Here’s Where the Story Ends
One Friday night, some weeks later–that is, after, as Callie described it, “we quote-unquote went all the way,” using an especially juvenile hand signal [in case I didn’t understand that she meant we’d had intercourse]–I held a samurai film “mini-festival” in the apartment. In reality, this meant watching rented VHS tapes of Kurosawa movies, with beer and snacks, on the couch in the living room.
Alone, as it turned out.
My date–a woman with whom I’d had a brief [and, I was told, “friggin’ loud an’ nasty”] fling some months ago–canceled at the last minute, saying she “just wasn’t feeling it.”
Callie had likewise declined my invitation, though in her own uniquely colorful manner, saying,
“Whaaaaat, watch a buncha dudes killin’ other dudes with swords? For eight hours straight? In black-and-white? Nuh-uh, thanks. Ah’m goin’ down the corner and maybe get a li’l drunk. Ah suggest ya come meet me when y’all get bored.”
I was determined to prove her wrong. However, almost needless to say, I fell asleep half an hour into the first movie. I was awakened early the next morning (it couldn’t have been later than 6:30) by a voice declaring, enthusiastically,
“Ah got a treat for you!”
Standing in front of me, in a gloriously naked contrapposto, was Calliope, illuminated from behind by the sun streaming through the wide, curtain-less window. I had a brief, transcendant vision of a glowing, foul-mouthed little Venus, rising from the ocean. (Except that this Venus was holding two chipped, unmatched mugs instead of conch shells.)
I told her so. She liked it.
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Still beaming, albeit accompanied by an exaggerated, exuberant eye roll, she said, “Ah meant the coffee, maaan. Really!” Batting her eyelashes as she handed me a mug, Callie asked, positively coquettishly, “Well, are y’all gonna make some room on that couch, sir? Seeing as Ah AM a goddess…”
I slid to my left and nodded, smiling at her. She joined me on the couch, then, suddenly sounding a bit serious, announced,
“Good, ‘cuz Venus needs to have a li’l talk with you.”
“Uh, OK…?”
“You know we only got two choices now,” she continued, putting down her mug, sounding quite serious, indeed, “don’t you?”
“Which are?”
“This,” she punctuated the word–barely able to keep a straight face–with her preferred, ridiculously crude, gesture [completely lightening the mood], “never happens again, or–“
“Or–?”
“Or we get married, have ‘xactly two-point-four kids, immediately move to the ‘burbs, an’ get a station wagon.” Giggling a little as she said this, all in one breath, she closed with, “An’ a dog.”
Spinning around, she laid her head on my lap. and repeated, “An’ a dog.”
But I heard something else, undefined [was it a plea? ], in her voice. Looking down, for a moment searching her big, dark eyes, I asked,
“Do you need an answer right now?”
“Better be sooner than later,” adding, in barely more than a whisper, “Hon…”
“Well,” [I took a deep breath] “considering that what I want, more than anything in the world right now, is to kiss your sweet little pussy ’til you come all over my face, it’s probably, maybe, the latter.”
And as I heard myself saying this, I stood up (a serious erection already in the works, in the mere presence of this little goddess), and lifted her, laughing, straight up off the couch. As I took Calliope into my arms, she wrapped her legs around my waist, and kissed me deeply.
Letting her body slide down my front to grind against the burgeoning hard-on in my pajamas, she emitted a sweet, guttural, sigh. I lifted her back up, whisked her into my ÅžiÅŸli escort tiny bedroom, and deposited her on the bed, with her legs resting on my shoulders, so I could have free run in her garden of pleasure.
Calliope was already suprisingly, delightfully, wet. I lingered, inhaling her warm, lurid perfume–a moment too long, apparently, because she barked, “What the hell you waitin’ for?”
As my fingers and tongue went to work, I began to narrate–in terms that ranged from sweetly poetic to downright filthy–exactly how I was going to worship, and desecrate, every part of the temple that was her body…
Calliope coming within minutes, her little body shaking hard, like a silent earthquake…followed by several sighing aftershocks, as I tease her with a few big, sloppy tongue-strokes…
Rolling, turning, and wriggling around on the bed, as if we’re reading each other’s minds, then slipping into a languorous side-by-side 69…
Pausing, raising my head and looking inquiringly at Calliope. My cock popping out of her mouth as she declares, loudly, “No way, dude… You ain’t ready, an’ Ah ain’t willin’ an’ able. YET…”
Her hand caressing my balls gently, lovingly, as she forces her sweet, pert little mouth to accept more and more of my hard volume…
Her body starting to shudder again… her grip tightening around my balls, then suddenly pulling them, hard–dragging me to the edge of pain, and beyond….
