Cosmonogamy

Georgia woke up hungry.  All of the drinking and her recent adventures in other beds had left her empty and growling.  She was terrible at shopping; her cupboards and refrigerator were always empty save for a bottle of wine and pasta sauce.  She muttered to herself, threw on a skirt and a blouse and hit the corner market.
“Fresh produce” was the order of the day. She needed something cool and refreshing.  Vitamins and the healing power of plants!
The sun was high and there was a bustling air around the market.  “I’ll make a salad.  A little wine… green lettuce, baby carrots, feta, a tomato and some cucumber.”
(There you go, Georgia, staring at the obscene vegetables.)
Georgia spent the time at the counter starting at the bag boy.  She had been watching him a lot.  Never this close, of course.  She watched him come and go from his apartment.  (He shared it with his mother.)

The first time she saw him was in late spring. It was unusually hot and all of the surrounding apartments had their windows open.  It was late, maybe twelve-thirty, and Georgia was reading.  She turned off the living room lamp and looked out across the city.  It was wonderful to feel the cool night air on her sticky skin.  The breeze had a salty taste to it as thought the city had sweat enough during the day to collectively scent the night air.
She looked at the window across the street.  There was a light.  The room was washed in a dull yellow glow.  Posters of swimsuit models and sports stars.  But on the dark bedspread was a pink body.  (Holy shit!  A teenager!)
Georgia got out her antique opera glasses and a glass of white wine.  She pulled her beat-up armchair to the window, propped her legs up and watched.
The binoculars offered her a wonderfully sharp view of the adolescent’s room.  He was probably 18 or 19 years old.  Greasy, longish brown hair.  Wearing headphones.
He was touching his penis.
She had missed whatever foreplay he had given himself.  He was already pulling and tugging on his rod.  It was slick and glossy.  (Boy knows how to lube!)
Lying on his back with both legs flat on the bed, his head was propped up on some pillows.  He was watching his fist glide over his prick.  His mouth was open and his foot was keeping time to whatever he was listening to.
Georgia lightly brushed her clit through her thin negligee.  Stopping to sip the wine, but mostly just watching the boy masturbate.  (A cock!)

Georgia always felt sex was sort of empty without a cock.  Even her fling with Lilah last year became fuller when she bought Georgia the strap-on.  (Oh, Lilah.)
She only fucked Lilah with it once.
“What an expensive fantasy.”
Georgia took it with her when she left.  She couldn’t bear the thought of Dahlia letting someone else fuck her with “Georgia’s Cock”.

The boy began to buck and struggle.  His pace slowed and he lurched his dick skyward.  He came all over himself and lay there exhausted for a while.  Georgia watched and drifted.
“I wonder if my detachment is literal?” she mused.  “I wonder if my cock was separated at birth.  I need to sit around and masturbate and fuck just like seventeen-year old boys.”

Georgia swigged the last big sip of wine and stood.  She took off her slip and walked to the bedroom through her dark apartment.
She was already quite aroused.  Her heartbeat quickened and her breath was short.  She was sweating in her arm pits as she crouched down in her closet.
Every movement was purposeful and cat like.  She didn’t want to make any noise.  (Let the boy sleep.)
With the stealth of a Ninja, Georgia pushed lightly past the layers of pumps and sandals and boots until she hit the correct shoebox.  She pulled it to the closet’s edge and opened it.
Inside was a velvet bag.  She quickly discarded it and pulled out a perfectly proportioned dildo.  It was attached to a black leather harness.  Georgia rose slowly.
Her pussy was now very wet.
She slipped on a pair of spiked heels and strapped on the harness.  She stood with cock erect.
She liked this.  Strutting around with a cock.  She felt in charge, awake.  She wished she could feel it as thought it was her own.
Every night for weeks the boy stayed up and unabashedly jerked off.  Georgia caught a few sessions.  Missed a few, too.  (I need to get out too, you know.)
She watched for him in the streets and saw him at the market.  She got to know his schedule.

“Eighteen sixty-five.”
“Huh?”
“Eighteen sixty-five.”  The checkout girl was mousy and annoyed.  Georgia hated this girl immediately.  (I’ll fuck you with my cock, you little brat.)
She paid, glanced at the bag boy (eggs, so careful with the eggs, so reckless with the bananas), took her groceries and went home.

