not telling."

     With a small shriek, Sarah pulled away.  "That's not fair!  Tell
me what you got!"

     "No," he said, and started to pick his way down the stairs, over
the clots of boots and shoes.  With every step, melted snow squished
from the carpet and soaked his socks.  He kept an eye out for his
boots but didn't see them; probably at the bottom of the pile in the
garage. 

     Sarah started after him, and then stopped.  _Richard_ was down
there.  Then she thought, _Fuck_Richard!_

     The music blaring from the dance room was not by a band Ben
had heard of, and that made him feel old, too. 

     Was it that they were so young or was he really old?  He was only
twenty-five, but he sometimes felt like a hundred to Sarah's nineteen.
More accurately, he felt..._parental_...to the rest of the cast and
crew.  He was not in the current of their lives. 

     _It_is_a_mistake,_ he thought, _to_get_involved_with_campus_
_productions_after_you_leave_campus._

     The basement was dim; Ben stood there and let his eyes adjust.
The doorway to the dance room exhaled hot humid air, ripe with sweat
and pancake makeup.  All the oxygen had been leached from the air and
every breath was hot and empty.  Ben pushed his way through the crowd
on the dance floor to the coat room.  By some miracle, he found his
coat immediately and headed back across the dance floor. 

     A new song, a slow one, had started.  He stopped short of bumping
into a couple who were swallowing each other's tongue.  They broke
apart as he shouted, "Excuse me," and he saw it was Richard and --
what was her name, cookie-cutter beauty who'd had the ingenue role --
Crista?  Richard and Crista nodded as if they'd heard his apology.
Richard looked at someone over Ben's shoulder, looked at Ben again,
and then almost pointedly returned to giving Crista her tonsillectomy. 

     Ben glanced behind him to see whom Richard had looked at, and
Sarah was there.  She looked pale and sweaty, like someone had punched
her, and Ben was afraid she was going to throw up.  He felt he ought
to say something, anything, but he didn't.  He stood there, feeling
like an oaf. 

     Other dancers, aware of the situation, moved away, leaving
Sarah and Ben in a small clearing on the dance floor.  Then Sarah
leaned forward and yelled in his ear.  "Dance with me." Ben felt
stupid and clumsy; he looked at the coat in his hand like he'd never
seen it before. _I_promised_myself_I_wasn't_going_to_get_involved._ He
mouthed the word "Baptist."

     Sarah manufactured her best come-hither smile and began to dance
for him.  She closed her eyes and swayed to the music slowly, with her
arms crossed tightly as if she was holding him, or wanted to hold him.
One wine-coloured bra strap slid from under her tank top and down her
left shoulder, in stark contrast to her pale skin.  Sarah shrugged up
that shoulder and pulled her arm through the loose strap.  She
easily freed her arm from the other strap.  Ben thought he saw her
breasts sway just a bit more-- Sarah crossed her arms again and the
loose bra straps hung limply, limning the rings of perspiration on her
tank top. 

     Sarah leaned her head back and with her arms still crossed
brought her hands down: sliding them along the sides of her neck, her
shoulders, cupping them over her breasts, and finally tracing her
fingertips down her sides to her waist.  She lifted her head and
looked at Ben, drawing her hands across her hips, coyly hiding the
crotch of her faded jeans, and stood there for a moment, still swaying
her hips.  A drop of sweat ran from her hairline, down her cheek and
her neck, and finally rolled between her breasts.  Sarah kept her gaze
on him and opened her hands.  She lifted her arms to welcome him to
her. 

     Sarah didn't look at Richard, didn't look at him at all, just
kept staring at Ben.  _Please,_Ben,_please,_ she thought, _I_came_
_down_here_for_you.__Come_to_me.__Don't_reject_me._

     _I_don't_want_to_get_involved,_ Ben told himself.  _I_don't_
_want_to_be_used._ Her arms were out to him.  _But_she's_my_friend._
_She's_hurting._

     He held his coat out at shoulder height and dropped it -- the
grand gesture.  Someone threw his coat to the side of the dance floor;
Ben scarcely noticed.  He moved towards her, keeping his movements
simple because he didn't want to spoil her moment by looking stupid. 

     He placed his palms against her hips and matched rhythms with her
(a moment of stumbling) and then held her tightly, feeling the
geography of her under her clothes, all hot damp with sweat: shelf of
hip, warm curve of belly under his thumbs while his palms found her
ribs.  He barely brushed his fingertips across her breasts.  Beneath
the music, he was aware of people murmuring.  The ribbed fabric of her
tank top made his hands tingle; her nipples stiffened under his touch. 

     Ben slid his hands along her sides and behind her, pulling her
against him, feeling her breasts warm and firm against his chest.  She
dropped her hands to his ass so she could pull his hips in tight.  His
right thigh fitted nicely between her legs; Ben was short for a man
and she was tall for a woman: they were the same height.  He slid one
hand down her back, scraping his thumbnail along the cloth, until his
thumb was hooked comfortably in the waist of her jeans.  He twined the
fingers of the other hand into her short damp hair.  He smelled her,
musky and warm, and when he pulled back to look at her he saw her eyes were
half-closed, and he saw another sweat droplet glide down to the scoop
of her tank top.  Ben stooped slightly and caught it on the tip of his
tongue, then retraced its path as far as her earlobe. 

     Sarah shivered. Beneath her half-closed lids she glanced at
Richard and caught him watching.  Richard did his best to look
nonchalant as he nestled himself back into Crista's arms and tucked
her head against his neck.  Sarah moved her hips into Ben's, trying to
discover if he was hard or not.  There was a satisfying lump there,
but sometimes Richard had seemed hard when he was only wearing tight
bikini undershorts.  She nipped one of Ben's earlobes and then traced
the outline of his ear with her tongue. 

