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Page 6.
Chapter 3. The Story of C
 C entered my life one day when I was out for a walk. It was an autumn day, and leaves rustled knee-deep on the streets. It was mid- afternoon, which meant the sun was vanishing amid smoky gray clouds and the smell of burning wood was in the air. In this gray world, I stopped at a convenience store to buy a soda, and there she was in the dairy aisle. I'd stopped into the store more out of desire for its cozy lights than out of thirst. In particular, I didn't want to take my eyes off the blue and red neon beer signs because some receptor in my brain associated that with warmth and everything that was opposite the gray, dreary New England November and the light of a failing day, the failing light.
She was tall, not as much so as B, and shapely. That wasn't immediately evident since she wore a heavy black coat, jeans, sweater, wool cap with light brown hair sticking out. She trailed a long scarf as she walked to the counter with her milk and a few cans of food. We had a brief brush at the counter. Each would let the other go first. I won, and she went first. Her eyes gave me a long, lingering look and she smiled invitingly as she left the store. I paid for my cola and was on the sidewalk seconds behind her. "Hi," I said.
"Hello," she said. She was fumbling with her car keys, and I rushed to hold her groceries while she unlocked her car. She thanked me and put the groceries inside. I had to think fast. On the back seat of this great big old black car was a book. "Have you read his other books?" I asked—anything to keep kindle conversation. She smiled. "Yes, I think I have read" (she scratched her head and laughed) "all of them. Now have I? Am I missing any? Do you know what they all are?"
"How about joining me for a cup of fancy Java tea down the road at that little place, and we'll make a list together?"
She gave a little shrug. "Okay, that would be nice." She stuck out a hand in a pink mitten. "I'm C."
"I'm Peter," I said. "I was out for a walk. Can I ride with you?" And that's how it went. We had a very pleasant tea in a kind of boutique where people in scarves came and went. There were barrels of oats and other seed things, plus groceries and flowers, and a small section of books and magazines. C liked to read and was impressed with my poetry, so we lingered over the books a while. She was single, and lonely, so we agreed to wander to her place. She lived in a cozy little apartment behind a larger house, but she had her own driveway and privacy. She was an accountant, a very bright lady with much patience and a good head for numbers. We spent a pleasant hour or two, until it was time to make dinner. We ate lightly, and then watched a movie. Somewhat later, she was very close on the couch and I kissed her. She was not very aggressive, but her breathing changed and I sensed that she wanted to be loved. "Why don't you spend the night?" she suggested. Taking our time, kissing, petting, we slowly undressed each other. Even in the near dark (lit only by stray light from the living room beyond a half-closed door, and by a night light in the bathroom nearby), I marveled at the smoothness of her skin and the perfect form of her limbs. Here was a treasure that had been concealed in modesty and heavy clothing. She was transformed from a gentle, easy going doe into a hard-breathing, hungry forest animal. She pawed my back and my ribs. She planted kisses in my ear so that I felt the heat and moisture of her sharp breaths. We lay side by side as we kissed, deep penetrating kisses, plunging wet tongues like sea animals rubbing together in the deep.
Her breasts were full and pleasant, with large plum-colored nipples. They hung slightly in their fullness. As I sucked on her nipples, I had my fingers in her. Her quiz was so wet with desire that when I moved my fingers around, faint little wet sounds smacked in the quiet air around us. It turned me on further. She giggled with embarrassment, but not for long, because I could feel the hard little bud of her clitoris against my finger, and I rubbed gently the damp, smooth furrows on either side.
The little clit swelled and pressed against my finger seeking my touch. C was intent on that clitoris pressure, and seemed to be moving her body around as if tracking the fingertip she at first desired, then needed. I moved my fingertip down under it, and C moaned under me. I rubbed two fingers up and down, one on either side of her clitoris, capturing it between my fingertips on each swing and exerting a tiny amount of pressure that made C writhe and thrash her feet on the sheets.
She gripped one of my upper arms with one hand, while her other hand held my balls and with one finger she stroked the shaft of my penis until I too was ready to thrash. I knelt closer, offering myself to her hand, and she cupped my balls in both hands while she took my penis into her mouth. We worked our passion up to white heat, and it was clear we could wait no longer. Then she did a strange thing.
I lay beside her getting ready to enter, when she pushed me away and turned her back to me. She lay breasts-down and reached behind to grasp my arm and pull me toward her. "Come in me," she whispered, "behind."
"From behind?" I whispered in puzzlement into her ear as I lay behind her, slightly over her, with my finger still in the wetness. She shrugged and pushed her hand down so that her fingers rose up to cover the pink cleft. She made a sniffling noise.
"What's wrong?" I asked. I sat back and beheld the breathtaking sweep of her body—her long back and waist, and the fine melon-like widening of her buttocks. It was like looking at a painting. She extended her free hand behind her to pull on one cheek so that it parted from the other, revealing a fine dark pucker. "You want me to come into your butt hole?" I said. My cock longed to plunge into the other pool, but maybe she had some reason... She did have a fine bum hole, and I regarded it with pounding heart. She still covered her oyster with delicate beige fingers, and held open the back door with the other hand. But she had begun gently sobbing, and when I saw tears on her cheeks I embraced her from behind, spooned her, held her tight and close. "I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do," I said.
It took me a good half hour to coax the terrible secret out of her. I was amazed that she would have such a complex about so insignificant a thing. She had what might delicately be termed the opposite of a tight oyster. I suppose that makes it a loose oyster. In other words, she'd had a few bad experiences starting when she'd lost her virginity in college. One or two gruff, indelicate college boys had somehow hurt her feelings. She explained: "I had no idea what it was all about, why I didn't feel much down there, and then I got it from a girlfriend who had overheard the two boys, jocks from the varsity swim team, talking locker room talk.
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