Strange Famous

I wrote this a long time ago, when in fact I was virtually a virgin, and its pretty shoddy in any case. I almost was too embarassed to post this thing and if people start taking the piss - which is highly likely - I'll take it down. I'd never post rot like this on my FB or anything, but I suppose here isnt so bad as no one knows me personally.

Anywhere, here is my soft porn story. The theme is very obvious and grossly repeated and overstated so I dont need to make it clear, and I say again that I know already it isnt any good...

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Title: "How to Conquer Your Fear of Singing in Public and be the Life and Soul of Office Parties"; or "Karaoke Love Life "


"Anna?" I asked, as she took my hand and pulled my arm further around her, and started to rub my upper arm vigorously, as if trying to warm it up.
"Yeah?"
"Do you believe in ghosts?"
"Erm… wow, that's a weird question. Not really."
"Hmm" I grunted, trying to sound uncommitted.
I was silent then. I momentarily tightened my grip around her in what I intended to be a comforting gesture, she continued to briskly rub my arm as if trying to restore life to it. There was a pause.
"Do you." she asked, twisting her head slightly to look up if not in my direction then more so than before.
"Yeah, I suppose so, I suppose I do."
"Yeah have you ever seen one?"
"No. No, I've never seen one."

Anna settled back down, laying her body against mine, and returned her concentration to the TV show I was not really watching. I kissed the top of her head and she snuggled into me. God, she was so beautiful. She grasped my big clumsy paw in both hands and played with my fingers, taking each one in turn and squeezing it into my hand and the stretching it out, she used one of her fingernails to trace out the outline of each of my nails over and over, ever so slowly and delicately she traced letters and numbers onto the palm of my hand with one out stretched finger. I concentrated harder on this, but the characters seemed random, meaningless, the equivalent of doodling while talking on the phone: Anna was engrossed in her programme, this thought, the absent mindedness, carelessness, of the little message she wrote upon me invisibly excited me, I felt my penis stiffen, despite myself. Anna, must have noticed, or else something important must have happened in the show, because her body jerked slightly away from me involuntarily… then she made a small, comfortable sound and wriggled herself back into my body, pack into the perfect fit that we were. On TV a muscled hunk knocked some security guard spark out, I felt but did not see Anna's smile, as she traced out, one letter at a time I L O V E U.

Sometimes it was like she could read my mind, it was so weird, and kind of scary: the things she should know if she could see inside of me. I pulled her body up towards me slightly and leant down and kissed her on the ear lobe, then twice on the cheekbone. She purred like a cat, or at least the human equivalent of when a cat purrs, pulled my clumsy hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. Then she returned my arm to where it had been, pushed my palm down against her flat belly, reached round and pulled my other arm across the first so that she was now trapped, symbolically at least, in my embrace as she lay on top of my bulky, flat panelled frame and watched the TV: and she resumed her game with my fingers on the other hand. Rather than taking each finger in turn, she would go from one to another as if at random, and I tried to sense some sort of pattern, some meaning, in her actions. I momentarily looked up at the TV, again, saw the hero of the piece was skulking around some kind of warehouse, then rested my cheek against the top of Anna's head, stared at the far wall, let my mind drift, feel completed by our love.

I do not mean to go on, I do not mean to bore you with details that you do not need to know; but it is tantamount consequence to me that you understand certain things. Our love: that is, the love between my fiancée, Anna Jacob and me: the epiphany I feel in her. I cannot stress enough how vital it is to me that you understand this. I feel my well being could well depend upon it in some way that I do not truly understand. I do not have words to tell you of his love, only deeds; all I can do is to present this one tiny fraction of it to you in my own akward prose - and somehow you might know or at least sense the entire effable whole from the one tiny piece. Every time she touches me, looks at me, thinks of me, is a million words of love… And right now and here: every time she carefully takes my finger between two of hers, and curls it into itself - runs a third finger over its truncated form, and then straightens it, selects another finger - entire universes bend and crunch and flex, time itself swells and contracts… Oh, I don't mean to sound pretentious, that is the last thing I want. I am not like this; do not think this way all of the time. Of course I don't, I am a simple man myself, but the love I feel, that I feel reflected back at me… the sheer size, complexity, the shape and colour of it… I want for you to understand everything but I cannot make you understand this.

