The Real Thing

by J. J. Murray

  “Are you getting out?” I ask.

  “In a moment,” he says, breathing deeply.

  My God, he did! He still is! The water is clear up here. Dante is pitching an underwater tent right here in front of me. Wow!

  “Christiana, I am sorry.”

  I’m not. Make it dance!

  “Why don’t you go dry off, put on warm clothes,” he suggests. “I will be up in a minute.”

  He’s still, um, up. “Okay.” I can’t take my eyes off it.

  I turn and let the towel fall off my booty, pulling up my T-shirt and wringing it out in front of me. I know he can see my crack perfectly. I glance back.

  Yep. The water sure is clear here. That’s at least a two-man tent now, for sure. I hold my T-shirt higher, exposing my stomach up to the bottom of my breasts. I look down at my underwear and see, um, mostly what my gynecologist sees.

  “Dante?” I coo. Yeah, I’m milking this for all it’s worth.

  He moves closer to the dock so I can’t see his tent. “Yes?”

  “Um…” I let him look right up in there. “Will you make us a fire?”

  “I will, um, make us a fire, yes,” he says.

  I sit and splay my legs out around him, wringing out my T-shirt even more. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He spins completely away. “No, Christiana. I will build a fire for us. You just…” He waves his hand toward the cottage.

  I stand. “Okay.” I start up the stairs, where I grasp the railing tightly with each step. Doesn’t he know he’s already made a fire inside me?

  Inside the guesthouse, I ransack the drawers for the silkiest underwear I can find. None of it fits, but that gives me an idea. I just won’t wear any. Since I don’t see any kind of fuzz down there, I don’t have to shave. The lake water, however, has turned me into serious ash. I lotion my entire body—twice—and pull on some easy-access drawstring sweats. Ignoring my bra entirely, I put on a wife-beater T-shirt that forms to my form deliciously. I decide to go barefoot (more lotion) and let the fire dry my hair naturally.

  I want to look wild.

  I want to look hungry.

  I am so hungry.

  And if he has a tent, I am going camping.

  Chapter 17

  I slink up to Dante, who wears far too many clothes, working on the fire and stuffing his mail under the grate. He wears baggy jeans, boots, and a T-shirt under a gray sweatshirt.

  They will be my prizes later on.

  I hope.

  “Red and Lelani have gone out on the town tonight,” he says without looking at me.

  Good. “Where are they going?”

  “To a little restaurant in town. Polish food. Red says it is good. They will not be back until late. Are you hungry? There’s some leftover linguini.”

  Am I hungry? Are most bears Canadian? “Um, where’s DJ?”

  “The Risk game continues,” Dante says. “He will again spend the night at the island.”

  I sit on the arm of the couch nearest the fireplace, dangling my legs. “Aren’t you going to be a little hot?” I ask.

  He turns and sees me. He turns back to the fire, poking at the logs with an iron poker.

  And yes, I watch him work that poker, and yes, it makes me wet just thinking what he can do to me with his poker.

  “I am already a little hot,” he says.

  “Take off your sweatshirt,” I say.

  He pulls it off without turning and tosses it on another couch.

  Prize number one.

  He puts the screen in front of the fire and backs away slowly, his leg brushing mine. I was worried I hadn’t stuck my legs out far enough.

  I grab his hand and fake a shiver. “I’m cold.”

  He gets the sweatshirt and holds it out to me.

  “No,” I say.

  “Oh.”

  I stand and pull him to my couch, pushing him gently until he sits. Then, carefully, like a she-wolf, I sit on his lap facing him, wrapping my legs around his back, my arms around his neck.

  “Mmm,” I say. “I’m warming up already.”

  I arch my back and lean in until my nose touches his. “You have four more things you must do for me.”

  “Yes,” he says. “What are they?”

  “Hold me.”

  His arms slide from his sides to my lower back and pull me closer to him.

  “Bene,” I say. “Molto bene.”

  He pulls me even closer, my nipples brushing his chest. “What is the next thing I must do?” he asks.