     Ben wasn't really hard yet -- he was thinking too much -- but
the feel of her tongue in his ear made him very..._aware_...of his
cock.  He massaged her neck with one hand and ran the fingertips of
his other hand back and forth from the nape of her neck to the top of
her jeans.  The up-and-down motion pulled the thick center seam tight
against her vulva and then let go.  Her panties stuck every time her
jeans pulled away and she felt the pricking heaviness in her groin.
She couldn't remember ever feeling this wet.  _It's_the_beer,_ she
thought.  _I_ought_to_drink_more_often._

     Ben rubbed his cheek against the side of her face, moving to
kiss her ear.  She savoured the feeling of his stubble and decided she
liked it.  Richard never had stubble, Richard couldn't grow a beard.
Ben traced his tongue along the rim of her ear and then breathed
gently on it.  The hot-cold sensation made her shiver again. 

     She leaned back just a bit so her weight was on his thigh and
rocked her groin against the muscles of his leg.  He moved his hips
with her, his buttocks hardening and relaxing under her hands, and
with every gentle thrust her nipples just grazed his chest.  She
tilted her head so she could see his crotch (growing) and she looked
up at Ben through her bangs.  She slowly ran her tongue around her
open mouth and Ben felt a rush of passion.  Once again he realized
that the sexiest thing in the world is a partner who wants you. 

     Her leg brushed against his hardening cock as she rocked, and he
was going to have to adjust its position soon or it would be
uncomfortable.  For now, he pulled her head forward and they kissed
for the first time.  Ben made no attempt to enter her mouth with his
tongue; this was her show, and it had to happen at her speed.  Her
eyes were closed, so he closed his too. 

     Her lips were full and soft (Ben thought absurdly of pillows) and
salty.  He knew not to make his mouth hard, and she pulled his lower
lip into her mouth and scraped the sensitive inside with her teeth.
Her tongue followed along, exploring, when he relaxed his jaw.  She
was surprised at how insistently his tongue met hers and she opened
her mouth wide to let him in. 

     Ben tasted beer and something sweet in her mouth as he explored.
It felt very intimate, more intimate than the dance.  He stroked her
buttocks and lower back, and each time he came to her waist the motion
of his hand pulled more of her tank top from her jeans.  When her top
came free, he slipped his hand under and rubbed her warm damp skin,
running his hand along the course of her spine.  He stopped whenever
he reached the strap of her bra. 

     Ben's hand felt nice on Sarah's back and she made a little
contented sound into his mouth.  She moved her hands up -- he had a
nice tush, she decided -- to his head and spread her fingers in his
hair. There was a draft of cooler air across her belly as the rest of
her tank top pulled free from her jeans.  Her bra was digging into the
flesh of her back, so she twisted away from Ben and tugged at it
through the armhole of her top. 

     She was suddenly aware of their audience, of Richard standing
there, watching.  She looked at Ben, whose hard-on was nicely,
gratifyingly outlined down his leg, and she looked at Richard, who was
tight-faced with his arm around beautiful Crista.  She thought, _I_
_hope_you're_sorry._ Richard moved his hand slightly to cup Crista's
breast. 

     Biting her lower lip, Sarah reached up under the front of her
tank top and unfastened her bra.  The only resistance as she pulled it
free was from the straps as they ran through the armholes.  The lace
scraped her hard sensitive nipples and she felt her breasts sag
against her ribs, supported only by the tight top.  She threw her bra
away and turned back to Ben, ready to dance some more. 

     Ben watched her as she moved.  She had been focused on him and he
had liked the feeling, liked her attention and liked feeling special.
Then her gaze suddenly moved from him to Richard and it was as if he
had been shuttered out, used, made into a guy watching the stripper.
He got angry because he had been so turned on, and when she turned
back to him he pulled her close, smoothing his hands along her back
until his fingers were curled around her shoulders and her tank top
was bunched under her breasts.  She could feel the buttons of his
shirt sharp against her belly, and the sudden ferocity of his kisses
was frightening.  The bulge of his cock ground against her and there
was a dizzying moment when she thought she might pass out.  Ben
squeezed her tight and then let her go. 

     Smiling, he hooked his index fingers in the front pockets of
her jeans and started walking backwards, with the music.  She didn't
know what to do but follow him.  He seemed suddenly _dangerous._

     Ben, dangerous?  But he wasn't; that was why she had picked
_him_, right?  And he had to stop soon, he was about to back into the
bathroom door, and there was someone in there. 

     He stopped when his foot hit the wall beside the door.  He
kicked the door with his heel, and the occupant said something
unintelligible.  Ben leaned against the wall and pulled Sarah so she
fell against him, pressing her body into his.  He nibbled her neck,
licking his way slowly from the hollow of her collarbone up to her
ear.  His arms were behind her back again, reaching around so he could
stroke the sides of her breasts, feather-lightly. 

     Her knees felt weak and her thighs trembled, either because of
Ben or because she was suddenly sure the entire room could see her
breasts.  Ben licked her ear and whispered, "Just you and me.  Nobody
else.  Nobody watching."

     The bathroom door opened and the guy coming out said, "What's
your hurry?  _--Oh._" He stepped out of the way and Ben pulled her
into the bathroom.  Ben shut the door and Sarah heard cheering and
applause from the dance floor. 


