Archive-name: SpecMome/livinia1.txt

Archive-author: Friar Dave

Archive-title: Livinia - Part 1





          ... a memoir from Friar Dave, about meeting a very special

young woman and the first encounter with her and how things thus began 

to Get Out of Hand. This memoir is very explicit, but not to worry, 

Dear Reader, because I have changed the names to protect those who 

had a helluvalot of fun, and if tales of people getting to know each 

other in Every Way offend you, this is a real good time to erase this 

file.

     Any and all feedback -- positive and negative  --  would  be

appreciated.



===



     I'd been patronizing the 'mat for about six months, ever since they 

did their renovation. Finding a good laundromat isn't always easy, 

especially in a working folks' neighborhood when your hours bring you 

home from work after eight. By then, honest working folks are home, fed 

and usually watching the tube. 

     But the newly renovated 'mat next to the subway was open till nine-

thirty, which meant I could drop off my clothes on the way to work and 

pick them up on the way home. And they did a nice job.

     It didn't hurt that they had the lovely young Filipina working 

there on the late shift. Sometimes her kid was with her. The little girl 

was about 11 or so, all spindly and quick, with huge dark eyes -- like 

her mom -- and a quick smile -- like her mom -- and an infectious, 

impish laugh. Sometimes she'd be working on her homework at one of the 

empty folding tables, sometimes sitting there with her cousin and paging 

through teenager magazines.

     One October Thursday night, as I walked in, Sabrina came up to me 

at the door. "Can you get them out of here?" she whispered.

     "Who?"

     She nodded past me. It was a rainy, chilly autumn night and I 

couldn't be surprised that a couple of bums had moved in. One sat there 

with his pants halfway down his thighs, adding aroma. The other was 

sleeping.

     I took off my glasses and ran my fingers through my hair to make it 

unkempt and put on my best Stop-Me-Before-I-Kill look. "Out."

     The sleeper woke, the stripper froze. "Waddya -- "

     "Get back to the Men's Shelter on Graham Avenue -- now."

     "But -- "

     "I didn't say 'talk'; I said OUT!"

     They quietly shuffled out and headed south. I smoothed my hair, 

replaced my glasses and headed for the back to pick up my laundry. 

Sabrina intercepted me, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a 

hug.

     I disentangled her and turned to her mom. "Well?"

     "Thank you."

     "No hug?"

     She blushed and giggled, covering her mouth as she did so. Livinia 

was barely taller than her daughter, but one helluvalot more grown up. 

At 26, she was barely five-foot-one, and had a petite frame.  Her

complexion was dark and smooth and her body was tight and smooth. She 

had coal black hair, coal black eyes and red, ripe lips. She was lovely 

and she exuded sensuality of the barely restrained type.

     Livinia turned back to her folding. She was wearing a plain white 

blouse and a pair of jeans. They were nicely snug on her firm little 

butt and legs and bunched from being too large at the waist. Somehow, 

being able to see the strap of her plain, modest bra through the back of 

the shirt only made her sexier.

     She suddenly turned to Sabrina. "Come ask Daveed, maybe he can help 

you."

     Sabrina came over with an arithmetic text and her homework book. 

She was having trouble multiplying and adding fractions. No big deal. 

I'd struggled with it, too, which made me a good tutor for it. It took 

maybe ten minutes, but by then Sabrina had it wired and Livinia was 

closing up the mat.

     "I am sor-ree to hold you up," Livinia said as she retrieved my 

finished laundry. At first she didn't want to accept the money for it, 

but I insisted. 

     "I didn't help Sabrina for money," I told her. "I did it because I 

like her. She's a sweet kid."

     "You are too kind. I hope your wife won't be angry that you are 

late."

     "Since my wife divorced me about fifteen years ago, she won't 

mind."

     "I thought you were married!"

     I understood immediately. "Those belong to a good friend."

     "A girlfriend?"

     "A friend who is a woman."

     "She will be angry -- "

     "I live alone."

     "Oh, then you have not eaten dinner. It is so late. Come with us 

and I will give you dinner."

     Amazing woman: a single mother, immigrant, working long hours in a 

less-than-pleasant job, who goes home after eight or ten hours of manual 

labor and dealing with surly customers to make dinner for herself and 

her daughter -- and she felt sorry for me! 

     On the other hand, watching the curve of her body as she reached up 

on tiptoes to the light switches, my response was a lot more base -- or 

should I say lower -- than admiration. I accepted.

