This is a work of erotic fantasy, so there’s quite a lot of sex. However, there isn’t sex happening in every chapter. There are many passages that include setup, character development, and all that boring stuff which makes the sex that much more meaningful when it finally happens. I know not everyone cares about backstory or getting to know the characters, so each chapter which does have sex in it also has a heart following its title: ♥

The sex is not intended to be pornographic or paraphilic. It’s just the kind of stuff that happens between people, though sometimes in somewhat unusual situations. This includes threesomes and groups, intimacy taking place among people under the age of eighteen (with no one over eighteen present), same-sex partners, and scenes involving brother-sister incest. If you live in the kind of world where you believe those sorts of things never happen, or should never happen, you’re both (1) welcome to stop reading now; and (2) not even remotely in touch with reality in any way at all.

There is cover art for Book 2! It’s non-nude. If you’d like to see it, it’s here on imgbox.com.

Finally, Nifty has been providing some primo material for years now, and can always use a helping hand. Websites aren’t free to operate or maintain, and no one’s getting paid to do any of this. Donate what you can, as you’re able!

Enjoy!

— Harmony Brücke, fricfic at gmail.

Kaeleigh Goes All the Way

Book 2: 2024 • Part II: Make New Friends; Keep the Old

3. Falling in Love with a Porn Star ♥

Lana had already had sex with Luke, and seen his videos, so she thought she had an idea what would happen. She was wrong.

Luke had done just over two hundred scenes for Pretty Good Privates, and he was right that they tended to follow a minimum rote pattern that began with making out, moved on to cunnilingus, and finished up with intercourse. Sometimes, but not always, the girl would perform fellatio for a while, but rarely to orgasm unless it was a sixty-nine scene. Sometimes there was mutual masturbation, generally during making out, or pauses in larger events. (There were some scenes that were nothing but making out and handjobs, one-offs staged as “perfect first date” scenarios where the woman got off, several times, in low-anxiety, safe-sex acts.)

What Lana hadn’t considered was something Luke had hinted at in the interview. The scenes he did for PGP were performances, at least to some extent, staged for a camera and recorded for the titillation of an audience. But in the privacy of her apartment, where there was no one to witness any of it but Malcolm, her Siamese fighting fish (actually Malcolm the Fifth, God rest Malcolms One through Four, gone to the great toilet-flush in the sky), Luke wasn’t constrained, and didn’t have to follow any steps or meet any shot-sheet expectations. He had no distractions, nothing to think about, nothing to focus on but Lana, and her pleasure. She had his full attention from the moment they began, and in every moment that followed.

It started with kissing, as soon as they got through her door. She closed it and turned and he was there, and she felt him near, felt her back against the door, felt slow and sweet kisses that built, nothing but kissing, no wandering hands, no groping, no grinding of the Boner of Need against the Girl of Inevitability. She was breathing hard when it broke. She could feel her breasts shifting against his chest. She stared at him, surprised at how good a simple kiss had felt — even considering the sweet, playful flickers of his tongue against hers — and caressed his cheek. He smiled, caught her hand, and pressed each fingertip, delicately, to his lips, leaving little sparks behind on her skin.

She clasped his hand in both of hers and led him toward the bedroom, kicking her shoes off as she went. He shucked his too, and looked around at her inner sanctum, a bit untidy with classwork and notes, sparsely furnished with a desk, computer, bookshelves, and an ample bed. “I know it’s not much,” she murmured.

“Who’s judging?” he said, coming up behind her. He circled her waist with his arms, and she leaned back into his muscles and warmth. “I’m here to be with you, not to rate your apartment.”

“Is it crazy that my heart’s beating so hard?”

“No. Mine is, too.” She turned to look into his eyes, and he took her hand and pressed it to his chest: Thud-thud-thud, a fast and solid echo of her own pounding arousal. “I want to be with you,” he breathed. “I want to love you.”

“I’m here,” she murmured.

They stood together at the foot of her bed, embraced and kissing, and this time she felt him close to her, risen against her. It was a presence that he didn’t assert. He knew it was there, and she did too; and he also knew that. She was conscious of his arousal, but he wasn’t overwhelming her with it. They were here so she could have him, and he didn’t feel a need to drive the point home. She realized this was self-control, and it sped her pulse further, because a man who was a master of his urges was, to her, an ideal sex partner. He’d keep everything focused. There would be no unintentional frenzy. There would only be a deliberate, skilled, and energetic approach to ecstasy, and then the frenzy, at the perfect moment.

Christ he was so hard in her hand. Even through the denim of his jeans, she felt him rigid and pulsing.

He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, revealing, a couple inches at a time, a widening vee that showed first her breastbone, then the center of her bra, then her upper belly, and then he was slowly tugging the tails out of her skirt, finishing the last buttons, pushing it back onto her shoulders to slip down her arms. She let it glide silently to the floor as his hands coasted over her skin, the fingertips trailing along her ribs and putting her in shivering gooseflesh, his arms circling her waist and pulling her into the kiss again, and their tongues met and danced, and her hands were at his shoulders, drawing him closer, and she felt the steady thud of his heart and knew he was still, yes he was still aroused, and he was keeping it controlled, because it wasn’t yet time to let it loose.

