Gay Erotic Stories

I swear there are two of me. The shrinks will tell you that "multiple personalities" are rare, but they're wrong. I think everybody has them. Like I'll be driving down the highway, and suddenly I'm five miles further than I thought. Who was doing the driving for those five miles? It must have been the other me, because it wasn't me. Or some mornings I'll be in the shower, and I'll wonder if I've shampooed yet. And while I'm shampooing I'll remember that I've already shampooed. Except it wasn't me, it must have been the other me. This is a story that was written by the other me. It's, well, different. But hell, if Sears can have a softer side, I guess I can too. It's still just for adults. No matter what side I write from, it just comes out that way. Maybe me and me aren't so different after all. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- High Rise - by MIKE HUNT -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sun always came in the window at the same time, plus or minus a few minutes. When I'd rented the place in November I thought the apartment was sunny and bright. I'd toured it in the early afternoon, and the large window in the bedroom was flooded with the crisp light of a late fall afternoon. "I'll take it," I said, making a snap decision. "Can you do any better on the price?" "Afraid not," the building manager said. "It's $1200 a month, not including utilities. Still, it's a pretty good rent for the location and the view." "Yeah," I said, doing some quick calculations in my head. Add electricity, phone, hot water, and I'd just make it. "Heat's included, right?" I asked. "Yes, heat and air conditioning are included. Central system. You control it with the thermostat back in the living room. We'd appreciate it if you wouldn't control it by opening the windows, cause that just wastes energy and then everybody pays more." "Sure, sure," I said. "OK, I'll take it." It took another half hour to return to the rental office and fill out the paperwork, and 24 hours before the company did a credit report on me and checked with my last landlord. I moved in the following Saturday. On Sunday I noticed the light. There wasn't much. With the advantage of time and leisure I looked out the bedroom window and noted that the adjacent building blocked the morning sun. I'd seen the building next door, of course, I just hadn't taken time to calculate the angle and figure out that the sun didn't pop over it until late in the day. Ah well. In truth it was a great place anyway. From the living room I could go through a set of sliding glass doors to a tiny porch, and from there actually see Lake Michigan. OK, I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan in between some of the other high rises that were closer to the water. Still, up on the 8th floor I had quite a spectacular view if I chose to avail myself of it. The building that blocked the light was just as tall as mine, just as new, and similarly designed. From my bedroom window I looked out into a set of little porches, the wrought iron railings stacked almost like fire escape landings one atop another all the way to the ground. The ones that I could see all were outfitted with the same "building approved" furniture, two white plastic chairs and a tiny round table suitable for two coffee cups and maybe a Danish. The one directly out and below the window had some flower boxes perched on the railing; they were filled with brown dirt. I went about my business for the next several months. I arranged furniture. I rearranged furniture. I hung pictures. I painted the bathroom. Mostly I suffered through another bitter Chicago winter, went to work, and came home. Once in a while I went to a movie or maybe a bar on Rush Street. In four months I spent less than 20 minutes on my porch. If you think it's windy and bitter on Michigan Avenue in January, try it 8 floors up near the Lake. No matter how inviting it looks from inside the glass, it isn't. I had a date up there sometime in December, I forget exactly when, but she insisted on going out to see "the view." So we bundled up in our heavy winter coats and went out and sat in the stupid little chairs. We lasted about five minutes. It was in early March that I happened to glance out my bedroom window onto the porch on the adjacent building. There were some small towels draped over the window boxes, and they looked to be spiked down with nails or bent up coat hangers or something. Someone was getting an early start on Spring. A couple weeks later I saw that the towels were rearranged. I probably wouldn't have