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The Sense of Hearing
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Sense of Hearing
Most things in life come by once, and then they're gone forever. Every
now and then you get a second chance.
Some years ago I was standing in line at the Evanston Holiday Inn, waiting
for the desk clerk to finish with the person ahead of me, when I heard her
voice behind me.
"Peter!"
I hadn't heard that voice for almost two decades, but I knew instantly who
it was. Becky Warford. At least it was Becky Warford when I knew her in high
school. I turned around and looked down. "Damn, Becky! You look great!"
She used to have strawberry blonde hair down to the middle of her back, but
now it was shorter, maybe to her shoulders, and a little darker. The same
sparkly chestnut eyes. Subtle makeup. She was dressed in a light green
business suit. Definitely classy. And she wore a wedding ring.
Becky stood up on her tiptoes, raising her 5-foot 1-inch frame as high as
it could go, and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks! So do you. A little
less hair..." I made a face, and she quickly recovered. "Oh, no, you look
great! It's funny how the men often look better now than they did in high
school."
"Are you here for the Reunion?"
"Of course. You too?" I saw her glance at my left hand. No ring. I'd
been divorced for almost three years.
"Things came together right. I live near San Francisco now, and I have a
meeting scheduled for Monday in Chicago, so I decided to fly in on Saturday
and do the 20-year thing."
"San Francisco? That's such a wonderful place. I, uh, my husband and I
live outside of Seattle now. I wanted to come back and see my old friends.
He wasn't interested, so I came alone."
Seattle, I sighed to myself. I'd hated Seattle for twenty years. It was
twenty years ago, right after graduation, when Becky's father moved his
family from Evanston to Seattle, taking the love of my high school life away
forever. I managed to mumble, "Seattle. I don't think I ever forgave your
father for getting a job in Seattle."
Becky laughed. "It's funny how life takes those twisty turns, isn't it?
But now you're here, and I'm here. That makes it a real Reunion, don't you
think?" She smiled up at me with that face that stole my 18-year-old heart.
"Sir? Next?" The clerk was ready for me. I filled out the paperwork,
and then waited in line with Becky until she checked in. We slowly walked
to the elevators together, chatting and getting more caught up.
"Who else is here?" I asked.
"I talked on the phone to Janice. Remember her? She's on the organizing
committee. She said that Jean and Barb were coming, and named a few other
people she thought I'd remember. Some names were more familiar than others,
you know?"
"I know. I pulled out the yearbook last week, trying to remember names
and faces." We stepped into the elevator. She was on four. I was on five.
"I'd love to talk. How about ..."
Becky interrupted. "Me too! What's your room?" She grabbed my hand and
looked at my key. "Okay, let me get settled first. I'll drop by your room
in, say, ten minutes. Okay?" I nodded. The elevator doors opened and Becky
stepped out. She smiled back at me as the doors closed, and I only had a
brief moment to watch her tight little body walking away from me. It brought
back fond memories.
Twenty minutes later I heard a knock on the door of my room. Becky
bounced in. She'd changed into levis and a tee-shirt, and her hair was pulled
back in a ponytail. She was 38, but she looked like she'd just graduated from
high school. "Hey," she began, "I'm really glad you're here. I wanted to see
you."
"I guess I never phoned you, did I? Seattle seemed so far away. We wrote
a few times, but then I went back East to college and..."
"I know," she said. "I was pissed at my father, too, for moving us."
"We went together for, what? Two years? I suppose at one point we were
thinking we'd eventually get married."
Becky sighed. When we had started talking we were five feet apart. Now
we were only two feet apart. She said, "I loved you, Peter. It was young
love, it was innocent love, but I loved you. I don't think I'll ever forget
that." I closed the gap another foot. Becky was staring up at me, intently
studying my face. I decided to do it. I put my hands on her shoulders,
leaned down, and kissed her.
It was strange, after all those years. I didn't pretend to remember how
she used to kiss, just that we spent hours doing it back then. We would neck
in my mother's car after a movie date, or at parties when the evening wore on
and we could find a quiet corner. And that was the most we ever did. Just
kiss. But it seemed more than that. It would be a solid hour of holding each
other, exploring each other's face and neck, gentle whispers of affection. It
was experimenting with passion.