She consumed his kisses with growing hunger as she worked his shirt open, the buttons coming undone until his densely-muscled torso was bare and the shirt was on the floor and he was naked to the waist. His toned pectorals were firm and tight under her palms, his nipples stiff, and she tickled at the giddy scallops over his abdomen, the ripples of his lats, the full swell of shoulders that could lift her up and carry her off with ease. When she felt his fingers at the middle of her back, felt a brief and expert manipulation that was followed by her bra coming loose, she was ready for it, and pushed it down her arms. Her breasts, now bare, pressed warm on his muscular chest, and she felt her risen nipples brush lightly against his silky flesh, and shivered. He let his heat rise a little more now, his kisses deeper, more questing, seeking her flavor. One hand was at the small of her back and the other slipped up over a breast, cupping, kneading, the thumb coasting light and feathery over her aureole, around her nipple, just grazing it sometimes, and silvery darts passed through her skin.

Somehow her hands had gone to his ass, her fingers kneading its slabbed curve. She passed her palms over the dimples, up to his waist, around the front, tracing his inguinals up and down with her thumbs while he broke the kiss to nuzzle her ear, lick and gently nibble the lobe, the hand, that hand, still at her breast, still tickling, still sparking flashes in her. His jeans were button-fly and she undid the buttons, all of them, peeling them open to expose boxer briefs that contained a promise, a need, a reality, pushing up solid in the black cotton. She traced the vee of the corona through the cloth, traced the head of his penis with her fingertip, while his hand went from the small of her back to stroke her ass, squeezing softly, caressing and cupping in slow, firm circles, and still the hand at her breast, still the thumb almost but not quite on her nipple.

She was panting now, she would have him, she would have him, and with a push his jeans slipped down his taut, muscle-rippled thighs to accordion at his feet. He lifted a leg, the knee bending to tickle at hers, between her thighs for a moment, and he stepped from the jeans, put his leg down, kicked them aside. His hand traveled up from her ass to the waist of her skirt and pushed, tugged, and the burgundy wool was on the floor, revealing panties that matched her bra, black and lacy and plunging low, stretched taut over her rich mound and its deep, moist cleft.

Solid, him, under her hand. She caressed his flesh, the heat of his blood radiant in it, the need in him pulsing through his shorts and against her palm. “Lana,” he breathed in her ear, the whisper like a kiss. “Yes.”

She licked her lips, slow. “Luke.” She licked his lips, slow. “I want you inside me.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“No condom. Nothing on you at all.” She bit his ear, not hard, and felt him shiver. “I want you to come inside me.”

“I will.” He tickled his tongue down along her jawline, from her ear to her throat. “Goddess.” And she felt it, she knew it was his tale that had put it in her, but she felt it, she felt a resonance within herself, a response. She was a goddess. Why not? And why not be worshipped?

“On your knees,” she breathed. He knelt. He knew.

He rocked his head upward, pressing at her vulva through her panties, his face moving in a small soft circle. She looked down at him past her breasts, past her peaked nipples, past the gooseflesh that stood. She looked into his eyes and saw the focus, the adoration, saw that he was seeing her, only her, that he was committing his body and his mind entirely to her and her pleasure, and she began to find it now, his hands pulling gently at her ass, pulling her hips forward, drawing her mound into firmer contact with his face, encouraging a slow rhythmic rock. She felt his lips press to hers, only a thin layer of lace between them, heard him inhale, saw his eyes flash at her scent. She felt her moisture break, felt it begin to flow slowly through the cloth, as he brought it gently from her. He breathed again, taking her full aroma, and his eyelids flickered and she saw the brightness of his need in his gaze. “You want it,” she breathed.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You need it.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going crazy for it.”

He shivered. “Yes.”

She smiled and hooked her thumbs under the waistband. “Have it.”

She pushed her panties down, baring her thin pubic stripe, her shaved mons, gleaming in the evening light, saw his eyes widen in joy at her treasure. Past her rise she couldn’t see, but she had mirrors and knew what she was presenting to him, the fold, the gate to heaven, the outer labia glistening now in the cleft, glossy with her fluids, and her inner labia, deep black at the edges fading to rich crimson, just peeping out at him from their shy home.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh yes.”

He’d seen this already. He’d tasted it, had it, known it. He’d seen the same, or similar, on a thousand women and girls before her. But it was as new to him all over again, forever a joy, forever a blessing, forever a center of holiness. Her gooseflesh returned with a vengeance as she felt the tip of his tongue trace, very lightly, up over her left labium, back down, then up the right and back down, then up the center, tickling, wet, playing. He paused, looking up at her, and worked the tip back down again, into the crease, against her tingling rills and over them, and they slid and rolled, her fluids and his saliva beginning to blend, and the tingle flared briefly, giving a hint of the radiance it would become. His hands kept working her ass, kneading, caressing, rolling, and she felt his mouth open wide, felt his lips settle around her womanhood, felt his tongue ease back up her crease, probing in a little further this time, and when it was at her arch it circled and went back down, he was teasing her inner labia to rise, working them into soft, full separation, lapping at the creases where they joined her outer fold, and the tingle was rising with each slow taste he had of her, and there was suction but it was gentle, so gentle, encouraging her to swell but not demanding, and she rose to his invitation and felt herself distend within herself and in his mouth, the flat of his tongue soft and sweet on her still-growing arousal.

