Working/envelope
                                 Jordan Shelbourne
                                Pushing the Envelope
                   Here's something for rec.arts.erotica.  It is, alas, part of a
                projected longer work, but I think it stands reasonably well on its
                own.  I'm not certain that it can be called "erotica" at this point
                                     but it does contain sex. 
                                  Copyright 1993 Jordan Shelbourne
                   All permissions reserved except for the right to distribute in
                          electronic text form across computer networks. 
                                                     PUSHING THE ENVELOPE
                                         Chapter One:  A Question of Etiquette
                     Murdock was drunk, and I was listening patiently as he berated
                himself for going to a strip club.  "Kim wouldn' understand, y'know?
                 She was pure when I married her.  I mean, we were *both* virgins,
                but....  She's a hell of a woman, Kim is, a hell of a woman.  Takin'
               care of the kids, y'know, and the home." He looked around at the bored
                factory workers and the equally bored stripper, then leaned forward
                 conspiratorially.  The effect was ruined when he nearly fell over.
                  "Only woman I've ever, y'know." He got his elbow on the table to
                support himself.  "I mean, you've probably been around, but me, I'm,
                               well, I'm a small town guy.  Y'know."
                                                I nodded.
                       "I've never cheated on her, but...well, all I'm saying is,
                 sometimes a guy gets the urge to look.  Kim wouldn' look.  I'm the
               only man she's ever...y'know?" He sat there, blinking.  He looked like
                    he was about to weep from the beauty of his wife's purity. 
                                     "Why don't we go?" I suggested.
                        "One more drink," he insisted.  "It's a big deal.  This'
                      firs' time Murdock signed with an outta-state comp'ny."
                          "Why don't we have that drink at home?" I suggested.
                     "Good idea!  Y'meet Kim.  Meet the little woman.  She's salt of
              the earth.  Y'r salt of the earth."  I flagged down our waitress before
                everyone in the bar became salt of the earth.  Murdock tried to pay,
               but I waved him off.  He was the client, and I didn't mind.  It wasn't
                                             my money. 
                     We'd come to the bar in his car, and I drove, handling the big
               Cutlass clumsily at first.  Murdock fell asleep giving me directions,
                            but I found his home without much trouble. 
                     When I woke him, he made me promise not to tell his wife where
                   we'd been.  He actually refused to get out of the car until I
                 promised; I wanted to spit twice and cross my heart.  I helped him
                stumble across the lawn with only a minor mishap--he whacked his toe
               on a sprinkler head--and I rang the doorbell.  He kept repeating, "Sh!
                Shhh!" while he sorted through his keys, leaning against the door. 
                     He pitched forward when his wife opened the door, and I wasn't
                quick enough to grab him.  He looked up glassily from the floor and
                     said, "Kim, this's Gil Freeman.  Gil, it's my wife, Kim."
                     She sighed and then she looked up at me and the sigh caught in
                             her throat.  "Hello," she said carefully. 
                     I felt the weight of twenty years, but all I said was, "Hello."
                Miss Manners, what should I do when I meet a former lover this way? 
                                                              * * *
                    in the seventies, during that time after the gas crisis and
                before AIDS, there had been a group of us--Meyer, Apple Brown Betty,
                  the Swordfish, and me--sprinting around the edges of society in
                  Meyer's beat-up microbus.  It was our own portable commune, our
                shelter against the Me Decade.  Meyer was the philosophizer and the
                   glue, Betty was the perception, the Swordfish was the driving
                 ambition, and I was the teddy bear.  We travelled place to place,
                  setting up for a few months while Meyer and Betty created sexual
               performance art in their own ways, and the Swordfish and I hung around
                                      for reasons of our own. 
                       I remember we were in a park the first time I saw Kim.  The
                Swordfish's appetite for carnal matters was legendary, and his taste
                 ran to women built on the Playboy model, like Kim: large-breasted,
                cute, corn-fed.  The only reason I noticed Kim before the Swordfish
               was because he had a woman on his lap who had just discovered that his
               fly was not closed.  (The Swordfish liked to do it in public places.)