noticed, except now one of the towels had a "Chicago Magazine" logo. I would have remembered that, since I worked for another publication in town. I vowed to keep a closer eye on the porch. It wasn't easy, since the porches didn't exactly line up. The floors of our buildings were "off" a little; the street had a gentle slope to it, and the neighboring building was down the hill. Of course in Chicago that's a relative term, since a "hill" there is anything that's not perfectly flat. I joked with some friends that where I was raised in upper New York state my front yard would have been called a "mountain" by Chicagoans. Heck, in Chicago a speed bump is practically cause for a Kodak moment. Anyway, the porch next door was about four or five feet below the sight line of my bedroom window, so I had to be standing right at the window and look down just right to see it. Which I did with increasing regularity. Several days went by, then a week, then two. The towels changed places, and it was obvious that someone was tending the boxes, trying to get a jump on the growing season, protecting the incipient plants from the vagaries of Chicago's unpredictable weather. It was a Tuesday afternoon in late March when I finally saw her. She busied herself removing the towels, watering the half-dozen boxes, pulling the occasional weed, and replacing the covers on the planters. It took her about 20 minutes to complete the exercise. What I noticed was *her*. She was about my age, maybe 28 or 29. Brown hair, cut in a real short pixie haircut. A nice figure. Sort of cute. Far from a stunner, but attractive in her own way, with a little upturned nose and round cheeks. She didn't wear a trace of make-up. But what I really watched was her breasts. She wore a comfortable low cut top with spaghetti strap ties around the shoulders. It was a dark blue, and as she bent over the flowers it billowed out giving me a perfect view down her blouse. She was completely unaware of my presence, above and 15 feet away behind the glass of my bedroom window. I stared. I started spending more time at the window, waiting for her appearance. I only caught her a couple times each week, though I could tell by the movement of the chairs or towels that she was there more often. She wore the same top most times, although even when she changed it the view was just as good. She obviously preferred "comfortable" when she was on the porch. I'd enjoyed my voyeuristic little pleasure not quite a half-dozen times when she caught me. I was standing at my window, staring down into her blouse as usual, when she suddenly raised her head and stared straight at me. Oops! I didn't know what to do, and then, blessed be, she waved. I unlocked the tab that held the window shut and yanked on the sash. It groaned but slid up a couple of feet and I leaned out. "Hi," I said, trying to be nonchalant. "Hi," she said. "Watching my garden for me?" "Sort of," I lied. "I've seen you up there a couple of times," she told me. I blushed. "Are you a gardener, too?" "Uh, no, not really," I replied. "I have a couple of houseplants I manage to keep alive, but not much more." I made a mental note to go buy some new plants for the apartment. I'd killed the one my folks sent me as a housewarming present. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's how I started. Then I found I liked it so much I started putting plants in the window boxes. And this year I'm growing everything from seeds. It makes me feel like they're all mine." "Well you're doing great, apparently. I can see the little tips sprouting." I caught the unintentional double entendre of my words and blushed again. "Yeah, I think they're growing nicely," she said, apparently unaware of my near fax paus. "I'm surprised the building allows you to have those boxes on top of the railing," I offered. "If one of them fell..." "Well it's not really allowed," she answered. "but this high up who's going to see, except maybe a neighbor in the next building?" "Good point," I said. "Anyway, I had my brother come over and attach them. He's a carpenter, so I'm not worried they'll fall off." We made idle chatter for another few minutes, and then she was done. She said her goodbyes and retired indoors. I went into the bathroom to masturbate. The memory of her swaying breasts inside her loose top was as crystal clear as a 70mm film print. And the fact that she had made no effort to conceal herself while we were talking was even more sensual, and I came into the toilet with little effort but with great pleasure. A couple of days later I saw her again. I raised the sash. "Hi, it's