Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

  Frank stubbed out his joint. “Stand up ... What's your name?” His voice was soft, dreamy.

  "Kit."

  "What's that short for?"

  "Katerina."

  "Oh, I like that much better. It suits you. I've always thought that ladies should have long, intricate names, names that dance on your tongue. Stand up, Katerina. Please. Let me look at you."

  She felt brief indignation. Nobody told her what to do. Yet she obeyed, coming to her feet in front of him, so close, too close, the reach of bare skin between her top and shorts inches from him. She was light-headed, not herself.

  "Katerina,” he whispered. Then he reached out and grasped her buttocks, pulling her to his face.

  His beard was softer than it looked, tickling her. For a moment, he simply held her, breathing in, inhaling her as if she were another drug. Suddenly, there was shocking wetness. His tongue circled her navel, dipped inside. Her sex clenched in a delicious spasm. He lapped in widening circles, then traced a wet path up her sternum. When he reached her bra, he deftly peeled back the stretchy material to expose her small breasts. He fastened his mouth on one swollen nipple. Kit moaned, embarrassed by her urgent need.

  He sucked at her ‘til the node of flesh was unbearably tender. Just when she couldn't bear any more, he switched to the other breast, strumming the rigid bead at its tip while her clit vibrated in sympathy.

  "Oh, please...” she sighed. Her shorts were sticky and uncomfortable. She wanted them off. Frank paused and smiled at her. “Just a moment, Katerina, if you can be patient. I have something for you."

  He scurried off to the glass display case, a comic figure, his shorts slipping down his hips to expose his furry butt. Her belly and breasts were soaked with his saliva.

  Kit shuddered, desire mixed with revulsion. How could she let this smelly, hairy, untidy, old—anachronism—touch her? But God, it felt so good. Her cunt was sopping. Her pussy scent overwhelmed the smell of pot. I should go, she told herself, get out of here while I can. But, before she could will herself to move, Frank was back, pulling her bra over her head, fastening a delicate silver chain around her waist. He eased her shorts over her hips. She kicked off her shoes, and he shimmied the Lycra garment down to her ankles and off.

  Kit stood before him, naked except for the ornamental chain. The silver strands brushed, ghostly, against her sensitized skin. Frank licked his lips. His eyes burned blue as gas flames; she basked in the heat of his obvious lust.

  "Oh, yes,” he breathed. “I thought that would suit you. Yes indeed...” His fingertips traced an airy path across her skin, touching but not touching, setting up currents that caressed her throat, her breasts, her belly, the smooth mound between her legs. “I don't know why you do it, though."

  "Do what?” Kit almost groaned with frustration, as he appraised rather than caressed her.

  "Shave, wax, whatever it is you do to remove your bush. A bare beaver looks so—unnatural."

  Annoyance almost overwhelmed Kit's horniness. “Well, I haven't had any complaints from anyone else. Also, without the hair, I'm more sensitive."

  His mischievous smile returned. “Oh, is that true? Well, then...” He slipped to his knees and peeled open her lower lips with his thumbs. “I've always enjoyed sensitive women.” The tip of his tongue flicked across her swollen clit. Her back arched in reflex, forcing her pussy into his face. The old goat immediately took advantage, fastening his mouth on her sex and sucking like a human Hoover. His tongue gathered the juices from her depths then smeared them over her naked mound.

  "Oh, um, ooh...” Kit writhed against him, wordlessly begging him to return his tongue to her throbbing clit. He seemed oblivious, though, focusing instead on her labia and the depths of her pussy. It felt exquisite, intense, but her clit screamed for some of the attention of that wet and agile tongue.

  Then he stopped.

  "What...?” she began. She sucked in a surprised breath as he deftly scooped her into his arms.

  His curly chest hair tickled her breasts. He smelled a bit funky, sweat rather than soap; hints of pot smoke and incense lingered in his beard. Before she knew it, she was stretched out on her back on the pile of carpets and cushions she had noticed earlier, with the surprisingly strong and flexible old hippie kneeling between her spread thighs.