                    I thought of Kim as a girl when I saw her, since I pegged her age
               at eighteen or nineteen (I was all of twenty-one, legal wherever they
                could sell you booze)--and she was walking an Irish setter.  I like
                Irish setters.  I left the Swordfish to his tumblebunny and made the
                dog's acquaintance.  The girl told me his name was Zeke and hers was
                               Kim.  I told her mine and we chatted. 
                     Kim was eighteen then, fresh from a small city in Iowa, I don't
                  remember the name, but she was just starting whatever the local
                 college was.  She was seething with hormones, a sexual cornucopia
                waiting to happen.  I brought her back to meet everyone else, and we
               waited to see how she'd get along with Betty.  Betty approved, and Kim
                stayed with us (or we stayed near Kim) for five or six months, until
               we were forced onward by the February blahs and the Swordfish's quest
               to fuck a woman whose middle name started with Q (he'd already run the
                              alphabet through first and last names). 
                                                               * * *
                    It took both of us to get Murdock upstairs and stripped for bed.
                He was charmingly shy when it came time to remove his trousers, and
               refused to let either of us watch.  Finally he was asleep and we were
                        downstairs in the kitchen drinking instant coffee. 
                                            "Well," Kim said.
                                           "Well," I replied.
                                   "It's been a long time," she said.
                                         "Almost twenty years."
                     We sat silently, and I compared her with the lithe teenager I'd
               known twenty years earlier.  A little thicker and graying, yes.  Still
               pretty damned attractive.  She'd changed her hair to a walnut brown; I
               rememembered it as chestnut.  She wore it short; that looked nicer on
                her than the standard-issue Farrah-Fawcett-do of the mid-seventies. 
                       "Do you still talk to them?  I mean, how are Meyer and the
                               Swordfish and Betty, and all of them?"
                    I shrugged and smiled.  "Older.  Meyer's still Meyer.  Betty got
               everything lifted and went to Cancun to live the professional Club Med
                life. The Swordfish finally got married, six--no, seven years ago."
                     She laughed.  "The Swordfish?  My God, I thought he'd never get
                                             married."
                    "Neither did he.  I was his best man, and he kept turning back to
                me while she walked up the aisle.  He looked like he'd been gaffed."
                Kim laughed again.  She still had that nice laugh, from deep in the
                                              throat.
                                         "What do you do, now?"
                             "Sales, of all the damned things.  Envelopes."
                                               "Oh, God."
                    I spread my hands.  "Everybody needs them.  Everybody uses them.
              You can't kill people with an envelope."  I shrugged.  "It's a living."
                              She nodded.  "And the bills have to be paid."
                     "It's shameful," I said, "but I like three squares a day.  Not
                                        like it used to be."
                                       "God, those were the days."
                                         "Weren't they, though?"
                                                               * * *
                        I don't always remember the last time with someone, but I
                  remembered the last time with Kim: She'd participated in one of
               Meyer's orchestrated orgies, and she was wrecked, exhausted.  I think
                 she'd just finished four essays or something; it was February.  I
               rescued her when I discovered she'd fainted under two other girls and
                 the man they were blowing.  I carried her up to the loft where the
               bath and the sleeping bed were and I laid her in the tub.  I tried to
                     undo the , but they were too slippery with come.  Finally
                I took the plastic showerhead for washing hair and hosed her down. 
                     I unfastened all the clamps--nipples, labia, elbows, ears--and
                  stripped off her rubber gloves and boots.  I checked her for es
                and other insertions, anal and vaginal, and filled the tub with warm
                 water and bath oil.  Threads of semen floated off her as the water
                                               rose. 
                    After a half hour, she was just asleep.  I woke her enough to dry
                 her and put her in the big sleeping bed.  The sleeping bed was my
                rule; I insisted that everyone had to have a place to go where there
                                    was no pressure to perform. 
