KOI 03: Maya the B

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Although this episode is one of the more restrained of the Couples Off the Interstate (KOI) collection, the Greater Squick Rule of Classification requires it be entered in the Fetish Category.

Maya the B

Kaw Valley, Early Autumn, 1970

“Maya the B.” How strangely she loved!

I guess I could tell you about her, too. Back in the Sixties, the “open relationship” thing was new to people of my conventional background. So Maya and her husband were an odd couple to me when I was nineteen. Her husband was absent from my lessons, but Maya and he, together, helped me understand the rightness of the sort of thing I was to establish with Becca.

I had met freespirited girls before I encountered Maya in my first year of college. There had been girls well-ready to flaunt convention in return for novel experience, and girls working fast within the loose confines of American adolescence, and reckless girls who’d careered off-track into near-craziness, and just-plainly-sensible girls steady on a course of sexual self-definition.

Maya had probably been one of the last type, a couple of years before I came to know her. By the time I began taking a sequence of philosophy courses from her in Kaw Valley, she was about 26, and in the semi-rural cabin of Herr Doktor B she had found a warm but open place for her erotic persona.

Dok B was a genial Austrian research physicist, at least twice Maya’s age. (Maya’s closest living relative was an ancient aunt. I never had a chance to ask when or how Maya had lost her parents.) There was a definite flavor of adult father-daughter relationship in the interaction between Maya and Dok B. Given the disparity in their ages, it would have been hard to imagine the two of them interacting in any other way — and still being profoundly in love.

That was a strange thing to me at the time. The love of the younger loose couples I had known had always been provisional — young, and not always complete. But Dok B and Maya held a fully mature and committed marriage.

Yet Maya had lovers besides Dok B.

There was no indication that Dok B was dysfunctional in any way, physically or otherwise. But in the thirteen months I knew the couple and their circle, I saw or heard nothing to indicate that Dok B himself was at all inclined to take adventurous advantage of the open arrangement he had made with his wife. Nor was he especially interested in Maya’s affairs. If asked, he’d surely have said that they were her own business.

A fellow lover of Maya’s… I knew two others at the time; there may have been more… told me that Maya had been living with a colleague of Dok B’s when she and Dok B met. At first, their affair had been as casual as our’s, but it soon heated up, and Dok B’s colleague found his emotions strained despite his long-rationalized “openness” in such matters. It was lucky for everyone that Dok B and his colleague were both stable, tenured profs, working in separate subspecialties.

“But it was funny,” my co-lover shrugged, “Dok B and Maya got formally married at least partly to salvage escort bahçelievler Z’s feelings…”

I knew nothing about Maya’s history at first. I was interested in the course topics she was giving as a senior-level Teaching Assistant. In fact, I was thinking about a graduate career in her field. So I found nothing unusual about following her lead in my academic work. Maya was “stockpiling” publishable papers while finishing off her doctoral dissertation, and often enough, I could do her some minor favors, searching bibliographies and taking notes while carrying out my own projects.

In the spring of ’70, Dok B landed a visiting professorship in Louvain, to begin the next fall. Maya had to rush to complete her dissertation in order to follow him, and was a PhD by late July. She left town in the middle of fall semester, two months after Dok B, a week before I met Becca.

Maya’s first proposition, or invitation, was couched obliquely, and with such fleeting casualness that I was unable to recognize it for what it was. Maya had to give me a hands-on demonstration, so to speak, before I understood.

Maya’s face had real Grecian beauty: deep-set, light-brown eyes in a somewhat strong face of classic proportion. She smiled with natural casualness, but her long upper lip had a quality that could add a sensual sneer to the most commonplace expression. Her hair was a golden brown, not really heavy yet very full. It was usual to unfasten several hairclips before loving her… then the fall of dark gold encircled her face, neck, your forearms…

Maya’s small body had a womanish softness but little curve. Her breasts were full ripe fruits. Unbound beneath her shirt, their flat hard nipples tipped to the touch of fingertip. But Maya’s body had a roundness provided by its limbs, whose softly toned muscles curved at forearm, deltoid and bicep, backthigh and calf. This heaviness never exceeded attractive proportion. In fact, Maya’s round smooth thighs, pressed over one’s own, could flash before one’s awareness like buttocks, compelling you to grab for her resilient flesh, flesh of leg, back, bottom…

To grab or to bite… bite broadly, not to hurt, deep into her opened thighs’ tender hamstrings. The mouth met yielding firmness, there, the mix of light stretchmark and smooth vulnerability only adding to Maya’s flavorful texture, as my face worked into her crotch. Her legs waved and her hands danced about my head, Maya trying not to grab me, trying to brave the tickle, her tummy flexing with suppressed laughter.

My lips entered thick bush fragrant with her day’s genital activity, and my tongue was out of my mouth well before it reached Maya’s saline slick. It lolled in her curly shorthairs, rubbing through to monskin, all tasting of toiletwater and toilet. My tongue groomed Maya, cleaned her deeply, as her warm thighs gently closed about my head and her hands at last fell lightly to stroke my neck, my shoulders.

And I began to groom Maya’s glistening groove.