me!" I called out. "Hi, it's you," she replied. "What's new?" "Not much," I said. "Just getting ready for work." "Oh? Where's that?" she asked. "I'm a part-time writer for the Sun-Times." I answered. "Really?" she said, pausing for a moment. "I read it. Maybe I've read you?" "Maybe," I nodded. "But probably not. I do some of the high school sports. Mostly weekends. I get the swing shift and a little vacation fill. I only work about four days a week, although during vacations I might work ten days straight. It varies. My name's MIKE, by the way. But my byline is Billy Billings." "Why don't you use your real name?" she wanted to know. "It's a long story," I answered. It wasn't a long story, of course, but I didn't want to get into it. "Billy Billings," she said. "Weird name. I can't say I remember it. Anyway I don't read the sports section much." "I'm not surprised," I said. "Like I said, I'm pretty irregular. At the paper, I mean." She giggled. "Anyway, I noticed the Chicago Magazine towel on the porch. It sort of caught my eye." "I get it," she said. "Say, how about coming over for a drink or something?" I asked. "No, I don't think so," she replied, a little too quickly. She offered no explanation, so I probed. "Boyfriend?" "No, definitely not. Say, I don't mean to be rude, or coy. I just, well, I just broke up with someone and I'm not looking to get involved. Nothing personal." "No offense taken," I answered. "It was just for a drink. Or maybe to see the view. I have a lovely view of somebody's garden from up here." She giggled again. "Honestly, I lived with a guy for six years, and we just broke up in December, and I'm just not in the mood to socialize. I'm sort of in a 'hermit' mode. Really, nothing personal." "OK," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I stood there. Just staring. "Anyway," she said, filling the uncomfortable silence, "once in a while I go on-line and chat with people, but I'm really not ready to plunge into the social scene yet. I'm still hurting a little, frankly." "Honest, no offense taken," I repeated. I wanted to protest and try to talk her into stopping by, but I thought better of it. "You go on-line? You have a computer, I take it?" "Yeah," she said. "An old Mac. It's plenty for me. All I do is some occasional letter writing and go on AOL once in a while. How about you?" "Not really," I said. "I have an old laptop here, and I use a machine at work, but don't use 'em for recreational purposes." It was a bit of a fib, but not much. "Ah," she answered. And our time was up. She was done with the days duties, and while she had a variety of reasons to be on the porch, I had only one to be hanging out of an 8th floor bedroom window. With her gone, I had none. I went inside to the dining room and sat at my computer. The familiar AOL screen came up, the modem squawked, and the host computer greeted me. I looked for the Digital Chicago area. With some effort I found it, and began putting notes on various bulletin boards asking for help. Gardening help. Seems I was trying to start some window boxes in my apartment without success. Could anyone help me figure out what was wrong? 24 hours brought five responses. Three from guys. Two from women. None from her. I waited a couple of days and tried again. Seven responses. Two from people who had responded to my earlier messages and wondered why I hadn't written. Three from other guys. Two from women. None from her. The next time I saw her I steered the conversation around to her computer and found out she didn't look at the gardening section of the bulletin board at all. She just went to the Great Outdoors chat area. She said being cooped up in a high rise made her like talking to people who enjoyed chatting about the trees and flowers and plants and camping and other things outdoors. An hour later I was in front of my computer and headed straight for the Great Outdoors forum. There weren't many messages, but I thought one about boating might be from her. It asked where could he/she rent a boat for a day. I did a tiny bit of research and answered the question with an e-mail. A couple of days later I saw her at the window. I leaned out and enjoyed the view as she worked. She bantered with me as she bent over the boxes. We talked about nothing in particular, and even though I tried to steer the conversation around to boating without being too obvious, she didn't take the bait. Our 20 minutes was up. She went inside. I went back to the computer. I honestly don't know why I tried so hard. There are a thousand girls out there, but the clubs are a meat market and I