     I had the only umbrella, but it was a big one. By stashing my 

laundry in the back room of the 'mat, the three of us squeezed under the 

umbrella and hurried through what had become a driving rain. It was five 

blocks to the small house they owned not far from the industrial 

section of the neighborhood. By the time we got there, all three of us 

were more than a little damp. And I was more than a little aroused. All 

during the trip, Livinia's tight hips had repeatedly bumped against me 

and from time to time she leaned softly into my arm. Sabrina had also 

banged into me, but her tense, taut 11-year-old's energy was something 

else entirely.

     All three of us stripped our shoes and socks -- soaking wet -- in 

the vestibule and Sabrina scampered off to change while Livinia started 

boiling water and doing other mysterious Filipino things in the kitchen.

     Sabrina came back dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe and Mouse 

Slippers. She had a towel wrapped around her wet hair and carried two 

more. She handed one to me and gave the other to her mother, who aid 

something rapid-fire in Tagalog, I guess, and excused herself.

     Sabrina took over kitchen chores. She told me about how absolutely 

great Menudo was, New Kids on the Block, the new Madonna album and the 

like. All the time, she was stirring, mixing and cutting, I didn't pay 

too much attention to the food. Watching her animated face was too much 

fun to be distracted.

     Livinia returned a few minutes later in a baggy tee-shirt and dry 

jeans. She had a towel around her neck. She sent Sabrina off to set the 

table. When Livinia leaned over the stove, I noticed the absence of a 

bra strap. 

     I was ordered out of the kitchen and into the neat, if sparely 

furnished, living room. Sabrina was summoned and returned moments later 

with a beer. I asked what her mother was preparing -- it smelled good -- 

and she said, "Oh, the usual." Was it some kind of Filipino dish? At 

that, Sabrina laughed and scampered back into the kitchen. Moments 

later, I heard Livinia's laughter joining her daughter's.

     I was summoned to the scarred old dining table and the unusual 

Filipino dish was brought out: Tuna fish casserole. This time I laughed.

     For such petite, wiry folks, the two of them consumed a lot of 

food. I felt like something was wrong with me, as I'd barely eaten half 

as much as either of them. I protested that it tasted fine, but I just 

didn't eat much that late. 

     Sometime during dinner, I finished my beer and Sabrina brought 

another for me. Livinia was just finishing hers. Sabrina cleared the 

table and Livinia and I settled into the living room for a little chat 

before I started the trek home. Sabrina peeked in to say good night, 

that her chores were finished and she was grateful for the homework 

help. 

     Livinia and I talked about how living in Brooklyn was different 

from her life in the Philippines and at one point, she said, "I like it 

here, but I am sometimes lonely for my pamily."

     "Your what?"

     She blushed. "My p-pamily?"

     I let it pass. "I suppose you would be -- "

     "My accent is still so strong. I wish I could speak better."

     I tried to show her how to make the F and V sounds but it was 

unusual for her lips. Finally, I leaned across the battered coffee table 

and pressed her lush, soft lower lip back and in with my  finger.

"Family," I said.

     "Family," she repeated and her eyes grew wide. I took my finger 

away. 

     "You try it."

     She did, finger and all. Then she giggled. And blushed. 

     "What's the matter?"

     "I can not do that in front of a man alone here," she said. "it 

could make ideas."

     Her nipples were hard. I kept my face straight while my cock 

matched her nipples.

     "I don't mind."

     "See? Already you get ideas -- "

     I leaned across and took her sweet, lovely face in my hands. 

"Livinia, I have had ideas for a long time." And I kissed her. Her lips 

were as soft and sweet and warm as I'd imagined. After a moment, they 

opened to my tongue and then her arms went around me and she pulled me 

to her. She was frantic, passionate and demanding.

     I settled onto the threadbare couch next to her and drew her to me. 

I slid my hand down to lightly cup her tight breasts through her tee-

shirt, then slid my hand lower and rubbed her thighs and between them. 

She was damp under those jeans and when my hand pressed her, she pressed 

back against it, rubbing it into her cunt.

     I raised her tee-shirt and began kissing her breasts and sucking 

her nipples. They were small nipples and hard as pebbles and looked 

almost purple in the dim light. She gasped and pressed my face more 

firmly into each one. I feasted, sucking hard, then pressed the turgid 

little nozzles into her flesh as if to invert them, then sucked them 

back into my mouth as far as I could and wrapped my tongue around them. 

Her gasps were coming faster and faster.

