by Phil Stern
“Jen, listen.” Now stopping at a red light, I turned to face her. “I appreciate your trying to find a topic of common interest. I really do.”
My wife said nothing, staring straight ahead.
“But women’s fashion,” I gently blundered on, “isn’t my cup of tea. So tell you what. Let’s sit down tomorrow and find things we do have in common, and can discuss…”
“Green light!” she snapped. “Come on, Dave! You’re holding up traffic.”
But I didn’t move, just staring at her angry profile. Behind me a horn sounded, then another.
“Now!” she screeched, slapping the dashboard. “Let’s go!”
With a full, heavy heart, I turned back to the road, eased through the intersection, and continued on towards our house.
About two minutes later Jen pulled up her legs in the passenger seat, just like she did in college, both a few years and a lifetime ago. “My mother was right,” she breathed.
“About what?”
“I’ve married a philistine,” Jen gravely announced, staring off into the black, vacant night.
STEVE LEVINE
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the first time Sophia gave me a blow job.
I’d met Sophia near the beginning of my senior year at Buffalo. She was in her second year, though still technically a freshman after some bizarre trip to Europe the previous spring. One day, walking through the campus center, I saw her sitting in a chair reading Watership Down.
Even in a campus full of beauties, I’ve got to tell you, Sophia stood out. Tall and blonde, with just this perfect, full body, Sophia could have been anything she wanted; model, actress, saleswoman, newswoman…I mean, she just had that look. And she was so sexy without even trying. Put Sophia in a tight pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt, and she was hotter than any lingerie model wearing next to nothing. Or any naked girl in the middle of a magazine. It was unbelievable.
Actually, Sophia had this way of walking around campus, dressed very appropriately, yet somehow giving the impression of being…I don’t know…somehow nude. I’ve never had that impression with anyone else. Striding confidently about, head held high, blonde hair flowing behind, she was like a goddess.
Yeah, Sophia was the read deal. Cool and collected, sexy and sweet, she was everyone’s fantasy. The perfect daughter, a porn star, the girl mom dreamed her son would bring home to dinner, the mistress for some married man, a college guy’s girlfriend, the sexiest bikini on the beach, the ideal hire for any job where presence mattered…Sophia was it.
Just like every other male within a mile radius I’d noticed Sophia any number of times, but no opportunity had presented itself. But that day in the campus center, seeing her choice of reading material, I instantly seized my chance.
“Hi,” I said, walking up to her chair. “I see you’re reading Watership Down.”
For one horrible moment I thought she would simply ignore me. Then, when I didn’t scurry off, she glanced up at me. “Yes, I am.”
“What part are you up to?” I asked, dropping into the chair beside her.
Sophia sighed, letting the book fall closed in her lap. “Have you really read Watership Down, or do you just want to start a conversation?”
“Both, actually.” I smiled. “I’ve read it a half-dozen times. It’s one of my favorite books.”
So we sat there talking about Watership Down. Ten minutes later she had to leave.
“Can I see you again?” I asked, standing up with her.
“Sure. You’ll see me around.”
“Can I walk you to class?”
“No. Bye now, Steve. It was nice meeting you.” Sophia then strolled off, book bag over one shoulder.
Two days later I saw her again, walking across campus. A brisk jog brought me to her side once more.
“Hey Sophia. How’s it going?”
“Good.” Without breaking stride, she glanced at me. “Listen, Steve, I can’t talk right now. Someone’s expecting me.”
Probably some rich guy planning to take her to Paris for the weekend, I thought glumly. Sophia could have the pick of any man she wanted.
“Great. Hey, listen!” Suddenly inspired, I reached into my own book bag, brining out a dog-eared copy of Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonflight. “Have you ever read it?”
“No.” Sophia studied the cover, raising an eyebrow. “What’s it about?”
“It’s hard to explain. But it’s another really cool world, just like Watership Down.” Before losing my nerve I scribbled my name and phone number on the inside cover. “Read it and then give me a call. I’d love to know what you think.”
