Beautiful

[Nik Satyr]

I watched, mesmerized as usual, as the girl from the record store locked the front door of the shop and, turning around, started walking toward my car. She was so beautiful--her hair long and black, sunglasses perched on top, Jackie O. style. Her breasts and hips were a little round for current fashion and a small strip of soft belly peaked out from between the fabric of her jeans and the bottom of the tight, black t-shirt with the picture of Debbie Harry and the word BLONDIE in gold; but she carried herself with such surety and grace that, as usual, it made it hard for me to breathe when I looked at her.

As she got closer to where my car was parked I could begin to see her face--huge, dark brown eyes and sensuous lips, the only makeup some bright red lipstick. She was Pakistani; well, her parents were. She was born in exotic Montvale, New Jersey but the foreignness of her features only added to her sophistication. Smiling as she got closer to the car, she waved and quickened her pace. As she reached my open driver's window, she leaned in and, wordlessly, kissed me--open-mouthed and sensous. She is 23 and her name is Sarita Bannerjee. I'm 33, married. . . and one of her lovers.

Now, I know what you're thinking: he's probably an asshole, she's probably a gold-digger. He's probably vain and self-centered and she makes him feel young and powerful and in return, he buys her things and takes her out. Well, believe it or not, some human relationships are more complicated than that. Sometimes people don't fit into the box. (Oh and by the way, shame on you for being so sanctimonious.)

Look, here's the story, judge for yourself: She sold me the copy of Sade's LOVER'S ROCK that she was saving for herself, and as she was wrapping it, she told me she would call me and make me come over and play it for her. I assumed she was just flirting, but, sure enough, a couple of days later she called me at work and told me she just had to hear it. I went over to her apartment that evening and I let her seduce me (she says I was reluctant but that's not the way I remember it). I've never bought anything for her unless you count the time I put an alternator belt on her Celica and she says I'm the most physically beautiful man she's ever seen (though she may be engaging in a little hyperbole there). Oh, and she's engaged to be married and I'm not her only little plaything. We see each other once or twice a month and we're friends and lovers and that's it. See, it doesn't exactly fit the profile, does it?

After she kissed me she said, "How've you been?"

"Okay," I replied, and only at that moment realized that it looked as though she'd been crying. I didn't say anything; just asked, "Am I driving you home?"

She nodded and went around to the passenger side. I was a little non-plussed, she had sounded okay on the phone earlier and she wasn't prone to moods. Our relationship was only really sexually intimate and I was a little unsure as to how to proceed. As she got in and I started driving I took a deep breath and took the plunge. "Are you okay?" I asked gently.

"Marc and I broke up." She said, a little raggedly. I reached over for her hand and she squeezed it, but let it go after a moment.

"I'm sorry," I said, a note of query in my voice. I was in uncharted territory here--comforting my girlfriend because she had dumped (or been dumped by) her fiance.

"I'm not." She said, as if deciding it at that moment.

As we drove, we avoided the subject, talking and joking a little as though nothing had happened but it was obvious that something had. She was now single, I was still married. Our dynamic was markedly different.

When we got to her apartment I asked her if she wanted me to come up (something I had never done before). She looked hard at me said, "Why did you think I called you, don't be a jerk." A little stung, I followed her up the stairs.

She put on music (Bryan Ferry covering Sinatra), gave me a glass of wine, and went in to the other room to "take of these fucking tight pants." I was left sitting on the couch wondering what was next. I needn't have wondered. . .

She came back in still wearing the T-shirt but now only in her panties. She looked me straight in the eye, took my wine and set it down on the sidetable, and straddled my lap. I was now face to face with Debbie Harry circa 1977, a position I had always wanted to be in. With infinite slowness and grace, she pulled off the shirt (it was the last I was to see of Ms. Harry for the evening) revealing her heavy, perfect tits. Her brown nipples were already tight and wrinkled--she was already turned-on. She reached over and putting two fingers into my wine glass she first put them in my mouth. I eagerly sucked the liquor off her fingers and she dipped again, this time anointing first one then the other of her nipples with it. She gasped and shuddered a little as she did, which had the effect of grinding her silk-covered pussy into the (by now) sizeable bulge in my jeans. I took the wine to be a signal that she wanted my mouth on her, and looking into her eyes licked the wine off her nipples with small, quick laps. She pushed my head against her tits and I sucked a hard nipple into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue. She liked them to be sucked hard and she moaned her approval, grinding herself against me. I ran my hands lightly up and down her sides, raising a flush of goosebumps on her olive skin.