enjoyed chatting with her and I just, well, felt comfortable. I'd had a dozen sessions at the window, and I knew I liked her. I thought she felt comfortable with me, too, in spite of her self-imposed "hermit" status. Eventually I found her. It wasn't that hard, because the "outdoor" area wasn't well traveled, even in a city as large as Chicago. And I almost slapped myself silly when I realized I'd passed right by her screen name a couple of times before. She called herself "Hi Rise". Of course. I made contact. She had no way of knowing it was me, since I used one of my screen names, "SCOOTER". I kept up the on-line conversation with her, and over the next few weeks our e-mail went from helpful to friendly to occasionally downright sexy. At one point we got into a private chat room, and she let her guard down. I might have helped. SCOOTER: So what's new in your life? Hi Rise: Not much. Still seeing the guy at the window. SCOOTER: He bothers you? Hi Rise: Oh no. I think it's kind of funny. He watches me while I garden my window boxes. I think he likes to try to look down my shirt. SCOOTER: Oh, that would be fun. Maybe I'll come watch you garden, too! Hi Rise: No thanks. One "watcher" is plenty for me. SCOOTER: Aw shucks. Hi Rise: Well you can just be my on-line friend. Anyway, as I told you I'm not looking for more companionship. At least at the moment. SCOOTER: Well let me know when ;) Hi Rise: lol SCOOTER: Do you like the guy at the window? Hi Rise: Yeah, sure, I guess. We talk. He's the only person I see outside of work! And I can't really say I "see" him. He just shows up sometimes. SCOOTER: Good looking? Hi Rise: OK. Anyway, I TOLD YOU I'm not looking. SCOOTER: I know. Just wondering. Someday you might be. This "hermit" thing will pass. It always does. Hi Rise: I suppose. I'll know. We got into a sort of routine. She'd come out in the afternoon to tend her garden. I'd "happen" to be in the bedroom getting ready for work. We'd talk. I'd look down her blouse. She'd pretend not to notice. After another half dozen encounters I told her I was renting a boat that weekend. Maybe she'd like to come along? She demurred, mumbling something about visiting her folks. I didn't push. That night I found her on line. SCOOTER: So how's the friend? Hi Rise: He invited me out boating this weekend. SCOOTER: Great! Where are you going? Hi Rise: I said no. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings. SCOOTER: Why did you say no? Hi Rise: I dunno. I lied and said I was going to visit my folks. It was dumb, I guess. SCOOTER: Boy you have me stumped. You say you like him. Well not like him, but he's OK, right? Hi Rise: Yes. SCOOTER: And he's not a dwarf or something, right? Hi Rise: lol SCOOTER: So take the shot! Goodness girl, get a grip. Hi Rise: Well, maybe I should have but I just got nervous and said no. SCOOTER: I think you blew it. Maybe he'll ask again. You should say yes. Hi Rise: Well he won't ask again, and now that I've throughbt about it I probably would say yes, but it's too late. Hi Rise: throughbt=thought SCOOTER: I know. Hi Rise: I would be nice to get out, at least. SCOOTER: Well maybe you'll get lucky. Ha ha. Didn't mean it THAT way. Hi Rise: lol It was Tuesday. I didn't see her on the porch until Thursday night. She waved. "Hey how you doin?" I opened. "Fine. How 'bout you?" "Good. Just getting ready for work. Today is my Friday. I'm off for four days now." "Wow great. Wish I could say the same," she replied. "So are the folks coming in to visit? Or are you going there, wherever 'there' is?" I asked. "Oh, that got canceled. One of Mom's friends got sick, so they're staying home," she fibbed. I played along. "Sorry to hear it," I pretended. "So what are you doing this weekend? Catch a movie or something, maybe?" "I don't know," she said. "I really haven't thought about it. I'll probably just stay in and play hermit again. I'm getting good at it." "The offer for the boat ride is still open. I pick it up Saturday morning at 10AM. I've got it for the whole day, but you could come out for just an hour if you want. I'm not going out far or anything. Just going to float around for a while." "That actually sounds like a nice invitation. You sure you wouldn't mind entertaining a hermit for a while?" I chuckled. "Not at all. No entertainment provided, though. It'll just be a couple of high rise mopes floating around enjoying the great outdoors." I sealed the deal with a sly reference to her on-line activities. She didn't seem to catch it. "In fact you don't have to do anything. I'm going to pick up some sandwiches at Terfaro's and maybe