Triptych, An Erotic Adventure Read Free Page B

was nothing particularly special to look at, average build, not fat but not slim either, a little hair on his chest and lining his nipples, but not a pelted beast like some of the men she had ‘known’. He had a foreskin, which perhaps fixed his age as under thirty, although she could not be sureof this. It was something she had read somewhere and the idea that all young men had foreskins had stuck with her. It was certainly true that most of the older men on the internet, grey-furred bears, or men with wrinkles on their chests, had penises without any foreskin at all. The physical patterns had begun to emerge for her. Older men were without foreskins, younger men came too quickly, often before her scenarios had had time to settle into a natural rhythm.
    Most of the men responded to her delicate inventions with coarse words like cunt and cock and slut and whore. They liked their sex talk simple and direct: she was happy to play within these rules as long as they were prepared to indulge her when she lucked onto an arousing new idea. Most of them were happy to let her take the lead as long as she kept the talk within the boundaries of sex and didn’t stray into long descriptions of midnight parks or the creaking gothic corridors of abandoned houses.
    Her time with Aaron began just like any other, a faceless torso gently stroking an erect penis. It started as it always must.
    Are you male or female?
    Female.
    Really? Truthfully.
    Truly, I promise.
    There is no truth in places such as these.
    A deviation from the general script; by now they would almost always be talking about her breasts at the very least,and had usually made it to her vagina.
    I am being truthful and I will prove it. If I were a man, would I admit that I have my period as we speak? Would I tell you that the very act of pleasure will be tempered by a dull ache in my belly, and enhanced by the freshly inserted tampon that will act like a little dildo during the act itself? I can assure you there will be no spillage.
    I have no aversion to spillage. The headless torso held his penis in his hand but ceased to stroke it. The organ was large; politely firm but not boyishly over-eager. I assume you are not averse to some amount of spillage on my part during our brief but, I trust, sweet conversation?
    His one-handed typing was superb. He was the only torso she had met who used punctuation despite the impediment of simultaneous masturbation.
    I would be disappointed if there were no spillage at all. I might take that as a personal slight.
    Oh I don’t think there is any chance of that. Even from these preliminaries I can tell that we will come to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.
    Aaron kept up the accurate typing with his left hand while treating her to a slow, stimulating display of his excitement with his right. Susanna launched into a favourite scene, imagining that she would lead the way with the story and the characters, only to find Aaron equally skilled in wordplay and narrative drive.
    She began in the back of a taxi cab and Aaron quicklydelivered them to an art deco hotel. To her surprise he began to describe the building. The windows were illuminated in a russet glow by the large orbs of red suspended within. He described the flock wallpaper, gold but with a raised butterscotch velour that stroked her shoulder as they travelled down the corridor.
    If anything, his descriptions made her hungrier for the main event. He slowed the pace of their encounter with theatrical flourishes and by the time they closed the door of the hotel room Susanna was desperate to tear the clothes from his already unclothed chest and touch the undeniably hard, twitching penis that was now the complete focus of her attention.
    When the moment of completion finally arrived she found her hand moving of its own accord off the keyboard and onto her mouth, her head snapped back on her neck, the throat exposed, her nipples tugging urgently at the cotton of her shirt. If she had had