Listen, there is there something imortant I must tell you, there is information it is vital I impart to you. It is not something you need to know, but something I need to tell. Let us push on, we have all the time in the world, but we may as well get this over with as quick as we can. But first you must follow me a little ways.

Finally, Anna's own reactions to the film forced my attention to it also. Every blast and gun salvo made her twist against me slightly, and she muttered things like "yeah" and "bang" under her breathe as the show story reached its grand finale. As sometimes happened when I felt this way, her every action, every tiny facet of her personality seems almost unbearable and adorable: now, her childish pleasure in this TV movie seemed to me helplessly endearing and cute. With my free hand I drummed out the rhythm of the gunfire on TV on her exposed belly, and I connected myself with the story. The good guy seemed to be spraying up a host of rather poorly co-ordinated drug dealers as far as I could tell, in short order, the balance of power rocked top and from the hero a few times until they were all dead and the drug warehouse exploded. Disappointingly, I felt, there seemed to be no love interest to close the show, just carnage.

"Hmmm… that was really crappy." Anna, said as she twisted away from the TV, and turned 180 degrees so she was lying on top of me still, but now facing me, I wrapped one hand around her back and let the other rest in the crease between the top of her thigh and her ass.
"You seemed to be enjoying it." I ventured "Yeah" she smiled that smile of hers that melted my heart and made me feel liquid inside, and I pulled myself up and kissed the tip of her nose.

She, wriggled herself up until we were face to face, and we kissed, gently. She took my bottom lip and ever so carefully chewed it, I could feel her breasts pressed against my body. With one hand, I took her hair, gathered up what I could into a pony tail, and then rubbed my hands up and down the length of the first 7 or 8 inches with each inward stroke trying to re-gather the hair that I lost its grip on when I let the tension go. A blatant wanking gesture, I suppose. Meanwhile, my other hand again found the top of Anna's thigh, and rubbed down as far as I could stretch, then back up till it was just touching her ass, then down again, and so. Unconsciously, these gestures co-ordinated themselves, so as I pushed her hair out, I felt towards her ass, as I smoothed out her tight blue jean, I pushed my hand back to her head and re-gathered my pony tail of her hair... like some kind of child genius who can run his stomach and pat his head at the same time and is well pleased with the results. Anna meanwhile found my ribs with both hands, and massaged the flesh above them, grinding it gently in a circular motion. She would kiss me really hard, her tongue pushing into my mouth and finding my own, but when I responded with equal passion, she would pull away slightly, and resume chewing my bottom lip and planting little butterfly kisses on the side of my mouth. And when I felt I could bare it no longer, she would French kiss me hard again, and when I could bare that no longer and kissed her back, she would return to biting my lip.

You know what it is, when something feels so good that it becomes a torment? My penis felt rigid, fizzing almost with the force of my arousal as Anna continued to kiss me this way, playing me as if I were some kind of basic but incredibly complex musical instrument. I lay there and let her do this to me, until it was unbearable, then I tried to rise and reverse our positions, so I was on top and in control, so I could release all of the excitement she was building in me. However, Anna sat up sharply, and pushed her weight down on me, she was sitting on my stomach, wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a Seattle Seahawks NFL top, looking down at me and smiling slightly. Everything about her; her tomboy clothes, her dyed black hair and understated but undeniably mock gothicup, the way she girlishly chewed her lip when she concentrated, as she was now, seemed maddeningly erotic to me sometimes, as if every girl ought to aspire to be this way, that whatever Anna was doing or whatever idiosyncrasy or habit of hers I happened to notice was clearly the ideal. Carefully, with the girlish authority of someone who knows that the subject is far stronger physically but nevertheless powerless to resist, she gripped my wrists in her hand, forced them above my head, through the wide bars of the headboard of our bed, and then crossed them. She ran her fingernails back up my arms, tracing my royal blue veins, over my face, to my nipples, which she paused to squash with her finger and grind into my broad but slightly fleshy chest, causing them to spring up erect and tingling when she released them, and then she allowed herself to settle back down, her face next to mine again.