bring a bottle of wine. I have both reds and whites here in the apartment. Which do you like?" "Which do *you* like?" she asked. "Doesn't matter to me," I said. "They're all good. I have a Zinfandel I don't know anything about, but I won't bring that one since I don't want to be trapped with a lousy one if I don't like it." "Whatever," she said. She was finishing up. "I'll pick you up in your lobby at about 9:30 on Saturday, OK?" I asked. "OK," she said. And that was it. She clapped her hands together to get rid of the dirt clumps, waved, and disappeared. I grinned. On Friday night I connected with her and we chatted on the computer for a while. Hi Rise: So I did what you said. I'm going out boating with him tomorrow. SCOOTER: GREAT! Where are you going to be so I can float by and intrude. Hi Rise: lol Hi Rise: Anyway, it's been nearly 6 months since I've even been with a guy. I hope I know what to do. SCOOTER: What do you mean, know what to do? Hi Rise: I dunno. Conversation. You know, on a boat there's nothing but me and him. SCOOTER: You'll be fine. Hi Rise: I suppose. Suppose other things happen? SCOOTER: Such as... Hi Rise: He makes a pass. SCOOTER: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY FOR INSTRUCTIONS!!! Hi Rise: ROFL SCOOTER: I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. Do you want him to??? Hi Rise: No. Maybe yes. Probably no. SCOOTER: Good female response. Hi Rise: Well, it's been over SIX years since I've had a *date*. Nothing since the breakup, and 6 years of relationship before that. I'm a little rusty. SCOOTER: Don't sweat it. Nature provides. Hi Rise: Yeah, I'd just hate to get into something I don't want to get into. SCOOTER: But you said "maybe yes..." Hi Rise: Well, that's just how I feel. SCOOTER: Ah, now I understand perfectly! Hi Rise: You're no help at all. SCOOTER: Sorry. Just have to laugh at the situation a little. Didn't mean to be a jerk. Hi Rise: OK. I'm allowed to be confused. SCOOTER: I know. On Saturday morning I went to the lobby of her building. You might think that a new building would be kept up better, but the intercom buttons were filthy. At least they functioned. The corner of the carpet was frayed, and I noted a couple of places where the paint was peeling near the mailboxes. I buzzed the buzzer for her apartment and she chirped "Be right down." Through the fuzzy speaker it sounded more like "Bx Rylle Tmmn." I knew what she meant. The elevator doors opened with a "whoosh" and a "thunk." She was as casually dressed as ever, but now the clothes were neat and new, softly colored, freshly laundered. Her face was painted with just a trace of make-up. She smiled and I melted. I grabbed my beach bag, she picked up her little tote and we went outside and hailed a cab. It was a couple of bucks to the landing area, and we chatted, perhaps a little self-conciously in the back seat as we sped down Lakeshore Drive. The people in the boathouse were great; they had my reservation right there and the credit card went through without a blip. The guy asked if I had any boating experience and I told him "yes." I didn't have a lot, but it was enough to get by. The last thing I wanted was a lesson about then. We climbed into the speedboat and I started the engine as we pushed off. The boat responded well; it was just a little cruiser with seats for maybe four people and a tiny area below deck. There was a small canopy over the driver's and passenger's chairs up top. Down three steps it had a galley the size of a paint bucket and two folding cots which were chained up on the sides of the cabin. She went down to put the sandwiches and wine in the cooler. "First crisis," she called. "The wine bottle doesn't fit in the fridge." "Is there any ice?" I called back. I'd picked a "white." "Yeah," she said. "OK, I'll take out some ice and, uh, where's the, never mind, I found one, put it in a bucket. The food fits fine." "See? Crisis solved." I called out. "Watch yourself. A couple of big waves coming..." "Thanks," she replied from her hidden perch down below. We thumped across the wake of a larger boat as I headed out into Lake Michigan. It took her a few minutes to get everything stashed, and she came back up. She'd changed into a bathing suit and a sort of skirt. She sat in the passenger's seat. "Ever drive one of these?" I asked. "No," she said. "It looks easy, though." "It is," I replied. "When we're clear of this traffic you take over." "Sure," she said. "An adventure in boating, coming right up." "Just aim for water," I counseled. "And if you see a buoy, let me know. Some you have to stay