Sophia hesitated, then grabbed the book from me mid-stride. “Fine. But Steve, you know what they say about loaning books?”
“No. What do they say?”
“You rarely get them back.” Turning onto another path, Sophia’s long gait carried her quickly off. “Bye, Steve,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”
“Sure. Bye!” Standing there stupidly where the paths diverged, I watched Sophia disappear in the growing darkness. Strolling back to my own car, I was uncertain whether I’d been properly bold, or had just made a fucking fool of myself.
Two weeks went by, and to be honest, I didn’t think much about Sophia. For one, there was this other girl I was kind of banging, but more importantly I’d made my play. Maybe we’d hook up, maybe I’d just been the world’s biggest tool. Whatever. You need to take that kind of attitude about life sometimes. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.
So it was with some surprise that Dave, who was my apartment-mate at the time, knocked on my door one evening. “Hey, Steve, there’s some chick on the phone for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Sophia Dayton, I think? Or Danton? I don’t know.”
Though the name didn’t even register at first, suddenly it hit me like a ton of bricks. “Great, Dave, thanks!” Racing by him, I charged into the kitchen, grabbing up the phone. “Hey Sophia, how’s it going?”
“Fine, Steve. How are you?” Even through the phone Sophia was sexy as hell.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ve read Dragonflight.”
“And?”
“I really liked it. You were right, it is a very cool world. And I love Lessa,” she said, referring to the book’s heroine, a young woman who defied convention to save the entire planet.
Even then it took a few more phone calls to arrange lunch, then dinner. Suffice it to say one evening, about two weeks later, we were sitting alone in my apartment.
This was the first time she’d been up to my place. Despite trying, I’d never been to hers. But that night she said she wanted to see my apartment. Of course I agreed.
Surprisingly, our house cat Marauder loved Sophia, sitting on her lap and demanding all kinds of attention. This was very unusual for Marauder, though his help was well timed. Cats, I’ll have you know, are good for this sort of thing. Of course I had to sit close to Sophia to pet Marauder, so there we were.
But in typical Sophia fashion she took the lead. Lifting my hand off Marauder, she then ran a finger down my wrist.
“Sophia, you are so beautiful…” I began.
“Shhhh,” she gently corrected, putting her pinkie on my lips. “No talking. That’s where guys get themselves in trouble.” She then leaned close, kissing me lightly.
I don’t know how much detail I should include here. But to have a girl like Sophia, a living, breathing goddess, regally kneeling between my legs, taking my entire cock in and out of her mouth…I mean, the entire length…it’s, well…it’s an ecstasy rarely encountered. I don’t know what to say. It’s just absolutely fucking unbelievable.
But before it even got to that, Sophia has this amazing neck. It’s so smooth and sensitive…oh, and let me just say that Sophia Danton’s breasts are the most beautiful breasts in the history of humanity. They’re full and smooth and firm, and they…I don’t even know how to say it…they move perfect
ly, in just utter symmetry to the rest of her body, like when she’s, well, performing on you, or walking naked across the room. She just has this form…the legs, and the hips, and her smooth, tight waist…and like I said, the most perfect, gently bouncing chest…and the hair, the long, gorgeous, silky hair. It’s entrancing, just completely unreal. And her nipples. Not too small, not too large…and I mean, imagine the most perfect shade of pink…well, it’s something.
And Sophia was one of those girls that when you touched her the way she liked, it was as if some electrical current shot throughout her whole body. She was so in tune to her physical being, everything channeling just perfectly into the sex drive. I mean, she was fucking there. Right fucking there.
I mean, let’s be honest. Some girls are just whores. And others are so blase, like, the meter’s running, honey, I have ten other tricks tonight, so if you’re going to cum, let’s do it. They even say cum. Not come, but cum. With their voice, I mean. Very unladylike.
