The Carnality (Part 6) … Learning to please

This is a continuation of my story about Juliet. You can catch up here for part 1 and part 2

and part 3 and part 4  and part 5

We lay together silently, just relaxing in the sexual afterglow.

“I wonder what Jimmy and Liz are up to?” I said. “How much they heard? What they’re thinking?”

As far as we knew they were still out in the small adjoining courtyard, but we hadn’t heard anything. Mind you, we had been preoccupied with our own noises.

“Don’t worry about them. Liz knows what I’m like, so she doesn’t care. Maybe they’re getting it on anyway.” Juliet nonchalantly replied.

“Maybe” I said. “Why don’t we go out and see.”

“No not yet.  Why do you even care? Wouldn’t you rather be here with me? Besides, first I want you to go down on me,” she said.

“Have you ever eaten a woman out before?” she asked.

“Yes, of course!” I said.

This was true. I had. Several times in my young life with a few women. And I had had some expert direction from another older woman in London a few months previous. But I had never been commanded to perform this before. I was a bit startled. Taking orders in the bedroom was all new to me. I hesitated.

“Don’t you want to?” she asked. “What, don’t you like it?”

The honest truth was I loved eating pussy. And I still do.

“Yes, I like it.” I answered. “I want to”.

But the truth also was that I was, at that moment, very unsure of myself. My skills, despite my London experience and a couple of women since, might still be rudimentary. My inexperience could show. And this goddess was anything but inexperienced. My timidity was probably evident.

“That’s good, because I really want you to. I need it. I don’t get it often enough. It makes me feel so wonderful.”

My mind raced. My cock was definitely not ready for a third round this soon, so this would certainly help to keep her pleased. And heck, this would be very desirable practice.

I slid down her tanned, slightly perspiring trunk. I looked at her bush. These were the days when only porn stars and the models in very raunchy magazines shaved their pussy region. Juliet’s was full, dark, and dare I say, inviting. I wanted there.

She slowly spread her legs for me and I eased my head down. My tongue gently began lapping between her folds. I heard her sigh softly.

I continued. Gently nuzzling my face into her cunt I rose to my knees. Juliet’s legs squirmed and her breathing became heavier. The sigh became a moan as I began to share the space with my forefinger. Then my ring finger, as well. I hoped I was performing it well. She seemed to be enjoying what I was doing. Naturally I was!

My feast went on for another 20 minutes or so if I remember correctly. Juliet bucked and cried out many times during the session. She had hold of my head several times, then would release me from her grasp as the waves of pleasure rolled through her. I had never experienced a woman like this … so ultimately sensual. So at first in control, then so suddenly absolutely lost in the passion.

Finally she gasped out “No, stop! Stop! No more!”

It was easy for me to acquiesce. My neck hurt badly. My tongue was very tired. But my cock was so very hard again.  As I released my arms from around Juliet’s legs I crawled up to kiss her. Then I slid my cock into her for one last, quick fuck. She lifted her legs and tightened them around me, her arms around my neck. I pushed in hard and fast and deep. It wasn’t long, perhaps 4, maybe 5 thrusts and I came again with a loud growl.

I was done.

And thankfully so was Juliet. At last I could sleep.

To be continued …

 

 

 

Shy Never Got Me Anywhere … again

I have decided to revisit certain posts from time to time. Call them a Marty-Replay.  Posts I like. Or I’m happy with how they were written and catch the moment just right. Or are particularly relevant even now. But mostly that I like. Here’s the 3rd.  As I contemplate the Between The Times series I find it worthwhile to remember how Marty was before.

When I was a freshman at university one course I took was Biology. I hated Biology. Except I looked forward to every Tuesday and Thursday at 1:30, the times for my biology lecture or lab.

And as you might guess, it was because of a woman. I was kind of lonely my freshman year, certainly the first term. I missed the girl friends I had had in high school. Particularly one special one who was a year younger than me. She would occasionally come to my university to visit that term, and I went a couple of times to where her older brother was at college to meet. But it just wasn’t the same.

And there was this girl in Biology. She was a dead ringer for Katharine Ross. You know, quiet, laid back, brunette goddess Katharine Ross from The Graduate and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid fame. I was nuts over Katharine Ross, as any red blooded American teenager would have been.  Her dark haired beauty, long tresses,  and understated smouldering sexuality were pretty riveting.

So Biology Hottie was always on my mind on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But I was much too shy to do anything about it. Out of the corner of my eye I would watch her, and I could tell she was also watching me. In lab, we never sat together, but always exchanged smiles and looks. But never words.

Had it been a year later, I am certain she would have been a regular visitor to my bedroom. Because the next year I learned how to jettison my timidity. I may get to those stories some time. I hope to.

