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To Kaganof's next pieceKelly's Next Lover
Kelly doesn’t need to shave her pussy because the few hairs she has down there are fine and translucent, not like pubic thatch at all. She’s only had four lovers but each of them has been ravenously addicted to her lovely patch of growth.
Her genital flesh has a healthy elasticity and when she is turned on the blood rushes in to the area giving it a wonderful sponge-like texture that is luxurious to wallow in.
Frank, her Dutch lover, the one she met in Des Moines, described the sensation of being in her as like shagging “living velvet”, a phrase he got from Celine’s Voyage ou bout de la nuit.
Kelly had never read Celine and she didn’t like Van Morrison either. Frank was always quoting Van Morrison. When Kelly didn’t catch the references he would elaborate at length, always punctuating the sermon-like lectures with earnest injunctions for her to “check Van out, he really is the most significant Irish voice after Joyce. More profound than Beckett, and less dated.”
Frank was the kind of guy who gave every woman he shagged the benefit of the doubt, no matter how retarded or venal. He tended towards the pedantic, as men nearing forty invariably do, but he worshipped Kelly’s pussy and was a tireless licker. He always insisted on using a condom, which irritated Kelly, and his fuck strokes were a bit too jabby; staccato little stabbing thrusts that never brought her to a climax.
Frank would always immediately withdraw his cock from her pussy after his ejaculation, conscientiously remove the condom, wrap it up in toilet paper, throw it into the toilet bowl, piss, flush, wash his penis and hands thoroughly with lukewarm water and medicated soap, and then return to Kelly lying bored in bed where he would lick her avidly until she came, sometimes two or three times in a row.
They had a comfortable routine, saw each other twice a week and had never had a fight, but Kelly was bored. Not bored enough, however, to tell Frank to desist from his cunnilingual ministrations.
The problem was that Kelly wasn’t in love with Frank. He suffered from a mild form of acromegaly, which meant that his head, ears, hands and feet were disproportionately large for his body, and growing increasingly bigger as he grew older.
Although he made light of this incurable disorder and often jested to her that it was every woman’s dream to be involved with a man whose end bits were always growing, Kelly found the condition creepy and she was always very self-conscious when they walked the streets of New York together.
She certainly didn’t consider Frank a long term prospect, but didn’t have the heart to tell him so. Besides, he was an adroit and devoted licker. She enjoyed the power of having an almost forty-year old sucking on her yoni. Often for hours at a time. She would close her eyes and fantasize about her first three lovers, about her younger brother – he was sixteen and very sexy in an androgynous way – about Jesus, and about Brad Pitt.
As she approached orgasm it always became a toss-up between Jesus and Brad. Mostly she came just as Brad was coming in her fabulous little trimmed pussy, her “living velvet”. He would always be flushed in the face and his neck muscles bulged as he desperately called out her name: “Kelly baby, I’m coming!”
Her wildest orgasm occurred when she imagined being shagged by Jesus, Brad, and her brother, whose name was Jacob, all at the same time. She always gave her asshole to her brother, somehow she suspected he would deeply appreciate the honour of penetrating big Sis’ Holy of Holies. Brad naturally got the pussy pie while the Son of Man deposited his living bread into her eager Catholic mouth.
To swallow God’s come must be the greatest sexual conquest. She imagined the Christ shooting his perfect jissom all over her face, hot and sticky and viscous and numinous and ethereal all at once.
Sometimes while Frank was tonguing her out, Kelly thought of herself lying naked on the altar while Brad, Jesus and Jacob jerked off onto her body. She imagined holding her mouth open and inviting all three of them to come simultaneously into her mouth. The three most adorable men on earth, adoring her with their offerings of sacred fluid. Meanwhile Frank licked away, apparently quite content to serve as the motor propelling Kelly’s imagination into the stratosphere of erotic possibilities.
She loved it when Frank would occasionally lower his focus and dip into her asshole with the tip of his very long and agile tongue. She would always arch her hips up towards him and call out softly, “Yeah baby, yeah Frank, in my ass, that’s right, do my ass honey, please.”
Frank was an extremely obliging licker and although he had his failings (she had tried listening to Astral Weeks and Moondance, but thought that Van Morrison had a terrible voice; and she had peeked into Celine, but it was all dots…that’s not writing…no punctuation…way too difficult to concentrate on…) he could stay on for a while.
At least until she found someone younger or, hopefully, fell in love. She wondered who it would be? The thought of a new lover turned her on and she grabbed Frank’s ears, pulling him into her “living velvet” centre and grinding out at him at the same time. Perhaps it would be a nigga. She had never had a nigga lover.
“That’s right Franky, that’s right!”
As Frank skillfully tongued Kelly to a delightful climax she focused on her new lover. His cock was so black!
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