inside, and some you have to stay outside. I'll navigate." We motored about for an hour. Talking. Laughing. Getting the random burst of spray. Drinking the occasional glass of wine. She was happy, even vivacious. She was obviously having a good time. So was I. After an hour I offered to take her in, but she would have none of it. It was a half-hearted offer anyway. I'd paid for the boat until 6:00. I intended to use every minute. I drove for a while. She captained for a while. We ate sandwiches. We drank some more wine. At about 2:00, with the Chicago sun at its hottest, she said "You're burning. You should put on some block." I replied "I already did, but it's not strong enough, apparently." "I have some SPF 50," she said. "I'll get it." She disappeared down below and returned with a brown plastic tube. She tossed it to me. "Thanks," I said. I squeezed out a gob and rubbed it between my palms. The white lotion squeezed out between my fingers and I began transferring it to my legs, sliding my hands up and down, slathering the protective stuff all over. I repeated the exercise on my neck, shoulders, and arms. "Want me to do your back?" she asked. "Sure," I said. She squeezed some of the lotion onto her hands and I turned away from her. The ointment was cool, and I jumped as her hand made contact with my skin. "Easy there," she said softly. "This won't hurt a bit." "I've heard that before," I joked. Her hands journeyed north and south, east and west, covering my back, neck, and shoulders. It was delightful. She reloaded as she continued the therapy. When she was done her hands were still full of the goop, and as she reached for a towel, I said, "Wait a second." I turned to face her and took her hands in mine and held them, interlocking fingers and rubbing palms. I looked at her. She looked away. When I had transferred as much of the lotion to my own hands as possible, I told her to turn around. She did. I began spreading the moist cream across her back, massaging it in between her shoulder blades. I reloaded. She didn't protest. My hands slid up to her shoulders, then down her sides, then down the middle of her back to the bottom of the low-cut back of her bathing suit. "Want some more?" I teased. It was obvious that I had finished everywhere she couldn't reach. "I'll handle it," she smiled. I longed to caress her legs and arms but it wasn't going to happen. I stood and watched as she applied the lotion to herself. I spread a little goober of white that sat on the side of her forehead as she worked on her face. She grinned again. We spent the next few hours talking, laughing, snacking, drinking, just sitting silently as the boat moved gracefully between the swells of the water of Lake Michigan. It was uneventful, and it was bliss. I never pushed. It didn't seem right. And while I thought she might collapse into my arms, I didn't want to seem too eager, and anyway, I was enjoying our time together just as it was. We docked at a little past 6:00. I paid the late penalty. We cabbed back to our respective buildings, and as we split apart she gave me a little kiss on the cheek and said "Thanks." It was enough. I didn't see her on-line that night. I didn't even try. But on Sunday I found her, and we chatted. SCOOTER: So? Hi Rise: So what? SCOOTER: SO????? Hi Rise: I went boating with him. It was great. He's nice. SCOOTER: SOOO????? Hi Rise: So nothing. I had a good time. I still feel like a hermit, but at least I got out a little. SCOOTER. Good. It's good for you. Hi Rise: Yes, I think so. I had a very nice afternoon on the boat. SCOOTER: And... Hi Rise: No "and". Just a very nice time. SCOOTER: He didn't jump you? Hi Rise: No. I almost did him tho. > SCOOTER: Really? Do tell... Hi Rise: Well there was a point where I was putting some lotion on his back... SCOOTER: Aha! The hermit has hormones! Hi Rise: Yes, well I managed to control myself, thank you. SCOOTER: Too bad. Hi Rise: Why do YOU think it's too bad? SCOOTER: Ah, well, maybe you need the exercise? Hi Rise: lol Hi Rise: Anyway, nothing happened. And I think that's good. I think I should take it slow. SCOOTER: Aw go on, jump his bones. Hi Rise: Thanks for the advice. Men. You're all alike. SCOOTER: Guilty as charged. I saw her the next weekend. The 'Taste Of Chicago' was starting, and I invited her to join me to sample the hundreds of ethnic food booths that had become a Midwest star-spangled attraction. There was a jazz concert that night in Grant Park. She said didn't like jazz but agreed to go anyway. We walked through the crowds, occasionally buying a pita or a pirogi and sampling each