But this kiss was brief, and the old passion was missing. We parted, and
Becky was left with a quizzical expression. "That's not how I remember it,
Peter." She put her arms around my neck, stepped forward to press against my
body, and stretched up to kiss me. And this one was like old times. Her
mouth was warm, open, and alive. My mouth opened to match, and our lips
swirled together, our tongues dancing, rediscovering the teenaged excitement
of physically connecting with another person.
Becky's fingers combed through my hair -- did she used to do that? -- and
my hands confirmed that twenty years hadn't hurt her body at all. What was
different was how her body molded to mine, and in a way that was more active
than passive. In the old days we had been kissing as two 18-year-old virgins
who barely knew enough to know how much we didn't know. Now we were two
mature adults. There was something to be said for experience.
To my chagrin, my body was responding to this woman in my arms, and I was
sure she could feel a hard lump against her belly. I tried to pull back a
little, but she responded by continuing to press against me, even rubbing back
and forth against my bent erection. We finally broke our kiss and stood
there, cheek to cheek, both with short quick breaths.
Becky wiggled against me. "I remember this thing. It used to make me
nervous. It seemed to have a life of its own." She giggled at the thought.
"And now," she lowered her right hand to stroke me through my pants, "it still
does."
I couldn't speak. Her hand had paralyzed my vocal chords.
"It took twenty years, but I finally touched you."
Just then the telephone rang, and we both jumped. Becky's hand gave a
final squeeze, then retreated back up to join the other one behind my neck.
"You'd better get that. Anyway, I have to run." She kissed me again,
quickly. "I have a hair appointment, and after that I'm going to meet some
old girlfriends. I'll see you tonight at the party, okay?" I nodded and
managed to croak some kind of affirmative response, and watched Becky walk out
the door.
The phone was still ringing, insistently, until I finally picked it up.
"Peter, it's Barry! Barry Klein."
"Hey, Barry. It's been a long time!" We fell into a rambling
conversation, trying to summarize twenty years in ten minutes. My watch told
me it was going to be a long six hours until the party started.
The appointed hour finally arrived, and almost two hundred graduates of
the New Trier High School Class of 1967 converged in a ballroom in the
Evanston Holiday Inn, joined by several dozen generally bored spouses who
probably wished they'd stayed home. I had never been to a Reunion before, but
ours was just like the stories they tell about such events. Lots of people
milling around, trying to remember old names and aged faces, swapping stories
and probably some lies about twenty years of successes and failures.
Becky and I found each other early in the evening, danced a little and
chatted in the crowd, but a Reunion is designed for mingling, not for privacy.
The evening finally wound down to a weary end, and the two of us found
ourselves sitting next to each other at a large table of old friends. The
conversations at the table grew more sporadic as tired eyes glanced more
frequently at expensive watches. Becky and I made small talk with another
couple with unfamiliar faces and vaguely familiar names. Then the band leader
announced the final dance, and without a word, we stood and walked onto the
dance floor, hand in hand.
Under dim lights we moved together to a good rendition of the Beatles'
"Yesterday", a fitting finale to a Twenty Year Reunion of the class of '67.
It was one of our favorite songs back then, which was strange when you think
about it -- such a sentimental song for 18-year-olds. Becky's head rested
lightly against my chest, nestled between my chin and my shoulder, and her
body seemed to merge with mine. "Peter," she said quietly, "this is coming to
an end too quickly."
"I know. It's been good to see you again."
"Can I talk to you some more?"
"I'd like that."
"Can you come to my room this time? It's 407. Can you remember that?"
"407."
"Wait twenty minutes, then come to my room. Things should quiet down by
then. I'm just trying to be a little discrete. There are a lot of people we
know staying here at the hotel."