But Sophia knew exactly how to live in the sexual moment! I mean, that whacked out Catholic girl could channel her own libidinal energy like some tangible force. Like she somehow transformed into someone else, and could marshal the most intense energies of the universe at will.
Look, I know how crazy this sounds, but I’ve never experienced anything like it. The way she knew just how to do it all…I mean, fuck everything else. That’s what life is all about.
And she was so classy too. I don’t know what to say.
So there we are. By this point my pants are down around one ankle. Sophia then puts Whitesnake’s Slip Of The Tongue on my stereo, pushing the volume level all the way up to ten. Slowly removing her clothes, swaying gently to the music, she was soon topless, now wearing only these long, blazing white leg stocking things she had on underneath her jeans. She then slowly knelt between my legs, keeping eye contact until the last moment, until getting fully down to business.
And soon thereafter…well, the only way I can explain it is to say my fucking cock exploded. Metaphysically speaking, that is. But it really felt as if my cock lost all physical form and was blown into another dimension.
I can’t say it was the best orgasm of my life…after all, Sophia and I were having intercourse for awhile…but it was up there. Wow, it was something.
So, look, I couldn’t get up at that point if the house had been burning down. Actually, in the dictionary next to the word “spent” is a picture of me, spread-eagled and naked on some shitty college couch, head lolling back, trembling, eyes wide and crazy like some mental patient, next to a huge, black purring cat, a beautiful blonde goddess sitting back on the equally crappy college carpet, smiling in amused satisfaction.
Or, to put the matter even more succinctly, I was just blown out. Absolutely, completely, utterly, fucking blown out. I mean…I don’t know. I really don’t.
So Sophia gets up, all slow and sexy, digs a white hand cloth out of her purse, and heads off towards the bathroom (by this point we were listening to The Deeper The Love, my all-time favorite Whitesnake song). She returns a minute later with the hand cloth, now moist and warm, and proceeds to rub me down. It was tender and caring…just the perfect way to end it all.
Let’s think about that for a second. She actually brought the hand cloth over, to my apartment, knowing exactly what she was going to use it for. That, my friends, is a woman. When it came to sex, or physicality, or anything, Sophia was in complete control. And I didn’t mind a bit.
Later on, as she’s cuddling against me on the couch, my arm hanging limply around her shoulders, I realized Sophia had done it completely right. I didn’t mind in the slightest that we hadn’t had actual intercourse, or that there were regions of her I had yet to explore. That all was on the horizon, mixing a wonderful expectation with my current, utter satisfaction.
Only now did I focus on the small, ornate cross she had on a necklace nestled comfortably between her wonderful breasts.
“This looks nice,” I breathed, touching the cross.
“Yeah,” she agreed, now lifting the cross up into the light. “It was a gift from my mother for my fourteenth birthday.”
I’d kind of known Sophia was religious, but we hadn’t really gotten into it. So much about her was surprising. She was younger than I was, for one. And her weird trip to Europe. And her sensational body…
“I never take it off,” Sophia continued, smiling down at the pendant. “It reminds me of who I am.”
Suddenly I realized that, like the manatees, this was a Life Moment. If ever I became lost in life, or forgot who I was for some reason, this perfect evening with Sophia would serve as a mental bridge back to me.
SOPHIA DANTON
So Steve wants to know about my most memorable sexual experience? All right. There’s certainly a lot to choose from, but I’d have to go for my threesome with Maria and her husband.
In retrospect, this was the finale of a five-year sexual outburst beginning with my freshman year European trip. I’d recently moved to Hartford, joining a girl I knew from college who needed an apartment-mate. After Justin I had to leave Buffalo, and Hartford seemed as good a place as any.
Hartford also launched my journalism career. A month after arriving in town I landed a weekend Assistant Assignment Editor position at a television news operation. Six weeks later I was on camera.
