Archive-name: SpecMome/vitamins.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Vitamin Supplement


I put the finishing touches on the display in the booth.
   "Anything else I can do?", I ask.  
   Kathleen stops, checks a few things off on her notepad, and then 
responds,  "Yeah.  It's a big favor.  We have a rep flying in from the 
head office this afternoon.  It would be nice if someone was there to
meet him at the airport, show him around a bit, give him a ride to his
hotel, you know?  Would  you be able to do that for me?  I still have
too much to finish up here." 
   "Sure", I reply, anxiety creeping into my voice, "Anyone I know?"   
   Kathleen looks up.  "I think you might remember him from the Denver  
Home show last year...." And she says his name.  My knees go weak.  
   I'd been hoping against hope...and now I am not sure... "When does 
his flight get in?", I am trying to sound calm, composed.   My cheeks 
feel hot, and I can feel the heat spreading down my neck.  I tell 
myself to take slow, gentle breaths.  Kathleen is too preoccupied to 
notice.
   "In about an hour, you'd better hurry."  She tears off a piece of 
paper with his flight information on it and hands it to me.

I rush off to my hotel room, wash, apply a very subtle perfume to the
back of my neck, and just below the breasts.  I dig out some lingerie. 
The satin and lace push-up bra, and matching panties.  Deep purple
satin.  Black Lace.  I flirt with the idea of wearing the slinky red
dress, but think better of it.  That would be overkill.  And too
obvious.  Jeans.  Tight jeans, and a loose-fitting cotton sweater.  The
pretty blue one that highlights my breasts so nicely.  I run my hand
through my hair.  Give it a tossle.  I look in the  mirror, and stop. 
Why am I doing this?  Do I really want anything to happen?  Will he?  Am
I over what he put me through?  If pain can be sweet, then he was honey
laced with heroin to me.  An addiction.  I realize that no matter what,
I have to see him.  If for nothing else, than to resolve my feelings. 
My mind made up, I slip on my shoes, and dash out the door.

At the airport, I scan the monitors.  Flight 1703, arriving at gate 14.
My heart is pounding, and I almost feel dizzy.  The anticipation is
nearly overwhelming.  My god, I think, if I am this bad just waiting,
what will it be like when I actually see him?  Passengers start to
stream out of the doors. I scan the human flow for that face.  The one
indelibly stamped in my memories.  And there he is.  Shouldering a
backpack, unwittingly walking towards me.  Not expecting to see me, I
don't think he recognizes me.  My hair is now very short, quite
different from before.  My shape is much more lean, firmer - I have been
working out at the gym, and I have lost weight since the last time we
saw each other.  I swallow, summon my courage, and walk towards him. 
The crowd seems to melt away.  My ears are ringing.  I have to mentally
remind myself to breathe again.  When we are about 10 feet apart, he
sees me.  His pack drops to the floor.  His mouth drops slightly agape. 
I can tell that he is shocked and nervous.  Not sure what to do.  I can
relate.  I feel like a kid on her first date.  Then the lunacy of it
all strikes me and I have to smile.

  "Hi."  It's all I can muster, but it seems to break his trance and he
walks towards me, his pack forgotton on the floor.  We stand there, not
speaking, just looking at each other.  The seconds we stand there frozen
seem like hours, but then we are hugging and holding each other, as if
either one of us might fall at any moment.

   "My God.", he whispers, "I thought you'd never want to see me again.  
I thought I'd never get a chance to see YOU again."  I stop the flow of
words with a tender, wet kiss.  He is surprised, but instantly responds. 
My tongue leaves a hint of remembering on his lips.  Mine are tingling,
I can feel my nipples becoming erect.  I can tell, by the way he is
pressing close to me, that the chemistry is still there.  When I pull
away, I realize he is in soft focus.  Are the tears in my eyes ones of
joy, or of pain remembered?   It doesn't matter.  He is here.  I am
here.  I squeeze my eyes shut, and banish the tears.  Perhaps, for a
short time at least, we can lose ourselves in the fire that seemed to
consume us from the very first.

   "I'm supposed to 'meet' you and give you ride."  That evil grin of
his surfaces.  I respond with a wistful smile of my own. "To the hotel, 
I mean."  He exhibits a mock expression of disappointment.  I turn it 
around, "But you'll have to repay me.  A ride for a ride?"
   His eyes sparkle, and he squeezes me tight. "Are you sure you want to 
do this?"  he asks.  I know what he means.
   "Are YOU sure?", my response. "After all, YOU were the one who broke 
it off.  Said you couldn't handle it."  At that moment, the baggage
carousel  starts up.  I defer the inevitable by saying, "Grab your bags,
and we'll talk in the car."  

