On A Late Sunday Afternoon

2:20 PM:
Jasmine poured bath oils into the tub, turned and looked at herself in
the full-length mirror, and humming along with Previn and the Pittsburgh
Symphony, slowly stripped off the shirt,let it fall away from her
shoulders, turned again, this time sideways, and studied her breasts.

She acknowledged their firmness with a tight smile reaching under them
and traced the curve with her fingertips. Her fingers slid out to the
nipples and gently squeezed them. Jasmine's mouth opened in a quizzical
'O' as she watched them grow hard at her touch. Unbuttoning her jeans,
Jasmine pulled them down over her hips, letting gravity take them to the
floor. Her panties had pulled down too and she
gazed at her hair curling up over the top of them. Her mouth still
shaped the 'O' as she ran her hand across her flat stomach, permitting
her little finger to slip down under the elastic and enjoy the soft,
silken tufts just above her mons.

With a deep sigh, Jasmine finally edged them down and stepped out of
them. Pausing a second before running her hands along the inside of her
thighs, while her thumbs rippled along the dark brown down of pubic
hair.

The symphony approached a crescendo as she tested the water with her big
toe, and then slipped into the oily warmth, letting it envelop her.
Jasmine chose to lie back with her eyes closed and languidly caressed
her legs, thighs and breasts. Her thumb meandered around until it found
her belly button,lingering at its edge while her remaining fingers
drifted down between her legs. Slowly, Jasmine pinched thumb and
forefinger together. Tweaking lightly, deliberately dawdling, while she
thought about Warren. About his trim, hard body, handsome face and his
adorable broken nose.

Jasmine almost dozed off in the warm scented water, but Warren kept
intruding.

Intruding.

Intruding.

Wrapped up in a hazy lust, Jasmine's fingers moved deviously, curling
here, poking there; moved faster, moved deeper,fasterandfaster . . .

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Jasmine's climax reverberated off the foggy, steam-clad mirrors and
tiles while her cat scurried to its safe place in the bedroom.

********************************************************************

3:15 PM.
Jasmine opened the door on the first ring and stood there facing Warren,
chin slightly raised, an arrogant, but impish expression on her face.
Her thick, chestnut brown hair, not quite dry, hung damply about her
ears. She wore no makeup. She didn't need it and knew it.

She wore a black floor-length kimono of purist silk, trimmed in
brilliant yellow(actually tiny canaries)and split up both sides almost
to the hip. There was nothing under it, nothing but Jasmine; Warren
could tell by the way it stayed with her, molded to her breasts, her
hips, clinging to her flat stomach. Jasmine's eyes sparkled
mischievously and the sweet odor of marijuana swirled past Warren.

Jasmine smiled and said, "Well, I just lost a bet with myself."

"How come," Warren asked, returning the smile and presenting the dimple
women found so enticing.

"I bet you wouldn't come."

"Hey," he said with another smile, "I can always go away."

She stepped back and swung the door wide and leaned against it. Cocking
her head to one side, she said, "No. No, I don't think so."

Warren went past her into a well-furnished living room and looked
around.

"Sumptuous," was all he said.

Jasmine closed the door and came very close to him, staring up at his
face before saying, "Thank you."

She had set the table for two. Wedgwood china, delicate silverware and
tall, fragile wine glasses waited patiently to serve them.

"If you'd like to wash, the bathroom's over there," she pointed to the
far left.

"Thanks, I will." And he followed her finger's direction into the
bathroom and carefully washed his hands. The room was still warm with
the memory of her bath and smelled vaguely of bath oil. He absorbed
these factors into his memory bank.

When he returned, Jasmine was pouring white wine into two glasses.
Motioning him to sit, she handed him a glass and held hers up in a
toasting fashion.

"To us," she said.

Warren smiled and said, "To Jasmine, to Warren and to pleasure."

"Pleasure?"

"Well, you know what I mean," he added lamely. He'd thought he was
further along towards bedding her.

The mischievous look crossed her face again and Warren didn't miss it.
Their glasses pinged as they touched. Jasmine leaned forward on her
elbows, holding her wine glass between her fingertips and stared at him
again.

"I have to ask you something personal," she said, very quietly, almost
confidentially.

Warren wondered what she'd heard about him. Was it damaging? But kept
his face expressionless and said, "Ask away. I'm not a politician and
have nothing to hide."