                      I tucked her in and she took hold of my arm.  "Don't go," she
                 murmured.  I stripped to my underwear and lay beside her, and she
                moulded herself to me.  We both fell asleep.  I woke in the night to
               find that my shorts were gone and she was astride me, flopped forward
                against my chest, her head nuzzled against mine.  Her hips moved up
                and down, riding me gently.  I don't know how long we performed like
               that, but she slowed and shuddered several times.  Downstairs, I could
                                    hear the susurrus of orgy. 
                    At last Kim pushed herself upright and tossed back her head.  She
                pumped up and down the full length of my cock, keeping me in only by
               my foreskin.  Unlike every other time we'd had sex, she was silent; we
               made no sound except for the whispering of moist skin against skin.  I
               was almost detached from what was going on, just the instrument of her
               pleasure; I watched her breasts move as she rode me.  She gave a long
                 sigh, and I thought we were finished when she lay down on me.  Her
                           nipples were cool and soft against my chest. 
                     Instead, she tugged gently, and we both rolled over, keeping my
                   cock inside her, and settled into the old-fashioned missionary
                      position.  "Hold me," she whispered.  "Come inside me."
                     I didn't last very long; after only a couple of dozen strokes I
                                    came with surprising force. 
                    We lay there for some time, listening to our heartbeats.  Finally
                she kissed me and asked me to be a dear and fetch her clothes.  She
                was still wobbly when she tried to dress, so I drove her back to her
                                       residence in her car. 
                      Once there, I had no way home but to walk.  Kim invited me to
               spend the night, but I sensed that her time with us had ended, and I'm
                no good with good-byes.  I scratched Zeke behind the ears and walked
                                         back to the loft. 
                      Betty noticed Kim was gone, but she said nothing.  Betty knew
                                         when to be quiet. 
                                                               * * *
                     "Thank you," Kim said.  "For helping with George."  She played
                with her coffee spoon.  "He doesn't drink that much, normally.  Only
                               when he goes off to the strip clubs."
                           I smiled.  "He doesn't think you know about that."
                     She shrugged.  "You learn things about your husband, and one of
                         the things you learn is which lies are important."
                                     "Like your virginity," I said.
                                                 "What?"
                            "He said you were a virgin when you got married."
                    "Oh.  I hoped--" She started again, explaining: "I didn't mean to
                 lie.  It just seemed so important to him, and it didn't matter to
                                               me--"
                     I held up my hands.  "I wasn't criticising." I stood up.  I had
                 barely touched my coffee.  "I should go.  It's late, and I've got
                                   clients to see in the morning.
                    She seemed grateful, and nervous, and she walked me to the door.
                I stopped after I put on my jacket and asked her, "Whatever happened
                                         to Zeke, anyway?"
                    She laughed.  "Zeke!  Oh my God, I'd forgotten about Zeke!"  Her
               hand went to her cheek.  "He died in his sleep.  He lived a long, good
                                life.  I miss him still sometimes."
                                     "He was one of the good ones."
                    She said quietly, "So were you."  I was embarrassed, I don't know
                                                why.
                    We looked at each other for a long time.  A lot of things flashed
                 into my mind: the solid rhythmic weight of Kim on my hips; Meyer's
                 fussy voice as he directed someone; the sound of Kim's laugh; the
               musty smell of the tarps in the back of the microbus; all the time on
                   the road and all the strangers, all the time; how Kim had said
               good-bye and I hadn't, and how cold it had been walking home; and her
                 husband, sleeping upstairs.  Part of me said, What the hell, so I
                              leaned forward and kissed her good-bye. 
                       She returned the kiss, staying with me when I pulled back,
                pressing her body against mine.  We didn't break the kiss but stayed
               like that.  Her tongue was urgent, forceful.  I could taste coffee and
                  Amaretto in her mouth.  There was that stirring of my cock, that
                awareness, that hadn't been present for the strippers or (it seemed)
                   for a long time.