			2: A Lick and a Promise

     Ben let Sarah go and sat on the toilet, looking at her.  She
saw herself in the mirror and was astonished: she looked positively
lewd.  Her face was flushed, her breasts wobbled as she turned to look
at herself and her nipples were clearly defined.  "Oh, God," she said.
"Ben, they're going to think we're, well, doing it in here."

     He splashed some water on his face and said tiredly, "Let them
think whatever they want.  If you want, fake an orgasm, a good loud
one.  That should do Richard some good."

     She remembered her intentions in time to leer at him.  "Why
should I fake one?"

     "Oh, God." Ben ran a wet hand through his dark hair and left
some of it standing up.  "Sarah, this is your chance to save face
without _doing_ anything.  You can have revenge on Richard, and still
be innocent." _Can't_you_recognize_a_noble_gesture_when_you_see_one?_

     "Don't be a poop," she said.  "I don't _want_ to be innocent."

     "I guess not," he said.  "I guess not." He took her face in
both hands and gently kissed each closed eye, the tip of her nose, and
the corners of her mouth.  Hungrily she opened her mouth and he
covered it with his.  She reached behind him and tugged his shirt from
his jeans.  His shirt was too tight for her to reach through and touch
the bare skin of his chest so she leaned back to unbutton his shirt.
After each button, she kissed his newly revealed skin.  There was a
diamond of dark hair in the centre of his chest; she opened her mouth
and teased it with her tongue.  When his brown nipples were bare, she
alternated sucking each one, her fingers fumbling at the rest of the
buttons while she felt his hard nipple against her tongue.  She pulled
his shirt off his shoulders as she ran her tongue from his right
nipple down to his shallow navel. 

     He pulled off his shirt.  She was kneeling in front of him,
running her tongue around his navel while her right hand stroked his
ass and her left hand rested almost shyly over his cock. The heat from
her hand soaked through his pants and made his cock feel heavy and
hot. He pulled up her top and watched as her back was exposed: pinched
waist broadening to her shoulders, lovely curve of vertebrae down the
center.  As her top bound under her armpits she lifted her arms and
reluctantly pulled away from him to let it come off.  He pulled her to
a standing position and leaned her against the wall. 

     Ben started kissing her ear again, feeling her bare breasts
against his chest and she sagged against the cool wall.  The hair
around his nipples tickled her slightly, and she sighed.  Ben moved
down her neck, keeping his chest against her and enjoying the slightly
sticky feeling of their bodies rubbing together.  "I want you," he
whispered. 

     "Yes," she said and rested her hands on his shoulders.  He let
her push him further down, down to her breasts.  Her nipples were
thick and blunt, and two or three long blonde hairs glittered around
each pale, pale pink areola.  He lifted one breast with his hand,
feeling the soft heat of it, and stroked his thumb across her nipple.
He licked it once quickly, then rubbed it again with his thumb while
he licked around the other nipple.  He blew on each nipple and took
one gently between his teeth; she shuddered as he scraped his teeth
along the puckered surface, pulling her breast away from her body.  He
let go and her breast jiggled once. 

     "Wubbeda," he said. 

     Sarah opened her eyes and looked down at him.  "What?"

     "That's the sound of jostling breasts.  Wubbeda.  A lover told me
once."

     "Were hers big?"

     "Yes." He added, "But not very sensitive.  Do you like this?"

     "Oh, yes." She felt the stickiness between her legs every time
she shifted her legs, every time she took a deep breath.  She felt
like she could take anything inside her, and there was a twitchiness,
a movement, building in her hips, but she also felt a lassitude.  So
long as Ben wanted to kiss her and touch her breasts, she was willing
to stand there. 

     He stood and they kissed again for some length of time.  His
cock bumped against her, and Sarah started to move her hips again,
trying to get his hard cock to press against her just right.  She
thumped against the wall, and Ben placed his hands on her hips and
knelt before her, his stubbled cheek rubbing against her as he slid
his mouth to her waist.  When his beard brushed her breasts she felt
an urgency, as demanding as a sudden itch. 

     Ben fit himself at the juncture of her thighs and rubbed his
face against her crotch.  His broad forehead pressed her zipper into
her slit and she jumped as though she'd been given a shock.  She ran
her hands over his head frantically, trying to touch all of him.  He
mouthed her, scraping his teeth along the denim and each time the
thick seam was pressed against her clit she shuddered. 

     "I don't want to wait any more," she said. 

     "Me neither," he said.  He stopped for a moment to be extra
steady as he cinched in her jeans so he could unfasten the button.
The zipper fell down as he peeled back the flaps of her jeans and he
could smell her, sweet, musky, hot.  Her panties were silky and
through the lace at the top he could see auburn curls.  He licked the
panel of panties and she moaned. 

     He skinned her jeans and panties down to her ankles and licked
her once, tentatively.  Her pubic hair was tangled in a peak just
above her clit, and he stopped for a moment.  She spread her knees so
he could get in more easily. 

     "Hair on my tongue," he explained, and tried to scrape the
hair onto his teeth where he could pluck it off with his fingers. 

     Sarah laughed, watching him.

     Finally Ben got the hair and presented it to her; she accepted
it and as he knelt before her again he said, "I'm swallowing the next
one."

     He used his fingers to separate her lips and then ran his
tongue along the length of her, marvelling how her taste changed from
point to point: sharper, almost acidic, near her vagina; thicker and
muskier near her clitoris. 

     He explored her with his tongue, using broad slow strokes:
plump outer lips and long inner lips; large hooded clitoris -- she
moaned as he moved his tongue across it -- and the tight entrances to
anus and vagina. 

     He cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her closer
to him, so his tongue could just reach her asshole.  He teased it with
the tip of his tongue and she stiffened. 

