HARRY: THE STORY CONTINUES – An Erotic Love Story
January 23, 2010
HARRY: THE STORY CONTINUES
(sequel to HARRY: A Trilogy)
An erotic love story
It isn’t the fucking. I write about the fucking, sure, but let me say at the very start that Harry is the love of my life, the love of my soul.
I don’t know how to write about stuff like that, so I write about the sex.
Harry and I have lived together for a few years. If you want to know more, you can darn well take the time to read the Harry trilogy which tells the backstory. Otherwise, don’t complain and take what you get.
There are four of us: Lily, Harry’s fifteen-year-old dog, and Simon Rattle the Cat (yes, named for Sir Simon) who is nearly seventeen, and of course we two humans.
Harry is an artist. I am a writer. Harry has a studio in Soho and I have an office at home. We live in a three-bedroom condo on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
I am a vegan. Harry is a vegan at home.
We do a lot of things, separately and together, so don’t go thinking that fucking is all we do.
On the occasion I’m about to describe, Harry and I had decided to arouse and satisfy one another using only water as a device. The handheld shower with the adjustment panel of a fighter jet figured prominently in our plans, but if one or the other of us came up with an additional creative use of water, then that would be admissible.
We decided this in the morning as we prepared to launch into our individual days. This amounted to some fourteen hours of virtual foreplay.
We parted early to go our own ways. Our schedules change because we work for ourselves and we are in and out of one another’s ways at odd times but on this day we didn’t expect to see each other until early evening. Harry was heading to his studio and the course of his day usually led to visits to galleries and museums all over town – he was becoming known and respected, and it was heady stuff. I was working on deadline on a piece for a majorly major magazine, on special assignment if you please, and I intended to work through until it was finished. Since I worked at home, I’d be there for Lily. Lily is Harry’s (and now our) beloved elderly black medium-sized mixed-breed dog. She has her own bathroom accommodations, but the vet says she needs a twice-a-day once-around-the-block swing for the exercise. This is no problem for me because I love this dog as if I had known her all her life. When I’m not with Lily, she hangs with Simon Rattle the Cat.
Harry’s key in the door at 7pm-ish brought Lily and Simon to the door where a lingering three-way greeting took place. I watched from the open bar between the kitchen and the living room because this ritual gives me so much pleasure.
The four of us puttered around the kitchen, only the cat and the dog digging into their meals, with the humans merely grazing and touching and caressing one another as we pretended that it was dinnertime. The hours of anticipation worked: we were acutely in the mood.
Simultaneously, we rose from the kitchen table and moved to the bedroom. I was naked by the time we got there since I was clad only in my around-house sweat shorts and tank top.
Harry was without clothes only seconds after I.
We headed for the bathroom. We didn’t touch. Remember, this was Water Night.
We got under the regular shower and soaped each other’s bodies and hair with the excellent vegan melon and cucumber body wash we both love which leaves us smelling so fresh.
We did not stimulate one another because the rule was water only.
The fact of avoiding exciting one another made us just about frantic by the time we turned off the overhead shower and commandeered the dashboard of the handheld power shower.
The first target of the jet was my nipples. The spray was already sharp and the initial tingle of the water jet made me gasp. Harry moved the spray around, touching me with nothing other than the water spray, making adjustments to the spray intensity until I indicated that it was perfect.
I wanted to reach for Harry, but it was against the rules. I reached for his hand holding the shower to push it downwards, but Harry pulled back his hand. No touching. I pointed. Please?
I sat on a small bench I use when I shave my legs and I opened my legs to give Harry access to my clit and my labia which he approached with enthusiasm and lots of water. He adjusted for a sharp needle spray with an intensity which was almost more than I could bear. My labia and my clit were engorged and throbbing and I was close to orgasm with only the touch of the water.
Harry brought the jet spray in close to my clit and moved it over the surface until my cries let him know that he had it right. My water orgasm broke the surface and I cried out Harry’s name.
Harry’s neck, back, shoulders, ass, armpits are sensitive, so I ran the needle spray over these areas, as he writhed with pleasure. I let him spread his ass cheeks and I sprayed his ass crack and hole which made him moan and rotate his hips with pleasure.
I worked his balls, beginning at the base, thoroughly. Harry’s balls are large and heavy and both of us love them very much. The needle jet spray was exquisitely tormenting and Harry was making the motions of fucking, his erect veiny cock doing a stiff dance in front of us.
At last it was time to get down to business. Don’t get me wrong. I adore Harry’s cock. Literally. Not for nothing do I call him a sex god.
But I really didn’t know if I was going to be able to bring this off. So to speak. I mean a real, live gloppy orgasm. With a handheld shower.
But I love a challenge and I love Harry and I love Harry’s penis, so I was game.
I started at the base and moved the spray around, up, down – watching Harry’s face for reaction. I moved the spray around the circumference, then up and down, sides, back, front – always watching for reaction, listening for intensity of moans, shortness of breath, gasps, shudders.
I was gratified by the presence of all of the above reactions, including a few unscheduled whimpers.
God, this man is hot.
Harry was beginning to beg. So appealing in a man. I decided it was time. I broke the only-water rule to grab the thick veiny, pulsating shank of my lover’s adorable “member,” while I directed the water-needles at the tender purple knob which was glistening hopefully through the spray.
As I tormented Harry’s most sensitive spot, I worked his cock shank briskly and it took seconds for Harry to rear and buck and shudder and spasm into an orgasm which I bent to take into my mouth. (In case you were wondering: two calories, nutritional value of egg white. Sole exception to my vegan diet.)
Harry and I slept deeply.
The next morning, water entered our lives again. When we woke up, it was pouring torrentially. The sound of the rain was so loud that the thunder sounded far, far off.
Harry had to drive to Long Island. He bent to kiss me goodbye and I grunted.
I stayed in bed for a couple of hours after Harry left, cuddling lavishly with Simon and Lily, who would not go out in this rain, and who was delighted to miss her exercise.
I was just about to embark on the writing of a piece for which I was nowhere close to having an inspiration so I decided to take the day off to listen to the rain and maybe take a walk all rubberized so I could feel the rain pound on me which is something I love.
I typically get my news online – we have one television in the bedroom which is rarely used, but three computers – which I did while I had my Starbucks Kenya.
At about 4pm, I got a phone call from the Long Island gallery owner with whom Harry had been meeting. Had I heard from Harry? Why, no…
I was about to find out that water had come into our lives again.
With no visibility and slick conditions – the gallery owner who was also a close friend told me – there had been a massive vehicle pileup on Interstate 495, more famously known as the Long Island Expressway, the road Harry would have had to take – had in fact taken – to get back to Lily, Simon and me.
Eighteen people were known to have been killed outright. The fate of literally hundreds of others was not known. The site was a place of mayhem.
Harry’s name, my name and that of our Long Island friend had some recognition – and our friend had put in a number of calls, bandying about all three of our names.
Our friend and I were talking in the hushed, reverent tones of the bereaved and I was casting a benevolent eye on Lily vowing with aching heart that I would love her as my own for the remainder of her life, when there was a key-click, a knob-twist, a door-turn and in walked Harry, not the least bit dead.
I stifled, What are you doing here? I said, He’s here, and hung up on our friend. And joined the cat and dog around Harry. Only I was surprised.
What accident? Harry asked.
Harry had missed the accident and gone to his studio. Heard sirens. Lots and lots of ‘em. New York City.
A tragedy that day. But not ours.