     Her hands got busy unbuttoning my shirt. She slid one hand inside 

and ran it over my torso. She pulled my shirt open and pushed me away 

from her breasts, shoving me upright against the back of the couch. She 

stripped her tee-shirt off completely, then twisted and began kissing my 

chest and my abdomen. I ran my hands over her smooth and elegantly 

curved back, then underneath to play with her breasts, then lower. I 

unfastened the waistband of her jeans and pushed the zipper open. I 

flattened my fingers and palm against her taut little belly --  I

couldn't believe she'd actually carried a child to full term in that 

tiny abdomen -- and insinuated my fingers under her panties. I found her 

cunt hair sparse and thoroughly soaked.

     Her clitoris was larger and harder than I'd thought a clit could 

get, doubly so on someone as petite as she was. It felt enormous. Her 

reaction to my touch was certainly enormous. She kicked her legs out 

straight and stiff, half turned against me and ground  her  pubis

frantically up against my fingers for a moment, then she tensed and 

shook. She'd muffled whatever sounds she would've made by pressing her 

mouth against my chest hard enough to leave tooth marks.

     She was panting for breath as I pushed her jeans down. She was 

wearing lime green bikini panties, tiny even on her tiny frame. Also 

soaked. She was very limber and easily raised her legs high till she was 

almost jack-knifed beside me on the couch. The jeans and panties slid 

easily up legs that were longer than they'd seemed. 

     She didn't get much of a chance to relax them after that. I twisted 

on the couch and knelt beside her, then bent forward with my mouth 

diving straight for that lovely muff. I pressed her legs open, then slid 

my hands around the backs of her thighs, a bit lower, to her tight ass, 

and pulled her cunt to my mouth.

     She was astonishingly wet and hot. Her cunt was sweet and a little 

musky -- I hadn't given her a chance to wash since getting to her house 

-- but it tasted fabulous. Her labia were thin and tight and it took an 

effort to work my tongue between to lave her pinkness. 

     I like drawing my tongue slowly upward, from ass to clit, teasing 

and tantalizing and letting a woman anticipate what's coming before it 

gets there. But I was the one in for the surprise when my tongue reached 

its destination.

     My first perception of her clitoris had been completely accurate: 

It was huge. it must have been at least a half inch long, maybe more, 

and easily as thick as my pinky and it was a lot closer to the opening 

of her cunt than any I'd encountered before. When my tongue touched it, 

her groan went right through her and the damn thing actually throbbed. I 

draped my mouth over her entire cunt area and gently sucked and let my 

tongue barely touch her overheated flesh. She like to melted and then 

her legs began moving randomly, slowly, as she writhed and shook.

     I felt her hands on my trousers, fumbling at my belt and waistband, 

fumbling at the zipper. She pushed my Jockeys down enough to be able to 

get at my cock. I expected her to suck it, but she just kissed and 

licked it, as much as she could reach. In the state I was in at that 

point, I almost came from her hot kisses alone. 

     But a couch, even an old, worn and overstuffed couch, is no place 

for complex acrobatics of any kind and she and I were both starting to 

slip off it. I turned and let myself roll to the floor, then stood. She 

sat forward on the edge of the cushions and immediately pushed my pants 

and Jockeys down past my knees and while I stepped out them, she gripped 

my aching dick and began squeezing and jerking it, pausing occasionally 

to lick the glans and the underside of the shaft.

     I reached down and put my hands under her shoulders and pulled her 

up to me. My dick was throbbing against her stomach when I bent and 

kissed her again. She wrapped one leg around mine and began rubbing 

frantically against my leg. I could feel the wetness and heat of her 

cunt.

     "Get inside me!" she hissed. "I want you to -- to -- "

     "Fuck you?"

     "Yes! Puck me!"

     I bent to my trousers -- containing the wallet and a condom. When I 

fished the wallet out of the hip pocket, the look on her face was of 

horror.

     "What are you doing?"

     I withdrew the condom and tossed the wallet aside. 

     "You don't need that," she said, relaxing. "I can not have babies 

anymore."

     I lifted her and sat her on the arm of the couch, then dropped to 

my knees and began kissing the insides of her thighs. Her legs fell 

farther and farther apart and then my face was at her cunt and she was 

moaning and shaking again. I ran my hands up her narrow hips and waist 

and around to her back and when she started to topple backward, I eased 

her down and stood. She was laying back on the couch, with her slim hips 

perched on the arm and her legs dangling wide to either side of me. Her 

breasts were firm and taut and her face was utterly slack and utterly 

flushed. 