     Sarah straightened and closed her legs slightly.  "How can you
do that?  It's dirty."

     "But did you like it?"

     There was saliva between her buttocks; she could feel it.  But it
wasn't as gross as she had assumed.  It felt...neat.  "Yes."

     "Then it's okay.  But for hygiene's sake, we'll do it on the
sink." He picked her up by her waist and hoisted her onto the edge of
the bathroom vanity, beside the sink.  Once he got on his knees, her
pussy was at the right height for him to lick. 

     Once again he licked it all over, carefully.  He drew her
inner lips into his mouth and sucked on them, flicking his tongue over
them. Sarah put her hands on his head to steady herself. 

     Ben started to play with her clit, teasing it with the tip of
his tongue.  She gasped suddenly and tightened her grip on him.  He
reached up awkwardly and pulled her legs over his shoulders.  She
rocked backwards and leaned against the mirror. 

     He alternated sucking and tickling her clit with his tongue,
occasionally licking the length of her damp pussy.

     Sarah could feel her insides melting, a huge warm pool inside
her that threatened to overflow.  She didn't know what to do about it:
_I'm_going_to_come,_ she thought; _how_do_I_come?_ She tensed her
muscles, then relaxed them, but there was still that vibrating energy
throughout her muscles, waiting to be released.  _I_want_to_come.__I_
_want_to_come_so_bad--_

     She seemed to have plateaued.  Ben pulled back for a moment
(another hair on his tongue; he tried to swallow it) and fitted his
hand under his head, between her pussy and the counter.  This time he
avoided her clitoris, licking circles around it while his fingernail
traced a line from her anus to her vagina.  He lashed her vaginal lips
with his tongue while his index finger teased her anus; her hands
bunched into fists on his shoulders.  He rubbed the entrance to her
vagina, playing with the fringe of tissue.  Then he slipped his finger
in, slowly.  She was very tight. 

     It didn't hurt; that was the first thing she noticed.  It
didn't hurt with Ben.  Then she noticed how _warm_ and molten it felt.
He caressed her clit with his thumb and her hips and thighs spasmed
once, but that wasn't enough; she was still _full_ of this warmth and
it _wasn't_going_anywhere!_ Ben started to move his finger slowly in
and out of her. 

     She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations.  His
thumb brushed her clit as his finger was buried, and other fingers
touched her asshole.  He touched something inside her, she didn't know
what, and he bent and nibbled on the insides of her thighs.  It still
wasn't quite enough and she didn't know what she should ask for:
Faster?  Slower? More fingers?  More stimulation?  --but she already
felt so sensitive she could scream! 

     She had to come somehow.  She said, "I want you inside me,"
and she pulled him to a standing position. 

     His jeans had a button fly, and she almost screamed in
frustration as she tried to get it open.  He said, "Just a second,"
and pulled his hand from her to open it with the ease of practice.
Sarah couldn't see his cock; it had escaped the elastic of his
underpants and was down his pant leg.  Now that his cock was about to
be freed, Ben suddenly seemed shy. 

     "Birth control?" he asked. 

     "Pill," she said.  "Richard and I--"

     He interrupted.  "Do you want a condom?"

     She swallowed and shook her head.  "I trust you."

     "Trust you too."

     "Okay," she said, and she was suddenly nervous.  What if
Richard had been right?  What if she couldn't come? 

     Someone pounded on the door.  "Come on out of there!"

     Ben shouted hoarsely, "Use the upstairs bathroom!"

     "Can't.  Lois is being sick in there, and there's a bunch of
people who're about to burst out here."

     They looked at each other.  Sarah snickered first and then
both of them were laughing.  They did up their own jeans; she pulled
on her top and Ben pulled on his shirt but didn't bother to button it. 

     "My place or yours?" Ben asked her. 

     "My place is closer."

     The people waiting to use the bathroom did not applaud; almost
everyone else did.  Sarah heard someone say, "Write that down as
question five hundred and one."

     She carefully guided Ben through the crowd so they walked past
Richard and Crista.  Richard put his arm out, blocking Ben's way.
This close, he had to smell Sarah on Ben. 

     A frown passed over Richard's face like a cloud before the
sun.  Then: "Ben, buddy," he said, "I think a mistake was made here."
He unpinned the gold star from Ben's shirt.  "I think this is who
deserves the _real_ best actor award." He carefully pinned it to
Sarah's top.  "I figure she could've aced the scene in _When_Harry_
_Met_Sally..._"

     Sarah looked at him, her jaw trembling with tension.  Her eyes
glittered with unwept tears. 

     "Let me give you some advice," Richard said, laying an arm
across Ben's shoulders.  "Wool condoms.  Otherwise it's frostbite
city."

     Sarah said, "Richard, you're such a _dick!"_ and ran upstairs.

     Ben thought, _I've_always_wanted_to_say_that._ "Richard, Richard,
Richard," he said, and he lifted Richard's arm from his shoulders as
though it were a roadkill. Richard looked at him, waiting.  "Or, more
accurately, Dick, Dick, Dick."

     "You asshole."

     "I'm not the one who looks big, pink and wrinkled from here." Ben
smiled lightly at Crista. "You haven't slept together yet, have you?"

     "That's none of your business," Crista said.

     "I didn't think so.  Let me tell you what's going to happen."
Ben didn't shout, but he pitched his voice to carry.  "He's going to
be impotent.  He'll say it's the booze, but it's not.  He's just
scared; you're too good-looking.  So it'll be a nervous fumbling that
first time, and a quick ejaculation or none at all, and then he's
going to look at you with big doe eyes and he's going to tell you he
loves you.  Maybe there'll be a little catch in his voice." Ben gave a
breathy little sigh; he heard someone snigger.  "And, Crista, it'll
seem cute.  Touching, even.  But he doesn't love you, and he doesn't
get any better."