She smiled, pleased at his response and asked, "How did you get that?"
pointing toward his nose.

"What?"

Jasmine reached out and ran her middle finger very delicately down
between his eyes, lingering for a moment where his nose flattened out
between them. "That."

"Oh, that."

"Um hum," Jasmine grinned, adding, "If it's not romantic, please lie to
me."

"Ahhh, when I was in the Navy, I was conned into entering a boxing
tournament. The worst thing possible happened. I won my first two
matches. Boy, was I full of myself. Then I stepped into ring against the
Navy's middleweight champion. I must've lasted . . . oh, forty seconds
or so. He did 'that' and a couple other things the surgeon managed to
repair.

Jasmine found herself laughing hard at this revelation into his past and
shook her head.

"Did you really? Did you really do that?"

"I really did that." He jumped to his feet and danced around the room,
flicking left jabs at an imaginary opponent, then falling on his behind
and looking dazed, while an imaginary referee counted him out.

Tears of mirth rolled down Jasmine's cheeks as she dabbed at them with
her napkin.

"Even . . . even if it is a lie, don't ever change that story. It's
absolutely delicious."

She sighed and her eyes glittered as she finished dabbing at them.

"I'm so glad we got that settled," she said.

"What?"

"The business about your nose."

"Does my nose bother you?" he asked seriously. His eyes darted from her
face to her nipples, now prominent as they swelled against the fabric of
the black silk kimono.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly, continuing to stare at it with
an intensity that made him a bit uncomfortable.

"No," she continued,"it gives you character."

"Thanks."

A bell or a chime sounded faintly from the kitchen.

"Oh!" Jasmine cried out as she rose from the table.

"What is it?"

"Our dinner is ready." Jasmine said softly. " Please excuse me. I'll
only be a moment."

He watched her walk into the kitchen and thought if he had seen a finer
body on a woman he couldn't recall her. And he was impressed with her
intellect. No movie magazine princess here, no sir, he thought. Sitting
back in his chair, Warren conjured up erotic thoughts about the
remainder of the evening even as he admired the expensive furnishings.

Then as promised, Jasmine was back with their dinner. Filet mignon,
oven-baked potatoes and asparagus with hollandaise sauce.

"Jasmine, this is . . ." he paused. "This is not a little thing here.
This is . . . like your place, sumptuous. The presentation is . . .
well; I feel I'm looking at a page from 'Gourmet' Magazine.

Jasmine felt a flush of guilty embarrassment creeping from her neck to
her cheeks as she thanked him for his simple praise. Many other guests
at her table had formulated more expressive, more flowery compliments,
but she felt Warren's to be much more sincere. The guilt was a direct
result of Jasmine's having ordered everything from a nearby restaurant
and merely zapping it in the microwave.

They ate in earnest, after a while Warren put his knife and fork down
and smiled at her.

"What is it?" she smiled back. "Do I have something on my teeth?"

"No he laughed. You're just so . . . beautiful. I can't help staring.
If it bothers you I . . . I'll keep my eyes averted." As if to
demonstrate his sincerity, he looked at his hands.

"Warren?" Jasmine said quietly. "I've been a model. I'm used to people
staring at me. I accept it and don't take offense. After all, you
weren't raping me with those brown eyes of yours, were you?"

He smiled at her, appreciating her candor. "No," he said flatly.
"Undressing you, maybe, but rape? Never. Well not at the moment anyway."

She laughed, it was a tinkling that he savored as much as the meal.

"Good," he said,"I'm glad that's over with. Now, I've got a joke for
you."

"Oh, good! I love a good joke."

"Well I should preface this by telling you that I love humor and have
made it a kind of hobby of mine."

"Really?" she exclaimed, her surprise reflected in a gay voice.

"Oh yeah." He folded his napkin and placed it on the table next to his
plate. "For example I've collected all of W. C. Fields' movies. Even
have some tapes from radio shows he appeared on. Anyway, one of my all
time favorites was a guy named Myron Cohan."

Warren's eyes dropped to the plate in front of him as he searched for
the precise words, he didn't want to mess this up. She took a small sip
of wine, her eyes never leaving his.

"Cohan was a master story teller, like Bill Cosby is today," he said
tentatively. "In fact I think Cosby polished the timing of his early
acts watching or copying Cohan."