Georgia answered a phone call from Daisy.  Daisy was sleeping with a bass player in a funk band, but he was home during the day.
“He always wants me to fuck him with a strap-on.”  Daisy bragged.
“Yikes,” said Georgia.
“Yeah, I said ‘fine’.  But, who knows how comfortable that is…  Plus, he’s getting a little too much into the ass thing… I think I need to break up with him.”
“Yeah, strap-ons are just freaky,” said Georgia, glancing down at the velvety bag that was now permanently under her phone table… right next to her glasses.
“Oh, I got a gift for you, too, you little sheltered girl.  I’ll give it to you the next time I see you,” Daisy sounded naughty.  She often sounded naughty.
“Oh, alright.  Ciao.”
“Ciao, bella.”
Georgia hung up and put away her salad bowl.  She stared at the empty sink, the scarce shelves, and the table in the kitchen that had never been used.
“You never get that far, do you kid?’  Georgia shook her head a bit, then wandered back to the window.  (Are you waiting for me, boy?)
She watched the empty window; she drank a glass of wine.  He wasn’t there.
But, in her mind, Georgia was in his room and he was on the bed.  He was thin and limber.  Youthful exuberance leaked from him.  He shifted and sighed.
“He would want me.”

Georgia wandered back past the phone table, took out the strap-on and went into the kitchen to refill her glass.
She slipped off her skirt and panties, kicking them into the hall.  She unbuttoned her shirt and removed it.  Her kitchen floor was cool against her bare feet.  And her legs were unexpectedly shaking.  (What are you nervous for?)
Georgia slipped the cold, tight harness around her waist, and buckled her cock on.  Georgia felt righteous.
She opened the refrigerator door, grabbed the bottle of wine and poured a healthy sized glass.  Only a trickle remained in the bottle.  She put it to her lips, licking the opening and sucking down the last few drops.  She was oblivious to the bottle; she treated it like a man, and briefly put the shaft in her mouth and bobbed her head on it.  She withdrew it and giggled,  “I must have the cock crazies.”
She went to close the door, but thought of the groceries she just bought.
Georgia felt exceptional and deviant.  “Maybe this is why men are always so horny; their cocks are antennae of the libido.  It wants to fuck.  It wants to be thrown around, bobbed, palmed and thrust in the air.  It needs it…  I need it.”
Georgia pulled out the three cucumbers she bought earlier and put them on the counter.  Her clit began to buzz with expectancy.
Three cucumbers.  One was exceptionally long and thin with a pronounced curve.  One was very thick, but short.  One was knobby, but straight.  She hefted each one and decided on the long, thin, curved one.  She peeled it carefully, letting the strands of green skin fall like discarded clothing into the sink.
Finished, the cucumber glistened.  Long and sweet, cool and slippery, it was firm and yielding.  (Oh boy… oh boy.)

Georgia took her wine and her cucumber into the living room to her worn armchair.
She pulled off the seat pillow and threw it down in front of the window.  She sipped her wine, put down the glass and sat by the window on her knees.  She ran the cucumber up and down her strapped-on cock, enjoying the bounces and contact it made.
The light went on in the boy’s room.  Georgia’s clit started really buzzing, her back tensed.  He ass curved upward and she leaned on the windowsill.
Georgia reached for her opera glasses and peered into the boy’s room.

He had just gotten home from work.  His white shirt and black tie still tight, his green smock still tied.
He was followed by the mousy check-out girl.  She sheepishly pulled her hair back behind her ears and evaluated the room.  He made a joke.  She smiled.  She sat on the edge of his bed.
The boy removed his apron and tie.  He looked rushed and anxious.  The check-out girl just smiled and looked innocent.  (Bitch!  That little bitch!  You know what you’re up there for!)
Georgia watched, somewhat heartsick as the boy sat next to the girl and leaned in to kiss her.  It was awkward.  He hit her chin, but tried to play it off cool.  The girl recoiled and then laughed a little.  They both smiled and she reached up to stroke his cheek.  She then pulled him to her open mouth.  They kissed.  Sloppily at first and then slightly more relaxed.
She eased her hands down to his open collar and unbuttoned his white shirt.
They continued to kiss, more wildly now, as the boy slipped out of his shirt.  He groped and pushed and squeezed her breasts.  He stood up and unbuttoned her shirt.  Her hands drifted down to his ass, then around to his fly.  She unzipped him just as he revealed her pink bra.

Georgia was rubbing her clit now with her right hand, but the strap on was in the way.  So she bent over further on the sill so the cock pointed upward a bit.  With her free hand she grasped the cold cucumber.  (Ok girl, show me what you do with a cock.)

