The following is Part 5 of our continuing story "New Openings." If you missed Parts 1 - 4, they're alive and well and living in our archives -- just click on the archive link. But to get you started on Part 5, here's where we left off:

"One day he fixed me dinner and I knew what was going to happen. He was going to tell me. She wanted to fuck him. He loved her. Maybe they'd already fucked. Whatever it was, it was in the air with the blade of Fate. If he told me before the meal, I wouldn't be able to eat. He did not. He waited till after. Till he'd fixed me a Bailey's and a smooth buzz started warming my brain and tingling my pussy..."

[And now for Part 5:]

"She made a pass at me," he said.

Oh, did I want to rail: Of course she made a pass at you. You've been oozing your seductive, addictive Naked Lunch special in her virginal cunt-space for months. Why wouldn't she? But I didn't say anything like that.

"Oh, yeah?" I said coolly. "Finally." And I smiled(God help me).

"I mean it was just a kiss, and a hug," he said, "pretty innocent."

Of course "innocent." That was the attraction after all, wasn't it? That was the whole point. The innocent virgin. The child-like princess everyone in the fairy tale wants to destroy. The virginal sacrifice. It's no fun if you can't spoil something pretty and vulnerable and pure.

"Yeah," I said. "She's probably new at making passes. Has she ever had a boyfriend?"

"In high school. But I get the sense that they didn't do anything. Hold hands maybe. She seems afraid."

Of course, of course. The fragile hymen on her untouched pussy was all aquiver. Why are we even playing out this script? She would have no appeal whatsoever if she were not innocent and afraid. Delicate and breakable. Like a flower.

"Wow," I said. "So what did you do?"

"Nothing. I told her I couldn't do this."

He looked at me kind of preemptively hurt -- as if I weren't going to believe him.

"And what did she say?"

"She said she was sorry."

"Go on."

"That was it. I told her not to be sorry. I told her... I told her I was attracted, but I just couldn't handle it without you being involved."

"What did she say to that?"

"Nothing. Ryann she didn't get it. She's just a kid. And it was just too weird, telling her my wife wants to watch. It's just better to shut the whole thing down this way."

"Whatever," I said.

And that was it. Until the next time she called him for "advice" and they planned to go for a walk. Do you have to go on a hiking trail to give advice? No. But that's what they did.

As he was leaving, I said, "This time, you make the moves," I said.

"Ryann, don't."

"See how far she's willing to go." (He doth protest too much.)

I was pushing for my lover to fuck this 19 year-old possibly virgin -- why? It felt so mean and nasty. That he would take this girl. This girl who was all the things I couldn't be. I would hate him having her. I would hate her having him. Yet I wanted it. I think I wanted to see him drive himself inside her. Open her little shaking thighs and fuck her innocence away. I was driven to it like self-mutilation.

Max shook his head and left. His protestations made me think: "They're going to do it!" Why was I obsessing over this? Did I want to fuck the little cunt myself?

He didn't talk to me about it when he came back, and so it ate at my stomach lining like Drano. We didn't make love for days.

Finally, one night after fixing me a Bailey's and cream, he said, "I did what you told me to." Corrosive emotion ate through the Bailey's, through the cream.

"Oh, yeah?" I said, again as carelessly as I could pretend.

"I'm not sure what you want, here," he said. "I'll tell you what happened. And then you have to tell me what you want."

"Thank you," I said, trying so hard not to let it sound ironic.

"We stopped to talk. I... took her shoulders and kissed her cheek. She ... we kissed. She was ... very open..."

I wanted so hard to prod: kissed -- how deep? How long? What do you mean open? Could you smell her cunt spread? -- But I behaved myself. Sort of.

"Is that all?" I said. Yeah, there was a kind of challenge in my voice.

"It felt dirty," he said then.

"What do you mean?"

"I..." He closed his eyes. "I put my hand on her breast -- through her shirt..."

What kind of shirt? Little, skimpy, so you could see her hard nipple after you were done tweaking it? Baggy, so you had to grope around to find her tit and seize it? And...?

"She pulled down her top. I was staring right at her breasts. And I felt... really dirty. I wanted to say, to bring you up. But it felt..."

"Yeah, dirty," I repeated. "You've said that. So then what?"

"I touched... her breasts. It happened so fast. She went weak; I mean she kind of pressed her breasts into my hands. And so I kissed...

"You kissed her breasts?"

"Yeah."

"Like how?"

"Just... pecks. Like, kissing them good-bye."

"A peck on each breast."

"Yeah."

"On her nipples?"

He blew out a sigh through his lips. I couldn't move. My whole body was paralyzed. I wanted description. Did they jiggle, did he bite them, were they soft, did the wind make little crests and pits form on their pink parts? But my tongue wouldn't obey me. It wanted to make me all calm seeming.

"And then what?" I demanded.

[To be continued...]