He became more buoyant as his confidence in the story to come surged
through his body.

"I came across several tapes of his and I treasure them. He was a
salesman in the garment district here in New York, and he was so
entertaining to his clients that they forced him into show business. He
was around fifty when he started professionally."

She was thoroughly enjoying his honest enthusiasm.

He was looking straight into her eyes now, "Anyway," he stopped to laugh
at himself. "I'm not sure if this is one of his stories, maybe not. But
it should be. It's kinda got his stamp on it, ya know?"

"Yes I know what you mean." She gave no indication of impatience with
his long prologue. Instead, her hand slowly massaged the stem of her
wine glass as she took him in with her smoky eyes. Her tongue flicked
out trying to capture an imaginary speck of food on her lip.

Warren saw this and was momentarily distracted. He took a deep breath
and continued.

"All right, here goes: Jesus is wandering around one of Jerusalem's
markets when he decides he really needs a new robe. After looking
around, he sees a stall with a pile of robes for sale. He enters and
meets a gnarly little man named Finkelstein and asks politely if
Finkelstein can make him a robe.

"Can I make for you a robe? Of course, of course, of course. I'll make
for you the perfect robe."

Finkelstein prepares a new robe for him, which is a perfect fit.

When Jesus asks how much he owes, Finkelstein brushes him off.

"No, no, there's no charge. But, may I ask a small favor, a little tiny
favor? Maybe whenever you give a sermon you could just mention a little
something about how your nice robe was made by Finkelstein the Tailor?"

"Sure, sure," Jesus readily agrees and, as promised, plugs Finkelstein's
robes every time he preaches.

Some months later, Jesus is walking through Jerusalem again and happens
by Finkelstein's shop. There is a huge line of people waiting for
Finkelstein's robes. He gently makes his way through the crowd to speak
to Finkelstein.

"Jesus, Jesus, look what a marvel you've been for business!" gushes
Finkelstein. "Would you consider a partnership?"

"Sure, sure," replies Jesus. "Jesus and Finkelstein it is."

"Uh . . . no . . . no," says Finkelstein. "It should be Finkelstein and
Jesus. After all I am the craftsman."

The two of them debate this and other topics for some time. They have
quite a good theological discussion as well. Finally, they arrive at a
compromise decision.

A week later, the new sign went up -- "Lord & Taylor."

Jasmine burst into an unpretentious peal of laughter that gave Warren a
warm, contented feeling that lasted beyond the meal.

After dinner they sat on the couch enjoying brandies. There was
occasional contact. No---they brushed against one another, as if by
accident. Could it have been premeditated?

"Ever play football?" Jasmine asked to get a conversation going after a
long silence.

"In High School. Wasn't big enough for college."

"Where did you go?"

"Rutgers."

"What was your Major?"

"Psychology."

"Why?"

"I like analyzing people."

"So why aren't you a Psychologist?"

"Well, the Navy happened along . . . ."

"And after the Navy?"

"Other things happened."

"You spent all that time and energy on Psychology and went nowhere with
it afterward?"

Warren squirmed uneasily before answering. "Yeah, well . . . it made my
Aunt Mary happy. She . . . well, she ummm, paid my way. She wanted me to
go to college. So I did."

You're a nice guy, Warren, Jasmine thought. "That was good of you," she
said.

"Like err, my Aunt was good to me. She raised me when my Moth . . ." he
ended his sentence abruptly. "It made her happy, so . . ."

"What happened with your Mother?" She asked this although she feared she
might be crossing over a line.

"Good question," he said slowly, drawing out both words. "As far as I
can tell, she aban . . . she err, left when I was two years old. We
never heard from her again."

Her heart went out to him. And Jasmine realized instinctively it was
this facet of his personality even more so than his honesty and
compassion that probably caused him to go from woman to woman in what
amounted to an endless search for the unattainable.

And another insightful concept burst upon her a moment later. This was
why women found him to be almost irresistible. He was an Adonis to
behold and inadvertently stirred the maternal soul in every woman he
met.

"Do you have any idea if she's alive?" she asked, probing deeper into
this mystery man.

"None." He hesitated and then continued.

"There was one instance, I was maybe twelve. I thought . . . well, I saw
this woman watching me. She was obviously trying to be unobtrusive about
it, but I'd played too much cops and robbers to be fooled. She was
definitely following my movements. I tested her by turning into a side
street and waiting to see if she followed me to make sure. She came to
the street and stopped, looked in and must have figured out what I was
doing. She turned and walked away. When I got the corner she was gone.