others' purchases. Twice we were bumped by a rollerblader and I pulled her to me. Once she grabbed my hand to lead me to a booth that featured ribs. She held onto the hand as we waited in line. It was another blisteringly hot day, but began to cool a little toward the late afternoon. Most of the people around were skimpily dressed. I scarcely noticed. And we sated our appetites, then wandered into the park and picked a spot. Who'd thought to bring a blanket? But the ground still had a heavy grass cover and we sat down to claim our space. After 20 minutes of waiting the music began. Now there's jazz and there's jazz. This was what you call "jazz lite". Soft. Melodic. Tonal. We sat together, our arms occasionally touching as we swayed to the music. And a half hour later we were holding hands. And a half hour after that she was sitting in front of me between my outstretched legs, my arms wrapped around her midsection. Her hair brushed against my cheek. She turned, and we kissed. It was just a little kiss, with more promise than passion, and a calm washed over both of us as the melodies soared overhead. I hugged her. We kissed again. During the next few songs I held her, and occasionally whispered a comment or joke in her ear. We kissed lightly a couple more times. A few songs later the band finished its set, and there was a short intermission. "Want to go?" I asked, perhaps too eagerly. "No, I'm having a wonderful time," she said. "Me too," I answered. We sat together and talked as we watched the crew rearrange the stage for the next band. My hands got itchy, and occasionally wandered. She playfully slapped them away. The next band started, and it was very avante-garde. After one song she said "OK, I'm ready to go." We stood up and dusted ourselves and left. As we walked hand-in-hand to the edge of the park, I invited her up to my apartment. I wondered what would happen. It happened. She didn't spend the night; she chose to go home. I kissed her at the door. I thought about it for several minutes before I went to my desk. I wasn't sure if I should. I signed on and waited. Twenty minutes later she signed on. SCOOTER: Why hello! Hi Rise: Hello. SCOOTER: My aren't we talkative! Hi Rise: Just recovering. SCOOTER: Why? What happened? Hi Rise: I had a *date*. SCOOTER: AND???? You know I want the details. Hi Rise: Yes I know. SCOOTER: Think of me as your therapist. lol Hi Rise: Well, I like him. And we went to Taste, had a wonderful time, and then to the free concert. SCOOTER: Yes? Hi Rise: Then back to his place... SCOOTER: Omigod. Every last detail, please. Hi Rise: We kissed a couple of times at the concert. When we got back to his apartment we started making out. SCOOTER: Good start. Hi Rise: Then we were really making out. He's a decent kisser. SCOOTER: That's important. Hi Rise: The next thing I knew, he was unbuttoning my blouse... SCOOTER: now typing one handed. hope you don't mind. Hi Rise: Cut that OUT! SCOOTER: just kidding Hi Rise: Then why no capital letters anymore? SCOOTER: oops Hi Rise: so he unbuttons my blouse and I'm loving it Hi Rise: and we're kissing like crazy and I suddenly realize I'm so horny I might burst Hi Rise: and so I'm kissing him back and holding him Hi Rise: HELLO? SCOOTER: sorry. just enjoying the scene. Hi Rise: and then he's holding my breasts and his hands are sliding everywhere and then I'm pulling off his shirf Hi Rise: shirf=shirt SCOOTER: i know Hi Rise: and then I'm helping him take off his pants SCOOTER: this is getting VERY good. notice the capital letters, please Hi Rise: lol Hi Rise: and the next thing I know I'm lying down and I've taken off all my clothes and I'm waiting for him to enter me... SCOOTER: and he does Hi Rise: and does he ever! I haven't been with a man for six months you know... SCOOTER: hey, i offered Hi Rise: lol anyway he slides into me slowly and he's caressing my face and he's nibbling at my neck and then he starts licking my ear. That makes me CRAZY! SCOOTER: . Actually it's not all useless. I've put up another lovely story I liked. It's by Michael K. Smith and it's called "Charly the Yard Guy" and it appeals to the me in me who wrote this story. It's quite a beautiful tale. You should read it. This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. It's fine to distribute it freely on bulletin boards or whatever. Emphasis on the "free". Please don't just repost it in the newsgroups; I can do that myself. That's about it for this story from me. There'll be another story soon. It'll also be from me, but probably from the other me. I just never know, and neither does me. Or you.