Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/L/LIVINIA1.TXT

Text File | 1990-02-20 | 25.4 KB | 430 lines

          ... a memoir from Friar Dave, to be found and addressed as
same on Rusty & Edie's BBS, about meeting a very special young woman and
the first encounter with her and how things thus began to Get Out of
Hand. This memoir is very explicit, but not to worry, Dear Reader,
because I have changed the names to protect those who had a helluvalot
of fun, and if tales of people getting to know each other in Every Way
offend you, this is a real good time to erase this file.
     Any and all feedback -- positive and negative  --  would  be
appreciated.
     For the benefit of those who care about such stuff, please note
that the punctuation in this is excruciatingly correct, mostly because I
make a (very good) living knowing the difference. Those who are unsure
about where the commas, periods, quote marks, etc., belong can find in
this story the correct placement of all the foregoing. [This is a gentle
hint for P.B., who writes a lot of exceedingly good stuff that many of
us download and read and enjoy immensely.]


LIVINIA.1


     I'd been patronizing the 'mat for about six months, ever since they
did their renovation. Finding a good laundromat isn't always easy,
especially in a working folks' neighborhood when your hours bring you
home from work after eight. By then, honest working folks are home, fed
and usually watching the tube.
     But the newly renovated 'mat next to the subway was open till nine-
thirty, which meant I could drop off my clothes on the way to work and
pick them up on the way home. And they did a nice job.
     It didn't hurt that they had the lovely young Filipina working
there on the late shift. Sometimes her kid was with her. The little girl
was about 11 or so, all spindly and quick, with huge dark eyes -- like
her mom -- and a quick smile -- like her mom -- and an infectious,
impish laugh. Sometimes she'd be working on her homework at one of the
empty folding tables, sometimes sitting there with her cousin and paging
through teenager magazines.
     One October Thursday night, as I walked in, Sabrina came up to me
at the door. "Can you get them out of here?" she whispered.
     "Who?"
     She nodded past me. It was a rainy, chilly autumn night and I
couldn't be surprised that a couple of bums had moved in. One sat there
with his pants halfway down his thighs, adding aroma. The other was
sleeping.
     I took off my glasses and ran my fingers through my hair to make it
unkempt and put on my best Stop-Me-Before-I-Kill look. "Out."
     The sleeper woke, the stripper froze. "Waddya -- "
     "Get back to the Men's Shelter on Graham Avenue -- now."
     "But -- "
     "I didn't say 'talk'; I said OUT!"
     They quietly shuffled out and headed south. I smoothed my hair,
replaced my glasses and headed for the back to pick up my laundry.
Sabrina intercepted me, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a
hug.
     I disentangled her and turned to her mom. "Well?"
     "Thank you."
     "No hug?"
     She blushed and giggled, covering her mouth as she did so. Livinia
was barely taller than her daughter, but one helluvalot more grown up.
At 26, she was barely five-foot-one, and had a petite frame.  Her
complexion was dark and smooth and her body was tight and smooth. She
had coal black hair, coal black eyes and red, ripe lips. She was lovely
and she exuded sensuality of the barely restrained type.
     Livinia turned back to her folding. She was wearing a plain white
blouse and a pair of jeans. They were nicely snug on her firm little
butt and legs and bunched from being too large at the waist. Somehow,
being able to see the strap of her plain, modest bra through the back of
the shirt only made her sexier.
     She suddenly turned to Sabrina. "Come ask Daveed, maybe he can help
you."
     Sabrina came over with an arithmetic text and her homework book.
She was having trouble multiplying and adding fractions. No big deal.
I'd struggled with it, too, which made me a good tutor for it. It took
maybe ten minutes, but by then Sabrina had it wired and Livinia was
closing up the mat.
     "I am sor-ree to hold you up," Livinia said as she retrieved my
finished laundry. At first she didn't want to accept the money for it,
but I insisted.
     "I didn't help Sabrina for money," I told her. "I did it because I
like her. She's a sweet kid."
     "You are too kind. I hope your wife won't be angry that you are
late."
     "Since my wife divorced me about fifteen years ago, she won't
mind."
     "I thought you were married!"
     I understood immediately. "Those belong to a good friend."
     "A girlfriend?"
     "A friend who is a woman."
     "She will be angry -- "
     "I live alone."
     "Oh, then you have not eaten dinner. It is so late. Come with us
and I will give you dinner."
