Mike Phillips - The many tongues of love

And I remember her whispering, "We both want this," clasping me in her arms as she did so.

And I think I said, "Yes."

"Yes" that's what I was saying now to my hospital love, my Number Fourteen, and somehow it was as though I was saying it again to Claudine.

His tongue, all curled and pointed, penetrated my gaping hole, prodding as deeply as it could, scraping the sides, making me think of cock, how great it would be to have a cock inside me, his cock, anybody's cock…

But as he drew his tongue out, my memories of Claudine returned, for now he was very gently sucking at me, sort of drawing my clit into him. I remembered how I had felt when Claudine did that, so expertly, so much better than any man had ever done…

How beautiful it was as we lay there, our supple bodies entwined, as she did everything I'd always wanted, knowing what to do, for she too was a woman, a creature so like me, my mirror-image. And strangely, as she lay on top of me, grinding her mound against mine in a desperate attempt to get closer, closer than was possible, I wished that she had a penis for somehow it was not quite enough…

Then, the darting and the lapping of her tongue, into me as far as it would go… and I pretended it was a penis. How strange, how incredible it all was! And how feverishly passionate I became, squirming against her and thrusting my clitoris against her, wishing it were larger, wishing there was some way we could really fit, just as I was squirming against this anonymous creature under me now, wanting more and more.

Claudine knew how to make up for, my impossible longings, for the feverish lashing of her tongue drove me to heights of pleasure hitherto unknown. Tinglings of sensation that traveled up my spine and even made the back of my head feel strange. Fire and ice, that's what it was like, the extremes of sensations, the opposites that converge – in the wildest possible of ecstasies…

Oh, Claudine… why must I think of Claudine? Why can't I focus on this nice young male creature beneath me, whose tongue is so very like hers? Why? But I must. Even as he sucks so gently, bites without giving pain, produces every perfect sensation, I remember the rushing of the waves, the dim quarter moon, the uniting of two soft bodies, so much alike.

Faster and faster, ever more deliciously, traversing only the underside of my clit before sinking into my hole. What a tongue! What tingling! My whole body trembling now, I squirm. I thrust, even. I don't care what I do, I'm going to get mine. I close my eyes, and it's Claudine's face I see as my body becomes lost in sheer rapture.

Now, yes, a slight pounding, rising from somewhere deep inside me. The beat of an ancient drum, the beat of a heart, the rhythm of the universe, and somehow it's Claudine's tongue that is evoking this, bringing me to this point of no return. My pussy swells and expands, and for one brief moment it's like hearing a high-pitched sound, a primal cry, yes, accompanied by a flash of light and the blessing of the Gods. For I have passed the gateway to paradise now. I hover on the very brink of the sheer precipice…

And I plunge downward once more, only down, down, down, my pussy breaking into a flurry of shudders, pounding, pulsating, throbbing… like the waves that crash. Claudine!

And suddenly I'm sobbing. Not because it isn't Claudine – I knew that all along – but because I've deceived this young man, this perfect young man. Deceived him because he alone couldn't do what it took, only my fantasy, my recurrent fantasy could get me there.

"Hey, remember I'm a sick man," he was saying.

"Did I hurt you?" I said, catching my breath.

"No, but you surprised me a little. That was strong… With most girls it's never that strong, no matter how hard you try. It was great!"

"Yeah, it was," I said quietly, smiling down at his youthful, handsome face.

"And I loved it. I loved it every bit as much as you did. Don't forget that."

I had to hurry back to the main station and get on with my chores. But that wasn't the only time this kind of thing happened. Yes, I usually made excuses, tried to avoid it, then succumbed to his expert treatment which brought me to pinnacles of passion no less intense than that first time. One of these days he'll be discharged, and I'll be sorry to see him go. Because he got me over the fear that I might really be a lesbian. He really did, by eventually making me respond to him. Of course, I kept sucking his cock, just as fervently as ever…

As for Number Eight, it was a big day for me when I heard his bandages were to be taken off. I could hardly wait to see if his face was everything it should be to go with that marvelously structured body of his. And I'd been sucking him off practically every day, never knowing what he looked like.

I wasn't on hand for the removal of the bandages: though both a surgical nurse and a doctor were. I tried to suppress my interest when they returned from the room to note the progress on his chart.

Of course, I was prepared for the worst. Possibility of plastic surgery, loss of sight… either of these were things that could happen. His speech should be normal, though, for there'd been no severe throat injury, only a broken jaw.

I waited for the earliest possible opportunity to go see him, not wanting to hear the news from someone else. At last I crept to his room.

I wasn't disappointed, for there on the pillow was the swarthy face I'd expected, full-cheeked with excellent bone structure. His eyebrows, which had been shaved, were growing in thick and heavy, dark, of course, like the rest of his hair. And I knew from his eyes that he could see. There was an instant response though, of course, he didn't know that I was the nurse, the one who'd been sucking him off.

I let him know by means of the signal he'd given me, three taps on the table. And he smiled weakly. His face probably still hurt, I realized, but he seemed pleased at seeing me.

I went to the door, put out the sign and pushed in the lock. Then I approached the lower edge of the bed. Without even peaking under the covers I could tell that Old Faithful was rising. Then I lifted the sheet.

There it was, the object of my cock worship, tall, thick and hard. Slowly I approached it with my hungry lips. I looked at his face now to see how he was responding to my uninvited overture.

Much to my surprise, he was shaking his head. I was crushed, really crushed.

"It's not that I don't like you," he said in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. "It's that I love you."

I was stricken. Flattered, of course, but disturbed. What was I going to do now. I didn't dare let him get hung up, serious.

Yes, he tried to talk me into marrying him, telling me about the property he'd inherited in Alabama and how we could raise peaches and children and all that. Oh, God, he thought I was just another cunt. Just another husband-hungry cunt. He was soon transferred to another ward, and though I promised to come see him, I didn't. I hoped that there he'd meet some nurse who was ready and willing to accept what he had to offer…

Because I was a long way from being ready for marriage of any kind, wasn't I? Of course the Alabama bit would have been all wrong, but so would any kind of permanent romantic commitment just then…

Yes, the day I started sobbing hysterically for no reason at all in the nurses' lounge, one of the other nurses, one of the other cock sucking nurses came up and said to me, "Gets to you after a while, doesn't it?"

That's all she said, but I knew what she meant I wasn't sure what was wrong, but I knew very well something was.

As the subject's narrative ends, it is encouraging to note that she has finally realized that she does have some serious emotional problems, although she as not yet fully accepted them and their consequences. The indications are that she will be able to resolve her problems, though, and along with them the mental turmoil that is affecting so much of her life. She was able to achieve, for the first time in quite awhile, a heterosexual relationship to the point of sexual gratification without having to resort to the subterfuge of fantasy to replace the object which gave her the gratification she sought.