But back to Maria. To make ends meet in the early going, I worked part-time at a trendy bookstore in the middle of the city. One day a young woman with dark hair and the slightest of Spanish accents asked me for help finding a book on Civil War naval history for her husband. The woman was surprised at my familiarity with the subject, and we chatted for ten minutes about my father and his ship models. Thanking me for my help, Maria left.
As is so often the case with these things, I ran into Maria a week later at the local Shakespeare In The Park production. Though I was with my apartment-mate and Maria with a female friend, we all sat together sipping wine and eating crackers. During intermission she told me how much her husband loved the book.
“Sophia, I can’t thank you enough.” Patting my hand, Maria smiled, her dark eyes resting easily on my own. “Johan is so hard to shop for.”
“I’m just doing my job,” I replied, though pleased at her reaction.
Maria then asked about my life, and we spoke of my icy relations with Mom and Dad. Though I didn’t go into great detail, she understood immediately.
“It’s not easy sometimes,” Maria sympathized. “I come from a strict home myself. My own father treated me as a little girl until I married Johan.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s older,” was the first thing Maria said. “Johan is 47, and I am 28. But that is good. I like the stability of an established man. Soon, we will start a family together!”
Somehow, this seemed to suit her. “You must be very happy.”
“Oh, we are! Johan does not wish to come to things such as Shakespeare,” she laughed, “but that is all right. Otherwise, we would not have this pleasant evening together, yes?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “In fact, the older I get, the more I wonder why we need men at all.”
“Oh, Sophia, men are good for many things.” Maria sighed. “Soon, you will take a husband yourself, and you’ll see.”
Maybe, I thought, allowing Maria to pour me another glass of wine. Right now they didn’t seem worth the trouble.
Two days later my new friend dropped by the bookstore for lunch. We ate salads at a charming outdoor café, watching the mid-day shoppers go by.
Though still in a fiercely independent stage, I found myself grudgingly admiring Maria. Attractive and youthful, she’d managed to convert her charm and appeal into a comfortable lifestyle. Though Johan was clearly a homebody, Maria was very active, attending various artistic and cultural events with a commendable zest.
Over the next few months we went shopping and walking, even going on a day trip into Providence. Though I’d expected to soon
lose interest, Maria remained one of the most intriguing people I knew.
Thinking on this one evening, cleaning the kitchen in my small, shared apartment, I realized in many ways Maria had the type of marriage my own mother had always imagined for me. I found the idea both annoying and oddly intriguing.
And unlike myself and virtually everyone else, Maria wasn’t in a state of constant longing. Having achieved her ideal state of being, she wasn’t pining away for more money, or a better job, or a new house. She was simply enjoying what she had to the fullest.
What I just couldn’t understand was how my friend could derive so much pleasure from a lifestyle flowing completely from her wealthy husband. Wouldn’t that grate on a person, I thought? Yet Maria genuinely liked cooking his meals, cleaning house, and so forth. And with Johan spending a great deal of time at work and on business trips, Maria had plenty of time for other things.
One day she came by the bookstore unannounced, asking me to lunch. Once at our regular outdoor table we talked of this and that, the hour flying by. Just as I was about to say goodbye, Maria put her hand over mine.
“You know, Sophia, you’ve never been over to visit.” Now Maria smiled, her eyebrows raising a touch. “Would you like to come over this evening, after dinner perhaps? I would love to spend time with you in our comfortable home. And as charming and sophisticated as you are, I’m sure Johan would appreciate your company even more than I do.”
Her eyes resting on mine, Maria’s meaning was fairly clear. I told her I’d be by that night.
So why didn’t I just politely claim to have other plans? Maria wouldn’t have been insulted. She was making an offer I could accept or refuse as I wished.
But it was actually all very honest. Maria and I were now spending a lot of time together, so her husband understandably curious about his wife’s young friend. Of course, Maria knew Johan would find me attractive, just as she herself did on many levels. Ignoring the obvious just wasn’t her style.
