This story contains sexually explicit material.
Please e-mail comments to twalden4 at juno dot com with ASSTR in the subject line.
Copyright 2004. All rights reserved.

Technical note: A gasp is a rapid intake of breath. In this story, it also means a rapid expelling of breath, since it is close to the sound I mean. Sigh, grunt, groan, pant, and scream don't work.

Diane Wandering

I used to like fighting with my brother. He was two years older than me and one year younger than my sister. Our fights weren't serious, like the ones he had with her. I started to grow breasts when I was twelve, but it wasn't until I was thirteen that his hands started to wander over them when we'd wrestle. At first, the edge of his hand would end up against the outside of my breast, and we'd pretend not to notice. Then his hand would slide across my breast, and we'd pretend it was an accident. When he started leaving his hand on my breast, I'd tell him not to, but we both knew I didn't mean it. When he ran his hand over the nipple or held it between his fingers, it was hard not to gasp or act excited. I could breathe a little faster, since we were wrestling. We both knew when it got hard, but neither of us said anything. His hands were always gentle when they were on my breasts, even though we were fighting.

His hand would sometimes slide across my crotch, but it never stayed there. Sometimes the edge of his arm would, when he was trying to hold me down. His legs might end up wrapped around my hip or thigh, or mine around his, but our motions when that happened had to look like part of the fight. When my mother or sister was around, we were a lot more careful and fought mostly with words.

When I was fourteen, he told me he wanted to have sex with me. I didn't think it was a good idea, but I liked him a lot and wanted to. My bother often didn't come home at night, but one night when he did, after I was sure my sister was asleep, I snuck out to the sofa in the living room were he slept. He put his sheet on the floor so we wouldn't make any noise. We lay down together, and he put his hand under my shirt. It was the first time he had touched my naked breast. Always before it had been through clothes. I don't think he had even seen it naked. It was a small apartment, but I was always careful to be covered when I came out of the bathroom after my shower. He slept in his underwear, and was darker than I was and didn't straighten his hair. He was fairly tall and thin, and I saw how well he moved in karate class.

He held my breast and kissed me for the first time. His lips were as gentle as his hand on my breast had always been. For the first time, I let myself respond to what he was doing without hiding it. As his lips slid over mine and sucked gently, I sucked back and put my arms around him. His hand went down to the outside of my underwear and lingered, massaging slowly between my legs. It felt really good, and I started moving against him. He was also moving, and I could feel his erection rubbing against my hip through his underwear. He put his hand inside my underwear and his fingers inside me. I was very wet. I had practiced being quiet when I masturbated while my sister was asleep. I don't know if he was asleep or if he ever heard anything. Sometimes I did make a little noise when I climaxed. I never heard him.

The noise from the street outside would help mask any we made. I met his tongue with mine and felt his fingers moving around inside me. They came out and started rubbing my clitoris, and before long I had to stop kissing him so I could get more air. I opened my mouth wide so I wouldn't make any noise as I gasped, and kept moving with his touch as the sensation built. He saw I was getting more excited and started stroking me faster, while he kissed the side of my face and neck. The sensation started to move out from my crotch and build up faster, and then it shot through my body. I gasped and he pressed his hand more firmly into me, his fingers moving faster and following my rhythm until I was done. It wasn't the first orgasm I had had with my brother, but it was a lot stronger and the first I had let him see.

He kissed me again, then pulled my shirt up and off over my head, and my underwear down my hips and off over my feet. He took off his, got a condom from his pocket, put it on, and lay down next to me again. I didn't get to see much of his penis in the light that came in the window, but he could see me pretty well. He kissed me and put his arms around me, then moved on top of me. We had our legs around each other's hip at the same time, which we never did while wrestling. He moved against me without pretending we were fighting, and I moved against him, while our lips and tongues continued to work together. He moved down and took my breast in his mouth, his lips and tongue working at my very hard nipple, and my breathing got faster again. He moved to my other breast, and I kept my hands on his shoulders.