     I stepped forward and pressed my cock against her cunt. It took a 

bit of doing, but I found the opening and pressed in. her cunt seemed to 

suck me inside of her, deeper and deeper, and all the time, I could feel 

that preposterously oversized clitoris against the top of my dick -- and 

then I felt it pressed against my pubic hair, at the base of my cock.

     I looked down to see her hands moving over her breasts, playing 

with her nipples, rubbing and tweaking them. Her cunt was squeezing and 

pulling at me and the hot, liquid grip of her wasn't doing much for my 

self-restraint. I pulled out about halfway and slid slowly back in. Her 

legs came up and folded back slightly. I leaned forward a bit and she 

brought her knees up to my shoulders. I leaned more and she happily used 

her folded legs as springs for my ever-faster thrusts.

     Each time I pulled back, her cunt seemed to grip and suck my cock. 

Each time I pressed in, I could feel the liquid heat of her juices 

engulf my dick. It was like penetrating molten velvet. And through it 

all, there was the amazing sensation on the downstroke of feeling that 

hard, oversized clitoris throb against me. About every fourth stroke 

also brought the spasms of her convulsing cunt.

     "Do it in me!" she moaned. "Do it now! Puck me!" she  hissed

frantically.

     I jammed myself to the hilt in her and stayed there and then my 

balls cut loose. The stuff poured into her, adding to the hot wetness 

within her sleek cunt and then her clit seemed to swell still more and 

she locked her legs around my back, holding me to her, and came with me. 

She stiffened and actually seemed to be raising  herself  to  the

horizontal, so intense was her orgasm, and her cunt pulled and flexed 

around my spurting dick.

     As my spurts slowed and my cock began to relax, I pulled back and 

slipped to my knees. Her legs had fallen away to either side and now I 

pulled them onto my shoulders and began licking her again. I fastened my 

lips around her still swollen clit and just barely manipulated the base 

of it with my lips as I gently sucked and she suddenly hunched against 

me and expelled a tremendous load of juices -- hers and mine -- against 

my chin. She clamped her taut thighs around my head and went absolutely 

rigid, almost catatonic, for what seemed a long time  before  she

collapsed back onto the couch.

     I moved around to the front of the couch. She was sprawled face up 

with her hips and ass perched on the arm of the couch, her legs dangling 

over to the side almost straight down and her head and shoulders flat on 

the seat cushions. I thought of a cat's ability to sprawl, absolutely 

relaxed, in seemingly impossible positions.

     I also thought of bursting dams. My beard and chest were soaked 

with that copious explosion of hers. Had she pissed, too? I tasted; no 

piss in that mix! But, damn, where had all those juices come from? I 

could barely taste my own semen in the flood.

     I sat and drew her to me, cuddling her against my chest. She moaned 

softly when I raised her and then shivered when I kissed her behind the 

ear. Her hand came up and caressed my face. She murmured something. I 

didn't quite make it out.

     "Too much, it's too much, too good," she said a little louder. "You 

make me peel so good, it scares me."

     "I liked it a lot," I said, always quick with the reparte. I 

decided emphasis was needed and gently pinched her nipples. She shivered 

again and that reminded me of the way it had felt inside her and old 

Johnson started coming back to attention against her side.

     She twisted sinuously, slid to her knees on the couch with her legs 

drawn up underneath, ducked down impossibly low and compact and

swallowed my cock at a gulp. I'm still not sure what she did or how, but 

by the time my hand was caressing her back, she had me hard. By the time 

I had caught the breath to warn her, she was vacuuming yet another 

ejaculation out of my freshly-drained balls. She gulped and swallowed 

noisily as she sucked and that made it better. Then she reached between 

my legs and pressed her fingers against me, right between my balls, and 

I felt like I was pissing jism into her. It came out in a fountain.

     This time there was more than she could readily swallow, but she 

cleaned up the excess with her kitten-like tongue and soft, slippery 

lips, thank you very much.

     The whole blowjob had taken maybe three minutes. All I could do was 

groan and flop limply against the back of the couch (and down between my 

still quivering legs, I might add).

     "I make you peel good, too?"

     I barely wedged my eyelids up to look down at her lovely face. Her 

hair was a mess, her eyes were about half open and her lips and hand -- 

which was still gripping my limp schlong -- were all shiny and slippery.

     "Wonderful."

     She kissed the head of my cock and then gently placed it between my 

legs. "Good, I want to make you peel good!"