She knew her own flavor; she’d tasted it before on fingers in self-pleasure, licked it from the flesh of partners after they’d been inside her, and knew what he was tasting in her now, saw his eyelids flicker again as he moaned, soft, helpless, aflame with enjoyment. What was it goddesses drank? Ambrosia. Her ambrosia, then, flowing now, feeding him in dewdrops, tart, tangy, a little salt, a little musk. Her unique recipe, her flavor unlike that of any other woman, and he was relishing it, craving it, having it. He knew where her clit was, and he cradled it in his upper lip, pressing up with his tongue at each deep, long lick, not striking it directly, massaging it through her own heat. She felt ripples begin to rise from her mound at each ascent of that tongue, that tongue, a slow growing tide of gentle golden warmth that did not fade as it passed through her skin; it sank in and began to enliven her to her depths.

She put her hands to his head, combed his hair in her fingers, the thick soft growth silky near the roots. She began pulling him to her, matching his rhythm, and gradually started rocking him into her a little faster, a little faster, a little, a little faster, and he knew and responded, increasing the speed of his strokes but not shortening the length of them, and his hands slipped around her thighs and his thumbs began a slow, firm, circular massage of her vulva, deep in near her perineum, moving in time to his tongue, and the massage was becoming more than something happening to a few inches of her skin. She felt the first light spasm pass through her, making her hips twitch, and he gave a quiet moan of anticipation.

“We’ll get there,” she murmured.

“Mmm,” he said, still licking, tasting, massaging, loving.

Worshipping.

She held it there for a while and he did not press. Her pleasure was his focus, and she set the pace. He kept his eyes on hers, and she knew she was all he saw. He kept his tongue steady, and she knew she was all he tasted. He breathed, air tickling her skin warm then cool, and she knew she was all he smelled. His hands massaged, his thumbs kneaded, and yes, she knew she was all he felt.

“Here we go,” she whispered, and lifted her leg and settled it over his shoulder. “Bring it now,” she said, and she let him take control for a while.

It began with a deeper, stronger push of his head, his face questing up and in, his lips gliding over hers, slick and warm and wet now. One hand moved to her ass again, helping pull her against him as the gliding rock deepened, and the other slipped around and she felt his finger pass between them, between her lips and his, felt it block his tongue, and knew he was licking it, slicking it, and then it was there, nestling within her inner landscape, rocking firmly, easing the fold open. The tip tickled her vestibule, slid past it, gently up and in, and still his lips were there, still his tongue was keeping that long steady lick, still his head was rocking, still his face was on her cunt. His finger seated itself perfectly and gave the gentlest of beckons, drawing her to him, and she went along with it, another shivering spasm twitching through her thighs, stronger than the first, but nowhere near what she was capable of.

He knew it and watched her, watched her, licking and questing, touching and tasting, teasing and kissing and loving. His cheeks were glistening and he was sighing, breathing harder, aroused by her arousal, needful in her need. She felt his tongue flick briefly and heard him swallow, and then he was back, the rhythm all but unbroken; but knowing what he’d done, knowing he’d drunk her juices, brought a burst of pleasure to her and more fluid to him.

Her hands were clenching now on his head, she was pushing forward and down, using his face, using his lips, and he craved it and she saw it in his eyes and knew it in his moans, and her leg tightened on his shoulder and his finger beckoned, more deeply, more compellingly, massaging her from the inside even as his upper lip began to purse and pucker over her arch, massaging her on the outside, and still that tongue, that tongue. Her clit and G-spot, teased and squeezed together, became a bright acorn within her flesh from which a mighty tree began to grow, its roots and branches coursing through her nerves, bathed by the glowing ripples, awash in brightening gold and lighting her flesh with radiance. The power of it, the strength, burgeoned and swelled, ripened and flared, and this time the spasm wasn’t a twitch or a buck; it was a mounting of pleasure, a stallion that she rode, knowing its power, feeling its animal truth, rising in the air, Pegasus lifting her in triumph, and her head rocked back and her eyes rolled back and her mouth fell open and she cried glory.

And just as she felt the steed lag, just as she felt it begin to slow from gallop to canter, he goaded it anew and brought it back to full life, and the bucking was hers, it was her own, coming from her own body, a driving pounding rhythm of hips and thighs on the solid mount of his face, and she reared back and gave full throat to it, crying out again because if she did not, she would burst with its raw, surging power.