  He rubbed his fingertip against the rigid bead of flesh at her center. She yelped, her pelvis dancing on the velvety surface under her. Apparently pleased with this reaction, he continued to massage her clit with one hand, while the other dabbled in her soaking cunt. One finger, then two, deep into her, but not deep enough. She moaned and twisted as both hands played her, one devoted to her clitoris, the other wandering, stroking, even gently probing her taut rear hole.

  Luscious colors swirled across Kit's closed eyelids, whorls and eddies of brilliant blue and emerald green that pulsed in time with the throbbing in her pussy. She breathed in gasps, sucking in smoke and sandalwood. She was melting, liquefying. She was crystallizing into a thing of pure pleasure.

  The crystal shattered. Kit wailed, her body going rigid and then limp. Frank continued to stroke her gently, drawing wetness from her depths, trailing it along her inner thighs. For a long time, Kit basked in the rosy after-pleasure, perfectly relaxed, forgetting that he was there.

  He bent to kiss her. The salty seaweed taste of her own sex shocked her into awareness. “You enjoyed that, didn't you, princess?” he murmured in her ear. “I told you that you shouldn't work so hard."

  Kit opened her eyes to see his goofy, bearded face hanging over her. His cheeks looked sticky; a droplet of milky fluid clung to his bushy moustache. The odors of cannabis and cunt almost suffocated her. He stroked her cheek, absurdly gentle. She flinched, pulled away, extricated her body from underneath his and clambered to her feet.

  "I've got to go. I'm way behind schedule.” She struggled to get back into her damp, twisted running clothes. He looked puzzled, wounded.

  "But princess, we're just getting to know each other. Why don't you come on up to my room? I've got a truly groovy waterbed, and an amazing stereo...” He reached for her. She twisted away, steadfastly trying not to see the huge erection poking out of his pitiful shorts.

  "No—sorry, I can't. I've got to go.” She jammed her feet into her trainers and turned her back on him.

  "Katerina."

  She shrugged off the hand on her shoulder. “No. Sorry. Um, thanks for the coffee.” She could barely speak with embarrassment. She didn't look back at his stricken face as she closed the door behind her, raced down the steps and around the corner to the safety of her own condo.

  Once home, Kit slammed and locked the door behind her. She couldn't believe what she'd done; what she'd let him do. It wasn't that she was against sex—far from it. It's just that he was so very wrong. So wrong for her. She should never have encouraged him.

  Nevertheless, she had felt incredibly relaxed, and suddenly sleepy. She considered a shower, but didn't make it that far. Must be the drugs, she thought as she drifted off. Contact high.

  Afternoon sun was slanting in through the drapes when she awoke. She felt alert, refreshed, and ravenous. After a quick shower, she padded naked into the kitchen and got herself a cheese sandwich and a diet cola. She took her late lunch into her study and sat down, ready to get back to the problem of her recalcitrant protein.

  As she waited for her machine to boot, she took a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts. She took a bite of her sandwich, savoring the smoky Jarlsberg and the crisp greens.

  The curtains were open. She realized that he might, just might, be able to see into the room. A blush crept over her, starting with her cheeks to warm her earlobes, her nipples, her fingers and toes. What was she thinking of, sitting there nude? She glanced down at her naked body, and realized that she was still wearing Frank's chain around her waist. She unclasped it. It lay coiled in her hand, glittering seductively.

  Oh, dear! She would have to return it. But not in person. Defin
itely not in person. She could package it up and leave it on his doorstep. She could mail it to him. Even as Kit mulled over the various ways she could get the chain back to its rightful owner without further compromising herself, she was putting on a summer shift, earrings, sandals. She was still arguing with herself when she found herself on Frank's doorstep, the chain clutched in her fist.

  She couldn't help it. She didn't understand. Frank opened the door wearing nothing but an Indonesian batik sarong and holding a half-full wine glass.

  "Katerina! What a completely unexpected pleasure."

  Kit held out her palm. “I—um—you should take this back."

  "But I gave it to you, princess. It's yours.” His eyes narrowed and his smile widened. “You know that. You didn't need to come back here."

  "Well, I wanted to, um, apologize for acting so...” Normally, the most articulate member of her team, Kit now found that she was unable to assemble a coherent sentence.