His luggage in one hand, he reaches for me with his other.  At first
touch,  our hands are cold, from nerves.  But they warm from the contact
as we walk to  the car.  In the car, we just sit.  Not starting it, not
moving, just looking at each other.  
   Finally, I tell him, "I really need another hug." And to myself, I've
needed one from you for so long now...  
He doesn't need anymore prompting than that.  It is awkward, leaning
across  the stick-shift, but it feels so good.  I long to just stay
like this, but I need more than a hug, I need some answers.  
   "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to this trade show?"  
   "Because I was afraid that you might tell me you WEREN'T coming to 
it.", he says, eyes downcast.  
   I'm confused. "I don't get it."  
   "Well, if I had told you I was coming, and you had said you couldn't 
make it, I'd have been really depressed.  So I decided to leave it to 
chance, or fate.  Better not knowing, than knowing bad news."  
   I never could understand that kind of logic, so, I reply with a smile, 
"You're weird."  
  "Yeah?  So what exactly are you trying to say?", his standard retort, 
when I state the obvious.   Then he looks sad again.  "More than
anything, I really  wasn't sure if you wanted to see me or not.  I know
I hurt you.  I thought you might just tell me to fuck off.  I didn't
think I could handle that."  
   I want to bounce off into my usual sardonic style, put on my best 
Mae West accent and say "Well let me tell ya sweetheart, the thought DID
cross mah mind...", but I can't.  This is dredging up too many old
feelings.  Things that went unsaid before, now have to be spoken.

I can't look at him and think clearly.  I look at the steering wheel,
the dashboard, anything but him, and try to concentrate my thoughts.  I
have rolled it over in my head so many times -  the things I was going
to say to him.  For so long now, I have had it resolved in my mind. 
Where did all the rationality go?  Now that he is here, all the
carefully rehearsed lines have disappeared.  My words seem to come out
a jumbled mess.

   "I'll be honest.  There were times... I wasn't sure either.  You DID 
hurt me.   You could have talked to me right from the start, and told me
you were messed up.  I think I could have helped.  But by being
diffident and aloof, it was like lying to me.  Not being truthful.  I
felt betrayed.  By the time you DID explain things, you pretty much had
yourself convinced to end it, and *I* was really messed up.  I just
couldn't understand this 'breaking it off now, because someday we might
HAVE to break it off'.  I think things could have gone differently if
you had been open from the start.  I wanted to contact you, but I held
off.  I had told you to call anytime, and you never did.  I took that as
an indication that you didn't want to reopen old wounds.  Sometimes, I
thought it was because you just didn't care, or because there was really
somebody else.  But you know, I just couldn't get you out of my mind. 
Some days I'd say 'Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!  Fuck you for lying! 
Fuck you for hurting me!', and other days, I'd just ache for your touch
and the sound of your voice.  I'd ache for your laugh and your smile.  I
wrote sad, tormented letters full of anger and pain, and never sent
them.  Other times, I'd be in the middle of doing something and I'd
flash back to a time we'd spent together, and before I knew it, a soft
moan would escape my throat.  I'd look around furtively, to see if
anyone could have heard...." The tears are back in my eyes, and spilling
over onto my cheeks.  "Before I met you I never even knew there was
anything missing.  Then you were there and I realized how long I had
been starving.  When you left, you took part of me with you."   I rub at
one eye with the heel of my palm.  "I don't know why I'm getting
all emotional like this.... I stopped hurting for you a long time ago. 
I decided to just focus on the good memories, and hope that someday we
could be friends again."  Or something more, my heart says. 