This time, he let the fury ease, let the mad charge slow. She gazed down at him in wonder. He knew, he knew he’d taken her as far as she could go with it for the moment, knew he could bring a third, a fourth, and more; and he knew it would be torment, that this interlude of joy would become torture which she would endure but never want to revisit. As it was, she was momentarily sated, but would be prepared for more again soon. He kissed her back down slowly, licking and cradling, lapping and caressing, not beckoning, his finger still there, but still. She felt it slip from her at last and lowered her leg to the floor, allowed him to minister to her, cleaning her off, and when he stood she smelled herself on him, her cum and musk on his face, and kissed him and tasted herself on his tongue, and he was still in his boxer briefs and his penis was stone under her touch.

She fell to her knees and all but tore his underwear off him.

How many girls, how many women, had faced his offering to their temples, and not recognized what they saw? The swollen head, the deep curved rim, the annealing of its vermillion pebbly flesh to the shaft. The shaft itself, thicker at the middle than at either end, tapered and slightly curved, skin thin and loose on a blood-hot architecture of ripples and bumps and veins, melding to his groin at the root, the rich brown hair there trimmed and groomed to a careful and symmetrical horseshoe. Beneath that, a scrotum ripe with the future, full and heavy, drawn snug between his deep-muscled thighs. He was washed and clean and aromatic only slightly of sweat and musk, and his skin, when she tasted it, carried the merest hint of salt, and was dry, and she changed that, licking and lapping, glazing and polishing, from sac to glans. His gift, part of his gift, of devotion to her. His sacrifice in worship, his flesh, given freely to be consumed by her body, to fill her pleasure with his.

She looked up at him as he stroked her hair, his eyes steady, his awareness complete. Luke’s penis was sizable but not overwhelming, impressive but within her ability to handle. She sucked it delicately. He would come, but not in her mouth, not this time. Next time, yes. She circled the cap with her tongue, licking slowly, tracing his rim in an easy, wet, slick orbit, the little red heart tattoo alongside his root drawing closer, moving away, drawing closer again in a steady quiet pulse. She smiled at his shivers, felt her heart thud at his flush. Building desire in a man was always easy, but seeing it in his eyes and knowing there was no other woman in the world for him right now made it … yes, an act of sacrament.

A thin, heavy bead flowed from her center, the nectar of the goddess, and glistened on the floor between her thighs.

His balls, cupped in her hand and rolled gently in her fingers, began to tighten and retract, and she eased off just before he needed to back her away himself. “Lana,” he panted as she glazed his frenulum. “Oh … Lana…”

She let him slip from her lips. “I’ll have a mouthful.” She kissed the gleaming head. “Later. I promise.”

“I believe you,” he breathed.

She sat on the foot of the bed, backed up the mattress as he moved to her, crawling back as he knelt, watching her body move. She lay back, her head at the pillows, her knees bent, her thighs parted. “Come to me.”

He’d done this before too, the slow rapture. It was slower this time, because there was no time limit, no audience to be aware of, growing restive and wanting to see a consummation. He’d handled the shorter time with expertise born of two years’ prior practice. He took his time now with expertise born of nearly a decade of making love.

His lips were sweet at every kiss, blessing her body, toes first and up and up and up. He licked, he savored, he tickled and teased, and it built again, built it without him needing to touch her vulva; the arousal was back and it was hotter than the moment before she’d first felt his lips and tongue on her. By the time her legs were around his shoulders, she was ready for the ride, and she got it, different lying down. She had more leverage and didn’t need to keep her balance. He invited her, brought her up, and she went from working rhythmically and steadily to fucking his face hard, lifting herself off the bed with his tongue on her and one finger in her, and his other hand doing something just below her pubic bone, something that sent pure radiant jolts of electricity through her, centered at her sex and blazing outward in blinding, strobic flares.

She became aware that the sheets were clenched in her hands, that her teeth were gritted and she was hissing yes yes yes through them, and that he was swallowing again, and there was fluid on her thighs, on his face, running down in thin warm trickles.

“Oh God,” she whimpered.

“Goddess,” he murmured, and kissed her pussy, licked her cum from her skin, her gift of ambrosia to him.

He continued his ascent, taking it slow. She needed a moment to catch her breath and he, yes he, of course he knew it. This was love, not torture, not abuse; it was taking her to the edge of her self, but never, ever taking it too far. He lingered for a while at her breasts, not circling her nipples in a maddening glorious tease but instead licking them full on, suckling them, as his hand cupped her mound and vulva, moving in a slow, easy circle, a massage that enlivened and loosened her. She felt herself distended fully now, tumid and beckoning, and when he was over her she parted her thighs and settled them on his bent knees, and watched with him as he pushed his crown toward her, the warm flesh sweet in her cleft. He came up gleaming, and pushed down again, then let the bottom of his shaft slide up through her, collecting her wet, making himself wet in her. He rocked easily, watching her eyes, giving her a slow long stroke with himself, their bodies already shifting in the right way, with him not yet inside her.

He lengthened the strokes, slowly diving down a little deeper with his head each time, leaning in, his lips hovering closer and closer to hers. “Lana,” he breathed.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her and, just as he kissed her, he pushed down and in at a backstroke, and when he came back up, he slid into her. In a single, smooth motion he’d gone from caressing her with his penis to filling her with it.

