Welcome to J4K: Contributions

 Please give it up for this erotic contribution from JC! Thank you, JC, for your entertaining, cerebral, and sensual piece! 

James walked briskly down the street.  He had just been through one of those weeks where he was fully drained by people. To be clear, James loved people, but he also had an introverted streak, and after too much time with people he needed to hide.  More specifically he needed interactions that didn’t require him to play some role or meet some set of expectations.  And so, he would drown his sorrows in his church of choice, Powell’s bookstore.   

This was not your typical church of course.  In this church every book was holy, and strangely, the more “blasphemous” towards orthodoxy or orthopraxy, the more holy.  The congregants worshipped sporadically and in their own ways.  Some would purchase their communion materials and leave to a more private setting.  Others would browse and sample from a veritable buffet of transubstantiating texts.  The secular would turn divine upon consumption, and the consumer would move closer to god, or gods, or becoming a god. 

James’s routine of worship followed a standard path.  He would walk through the door and get a large black drip coffee.  This choice marked him as a Gen X’er, and he took great pride in taking his coffee this way, while the Millennial hipsters ordered their drinks in paragraphs of coffee-diluting sweetened milkshake nonsense.  He loved Portland, but he didn’t fit entirely.  He was an Oregonian whose hands were calloused from years spent working a glue spreader in a plywood mill, while simultaneously finishing a PhD in a subfield of Philosophy known as Social Ontology.  And loved the weird.  He would watch the drag shows with equal parts fascination and arousal.  He thought about the Darth Vader clad, bagpipe-playing, unicyclist and wondered what it felt like to live so fully and free.  He was tough and proud, and inside he was curious and intellectual.  At times, he would spend hours talking with the most contrasting of figures.  He wanted their story, he wanted to understand their perspective.   

Sipping his coffee, he moved first to the science section.  He always had to check what was placed under mathematics.  Typically, in a bookstore this is a fairly lean section; what is there to write about a numerical, quantitative discipline.  But there were histories, and theories.  He picked up David Berlinski’s Tour of the Calculus.  It was one of his favorites, and he remembered how much he was mocked in the mill’s break room for reading this during his 3:00 AM lunch break.  It was a book he kept buying, because inevitably he would meet someone and give them his current copy.  He sifted through the copies, looking for used ones.  It was one of his greatest pleasures to find a used copy of any book, preferably chock full of margin notes.  In Portland it was a long shot for a book like this.  He thought he would need to travel to Boston soon to find heavily used mathematics books.   

He moved to the philosophy section and instantly began to look over the Lakoff canon.  If James were to pray to a patron saint in his hour of need, it would be George Lakoff.  The mathematician turned linguistic philosopher had had such a strong influence on James’ own thoughts.  In the back of his mind, he wondered what sort of metaphors of prayer other cultures might have.  He then imagined how a wholly secular, atheistic cultures language might conceptualize prayer.  As he was teasing these thoughts through his mind, he noticed a slender woman flip her black hair as she looked down his row.  His eyes caught the movement and moved up from the cover of the book he held, Women, Fire and Dangerous Things.  She stopped, looking down his row and their eyes locked.  Neither smiled, but they stared as if their souls were circling one another trying to decide if they were kindred. 

She straightened her gaze and moved to the next aisle as James contemplated what might be going through the mind of altar boys as they helped to stage the communion, readying the bread to become flesh and the wine to become blood.  He turned back to the shelfs and moved left to right, top to bottom, scanning for something new full of nascent ideas, or possibly something old and used that had been chewed on by many fellow travelers.   

He moved to the section for books on art.  He combed through a coffee table book of Basquiat and Warhol.  It’s the sort of art that inspired him because though he couldn’t have imagined it out of nothing, he could reproduce it, at least in part.  He loved art, for the way it opened his eyes to something new, but he really felt quite pedestrian in his depth of art knowledge.  And he loved the creation of art.  Thoughts, ideas, feelings, all seem stuck or trapped inside him and during the process of creation they emerged, flooding out.  Sometimes underdeveloped, but they were alive and no longer trapped. 