She pushed her left hand inside of my shirt until she found my right nipple, and her other hand she placed in the hollow of my elbow and massaged the centre of it as she would have massaged her own clit when masturbating, using the edge of her finger nail though. She knew placing her hand on my arm this way made me as helpless to move or resist as I should be if my wrists were bound by steel handcuffs. She resumed her kissing game, this time increasing the torment though: she would push herself right into me, her left thigh deliberately grinding my hard-on through my pants and forcing her own pussy against my thick leg, pushing her breasts right into the right side of my chest so they squashed up and conversely felt 9and would have looked, no doubt, if I was at angle to see) bigger. And at the same time she would forcefully French kiss me, my dick throbbed and ached with the need for release, but I knew she would give me none yet. And the moment I could take it no more, and started to kiss her back, she would pull herself away from me, arch her back and lift herself away from my body, and take, in turn, my upper and then lower lip between her teeth and chew and suck it. She would start a chain of butterfly kisses, from my mouth, all the way across my jaw line and to the back of my ear lobe, and then all the way back, each kiss individual and deliberate, and each kiss touching the edge of the area she kissed previously so that the chain moved agonising slowly, and my whole body trembled and throbbed with need the way my cock did before she was even a quarter of the way from my mouth to my ear, and the rest of the slow and deliberate journey was an ever increasing and special kind kinf of pleasure, of suffering, of fulfillment. When it felt so bad I was sure I could not stop from crying out, she would usually be close to my mouth again, and soon begin to French kiss me hard, and grind her crotch into my thigh and stimulate my own groin with her leg. A couple of times, out of sheer cruelty I am sure, she did not do so, and rather than press herself back into me after completing her torturous circuit of little kisses, she did it twice, kissing me once lightly on the lips and then starting to peck her beautiful mouth away from my lips and hold her body just out of reach. Once, she feinted to begin a third circuit, and I was sure I could not take it and would snap, but after one kiss away from me she returned to me, pushed herself even harder into me until I could not take it anymore and kissed her back as hard as I could, which she allowed for five, maybe ten seconds, until I thought I was at the point of release almost: before she withdrew again, and tortured me again by pulling away from me and planting her pretty little kisses on my cheek, little marks of love, of power.

All the while, as she did this, her left hand had trapped my nipple between her strong fore finger and thumb, she would alternatively squeeze and twist it, never viciously, but always enough to just begin the edge of pain. I was grateful in a way for the distraction from the way she was winding me up me with this kissing game of hers. She would squash it until it started to hurt, and with that intuitiveness I found both frightening and incredible, at the point that the pain begun she would slightly relax her grip to hold it at the point between pain and pleasure (but just on the side of pain) ad hold it there for a time, then she would twist the nipple one way and then the next, to the point that it started to hurt and about 25 degree's further. Sometimes she would hold it at the angle away from itself that was just starting to hurt for three or for seconds, and then give it another vicious twist, hard enough to make me jerk, but not hard enough to make me cry out, and other times she would continue to twist my nipple one way and the next but never hurt me or let go for three or four minutes. Then she would release it, methodically line up her hand, and then flick the nipple as hard as she could with the strength of a single finger three or four times, then begin again to squeeze it until it started to hurt and hold me at that point for a while, and so on and so on. A couple of times she let me think the torment of this particular poor and pointless extension of my body was over and pushed her hand underneath her own weight and to my left nipple and tweaked it painfully, but she would always quickly return to the nipple she had been tormenting and torturing for hours; or so it seemed.