The head, oh the head, that sweet warm mushroom head, rising up into her channel, the flaring shaft behind it that fitted snug into her, then pushed her open, then let her snug around him again. Feeling his rim plumb her, delve into her, sink into her almost as far as she could take, and he was inside her, he was warm and hard and alive and inside her, and she was accepting his body and his love, and then he was easing out and she felt the light suction, felt the deep tickle, and he paused, caught just within the rim of her vestibule, and sank into her once more.

Stroke and stroke and stroke, such a light inner caress and so vast, his hard body above her, rocking against her smoother, softer heat, his breath at her ear, her cheeks, her lips, his kisses falling in light patters to tickle, to tease, to taste. The power in him, the raw male power, kept so well under control, and she felt him let it slip, let it slip more, knew he was trying her edges and met him, drove up to meet him, told him by her thrusts that his thrusts were welcome. His hand by her shoulder, holding him up as he stared down at her, watching her in their act of love, his eyes constant and glowing, and his other hand slipping down her belly, through the slick of wet she’d made, to glide his thumb in a slippery arc around her vulva, just grazing her clit, firmer at her labia. How did he, oh how did he know?

Breathing, moaning, sighing, gasping, and Lana was aware of her body, of nothing but her body, and it was good with him like it always was with the best lovers, but better because he knew so much more, her body was all she was now, her body and his, him inside her, him in her center, and she came, and he knew, yes he knew, because she grasped him inside, drew at him, milked at him, and he picked it up again, not driving hard but getting there, and she came again, clutching at him now, lifting herself off the bed on the power of his smoothly rocking shoulders, and her lips were at his ear and she hissed now, now, and he grunted yes, yes goddess, and she let her head fall back so she could see his eyes, and she saw it and felt it, saw the glow, there it was, and she opened herself wholly to him, driving up to have him, and he let her, he let her, bearing down, grinding in, driving her to the bed and into low orbit, she came and he, oh he, oh yes he came, yes he came, yes he was inside her and he was so far inside her and he came and it was heat and it was light and he came, she was sobbing and she was coming and he was too, oh the bright, oh the good, oh the glory, oh the flesh.

They slowed, sweat standing on them, breaths sharp and deep, eyes locked, faces flushed. They slowed but they did not stop yet, they drew it out for each other, kept the union of their heat, eased it back to warmth, kept the love going and kissed and kissed, man and woman, one flesh, one need and purpose and fulfillment.

“Oh Luke,” she murmured when she could speak again.

“Lana,” he breathed.

“I thought it was good last time.”

“That time was for you and our fans.” He kissed her. “This time was just for you.”

“How,” she panted, “can you still be hard?”

“Do you really not know?” he said, smiling a little.

She chuckled, her head rolling on the pillows. “I think there might be something to this goddess-worship thing.” She looked down to watch as he eased himself from her. His white skin, so startling against her deep hue, glistened with her cum, was pearly with his. She pushed him onto his back, sat up, licked him clean. She knew her taste, and found it mixed with another, a hint of creaminess, a hint of metal, a hint of bitter. It was rich on her tongue, and it strengthened her resolve to have a full taste, later on, after they’d recovered. She wanted a sixty-nine with him, oh yes she did, but there was no way in heaven or earth that either of them was capable of anything right then. She cuddled up to him, her naked body pressed warm to his, and settled into the circle of his strong arms, smiled at the touch of his gentle hands. An acre of magnificent chest filled her gaze, and the clock beyond it. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Is that really the time?”

He looked too. “Yeah, quarter to eight.”

“Luke … we met at the restaurant at six.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

She shook her head. “And we got back here at … just a little past seven.”

“That seems about right, yeah.”

She looked up at him. “You made love to me for half an hour?”

“I … kinda lose time a little when … well, when I’m…”

“With your goddess.”

“Yeah. But … I think you needed it.”

“I did,” she said. “Oh God yes I did. I don’t think I could take it if it was like that all the time, but that time, God yes, Luke, that was what I needed, and just how I needed it most.”

“I don’t do it like that all the time,” he said, his voice quiet. “Sometimes a girl wants something quick. Sometimes she wants it slow and sweet. Sometimes she wants to be nailed down, and other times she wants to take a ride, and sometimes she just wants oral, and sometimes…” He sighed. “So many ways to love her.”

“And … you know them all, don’t you?”

“Well … I know a lot of them, I think.”

“I need to find that first girl of yours, and give her a medal.” She kissed his chest. “I want a sixty-nine with you in a while. Can you stick around?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m in no rush to go anywhere.”

“Good.” She patted his chest. “Thank you, honey. That was a hell of a thing.”

“Hey, I was there too. So thank you, right back.”

She chuckled through a yawn. “Do you mind … cuddling with me a while?”

“Never,” he said, holding her and holding her.

“Okay.” Her voice was a low murmur now. She was fading fast, easing from afterglow into repose. “You’re so warm. Like a big sweet teddy bear.”

“I’m here,” he breathed, and kissed her brow, but she’d already sunk into deeper places. He smiled at her, and joined her in them.