     "You're not very funny," Crista told him. 

     "No," Ben said.  "Neither is he." Then he went out to join
Sarah. 


		       3: Cold and Warm Comforts

     Sarah was sitting outside, on the steps, huddled in the depths
of her quilted parka.  _I_should_have_slapped_him.__I_should_have_hit_
_him.__Why_didn't_I?__Did_I_think_I_deserved_that?__Do_I_think_he's_
_right?_

     "How are you feeling?" Ben asked her.

     "Shitty," she said.  He smiled sadly and offered her his hand.
She took it and pulled herself upright.  They began to walk.
Streetlights glittered off the snow.  "What did you say to Richard?"
Ben told her.  "Oh my God!" she said. "That's _exactly_ what happened
the first time we slept together." She laughed.  "You even got the
little sigh right.  How did you know?"

     Ben said, "He knows a lot of reasons to hurt people, but the
only reason he knows for being nice to them is to be in love."

     Sarah looked at him.  "I don't understand."

     "It's training.  It's socialization.  Hurting people is okay,
so you learn how to do that.  Being nice to people isn't okay unless
you're in love, so you learn to be in love."

     "Ben, you don't believe that."

     "I don't know.  I believe in hypocrisy. I believe some people
can't admit that they're just horny, they've got to dress it up with
love."

     "Maybe."

     Ben shrugged.  "Maybe not.  I was guessing.  I do a lot of
guessing.  Might just be self-deluding bullshit on my part, too."

     She said carefully, "I think he thought he loved me."

     "Did you love him?"

     "I don't know." She squeezed Ben's arm.  "At least he won't be
able to do that to Crista, he'll be too self-conscious."

     "You're taking this awfully well."

     "Am I?" she asked him.  "I don't know.  I never got dumped
before."

     "I've been dumped.  Trust me; you're taking this well."

     They walked in silence until they came to Sarah's door.  She
turned to face him. 

     "Do you want to come in?"

     "Do you still want me to?"

     "Oh, for God's sake," she said, and she kissed him.  Her lips
were cool, though her cheeks were still flushed by the beer.  They
kissed tentatively at first, as though the entire scene on the dance
floor had been the show, and this was the first rehearsal. 

     Suddenly Sarah didn't want to wait any longer; she'd been so
close before, and she was still hungry for the feel of him against her
bare skin.  She quickly slid her tongue into his mouth.  His tongue
felt hot.  The nylon shells of their coats squeaked and rustled as
they pressed against each other. 

     Ben said, "I have to take all your clothes off now, or I will
die."

     She tilted her head away so he couldn't kiss her on the mouth.
He kissed from the base of her ear to the hollow of her neck, running
his tongue along the portion of her collar bone that he could reach. 

     "Le petit mort?" she asked, giggling.  Sarah quickly unzipped
his coat and cupped her hand over his crotch in a gesture of promise.
He had adjusted his cock sometime so it was pointing up now, not down
his leg. 

     "No, sweetheart," he replied in his best Bogart.  "The big
sleep."

     She giggled and stepped away from him to look through her
knapsack for her keyring.  Ben carefully made sure he wasn't blocking
the light and unfastened her parka while she searched.  The hallway
was very cool, and she was sweaty.  Her nipples hardened again. 

     "What are you doing?"

     "I'm too young to die," he said simply.  He slipped his hands
into her coat and under her top, stroking his fingers along the swell
of her breasts. 

     The keys jingled in her hand.  "I can't--" she began and then
he leaned down and tongued her ear again.  "You're in the way.  I
can't get at the door."

     "Oh," he said.  "I'll move." He knelt in front of her so the
keyhole was beside his head.  She sucked in a cool breath and held it
as he peeled up her top to expose her breasts.  He kissed and licked
her belly, but he couldn't quite reach her breasts.  While his tongue
explored her navel, he unfastened her jeans. 

     She had to lean past him to fit the key in the lock, and that
brought her breasts near his mouth.  He licked the left nipple, then
the right.  He opened his mouth and sucked in as much of her left
breast as he could, sucking hard.  Her nipple felt like it was going
to explode, and she had to support herself on the doorknob. 

     "Ben, _please--_"

     "Don't mind me," he said.  With both hands, he tugged her
jeans down to her knees and she squealed. 

     "Ben, we're _in_ the _hall!_" At least her parka meant that no
one would see anything.... 

     "Okay," he said, and he leaned back against the door.  "Take
your time.  I'll just look at you."

     She felt the heat rise in her face.  He said softly, "God,
you're gorgeous." He put his hand over hers and turned the doorknob.
The door swung inward and, hobbled by her jeans, she fell against him.
He held her tight against him, the cold zipper of his parka scratching
at her breasts and hips, and he kissed her again.  His cock was an
insistent lump in his jeans, pressing against her groin. 

     Ben rubbed his hands over her cool nylon parka, feeling her under
it, feeling her against him.  Her tongue slid over his.  He caught her
face between his hands and kissed her rapidly and hard on her mouth,
her cheeks, her chin, her throat. 

     "Why are we standing here?" she asked him. 

     He slipped one arm under her legs and scooped her up.  Cool
air washed her skin as Ben carried her into her apartment.  Sarah was
worried he might drop her, she was scared she didn't want him enough,
but she was also very excited.  She caught the door with her hand and
swung it shut as they left the hallway. 