He glanced down towards the end of the aisle as the black haired girl drifted by.  As she passed, she slowed and glanced over her shoulder at him.  He detected a slight upturn in her lips, as if she were smiling, ever so subtly at him.  He hadn’t quite taken in her full profile before, but this time he scanned her length as she strode by.  Her legs were long and shapely.  She wore a short blue skirt, mid-thigh length, that pleasantly accentuated her nice buttocks.  Her breasts leaned against a white blouse with maybe one extra button undone.   

As she cleared the end of the aisle he realized his mouth was agape.  And his mind had begun to imagine her clothes slowly melting, sliding down he skin, forming a puddle on the floor, ultimately leaving her beautifully exposed to him.  He smiled and begun to sift through the impressionists, but his mind was struggling to concentrate.   

James was not always the confident type.  He began to imagine asking her out.  Or maybe he would approach her to introduce himself.  But what women wants to be harassed in a bookstore, especially by him.  He was moderately attractive, though he could never believe it.  At 45 he constantly compared himself to his 21-year-old self, and always thought he should be fitter, and slimmer.  He had a hard time with compliments generally, and so he assumed if a woman was interested, they would approach him.  But that certainly violates a lot of norms, and rarely happened.  It had happened to him a bit, but it was often so unpredictable that he had given up reasonably hoping for it and let fantasizing play out.  He sat there flipping through pages while his mind wondered what a girl like that really wanted, and how he might be able to present that to her.   

His final station of the cross was always the poetry section.  Like art, this subject often seemed beyond him, but he loved it.  He loved the way poets could string together words and create imagines and provoke thoughts that he had never considered.  Like the pop-artists, he preferred free-verse, in part because he could reproduce that style.  He worked his way down the aisle and was about halfway between the ends when the black hair girl entered the aisle.  He saw her out of the corner of his eye and could tell she was looking for something specific.  He held the latest Hanif Abdurraqib’s On Basketball and Ascension in his hands and tried to concentrate.  So as not to stare.  So as not to set his heart and loins ablaze, only to be ignored.  Only to be left alone.    

“What’s that one about?”  He wasn’t sure if the voice was in his imagination.  It seemed to come from over his shoulder and he turned.  She was standing there, her nose a mere twelve inches from his.  He could feel his stomach leap as he swallowed hard. 

“I’m not really into basketball, but Hanif makes it sound so transcendent.”  He worried he sounded so stupid as the words left his mouth.  Who hates basketball?  Who meets a stranger and opens with “transcendent”?   

“Tell me more.” She said, “It sounds interesting”.   

He grinned a little and looked back at the book.  “Hanif grew up in inner-city Cleveland, where basketball is a sacred communal rite.  And in the background of his upbringing, Lebron James ascends to a “throne”, of sorts.  I never found beauty in basketball, necessarily, but these words made me realize it can be so much more than a game or entertainment.” 

“I’m Jen, by the way.  I like that you read things on subjects you’re not really interested in.  You must be an interesting guy”.  The words hit him like a first kiss.  Being thought of as uninteresting was the greatest negative he could imagine.  And this beautiful girl had just said he must be interesting.  He realized his normal awkwardness was showing, and he had launched into his thoughts and ideas while skipping passed the normal civilities. 

“I’m sorry” he said “I’m James.  I should have intro …” Her index finger pressed into his lips. 

“You answered my question.  And I like your answer.  Don’t ever apologize to me for being you.”  She pressed her finger softly in between his lips and slid along his teethjust enough to get some saliva on her finger.  It seemed a little strange, but then she slid her finger out, and brought it to her lips and gently licked the tip of her finger.  He was wholly mesmerized.   

“I’m reading The Art of Asking.  In case you were wondering.”  She held the book out from her side to expose the cover.  He looked down at it, and as he brought his eyes up, he scanned slowly up her arm, and to her loosely-buttoned blouse.  He could see her nipples pressing firmly against the blouse, and its openness allowed him to see a small sternum tattoo positioned amid her cleavage.  Her breasts were incredibly shapely and as he stared, he felt her hand gently cup his chin and lift his face.  She leaned forward and softly kissed his lower lip.  It was a sweet kiss, not pressing for more.  But James felt a jolt shoot through him. 