He came back up and moved both his legs between mine. I spread mine, and he reached his hand down and guided himself to my opening. He pushed in slowly. I was very ready, and it didn't hurt at all. He moved in and out a little as he went deeper, and then his crotch pressed against mine, and he was all the way in. I held on to him and pressed my breasts against him as he pulled out a little and moved back in. We strained against each other, pulled back, and slid together again. We were having sex together, here, on the living room floor, while the others slept. We moved together and apart, and in his breathing I could hear the powerful sensations he was feeling. The sensation centered where we were joined together, and spread out to the rest of our bodies. As it built, we moved together a little faster and our breathing got a little deeper. Time stretched out and nearly stopped, but gradually our movements got faster. Eventually we were pounding into each other, and then the wave of sensation rolled over me again, and I gasped as I clutched him and thrust against him. He kept going, and so did I, until he was gasping and thrusting into me, and I was crying and trying desperately not to make any noise. I stayed with him as long as I dared, then went to the bathroom and back to my room.

I continued to sneak out to be with my brother sometimes, but was afraid we would be caught if I did it too often. My sister never woke up until morning. My mother didn't usually get up at night to go to the bathroom, and she didn't come out into the living room when she did, but we always held our breath if we heard her moving.

The next year, when I was a sophomore, a boy in my karate class invited me to a party at a friend's house. I had known Michael for a while, and talked to him sometimes, but was surprised and pleased when he finally asked me out.

He came to the door of our apartment and met my mother. My brother knew him from class and had assured her he was okay. We walked a few blocks to the party. He spent some time talking to his friends, and I ate macaroni and cheese talked to some of the girls I knew, but he also spent time with me. He made sure he danced the first and last dance with me, and most of the slow ones. He wasn't too tall, but he was fit and moved well from studying karate. His skin was about the same shade as mine, and his hair natural and fairly short. I liked watching him dance, and when they played No Woman No Cry he held me close without groping. I pressed against him a little, and he held me firmly but gently. He walked me home and kissed me in our hallway.

He asked me out again. We started spending time together at school and studying together. I saw him at karate class. Sometimes he came over after school and we could kiss on the sofa in the living room until my mother came home from work. My brother usually wasn't there, and my sister had dropped out of school and gone to live with her boyfriend when she got pregnant. Michael was a good kisser. His lips were moist and moved over mine. His tongue would wait until mine came out to meet it, and then they would slide against each other. He would put his hand on my breast, and for a while that was a far as we went. His hand would support my breast without griping it, squeezing gently to feel its resiliency. His fingers ran over my nipple and held it to feel its firmness. He would put his hand on my buttock and massage it, and I could feel his erection against my hip through his pants. Eventually, I agreed to go further. I got one of my brother's condoms, and we went into my room.

We had the apartment to ourselves, and just had to make sure we were out on the sofa before my mother got home. We sat down next to each other on the bed, and we kissed. He put his hand on my breast and rubbed it through my shirt. Then he pulled my shirt up, and I put my arms over my head. He pulled it off, and I took off my bra and his shirt. I lay back on the bed, and he took my breast in his mouth and sucked on it. My breasts weren't as big as some girls, but they weren't small and had fairly large nipples. Michael liked them. He sucked on my nipple with his lips and tongue and held my breast in his hand, while his other hand held my other breast and squeezed the nipple. He climbed onto me to get to my other breast, while his fingers squeezed the wet nipple of the one he had just left. His chest pressed into my crotch, and I moved against it. He sat up and undid my belt, pants button, and zipper, and then pulled my pants and underwear down and off. He stood up and finished getting undressed, and I saw the erect penis I had felt pressing against me many times. I opened the condom and put it on him, pulling back his foreskin and stoking the shaft of his penis. It looked so good. I felt his hairy balls. They moved around inside his sack of skin like slippery, elongated marbles. I lay back and spread my legs, and he knelt between them. We both guided his penis to my opening, and I held his buttocks as he slid all the way into me. We pressed together and moved apart. We didn't have a lot of time, but we had enough. It felt good just to move together, and when the sensation started to build, we started to move faster. It kept building until I felt the love we were making expand and pour through me, and I gasped and held Michael to me. He pounded against me until he caught up to it, and it poured through him, too, and he gasped and squirted it back into me. I pounded against him until I had gotten it all.