     She started to relax; it didn't seem he was going to drop her,
and she started to trace her finger along the rim of his ear.  "Down
the hall," she told him.  "Second door."

     He bent over and with a small grunt of effort set her on the bed.
While his arms were still pinned under her, she grabbed his coat and
pulled him down onto her.  The bed thumped and the old springs whined.
Ben started to say something but she silenced him with huge devouring
kisses. 

     Ben moved so he was entirely on the bed, partly on her, partly
beside her.  She sat up suddenly, pushing him down on his back, and
shucked off her coat before straddling his hips and leaning her hands
on his shoulders.  She rocked her pelvis against the length of his
cock.  His shirt was open, he'd never buttoned it up again, and when
she looked down she could see the tip of his cock peeking from his
waistband. 

     Now that she'd got a peek at it, it didn't seem so
_premeditated_ to undress him. 

     Light came through the window from a streetlight, and Ben
watched her in chiaroscuro.  Her bangs hid her face now as she looked
down at where their hips met.  With each rock of her hips, her breasts
seemed to swell and recede beneath her bunched top, swaying into and
out of the light.  She lifted her head in urgent pleasure, eyes closed
and lower lip caught in her teeth, and when he saw her face, Ben's
heart caught in his throat. 

     He couldn't say he loved her, not after his pompous little
speech about Richard; he didn't even know if he did.  Instead, he
murmured, "You're beautiful."

     Sarah opened her eyes and looked down.  His face was hidden in
shadow, and if she wanted, she could pretend he was Richard.  She
discovered she didn't want to. 

     Ben reached up and stroked her stomach and her breasts.  He
pinched and squeezed her nipples with the same rhythm she was using.
She closed her eyes and lifted her head again.  He pulled off her top,
maneuvering it over her head and down her arms.  She didn't lift her
hands, so he went back to fondling her breasts. 

     Her panties were soaked.  Sarah thought she was ready, she
_had_ to be ready. If she let him enter her now, an orgasm was
practically guaranteed. She tried to ease herself back to undo his
jeans and found that she was tangled in her jeans.  She rolled onto
her back and found she couldn't slip her jeans over her boots.  She
kicked her legs in frustration, suddenly feeling unsexy, unglamorous:
an almost-naked girl doing the frog kick in her underpants to the
sprung-spring whine of the old boxspring.  And as simply as that, the
edge of orgasm was gone.  It was enough to cry. 

     Ben chuckled but she looked at him with such hurt that he knew
she'd shifted from fever to frustration.  "Shhh," he whispered, and
sat up, laying her legs across his lap.  He could untie her boots with
one hand while he untied his with the other.  It was only a minute
before he had dropped all four boots heavily on the floor and skinned
off her socks.  He pulled her jeans off her legs and  left them,
inside out, on the floor.

     Sarah's legs were shaking, so he stroked them gently with his
hands, then kneaded the jumping muscles.  She gave two convulsive sobs
and he lay down beside her, holding her and stroking her head. 

     Hot tears began to leak from her eyes and because the frustration
was too big for words, she wailed, hoarse and inarticulate as a donkey
brays, and the awfulness of that sound made her cry more.  Ben held
her close, cradling her against his chest.  She wrapped her arms
clumsily about him like clubs, too tired and angry for fingers and
hands, pulling him close to her. 

     "That's it, honey," he said, over and over.  "Cry it out.  Cry
it out."

     They lay like that for some time, and finally her arms
softened and her hands pressed against him as the shuddering sobs
slowed.  She leaned away from him and said, slowly and sloppily, "I
need a Kleenex."

     "I'll get one," he said.  He looked around.  "As soon as you tell me
where they are."

     "The dresser," she told him, and snuffled. 

     After she took a half-dozen tissues, he made a sour-funny face
and made a big show of wiping his chest clean as he lay next to her.
She laughed once, more like a bark, and said, "Ben, I'm sorry."

     "What for?"

     She waved her arm around.  "This."  Then she blew her nose.  "And
this."

     "Enhh," he said, and shrugged, and waited. 

     "You deserve an explanation," she said carefully.  "He said--
He said--" With a sudden hitching of breath, the tears started to flow
again and she rolled forward into Ben's embrace. 

     "Slow, baby, slow.  Richard-the-dick said?"

     "He stopped wanting to-- wanting to-- He said"--she swallowed
a large lump-- "I was frigid.  And he said I wasn't sexy.  I couldn't
turn him on.  I wanted to prove I wasn't-- wasn't--"

     "Frigid?"

     She nodded, her cheek rubbing against him, hairs on his chest
brushing her eyelids. 

     "Honey, you're about as frigid as, I don't know, a propane
torch.  Frigid means sexually unresponsive, and you are definitely
responsive." He sat up.  "Did you enjoy what we did in the bathroom?"

     She sat up and faced him.  His shadow cut her in half: he
could see one arm, one shoulder, one breast, one eye.  She ducked her
head so the light wasn't in her eyes. "Yes," she said shyly. 

     "Then you're _not_ frigid.  I doubt you're even non-orgasmic.
Sarah, listen to me: you're sexy.  I look at you, especially like
this, and ductless glands go to work.  Erectile tissues erect.
Hormones moan."

     She giggled.

     "Didn't you feel all those guys watching while you danced?
They sure weren't looking at _me._"

     She placed a forefinger on his lips.  "Stop talking and kiss 
me."


			 4: A Good Time Coming

     Ben kissed Sarah tentatively, as if she were a thing of china and
spun sugar.

     Sarah rested her hands gently on his shoulders as they kissed,
making this kiss long and slow and exploratory.  Their tongues tasted
each other. 