“We’ll get to that.”  she said with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m sorry, I get distracted sometimes.  The Art of Asking by Amanda … Oh what’s her last name?  I really loved hearing her talk about having strangers write on her naked body. Not just because she was naked.” He paused, and then decided to clarify more, “there was something really compelling about her trust of strangers, but also how they didn’t necessarily violate that trust.  I sometimes think there is asymmetry around trust.  She seems to have found trusting to be a challenge, whereas I found the invitation to the strangers to be the most frightening part.  She sort of intuitively knows the strangers will respond but worries the strangers might do something harmful.  I would be worried the strangers just wouldn’t respond or care.”  He knew he was rambling but want her to see his naked, unfiltered thoughts. 

“Are you always this honest?”  She said staring in the way she was at their first sighting.  She was searching into him.  And he wasn’t afraid.  He wanted her to know him.  And he wanted to know her.  But what really excited him was that he felt absolutely no shame standing in front of her gazing eyes.  She was his atonement, or at least his merciful deity.  At least in this moment. 

“It’s strange but you are incredibly disarming.  So, the general answer might be ‘no’ but with you, the answer might be ‘yes’”.  She smiled at him and took his hand.  She couldn’t have known this but holding a stranger’s hand was something he often thought about.  When he was anxious or lonely, holding a stranger’s hand seemed like the only thing in the world that could comfort him.  But until this moment, it was strictly theoretical.  He didn’t necessarily feel the same comfort from holding a girlfriend or friends’ hand.  For some reason the connection with a brand-new friend was want he wanted and what he needed. 

Jen’s hand was warm, with a strong grip.  She pulled his arm slightly as they walked down the aisle.   

“Are we buying these books, or not?” she said over her shoulder. 

“I have a copy at home.”  he said.  He placed the book on a shelf, body broken for you.  He looked ahead to Jen as she grinned.   

“Me too.”  she said.  He followed her towards the front door, and they stepped out onto Burnside.  The sun was bright, and he squinted as they turned West.  They walked for two blocks in silence before she glanced at him and said, “I’m glad you were in that bookstore today.” 

He felt a warmth flood through him.  He didn’t believe in fate, but he found himself pondering ‘Amor Fati’.  What are the chances of this encounter.  “I am glad too.  I think I needed to meet you today, as strange as that may sound.”  It had been a while since someone had approached him interested in who he was. 

“I know.  I could tell you wanted me from our first glance.”  He was a little shocked and then embarrassed.  Was he really that obvious?  At first he thought ‘wanted’ was a little much, but it was true.  He did want her.  And there seemed to be no sense in trying to be coy. 

“Yes.  I’m rarely struck quite like this.  But you seem to be able to read me, and as someone who sometimes struggles to wholly express oneself, it’s really nice to be seen in this way.”  He wasn’t sure if that even made sense, but it was the best he could do given what he was feeling.  He had no clue where she was leading him, but he would follow here anywhere.   

Normally he would overthink this level of vulnerability and honesty, on the assumption that women preferred a man who was brashly confident.  But he sort of knew she would see right through false bravado.  And she had told him never to apologize for being himself.  Isn’t acting like something you’re not a sort of perverse apology? 

“We’re walking to the Rose Garden.  We are going to make out in front of the tourists, and then you are going to fuck me underneath the trees in Forest Park.”  She was as direct as she was beautiful.  He wasn’t nervous about this, and he could feel his cock begin to stiffen against his shorts.  Was she serious, or just trying to gauge where he was at.  He squeezed her hand more firmly now, mostly hoping he she was serious. 