The checkout girl stood to meet the bag boy.  Her nipples were poking out of the top of the bra, where the boy had pulled it down.  Little pink peek-a-boo nipples.  He sucked on them both.  She smiled down at him.
The boy worked his way down past her bra, down to her belly and paused at the buttons of her jeans.  She helped him with the first few buttons and he pulled then down over her hips.  Her paused at the sight of her pink lace underwear.  He buried his nose in her crotch.  She kept smiling.

Georgia pressed the tip of the cucumber on her ass, and slid it lengthwise over her pussy lips.  Her eyes were on the two lovers.
She was angry and jealous of that little tramp.  Georgia still thought of the boy as hers.  She rubbed her clit, paused, and sweetly stroked her cock.

The girl was now on her back, her underwear down to her thighs with the boy eagerly rubbing her mound.  The girl was writhing; trying to get into the boy’s rhythmic fingerings.
He pulled his cock out of his jeans and she stood up a bit to help him lose the pants altogether.

As the girl put his member in her mouth, Georgia struggled to get the cucumber into her vagina.  She had to sit up a bit to get the penetration right.  (Oh yes!  That’s my boy!)  Yet, from that angle her clit couldn’t get rubbed well.  So, as the checkout girl blew the boy, Georgia alternated between fucking herself with the cucumber and fingering her clit.

The boy reached over his bed and pulled a condom out his bedside table.  He struggled with the packet, fumbled with the condom, picked it up and quickly pushed it over his hard-on.
The girl was watching.  She had both legs dangled over the edge of the bed and showed no emotion as he leaned over to her.

“I hope he fucks her like he fucks himself”, thought Georgia, wandering between her beehive of a clit and her long, cool dildo.  She was on her knees now, crouched back on her haunches.

The boy was awkwardly fucking the girl.  She wasn’t moving much.
He watched intensely as his cock slid into her.  His rhythm increased.  He would come soon.

Georgia’s clit was buzzing like a doorbell.  (Bzzzzz… bzzzz…..)
She stopped the cucumber, leaving it lodged within her.  The buzzing increased, down in her toes, up her legs.  Her thighs shook, she shivered.  The cucumber slid out a bit and she sat back down on it to compensate.  Her right hand was slapping against her clit and the cock was slapping across her belly.  (Shit!)
The buzz went up her belly, through her back, seized her lungs and strangled her.  Georgia screamed, “OH FUCK!”

The sound of Georgia shot out the window.

The boy came as the scream hit him in the head.  “Fuck!”  He collapsed on top of the checkout girl.
Both the girl and the boy looked out the window, but Georgia was curled up, out of view, holding her clit with her middle finger, the cucumber with her other hand.  There was a ringing in her ears.  She shivered again and looked down to her cock.

How ridiculous the phallus looked after the moment.
“I’m not a boy… I’m a woman.”

She slowly pulled the cucumber out and set it down next to her opera glasses.  They had fallen during her orgasm.  They lay with the left eyepiece broken.
The cucumber looked obvious on the floor by the window.  (Obscene vegetable.)

The boy crouched to hide his limp cock and cum filled condom.  He pulled the shade down, embarrassed.

“You don’t love him, Georgia,” the strap-on said to her, “you don’t even know love.”
Georgia knew it.
She was always hollow.
Why did she need to be filled?  Because she was a woman?  She unhooked the strap-on and sadly rose, collecting everything from the floor.  She put back the cushion.  She washed the dildo, threw out the cucumber, (no salads for a while) and wished she had more wine.
It was a great come, but the afterthoughts were laden with guilt and self-loathing.  “You’re such a damn deviant, such a pervert,” she thought.
The strap-on found its way back into the shoebox and again into the closet.
Georgia tried to forget she’d ever even seen one before.

The boy dated the check-out girl for a while.  Georgia noticed his class ring around her neck on a simple chain the next time she went shopping.  That was the last time she saw them there.  (Maybe they got other work.)  His shade stayed down permanently.  She never noticed his light on… then again she never really looked for it to be on either.
Georgia tried hard to forget to look for those kinds of things.

Fin?