  Frank laughed. “So wanton? So deliciously horny? No apologies necessary, princess. Quite the contrary.” He grabbed her wrist. “Come in, have some wine with me.” Kit seemed unable to resist. “We'll just talk, that's all. Don't worry. I want to get to know you, find out about you and your life and your work."

  Before she knew it, Kit was sitting at the linoleum table in the kitchen at the back of the house, a full wine-glass in front of her. She couldn't seem to explain that she didn't drink. Frank raised his glass.

  "To neighbors. To new friends.” He sipped at the wine. A ruby drop hung in the thicket above his full lips. “To chemistry."

  Then all at once, he was kissing her, his mouth a bewildering array of flavors: wine, sweat, pot, and faintly, pussy. A wildfire of desire raced through her body. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she met it halfway. His hands were all over her, snaking down her neckline to caress her tits, sliding up her hips under her dress, slipping between her damp thighs as he discovered she wore nothing underneath.

  In less than ten seconds, he had his fingers crammed in her cunt, and she was humping them madly, moaning and twisting herself to force him deeper. He threw off the sarong and lifted her onto his lap, impaling her on the rod of flesh that jutted from his hairy groin. He was both fatter and longer than Todd, but Kit was so soaked and ready that there was no resistance.

  For a moment, they were still. She could feel him filling her, stretching her exquisitely. His cock seemed to pulse, expanding and contracting within her in time with their synchronized breaths.

  Frank buried his face in her hair, gulping her scent. “Oh, Princess...” Then he began thrusting, ramming into her while she bounced on top of him.

  They came together, in a thundering rush of sensation that drove every shred of rationality from Kit's mind. The first thing that she was conscious of, after the echoes of the cataclysm died away, was the come dripping down her thighs.

  Oh, no. No! Frank's eyes were still closed. His cheeks were flushed. His glasses hung crookedly on his nose. His cock was still half hard inside her.

  Kit climbed off his lap so quickly that she landed on the kitchen floor. That woke Frank from his blissful reverie, all right.

  "Princess! Are you okay?"

  "Okay? Of course not. We just had sex."

  "Yes, we did. Fabulous, wasn't it?"

  "Unprotected sex. No condom. Nothing.” Kit's eyes blazed. “And I'll bet that you do this all the time, getting it on with any unsuspecting female who has the misfortune to enter your shop. Mr. Natural."

  "Actually, I don't. It's been a long time, a very long time."

  "Hey, well, wake up. This isn't the sixties. You can't just screw anyone you fancy. You've got to be careful. Take precautions."

  Frank sighed and looked suitably chastened. “Yes, I know. It's terribly sad, but you're right."

  "So why did you do it? You're not stupid."

  Frank smiled at her, but his eyes were serious.

  "Why did you?” He wrapped the sarong around him and tucked the free end into the waist. “Sometimes there's something there, you just can't help yourself. Call it animal attraction, pheromones, whatever. You can't ignore it. You can't control it."

  He had watched sadly as Kit hurried out the door but hadn't tried to stop her. “You know what I mean. I know that you do."

  * * * *

  Now she was headed back, drawn against her judgment, against her will. Back to his untidy, old fashioned world, to his ridiculous nostalgia, and his sweet, irresponsible innocence.

  The paisley curtains were shut. A hand-carved wooden sign hung on the door: Sorry. Closed for space walk. Please come again.

  She stabbed at the doorbell, and heard the silly parrot squawk inside, but the door remained shut. Kit struggled between frustration and relief.

  Maybe she could come back after work. Still, it was odd that he should close his shop in the middle of a Monday. On the other hand, he couldn't have that many customers, hidden away as he was on this quiet residential street.

  Kit tried the doorknob. It turned easily. How typical of him! Naively trusting. Irresponsible. She slipped into the dimness of the front room and locked the door behind her.

  The air was hushed, heavy. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Frank?” she called softly. There was no response. The click of the bead curtain was uncomfortably loud in the stillness. An empty teacup and a charred roach in an ashtray sat on the kitchen table. She headed up the stairway to the second floor, calling his name again.

  On the second floor, she found two closed doors. The room to the right of the landing seemed to be storage. Piles of boxes littered the floor and were stacked against the walls. The window shades were closed. The air smelled musty.