That night I snuck out to be with my brother on the living room floor. I told him what Michael and I had done. He said he was glad I had found someone I liked, and we made love slowly and gently in the light from the window. He said he would make sure we had enough condoms.

Michael came over after school two or three times a week, and we would make love on my bed in the afternoon. It didn't take long for my mother to figure out what was going on between Michael and me, but she just told me to be careful and seemed relieved that I had a real boyfriend.

A few weeks later Michael found a book called The Art of Loving, but it turned out not to be about sexual techniques. It was about how to be closer together. He showed it to me, and we both read it. There was a lot of technical stuff about psychology, but it was a thin book, and it told how to make sure your love lasted. It said we needed care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge. We had all those things, but I wanted more of them. We did things for each other and helped each other when we could. We kept our promises to each to other and tried to be on time. We didn't try to change each other. We listened to each other and told each other how we felt about things and what we wanted, without making demands. Our grades improved, we didn't fight, we felt accepted, and we learned what we thought was important and what didn't matter. We tried to love each other, and we did. Other people would get mad at each other or break up, but we worked things out as best we could. It wasn't always easy, but it was worth it.

My brother had started selling drugs, and he was arrested and sentenced to eighteen months in prison. The drugs came from white men and were sold to white men, but it was black men who ended up in prison and dead. Drugs were everywhere in our neighborhood and touched all of us. Michael tried to avoid getting involved with them, but that was not an option. He was shot in the back of the head for refusing to sell them, after he and I had been together for two years.

I withdrew from the world, and the other students in my karate class made sure no one bothered me. I had always been good at arithmetic and liked numbers, so I decided to be an accountant. I got a job as a cashier after school and kept it after I graduated. I studied business at a local community college on a scholarship. My mother took over raising her grandson. My brother got out of prison and went back with a ten year mandatory minimum sentence. I got my associate's degree and found a job as an accounting clerk. I went to classes at night and worked toward my bachelor's degree. I moved to a different neighborhood.

It was painful for me to visit my brother. He had been selling the same drugs that had gotten Michael killed. It was the only alternative to working at Kentucky Fried Chicken, and I tried not to blame him, but I did. I asked him about his plans. How was he going to keep from going back again once he got out? He didn't know, but he knew he needed to do something. He knew guys who came back a third time with life sentences, and he admitted he was scared. He had finished high school, so he was better off than many of the others. There were a few programs he could go to, AA and NA, and Toastmasters so he could learn to talk to people. The major positive influence in his life, outside the family, had been karate, but he wasn't allowed to practice that in prison. I asked about the prison library, and he said it didn't have much, but I encouraged him to read whatever he could. That was all I could do.

In one of my classes a man came in to talk about computer accounting systems, and the one his company used in particular. There was something in the way he moved. It was different than most of the students and faculty at the business school and other people in accounting. He was still answering questions after class, and I went up to listen. When everyone else had left, I asked him if he studied karate. He said no, but he did tai chi. I asked about it, and he was willing to talk. Tai chi was a series of movements, like a kata, done slowly. It was not used for fighting, although in theory it could be. He said if I was interested, I should come and observe a class. The one he went to was on thursday, and he would be happy to introduce me to his instructor. It was an advanced class, but it would give me a better idea of what the form was like than a beginner's class. I said I had a class on thursday night, but would be able to go in a few weeks during break. His name was Mark.

The tai chi explained Mark's relaxed attitude, but there was something else that attracted me to him, a patience, or a willingness to help without making assumptions, that came from somewhere else.

It had been hard for me to leave my karate instructor and the class that had given me support and space when I needed it. Some of the people had left, but some had still been there. It was where I had met Michael. My mother still lived in the old neighborhood, but I needed to break away from it as much as I could. My new instructor had been a student of my previous instructor, although I hadn't known him then. At my next class, I asked him about tai chi. He spoke highly of it, and recommended I study it if I thought I would like it. It fit well with karate. The slowness of the form made it easier to concentrate on details of balance and alignment, and it helped with flexibility and relaxation. I didn't know how I would find time for another class, but I said I would consider it.

