Jen's Legacy.

The time had come.

This was where she would have to take over from him and have it go her way. She was ready, having had enough time to think about it and to mentally prepare. That was all that was required. She was no longer so tense, so uptight, so fearful. She wanted to get this step behind her now.

“One moment, Royce.” He paused, wondering, waiting to see what she would do.

She reached across for the sleeping bag and laid it in front of the fire in the sand, then indicated that he should come down to it and lie down for her.

He was game for anything she wanted. It would all end the same way no matter how it started, whether it was her, or him directing the action.

They both knew that, all-too-soon, this tender moment would turn into a violent, agonizing mess of emotions and responses, totally unstoppable once it began; an avalanche of insane feelings thundering down a mountainside, and then… the end point; when the unstoppable spurting began, his sperm flying everywhere if that stiff delivery item was not where it should always be; deep into a vibrantly-receptive vagina.

Hers.

So that was where it would be; if not this time, then definitely the next.

It always happened too soon. All ejaculations were premature, just ask the man. At least that was the male opinion of it (wanting it to go on and on, for ever and ever), even if that same opinion was not that of the female who was on the receiving end of such intimate violence, generally wanting to get it over with so she could sleep.

Royce would be happy to spend the rest of his life exactly where he would soon be, in her body, right there in that warm, moist and welcoming place, never wanting to come out of it again…ever… if he had his way.

He was willing to see what she had in mind as she encouraged him to lie down for her, smiling down at him, then turning to grasp him, before leaning in to kiss that part, placing her lips around it, leaving a generous amount of saliva on it.

Jen hadn’t told her about that, but it made sense.

She’d had almost the entire head of his penis into her the last time they had done this, and it wouldn’t need much more to go into her before all resistance ended, and the rest of him would just follow, and slide easily into her.

In theory.

At least it sounded easy.

She straddled across him, just as Jen had described it to her, smiling down upon him.

He reached out to caress the inviting-smoothness that he had just created between her legs, moving her soft and yielding labia apart, investigating, delving.

She helped him, reaching behind herself, between them, moving that stiff part of his along her vulva as she watched between them, with some trepidation (where she had not been able to see what had happened so clearly before when they had come close to making love), and then she placed him in exactly the right place on her body, feeling him get started into her, moving his policeman’s helmet; the expanded tip of his penis, into her, not far, but far enough, still taking her by surprise at how big it was, relative to where it had to go.

There would be no backing away soon. This would be crunch-time between them, and about time too.

Doing things this way was a simple concept as long as he remained lying there, and stayed still, without giving in to the imperative demand of his body to hold her body steady above him, and to just drive up into her, though that would also achieve the same purpose; just not in the way she was planning.

He could not ignore her breasts hanging invitingly down over him, swaying as she moved, any more than he could have ignored…. His mind refused to be sidetracked from such perfection to search for a damned metaphor. He could never ignore them, but was compelled to reach up to them, to touch, to feel, to hold.

He groaned, knowing what she was doing to him, and recognizing that what happened next, was going to be taken out of his hands by this determined woman who had invaded his life and taken it over.

As she came closer over him, he mouthed at her breasts, trying to capture a nipple, but she was playing now, and laughingly moved to keep them tantalizing out of his way as he continued to try; like bobbing for apples, but much more fun than that. Then success, as she took pity on him, letting him capture one with his hands and his mouth to play with, relaxing over him.

She knew that this would unfold in two stages. The first would be where she did this; controlled this—even though she controlled very little of anything—but this stage would achieve all that she needed if she did it right; getting him fully into her for the first time, but on her terms and guided by her.

This entire process and show, which was what sexual intercourse was, had been carefully choreographed by nature from the beginning of time, much as a modern-day dance troupe, learned the ropes from the first hesitant dance step to the final triumphant curtain call. No. Not quite. Sex, the act of..., had been choreographed to be nothing other than insane, mindless chaos, much as Igor Stravinsky's, Rite of Spring, depicting the same thing had been, and sparking riots of wild emotion in 1913 Paris.

He would have to come, of course he would, there was never any way out of this 'without' him coming. She could afford to let that particular batch of sperm from him do whatever it would do… 'nothing'. There was nothing in it of importance to her. It was the second time he did this; the second ejaculation; that second batch where there was that special sperm waiting for her.

If that dream meant anything.

The second stage-- he would control that one-- was when he would take over from her and be fully into her if she was doing this right. That one, would be more filling for her... when he would be absolutely, fully, into her, and fulfilling; and where he would come again, but in the right place that time and where he should be; deep within her body to deliver pulse after pulse, of battalions of sperm; a complete army of them with that one successful candidate somewhere in their ranks, as they fought each other for that rare privilege. The only enemy in this battle was each other.