(This story is endorsed by PERV- People for the Ethical Respect of Vegetables)

(c) 2006/2009 René et Blandine

Originally published in zine form as Cosmonogamy #2…

Georgia couldn’t sleep anymore.
She searched the shadows on the floor for her bra and skirt.  She found her stockings crumpled on top of his briefs.
Why did she just sleep with a guy who wears yellow thongs?
It wasn’t like it was a bad lay last night.  He wasn’t ugly.  And his fingers did get her off.  But she always felt disappointed in herself for these flings.
The wine had obviously worked.
As she put her blouse on, the twinge of a headache came on and the lingering cigarette smell triggered a bit of nausea.
Georgia pulled her purse out from under his pants and quietly snuck out of his bedroom door.  She skirted the enormous sleeping dog (Dog or Gorilla?) and left his apartment, waiting until she was out of earshot to put on her heels.  She clunked down the stairs, losing a bit of the cloudy details from last night with each step.
“I’ve got to find something to invest myself in” she thought.  “I can’t just keep fucking guys at bars.  I need a hobby!”
She walked a block to the bus stop.  Homeless men flopped in doorways.  The newspaper truck delivered the day’s new edition.  It was too early for anyone to think much.

Georgia took a shower once she got home.  Her apartment was cluttered, except for the perfectly made bed.  It had been a few nights since she slept there.  She washed the stale smoke from her black hair, and scrubbed the itchy latex feeling from between her legs.  Soapy water rose in the tub, stagnant around her ankles.  She checked the drain.
“Goddam it!  Fucking clogged.  Just what I need.”
By the time she was adequately cleaned the water level was around the middle of her calf.  She stopped the water and sat naked on the side of the tub.
“Gotta call the super I suppose.”

“What?” the voice on the other line sounded as dusty as she felt.
“Hi, this is Georgia Nemo, apartment 4b… my shower drain is clogged.”
“So, you want me to fix your pipes?”
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“Could you?”
“Uh…fine.  I’ll be up in a few.”
Georgia threw on a robe and headed for the kitchen.  “I need some coffee for this hangover.”
Within minutes, there was a loud knock at the door.  Georgia left her vigil by the percolator.
An older man stood in the entry.  He was probably fifty, but Georgia wouldn’t be surprised if he was in his sixties.  The super was sleepy eyed, unshaven and carrying a toolbox.  He wore a pair of coveralls, but no shirt.  “You got any coffee?”
“Um, yeah.  I was just fixin’ some.”
“Good, I need it… too fuckin’ early.”  He walked through the kitchen, past the bedroom and into the bathroom.  “You always make your bed first, then the coffee?”
“Well.  I.  You.  See.” she stammered.
“I’m teasing you.  I don’t care where you sleep.  So you just come home to shower, huh?”
“How do you want your coffee?” she preferred asking the questions.
Georgia stood in the doorway as he fished around in the tub, water up to his elbows.
“I’m gonna have to use my snake to get ‘er open.”  He twisted around to his toolbox, sneaking a glance up at Georgia.  She knew he was looking.  She stood solid, unflustered.  He opened the box, pulling out the long, coiled metal snake.

“How far down do you think the clog is?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” she could sense his intention.
He lightly brushed her robe, pulling the bottom aside to reveal her trim bush.  “Depends on how much hair is down there…”

Georgia stood with hot coffee in both hands.  (This old man wants to see me naked?)
“I could throw this coffee on you right now.”  She made it sound like a hospitable offer.
“That won’t get your clog fixed.”  He said as he stood to her height.  “Besides, don’t you want to see a man at work on your drain?  Burning me won’t cool things off, now will it?”
Georgia stood; poised to scorch this dirty man with both cups.  Instead, she smirked.
He took the cups from her and set them on the toilet tank.
“Here now, let’s see what the trouble is, shall we?”  His strong, nimble hand cradled her ass as the other hand untied her robe.  The fabric slunk down to her elbows.  The super leaned against Georgia, pushing her to the doorframe.  She let him kiss her neck, smelling his musky scent.  He was so much more of a man than the metrosexual bar flies she’d been laying recently.  He was very strong, his cropped white hair rubbed on her chin as he worked his mouth to her perky breasts.
“I take cream,” he whispered and sucked on her right nipple.  His whiskers scraped and scratched her breast.