   He is uncertain how to respond.  "I wanted to... I was just so fucked 
up.  I felt like you were an addiction.  I felt guilty that I might be
making decisions based on my feelings for you, and neglect what was
important for my family.  I had so much going on in my head...  When I
realized I might not ever see you again, well, it hurt so much I
couldn't deal with it.  I know it's hard to understand.  I still don't
understand it all myself.  Do you still hate me for it?"   I take his
face in my hands, kiss his lips softly, and lean my forehead against
his.
   "You know I could never hate you.  It might have made it easier if 
I could,  God knows, I tried, but the hate just wouldn't come."    
   "I'm SO sorry.", he says, "You know I never wanted to hurt you.  I 
thought if I called you again, it would just make matters worse.  I
thought it best  for both of us to try and get on with our lives.  But
damn!  I missed you."  His fingers brush the tears from my face, and our
lips join again in bittersweet, salty kisses.  Then his kisses turn into
something deeper, more passionate.  His tongue circles my lips, probes
the deeper in my mouth.  His hand is on the back of my neck, pulling me
close to him, and I am lost.   I feel all fire and ice at the 
same time. But there is something more I have to know.  
   "What about now?  How do you feel about me now?" I ask.
   "I think I have my shit a little more together now.  I haven't really 
let myself mentally explore any possibilities, because I didn't know how
you would feel about seeing me again.  Or if I'd ever see you again." he
pauses, takes in a deep breath.  He looks into my eyes, "I guess I feel
the way I did when I first saw you and you sat down beside me." And his
voice becomes hushed,  "I didn't want you to leave."  I'm a sucker.  I'm
falling hard and fast, but I don't care.  I lean forward to kiss him
again, and he moves and whispers in my ear, "You were forewarned you
know.  I TOLD you I was an asshole."   That mischievous look is back in
his eyes. 
   "Lucky for you I didn't believe you!", and I start tickling him.  We   
break off into giggles and little grabbing kisses and hugs and
unintelligible  words.  All the pain and the hurt melts away in the
intensity of our play.  I feel that same high I did when I first met
him.  The kind you get when you connect -really connect- with someone.

   The air around us is electric, and at last he practically shouts, 
"Let's get  to the damn hotel!  Before I take you right here in the 
parking lot!" 
   "Promises promises", my retort.  A challenge, but I don't give him a 
chance to pursue it.  Perhaps if the car were bigger... But no.  Right 
now, I want privacy and intimacy.  I start the car.
                                                                         
On the drive to the hotel, he is amazingly restrained, he barely touches
me. Every time I look over at him, I see his eyes fixed on me.  Not
leering, no,  almost caressing me.  A look of both adoration and lust. 
Once again, I feel school-girlish.  Occasionally, his hand reaches out
and brushes the hair from my cheek, but that is all.  And that is
enough.  I can feel that familiar ache and my panties are starting to
get wet already.  Just from the proximity.

   "What are you wearing under that?", he asks.  I hear the anticipation 
in his voice.  I tease him.  I know what turns him on.
   "Mmmmm.  Something special.  I think you'll like it."  I smile and
seductively run one hand over my breast and down the length of my body. 
God.   I hope I don't soak right through these jeans before we get
there!  I laugh at the thought.  
   "What's so funny?"
   "If we don't get to the hotel soon, I'm going to look like I've peed 
myself...". I squirm in the seat. 
   A self-satisfied smile appears on his face. "Ahhh, exactly the 
response I was aiming for."  
   His obvious delight turns me on all the more. "You seem to have 
that affect on me."  My nipples are hard, almost throbbing, and I long 
to feel his incredible tongue on them, but that will have to wait.  I
curse the rush-hour traffic, and make small talk to calm us down.  We
talk about his kid, our spouses, jobs, our lives.  But neither of us is
really listening  to the words.  Everything is body language and sexual
cues and it doesn't matter WHAT he says, even the sound of his voice
turns me on... And I wonder again, why it is that this all turns to sex. 
There is so much more to what I feel for him than that.  Perhaps those
are the moments I feel closest to another person?  Then again, why am
I psycho-analyzing?  Maybe it's just kismet, and everything about him
turns me on.  And I want to make him feel incredibly good.  This is
something I KNOW I can do.  I am a sensual being.  I love getting and
giving pleasure.  Yeah.  That's it....  By the time we get  to the
hotel, I am so excited that just the feel of my thighs brushing 
together, as I walk through the lobby, is driving me insane.

As he registers at the front desk, I look anxiously around.  Oh please.
Please. Please.  Don't let anyone we know notice him (or me) here. 
Otherwise we will never get a chance to....  We practically run to the
elevator, and jump inside.  He pushes the button for the 16th floor.  We
are alone.
   "Hey", he says, pressing close, "Don't you have fantasies about 
elevators?"  
   Now I am the one with the wicked smile.  "Yes, but I'd need to be 
wearing a dress.  And no underwear.... ".  I reach my hand down, and 
stroke him.  I can feel him hard and straining against his jeans.  God. 
I love that feeling!  By the time we reach the 16th  floor, he is
groaning softly.  I delight in driving a lover over the edge.  The more
visibly turned on he gets, the more I do.  The build-up is half the fun. 
We walk hurriedly to the room.  The moment we are inside, the bags are
flung on the floor, and we are a tangle of lips, tongues, arms, legs. 
We tumble onto the bed.  
   Eventually, breathlessly, we break apart, and he asks, "Do I get to 
find out what you have on under that?" 