That singular sperm; the first to breach the ovum wall, the survivor, was the one that would count.

The process of falling in love, and everything that followed from there, began in the brain with a look of attraction; that first heart-stopping glimpse of beauty that set the ball rolling; the mind churning; the eager juices flowing.

For him, that moment had been on the beach when he had undressed her, (magnificent breasts!) though he had pushed it into the back of his mind as he assessed her injuries and saw to her getting dry and warm. It had only grown upon him from there.

Then came that first breathless introduction to each other; visual, at first, as their glances spoke of them being attracted to each other in some indefinable way, drawing them closer.

That moment had been at the top of the climb, when each had become truly conscious of the other in a way that the other could see and respond to.

Then, after that, it became verbal, words of affection and even of love; then moved to tactile; a breathless, shy, then more confident touch, a timid, exploratory caress, a tender, uncertain kiss (not necessarily upon the lips, but anywhere), a heightened awareness of something triggering a mutual sexual desire.

All of that had happened at, and getting to that pool. She had needed his help in some wonderful ways that evening because of that heat rash, and he had not been able to refuse. The thought of refusing had never crossed his mind.

The game had been over for him about then. His goose had already been cooked, and hers was about to be cooked in a different way, even if they hadn’t yet gone any further with anything.

If everything is mutually agreed upon, and it had been by then, the brain kicks into high gear and takes over this chaos, making it more chaotic in its growing insanity, but with the outcome even more predictable between them. It was not a case of IF, by then, but of WHEN, and HOW.

Somewhere in all of this, comes intumescence, growth from flaccid uncertainty, to a raging tiger, a monster that will not be stopped.

The clothes have to come off, as they should, if there is time; then their bodies come together in naked combat, followed by eager, breathless exploration, struggling to find… an opening, where?

Where are you? Ah, hair! This must be the right place. Yes, that particular opening… moist, warm, welcoming. More insanity... urgency; here am I, where are you?

Fumbling eagerness, get started-- ah, there you are-- yes, there, exactly there, then penetration, at last. Sigh. Unbelievable! At last! All the way in, mind you! No holding back. All the way in; no half measures allowed here. No, siree.

Are you all in now?

Sure am!

Are you sure?

Yes. Better be sure. Another few hard pushes to be sure.

Oh, god, this is wonderful, I couldn’t be any harder. Groans of mutual… whatever. We are there! Now full speed ahead and damn anything else happening around us at this moment.

Galloping. Galloping. Brain fever. Breathlessness. The final imperative. Muscles responding, brain closing down. All conscious sensation directed to another part of the body that is now taking over from the brain.

Excitement builds between them, more than any one person should ever experience in a lifetime or can handle at one time, rising to a final, feverish pitch…!

There is a catatonic pause of consciousness for a few brief moments in all of this theater, as the urethral bulb fills with semen, expands like a balloon, and then a ‘full’ signal goes from it, to the brain at the speed of light, and the brain responds…

...NOW!

...FIRE!

Everything fires.

Straining. Pushing harder.

More!

Harder!

Unbelievable stiffness, hard as iron; a raging bull, pushing forward with no possibility of retreat… kissing feverishly, (never mind bruising of lips; deal with that later), Pain. What pain? Only a delicious feeling of …wonderment. What is happening now? Then… the last push, then another last push, then another, and another, and another. There will be many such, 'last-pushes'.

That magical moment where everything freezes. Silent scream... maybe not so silent.

A roar.

A groan.

A gasp.

A sigh.

Time stands still. Life is suspended.

Surprise upon surprise… ejaculation!

Pulse after pulse; explosions of emotion, indescribable multicolored pain, wave after wave of it; a delicious pain that cannot stop, until every last sperm is fired from that cannon. Then utter exhaustion as the exhausted combatants recover their breath after such a race, after that sprint-to-the-finish; the brain slowly recovers its sanity and stability, achieving a state of euphoria, peace, calm, gratitude, tenderness, leaving madness behind. Delicious wetness and damp everywhere. Sensitivity. Even a featherlike touch is enough to bring sensations and memories back to ‘fire’ again in an after-memory.

Release, at last. Completion.

Slow descent.

Exhaustion.

Savoring the dying sensations.

But wait! Where are you going? Already? Don’t slip from me so soon, so damp, so limp. Don’t go. We haven’t finished yet. How could we have finished, we barely got started before something happened and now you are leaving me?

Disappointment! Detumescence!

Going… going… gone with a sigh until the next time, which might be an hour, or only minutes, but there will be a next time, and another, until they number in the tens of thousands. Just think of all of that lovely sperm. Tens, anyway, if not hundreds of gallons of it over a lifetime of fulfilling sex, and all manufactured in his balls, just for her.

But none of that had happened between them yet. It was something still to look forward to. Lucky them!