  I flip a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Kiss me.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Like that?”

  I shake my head. “Lower.”

  He kisses my nose.

  I shake my head.

  He kisses my chin.

  I shake my head.

  He kisses my lips, no tongue, just a nice, soft, gentle kiss.

  He pulls back. “That is three things. What else?”

  It is time. “Could you take me to your room now?” My nipples have popped and probably bruised his chest. My juices are hot, heavy, and swirling. “I want to read my articles.”

  He lifts me off the couch, but I don’t let go with my arms or my legs. “Oh yes,” he says. “The articles. We must go read them.”

  “For motivation,” I whisper.

  “Yes. For motivation.”

  By the time we reach his room, my wife-beater is somewhere in the wind, my sweats down at my ankles. Inside the closet, he starts to pull the light string, but I stop him and put his hands on my breasts.

  “Squeeze them hard,” I whisper.

  Oh shit, that feels good.

  I tear off his T-shirt, and he begins to suck on my neck. I unzip his pants and worm my hand…He’s not wearing underwear either! His pants fall to the floor while I stroke him, butting the head of his penis against my stomach. He lifts my right breast and sucks on its nipple, squeezing my left breast to bursting.

  Then he crouches in front of me and immediately licks my clitoris with a hot tongue. I can barely stand, so I hold on to his head, pressing his nose against my stomach, while his tongue sets me on fire.

  “Figa deliziosa,” he says, looking up.

  I don’t know what he said, but that’s all it takes for me to orgasm. I buck against his tongue until my spasms subside.

  I grab his head and pull him to his feet while I drop down, gripping solid granite and kissing the tip of his penis. I let my tongue linger on the tip before taking him as far into my mouth as I can, stroking him to orgasm in a matter of seconds. He pulls my hair and cries out in a burst of whispered Italian as ten years of frustration come pouring out of him.

  Daa-em. We could have doubled the population of Canada just then.

  I pull him to the floor, his penis still throbbing, pushing him onto his sleeping bag and mounting him, digging my booty into his thighs, taking in every inch of him. Everything about this man is hard, and I find myself having difficulty squeezing his chest.

  He sits up and kisses my nipples, whispering, “Capezzoli dolci,” nibbling them until I scream.

  Then I have thundering orgasm number two, an orgasm that shoots out like lightning from my nipples to my toes.

  I keep grinding him as he tries to separate my booty from my body.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. Everywhere I touch is erect, smooth, sweaty, and hot.

  “You cannot hurt me,” he says. “Do not stop.”

  So I start bouncing up and down on that magnificent piece of granite between my legs, his hands squeezing my breasts to bursting, my fingers teasing my clit until I squeeze my booty together and come again. This time he joins me, and for the first time in my life, I feel like a fucking goddess. It’s like I’m flying over Red Hill Park, a kite with a very thick string attached to me, and I’m high above the earth, the heat of the sun on my face, releasing and free-falling into his arms.

  We roll over, still joined, and he kisses me with the sweetest tongue, sucki
ng out my breath as he pumps me again, and again, and again…deeper and deeper…

  I chew on his ear, feeling almost like Tyson biting Holy-field, and whisper, “I can’t believe you’re still hard.”

  Oh, God, that piston is still pumping!

  “I am hard because you are l’immersione bagnata. You are soaking wet, Christiana.”

  I’m so wet I’m drowning.

  I stand him up and push him against the wall, Evelyn’s picture just to his right. I want to tear it down or at least turn it over, but then again I want her to “watch.” I want her to see how a real woman makes love to a real man, how a real woman satisfies a real man.

  I back into him, smacking my booty hard into his hips, probably bruising the hell out of my cheeks. He grabs my hair and thrusts, little by little moving me across the room to the other wall and away from Evelyn’s picture. He raises my hands up high on the wall and fills me completely, thrills me entirely, slamming me into that wall while I scratch that wall before reaching back to spread my cheeks wider to take him all the way home.