Losing control, and abruptly ejaculating into her mouth…
Calliope gagging and sputtering a bit, then crawling up onto my chest, and asking weakly, “Is that all ya got…?”
Responding to her taunt, by grabbing her tiny hand and pushing it down to my still-somewhat-engorged organ, as if to ask, “What do you think…?” >>
***
I’m pretty much thinking ‘Fuck yeah!,’ and I commenced to give him a bit of handjob. His dick was just starting to get a little harder again, and then I’m feeling a little twitchy down there, ’cause I’ve got a pretty good idea of how big it’s gonna get, and I said,
“I didn’t think so.”
He just grunted, so I naturally had to force the issue, and I told him flat-out,
“But I think I know what you want…”
He caught on, and started playing along, ’cause he said,
“That what you think…?”
Then that wild feeling took over my body, and my mind kind of blanked. All I wanted was to fuck him so hard that he’d forget his own name, and I wouldn’t have minded if he slapped me too, or bit me, or whatever, and the next thing that came out of my mouth was,
“You wanna slam me up against that door an’ bang me real good, is what I think.”
“Cal, what the–?”[I think he was pretending to be surprised, ’cause I’m damn sure my assumption was correct.]
“Just like you did to…”[So what, I couldn’t remember that chick’s name.] “Y’know…her.”
“Fuck?!?”
“‘Cause I know that YOU know I can take it TEN times harder than she could.”[Wow–was I a little jealous?]
“What do you know about–?”
“I know you did her from behind.”
“Wait–“
“Didn’t you?”
“How–?”
“Oh yeah, dude, I could TOTALLY hear you pounding that loudmouth, skinny-ass, redheaded bitch. All the way in my room…”
“What…?”
“And I had my music turned up loud!”
But before I let him get another dumb, one-syllable word out, I was all over him, rubbing myself against him, and kissing him hard and deep. He gave a little start, but it wasn’t exactly surprise. I was sure it was ’cause he got a taste of his own cum.[Damn, he DID shoot a whole HELL of a lot into my mouth!?!]
And I think he Sultangazi escort bayan secretly liked it.
****
The hint of salty tang on Calliope’s lips reignited a dark, primal urge in my unconscious mind. And lower body.
Then, just as suddenly as she’d jumped on me and kissed me, she hopped off the bed. Positioning herself–bent over, legs spread, hands braced against my bedroom door–she looked back and asked brightly,
“This how ya like it?”
As I slowly entered her lush, dripping-wet sex, Calliope tossed her head back, with a sweet little growling sound. She writhed as I gently massaged and stretched my way about two-thirds in, and I tried to savor the incredible sensations for a moment. But the anticipation caused by my glacial pace was too much, and she took over, ramming her soft butt back at me, screaming “Harder!” I didn’t need to be told twice, and in a heartbeat, I was practically lifting her off the ground with every thrust, her face and upper body pressed against the door. Barely keeping my own balance, reaching around and just managing to get a couple of fingers on it, I gently mauled her clit. Judging by her unintelligible grunts, occasional outbursts of “Fucking… Harder… Dammit…,” and the spurts of fluid now hitting both of our legs, not to mention the floor, it seemed that she was enjoying it too.
I came again (way too soon!), my whole body spasming, disoriented, but somehow still inside Calliope. Staggering backward, I dragged her with me, and collapsed, almost unconscious, on my bed.
*****
When we woke up again, it was afternoon. Lifting her head off my chest, Calliope smiled sleepily, and asked if I would mind fetching a drink for a little goddess, adding,
“Y’know what they always say, ‘If ya can’t walk in the morning, it musta been a good night!’ “
“Who always says that? Besides, it’s not morning anymore.”
“OK, Ah just kinda made it up now, but could you pleeeease get me a drink? ‘Cuz Ah am not ready to get up just yet.”
“OK. Whaddya want?”
“Lemme see–what time is it? Matter of fact, Ah can’t even–what the fuck day is it?”
“Saturday. Quarter of two.” My room had no windows, so I added, for clarification, “In the afternoon, that is.”
“Then get me one of those frosty-cold PBRs in the fridge. Please. Get yourself one too, if you like.”
We huddled in my bed awhile, drinking our beers and laughing about nothing in particular, until she said, “Well, Ah probably should– Ah have to– Some stuff…”
Getting to her feet a bit shakily, she paused for a moment. Looking down, she saw a messy trickle running down her inner thigh, and said, in bubbly sort of voice, “Whoa, good job, dude!”