I took the year after Freshman year off and learned oh so much. That year was a lab of its own … for learning the inner workings of the female of your species.

When I returned to campus a year later I kept an eye out for Biology Hottie. My whole 3 years back I never saw her once. Because if I had …. well, you know … And being so shy, I never knew her name, not even her first name. So all my skills of internet search are useless in trying to find this beauty who got away.

So being shy never got me anywhere. That’s why I’m not shy around women any more. I think it’s time to watch Butch, Sundance, and Etta again don’t you think?.

It Was The Between Times (1)

“London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.”

                  traditional English Nursery Rhyme

There is a short prologue post which you may wish to read should you have missed it setting up what is to follow.

London in the late 1960s found itself squarely in the midst of a drastic era switch. It was the dowdy, gritty capital of a former Empire refusing to acknowledge its demise. You could still see men wearing bowlers in the City. It would take nearly thirty more years before the Union Jack was lowered for the final time in Hong Kong, the last colonial crown jewel. Until Hong Kong was gone, there was always something of the past to be held on to.

Britain was caught up in a swirling vortex of change led by its avant-guard young generation. These were the days of Carnaby Street, the micro-mini skirt and Twiggy and swinging London. The musical British Invasion still had some legs. The Beatles’ White Album was released in October 1968, a foreshadow of the end to that era.

London, Manchester, and Birmingham were packed with new immigrants from all corners of the Commonwealth, not all of them equally welcomed by many of the existing population.

The pound sterling was at record lows and gasping.

Though the damage was mostly repaired, the mindset from WW II was still prevalent. British meant best for the old guard, though British factories were now renowned for their poor quality, and most workers needed a second source of income or graft ( a fiddle) to adequately take care of their families.

On the other hand the beer was still good.

This was the time when the overnight mail train from London to Glasgow didn’t run because of a tea pot. The union contract specified an earthenware pot; this train’s teapot was metal. No London mail in Scotland the next day because workers’ rights needed to prevail.

It would be another decade before the Iron Lady arrived to pound change and modernity into the collective and with none too kind or subtle a hand. It would cost her.

This, too, was the time the troubles in Northern Ireland were set to begin. An unwelcome, disastrous echo from history.

The economy was a wreck. The currency was between £sd (pounds-shillings-pence) and decimalization. The farthing (1/4 of a penny) had been eliminated less than a decade before but the halfpenny was still in use.

Should it join Europe or no? The between times.

And yes, London Bridge was coming down. It had just been sold to Arizona.

America had an influence of course. But it was limited. It was that place away. America seemed rather quaint in a cutsie type of way. All big and gung-ho. If you wanted to get a decent hamburger in London (Wimpey burgers were not “decent”) you had to find a restaurant near Buckingham Palace. The Brits still ate their burgers with knife and fork.

The between times. Drifting through a shadowy gloom. A glorious past remembered, and uncertain, decidedly different prospects for the future ahead.

The between times. Leaving carefree, innocent youth and seeing the world as it really was. Up close. With no safety net. An adult world. Seeking adventure and knowledge and finding more of each than could ever be imagined.

The between times. Beginning to understand that when a one in 8 million chance occurs, there’s probably a reason. Learning that while heads might be coincidence, tails is likely fate. Absorbing that your moral compass might not be true and wise in different environments and changing times. You only learn when your mind is open to different views and perspectives.

The between times. For a country. And a city. And our Marty.

… to be continued

The Carnality (Part 5)

This is a continuation of my story about Juliet. You can catch up here for part 1 and part 2

and part 3 and part 4

I cried out and grunted loudly as I came. Just as I was finishing, Juliet came again … hard, with a thrilling arch that almost threw me out of her.

I collapsed on her and our breathless bodies soon eased and came into synch. I remember feeling pretty proud of myself, fucking this experienced goddess of a woman and having her cum several times. Not bad for a young lad from a small town.

We kissed some, and then, as I began to soften, I rolled off of her. I suspect that at this point I was ready for my well deserved nap. My job was done. Not an unknown manoeuvre for a male.

Wrong! Juliet was having none of that. Clearly my job was not done. We spoke for a minute or so and then she started kissing. Kissing my face. My lips. Nibbling my ear. Kissing my forehead. Then my shoulders and chest. I was no longer feeling lethargic. Blood was flowing.

As she kissed my chest Juliet murmured “That was nice, Marty. Let’s do some more.”

“Give me a minute,” I responded hazily.

“Mmhhmm” Juliet hummed, as she continued to softly press her full lips to my chest.  She slowly moved lower with her tender kisses.  I think I was moaning. When she arrived at my groin area, youthful energy began to kick in. By the time her lips began caressing my cock, I was a new man. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes. I know I was smiling. Then I remember like it was yesterday, with her mouth half way down my engorged cock she actually winked at me. To this day I’m rather juvenile about a woman winking at me. I think it’s super hot! And now you know some of the background why.