She shuddered a sigh and let the robe fall to a heap in the doorway.
The super picked Georgia up and laid her down, half in the hallway and half in the bathroom.  She stared up at the art-deco light fixture in the hall.  (This old man is going to fuck me… and I’m going to let him.)
He worked his hands down her thighs.  They were iron vices throwing her bottom up and down to meet his tongue strokes.  She felt like putty in his manly hands.
He pushed both of her legs up on to the doorjamb and slid his tongue through her pubic hair.  “You keep this neat.  That’s why you’re having trouble with your drain.  The lady above you never shaves her pussy, and her drain is crystal clear.”
She wanted him to shut up, but the banter was obviously part of his foreplay.
“I knew you would have trouble with your drain.  I was hoping you’d call me too…”
She pushed his head to her clit.  “Just eat me.” (Why are these dirty old men so fucking talkative?  Fuck!)
He licked her labia, sloshing them back and forth in his mouth.  Then he stuck his large thumb in her cunt.
Georgia gasped.  (Was that a thumb or a cock?)  She bucked against his hand.  He lifted her ass like a bowling ball, his thumb deep in her hole.  She squirmed.  He lifted and pulled.
Georgia wedged herself against the doorway and moved in pleasure, his fingers clutching her ass, and his thumb slamming away inside her.  His tongue was on her clit, and her robe was getting wet on the cool tile floor.
He smiled at her and stood up.  She watched as he released the two buckles at the top of his overalls.  They dropped to his thighs revealing a clean, but worn, pair of boxer shots and an exceptionally large erection poking out of the left leg.
On his chest he had a faded blue tattoo of a topless Japanese girl in a martini glass.  “Man’s Ruin” was written in bleeding block letters.
His hair was gray everywhere, but his muscles were large and youthful.  His cock rose at her.  She propped up on her elbows as he pushed it to her lips.
He was uncircumcised and well endowed.  For a workingman with greasy fingernails, he kept his cock clean.  The shaft was straight and the skin as smooth as any of her young fucks.  She wasn’t feeling picky, anyway.  At the moment, she would have sucked his pipe wrench.
Georgia pulled on his hanging balls and took him as far as she could into her mouth.  She could only get a bit past the head, but he seemed satisfied.  She worked up a steady bobbing and juggled his heavy balls with her hand.
He ran his steel fingers through her hair and hummed an unknown tune to himself.
Her mind drifted.  She thought about being his wife.  What would it have been like to fuck him when he was young or in some Asian Pacific bar forty years ago?  (Again with the one night stand bar guys, huh, Georgia?)

His ass began to clutch so she pulled him out of her mouth and looked up at him.  He stood and pulled her up to him with a vigorous yank.  He swiftly turned her around and leaned her up against the sink.
She looked into the mirror at his deep brown eyes and imagined him younger.  She didn’t care anymore about her drain or her reputation.  She didn’t care about last night or if this old man was going to come inside her.

Georgia had an itch, a clogged drain inside her.  She needed this super to fuck her clean, ream her out.

He stood behind her, dropped his boxers and firmly held her ass with one hand, parting her lips to open her pussy.  His other hand guided his penis to her cunt.  Gently, he eased in.  He slowly rocked her back and forth.  She held on to the sink with one hand and guarded her face from the vanity and faucet with the other.
The super slapped his balls against her ass cheeks as he climbed the ladder of his pleasure.  He humped and moaned and whistled in sweaty exuberance.  He held her fast and strong.
His cock was deep and Georgia imagined him coming so hard that it would spill out of her mouth and into the sink.
She usually didn’t go for older guys, and didn’t usually care for being hard-fucked.  But, this was different.  This was new.
Georgia was being fucked in her own bathroom by a man old enough to be her father.  She needed this and wanted him to come hard inside here.
“Fuck my little cunt,” she cooed.
He kept humming, blocking out her filthy talk.
“Come on, fuck my cunt!”
Again, he ignored her and kept rocking Georgia’s body against the sink.
She looked up at him.  It was as though he was in another time and place, reliving some fuck he had in his youth.  Georgia realized she was a memory for him, an old fuck relived.
He needed this as bad as she did.
She needed to forget and to change herself.  He needed to remember his old self.
“Please stop.” she asked.
He paused mid stroke.
She looked at him in the mirror and then turned to look him in the eye.  “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jack.”
“Would you take me to my bed, Jack?”
He smiled and his eyes softened.
They made love in Georgia’s bed, quietly and tenderly.
When he came they both felt whole again.

Jack fixed Georgia’s bathtub drain while she watched, handing him tools when he asked for them.
They told stories of their sexual escapades over coffee.  Jack told about how he fucked two sisters in two hours during a shore leave.  Georgia told him of a lesbian tryst.
Jack asked Georgia to stop trimming her pubic hair. Of course, then he couldn’t come up to fix her drain, but…
Jack gathered his toolbox and kissed Georgia.  “You’re a real doll.”
“Thanks for fixing my clog” she replied.
Jack left and Georgia took another shower.  She smiled at herself for yet another strange encounter and for getting over the detachment she was feeling.
“Shit, maybe I should start fixing other people.  I’d be one hot handy woman” she laughed and put on her panties.
“A real fucking plumber!”
(This story originally appeared in Cosmonogamy #1, a zine published in October 2006…There are a few copies still available.)

(c) 2006/2009 René et Blandine