     Amazing woman: a single mother, immigrant, working long hours in a
less-than-pleasant job, who goes home after eight or ten hours of manual
labor and dealing with surly customers to make dinner for herself and
her daughter -- and she felt sorry for me!
     On the other hand, watching the curve of her body as she reached up
on tiptoes to the light switches, my response was a lot more base -- or
should I say lower -- than admiration. I accepted.
     I had the only umbrella, but it was a big one. By stashing my
laundry in the back room of the 'mat, the three of us squeezed under the
umbrella and hurried through what had become a driving rain. It was five
blocks to the small house they rented not far from the industrial
section of the neighborhood. By the time we got there, all three of us
were more than a little damp. And I was more than a little aroused. All
during the trip, Livinia's tight hips had repeatedly bumped against me
and from time to time she leaned softly into my arm. Sabrina had also
banged into me, but her tense, taut 11-year-old's energy was something
else entirely.
     All three of us stripped our shoes and socks -- soaking wet -- in
the vestibule and Sabrina scampered off to change while Livinia started
boiling water and doing other mysterious Filipino things in the kitchen.
     Sabrina came back dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe and Mouse
Slippers. She had a towel wrapped around her wet hair and carried two
more. She handed one to me and gave the other to her mother, who aid
something rapid-fire in Tagalog, I guess, and excused herself.
     Sabrina took over kitchen chores. She told me about how absolutely
great Menudo was, New Kids on the Block, the new Madonna album and the
like. All the time, she was stirring, mixing and cutting, I didn't pay
too much attention to the food. Watching her animated face was too much
fun to be distracted.
     Livinia returned a few minutes later in a baggy tee-shirt and dry
jeans. She had a towel around her neck. She sent Sabrina off to set the
table. When Livinia leaned over the stove, I noticed the absence of a
bra strap.
     I was ordered out of the kitchen and into the neat, if sparely
furnished, living room. Sabrina was summoned and returned moments later
with a beer. I asked what her mother was preparing -- it smelled good --
and she said, "Oh, the usual." Was it some kind of Filipino dish? At
that, Sabrina laughed and scampered back into the kitchen. Moments
later, I heard Livinia's laughter joining her daughter's.
     I was summoned to the scarred old dining table and the unusual
Filipino dish was brought out: Tuna fish casserole. This time I laughed.
     For such petite, wiry folks, the two of them consumed a lot of
food. I felt like something was wrong with me, as I'd barely eaten half
as much as either of them. I protested that it tasted fine, but I just
didn't eat much that late.
     Sometime during dinner, I finished my beer and Sabrina brought
another for me. Livinia was just finishing hers. Sabrina cleared the
table and Livinia and I settled into the living room for a little chat
before I started the trek home. Sabrina peeked in to say good night,
that her chores were finished and she was grateful for the homework
help.
     Livinia and I talked about how living in Brooklyn was different
from her life in the Philippines and at one point, she said, "I like it
here, but I am sometimes lonely for my pamily."
     "Your what?"
     She blushed. "My p-pamily?"
     I let it pass. "I suppose you would be -- "
     "My accent is still so strong. I wish I could speak better."
     I tried to show her how to make the F and V sounds but it was
unusual for her lips. Finally, I leaned across the battered coffee table
and pressed her lush, soft lower lip back and in with my  finger.
"Family," I said.
     "Family," she repeated and her eyes grew wide. I took my finger
away.
     "You try it."
     She did, finger and all. Then she giggled. And blushed.
     "What's the matter?"
     "I can not do that in front of a man alone here," she said. "it
could make ideas."
     Her nipples were hard. I kept my face straight while my cock
matched her nipples.
     "I don't mind."
     "See? Already you get ideas -- "
     I leaned across and took her sweet, lovely face in my hands.
"Livinia, I have had ideas for a long time." And I kissed her. Her lips
were as soft and sweet and warm as I'd imagined. After a moment, they
opened to my tongue and then her arms went around me and she pulled me
to her. She was frantic, passionate and demanding.
     I settled onto the threadbare couch next to her and drew her to me.
I slid my hand down to lightly cup her tight breasts through her tee-
shirt, then slid my hand lower and rubbed her thighs and between them.
She was damp under those jeans and when my hand pressed her, she pressed
back against it, rubbing it into her cunt.
     I raised her tee-shirt and began kissing her breasts and sucking
her nipples. They were small nipples and hard as pebbles and looked
almost purple in the dim light. She gasped and pressed my face more
firmly into each one. I feasted, sucking hard, then pressed the turgid
little nozzles into her flesh as if to invert them, then sucked them
back into my mouth as far as I could and wrapped my tongue around them.