I reach over and turn the radio on.  I think we may need the music to
mask the sounds which will soon be emanating from the room.  (Not that I
am inhibited, but we don't know who is staying in the adjacent rooms. 
Might be someone who knows him.) Just before I get up, I take his hand,
bring it up under my sweater and let him feel the curve of my breast
through the satin.  Then I rise, walk a few feet away from him, turn,
and begin taking my sweater off.  Slowly, seductively.  It takes just a
few seconds, but I make the most of it.  He groans.  I walk up to him. 
He is sitting on the bed and I bend slightly to let my breasts brush his
face.  The softness of the satin, the scratch of the lace.  My nipples
are hard.  As his hands reach up to cup them, I reach down and pull off
his t-shirt.  Mmmm.  That hairy chest.  I run my hands up and over his
shoulders, down his back.  I never liked hairy backs before, but his is
so soft it's like a silky fur pelt.  I love it.  His hands are
caressing, stroking my breasts through the bra.  His thumbs each rubbing 
and teasing a nipple.  My breath is coming in short gasps.  I have to
try not to hyperventilate.  We will have so little time together.  I
want this to go slowly.  To savour every moment.
  
He gently pulls back a part of the lace, and begins teasing my nipple
with his tongue.  It practically vibrates on my nipple.  Now I am
moaning and digging my nails in his shoulders, and trying not to lose
control.  His tongue begins teasing my other nipple, as his hands deftly
undo my jeans. They are tight, so he must work them slowly down to the
floor.   I am practically swimming in my panties.  He runs his hand
lightly between my legs and utters one word: "Wow". 

He stands, puts his hands on my waist, turns me, and lays me back on the
bed. He kneels on the floor, pulls my ass forward, and positions me on
the edge of the bed.  Then he starts kissing my pussy through the
panties.  Kissing,  biting, sucking, chewing gently on my clit.  The
feeling through the satin is exquisite.  His fingernails rake my inner
thighs.  He works his hands round, and squeezes my ass.  Every so often
he sneaks a finger under edge of the panty, and teases me.  My hands are
in his hair, then clutching the fabric of the bedspread, then rubbing my
breasts, frantic.  My hips are undulating towards his face.  He watches
me the whole time.  It turns him on to have this power over me.  To be
in control.  My moans are like a plea to stop teasing, and he finally
gives in.  He pulls the crotch of the panties aside and puts his
delicious, incredible tongue directly to work on my clit.  I begin to
quiver uncontrollably, and I am coming, and coming and moaning and
coming.  

He looks up smiling, his face glistening, and I lurch to a sitting
position again, and grab him.  Still fresh with the glow of the orgasm,
I kiss him passionately, our faces sliding all over each other's, slick
with the taste of my cum.  The half-day's growth of beard on his face
makes my lips and cheeks burn, but serves only to heighten the
sensations.  
   "I know what you want now," he teases.  
   But I show remarkable restraint. It is MY turn to pleasure HIM. "Yes, 
but I am going to treat you to something special first.  I told you I
didn't really play my full hand last time....I'll show you a few  more
cards this time." 

At my urging, we stand up.  I run my tongue playfully through his chest
hair.  He smells wonderful.  A mixture of clean-soapsmell, with a hint
of musky, male, sweat.  I seek out the nipples that I know are so
sensitive, and give them my full attention.  While I tongue and
playfully bite one nipple, I tease the other with my thumb and
forefinger.  Pinching gently, and brushing lightly and rapidly over the
erect nipple.  His breath is coming in ragged gasps. (gee and I haven't
even done anything REALLY good yet - I smile to myself).  I run my
fingernails gently down the sides of his chest, work my way over to the
middle, and begin undoing his jeans. I slide my hand into his pants, and
rub that hot, inviting flesh.  I instantly notice something.  
   "Oh.  You don't have any underwear on.  How naughty."  
That infamous devilish grin flashes across his face.
   "I remembered that fantasy you told me, and I decided not to wear any.  
Just on the off chance that you might be here."  
   I feel warmed by the fact that he remembered.  But how cocky!  "How
did you know I'd be interested in finding out?  Did you really think I'd
still find you that irresistable?"
   "Well, didn't you?"
   "Ohhh.  You're a rat!" And I tug at his chest-hair.
    But I'm only feigning offence.  I have always found his self-assured
manner captivating, so I let the comment slide.  As I drop his jeans 
to the floor, I drop to my knees.