* * *

“Just how open is your marriage?” Lana asked, much later. They were still naked and in her bed again, Luke on his back, Lana resting her head on his chest; she’d made them a plate of fruit and cheese earlier, after they woke, and they’d fed each other with more than the light snacks. The sixty-nine had been slow and delicious; even upside-down, he didn’t need any map to know where to go or what to do when he got there. His cum had been frothy and copious, and slid easily down her throat after a long and happy savoring. She’d always enjoyed the flavors of semen, and she was sure his wasn’t any more extraordinary than anyone else’s, but it was his. “Are you both allowed to date other people?”

“My wife’s been known to date girls. And guys.”

“Since you got married?”

“No, but that’s only because we got married in May, after she turned eighteen. I think it won’t be too long before she’s seeing a girl, or maybe a guy, or both, on the side. I’m pretty sure she already has one girl’s attention.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. She’s done it before while we were together. She likes to pick up … regulars, people she can go to when she has a particular urge. I’m not a girl, of course, so there’s a whole lot of stuff she loves that I can’t give her. And she likes a variety of bodies, dick shapes, and cum flavors, too. And I work at PGP, which means a couple girls a week for scenes, and she’s told me it’s okay with her if I take it to the next level with any of them. We’re both pretty flexible about it.”

“Good,” Lana said. “Because I’d really like to keep seeing you, if I can. If you want to. I’ve never had a sex partner like you before. I’ve been with a few gorgeous men, and I’ve been with a few men who were great at sex. I’ve been with a couple who were both. But … maybe it’s the worship, but there’s something about being with you that … it’s not like anything else I’ve ever experienced.”

“We can see each other,” he said. “It’s okay. As long as you know I’ll always be married to her, and…” He sighed. “How to say it without hurting you…”

“She’ll always come first. It’s okay. She’s your wife, and I’m not talking a lifetime thing. This is my last year here, I’m graduating in May, and God willing, this same time next year I’ll be at the Times or the Post. So what I’m really talking about is a … I guess an affair, but not a permanent change for either of us. I’d just … really like to keep seeing you.”

“Okay,” he said, stroking her glossy espresso skin. He was forever fascinated by it; her natural sheen of oils created iridescent rainbow patterns, faint shimmering highlights that added a chromatic dazzle to her mellow dark tones, and over it all lay a faint golden layer that only showed when the light hit her at just the right angle. It was a nuance that almost never showed up well on camera, which was a tragedy, he thought. “I’d really like to keep seeing you, too.”

She took a breath, let it out. “It’s not because you’re gorgeous. It’s not because your cock is a work of art. It’s not because your cum tastes good, or you’re a pro at eating pussy and fucking, and it’s not because you’re a pro. All those things are wonderful, but they’re not the whole picture. It’s because you’re a very sweet man with a beautiful soul, and when I’m with you I feel … just natural. I don’t have to think about what to say next. I can relax. And you respect me, and not in the usual man-trying-to-be-respectful-but-not-knowing-how way, because you figure that’s the only way you’ll get at the pussy. You respect women, and I’m a woman, so … it works out pretty well all around.”

“It does, yeah,” he chuckled.

“And you’re not trying to compensate for being white, trying to make up for all the oppression us pore ole pickaninnies done been subject to, lawd lawd, and you don’t want to get with me cause you heard us black mamas is the cray-cray in bed. You’re intelligent and can sustain a conversation about something other than roundball, you don’t wear a hat sideways, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you go wooooooo.”

“I can, if you’re missing it.”

“Don’t you dare, cracker. This thing ain’t broke, and don’t need no fixing.” She kissed him. “And you make me glad to be a woman, able to accept the love of a good man. I don’t want to be dating a porn star to go with my I-dated-a-quarterback badge, and my I-deflowered-a-virgin-boy patch. But I do want to be your girlfriend, because I love you.”

They were quiet for a while.

“Sorry,” she said. “That … that last part, uh…”

“No,” he said, still caressing her. “I love you too, Lana.”

She looked up at him. “You do? But … you’re married.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I love my wife, and I love you. It’s not exactly the same kind of love, I mean, you’re two different women. But I know when I’m in love with someone, and that’s where I am right now with you.” He kissed her forehead. “I can love more than one person at a time, y’know.”

“Oh. Of course.” She sighed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just didn’t see any of this coming. I had a crush going for a while, seeing those movies you did. Getting with you for the Café was great, sexually and … well, it empowered me too, because I was scared, but I did it anyway, and it came out pretty all right. You were right there with me, helping me do one of the most terrifying and exciting things I’ve ever done in my life, and that meant something to me. It made me feel something for you. And the way you were so sweet afterward, I thought maybe you felt something too.”

“I did. I still do. It’s stronger now. I liked you before, and I wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah. Me too. So when we had the interview and I heard what you had to say on so many things, and how grounded and articulate you were, well … even before we came back here and had sex again, I knew.” She sighed again, her hand slipping over his chest. “I’ve fallen in love with a porn star. A married one.”