     I drew her up to me. She wouldn't let me kiss her, but she had no 

objection to snuggling against me. An old blanket was neatly folded on 

the back of the couch. It was probably used as a comforter in Brooklyn 

winters in an old drafty wood-frame house. I pulled it over the two of 

us and held her close and comfortable against me.

     My eyes opened abruptly. I'd thought I'd heard or seen something in 

the doorway but ... No, just a shadow, or the wind against an old house. 

     I knew I'd dozed, but doubted it had been for long. Livinia had 

settled comfortably into a sort of half-cradled position, snuggled 

against the juncture of my (fast asleep) left arm and the arm of the 

couch. Looking down at her in repose, I thought how absolutely lovely 

she looked, and how she seemed too young to have a child of twelve. And 

how utterly good this all felt.

     Remembering that, my dick awoke, too, but I doubted it was going to 

be good for much besides watering Mr.Crane's Finest for a while. I 

leaned down and kissed the side of her face gently and caressed her 

shoulder till she stirred, mumbling and resisting. For a moment, her 

eyes were puzzled -- then afraid. Then she seemed to relax and remember.

     "I have to get home, Livinia."

     "To your -- your cat?"

     "How'd you know I have a cat?"

     "I wash your laundry, remember? Lot's of hair!" She giggled against 

my chest.

     "And to get ready for work tomorrow. And you have a young daughter 

in the house."

     Her eyes grew wide. "She did not see us -- ?"

     I shook my head. "She went up to sleep long before we

got...friendlier."

     She put her hand to her mouth. "I always am so careful! I want her 

to be a good girl, not like her mother or her aunts!"

     "You're a good woman."

     "But -- " She stopped herself. "Yes, maybe it's time to go."

     "I want to see you again."

     "I don't know..."

     "You are lovely and sweet and a hard-working person and I want to 

know all of you, including here -- " I touched a finger to her chest. " 

-- and here." I touched her forehead. "Can we go out to dinner and maybe 

a movie or -- "

     "I don't know...You have a girlfriend and I have a kid."

     "We can have the girlfriend watch the kid?"

     When she realized I was kidding, she gave me a playful punch on the 

arm. I responded by caressing her breasts and enjoying the feel of her 

nipples hardening again.

     "Ohhhh -- don't do that!"

     I slid my hand down over her belly, down into the dried mat of her 

sparse pubic hair, down to the already moistening cleft between her 

legs.

     "We will have dinner, won't we?"

     "Okay, okay! But you have to go!"

     I nodded. "Okay. I will talk with you tomorrow?"

     She nodded and unfolded, graceful and sinuous as a cat. She took 

the blanket with her. 

     "Hey, it's cold in here!" I protested.

     She giggled again. It was so totally unaffected that I didn't mind 

the giggle -- only the cold.

     "Yes, but you are getting dressed right away."

     I was. The rain had stopped, but the cold hadn't. It took ten 

minutes to walk the six blocks to my house. It was two-thirty when I got 

home.

     Actually, I didn't walk the six blocks. I walked four and ran two. 

About halfway home I managed to attract the attention of three of the 

neighborhood punks. They, true to the tradition of the neighborhood in 

which I'd grown up, assumed that any man over thirty out alone at that 

hour who wasn't (a) drunk or (b) with a woman was a faggot. Double proof 

if the guy had a beard and wasn't carrying a beer belly. 

     If I'd been five years younger I probably would've waylaid them and 

taught them about trying to fuck with someone who was kicking ass in 

that neighborhood before they were wishful thoughts in their (nominal) 

fathers' limited little minds. But if I'd been five years younger, that 

would have been five years ago and the odds would have been less than 

one-in-three that one or all of them was packing some iron. So I fell 

back on my second-finest asset, i.e., my legs, and ran like hell.

     The light on my answering machine was blinking madly, but I was too 

pooped out to deal with it. I stripped off most of my still-damp clothes 

and fell into bed and slept, once the damn cat shut up.

     I woke at eight to the melodious siren song of some asshole's car 

alarm and with a raging hard-on. I'd been dreaming about Livinia, which 

was good, but she wasn't there, which was bad. I wondered if she was 

going to back away, now. Her passion and loveliness had been all I'd 

hoped and then some, but her odd words as I'd left indicated

uncertainty. But I did want to get to know her a lot more and  --

hopefully -- spend more time with her, preferably in a real bed. There 

was mystery to her and I wanted to unravel at least some of it.

     I need not have worried. I was going to learn more about her and 

her "pamily" and more about the mystery than I ever expected...or 

wanted to know.



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