"I'll be there," I told her, and the song ended. We separated as the
lights came up, and then joined the others in a final tired buzz of goodbyes
and hugs and handshakes, gradually drifting out to the ballroom doors to split
into those who were driving to Chicago-area homes and the rest who were
staying in the hotel. I lost sight of Becky, then made brief eye contact
again as she was waiting with a group who were all getting on the same
elevator together. She smiled, and winked at me. I smiled back.
After I found my way to my room, I discarded my tie, popped the top button
of my shirt, and splashed cold water on my face, trying to shake off a funny
combination of fatigue and nervousness. I turned on the television, flipped
through the channels, and tried to burn long minutes. Repeated glances at my
watch finally succeeded in bending time to 12:40, and I stood, pocketed my key,
and made my way down to Becky's room.
I paused at her door, and it opened quietly before I could knock. Becky's
face peeked out at me with a smile and a "Sshh!" as she motioned me in. It
was Holiday Inn deja vu, except her room was a mirror image of mine. Two
double beds, tan wallpaper with vertical brown stripes, and dark brown
laminated furniture.
Becky had changed into a blue velour sweatsuit that followed her curves
with a soft, cozy look, her hair now unpinned and combed out, falling loosely
across her shoulders. She put her arms up around my neck, kissed me quickly,
and whispered, "On my way in I found out that Barb and her husband have the
room next door." She motioned her head toward the wall at the head of the
beds. "Do you remember him at the party? Her second husband, about ten years
younger than her? I guess she brought him along to show him off." Then she
gestured at the other wall. "And Susan has the room over there. We're kind
of boxed in."
I asked quietly, "Does that make you uncomfortable?"
"No." She made a face. "Well, yes. A little. I'd rather not have to
explain what you're doing in my room at this hour, you know?"
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No."
"Do you want to go back to my room?"
"No. You're here, let's stay here. Just be a little quiet, okay?"
I nodded in agreement. Then we embraced, and I kissed her. Unlike the
tentative kiss earlier in the afternoon, our mutual uneasiness had disappeared
and was now replaced by a warm tenderness layered over smoldering sexuality.
Her body pressed against mine, her stomach rubbing back and forth against my
hardening erection as our tongues intertwined in each other's mouth. My hands
moved up and down her back, holding her against me, and she purred softly.
"Becky, are we making a big mistake?"
"This feels like a dream to me, Peter. It's almost like going back in
time and doing things differently."
"But you still have to live in the present."
"I know. But that's in Seattle, and I'm 2000 miles and twenty years from
there." Her body continued to caress mine. My cock was beginning to get
uncomfortable.
"Peter," she began slowly, "I want to go to bed with you, but I left my
diaphragm at home. I'm sorry. Do you have--"
"A condom? No, but I have a vasectomy. And I'm safe."
She rubbed against me and sighed. "I was hoping. I trust you."
I kissed her again. "This feels like old times. But not really. I know
a lot more now than I did twenty years ago."
"Show me."
I slipped my hands up underneath her sweatsuit top and found bare breasts.
"Very nice," I whispered, and lifted her top up and off.
"You should have seen them twenty years ago."
"I tried. You wouldn't let me." My hands explored her curves. "I don't
see how they could be any better than they are right now." I noticed she was
wearing a gold necklace with a teddybear charm. "Is that the one I gave you?"
"Yes. I brought it, thinking you might be here at the Reunion." Becky
unbuttoned my shirt and I helped her slip it off. We embraced again, now skin
to hot skin. I could feel her hardened nipples against my hairy chest, and
that only increased the pressure in my pants. Her hands found my belt buckle
and zipper, and I found myself standing there naked, my erection standing
almost vertical between us, ticking with my heartbeat. Becky looked down and
smiled at it. "Hello there!"
"My turn," I told her, and slid her pants and underwear down in a single
movement. "Back up," I instructed, and I guided her backwards to the nearest
bed and down on her back. As I crawled between her legs, her knees opened to
give me room and her pink inner labia parted slightly as her thighs separated.