“That’s okay. He’s fallen in love with you, too. And … a lot of it’s the same for me as it is for you. It’s not just because you’re beautiful. It’s not just because you have a sexy body. It’s not because your pussy is delicious, or the way you move when we’re making love, or the way you look at me when you come. It’s not just because you let me come in your pussy, or your mouth. It’s not just because you’re Hera. It’s all those things, but it’s also that you’re brave, you’re strong, you’re very intelligent, you’re going to do great as a journalist, and … and you don’t care that I do porn, or that I’m married. You don’t see it as a threat or competition. It’s all part of me, part of my life, and you’re willing to accept all of it.”

“Actually,” she said, “I am a little jazzed that you’re in love with me, and it’s because you do porn. I’ve seen you with Black girls, Asian girls, Latinas. And white girls. About half the girls you fuck are white, and that’s because half the girls at PGP are white. It’s a nice mixed bag of flavors for the rest. You don’t have a type, which was one of the reasons I wanted to get with you for the Café. For you, it really isn’t about skin color. It’s just about skin, and how good it feels to touch it. And you get with lots of gorgeous girls, but I’m willing to bet you don’t fall in love with all of them.”

“I love them as my friends, which they are. But you’re right. It’s different with you. I really want to be your lover.”

She nestled to him, enjoying the feel of his body, so close to hers, the feel of his arm around her. She ran her fingertips in a large, slow circle around his nipple. He was a smooth-chested man. She liked that; his skin was creamy and even in tone, and she could see every rise and rill of his musculature. He looked like a statue carved of aged ivory, a hero or young demigod from a Greek saga slipped sideways in time and given flesh and breath. “So how often can we get together?”

“Saturdays, for sure,” Luke said. “That’s girls’ night for my wife. My Fridays are full with stuff, and I work Sundays. Most of my weekdays, I have classes, but I’m thinking you do too.”

“Couple afternoons in the week, then, and Saturdays?”

“I know it’s not much…”

“Actually it’s more than I thought. I don’t want to eat too much into your time with your wife, since I’m sure that way lieth pistols at dawn, and I’ve had boyfriends in the past who could only get away a couple times a week. Will you be able to spend the nights on Saturdays, starting with this one?”

“Yeah,” he said, and kissed her head. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“Okay. But I want you to do something for me.”

“If I can, I will.”

“I believe you. I want you to make sure it’s okay with your wife. I want you to talk it over with her, and work it out with her, let her know you’re sleeping with me while she’s having her girls’ nights, and that I’m hoping to be tearing off a chunk or two of you on, oh, maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays, if she can spare you for a few hours. And I want you to tell her how you feel, how I feel, so she’ll know what it is she’s dealing with. I don’t expect to ever sit down at a dinner table with her and have her be able to smile at me, but I gotta know she’s not gonna come at me someday, or break it off with you, because we fell in love and didn’t clear it a hundred percent first.”

“I will. I would anyway. You have to if you’re gonna be in an open relationship — if you’re not honest, there’s no relationship — but you’re right to bring it up. I don’t think there’ll be a problem. She’s starting up at PGP soon herself, and her schedule’s going to be busy. There’ll be a lot of guys. And a lot of girls. She’s already sort of got one lover now, a girl she met the other day. She’s been in love with other people too, while she and I were together. There’ll be more.”

“So she’s doing porn too?”

“She will be, yeah.”

“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re all right with that.”

“You saw her. You know how beautiful she is. She’s sensual, sexual, delicious, and exquisite. Sort of like a journalism major I know.”

“Nice save.”

“I’ve had practice. Naturally I don’t have a problem with her sharing her sexuality with others, either to do a scene, or to let others get off on watching her do a scene. Having sex with her is wonderful, and watching her have sex is almost as wonderful. One of these days, she and I will both be past it, and we’ll both have just the most beautiful memories, and we’ll be able to smile at each other, and know what we’re both smiling about. Well, we’re able to smile at each other now, too, and the only way that will ever change is if I decide to become possessive, or she does, and ruin all this great time we’re having, making all these good memories for ourselves and each other. And we’ve never been possessive, because we’ve never had to be. We’re totally certain of our love. Nothing can threaten it. Not even me being in love with another woman at the same time, or her falling in love with another guy, or a girl. We’ve both been there before, and we both know it doesn’t replace how we feel about each other. I haven’t switched off my love for her because of you. She’s never switched her love off, even when she was in a three-way bi relationship with a girl and a guy at the same time. Love is an endless, self-replenishing resource. You don’t get a limited supply. And the more you share, the more you have. She and I are solid, and she can love other people, just like I can.”

They lay quiet for a while.

“It’s strange,” Lana said, “to be the other woman, to know I’m the other woman, and to not feel guilty.”

“You’re not the other woman. You’re a woman I love, and she’s a woman I love. What I am is stupidly lucky. I think you’re wrong about one thing, though, Lana.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I think, if you’d be willing, she wouldn’t have any problem being your friend.”

“Even if I’m ballin’ with her man?”

“Because of it. She’ll want to compare notes and swap horror stories. Believe me. I’ve been there before.”

“And how does that work? Hi there, I’m Lana and I’m screwing your husband too, would you like some tea?”

“It’d probably be more like, Hi there, I’m Kaeleigh, I can’t believe he’s managed to sucker another girl in, would you like some tea and sympathy?”