  “I want all of you, Dante,” I pant. “All of you.”

  “Un bel culo,” he says, biting the back of my neck.

  We come together again, but this time, we fall to the floor on our sides, our eyes locked in the semidarkness.

  “Where’s the light coming from?” I whisper.

  “The fireplace,” he says. “The cracks in the floor. The boards are not so tight.”

  I place his left hand on my crack. “This crack isn’t so tight anymore either.”

  He laughs softly. “This will not be in your story either.”

  “Why not?” I smile, not knowing if he can see it or not.

  “Who would believe it?” he says. “You are fantastica, Christiana.”

  I slide my right hand over his chest. “You’re more than fantastico, Dante. You are the ultimate lover.”

  He kisses my shoulder. “No. You are amante ultima.”

  I take his viselike left hand in my right. “This is one of my greatest moments. No. This is my greatest moment. Grazie.”

  He places my hand on his chest and runs his left hand down my side, leaving behind goose bumps wherever he touches. “Fantastico corpo celeste. Like scultura.”

  I don’t know what he’s saying, but his hot hand feels wonderful.

  “I want to turn on the light to see all of you,” he says.

  I want to see all of him, too, so I rise, turn on the light, and see Adonis, David (the sculpture), a freaking god. I have never seen a body so well proportioned, so solidly built. His muscles have muscles. His ripples have ripples. The veins in his arms pulsate with life.

  He looks me up and down, turning me slowly. “La mia Venere dolce. Perfetto.” He reaches around and touches my smooth pussy. “Levigato.” He spins me around as if I weigh an ounce, dropping and kissing just above my clitoris. “Ah. Lentiggine.”

  He is working me up again. “Che?”

  “Freckles.” He kisses them, his lips moving lower. “Tiny little lentiggine.”

  “Kiss them all,” I wheeze, and in seconds, his tongue is all up in me again. This time I use my fingers to tighten my clit, and I come even harder than before.

  Has anyone ever died during an orgasm? I mean, besides old men who marry twenty-year-olds for “love.”

  I lie on the bare floor while Dante traces circles around my nipples with his fingers and his tongue. The floor is cool on my skin, his fingers become flames, and his tongue keeps my nipples as erect as he still is.

  I love Canada. They have natural Viagra in the water.

  He rolls over onto his back, only our fingers touching now. “I have broken training.”

  I roll over, kissing his chest and resting my sweaty head on his shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ll bet we worked off that candy bar just now.” I look down and see his granite penis waving to me. If they made a cast of that, the Dante Dildo would be the best-selling dildo of all time.

  He strokes my hair, kissing me on top of my head. “We also worked off lunch, breakfast, yesterday’s dinner….”

  “I like this room,” I say.

  “I will never look at this room the same way again.”

  I let my hand wander to his abs. “A window would be nice.”

  “It was originally a closet. I could maybe put in a skylight.”

  I drift my hand below his navel, tangling and untangling his pubic hair, occasionally brushing his shaft with the tips of my fingers. “A skylight would be nice.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  I grip his granite, moving my hand up and down.

  “Christiana,” he whispers.

  “Make love to me, Dante.”

  I shiver as he enters me, and my hands find his ass, gripping those fists of his back there. He bends me so my feet rest on his shoulders, and then he plunges in and holds it there.

  “Make love to me now,” he says. “I will not move.”

  I squeeze, grind, and practically stroke his penis with everything inside me, speeding up until he comes and calls out my name.

  So much for slower and less rushed.

  He turns me over and begins rubbing my back. “Have I done all five things yet?”

  I must be crazy. “No. Only four.”

  He squeezes my shoulders, working out the kinks in my neck, his penis growing harder and harder. I feel it slipping between my cheeks.

  “I feel you, Dante.”

  “I cannot help it, Christiana,” he whispers. “I cannot get enough of your bel culo.”

  Oh shit. Oh shit. I’ve never done it this way before. Oh shit…“Lower,” I say.

  “Sorry.”