     Ben kissed away the salty tracks of her tears.  Sarah closed
her eyes as she ran her hands over his chest, his nipples, up to his
throat, and down to his belly.  She traced her fingertip around his
navel. 

     He flinched slightly--it tickled--and murmured, "Find any
lint?"

     Sarah said, "Don't talk." She pressed up with her hands until
he got the idea and sat up.  On her knees, she kissed his throat and
licked the ridge and hollow of one collarbone.  She took tiny nips
along his shoulder, licked the rim of his armpit.  Ben had showered
after the curtain call, and she could smell fresh Old Spice and sweet
musky sweat. 

     He brought her left hand to his mouth.  He scraped his teeth
along the palm, and then sucked each finger in turn, swirling his
tongue along the length and caressing the soft webs of flesh between
her fingers. 

     She wasn't distracted.  She took a moment to lick and suck the
tender skin along the inside of his elbow, and then moved back to his
chest.  His nipples didn't get hard this time, and there was a faint
flutter of panic deep in her belly, but the panic was swallowed by the
warmth and wetness. 

     He let go of her hand and leaned back onto his elbows.  She
licked his chest, feeling the hairs against her tongue and lips.  She
ran the tip of her tongue around his navel, dipped it in.  Sarah was
pleased to see the head of his cock poking from his jeans.  She kissed
it quickly; his pre-come tasted mildly astringent.  Then she pressed
her open mouth against his stomach and blew, making a rude fart sound. 

     "_That's_ for talking about lint," she said.  He laughed.  "Do
you want me to suck your cock?"

     "I'd love it, but later," he said.  "You have me so hot I'm
going to come soon, and I'd rather do it inside you."

     "I'd like that," Sarah said.  Ben lifted his hips so she could slide
off his jeans and undershorts.

     She wasn't satisfied with the light from the window and wanted
to turn on the lamp so she could look at him naked and look at his
cock, hard with wanting her, but she didn't feel right asking him.
Instead of turning the light on, she took his cock in her hands.  It
was a nice size, a comfortable size.  She bent over and took the head
in her mouth, stroking it with her tongue and sucking gently on it;
warm saliva pooled in her mouth.  She swirled her tongue around the
head and swallowed. 

     Her tongue and jaw squeezed his cock delightfully.  Ben let
one hand fall on her head and twined his fingers in her hair.  He
wished he could see her face. 

     "Fuck me," he moaned. 

     She sucked a little harder.

     "Do you want me to beg, Sarah?"

     She dropped his cock from her mouth.  "Yes, Ben.  Beg me to
fuck you." She swung her leg over him and straddled him.  "Beg me."

     A line from _Pygmalion_ blew into his head, and he said, "I'm
willing to fuck you. I'm wanting to fuck you. I'm waiting to fuck
you."

     She rocked her groin against his cock.  He thrust his hips up against
her, jostling her breasts.  _Wubbeda_, she thought.

     "Sarah..." His voice was tortured now.  "Were those panties
expensive?"

     "Richard gave them to me," she said. 

     "Unnh," he said, as he tried to bring the head of his cock
into contact with her.  She didn't let him.  He grabbed her panties by
one leg and said, "Can I buy you new ones?"

     "Yes," she said.

     He tried to tear the panties apart, but the legs were too
strong to rip, so he pulled the crotch out; each thread of lace made a
tiny popping sound as it parted.  She made a small cry as he pulled
out two or three pubic hairs. 

     "Sorry."

     "I'm okay," she told him. 

     "Then fuck me."

     She slid herself along the length of his erection, letting it
part her lips and wetting it with her juices.  He was very hard. 

     _Not_like_Richard,_ she thought, and then vowed not to think
of Richard again. 

     She leaned forward, supporting herself on one hand, and lifted
him so he was aimed at the entrance of her vagina.  _Cunt,_ she
thought.  _His_cock_in_my_cunt._

     "Talk dirty to me," she said.  She pressed back slightly so the head
just started to penetrate.

     "Fuck me, Sarah," he said.  "Fuck me hard.  Cover my cock with
your cunt. Let me fill your pussy."

     She leaned back and a third of his cock slid in.  She felt
tight and stretched and hungry. 

     Ben moaned.  "Good.  Oh, good.  Do that again."

     Sarah rocked again, and this time got two-thirds of his cock
in him.  She thought it was more difficult because he was bigger than
Richard, but not that much bigger unless it was tension, but she was
so wet.... 

     Ben said, "You feel so fucking good.  I want to shove my prick
in up to my nuts." This time when Sarah rocked, he pushed as well, and
she could feel his balls under her as she knelt over him. 

     There was a slight twinge of pain, but there was also a warm
full feeling.  "Go slow," she said. 

     "You're in control," he told her.  She nodded, her lower lip
caught between her fine white teeth.  She was concentrating, sombre as
a tightrope walker, searching carefully for the rhythm she could ride
to orgasm. 

     Ben realized that her rhythm wasn't his, though; he wasn't in
danger of coming, and could stay hard for as long as she needed him.
That pleased him. 

     She began to ride him, with long strokes that almost took him
out of her (he fell out, twice; she put him back in without fevered
urgency) and enjoyed each stroke, the length of him and the final bump
at the bottom that sent sparks through her. 

     "You're so _big,_" she moaned.

     Ben, who knew he was thoroughly average, said nothing and let
his hands roam as much of her body as he could reach.  For a moment he
thought she felt like someone else he had known, but that was unfair;
she was Sarah, and this was now, and it would never be exactly like
this again. 

