YOU AGAIN

YOU AGAIN

Most of his life had evaporated before Nathan understood.
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He was sixteen and hormone infested when Sarah said she liked sex. He
was twenty-two when Rachael screamed she loved it. He was thirty-two
when his wife tossed him across a candle and candelabra dinner table
shrieking - take me. He was forty when his mistress, chrome battery
torpedo tumescent in bum, fell rabid on the grin in his shorts.
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Maybe it was all upbringing. The Christian diet. The guilt. Morals and
standards appropriate to Nuns. But not him. Or most others. Queen
Victoria reincarnate. That all girls were celestial white and forever
coy and virginal. While all men were bestial black. Leering lascivious
bastards.
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From experience, Nathan knew females liked / loved / wanted / wished /
prayed and pleaded for sex as much as he did. But he still couldn't
convince himself. He still believed it was charity. A favour. That they
layed him in penance for past sins rather than any real pleasure.
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Of course there had been signs. But he'd been indoctrinated. Boys were
sex mad and girls were forever running. At eighteen, Anna welcomed him
into her underwear. And he felt guilty. Believed she was doing him a
service rather than enjoying the experience.
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'Course guilt didn't dissuade him. Never had.
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It was 1974. Anna, a few Nathan fingers within, was trying to watch the
movie. Nathan wasn't. He had better things to. Anna for instance.
Squashed in a Mini at the Sandringham Drive-In, Anna was saved from
serious pelvic distress by interval and the rush of spastic cross
legged crabs racing to the toilets. Boys, now inclusive of her Nathan,
ripping paper from the dispenser trying to dry their flys of any
evidence of excess exuberance. Pathetic. One stroke was enough to make
boys explode. Girls knew this. And took advantage? If the movie was
more entertaining than the boyfriend, they'd give their bloke's dick a
quick caress, let him convulse and explode. And sit back and enjoy the
show while he slunk off to the men's to clean up. (While she moved the
car to Cairo so the perve couldn't find her).
Never forget, women are cunning creatures.
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He'd just turned forty. The wedding was about over and he was out back
behind the kitchen with a women he'd met an hour ago from years ago who
again seemed interested in interpersonal exploration. Nathan thought
she was attractive but, grog ga-ga, he couldn't really tell. Or
care.
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Crushed against the wall, Anna was constantly astounded how many hands
men sprouted during playtime. But now she was grateful. Sure wanted all
eighty of them overworked and on overtime now she was bare bum to brick
with this prick. And his prick.
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Having a woman against a wall, over breathing, obviously excited, moist
breath spiralling upward into the chill night, his hand octopus animate
under now monsoon panties was just about paradise as far as Nathan was
concerned.
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Here. Up. Twist. No.. twist! That's it! Anna's bra snapped open. It
wasn't cold, just refreshing. Her nipples thickened, hardened. Anna
arched back, foreign fingers inserted, his warm breath surging through
thicket hair. Nathan was having a fine old time below. This was
unusual. Usually it was tits first. Sure, that had been first grope but
he wanted the gap. He wanted to fondle, finger and feel.
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Anna looked down smiling. Content. Pleased with the wetness. It was
reassuring. Reinforced her power. Her womanhood. Pleased with her
choice of a high thigh hem black dress - easy access, now navel
bound.
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This was quite a reunion. He hadn't seen Anna for over twenty years.
Twenty years or so ago they'd rooted like rabbits. Praise be that some
things never change.
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"Anna." Nathan grinned. Gasp. Pant. "Have you been using drugs..."
Gasp. Pant. "..intravenously? Has your blood lived elsewhere? Is your
dog named Hep B? Your cat Hep C? Is Herpes an island off Greece?
Syphilis a local cafe?"
"WHAT?" Gasp, pant, grunt. Shit, he hasn't changed, Anna inhaled.
Deeply. The fingers between her legs dancing her to delirium. He still
talks when he should shut-up she felt. And she felt damn good.