A month later, my Aunt received a letter postmarked Boise, Idaho. It was
from her. She mentioned she'd seen me and castigated herself for her
actions in leaving me, but said she'd never do it again and apologized
to both my Aunt and me for her cowardice. There was nothing more."

He grimaced and clenched his fists. "Oh, yeah, I've looked for her.
Hired investigators too. Nothing. She's gone."

Without asking, Jasmine stood up and poured both of them another glass
of brandy. He emptied his glass immediately. And she quickly refilled
it. Jasmine stood behind him fingers a fraction away from caressing his
neck.

"Would you like to split a joint with me," she asked.

"That sounds like the perfect desert to me," he said and rubbed his
stomach as though to assure her, the dinner had been totally
satisfactory.

Crossing the room to a small chest on the mantle, she withdrew a large
brown cigarette.

"Looks like Cheech and Chong have been by here from the size of that
bomb," Warren kidded her.

"No," she laughed, "but you're right about the large size. It's a
powerful toke or two. Here." And, leaning over his shoulder she held a
lighter out in front of him and flicked it. It worked the first time.

He drew in a deep breath, held it for ten seconds and exhaled. Then he
passed it back to her.

"Ummmmm," they both said in unison. They both laughed softly. She handed
it back to him and after he took it from her, Jasmine began to massage
his temples. Her touch was so light he hardly felt it. She pressed her
thumbs in the middle of his forehead, held the first three fingers of
each hand inside the depression of his temples and rotated them in small
circles. Her fingertips relaxed him. The food relaxed him. The brandy
relaxed him and the marijuana relaxed him. He dozed off. Quietly, she
removed the joint from his fingers, put it out and left the room.

Warren awoke to the melody of a solo saxophone playing a soft samba and
discovered he had a massive erection. Jasmine lay in front of him on a
bed of pillows, the slits in the kimono permitted her to tuck the
material between her legs so that Warren first thought he was looking at
her panties. His mouth grew dry as she began to tighten and relax her
thighs to the beat of the music.

Her hands moved slowly, but confidently, across her chest, to her
stiffened nipples, whereupon Jasmine squeezed them for both their
benefit.

Jasmine stared at him with eyes already fogged with passion. Her mouth
was open. Her breathing so slow it was almost tedious. She looked at the
swelling between his legs and grew even more excited. Now, her right
hand casually traversed the space across her navel searching for the
slit in the kimono. Warren leaned forward and bent over her, eyes
transfixed on hers. His right hand reached out and his fingers closed
upon her nipple, rolling it back and forth under the silken material.

The thrill of his touch shot through Jasmine, like electricity---into
her breasts, her stomach, her neck, her vagina, her rectum. She caressed
her neck and slid her fingers under the opening there to feel the
dimpled ridges of her nipple. Emitting a long sigh, she squeezed her
nipple again. Warren did the same with the other, but outside her
kimono. The voltage shot through her again.

Jasmine listened to the metallic sound of a zipper going down.

Her other hand disappeared under her kimono, slipped along her thigh,
brushed over her pubic hair and continued its downward journey to the
wetness below.

She began to rock up and down to the rhythm of the music, which
coincided, with her breathing. Rising up to meet her questing fingers as
they penetrated dampened folds of flesh. Probing, probing, eyes closed,
head stretched back tautly---neck veins bulging as the blood rushed
through her excited body Jasmine barely felt Warren's hand as it pulled
the kimono aside---but she gasped---then rocked faster and still faster
as his cool lips touched her labia for the first time.

After she came the first time, he took the opportunity to undress her.
Only then did he remove his clothing. Jasmine looked up and was
captivated by the enormous erection hovering above her. Forcing her eyes
away she took in the rest of his body. She had a fleeting thought that
she was paying homage at the foot of a Greek God. But Jasmine's
attention was quickly diverted back to his cock as he idly manipulated
it, mere inches above her head.