They crossed Burnside and made their way up through the neighborhoods to the Rose Garden.  From here you could look East, over Portland and see Mount Hood in the distance.  Well at least sometimes.  Today the weather was slightly overcast and grey, with a subtle threat of rain.  James smiled wryly to himself as they made their way to the center of the garden.  Jen pulled him in front of her and placed her forearms on his shoulders.  One hand softly stroked the back of his head and fondled his ear.  He had moved his arms around her waist and rested his palms on the small of her back.  They stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, but it was James who moved first, pulling her firmly into him.  He kissed her softly at first letting the pressure build.  Soon he was kissing her more forcefully as his tongue intertwined with hers and he softly bit her bottom lip as they separated.  But he did not allow her body to retreat from him.  Her hips were still firmly pressed against his, and her chest heaved into him.  She smiled as his right hand slowly traced her spine to arrive at the back of her head.  He tilted her head ever so softly and began to kiss her again.  This time slowly, but with a constant effort.  His tongue was more measured in its exploration and slid softly across the tip of her own.  His left hand pulled her hips even more firmly to himself as she felt him widen his stance.  She could feel his growing cock press against her pelvis.   

They broke from their activity and looked at the throng of gawking tourists.  The tourists were trying to be subtle with their gazes, and it triggered something in James.  He liked to be watched.  He liked to be seen with her, of course.  Who in their right mind wouldn’t want this beautiful woman on their arm.  But he liked that they were getting turned on and made uncomfortable by the action between Jen and James.  This time he pulled her by the hand and led her to the stairs leading to the hiking trail ascending the hill.   

It was a dense forest, with Douglas Firs towering above them.  The ground was carpeted with ferns and moss-covered limbs that had fallen.  They had walked in silence for about 10 minutes along the trail when Jen pulled him off trail.  They went about 25 yards into the forest to a slight clearing.  The rain had begun to fall softly.  The trees covered them mostly, but occasional drops made their way to Jen and James.   

James pressed Jen against a large tree and begun to kiss her again.  She could feel the damp moss soak through her blouse and moisten her back.  Drops of rain occasionally hit their cheeks and slid into their mouths, mixing with their tongues.  She took her right hand and unfastened the buttons holding her blouse closed.  As breasts unfurled, she grabbed James’ right hand with her left and guided it to her exposed breast.  A drop of rain splashed onto one of her breasts, and James dipped a finger in the moisture.  He touched the finger to his lips, licked it, and then began to softly circle her nipple with his moist fingertip.  He could feel himself growing more and more excited, and he took her breast firmly in his hand.  It was the perfect size, warm and supple.  As he softly caressed her left breast with his right hand, he slipped his left hand inside her blouse, around to her back.   

James returned to kissing her firmly on her lips, then her neck, and then her earlobe.  “Do you want this skirt up or off?”  He knew where this was headed, or at least he thought he did.  But he wanted to make sure.  It often felt like this sort of thing could derail the momentum, but somehow, he knew that Jen came with extra inertia built-in.   

Jen reached back and pulled his left hand down from her back and placed it front of her, under her skirt, and between her legs.  She then slid her skirt up as James began to slide his fingers softly across her wet opening.  It didn’t surprise him that she was not wearing panties.  Maybe she left the house with this plan in her mind, or maybe it was just how she did things.  Neither mattered to him.  He appreciated the utilitarian aspect, but mostly he was fixated in slowly rubbing his middle and index fingers across her clitoris.  He could feel that it was swollen, and her pussy was almost dripping.  He instinctively pulled his hand up to his face and put his fingers in his own mouth and tasted her.  She smiled, put her own fingers in her pussy, and raised her hand and tasted herself as well.  He sucked on her fingers as the left her mouth and then kissed her hard while moving his hand back to her warmth. 

Why was it so hot when a woman enjoyed the taste of herself?  He would often kiss women who had the taste of his cum on their lips, and that always excited him.  But of course, that was after he had came, and so it was certainly quite different.  He started to imagine the joy of cumming multiple times in rapid section, but his thoughts were cut short by Jens’ hands unbuttoning his shorts.   