At last she pulled herself away and stood up. Again saying nothing--as if she didn't trust herself to speak--she grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me to my feet. I followed her into the bedroom and watched as she pulled off her soaking panties. She turned to me and kissed me--naked and vulnerable. She kissed me ferociously, as if trying to express emotion that we couldn't approach. I held her so tightly to me I was afraid I would hurt her.

To be continued soon. . . @

[Nik Satyr]

She was the one to break the kiss. Pulling away from me a little and tugging almost frantically on my shirt trying to strip it off, she looked at me with an expression that I had never seen before. She looked as if she were going to cry or laugh, but which one it was going to be was anyone's guess. I stepped back a little, took off my T-shirt and gently pushed her back toward the bed. She fell backwards onto it, a short, slightly hysterical giggle escaping her as she did. I stood between her open legs and smiling coyly at her, leant over and began kissing her inner thighs. She began giggling and pushing away at my head with her hands, "Stopit, God, Stop you're tickling me. . ." She began to say but abruptly tailed off as I moved closer to her pussy. Breathing on her sex, I inhaled the aroma of aroused femininity; she stopped giggling and her breathing became deeper, more relaxed.

I started licking; beginning gently with the folds on the edge, enjoying the salty taste of her cunt, I worked my way in. Going up and down, I moved slowly from the very top of her slit all the way down until the tip of my tongue just grazed the ring of her ass. She moaned and pressed herself to me, her hands--moments ago trying to push me away--found my hair and her fingers curled into it, trapping me in her embrace. I sucked her whole clitoris into my mouth, tonguing the very tip of it inside my mouth and sliding a finger into her slick wetness to find her G-spot. She gasped at this and began to pull harder on my hair, "Oh God, oh God that feels so so goood," she whispered hoarsely. Then, "Marc almost never went down on me, he said he didn't like the taste." I didn't say anything but slowly removed my finger from her and (as she had done earlier with the wine) reached up and put it to her lips. She sucked it in greedily and after a long moment I said quietly, "Your pussy tastes delicious." She giggled again, gave me back my finger and I went back to work putting two fingers this time back into her pussy and then slowly working a third into her asshole.

She began to breath rapidly and buck her hips against me, rising to meet the invading fingers. I could tell she was close to coming so I pulled back and stood up to undo my pants. Her eyes opened. She looked at me, drew a ragged breath and said, "There's another thing Marc wouldn't do." I looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to go on. "He never fucked me in my ass, he said it was dirty." She reached over and handed me a bottle of lube that looked as though it had never been used. Gently, gently I guided her over until she was lying on her stomach and began to run my fingertips over her hips and lower back, slowly moving toward her waiting asshole. She started breathing in short gasps and pushing herself up to meet my hands. I dribbled lubed into the crack of her ass and pushed a finger in. Her pucker opened like a tiny mouth and her hips rose to meet it, pushing it deeper as she groaned softly. I kept this up for a long minute, feeling her arousal mount to a fever pitch. She was ready.

I put more lube on my cock, which by this time was almost painfully hard, and slowly and gently pushed it into her anus. Giving her a moment to adjust, I stopped for a moment before carefully moving it further and further. I saw her hands gripping the sheets and her head turn from side to side and then felt her push back against me until I could feel the soft cheeks of her ass touch my hipbones. I then fucked her, slowly at first, but as she became more aroused and more used to it, harder and faster. I could feel her orgasm coming on and I knew that when she came, she would take me with her. A few seconds later, when she did come, it was as if something had broken, as if all the emotions of the last few days were being purged from her body. I was swept along by the flood, pouring myself into her in spasm after racking spasm.

I collapsed onto her, both of us bathed in sweat and overcome by exhaustion. I pulled out of her and lay on my back; she lay, half on me, her leg thrown over my hips and her damp head on my shoulder. I breathed in her scent and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. After a long moment she said, "You know something, Marc used to make me feel ugly a lot of the time. When I'm with you I always feel beautiful." I didn't reply (how do you respond to that?) but kissed her on her forehead again.

Neither one of us spoke for several minutes, then she said, "You've got to go, my Mother will be here in, like, ten minutes."
"But, I've always wanted to meet Mrs. Bannerjee." I said, coming down to earth and regaining my irony. Sarita sat up and shot me a look that said, don't. I got up and started searching for my clothes.
"Come by the store tomorrow, I got you a present--Ohio Players on vinyl." she said cheerfully.
"The one with "Love Rollercoaster" on it?" I said. She nodded and blew me a kiss as she went toward the bathroom.

As I went down the stairs toward my car I checked my watch. With any luck I would be home before my wife.


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