Once she was certain I was again man enough for her challenge, Juliet mounted me. From here on in, it was all about her. She rode me hard. Rising and dropping along my shaft. Slowly at first, then quicker. I studied her beautiful face as she began to grow in excitement. First her forehead crinkled, then she squinted with her eyes closed; her jaw began to sag. The tempo was steady for a while … I watched as her body absorbed the pleasure through the rhythm.  I was getting close again!

Juliet could feel my body tense as I neared another orgasm.

“No Marty!” she breathed, “Hold on”

With those words she arched hard and came with with a loud “Ohhhhhhhhh …ahhhhh”

The pumping began to ease off. I could feel myself oh so close. I held it off as long as I could. Then, it was just beyond my power, all control left my young body. It was my turn to arch with Juliet still riding me hard.

I know I shouted and then released into her, totally done.

Juliet slowly backed off on pumping me. Her breathing was coming back to normal. Some soft cooing could be heard. Then she dismounted and crawled up into my arms.

I sighed lightly and we looked into each other’s eyes. I’m pretty sure a wan smile was etched on my face.

“I need to sleep now,” I said contentedly.

“Oh no, not just yet my man.” Juliet replied

I was learning.

To be continued …

 

 

 

The Legacy of Thermopylae

dsc_1051__sized[1]2586901971_84e687e138[1]Spartan_helmet_2_British_Museum[1]History fascinates me. The people, the calculations, the chances taken. Those not taken. The courage, the fear. How fate intervenes. And most of all the impact on the future.

One of the best known battles in Western civilization is the battle of Thermopylae in 480 BC between the Greeks and the invading Persians. It’s also a great example of how public relations works. We all know of the heroic Leonidas and his 300 Spartans. But how often do we acknowledge the 700 Thespians, and 400 Thebans who fought to the death with them?

Thermopylae has always grabbed me by the throat and shaken me and yelled in my ear “Look! This is important!”

Or was it?

Historians have revisited and reevaluated the meaning of this battle countless times. The current thinking is very different from what I was taught about it in early high school. And that’s good. Constantly reevaluating is a sign of progress and an admission we don’t have all the answers.  Every time I am in Greece and near the area, I visit the site of the battle and look at the monuments. The first time was over 40 years ago, the last a few years back. It always makes me think. And reevaluate consequences.

But my role here is not education, dear reader, it is entertainment. Don’t worry, I do know my place.

All this preface to say that I feel I had my own mini Marty-Thermopylae. It began in London in the late 1960s. I believe it had a profound affect on the Marty of today.

Or did it?

Perhaps if I write these things down, which I never have before, I too, mini-Marty historian that I am, may not only remember, but reevaluate those consequences and the legacy. I know I don’t have all those answers.

It may prove to be interesting. Please stay tuned.

 

 

Sometimes I think of a Favorite Movie

We all have favorite movies. Sure, I do too.

I’m a fan of a great Western. Which means I adore the Sergio Leone spaghetti Westerns  starring my boy Clint. My fave of the trilogy (A Fistful of Dollars, For A few Dollars More, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly) is The G, The B and The U. Plot, characters, suspense, action scenes, those wide panoramas mixed with the tension-filled closeups make for superb entertainment.

But there’s an additional, special reason why I have a unique fondness for The G, The B and The U.  You see it goes back to my time with Rachel.

One winter’s evening we decided to stay “in” at her apartment mid-town. A good movie on TV with decadent snacks seemed like the perfect way to spend a Saturday night. Not having a TV in her bedroom, Rachel suggested we lie on her pull out couch and get cozy for the flick. Done, I say!

After opening up the couch, we quickly got naked and under the covers as the movie began. Not long into it, Rachel, lying in my arms, looked up at me with her sleepy brown eyes.

“You just watch the movie. Don’t pay attention to what I’m doing. I’m just gonna play and have some fun,” she declared.

“Umm, ok” I answered.

Without a further word she wiggled down and slipped my still soft cock into her mouth. She stroked. She licked. She looked up at me smiling. I was having trouble concentrating on Eli Wallach at the end of a rope. Rachel smiled some more as she could feel the results between her lips from her ministrations. I rapidly got hard.

“Mmmm I just love feeling you get hard in my mouth,” she cooed.

“Uh-huh” I gasped.

Not long after I exploded in her mouth. Rachel had an uncanny way of knowing how to get me to cum from her blow jobs in a matter of minutes.

She’d do it 3 more times before the movie credits rolled.

Thinking about my favorite films reminds me of so many good things.

I think I’m going to have to tell you more about Rachel.