He slid his shorts down and Jen immediately squatted and took him into her mouth.  She took his entire length in a quick motion and stilled, letting his cock continue to swell and fill her mouth.  She slid her hands up the back of his legs to his buttocks.  Once her hands were on his ass she began to slide backwards to his tip, and then she would pull on his butt, thrusting him fully into her mouth.  She felt so good guiding him to fuck her face, and he began to imagine how good she would taste when he had a chance to return the favor.   

As he stood there, letting her pound him into herself, he saw a hiker walking by, air pods in.  He could hear the wet footfalls as the hiker made his way up the trail, never glancing to the side.  For a moment he thought about the suction of mud and dirt on the sole of shoe, as Jen sucked and slid his cock in and out of her mouth.  He wanted the hiker to look.  He hoped the hiker would look and get aroused watching him and Jen.  Maybe he wanted the hiker to stop and watch, even.  Or maybe join in.  She was so beautiful and felt amazing. Her tempo and technique were going to make him cum, but he wasn’t ready to finish yet.  He needed to step back from the edge. 

He slowly pressed her shoulders back and eased himself out of her mouth. 

“Did you not like that?”  She said, grinning and pretending to be hurt.  She knew she was good at what she did.  But what she didn’t know is that quiet shy guys are sometimes good at what they do as well. 

He picked her up under the arms and she jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist.  She looked a little unsure what he was going to do, and so he told her. 

“I’m going to turn you upside, so your thighs are resting on my shoulders and then I’m going to suck on your clitoris, taste your pussy, and lick your ass.  If it’s too much, tap the back of my knees.”  He wasn’t sure if he said it in a robotic way or not.  He was trying to say it as matter-of-factly as possible.  His mind was racing with all the thoughts about what he wanted to do, and he worried maybe he’d jumped to far down the road, but she seemed nonplussed. 

She was light and slender.  He lifted her up as she leaned to the side, and he rotated her slowly.  His arms were around her waist, pulling her close to him.  She was upside down with her head near his cock.  Initially, she tried to take it into her mouth, but she gave up.  She wanted to enjoy his tongue.  The sensation of having him flick his tongue across her clit as blood rushed into her head created a strange sense of euphoria.  But she could feel the pleasure building.  He started by moving between strong suction, with tongue flicking on her clit, and plunging his tongue into her cunt.  She was wet and he reveled in her taste.  And then every once in a while, he would lick her taint, and then let his tongue flick across her asshole.  She loved the sensation, but mostly she was being driven crazy by how unrestrained James seemed to have become.  Fucking was almost always fun.  But finding a shy quiet guy and helping him wholly release himself to passion was the best kind of fucking. 

As he focused more on sucking and flicking his tongue on her clit, he could feel her thighs and ass tighten with increasing frequency.  He knew she was close and he knew it was time to focus.  He kept a constant pressure and frequency with his tongue, trying not to change a single thing.  She bucked once, then two more times and he felt her muscles soften.  He used this moment to return to lick her ass one last time before turning her upright.  He knew she would be dizzy, so he held her close as she leaned up to softly lick his pussy-dampened nose.   

“I love the way I taste on you.” she said.  It was an interesting comment, not because she said ‘love’.  Love was easy, especially for him.  But the way she said “taste on you” triggered thoughts in him about symbiosis, and how the mixing of every pair’s fluids could create quite disparate levels of pleasure and taste.  And he wondered if they might have some unexpected form of quite literal sexual chemistry.  He leaned in and kissed her softly.  They both had their eyes completely open as they softly kissed.  It was mostly lips, with subtle tongue darts here and there, but James was still ruminating on the mixing of fluids.  He was timing his inhales to be exactly opposite hers.  Her exhale was his inhale, and his exhale was her inhale.  He was completely mesmerized by the exchange of breath, and spirit, and it felt extremely intimate. 

There is always a place for this sort of sentimentality.  And it can coexist with animalistic sex.  And, of course, you can fulfill the basest of desires without any sentimentality, but James loved to blend the two.  For him the contents and the container were intrinsically connected.  And he wanted to enjoy both as fully as he could.  And though this often meant pain later on, it was worth the increase in pleasure now to leave himself wholly unguarded.  The rain was softly fallen as they continued to stare at each other, half-clothed in a forest clearing. 