"How can.." Gasp, pant, grunt,
" You... rant when..?"
"...there's no condom in sight.." grunt, wheeze Nathan snorted, his
mouth about to contact an Eiffel left nipple.
"Are you," Nathan surbreathed, "on the pill.." Please.. Please let me
escape the rubber corset and deadened dick.
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Anna was surprised. She'd never known him to be responsible before. Ask
before inserting. But sure he'd never knowingly infect her so she put a
finger to his mouth, hushed him, winked all was okay. And
continued.
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God, this is great, Nathan thought, tongue on breast, hand under dress,
up into white veil panties, fingers inserted.
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God, this is great, Anna sighed, a wandering wet tongue on her breast,
a warm hand under her dress, up into her white veil panties, fingers
inserted. If only it was Stephen. She missed him. His warmth. His
being. His digits. His smell. His caress. His damn big dick.
---------------
Crosby, Stills and Nash - 'if you can't be with the one you love, love
the one you're with'.
Anna was up against a cold brick wall, her tits talking to the moon,
her cunt irrigated, her heart thumping, pissed and exposed and enjoying
every minute with this song coursing through her head.
She took the lyric advice and grabbed Nathan. Kissed him like she loved
him.
Wet, wild and willingly.
---------------
Nathan responded. Kissed her because he loved her. He hadn't had a root
for two years so he really did love her. The cream gap and pillow tits.
The waft and softness. The wet patch in his jeans and her hand on his
dick.
---------------
Against the wall, Anna hadn't had uncomfortable sex since she was
sixteen. She wasn't about to start again.
"Nathan..."
Grunt, pant, wheeze. Asthmatics should never exercise. "What...?"
"Don't you have a home?"
Oh shit, Nathan looked up at her, his head buried below and between.
Wiping a stray hair answered in the affirmative.
"Good, let's go.." Anna ran away, rearranging herself to something her
mum would be proud of.
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Coffee. Two cigarettes. Bed. Total nudity. Hooray. Nathan had been
worried she'd sober up. And leave. Or demand he become Robert Redford
or Leonardo Di Caprio or slightly human. Or worse, demand he use the
condom he'd hoarded since 1988.
---------------
Thank God for Napoleon Brandy and nostalgia. Anna was in his bed and
between his sheets. They'd done this years ago but he couldn't remember
it. (Thanks to an overdose of Napoleon Brandy).
---------------
The choice was TV or candles. Nathan didn't want any competition so
decided on the TV. For light. Subtle. No sound. He pulled the sheet
down and stared.
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"What are you staring at?"
"Your tits"
"Oh, that's okay then.." she sorta giggled. Nathan was worried about
what she was sorta giggling at so stuck what he thought she was
certainly giggling at between her lips. That shut her up.
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Oaah gaw..d Stephen, she suckled, dick to her tonsils, glad to be
gagged so she wouldn't shout the wrong name. Stephen. Not Nathan. Who
meanwhile was smiling the limp smile of the satisfied simpleton. 2.30
became 69. Nectar of the Gods. 2.40 and massage. The pleasure of skin
and scent. Kneading and unknotting. Slick sweat sweet and pungent.
Getting to know an other sex body again. Nathan asked God to kill him.
Now.
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Then told God to ignore him. Which God always had so the addendum was
superfluous.
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Then it was ankles to heaven, the slippery thwak of pelvic union. The
in. The out. The no brain tantric spasms. The beast with two backs. The
slip and slide and tortured ecstatic grimaces.
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Thank God I'm pissed, Nathan thought knowing he could last long enough
not to disappoint.
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Thank God he's pissed, Anna thought knowing he would last long enough
not to disappoint.
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Gush and come. Sperm travelling, kit packed and ready for child likes.
G had become Hot spot and Anna was well pleased. Possibly. Most of his
life had evaporated. Now Nathan finally accepted the truth. At last
understood. Realised that women did like sex. Women even loved sex.
Enjoyed and wanted it.
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Usually, so long as he wasn't involved in the process apparently.