Then suddenly, Calliope became very subdued, and trotted out of the room, clasping her hands behind her, modestly shielding her cute butt from my gaze. I didn’t see her the rest of the day, or that evening, but at one point, I’m certain I heard that John Cale song, that I’d come to know well, playing in her room. I got cleaned up, restored basic order to my room and the living room, had a snack, and crashed on my bed, exhausted.
We barely crossed paths the next day–Callie was leaving to meet someone for brunch just as I was getting up; I had plans to go to a museum with a couple of friends, which morphed into a walk in the park, then a pub crawl. She was asleep by the time I got home, inwardly cursing my own stupidity, after midnight. (I had an 8:00am appointment.)
We both had to work on Monday; my day was brutally long (made even worse by the pub crawl). Callie was in the kitchen when I walked in. She said, “Hey you,” with what I read as a sad little smile, then, Escort Taksim “G’night,” before heading off to bed with a cup of some kind of herbal tea. And so it went, for the rest of the week. And the following week. And the week after that.
*****
This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)
I picked up a pizza on my way home from work that Friday night. When I arrived, I dropped it on the kitchen table, and went to Callie’s door. Hearing dance-y music from within (TLC? Salt-N-Pepa?), I knocked, and was greeted by a bright, “Who’s there?”
I asked her who did she think was there, then heard her laugh, and say, “Well don’t just stand there, dude, c’mon in!” I told her about the pizza, and said if she wanted some, she had to “c’mon out.”
“No anchovies, right?”
“Nope.”
“Good, ‘cuz that place has the worst anchovies.”
“Agreed.”
“And anchovies suck, anyways…”
“I know how you feel about–“
Callie emerged from her room, practically skipping, wearing an oversized men’s shirt [!], and tiny, frayed cutoff shorts, her hair tied in a floppy ponytail atop her head. The shirt, though buttoned up modestly, could not hide the fact that she was bra-less, which made me squirm a little. Pulling a couple of beers from the fridge, she waved one at me. I nodded, and we sat down at the tiny table, clinked bottles, and each proceeded to devour a slice, wordlessly, the pizza box between us.
Finally, almost shaking, I had to break the silence, and quietly asked,
“Callie, can I talk to you about something? I–“
“Now before you go and start gettin’ all serious, and sensitive and deconstruct-y, and ‘let’s talk about it’-y, and what-ever-the-fuck-not, lemme just tell YOU someth–“
“I think, maybe, I might, be falling in love with you.”
The words tumbled from my mouth, unstoppable. My face instantly burned with embarrassment. Eyes cast downward, I muttered something inane like, “Sorry. I like, couldn’t– Y’know, I, umm…”
We reverted to silence, but after a few very long minutes, I heard her say, angrily, “God-dammit!” [At least, it sounded angry, until I looked up and saw that she was smiling.] “Took you long enough to figure that out, didn’t it?”
But before I could muster a reply, she dropped onto my lap, and kissed me frantically before dissolving into tears, her face buried in my shoulder. After a few minutes, she resurfaced, her eyes still wet, a warm, sweet smile on her face, and asked,
“Getcha another beer?”
When we’d had our fill of pizza and beers, I cleaned up the kitchen, and Callie went to watch the late news. I joined her, and after a while, she stood up and announced that she’d “had enough fun for one day.” I watched silently as she started to walk out of the room. At the door, she turned and said, “Coming to bed, hon?”
We made love for what seemed like hours that night, delicately, sensuously, slow at first, then ravenous, with Calliope riding me wildly, until I finally had to say,
“Cal, I just can’t…”
“It’s OK, hon,” she whispered, kissing me so tenderly, it nearly made me cry. Then she flopped onto the bed beside me, indicated the debauched wreckage around us with a wave of her arm, and said, “Daaaaamn, look what y’all did to mah bed!”
“Hmmm. I think you might’ve helped a little, no?”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she smiled and made a rumbling, purring sound, then said,
“Let’s go get in your bed, hon.”
“But Cal–“
“Ah mean just to sleep, that’s all.”
“Sure thing,” I said, and carried her, cradled in my arms, to my room. I don’t think my eyes closed for more than an hour that night, but Callie fell asleep almost instantly. I held her as close as I possibly could.
Even though it was Saturday, I had to go in to work the next morning; as I was leaving, I asked,
“Did you know this was going to happen?”
“You better get goin’,” she said, smiling, and patting my cheek. Then she kissed me sweetly, and added, “See ya tonight, hon.”
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