  She was shocked, though, by what she found behind the door on the left. Neat bookcases and filing cabinets lined the room. One corner held a huge desk with a twenty three-inch LCD monitor and keyboard. In the other, there was a compact lab bench packed with assorted glassware plus state-of-the-art chromatography and sequencing apparatus. There was a faint odor of solvent.

  "What the...?” Kit's curiosity overwhelmed her sense that she was violating Frank's privacy. The shelves held mostly technical journals—Analytical Biochemistry, Drug Development Research, Journal of Chemical Research, Nature, Science—alphabetically arranged and going back at least ten years. There were also stacks of data discs, and several rows of reference books. Kit recognized many of them.

  One wall was hung with framed certificates and photos. Degrees from Harvard—in Latin—and Berkeley, granted to Frank Morgenstern. Patent awards. A picture of a much younger Frank, his head an unruly mass of reddish curls, shaking hands with Jimmy Carter. Another, informal, photo of him, sweaty and beaming, sitting outside a thatched hut with a dark-skinned child on each knee.

  Frank Morgenstern. Kit racked her brain. Then she had it: he was the guy who had worked for Pfizer and created one of the earliest AIDS drug regimens. Brilliant chemist, according to his reputation. Developed an innovative therapy for malaria, too.

  Frank? Goofy, horny Frank? It couldn't be true. But apparently, it was.

  All at once, she thought she heard something. “Frank?” Music, faint, coming from above her, the third floor. She tiptoed up the stairs. The eerie strains of a synthesizer filtered through the half-open door at the top.

  The shades were drawn. Multicolored lights pulsed on one wall. Weird electronic melodies played in the background. The room smelled of Frank: earthy, musky, hints of cinnamon and pot smoke.

  An enormous bed took up the center of the room. He lay there on his back, naked, his arms at his sides. His eyes were closed. Even in the dim light, Kit couldn't miss his erection, arrowing toward the ceiling.

  Kit stepped to the side of the bed. He didn't move. “Frank? Are you all right?"

  "Oh, hello, princess. Lovely to see you.” He grinned crookedly. There was something wrong with his eyes; he couldn't seem to focus.

  "Why are you up here, in the middle of the day? Are you
ill?"

  He paused several heartbeats before answering. “Oh, no! I'm just taking a little trip. I needed a break. Nothing like a tab or two of acid to give you a fresh perspective.” He raised his head and looked at her, suddenly serious. “I didn't expect to see you again. But I was thinking of you. As you can see."

  Lazily, he stroked his rigid organ. It rose proudly from the tawny curls at his groin, beckoning her. He gave a sensual sigh that sent a thrill through her body. Saliva gathered in her mouth. Before she could help herself, she was unzipping her slacks, unbuttoning her blouse, tearing off her underwear. Leaving her clothes in a tangled heap on the floor, she crawled onto the bed.

  It wavered and flowed under her weight. She felt slightly dizzy. Everything seemed unsteady, unreal. The only reality was her overwhelming need to taste his fat, juicy cock.

  Kit straddled him and bent over his hard-on, breathing in his oddly appealing smell. He removed his hand. His cock seemed to wink at her. She flicked her tongue over the bulb. He moaned. She pursed her lips against the tip and applied a little suction. He arched toward her, begging for more. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she swallowed him. She was amazed to find that she could take almost his whole bulk.

  He tasted salty and a little sour. It was intoxicating. His furry thighs tickled the inside of hers, sending sparks racing to her pussy. She bobbed up and down, running her tongue along his length. His skin was silk stretched over stone. He twisted his hips, trying to force himself deeper.

  "Oh, princess, that's so, so sweet...” She sucked harder. “Swing yourself over here, baby. Let me have a taste."

  He managed to maneuver her so that her buttocks faced him and stroked them gently. His touch was electric. Out of nowhere came an image of him spanking her. Her cunt flooded and spilled over. He ran his tongue through her cleft, from back to front, ending with a firm flick against her clit. She moaned, mouth full of cock flesh, and pressed her crotch into his face.

  He slurped up a mouthful of her juices, then stabbed his tongue into her depths. Kit ground against him, mashing her clit against his nose. He got the hint. In a moment, he was sucking hungrily on that aching bead of flesh, and Kit was climbing higher and higher. It was almost too intense, the pleasure shading into pain.