Her gasps were coming faster and faster.
     Her hands got busy unbuttoning my shirt. She slid one hand inside
and ran it over my torso. She pulled my shirt open and pushed me away
from her breasts, shoving me upright against the back of the couch. She
stripped her tee-shirt off completely, then twisted and began kissing my
chest and my abdomen. I ran my hands over her smooth and elegantly
curved back, then underneath to play with her breasts, then lower. I
unfastened the waistband of her jeans and pushed the zipper open. I
flattened my fingers and palm against her taut little belly --  I
couldn't believe she'd actually carried a child to full term in that
tiny abdomen -- and insinuated my fingers under her panties. I found her
cunt hair sparse and thoroughly soaked.
     Her clitoris was larger and harder than I'd thought a clit could
get, doubly so on someone as petite as she was. It felt enormous. Her
reaction to my touch was certainly enormous. She kicked her legs out
straight and stiff, half turned against me and ground  her  pubis
frantically up against my fingers for a moment, then she tensed and
shook. She'd muffled whatever sounds she would've made by pressing her
mouth against my chest hard enough to leave tooth marks.
     She was panting for breath as I pushed her jeans down. She was
wearing lime green bikini panties, tiny even on her tiny frame. Also
soaked. She was very limber and easily raised her legs high till she was
almost jack-knifed beside me on the couch. The jeans and panties slid
easily up legs that were longer than they'd seemed.
     She didn't get much of a chance to relax them after that. I twisted
on the couch and knelt beside her, then bent forward with my mouth
diving straight for that lovely muff. I pressed her legs open, then slid
my hands around the backs of her thighs, a bit lower, to her tight ass,
and pulled her cunt to my mouth.
     She was astonishingly wet and hot. Her cunt was sweet and a little
musky -- I hadn't given her a chance to wash since getting to her house
-- but it tasted fabulous. Her labia were thin and tight and it took an
effort to work my tongue between to lave her pinkness.
     I like drawing my tongue slowly upward, from ass to clit, teasing
and tantalizing and letting a woman anticipate what's coming before it
gets there. But I was the one in for the surprise when my tongue reached
its destination.
     My first perception of her clitoris had been completely accurate:
It was huge. it must have been at least a half inch long, maybe more,
and easily as thick as my pinky and it was a lot closer to the opening
of her cunt than any I'd encountered before. When my tongue touched it,
her groan went right through her and the damn thing actually throbbed. I
draped my mouth over her entire cunt area and gently sucked and let my
tongue barely touch her overheated flesh. She like to melted and then
her legs began moving randomly, slowly, as she writhed and shook.
     I felt her hands on my trousers, fumbling at my belt and waistband,
fumbling at the zipper. She pushed my Jockeys down enough to be able to
get at my cock. I expected her to suck it, but she just kissed and
licked it, as much as she could reach. In the state I was in at that
point, I almost came from her hot kisses alone.
     But a couch, even an old, worn and overstuffed couch, is no place
for complex acrobatics of any kind and she and I were both starting to
slip off it. I turned and let myself roll to the floor, then stood. She
sat forward on the edge of the cushions and immediately pushed my pants
and Jockeys down past my knees and while I stepped out them, she gripped
my aching dick and began squeezing and jerking it, pausing occasionally
to lick the glans and the underside of the shaft.
     I reached down and put my hands under her shoulders and pulled her
up to me. My dick was throbbing against her stomach when I bent and
kissed her again. She wrapped one leg around mine and began rubbing
frantically against my leg. I could feel the wetness and heat of her
cunt.
     "Get inside me!" she hissed. "I want you to -- to -- "
     "Fuck you?"
     "Yes! Puck me!"
     I bent to my trousers -- containing the wallet and a condom. When I
fished the wallet out of the hip pocket, the look on her face was of
horror.
     "What are you doing?"
     I withdrew the condom and tossed the wallet aside.
     "You don't need that," she said, relaxing. "I can not have babies
anymore."
     I lifted her and sat her on the arm of the couch, then dropped to
my knees and began kissing the insides of her thighs. Her legs fell
farther and farther apart and then my face was at her cunt and she was
moaning and shaking again. I ran my hands up her narrow hips and waist
and around to her back and when she started to topple backward, I eased
her down and stood. She was laying back on the couch, with her slim hips
perched on the arm and her legs dangling wide to either side of me. Her
breasts were firm and taut and her face was utterly slack and utterly
flushed.