“Kaeleigh? That’s her name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pretty name. For a pretty girl. Actually, a beautiful girl.”

“She is beautiful, and what’s so strange about that is she’s never seen it in herself. She really can’t see what a knockout she is. She gets the most gorgeous girls, and some pretty damn good-looking guys, and she always wonders why.”

“Oh, I can understand that a little,” Lana said. “I got you, and I’m still not sure how it happened either.”

“Come on, Lana. You saw the scene we did. You’re lethally sexy, and beautiful, and passionate. PGP’s movies are for women, but they’re also watched by men, and women like you are part of the reason for it.”

“Well, it’s men like you that get the women wet, for sure. Good lovin’ from a hunk who actually looks her in the eye while he’s coming, and who cuddles up with her afterward. That’s half of what every woman wants, right there.”

“You know … we’re told eye contact really matters for the scenes, and it definitely does for me, because I can see how you’re doing when we’re making love or I’m eating your pussy. I can tell what’s working, where you are, if you’re ready to come. But I’ve never really understood why it matters for the woman, especially if all you’re doing is watching a video. What’s the story there?”

“You don’t know?”

“Huh-uh. Is it the emotional connection?”

“That’s part of it, yeah, but it’s not all of it.”

“So what’s the rest?”

“Think back on the girls you’ve fucked. Wasn’t there ever a time when you were gettin’ down with one of them, and you were thinking of something else? Or someone else? Like, you’re banging a girl and she’s all right, she’s kinda pretty, maybe her tits are pretty much okay, so to sort of help it along, you start thinking of a really hot girl you always wanted to get with?”

Luke blinked at her, his brow furrowed. “Uh…”

“Come on,” Lana said.

“I … no, I don’t think so.”

She sat up to gape at him. “Never?”

“Well … why?” he said. “I mean, if I’m with a girl, who the hell else am I with?”

“You’re telling me, you’re seriously telling me, that out of all those thousand girls you’ve had, you never once put some other girl’s face on any one of them?”

“Well … no. Why would I?”

“Were they all supermodels? Never a zit, never a little chunky or bony, never a little cross-eyed or with a mole and black hairs or something?”

“Well, you know, they’re human, not CG fakes. Of course there’ve been … zits and things, or a scab on a shin, or a little extra padding, but so what?”

“It’s not a turn-off? It’s not … it doesn’t make her less than perfect?”

“Lana,” he said. “No girl is ever less than anything.”

She studied him, shaking her head slowly, then lay down with him again. “Well, you know, I actually believe you mean that. But a lot of men aren’t like that. You’re in the middle of it with him and you see his eyes sorta lose focus for a while, and you know he’s thinking about the girl he’d like to be with.”

Luke considered that. “What an asshole.”

“It does get annoying sometimes, but you get used to it.”

“You damn well shouldn’t have to.”

She shrugged. “Anyway … you asked why eye contact matters in porn. That’s why. At least, that’s why it matters to me, and I think other girls feel the same way. We like seeing a man who’s into it with the girl he’s with, knowing she’s all he sees. She’s it for him, she’s his entire world. Maybe not for all time, but at least for the ten or so minutes it takes him to come. We kind of think maybe that’s not too much to ask.”

“Well … yeah. I mean, if I want to have a fantasy, I’ve got my hand or my fleshlight. But if a girl’s gonna be good enough to let me be with her, well shit, Lana, I’d have to be a pretty serious prick to wish she was someone else.”

“I don’t think they’re wishing they were with a different girl, just imagining it.”

“I’m not sure what the difference is. Why the hell would you ever fuck anyone like that again, if you caught him doing that? Treating you like a, a, a party doll. The fuck.”

“You’re really angry about this, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah. I mean, it’s pretty fuckin’ rude. You’re a human being, not a sex toy.”

“Hoo. It’s a good thing Kaeleigh married you, cause if she didn’t, I’d be thinking about dragging you to the altar right now.”

He laughed and kissed her. “Well, thanks for filling me in on that. I guess … if guys really do that kind of thing, I guess I can see why eye contact matters in your porn, for sure. I thought it was more about making sure you’re doing good.”

“That may be why you do it, but what it means to me is you’re actually paying attention to me, not some shadow on my face.”

“Well,” he said. “We’re both right.”

She poked at his chest with her fingertips, then prodded his biceps. “Huh.”

“What’s that about?”

“Just making sure you’re real. Porn’s a fantasy. I know that. Everyone knows that. So how the hell do you just step out of the screen and make the fantasy real?” She laid her head down again and listened to his heartbeat. “It’s a good thing this is all off the record. No one would believe it.”

“Come on. There’s other guys like me out there. There have to be.”

“I’ve slept with seventeen other guys, and so far, you’re it. I didn’t have a chance. I really didn’t have a chance.”

“Yeah, seventeen’s kinda low. If you dated more, your odds would go way up.”

“Oh God, you doofus. I mean I didn’t have a chance with you. There was no way I could escape falling in love.”

“Oh.” He caressed her hair, working his fingers in, stroking her scalp. “You’ve got it pretty bad, don’t you?”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to be the only one.”