Jen slid her hand to James cock and position it to press into her labia.  She slid  his cock up and down, parting her lips, and wetting the tip of his member.  In a slow steady fashion, he pressed himself into her as he gently lifted her off the ground, and pressed her back to a tree.  His arms moved below her thighs, and he held her off the ground.  Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, and she looked up at the forest canopy as James began to rhythmically slide in and out of her.  He was gentle and slow, take his time to slide almost all the way and press himself fully into her.   

She moaned a little and he whispered to her how good she felt.  Since looking up and beginning, she had instinctively closed her eyes, but she opened them now and found James staring intently at her, with a slightly crooked smile.  He was certainly cute, in a middle-aged kind of way.  But he also had an intriguing depth to him.  James looked down for a few seconds, smiled widely then looked back to meet her gaze. 

“I love the way your pussy looks with my cock sliding in and out.”  She looked down and saw his cock, glistening with her moisture covering, slight globs of white near the base of the shaft.  He knew how to make her really wet.   

He was pumped faster now, more firmly pulling her onto him with each forward thrust.  It felt so good, suspended in his arms, cool forest air on her naked body as he thrust himself up and into her.  She could feel him swell more and she knew he was close.   

“I want to taste your cum.” she said.  And he lowered her to the ground and gave himself a dozen or so quick strokes.  He grabbed her hand and slid it onto his cock, and she began to stroke.  He had gotten himself to the edge but wanted her hand to push him over.  And she did. She stroked him firmly while gazing up into his eyes and his cocked responded by releasing its prize all over her face, mouth, and tits.   

This wasn’t something James didn’t often.  Normally he would ask if it was ok to cum in her pussy, and if not, he would cum on her stomach or something more benign.  But seeing her smile and lick his cum from her lips was too much for him.  Never more than this moment had he wished for multiple, successive orgasms.  But the satisfaction he felt outweighed everything else, and he leaned forward and kissed her again.   

Jen was a little surprised.  A lot of men collapse on release or are bothered by their own seed.  But James was tasting himself on her.  She had spat the bulk of it onto her tits, so it wasn’t a lot, but she could still taste him and feel his tongue where she was tasting him.  It excited her and she could feel the beginnings of another build up.  Sensing this, James dropped to his knees and lifted one of her legs as he began to lick her again.  She was so wet from the sex, and her clit was fully engorged.  He sucked her, and flicked his tongue as before, but this time he let his fingers slide into her pussy and into her asshole.  He was filling her with his strong fingers while simultaneously pushing her to the precipice of a building climax.  Her hands grabbed the back of his head, and she bucked her hips forward, as if her clit was a cock and she was fucking his face.  James knew to grab her ass with his free hand in order to keep his position true.  He remained affixed to her clitoris as the building turned into convulsing and she slumped forward, collapsing to her knees on the forest floor.  She held his hands and pressed the top of her head into his chest.   

Their communion was over.  The choir had watched but remained silent.  The rainfall on fern leaves, was their only soundtrack.  The doxology was given as they picked themselves up.  He helped her reclothe herself.  She helped him.  They held hands and walked back to the trail and downhill to the rose garden.  They walked in complete silence for ten blocks.  The whole way James wondered how he should ask to see her again.  Even after all that, he was scared she might say ‘no’.  And, of course, she might very well say ‘no’.  And so, he didn’t ask.  As they neared Powell’s, he squeezed her hand tighter, not wanting to let go.  But he sensed her grip tighten as well.  They got to the front of the store, and he leaned over and kissed her.  She smiled.   

“I really want to see you again.  Actually, I kind of need to see you again.”  He blurted out.  He could feel the infatuation taking over.  She smiled reflexively.   

“Well of course.  I just came here to grab a cup of coffee.  And then we’re going to my place.  You need a shower, and I have some restraints and a swing I want to see you work with.  I like the lumberjack thing and all, but now it’s my turn to show you a good time.”