I got to Mark's tai chi class early. It was in a large high ceilinged room with several windows and a wooden floor, but no floor mats. There were Chinese landscape pictures on the wall, and a small alter with some flowers and a picture of an older man, the instructor's instructor, presumably. Mark arrived with his friend Judy, a tall Asian woman. She looked me in the eye that same way Mark did and had the same relaxed manner. They introduced me to the instructor, and he welcomed me. The class was more informal than mine. There was no bowing or uniforms or colored belts. People wore loose clothing and special slippers, or went barefoot. Their warm-ups were graceful turns and shifts of weight. Then they started the form. They kept their weight low and moved their arms around in what might have been blocks and strikes, but there was no power in them. Their open hands or loose fists drifted forward and circled back while they stayed completely relaxed. They maintained their balance well on the long, slow kicks, but again there was no power.

Judy came over at the break to where I was sitting and asked me what I thought. I said it was beautiful and very different from karate. Then I asked her about the attitude I had noticed in Mark, and in her too, their way of listening more closely or paying attention, that I didn't see in the other students. I felt dizzy and almost fell out of my chair when she said it came from studying a book called The Art of Loving. She looked concerned, and she gave me some water. She asked what was wrong, and if there was anything she could do. I had some trouble talking, but said no, I had just realized why she and Mark seemed familiar, and it had been a shock. I had studied that book with someone else, and it had been very important to us. Now she looked even more concerned, but I said I just needed a minute to recover. She didn't look like she believed me, but only said she would like to talk to me more later. She rejoined the others.

After the class, Judy and Mark suggested we go to a nearby bakery that was open late. They thought I should eat something, and I agreed. It was a kosher bagel shop that also had baked goods. Judy had an apple turnover, Mark had an almond croissant, and I had a German chocolate brownie. The concern I could see on both their faces was something I hadn't experienced since Michael died, and it was unnerving. So I talked. I told them how Michael and I had met, about him finding The Art of Loving and us reading it together, and how we had tried to practice what it said. They understood. They were surprised and impressed that two high school students had been able to understand, accept, and use the ideas in the book. Most adults were afraid of them. I said we hadn't known enough to be afraid, and that I hadn't understood a lot of it. I had understood about love being irrational and unstable because I could see that in the people around us. That is what I had been more afraid of, and wanted to avoid.

It was getting late, but they said they knew other people who tried to use the ideas we had been talking about. They would be meeting two of them in the park on sunday to do tai chi. Would I like to join them to watch or to try it? I said yes.

It was cloudy and looked like rain when I met Mark and Judy in the park sunday morning. They introduced me to Karen and Frank. There weren't many people, so they didn't have trouble finding a large enough space. Judy, Karen, and Mark lined up, and Frank stood behind Karen, who didn't look like she was dressed warmly enough. Judy led them through some warm-ups, and then they started the form. I could see Karen following Judy's or Mark's motions, depending on which way they were turned. Frank didn't seem to know what he was doing. A little way into the form, he stopped and came over to sit with me. He said he hadn't taken any classes and just knew the little that Judy and Karen had taught him. He was thinking about starting a class, but it would have to be on saturday since he sometimes worked evenings. I asked him what he did. He said cleaning, maintenance, construction, and whatever he could find. He said he avoided restaurant work where he would have to be around people who were drinking, and many jobs were closed to him because he had been in prison.

I told him my brother was in prison and wanted to stay out once he was released. How had he managed it? He said a lot of it was luck. He had been staying at a homeless shelter and doing day labor when he met Jose and Judy. The three of them had been working as volunteers on a house building project, and they had taken an interest in him. They had encouraged him, and helped him find work and a place to live. He didn't have any family, or friends he could trust. Judy and the others were his support network and had tipped the balance in his favor.