I can tell that his hard cock desperately wants to feel my lips around
it.  But he will want it even more by the time I am ready to provide
that service.  I  tickle under his balls with my fingertips, stroke his
legs, and apply tender teasing kisses around his cock, but only just
barely touch it.  Each time my face deliberately brushes against it, he
sighs.  He makes a half hearted attempt to direct my head and mouth to
the area desiring the most attention, but I deftly out-maneuver him and
continue my teasing.  I take one of his balls in my mouth and begin
sucking it, swirling my tongue over it as it slides in and out of my
mouth.  Then I start on the other one.  To add to the torture, I start
giving feather-light caresses up and down his cock, with my fingertips. 
It can tell by the increased pitch of his groans and gasps, that I must
give him some release soon....Enough teasing.  Well, maybe just a little
more.... I run my tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, and begin
rapidly flicking just below the head with the tip of my tongue.  Then I
grab the shaft with my hand and slide my mouth over the swollen head. 
His cock is so wide, I can hardly get my whole mouth over it.  As I
slide my mouth up and down, I synchronize the motion with strokes from
my hand on the shaft.  With my other hand I continue to caress and tease
his balls.  His  knees are buckling, and his hips are thrusting forward. 
I stop.  And hold tightly.  Then slowly, I release him, and start
stroking his legs.  I reach up and tease his nipples with my fingertips
again.  When I think he is calmer I return my mouth to his cock.  
Licking and sucking.  I love listening to the sounds of his pleasure.  
The pitch and the volume increase as I slide my mouth faster and faster
up and down.   His hands try to pull my head away.  He tries to stop me.
   "No. Don't. I want to fuck you.  The way you like it."   
    I smile, (Difficult to do with a mouth full of cock), and remove my 
mouth  just long enough to say "Don't worry.  You will.  You won't get
off that lightly".  I am not sure if he is groaning about the pun, or
what I am doing to him, but I go to work in earnest. 

I can feel his cock probing the back of my throat on each thrust.  His
hands are in my hair and his hips are thrusting forward in unison with
my sucks.  It is turning me on so much that my whole pussy is aching,
nearly cramping.  My nipples are yearning to be touched again.  I take
one hand away to rub them.  Then I slide my hand down under my panties
and slip my finger up inside, just to relieve some of that unbearable
tension.  He looks down at what I am doing, and it excites him all the
more.  Then he is exploding into my mouth.  I practically choke from the
force of it, but I swallow it all, and run my tongue in circles around
his cock, to lick up every last bit.  I love hearing the gasps and
grunts he makes as he is coming.  I am being truly wicked, my tongue
still active.  Then it is overstimulation.  He begs me to stop.  He is
still rock-hard.   I stand up and take his hand.  
   "Come and rest on the bed.   Regain your strength",  I tell him, 
"You'll need it."  Sometimes I'm just soooo bad.

We cuddle under the covers, bodies entwined, and talk about all the
things we have been doing since we last spoke.  His humor and his
laughter are infectious.  He is a wonderful story-teller, and I love to
watch his animated recanting of past events.  I laugh and smile till  my
face hurts.  In between bits of chatter, we kiss, touch, rub bodies. 
This is yet another form of teasing that we are doing to each other. 
Finally, I can stand it no longer, and I demand satisfaction. 
   "You KNOW what I want."  He reaches 'round to undo my bra.  I let 
him  remove it, and with one deft motion, it sails over the edge of the
bed and onto the floor.   Then he rolls me onto my back, pulls my 
panties off, and dispatches them to the floor.  He slides between my
thighs.  Probing gently into me with the head of his cock.  Slowly, so
slowly, barely penetrating me at first.  Inching into me.  Teasing
again.  Such delicious torture!  He starts a gentle, sensuous, trusting
that is just another way of tormenting me.  He has that evil look on
his face.  He KNOWS what this does to me.  He is regaining control,
while I am losing it completely.
   I grab his nipples and begin to pinch. "Come ON.  Give me what I want!".
No response but that smug smile.  I arch my back, grab his ass, and try
to move onto him more.  He pulls back.  Then I try pleading "Please?". 
He arches his back, still moving slowly in and out, not fully
penetrating, and brings his lips to the base of my neck.  He starts
kissing me there, as he is pumping in and out.  The feeling is driving
me insane.  I get spiky tingles over my whole body, and begin to writhe
uncontrollably, begging him to stop.  That is the ONE spot, (aside from
my clit), which can be used to put me over the edge.  I grab his ass
again and try to pull myself hard against him, trying to make him fuck
me harder.  I am moaning so loudly, he puts a hand over my mouth.  Then
moves his hand and smothers my moans with his mouth.  His tongue starts
matching the thrusts.  I start sucking gently on his tongue, sliding my
mouth on it, as if it were another cock.  I am starting to dig my finger
nails into his back, and he senses I can't take much more.  He  buries
his face in my neck, digs his hands under and grabs my ass, and begins
to pound into me, in earnest.  And I am his completely.  The last 
vestiges of my self-control are gone, and it feels exhilarating.
   Then he stops, and I am quivering, and he whispers in my ear,  
"You LIKE it HARD.  Don't you."  Not really a question, more of an 
accusation.   
   I beg, my voice a soft, hoarse confession, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Oh 
PLEASE."   He pulls out, rolls me over, and gets me on my hands 
and knees.   