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  I wrapped my arms around her, the warm solid
                  sweetness of her, and hugged her tightly.  She bit gently on my
                 tongue, and I withdrew it, her tongue following mine.  I heard, or
                thought I heard, a sound from upstairs.  I pulled my head back; she
                          leaned hers forward to follow but I broke free. 
                                        I tried a smile.  "Whew."
                    She moved away from me and sat on the edge of an end table by the
                              coat rack.  "How long are you in town?"
                      "All month," I told her.  "I'm using this as my base for the
                                              month."
                    "Maybe we could have coffee.  A breakfast or lunch or something."
                     "Maybe." I could see the clean line of her neck and shoulders,
                the weight of her breasts under her blouse, the curve of her calves.
                    I wondered what she looked like naked, now.  "Kim," I said. 
                                            "Yes?" she asked.
                        I paused.  To be honest, I was listening for noises from
                upstairs.  She uncrossed her legs, and I wanted to tear her clothes
               off.  Instead, I said, "Kim, I don't play with clients' wives.  It's a
                                          fairness thing."
                    "I don't cheat on my husband.  We'll have coffee."  She grinned.
                                     "It's an old times thing."
                           I nodded and I left.  I didn't even shake her hand.
                                                             * * *
                      I didn't expect her to call me for coffee, and if she did, I
                wasn't going to accept.  Playing around with a client or a client's
               wife is trouble.  But in my hotel room the next night, I found myself
                 thinking about her.  I flipped through channels on the television,
               discovered I was seriously thinking about the porn movies, and grabbed
                the Yellow Pages phone book off the nightstand.  I opened it to the
                               Escorts section, then shut it again. 
                    Damn it, I didn't want a pro.  And I didn't want to go to the bar
                             and sift through the teases and the tarts.
                      Finally, I picked up the phone and called Betty in Cancun; I
                didn't know what time it was there.  She picked up the phone on the
                                            fourth ring.
                                          "Hey, Betty," I said.
                     "Gil?"  Nice to know she still recognized my voice.  "Where are
                                               you?"
                      I told her.  "Betts, I hate to do this, but I need a favor."
                      I heard her murmuring to someone at her end, and there was a
               rustling sound.  I heard a door shut.  "I sent Marco to get some K-Y.
                              He's been desperate to get into my ass."
                                  "Hope I'm not causing any problems."
                        "No, it was time I said yes anyway.  What's your problem,
                                             sweetie?"
                     I told her about Kim, and said, "Betts, I'm lonely.  Who do we
                                           know in town?"
                    "For a good therapeutic fuck?"  Long silence.  "You can't glue a
                           broken heart with jism, Gil.  You just can't."
                     "My heart's not broken, Betts.  I just don't have the patience
                 for the bar scene tonight, and I can't put a hooker on the company
                               card." She sighed.  "Please," I said. 
                      She sighed again.  "Renee Parks.  You be nice to her," Betty
                          told me.  "Remember there's two of you in bed."
                    "You're starting to talk in platitudes, Betts." She grumbled and
                gave me Renee's phone number. "Thanks," I told her.  "And hey--don't
                                          be a tight-ass."
                                       "That'd spoil Marco's fun."
                                                             * * *
                     Renee was blonde and slim and handsome in blue stretch pullover
             and black denims.  After we ate at a nice Thai place, we went back to her
                  place and chatted.  She worked as a property assessor and taught
               fitness classes three times a week.  She'd met Betty at Club Med a few
                years earlier.  "I still write Betty sometimes," she said.  "Well, I
               haven't written for a year I guess, but it still counts if I mean to,
                                            doesn't it?"
                     "I think so," I told her.  "I don't see Betty very often, but I
                                     think of us as friends."  
                    "Uh-huh.  Some people, you know them for years but you never know
                them.  Others, you meet them and you've known them all your life." I
               agreed.  Renee made a toast--"To friends"--and we drained our glasses.