     She paused near the top and played with the head of his cock,
pushing herself onto it and feeling the head flare and fill her, then
withdrawing again.  Warm tingling heat filled her belly again. 

     She sank down onto him again and leaned forward, grinding
herself against him.  He responded, moving his hips in a figure eight
motion.  He cupped her breasts in his hands, warming them, and kissed
them.  He stretched his head up and kissed her.  She kissed him back
and then changed rhythms again: short hard strokes that hit hard
against his pubic bone.  This was better: sparks flew from her clit
like fireflies in the night. 

     She kept it up as long as she could so the liquid heat filled
the pit of her belly but her muscles grew tired before she came, and
she whimpered. 

     "Let me do the work," he whispered.  He held onto one of her
legs and rolled her over, staying inside, and took a moment adjusting
his position (her bedspread was slippery).  "Like this?" he asked. 

     She rested her hands at the base of his spine and coaxed him
to the right rhythm: faster, faster, filling her with light and with
heat.  Her head was thrown back with her eyes open and unseeing, and
she began to moan.  She felt herself on the edge, about to overflow
but it was _too_sensitive_, and she was about to ask him to slow down,
stop, she couldn't do this -- and he reached down and played with her
clit, fondling it with his hand, harder and faster than she would have
dared -- and she came. 

     She didn't really have the words for it, but it happened and
she _knew_ that it happened and all sounds stopped for her in the
space between one heartbeat and the next.  It washed over her in
waves, rising like the tide.  Her body clenched like a fist and then
fell slack. 

     Sarah suddenly felt...shy.  Shy and tremendously naked; she
grabbed a pillow and tented it over her head so no light could get in. 

     Ben slowed down, easing his cock in and out of her gently.
She peeked from under the pillow, a tired smile on her face, and
murmured, "Not like Richard at all."

     "I'm glad," he said.

     She frowned as he buried himself again.  "Ben, I'm sorry, but
I'm too sensitive.  I can't take that any more."

     "That's okay," he said and he slowly withdrew. 

     She giggled at the popping sound his cock made coming out.
"Can I do something for you?"

     He didn't want to push her so he said, "Whatever you'd like."

     She tucked the pillow back under her head and said, "I'd like
to suck your cock."

     "Mmmm," he said.  "I'd like that too." He straddled her and
shuffled on his knees until his erect cock hit her on the cheek.  She
turned her head and took him into her mouth.  He tasted differently
now, of her, but she could still make out the taste of him.  She liked
his taste; she liked her taste; she liked the taste of them together. 

     She cupped his ass with her hands and held him still, with
just the head of his cock in her mouth.  She filled her mouth with
saliva and soaked it for a moment, flicking the tip of her tongue just
under the head.  Ben moaned and tried to move his hips.  She circled
his glans with her tongue and then took her mouth off it. 

     "I'm still in control here," she said.

     Ben looked down at her.  "For now," he said.  "For now." He
reached back and trailed his hand lightly from her thighs to her
breasts.  He pinched a nipple and she responded by letting one of his
balls fall into her mouth and sucking on it.  He gasped and said,
"You're in charge."

     She coaxed him over onto his back and sucked his cock harder,
bobbing her head up and down as she jacked her hand along the length
of his cock. Her breasts swayed with each movement and Ben reached out
to stroke the rounded curves of rump and waist.  Her mouth was hot and
liquid on his cock, and her hand was tight.  He raised himself on his
elbows to watch her, her cheeks hollow and her eyes closed as she
plunged him into her mouth again and again.  Her technique was not
perfect, but her enthusiasm was unquestionable.  Ben would take
enthusiasm over heartless technique any time. 

     Distantly, he felt the tightening of his balls.  Sarah felt
him tense, felt the quality of his erection change in her mouth, and
squeezed her hand tighter on his cock, trying to swallow him deeper.
Her hand was slick and wet now and every stroke filled her with his
smell.  She moved faster. 

     Ben's orgasm was sudden -- distant one moment and _everywhere_
the next.  He threw his head back and laughed with joy at the release
it brought. 

     Sarah tried to swallow his come but got only some of it.  The
rest dripped from her mouth over her hand and onto his belly.  Its
aftertaste made her cough. 

     He was looking at her and smiling.  She made a face at him.
"I think I got a hair on my tongue," Sarah said before licking up more
of his come.  Ben laughed some more and fell onto his back.  He laid
his hands on his diaphragm and sighed. 

     She paused between licks.  "Tell me," she said.  "What was
your score on the Purity Test?" He didn't say anything, so she added,
"Remember I'm in control," and she gently pinched his scrotum with her
teeth. 

     "Thirty-nine," Ben said. 

     "Oh my God.  What haven't you done?"

     "Lots.  I wasn't going to do any of this," he said.

     "Umm?" she asked as she nuzzled his crotch. 

     "Get involved.  Get laid.  Especially with _you_, young lady."

     "Me?"

     "Too young, I thought.  But God, I've had a hard-on for you since we
met."

     "And you didn't _do_ anything about it?"

     "You were more interested in Richard-the-dick."

     She kissed his limp penis.  "This is the only dick I'm
interested in right now." It stirred, and she started to fondle it.
"Look, you're not that old." She gave it an affectionate squeeze. 

     He caressed a breast, running his fingertip along her ribs.
"You're not that young."

     She shivered.  "I'll match you, come for come."

     "Oh, God," he said.  "I'm going to die."

     She moved around to present her pussy to him again. "With an
attitude like that, how did you ever get thirty-nine on the Purity
Test?"

     He inhaled deeply; he felt _good._  "Hey -- all technicalities
count."