I don't know how long she did this to me. It felt like hours, days.. in reality it was probably slightly under an hour. Finally she pulled her weight totally off me and rolled on her side. Not wasting a second, I jerked my arms back to me and twisted to follow her, pushed her left shoulder hard into the bed with all of my strength, which I knew was far greater than her own; and with my other hand quickly found her crotch and excitedly rubbed up and down from the top of her zip fly to the joining at the bottom of her jeans wear the back of the fabric met the front, pushing my paw had into her body. Anna gasped but did not fight me as I held her stationary with one powerful arm, the force of my arm as equally irresistible as her hold over me, I knew. Just as, mentally, I could not physically move when Anna laid a single touch on my imprisoned arms, she had not the strength to resist me as I held her with one hand and forced her body into the mattress and against its stationary resistance. Anna squirmed and whimpered, looking up at me with too big eyes as I rubbed hard up and down her pussy, but did not fight me. Too quickly, I tired of my game, and pushed my hand inside her jeans, they were a tight fight, and I had to really push my hand in, but did not think of undoing them and stripping her at this stage. "Adam, wait…" she suddenly said. I did not wait, but gradually wiggled my hand against her body and worked my way under her jeans, under the elastic of her panties.

She giggled a little, but then told me a little more sharply, so I knew she meant it "Adam, you better wait!"
I paused, but did not withdraw my hand, I instead pushed more weight down against her pubic area, just short of her pussy, making her next words come slightly short of breath "Its my time of the month honey"
She laughed at the quickness with which I yanked my hand from out of her jeans, grazing the back of my hand painfully against the top bottom of my fly.
"You can carry on, if you like…." She offered. I was amazed, after all of this that I could still even talk at this point. The sound of my nervous and slightly hesitant voice sounded foreign to me. "Um…. Well… I kind of…. Its probably best if I don't… I mean" I stammered, very Englishly I thought. The more like a girl Anna would behave like a girl, the more of the stereotypically I would be a man, her submissiveness would make me just as clumsy, as gruff; make me love her even more. "It's just a little blood" Anna teased me

"um...." I replied, even if I did not mean it I could not help but reply in character, the control was hers again. Of course she always had control, she always has control. It was stupid of me to ever imagine anything else. She rolled me over and sat up at my side, pulled her tee shirt off to reveal a dusky and slim, muscular torso, and a white lacy bra. She smiled at me, I smiled back. In my mind I realised, without having to ask that she was telling the truth. It seems dumb to you perhaps, but I never did remember when her time of the month was, despite the fact it was, obviously, always this time of the month or roundabout. Perhaps the distance I pretended, that act I played as a man's man who did not want to listen to this talk of "female problems" was more real than I myself admitted. My dick throbbed, in pain now and begging for release none the less. Anna took my hands and pulled me up to sitting position, kissed my lips. "I don't want to be a tease though, I'll suck you're dick if you like". I loved her when she talked dirty like that, even a little bit, but of course I loved her all of the rest of the time as well. "uh huh!" I agreed rapidly.

Anna took my wrists in her hands and lead me toward the kitchen, away from the TV that was still playing. She sat me down on a wooden chair, and took her shirt, which she had pulled off, and rubbed it around my face a couple of times, she pushed my arms behind the chair, and forced my wrists though the sleeves of her tee (my bulky arms would go no further through a tee shirt designed to fit Anna's slender frame anyway) and then took the ends of the tee and wrapped them over and around themselves and into a knot, holding my arms as effectively as handcuffs. Anna dipped her face towards mine and kissed me lovingly on the mouth, then pulled away just out of reach, and smiled wickedly at me as my cock virtually bounced up and down with excitement. By this time I was starting to feel really over the top with excitement at the session I knew was coming

I was not scared, of course I was not scared, I knew Anna would never hurt me. But then again, I know she would make me hurt.

Listen. Listen to me. There is no point beating around the bush, there is no point in me playing games with you. I could trick you if I wanted, I could fool you - of course I could; but what would be the point of that? The point of this is to tell you the truth. So I'll come right out with it, I will give it to you on the chin. I am dead. Yes, that's right; yes, you heard; I am dead. When? how? why? Where? how? You ask. All right, all right, I'll tell you. I bet you think I am neurotic, or some kind of depressive perhaps. I bet you think this is some artistic statement, or worse some radical statement. I bet you think when I say I am dead I mean something else, that some part of me is dead through this world, that I am being clever. That isn't the case at all. I am dead, my corpse is in the ground, I am not alive and I was once. Why am I here, how can I still exist, type these words that you read, make love to a girl, be engaged to be married… I do not know the answer to every question you would want to ask, nor to those I ask of myself, but I will do my best. Listen:

