The following is Part 6 of our continuing story "New Openings." If you missed Parts 1 - 6, they're alive and well and living in our archives -- just click on the archive link. But to get you started on Part 6, here's where we left off:

"You kissed her breasts?"

"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.

[And now for part 6]

"And then I said I was sorry," he went on. "I said that I loved you and that you and I have an agreement. And she asked me what kind of agreement, and I told her."

"What did she say?"

"She said, 'oh.' What else could she say? It's twisted. We left after that and she never mentioned it again."

"No it's not," I said. "It's not twisted."

"So now tell me," he pressed. "How did you feel when I told you I touched her breasts?"

"You said kissed."

No response.

"Mixed feelings," I said. "I don't know."

"What kind of feelings?"

I shrugged.

"Come on, Ryann. I spilled all the details out for you, and you have to know it wasn't easy for me to talk about. The least you can do is tell me what you're feeling."

"Jealous, nervous, horny, angry -- I don't know. Everything."

"You see," he said. "You don't want this."

"I don't know," I said. "Really. I just don't know."

"Let's not mess with a good thing," he ended.

That night I was a ball of confusion, but I did fuck him all up that night -- dragged his pants down to his ankles like I was jonesing for some addictive drug, took his moist cock in my mouth like I was starved for it. It's those pheromones of his. He never has to make the moves. He just sends his lust tentacles out and they whisper over my nerve endings and I begin to function like his programmed fuck robot. His ooze -- it makes me need him. It makes me think that he, his body, is my only comfort. And it works. Somehow, mouthing his smooth, resilient cock, holding his gem-like balls on the tips of my fingers, swallowing the shaft, sucking, tasting precum, feeling the head knock up against the back of my throat, and ultimately swallowing his cum gush, warmed inside his own body like an offering, somehow all that is very comforting.

Three days later, the girl called him. I answered the phone. I'm a woman. I can hear the awakened pussy in a girl's voice. This Darci had it bad for my man. Oh, yes, and you can bet it bothered me. What kind of Pandora's Box was I cracking here? I will lose him to some immaculate virgin clit, someday. I realized that all the times I've said this to myself I was just trying to condition myself against the pain. This thing called chemistry, these pheromones or whatever, this damned magnetism, throughout human history it has destroyed kings and countries, and myriads of things more solid and worthy than my little love life. I thought about Max, I longed for him -- though he was right beside me. I started thinking of ways to get over him.

"You can come over if you want," he said into the phone, looking at me. He nodded, questioning. I nodded back. My body had that shake/tingle that you get after you just escaped a car wreck.

When he got off the phone, he kissed me. "Any time you want to stop this, just tell me. I don't want her getting caught in the middle of our confusion. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

You have to understand Max. This is really a big deal to Max, people not getting hurt. He's not one of these peace-and-love types, far from it. But Max's life growing up was a regular carnie -- funhouse, freaks, and terrifying rides included. And he's fought really hard to put his own hurt behind him, so he's not like your average hard-shelled guy.

"OK," I said. "I'll go out and leave you two alone for a while."

"Why?" he said. "I don't want you to go out. You said you wanted to be around."

"Yeah. I know. But she won't settle in with me around," I told him. "You make her feel all comfortable. I won't be long." (You just put out the drug, get our fresh, little pussy wet and hungry.)

He sighed. "I don't see why you need to do that. And how do you know she wants to settle in anyway? She just wants to talk to me about something."

I shrugged. And thought, Oh, she'll open up like a clam in a boiler pot. She's got it bad.

Out loud I said, "Whatever." Even now, looking back, I have to wonder how much of this submerged sexual exchange was really going on between him and her. I mean, just because I always fell into his seductive undertow. Perhaps I was just assuming she felt as I did -- everyone felt as I did -- when they really didn't.

I went to the pharmacy and bought some lubricant, some condoms, and some dental dams. Max wouldn't think ahead like that, but I would.

When I got back, they were on the couch. They were talking, but in low voices and close. The air was charged with sex energy, Max leaning his head back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling and she sideways, her legs in tight lowrider bellbottoms were spraddled so he could smell her girl-nectar when her pussy gave it up. Maybe it's just my perversion that thinks she was creaming for him, but the fact is, she was spread open in front of him and if her baby-twat oozed, he'd be smelling it.

I heard the tinkle of her shy giggle as I walked in, but once I had made my way into the room, she sat up rather suddenly and crossed her legs yoga style in front of her. She had long, thin legs. She looked down a lot and bounced a lot, like she didn't quite know how to settle her body. Her long hair drooped over her tits; her low necked floral shirt tightened under her little bust. When she bent forward you could see the pretend cleavage.

I introduced myself. She stood. I told her to relax and used the occasion to rest my hand on her small shoulder. "Make her feel comfortable, Max," I said. I left the room again. This time I went into our bedroom. The room was at the end of a dark hallway, but from a crack in the door, I could see them. I stripped and stood there at the cracked door naked, watching.