Before Jasmine could react further,(and she did so long to take him in
her mouth)Warren knelt beside her and began to caress her body. She lay
back, almost in a swoon, luxuriating in the thrilling sensations. His
touch was feathery light and knowing. From the soles of her feet,to the
hidden recesses behind her knees; to her freshly shaved armpits, he
missed nothing. Every nerve ending was lit with firey passion. Warren
kissed and caressed her, murmuring soft, undistinguishable words of love
all the while. He sucked upon her breasts, and told her how gorgeous
they were. He buried his face in her throat, sending her pulse soaring.
On the verge of losing control, Jasmine cupped her mons; then moved on
to tease her clit; managing to maintain her balance as though on a high
wire in the circus---staying on the edge.

Warren shook his head and droplets of sweat flew across her body. His
mouth returned to a distended nipple; teased it by licking and kissing;
he pleasured her by chewing, biting and sucking; he made love to her
better then anyone ever had before.

Jasmine rocked at a quicker pace now, fingers teasing her clitoris, and
began to sob as she chanted.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . ."

Jasmine groaned loudly as her vaginal lips continued to swell as the
surging blood raced through her sexual apparatus. Jasmine's fingers
toyed with her trigger, felt it harden and grow under her touch.

Warren continued down her sweat sheened body at a snail's pace. Jasmine
thought he'd never get THERE in time. Her wet muscles contracted around
the three fingers she'd guided inside herself---holding them captive for
long seconds and then releasing them to start another cycle of joyous
torment.

She rocked even faster.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .yes . . .
yes . . . yes!" The chant continued unabated.

Jasmine gasped for breath and sobbed.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" "Yesssssssss! Yeeessssss! Yeeessssss!"

"Wait for me Baby," Warren cajoled. "Wait for Warren sweet thighs."

But he held off, preferring to tantalize her further. His tongue entered
her navel. His fingers pinched and twisted her nipples, then plied her
breasts.

He paused and observed her actions, captivated by her fingers as both
hands in feather light whispers grazed and brushed her outer folds---
until accompanied by another groan, they halted---only to hold her lips
apart for her thumbs to enter and stroke the fires burning within.

Warren moved to Jasmine then, he was quick to locate her clit and
lightly brush around it with his fingertips. This delightful torment
galvanized her into a frenzied rocking motion. Warren inhaled and
savored her redolent mist through flared nostrils. His mouth began to
work its magic upon her and in turn, her hair wove frantic patterns
across the pillows as her head jerked back and forth.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes
YESSSSSSSSS!"

Her body went rigid.

Head thrust deep into the recesses of the pillows; pelvis raised as high
as could possibly go without separating from her vertebrae Jasmine
underwent the delicious spasms of orgasm. Using her elbows to prop her
up, Jasmine rose slowly, tantalizingly to her knees before him and with
a tiny cry enveloped him in her mouth. As the first sensations of her
tongue brushing against him reached his brain, he erupted, thinking only
of how sweet the moist membranes of her mouth felt upon him.

Warren opened his eyes, found himself lying on the pillows and tried to
figure out how much time had elapsed.

"Twenty minutes," Jasmine said, reading his mind.

She was standing over him, staring down between her breasts at him,
massaging her nipples. Her kimono lay at her feet. He reached up and
touched the soft skin behind her knee. Gently, ever so gently he stroked
it, then pressed lightly.

With an ethereal moan coming from deepest recesses of her throat,
Jasmine lowered herself down towards him, but didn't touch him. Until
her thick, brown tuft teased his fully erect cock.

They kissed, tongues searched . . .

He kissed her neck, her throat, the bulge of her breasts, her nipples
and felt her settle easily against him---then he was inside her, inside
her silken tunnel.

Warren lifted Jasmine by the hips and held her suspended until neither
could stand the separation any longer, then he brushed his hand across
her dampened mound and she came.

"Ohhhh . . . yes! Oh my God yes!"

He plunged deeply inside her and she began to ride him up and down, side
to side, fierce, staccato movements that quickly brought on her second
orgasm.

Her hand rested on his stomach, partly for balance, partly because she
loved the feel of his abdominal muscles rippling with his thrusting
efforts. She gazed through lust filled eyes at the veins bulging in his
neck, at the taut, strain upon his arms as he strove to lift her up with
each stroke. She felt him ready himself for ejaculation. Her body
stiffened a split second before his as she clenched her vaginal muscles
against his pulsing cock to retain it as long as possible.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he cried out.

"Ooooooooooooo!" she countered, as his hot lava flooded her. And they
collapsed on one another and slept