It was a glorious sight. She had a small patch of reddish golden hair on top,
and large, pouty lips, with a sexy hint of hair trailing down each side of her
mound and around her anus.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous." I lowered my mouth to run my tongue
lightly along her thickening inner lips. Becky's legs curled lazily, her feet
rubbing up and down my calves, and she pulled my face closer. She made small
whimpers and wiggled her hips as my tongue plunged into her vagina, tasting
and smelling her musky juices, then slid up and across her exposed clit. The
clithead poked in and out of hiding as she clenched her muscles. "You're
really wet. I can see it dripping out of you."
Becky groaned and held me. "That was a real problem back in high school.
We'd go parking and you'd get me sopping wet by just kissing me." I nibbled
on her clit and she gasped sharply. "Maybe that's another reason why I never
let you touch me. Embarrassed, I guess."
I hummed in acknowledgement. My mouth was too busy playing with her to
talk.
"You thought I was a prude. Mmmmm," she pushed her hips up at me as I
slipped two fingers inside. "Just shy. Then I'd go home and masturbate." I
stretched her opening, reaching up to find her G-spot as I sucked on her clit.
Becky groaned and pushed her hips up off the bed at me. "Shit, that feels
good." She reached down with both hands and spread her lips apart. Her pussy
was wide open, her lips fattened with glistening arousal, the slickness
matting her pubic hair and oozing down to her anus. "Peter," she tugged at
me, "Peter, wait, I'm almost coming. I don't want to come this way. I want
you inside me."
I raised up on my elbows and looked down at her. She was breathing fast,
her chest was flushed. Her sex was raw and open and inviting. "Let's save
the bedspread," I suggested, and we pulled the covers down to expose the
sheets. She laid back down again, legs spread wide, but I had something else
in mind. I crawled into the bed and sat with my back to the headboard, my
legs curled Indian fashion. Becky looked at me, puzzled. "Sit in my lap,
facing me," I told her, holding out my arms to her.
Becky sat up and worked her body against mine, sitting on my outstretched
legs and wrapping her legs around my back, her arms around my neck. My
pulsating cock notched into her slit. I was in heaven. "I like this," Becky
sighed. "This way we're the same height. I can look at your face." Her hips
worked her clit against me. I could feel the hard little nubbin along the
sensitive underside of my shaft, and it was driving me crazy with
anticipation. "I want you," I whispered.
It was at that moment I heard the moan from the adjoining room. It was
the unmistakable sound of a sexually aroused woman.
Becky giggled. "That's Barb," she whispered, "and that young guy she
married. Do you think they heard us?"
"I doubt it. We've been pretty quiet."
"Do you want to move to the floor or something? Away from the wall? I
think their bed is right on the other side of us."
"No. Let's just be quiet. It sounds like they just started."
Becky nodded. She whispered into my ear, "This is like when we were
necking behind the backdrop of the Little Theater during dress rehearsal,
remember? We had to be really, really quiet."
I found her ear. "First one to make noise, loses."
She smiled and nodded. Our hips had been gyrating constantly against each
other, spreading the lubrication and driving our excitement upwards. She
raised up slightly, boosted by my legs, and aimed her vaginal opening at my
cockhead. We stayed there, right on the edge of penetration, to savor the
moment that had escaped us two decades before. Through the wall came two more
loud cries from Barb, and a quieter grunt from her husband.
"Wait," Becky mouthed silently. We heard a woman's indistinct voice, then
a man's, then Barb's muffled "Fuck me." I didn't know how much longer I could
wait like this, poised on the threshold. But I didn't have to wait long.
Through the wall came the drawn out sound of moans from both of them, probably
as he entered her, and at hearing that, Becky leaned forward to kiss me as she
lowered herself on my cock, and I was impaled into the hot, tight slickness of
her vagina.
My high school sweetheart, that exciting little blonde who was saving her
virginity for another time and another man, had just given me a present that
no virgin could give, the pleasure that an experienced lover can give and
receive and share. We broke our kiss, panting, her inner muscles squeezing
a welcome to the base of my cock as I twitched back in response. This moment,
this initial penetration of a new lover, is always intense, almost
overwhelming, and with Becky it was doubly so. It was almost like a twenty
year courtship.