                She got up to pour more drinks: another daquiri for her and another
                                         club soda for me. 
                                 "How come you don't drink?" she asked.
                      I shrugged and brushed my fingers against hers as I took the
               glass from her.  Her fingers were startlingly warm; the glass was cold
                and slick with condensation.  "Used to have a problem with it.  So I
                                            gave it up."
                    Renee sat next to me.  "I know how that goes.  I had a boyfriend
                    for a while, claimed I was a sex addict.  So I gave it up."
                                                "Really?"
                      "Yes," Renee said.  "I gave him up right then." She had a big
               wide smile, lots of teeth.  "My problem with booze," she said, "is the
                calories.  You know how many calories there are in three daquiris?"
                                      She paused meaningfully.
                      "No," I told her.  "How many?" Her leg was firm and muscular,
               solid against mine.  I could still leave; I didn't have to sleep with
                     this woman.  On the other hand, that was why I was here. 
                    "A lot," she said, still smiling.  "Thousands." And that was the
                                               cue. 
                  "Thousands?" I gave her a grin and a wink.  "You'll have to work that
                                               off."
                      Renee's smile got bigger and she leaned forward.  "I thought
                you'd never ask." Her eyes were mismatched, I noticed: one blue and
                one hazel.  She closed her eyes to kiss me.  I leaned into the kiss,
                ran my fingers along her spine to the nape of her neck, stroked her
                  behind the ears.  She moaned softly into my mouth as her tongue
                              explored.  I liked the way she smelled. 
                        Renee shifted her weight and pressed against me.  I fell
                 backwards onto the couch.  "That's okay," she said.  She scraped a
               fingernail along my fly before opening my pants.  My cock was starting
                       to swell, and with one warm finger she pulled it free.
                    Her mouth was warm and liquid over the head.  She sucked my cock
               into her mouth, playing with the foreskin until my cock was too large
               and too stiff for that.  She bobbed up and down, not deep-throating me
               but tasting me and exploring my cock with her tongue.  I fumbled with
               her top, pulling it up but not pulling it off, unwilling to break the
                       marvellous connection between her mouth and my cock. 
                                        "My God...." I murmured.
                          She lifted up her head and smiled at me.  "You like?"
                    I brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes.
                                        "I like very much."
                    "Never had a guy who wasn't circumcised, before.  I like it." She
               wrapped her small hard hand around my cock and pumped slowly a couple
               of times.  She bent down again and licked the tip.  "I hope you don't
                                          come too soon."
                     "I'll do what I can," I told her, and pulled off her top.  Her
                  breasts were small and conical with dark and compact nipples.  I
                cupped one breast in my hand; the nipple slipped between two fingers
                  and I squeezed it gently.  She sighed and closed her eyes for a
                  moment, then tugged on my pants.  We spent a moment sorting out
                 clothing, and suddenly I was naked and Renee was wearing only her
                                              jeans. 
                     I stood with her and we embraced, touching each other along the
               lengths of our bodies, the head of my cock pressed against the base of
                her sternum, and we kissed some more.  I traced her jawline with my
                 tongue, sucked her earlobe, and blew in her ear.  She shivered and
               reached for my nipples.  She pinched and fondled them until they were
                                        as hard as her own.
                       Still holding her tightly against me, I slid down her body,
               kissing and nipping warm tender flesh.  I took one hard nipple into my
               mouth and swirled my tongue around it, then licked the pebbled tip of
                the other, then blew gently on the first one again.  I nipped at the
                   underside of one breast and circled her navel with my tongue.
                      I undid the button of her jeans and pulled; there was a loud
               tearing noise.  "Sorry," Renee said.  "Velcro.  My zipper broke, and I
                                         thought I'd try--"
                      "I like it," I told her.  "It lets me get"--I pulled down her
               jeans--"*here* that much faster." Her underpants had a floral pattern,
                  and her pubic hair had been trimmed short and shaved to a narrow
                   strip.  I mouthed her mound, tasting her through the cotton. 