I was impressed. Frank had had a plan and worked at it, making his own luck. I asked him how he had come up with it, and what he had done to prepare. He said he had talked to men who came back. Some had stayed out for a while, and he found out what they did. Also, what had led to their coming back. Often it was drugs and alcohol, going back to friends who had gotten them into trouble, and pride. And he had read a book about paying attention and seeing the opportunities others missed. If he could get experience by working for free as a volunteer, then that's what he did. The book was a translation of an ancient Chinese work called Wandering on the Way, and he had studied it carefully. I resolved to get a copy of it.

The others had finished and asked if I would like to try it. I said yes and joined in Frank's lesson. It was posture, balance, breathing, and relaxation, the same as and different from karate. The back is kept straight, and turns are done from the hip. The foot is planted before weight is put on it. Head up, shoulders down, and pelvis tipped forward. They said I did well, and I showed them a kata for comparison.

We ate the sandwiches, salads, fruit, and cookies we had brought, and Mark got out his flute. He played a long, slow Japanese piece while Judy and Karen (who had put her pants back on) meditated, and Frank and I looked around. There were sparrows looking for crumbs and blue sky showing through the clouds. People were walking and sitting. Joggers went by with headphones. Someone came over and asked what we had been doing, and Frank told her about tai chi. Frank and I ate the rest of the oatmeal raisin cookies. I said if I started tai chi classes, it would have to be on saturday, since I already had evening classes. He said if I did, then he would, and I smiled back at him.

A week later Frank called and invited me to dinner at his friend's house, but he wanted to meet me before then so he could explain the situation. I was puzzled, but agreed to have dinner with him the next day after work and before my class.

I met him at a small Thai restaurant near my class. I had the massaman curry with chicken and potatoes, and he had pineapple fried rice with shrimp and cashews.

Frank said that he and the others had gone beyond the idea that love had to be worked at. They believed it didn't have to be exclusive. You could work at it with more than one person. Mark and Judy were part of a group with Jose, Linda, and Paul, and the five of them were building a life together. I stopped eating and asked how he fit into this. He said that he had a secondary relationship with Judy, besides his primary relationship with Karen. I resisted the urge to throw my curry at him. I asked him if both he and Mark were planning on having me as a secondary. He said he was sorry if he had offended me. He liked me and hoped to get to know me better. He would like another primary if things worked out that way, or a secondary if that was what I preferred. He would let Mark speak for himself, but he knew that the group had agreed not to expand any further. Actually, I wasn't sure what I was angry about. I just felt like I was supposed to be angry.

I thanked him for taking the risk of being honest, and apologized for my reaction. Frank said he had seen worse. Many people objected to the term secondary, but he didn't know of a more accurate one. There was love enough for everyone, but there wasn't time. Some people thought having a little time together was better than having none, and a commitment was a commitment, even if it was only part time. Judy had discussed him with her primaries before accepting him as a secondary, but would honor that commitment now that it was made. Karen had discussed him with her secondary before accepting him as a primary, because his opinion was important to her. He had talked to Karen and Judy about me. But secondaries did take time away from primaries, and some people chose not to have them.

Getting back to the main topic, he asked how I felt about some people loving more than one person, and if I thought it was right for me. I said I knew it was, but was not prepared to say why, and liked the idea of being open about it with all those involved. It was fortunate that the restaurant wasn't crowded and no one was sitting nearby. When I talked to my brother, the guard made a point of standing out of earshot, but I knew our conversations were monitored.

I enjoyed the dinner at Linda and Paul's. It turned out that Paul was black, which explained why the others were able to feel so at ease with me. I had wondered about that.

Then next time I visited my brother, I said I wanted to order Wandering on the Way for him. It was about Taoism, and the stories in it sounded like the Zen stories our instructor used to tell. Books on karate were not allowed. I also wanted him to have The Art of Loving. Michael had given it to me, and I hadn't realized he still had more to give until the book had led me to Mark and Judy and Frank. Now I wanted to share it with my brother, so he would know what he meant to me. He said he was sorry for what had happened between us, and I told him not to be stupid. I treasured the time we spent together. He had always respected me and let me choose, and I was able to do so. The only thing he had done to hurt me was not be there when I needed him most. But he had to fix that. He had to stay out the next time, so he could be there for our mother and nephew and me. If he wanted books, he should tell me, and I would get them for him. If he had to send some out because he was at his limit, I would keep them for him. If he wanted to take a correspondence course, I would find a way to pay for it. He had a support network, and it had just expanded.

