The PAST IS A STRING OF CANDIES
Paragraphs for Grownups
by Mark Aster
She reached into the big jar, carefully not looking at what her hand was doing. I watched her fingers, long and graceful, mixing the slips of paper. Staring off into space, she picked one out. She looked at me and waggled her eyebrows, then drew the paper out of the jar and looked at it.
"Coupling," she read, smiling, "like crazed minks."
Coming down the stairs after sleeping all night on a pile of blankets in the belfry, and finding them all standing there in the Great Hall, in an orderly line, topless, with a long green string running from nipple to nipple to nipple, held on by who-knows-what in the way of adhesive.
They all saluted.
The pricking of her cat's claws through the sheet over my butt, waking me up in the morning.
Up on the second floor, fucking the innkeeper's wife in her big featherbed, the strap-on tight around my hips and pushed far into her cunt, while downstairs her husband snored in his easy-chair, with the game (third quarter just started) on much too loud.
I remember watching CNN when the U. S. President took off her clothes on the floor of the Senate chamber. The cameras panned around, and each Senator struggled up the carpeted stairs on his knees to kiss her reverently on the navel.
The confident competence of her face. The perfect self-contained curves of her body as she took off her clothes. Her skin must have been pink, brown, but I remember her as silver, silver hair and silver eyebrows and firm pale skin with the veins silver blue and elegant under the surface.
Her lips were cool and soft, precise.
Even in orgasm, her body breathing under me and her breasts against my chest, when I wanted her to melt, to lose control, she only closed her eyes, and there was one wrinkle in her forehead, and opening her mouth she gave one clear sweet cry of pleasure.
Sitting on wooden lounge chairs by the edge of the water, reading our books in the sun. The way the light looked on her hands.
The two of them on the stair-climbing machines at Max's. Stepping side-by-side, over and over.
The muscles moving under the skin. Tight lycra.
She said, "I'm not making you uncomfortable, talking about this, am I?"
She said, "And finding a guy who's willing to use his tongue, you know? It's impossible."
And I said "They don't know what they're missing."
"You mean it?"
And her hair down there was light and fine, like spun gold.
The moonlight coming in through the open window; how it looked on the backs of her legs.
In the crowd, hardly able to move except in time to the music, with my hands up above my head, my lungs filled with smoke, I saw bright red in the corner of my eye, felt her body being pushed up against me by the press of the other bodies.
She smiled. Her dress was tight and red (I could only see her from the breasts up, but I felt her legs against mine, her stomach against me). Her lips were shiny red, and long red streaks led from the corners of her eyes into her hair, like a mask. She rubbed against me with the beat, she looked into my eyes. I kept my arms above my head, not trusting myself to touch her.
But then she slid a hand between us and stroked me through the front of my pants, touched my chest with her other hand, leaned forward and licked my chin with her long red tongue. Her breasts and her body and her hands pushing against me. So I put one arm around her, to draw her even closer. Tighter.
She unzipped my pants and slipped her hand inside, squeezing my cock through my boxers. I put my hand on the back of her head and pulled her face close and put my lips on her lips. Her tongue slid into my mouth, and her eyes closed.
We swayed to the music, tangled together in the crowd, her hand insistent between my legs and our mouths wetly merging. I moaned, she laughed.
I came. She laughed.
She slipped a finger under my damp boxers, scooped up a spoonful of cum and spread it over my lips. Then she smiled and slipped away into the throng. I never saw her again.
As far as I know.
I was driving up Route 3 from the west, I'd been out of town for a week. And at the top of the ridge, it was just evening, I saw all at once the whole city spread out on the plain, with the lights shining. I knew that somewhere down there Benjamin was waiting for me to get home.
That was a wonderful feeling.
How about the first time I got it in the ass? I was out partying with these guys, and we were all getting pretty drunk. This one guy, a big blond called Tommy, put his arm around me and whispered in my ear that I had a sweet ass, and he'd love to do me there. I snorted in his face. I'd have to be a lot drunker than I was, I said, before he'd get the chance to do that.
So he did.
I was totally plastered and limp when we got into bed, and my clothes were halfway off from necking on some couch. He kissed me and pulled up my bra and licked my tits. I was just zonked out and going with whatever. Then he turned me over and pulled off my pants, and I felt his cock slipping in between my cheeks.
I don't remember it hurting or anything even that first time. I was very relaxed! But he grunted and moaned and said how tight I was, and he came pretty quick. I think I remember that it really felt pretty nice, but I conked out somewhere in there.
The next time I saw him, he was really polite. Almost bashful, even. And we did it with me on top, grinding my clit against him. That was hot.
I remember I was like fourteen, and I went to a friend's birthday party. She was having the party at this gynmastics place that she went to, where she took a class or something and they let you have parties there. So we girls were playing around on the mats and doing stretching and somersaults and bouncing on the trampolines and stuff, and I remember thinking that it was cool that I didn't see a boy in the place, except for this one guy behind the snack-bar. And then I saw this one girl.
I don't know how old she was, but she had tits, Lord did she have tits, and skin-tight stretch shorts, and a tight top with no sleeves, and the top was riding up her stomach and the bottom of her belly was sticking out, not like she was fat or anything but just sticking out because her top was riding up. She was like walking across the mat to go to the bars, and she had her hands over her head putting up her hair, and I was just sitting there and looking at the shape of her tits, and the muscles in her calves, and especially looking at her smooth creamy belly with that luscious dent of bellybutton in the middle, and I just wanted to eat her alive.
I think I had my first orgasm, right there, just sitting on the mat and staring at her.
So that's I guess when I really figured out why I wasn't that interested in boys.
I remember, in college, sleeping one night with this girl, a very round pretty brown busty gentle girl, and in the middle of the night I found myself lying on top of her, between her legs, holding her down by her shoulders and kissing her mouth, with my penis nearly inside her. She was wet and panting and happy, and I slid into her and we made love, we fucked really, very intensely, and then we went back to sleep.
The next morning she said that some sound had woken her up in the night, and she'd looked over at me sleeping on the pillow, and I'd looked so sweet and innocent that she'd leaned over and kissed me on the corner of the mouth.
"And then look what happened!" she said. And we laughed.
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