     I stepped forward and pressed my cock against her cunt. It took a
bit of doing, but I found the opening and pressed in. her cunt seemed to
suck me inside of her, deeper and deeper, and all the time, I could feel
that preposterously oversized clitoris against the top of my dick -- and
then I felt it pressed against my pubic hair, at the base of my cock.
     I looked down to see her hands moving over her breasts, playing
with her nipples, rubbing and tweaking them. Her cunt was squeezing and
pulling at me and the hot, liquid grip of her wasn't doing much for my
self-restraint. I pulled out about halfway and slid slowly back in. Her
legs came up and folded back slightly. I leaned forward a bit and she
brought her knees up to my shoulders. I leaned more and she happily used
her folded legs as springs for my ever-faster thrusts.
     Each time I pulled back, her cunt seemed to grip and suck my cock.
Each time I pressed in, I could feel the liquid heat of her juices
engulf my dick. It was like penetrating molten velvet. And through it
all, there was the amazing sensation on the downstroke of feeling that
hard, oversized clitoris throb against me. About every fourth stroke
also brought the spasms of her convulsing cunt.
     "Do it in me!" she moaned. "Do it now! Puck me!" she  hissed
frantically.
     I jammed myself to the hilt in her and stayed there and then my
balls cut loose. The stuff poured into her, adding to the hot wetness
within her sleek cunt and then her clit seemed to swell still more and
she locked her legs around my back, holding me to her, and came with me.
She stiffened and actually seemed to be raising  herself  to  the
horizontal, so intense was her orgasm, and her cunt pulled and flexed
around my spurting dick.
     As my spurts slowed and my cock began to relax, I pulled back and
slipped to my knees. Her legs had fallen away to either side and now I
pulled them onto my shoulders and began licking her again. I fastened my
lips around her still swollen clit and just barely manipulated the base
of it with my lips as I gently sucked and she suddenly hunched against
me and expelled a tremendous load of juices -- hers and mine -- against
my chin. She clamped her taut thighs around my head and went absolutely
rigid, almost catatonic, for what seemed a long time  before  she
collapsed back onto the couch.
     I moved around to the front of the couch. She was sprawled face up
with her hips and ass perched on the arm of the couch, her legs dangling
over to the side almost straight down and her head and shoulders flat on
the seat cushions. I thought of a cat's ability to sprawl, absolutely
relaxed, in seemingly impossible positions.
     I also thought of bursting dams. My beard and chest were soaked
with that copious explosion of hers. Had she pissed, too? I tasted; no
piss in that mix! But, damn, where had all those juices come from? I
could barely taste my own semen in the flood.
     I sat and drew her to me, cuddling her against my chest. She moaned
softly when I raised her and then shivered when I kissed her behind the
ear. Her hand came up and caressed my face. She murmured something. I
didn't quite make it out.
     "Too much, it's too much, too good," she said a little louder. "You
make me peel so good, it scares me."
     "I liked it a lot," I said, always quick with the repartee. I
decided emphasis was needed and gently pinched her nipples. She shivered
again and that reminded me of the way it had felt inside her and old
Johnson started coming back to attention against her side.
     She twisted sinuously, slid to her knees on the couch with her legs
drawn up underneath, ducked down impossibly low and  compact  and
swallowed my cock at a gulp. I'm still not sure what she did or how, but
by the time my hand was caressing her back, she had me hard. By the time
I had caught the breath to warn her, she was vacuuming yet another
ejaculation out of my freshly-drained balls. She gulped and swallowed
noisily as she sucked and that made it better. Then she reached between
my legs and pressed her fingers against me, right between my balls, and
I felt like I was pissing jism into her. It came out in a fountain.
     This time there was more than she could readily swallow, but she
cleaned up the excess with her kitten-like tongue and soft, slippery
lips, thank you very much.
     The whole blowjob had taken maybe three minutes. All I could do was
groan and flop limply against the back of the couch (and down between my
still quivering legs, I might add).
     "I make you peel good, too?"
     I barely wedged my eyelids up to look down at her lovely face. Her
hair was a mess, her eyes were about half open and her lips and hand --
which was still gripping my limp schlong -- were all shiny and slippery.
     "Wonderful."
     She kissed the head of my cock and then gently placed it between my
legs. "Good, I want to make you peel good!"