Frank had asked me out but didn't want to go where there was a lot of drinking, so he took me to a string quartet concert at the music school. The Beethoven was nice, and the modern piece I didn't understand, but the Debussy was wonderful. All that sound. I could get lost in it, like reggae, but it didn't have a beat. It just swirled, the themes flowing back and forth between the violin and the bass or sometimes in both at once, and in the slow movement it melted.

Frank came back to my apartment, and I gave him lemonade and more oatmeal raisin cookies. I put on the moonlight sonata, and we sat on the sofa, which was really a twin bed pushed against the wall of my one room, with some pillows for backrests. I told him I had thought about what he said, and I didn't think I would want to be anybody's secondary, although I knew there were times when it was the best solution, but if he was still looking for a second primary, maybe we could work something out. He said he hoped so. And then I kissed him. Why should I let him have all the fun? If he was surprised, he recovered quickly. His hand came up to my shoulder, but if it was to fend me off, it didn't work. His tongue came out to meet mine, and they got pretty friendly. I found some of the cookie he hadn't had time to finish. He put his arms around me, and I pushed him over and climbed on top of him. It had been a while. The kiss became gentler, and he rubbed my back and neck. It felt good. Tensions I hadn't known about melted.

I felt his fingers digging around my shoulder blades and his chest pressing back against my breasts. I was a lump, but not completely inert. My lips were working with his, and our tongues kept track of each other. My elbows and knees supported a little of my weight, although I felt my belly pressed against his erection. I pushed my crotch into its base and felt him push back.

I said I liked what his fingers were doing and asked if he would work on the rest of my back. He said yes, so I got up and took off all my clothes. Then I lay back down and waited to see if he would take off his. He hesitated, but did. He looked so white and naked. The dark body hair on his legs and crotch stood out against his light skin. He had a nice penis and foreskin, and looked fairly fit from the work he did. I knew he had strong fingers. He sat on my buttocks and placed his hands on my back. I could feel his balls, but his penis was standing up.

Frank worked his fingers, gently but firmly, into the muscles on the top of my shoulders near the base of my neck, his thumbs resting on either side of my spine. Then, keeping up the pressure, his fingers walked up onto my back, between my shoulder blades, down the curve of my lower back, and up onto my pelvis as he scooted back a little. He had lost enough of his erection that I could feel his slimy penis lying between my buttocks as his palms massaged them. I had some padding there. While I was in good shape and not fat, I wasn't skinny either. Then his fingers reversed direction and worked their way up my lower, middle, an upper back. His fingers and thumbs worked on one shoulder blade, then the other, and then he leaned forward and pressed down with the heels of his hands when I breathed out, letting up when I breathed in.

He asked if I wanted him to work on my front, and lifted his weight off me when I started to roll over. I smiled up at him as his eyes carefully studied the situation. I lifted my head and saw that his situation was again pointing straight up, and bouncing a little with his heartbeat. His hands on me went from shoulders to breastbone, down over breasts and belly to pelvis, out to hips, up sides, and under shoulders, so that he was lying on top of me and kissing me. I massaged his back, lips, and tongue. He moved down, and I felt his lips and tongue massaging my breast and nipple, then my other breast and nipple, as he held them both in his hands.

He got a condom from his pants and put it on, and I pulled down the covers of the bed. He climbed inside my legs, and I felt him insert himself. I was more than ready. He slid all the way in and pressed up against my pubic hair. We stared moving together, his penis massaging my vagina as it slid in and out, my opening massaging his penis, and our lips massaging each other. He tried to go slow, but my urgency was too much for me. Before long I felt the sensation growing inside me until I was gasping and gripping him to me as I thrust against him. He followed my movements and kept going until I felt another orgasm building up inside and flowing over me. And then his breathing got deeper and slower, and I felt him shudder as he came inside me.

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