I died when I was 22 years old. I was killed in a fight with three men from the village next to mine, beaten to death and robbed, and left for dead, to die. I had a wife, and two children then… I do not mean to sound harsh, or uncaring… I cannot remember what they look like now. I have an idea. My wife, tall (but not as tall as me), with a shock of red hair, untidy and unmade-up and plain (and what horrible teeth she had). Of course, I must say that there wasnt much in the way of make up in her day and for people like us and so on, but you must remember that now my standards are determined by the twentieth century world, in fact, now we must say the twenty first century world; not the one I lived in. Two sons, John and Thomas (yeah, I didnt get that joke at the time either), both small and fragile in my mind, both dead hundreds of years ago now.

I understand that this is ridiculous to you; I will get it over as soon as I can. I died in 1589. I did not know the year at the time, I could not read nor had anything to read, but I have read quite intensively about the period since I died, as you can imagine, and1589 it was. How did this happen, you want to know? I will tell you the truth and nothing else. I have no idea. One day I died, and went to sleep; on the next day I was awake and far away from my home (after extensive research, and 180 years of looking, I found the place lived in; a small village in the south western corner of England... it was a shit hole. Although, I have lived for the last 150 years in America. The agency that brought me back, the power that has kept me at 22 for the last 413 years, what my body is made of that is different to yours and does not waste way or grow noticeably older… I don't know, I have no idea. Did God do this to me? I imagine he did I can think of no other way, but why? For what higher purpose? I just cannot tell.

Are their others? Other dead people who walk yet on the earth, with bodies as solid and real seeming as mine? Bodies, which do not age or get damaged? I just have no idea. And if you wonder that I am on the internet, that I can type this document on a PC, if you think the fact that I died in the sixteenth century ought to make this impossible, please remember, I have been alive as long as you have, have lived here every day that you have. I am just older than you. So yeah, this is the thing, this is the thing I had to tell you. I'm dead. I'm not a ghost, whatever I am made of feels as solid as what you are made of, it cuts like you do, breaks like you do (I've tried) but it cannot be destroyed (I've tried) because the substance remakes itself. Yeah. I am dead. I'm dead as hell.

My hands bound behind my back, Anna took my face in her hand and pushed it up towards her, made me look at her; still wearing her bra and jeans that I knew she would not take off, and she pulled my pants and shorts off, and used a kitchen knife to ever so carefully cut away my shirt. She dropped to her knees and kissed my stomach. She pushed her breasts hard into my groin, drove my dick between her small but firm breasts. She lowered herself and gripped one paw around my cock and squeezed hard, and took it in her mouth. She pushed my cock all the way down her throat and then back three or four times, then pulled away. She pulled my foreskin right back, all the while gripping the base of my cock hard with her other hand, to prevent me from coming before she would let me, and she rubbed the head of my dick over her lips as if applying lipstick with it. She traced the outline of her mouth first clockwise, then anticlockwise; and then finally she took it in her mouth and aggressively fellated me. When I was about to cum despite her hard grip on my cock, she pulled away, flicked her tongue over and over the head, holding me on the edge but she could not stop me slowly creeping forwards. Crying out finally, when I could no longer help it, I ejaculated in her face, she took my cock back in her mouth and swallowed my load, started to suck again until it started to hurt, and only then did she finally let me go, unhooking my arms from the simple bondage, and smiling that shy but beatific smile I had fallen in love with. Maybe an hour or so later we fell asleep in each other's arms, feel asleep in each other's love.

So… yeah, this is my story, my only story. I guess it may not seem much to you, but it is mine and it is my own. I met Anna a year ago, at a Karaoke bar, and we hit it off straight away. I know she was on the rebound from a long term relationship, but I never really asked about it. And these times, these times when I must tell you I should be the happiest I ever was, to have found a love like this after centuries of not finding it… are tainted. Because, really, how long can I not get any older and she wont notice, and what can I say when she does; how can I end it and hurt her, and hurt me, as little as possible? Or could I tell her and somehow stay together? And why cannot I make her like me, or else make me like her? If I had to live almost forever to find this, to find myself… I have found it now; and I want to be like her.

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"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."

The Gospel of Thomas