Like the rest of the woman, Maya’s escort balgat puss had a casual warmth. If approached slowly it dripped buttery flavor into the low tan folds of sex. Maya would be almost silent then, but if one looked up from feeding you could see her watching, a gentle smirk on her face…

Now my tongue plunged deep into Maya’s buttery. My earlier grooming had washed away the pretty, artificial fragrance, and my deep breathing now inhaled only the breadloaf scent of Maya herself. The flavor on my tongue was substantial; I strained to taste more. At the same time I relished the feel of Maya’s strong breathing, my palms pressed to her supple belly. I straightened, tongue still extended inside her, and pressed my face and forehead into her mound. Her belly ruffled my hair, her hands grabbed my head.

“Enough, now,” Maya said calmly, with pleasure.

I let her hands guide my body up her’s, my tongue and lips lapping, and feeling, the light hair over her belly nearly up to her navel. My nose fell into her navel — a warm fleshodor — kiss, lick. I observed the quickening effect of my breath on her belly. My face then to her round breasts, her low button nipples, salty. A wiggle of union. Our lips met. With a slick wave of heat over my groin I entered her.

Her breath had been held bated for some few seconds. Now she exhaled into and around my mouth.

“Here. Wait.”

Maya’s arms released me, while we remained engaged below. She moved to adjust the several large pillows on the bed. I pulled my body off from her and into an awkward “push-up” position, while letting my dowel still roll in her socket.

Maya lolled back into the pillows, semi-seated her tan torso up against them. She brought up her legs, opening them frog-fashion to either side of my half-buried stem.

The room was full of browngreen early-autumn afternoon light. The bed was mother-soft. It smelled of pumpkin.

Maya’s hands took me at my waist, blunt fingers pressing hard down the sides of my gluteus.

“Just plug me.”

Maya’s vag had hardened around my root. I locked my elbows and held my body away from her, and I withdrew my root completely and then I plunged back in. She took me resistingly, just semi-wetly, her knothole like a blunt fist — but she took me fully. Our genitals snickered. More buttery pumpkin odor.

“Unh.” That was me.

“Just plug like I’m not here.”

I closed my eyes and just poked. This seemed like the definition of Bad Sex. But Maya didn’t seem to care. Just soft belly to belly, my dick enclosed by a fistlike hole.

I opened my eyes as Maya’s hands moved over my hips and her soft short fingers pinched my slightly distended scrotum. Maya’s eyes were closed; I could see them moving dreamlike beneath the lids. Her fingers teased my balls up toward my crotch, teased the hair on my sac. Maya’s lips were pulled back. She sucked air through her teeth with each of my pokes into her hard cunt. Maya’s body was solid, stiff. The tickle around my balls turned to fresh sexual excitement; escort batıkent it was as if a wild plasma was hovering over them. Then the plasma moved to encircle my base, where it was mostly free of Maya’s cunt. Maya moved her hands slowly from my balls, around and up my shaft, and then her fingers played into herself, up over the top of my regularly plunging piston. The plasma of excitement followed her fingers, filling my entire penis, but Maya played for herself now.

I felt her body grow more tense. A guttural purr escaped through her teeth, and the plasma around my dick erupted into her own rush of excitement, and we came together like that.

At the same time, I felt another movement from Maya. Her buttocks and cunt flexed against my balls, flexed as our orgasm faded. Flexed as Maya purred again and I withdrew from her.

Beneath my now semiflaccid cock, Maya had extruded a small brown turd.

I felt oddly calm about this turd of events. (Allow me a little typesetter’s joke.) Maya acted as if nothing unusual had happened. I did move rather far to the other side of the bed after I disentangled myself from her.

“That felt good,” Maya murmured. “I hope you didn’t find that too gross.”

“Uh, no,” I said.

Maya rolled toward me, onto her belly and away from her fairly hard cylindrical deposit. She looked up at me coquettishly, chin in her hands. Her flirtatiousness seemed more odd just then than the copro-whatever. I was used to Maya acting like the fully-matured woman with me.

” ‘Cratylus’ is a funny name,” Maya said.

“It’s a medieval clerical name, the best we can figure,” I said. “Somewhere along the line, Brother Cratylus must have had a family, within the strictures of Irish canonical law or not. Apparently, the name is as old as Lindisfarne.”

“The name ‘Cratylus’ appears in a classical fragment attributed to Aristotle,” Maya said. She blinked, and traced a soft fingertip up my thigh. “The book was apparently some cautionary history of sophism. Cratylus was the star student of Gorgias, I think. But something went awry, and Cratylus wound up naked in the proverbial barrel on the edge of the Acropolis, eating dirt and ‘responding to every inquiry with a rolling of his head and a — splifft! — razzberry.’ “

“The first cartoon cynic, huh?” I said, amused.

“Not the first,” said Maya. “And he was far from the last.”

Maya scratched the hair of my muff a while, then returned her hand to her chin. She outstretched the other hand that had been cradling her head and picked up her little brown turd. She seemed to balance it in her palm, check it for weight and consistency.

Then she brought it to her lips. Her eyes were back to mine as she seemed to sniff at the thing.

“This is my tribute to Cratylus,” she said. “Don’t take it wrong.”

And she ate her turd. In three lingering bites, well chewed. The thing scarcely left a mark on the bed or her fingers.

“Fuck up my crack, will you?” Maya stretched out fully into the mattress. Once again she was the grown woman in charge.

“Not in my asshole, mind you,” she amended.

Regardless of our conversation, my cock had grown hard again. I dutifully positioned myself over Maya’s back, and wedged my woody along Maya’s full, golden groove, and began to rub.

That was another strange way Maya liked to love.

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