                     "Don't," she said, and skinned off her panties.  "Don't eat me
                yet, Gil.  I come so hard I'm no good for anything else.  I want you
               to fuck me first, then you can make me come." She took hold of my cock
               and began to walk backwards, pulling me towards her bedroom.  "I want
                 this cock in my cunt.  I want you to fuck me hard with this lovely
               stiff cock." She giggled as she fell backwards onto the bed, her legs
                 spread.  "Or you could fuck me stiff with this lovely hard cock."
                    I shuffled forward on my knees.  "I'm going to fuck you, lovely,
               with this stiff hard cock."  I placed the head of my cock between her
                swollen lips and thrust forward, sliding my cock along the length of
                her lips, wetting it.  She was very wet.  I thrust again, and again;
                           she moaned each time my cock rubbed her clit.
                                          "Fuck me," she said.
                      I pushed the head down so it was at her entrance and I thrust
                 again.  She was so wet the head popped in easily.  She gasped.  I
                 pulled back slightly, feeling my foreskin slide, and thrust again,
                                  pushing myself halfway into her.
                     "Oh god," she said.  "Oh god oh god." She was panting, and her
               eyebrows were knit together.  "Fuck me--" She squeezed her eyes shut. 
                      I pushed a third time and sank my cock almost all the way in.
                  With the last thrust, I was buried in her, my pubic bone pressed
               heavily against her clit, my cock engulfed in her warmth and wetness. 
                      And a funny thing happened: Renee came.  She gasped and then
                 forgot to breathe; her arms and legs spasmed and her hips thrashed
                once, twice, sliding down and up my cock.  I froze.  I'd never had a
                              woman come with so little cause before. 
                     Renee tried to speak but all that came out was a little mewling
               sound.  I adjusted my weight and stroked my cock in and out.  She gave
               a few gasping breaths and then opened her eyes.  After another moment,
                she focussed on me.  "Oh Jesus.  Oh, Gil...I've never...your cock is
                                         just....  Oh God."
                     I withdrew almost all the way; she grabbed my ass and tried to
                       keep me in.  I began to tease her with just the head,
                in-out-in-out-in-out and she gave a little grunt each time the head
                  popped in, a little catch each time it pulled out.  Her fingers
                 clamped tightly on my ass and I suddenly drove my full length into
                her, then all the way out, long hard fast strokes.  She rotated her
                     hips, thrusting back at me, and suddenly she came again. 
                     We tried a half-dozen positions before she was too exhausted to
                    move, and finally she just lay there and moaned, "Please...I
                   can't...." She looked so weak and spent that I didn't have the
                             heart to just keep pumping until I came. 
                     I lay beside her while she dozed.  I felt tired.  Unsatisfied.
               Frustrated and used.  Distantly amused that she had used me instead of
                the other way around.  After an hour she woke up and traced a finger
                         along the side of my face.  "Hi there," she said. 
                                                  "Hi."
                     "That was...incredible.  I mean, it was never like that before.
                                  Not even on drugs or anything."
                                               "I'm glad."
                     She reached down for my cock and began to play with it.  "It's
               not even that *big*.  Sorry, I don't mean that the way it sounds, it's
               not small, it's even bigger than average, but it's not huge. I've had
                   really big cocks and I didn't come like *that*." She cupped my
                balls in her hand and gently probed my asshole with one finger.  "I
                           don't suppose you could leave it when you go?"
                    My cock was starting to get hard again; after all, I hadn't come
                 yet.  "I don't think so.  You'll just have to take advantage of it
                                         while it's here."
                                                    
                     Renee was all lean body and eager flexibility.  I went back to
                        the hotel at dawn, exhausted and still frustrated. 
                              When Kim phoned two nights later, I said yes.
                                                -- 
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  


 



 
                                                  

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