He is on his knees on the bed, thrusting deep and hard into me and I am
nearly delirious.  There is a mirror on the wall beside the bed, and I
catch sight of our reflections.  Impossible to believe, but the sight
turns me on even more.  He looks over, sees what I am looking at, and he
becomes more vigorous.  His balls slap against my clit, amplifying the
wet sound of our bodies moving together, and his fingertips dig into the 
flesh on my hips.  I am on the verge of begging him to stop - it is 
getting so intense - and he does. 

I can feel him, pressed into me, taking breaths in long draughts, his
cock throbbing, on the verge...   I look over my shoulder at him.  His
face is flushed, as is his chest.  He wants to last a little longer, so
he slows things down.  His cock still inside me, he reaches his hands
round my sides, and starts squeezing my breasts.  Then caressing gently,
then squeezing.  He starts pumping slowly again, and I begin to moan
again.  He is rolling my nipples between his fingertips.  I reach back,
grab one of his hands, and bring it forward to my face.  He stops
moving, uncertain of what I am about to do.  I run my tongue along his
palm, and then bite each of his fingertips lightly.  Then I begin
sucking on his middle finger.  I gently scrape the finger tip with my
bottom teeth, and start sucking in earnest - sliding his finger in and
out of my mouth.  I hear a groan.  His finger is pulled gently out of my
mouth, but I do not give it up willingly.  He grabs my hips and resumes
that insane, wild, hard fucking.  I am pushing back against him,
doubling the force of each impact.  My arms collapse, and my head and
chest drop to the bed, ass still held high.  I grab and begin biting a
pillow, trying to muffle my near-screams of pleasure.  I can feel him
swelling up inside me, and then I can feel the pulsing of his orgasm. 
He is making the most gutteral, feral sounds, like some kind of animal. 
His orgasm seems to go on forever, and he holds me tight to him as he 
rides out these waves of pleasure.  Then his hands slide forward, and
find my clit.  His fingers vibrate side-to-side on it, and even as his
pleasure is subsiding, mine is reaching yet another peak.  I rock back
against him as I come again.   The sensation is almost unbearable.  I
can feel myself squeezing his cock, with each wave of pleasure.  Each
time, he gives a little grunt, and another thrust.  

Completely spent, I collapse on the bed, still moaning softly, and
struggling for breath.  He snuggles up beside me, and holds me close. 
His hands stroke the last spasms from my body, and he kisses my forehead
lightly.  Even in my exhaustion, I feel that dizzying excitement, that
'rush' that I get when I am around him.  Difficult to explain, but it
makes me feel alive. I know he  feels it too.  He looks invigorated.  
   "That was an incredible vitamin supplement." he says.  An old joke.
   I smile. "You could have gotten it from someone else anytime, I'm sure."
   "Yeah,", he says, "But it would have been the generic brand.  A pale
imitation.  I prefer to hold out for the good stuff."
   "Flattery will get you everywhere."
   "It already has."
Damn, it feels good to be with him again.  I can't even feel guilty
about it anymore.  It just feels so right.  In the background I hear the
dying strains of a song on the radio, and the words are eerily
appropriate:

       What about now?  Forget about tomorrow
       It's too far away.
       What about now?  Don't talk of Yesterday
       Its too far away.  Too far away.
       Its too far away.

       What about now?

       It's all about now, right now.
       Don't break the spell..... 

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