"Wow," was all she uttered, mostly to herself. She too seemed lost in the
moment.
"Yeah." We weren't going to count that as noise. I could feel her vagina
holding me from base to tip, cradling my curved shape which was straining to
reach up inside her, pointing at her heart. The sounds we couldn't make to
each other were filtering through the walls at us, mirroring what was
happening between the two of us. Barb was a vocal lover, and she was
apparently enjoying her husband's every thrust. He was quieter, but we could
still hear him grunting in syncopation to her louder sounds of pleasure.
Becky and I held each other, rocking together and feeling each other and
listening. The position we were using gave us deep penetration, though long
strokes were impossible -- two or three exquisite inches at the most. We
moved slowly, deliberately and tantalizingly slowly, sliding to the hilt into
her velvety insides, feeling her cervix reach down and flutter against my
cockhead, then back out with her pussy gripping me as if pleading with my
erection to stay. Barb's noises were getting more insistent, and our own
excitement matched hers.
I was panting with quick, shallow breaths into her ear, and Becky was
gasping into mine. We held each other tightly, our hands wandering between
back and neck, squeezing and caressing each other the same way my erection was
caressing her and her vagina was squeezing me. In the next room Barb was also
approaching a climax, her moans and groans intensifying to open throated cries
as her lover pounded into her.
Our own gradual movements were bringing us both incredible sensations.
Becky was lubricating like no other woman I had ever known. Her juices flowed
out of her, making squishy sounds as my shaft persistently rocked in and out.
Becky's vagina was liquid heat gripping the rigid pole of my cock, and our
shared tension was climbing. I thrust deep into her, grinding my pelvic bone
against her exposed clit, and held on tight to her hips. The headboard in the
other room started thumping against the wall. They were getting close, and so
were we.
Becky was whimpering, her body almost vibrating as she rubbed herself
against me. I was frantic to get even deeper inside her, to finally come into
her body. Her breath was erratic, desperately trying to control her urge to
cry out. I could feel my cock hardening, lengthening, acutely aware of every
curve and ripple of her sheath. She was close. Suddenly the voices fell
silent, and there was only the sound of that banging headboard, faster and
faster, signaling their impending climax. My mouth found Becky's and we
softly groaned into each other as Barb's final throaty shrieks and her
husband's deep grunts penetrated anew through the wall.
Their shared orgasms triggered ours. I dug my fingers into Becky's tight
buttocks in an instinctive urge to bury myself as deep inside her as I could
possibly get, and my body froze as my muscle clenching, head exploding
paralysis peaked and hung there for a brief eternity. Becky kept moving,
grinding her pussy against me, hard, and she bit down on the fleshy part of my
shoulder as her whole body shuddered, and I began to spasm white-hot jets into
her twitching vagina, her muscles rhythmically clenching around the base of my
penis. I spurted repeatedly into her, in long thick streams of pleasure, and
she twisted and rolled her hips around and around to prolong it for both of
us, to feel the semen surging through my cock and encourage me to empty myself
completely into the deepest recesses of her soul.
We made no noise aside from our ragged breathing. The lovers in the next
room were our vocal surrogates. We could only listen to them and listen to
our own connected bodies, sharing heart pounding pleasure. We continued to
hold each other, my erection softening only slightly inside this beautiful
woman's body, which was now filled with our mixed fluids. "Mom always told
me," Becky whispered, "that I'd be happier if I waited. I don't think this is
quite what she had in mind, though."
I rolled Becky onto her back without slipping out, and then slowly stroked
my half-erection in her exquisitely slippery vagina. I was hoping I could get
hard again, but I knew I wouldn't be too disappointed if that wasn't going to
happen. She gazed up at me with dreamy eyes. "If we don't watch out, this is
going to become a habit. Every twenty years or so."
Just then we heard a female squeal come through the wall. Then came
another one of Barb's long moans. Becky rolled her eyes in mock disgust, "Oh,
here we go again." Her vagina gripped me, and I felt my erection starting to
reverse its decline. It was going to be a long night. As long as Barb didn't
get hoarse.
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