     I drew her up to me. She wouldn't let me kiss her, but she had no
objection to snuggling against me. An old blanket was neatly folded on
the back of the couch. It was probably as a comforter in Brooklyn
winters in an old drafty wood frame house. I pulled it over the two of
us and held her close and comfortable against me.
     My eyes opened abruptly. I'd thought I'd heard or seen something in
the doorway but ... No, just a shadow, or the wind against an old house.
     I knew I'd dozed, but doubted it had been for long. Livinia had
settled comfortably into a sort of half-cradled position, snuggled
against the juncture of my (fast asleep) left arm and the arm of the
couch. Looking down at her in repose, I thought how absolutely lovely
she looked, and how she seemed too young to have a child of twelve. And
how utterly good this all felt.
     Remembering that, my dick awoke, too, but I doubted it was going to
be good for much besides watering Mr.Crane's Finest for a while. I
leaned down and kissed the side of her face gently and caressed her
shoulder till she stirred, mumbling and resisting. For a moment, her
eyes were puzzled -- then afraid. Then she seemed to relax and remember.
     "I have to get home, Livinia."
     "To your -- your cat?"
     "How'd you know I have a cat?"
     "I wash your laundry, remember? Lot's of hair!" She giggled against
my chest.
     "And to get ready for work tomorrow. And you have a young daughter
in the house."
     Her eyes grew wide. "She did not see us -- ?"
     I shook my head. "She  went  up  to  sleep  long  before  we
got...friendlier."
     She put her hand to her mouth. "I always am so careful! I want her
to be a good girl, not like her mother or her aunts!"
     "You're a good woman."
     "But -- " She stopped herself. "Yes, maybe it's time to go."
     "I want to see you again."
     "I don't know..."
     "You are lovely and sweet and a hard-working person and I want to
know all of you, including here -- " I touched a finger to her chest. "
-- and here." I touched her forehead. "Can we go out to dinner and maybe
a movie or -- "
     "I don't know...You have a girlfriend and I have a kid."
     "We can have the girlfriend watch the kid?"
     When she realized I was kidding, she gave me a playful punch on the
arm. I responded by caressing her breasts and enjoying the feel of her
nipples hardening again.
     "Ohhhh -- don't do that!"
     I slid my hand down over her belly, down into the dried mat of her
sparse pubic hair, down to the already moistening cleft between her
legs.
     "We will have dinner, won't we?"
     "Okay, okay! But you have to go!"
     I nodded. "Okay. I will talk with you tomorrow?"
     She nodded and unfolded, graceful and sinuous as a cat. She took
the blanket with her.
     "Hey, it's cold in here!" I protested.
     She giggled again. It was so totally unaffected that I didn't mind
the giggle -- only the cold.
     "Yes, but you are getting dressed right away."
     I was. The rain had stopped, but the cold hadn't. It took ten
minutes to walk the six blocks to my house. It was two-thirty when I got
home.
     Actually, I didn't walk the six blocks. I walked four and ran two.
About halfway home I managed to attract the attention of three of the
neighborhood punks. They, true to the tradition of the neighborhood in
which I'd grown up, assumed that any man over thirty out alone at that
hour who wasn't (a) drunk or (b) with a woman was a faggot. Double proof
if the guy had a beard and wasn't carrying a beer belly.
     If I'd been five years younger I probably would've waylaid them and
taught them about trying to fuck with someone who was kicking ass in
that neighborhood before they were wishful thoughts in their (nominal)
fathers' limited little minds. But if I'd been five years younger, that
would have been five years ago and the odds would have been less  than
one-in-three that one or all of them was packing some iron. So I fell
back on my second-finest asset, i.e., my legs, and ran like hell.
     The light on my answering machine was blinking madly, but I was too
pooped out to deal with it. I stripped off most of my still-damp clothes
and fell into bed and slept, once the damn cat shut up.
     I woke at eight to the melodious siren song of some asshole's car
alarm and with a raging hard-on. I'd been dreaming about Livinia, which
was good, but she wasn't there, which was bad. I wondered if she was
going to back away, now. Her passion and loveliness had been all I'd
hoped and then some, but her odd  words  as  I'd  left  indicated
uncertainty. But I did want to get to know her a lot more and  --
hopefully -- spend more time with her, preferably in a real bed. There
was mystery to her and I wanted to unravel at least some of it.
     I need not have worried. I was going to learn more about her and
her "pamily" and more about the mystery than I ever expected ... or
wanted to know.



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