  Whew. His penis is back inside me correctly, but if anything, he’s bigger than before. If he goes any farther, I’ll crack in two.

  His sweat drips onto my back. “The best what?”

  Oh, now the shaft, it’s so fucking deep inside me. “The best massage…”

  He thrusts it all the way in, and I thrust my ass back at him, and damn if I don’t have the Northern Lights shoot through my entire body!

  After he pulls out of me, I turn and grab him, holding him tightly.

  “I did not hurt you, did I?” he asks.

  “No.” How do I tell him that I just had the all-time greatest orgasm any woman anywhere in world history has ever had?

  “You are dea del sesso.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You are a sex goddess.”

  “And you are a sex god.” I reach down and feel his hardness. “Did you take Viagra or something?”

  “No,” he says. “You make me this hard. When we were on the rocks, I was this hard. When we got back to the dock and I looked at your…figa, your…”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “I looked at your pussy after I lifted you onto the dock and your culo as you walked away. I could not leave the water until it had gone away. Now that I am so close to you, I do not want it to go away.”

  He reaches over and grabs the sleeping bag, unzipping it quickly. He helps me inside and somehow zips us in. I hold his penis in my hands as the sweat starts to build.

  “I want you again,” I whisper. I want to possess this man.

  “But you must be tired….”

  I put my finger on his lips. “I’m not tired, Dante.” I pull him inside me as sweat drips from his forehead. I reach around to his ass and pull it closer.

  The rest of him slides inside thanks to more sweat and our juices. I grab his booty with both hands and guide him deeper. The pain and the pleasure are exquisite.

  He finds his rhythm, I scratch his ass, and then he fucks me. I’m not talking making love, making whoopee, or having sex. Dante Lattanza fucks me hard until I scream.

  And it’s good. It’s the way a god and goddess are supposed to go at it.

  “You have to be tired,” I say, stroking his face. I have lost count of my orgasms and have totally lost track of the time.

  “I have
much stamina,” he says.

  I notice a light under the door. “Look how light it is out there.”

  “It is the sunrise,” he says. “We have made love all night.”

  All night long.

  “Dante, we weren’t exactly making love the whole time.”

  “I am sorry,” he says, his eyes looking sad. “I got carried away.”

  I grasp his face with both my hands. “No, no, it’s all right. All of it was all right. You made love to me passionately, and when I wanted you to fuck the shit out of me, you fucked the shit out of me.”

  “It is a vulgar word,” he says.

  “What is?”

  “Fottere.”

  I graze his booty with my fingernails. “You’re very good at fottere. In fact, it was the best fo-tear I ever had.”

  He laughs. “Fo-tear is not a word.” He stretches his back and groans.

  “Oh, how are your knees?” I ask.

  “Stronger. And how is your…”

  “Both my figa and my culo are sore.”

  He sighs.

  “But,” I add, “they are happy and wanting more.”

  He stares at my breasts. “I thought I would break you in two.”

  I nod. “You did, but then you put me back together again.” I sit up. “Damn, I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too,” he says. “I would like some fish. Would you like some fish?”

  “Didn’t we eat it all?”

  “Hmm.” He rubs his eyes. “Yes. I will go catch us some fish. You go and bathe.”

  I need to soak my figa and culo for a while.

  “By the time you are done, I will have two nice bass for us.”

  I smile. “You’re going to cook for me?”

  He shakes his head. “You do not want me to cook for you. I turn everything I cook black and crispy. I will clean them, though.”

  I kiss his cheek. “Okay.”

  He helps me to my feet and hugs me. “Buon giorno, Christiana.”

  I hug him back. “Buon giorno, Dante.”

  I…could…get…used…to…this.

  Ow.

  My booty…

  Chapter 18

  I soak in the two-seater, my feet propped up on the other seat, and let the hot bubbles soothe my aching thigh muscles, my poor figa, and my bruised culo. Bubbles and jets tingle me instantly, and I start to think about him inside me. In seconds, I set an all-time personal best for orgasms in a month.