Maybe the Moon

chuckled.
    I moved my foot in tight against his sculpted belly, then down into that sweet Velcro wonderland until it rested on the base of his cock, making it spring out from his body. Then I traced its length slowly with my toes, enjoying the silken feel of it—my own private diving board.
    He began moving us toward the shallow end.
    “Where are we going?” I asked.
    “Somewhere where we’re not the resident act.”
    “Oh, c’mon. Think of the fun we’ll be spoiling.” It was booze and nothing else that made me this playfully brazen. I can be as trashy as the next girl, but I’m not an exhibitionist. At least not the sexual kind.
    We gathered up our discarded clothes and made our dripping way back to Neil’s room. It was a miracle we didn’t run into any of our neighbors in the process, but we didn’t, so the poor souls were deprived of cocktail chatter that would have lasted them well into the next millennium.
    Neil’s room was exactly like mine, except that the closets were reversed and his plastic cactus was of a different variety. He switched on a little lamp on the dresser, then brought towels from the bathroom and dried us—first himself, hastily, then me—blotting away gingerly as I stood on the nubby chenille of the bed, my cool skin all taut and tingling, my knees weak from the exercise and the raw, unobstructed sight of him. “You OK?” he asked softly as he put down the towel.
    “Fine.”
    “Lay back, then.”
    He scooched both pillows against the headboard and eased me back into them, stroking me lightly, smoothing me into place. Then he knelt on the floor next to the bed and moved in close to me, his head so huge and unbelievable it might have been on a movie screen. The lamp behind him produced a sort of coppery nimbus around his hair as his velvety lips covered mine. His tongue slipped into my mouth, filling it momentarily, then roamed off to my ears, my neck, my nipples, which he lapped at with teasing expertise before finally devouring my tits, one after the other, completely enveloping them in liquid warmth.
    Before long, though, his mouth had wandered off again, swabbing its way across my belly and between my legs. I reached down and buried my fingers in the thicket of his hair as his tongue continued its exploration, charting in precise terms a territory it seemed to know already. When he looked up again, smiling at me with half-lidded pleasure, he said only one word—“Nice”—and returned to the business at hand.
    “Hey,” I whispered.
    “Mmm?”
    “Come up here.”
    He hesitated briefly, then rose somewhat clumsily to his feet, his cock swinging into sight. “Where?”
    “On the bed.”
    I wiggled closer to the wall to make a space for him.
    “Like this?” he asked, lying down.
    “No. Kneel.” I had spoken his name, of course, which was funny to me, but I didn’t remark on it, since it was hardly the time for word games.
    So he knelt in the middle of the bed and I knelt in front of him, a pilgrim before the Wailing Wall. From there I could reach up to pet the thick-skinned planes of his chest and stomach and, moving lower, trace the thin ridge of hair descending from his navel. I hoisted his balls with one hand, feeling their weight spill over the sides, then nuzzled the shaft until it began to stir in fits and starts, jerking to life again, the foreskin rolling back with lazymajesty to reveal flesh as shiny and pink as the heart of a conch shell.
    In no time at all, my hand couldn’t encompass it, so I used two to steady him as I went down on him. Actually, around on him would be more like it, since I had to tackle the job in stages, a bit at a time, like licking a large manila envelope. He made gentle growls of encouragement while I worked, stroking my hair and leaning into me for easier access.
    When I finally got the head in my mouth, he bent even lower, propping himself up with one hand, sliding the other across my tits and belly and into my bush, where his middle finger pushed deeper and deeper as I bounced on my haunches. In the process his cock slipped from my mouth and banged against the side of my head like a boom on a sailboat in a storm at sea. I wanted his lips on me again, but they were miles away by then, somewhere just below the ozone layer. He must have sensed this, because he stretched out full length on the bed and pulled me up into the crook of his arm, still wearing me on his hand like a bowling ball. Then his mouth covered me again, and