UNDERWOOD

Installment #1

by Jason Rubis

Before I tell you anything else, let's get the facts straight. Before we start with the blood and thunder, before the shadows of fingers and eager bodies start moving on the wall, let me introduce myself. I'd like you to see me nice and clear. My name is Pamela Barin. You might know me from my romance novels, but maybe not. I'm not exactly famous. I'm twenty-eight years old as I write this. That fact will change in a couple of months, but I'll be the five feet, four inches tall I am now for probably the rest of my life. I have thick, light brown hair that reaches my shoulders, and I wear it in bangs. I like it that way. I don't think I'll be changing it anytime soon.

My weight will probably remain steady at 110 pounds or so, but I'll probably have a thing for chocolate for the rest of my life, and pastas and big gooshy eclairs. I love to eat and eat and I never gain a pound. Don't you hate me?

Ah, but I'm not a glamor-girl. Never was. I don't think I'm very pretty, not with this long, sharp nose and this mouth of mine...some people think it's full, sexy. I just think it's big. A wide, heavy-lipped mouth on a face that's too narrow to hold it. And for god's sake, don't imagine me as one of these little anorexic things swooning around country clubs in a teensy black cocktail dress. Blue jeans and bare feet are more my style. Digging in my garden in a halter-top and cut-offs until the sweat runs down my back and my long, bony toes and fingers are just filthy, that's how you should picture me.

See? Not very glamorous or pretty. But kind of sexy, don't you think? Just a little? Let's try this: let's have a little fantasy, just you and me, before we get down to business. Before I start talking about Tomas and Deena and all the rest of it, let's take a moment. I said I wanted you to see me. So feel me as well. Smell me. Taste me. Get all of me, so you'll know me as well as any of my lovers ever did.

Try this:

I'm crouched over in my garden, tearing at the earth with a steel claw. Sweaty. My hair is bundled back on my shoulders in an untidy pony-tail, tied with an piece of terry-cloth. You can see how brown my skin has gotten, with droplets of sweat gathering among the fine golden hairs there.

You've brought me a glass of iced tea, kneel and touch it to my upper arm, making me jump just a little, and laugh, and turn around so I can smile at you and take the glass from your hand. I'll stand up then, lift the tea and drink deeply, my throat working while the sun makes the glass explode with light like something in a cheap commercial.

You can smell me. Does that turn you off? It does just the opposite to me. It's my body, you know? The heat radiating off my body carries my scents and amplifies them so I can breathe them in and get ideas. Mostly it's the good, dry smell of newly-turned dirt, but my sweat is there too, and a little - just a little - of my excitement. I step up to you, closer, and a little closer still, smiling as you smile and shrink back a bit.

I'm asking you again: does this turn you off? Are you one of those people who's turned off by smells and bodies? Does everything have to be airbrushed and sanitized for you? Or will you let me get you dirty? I'm undoing the buckle on my belt, slowly unbuttoning my jeans, taking them down so you can see my panties, white against my flat tan belly and these long brown legs. Or are they really all that white? Maybe they're a little soiled. Maybe I haven't changed them in a while. Maybe my smell is stronger now, as I let my crusty jeans fall to a stiff, crumpled pile on the ground and step out of them. I'm right up against you now, you can feel my tits bumping your own sweet chest. My hair, my skin - you can't deny any of them. By now you think you can separate my scents: my pussy is there, and the sharper, saltier smell of my under-arms, and the rich, sweat-and-dirt smell of my feet.

Will you let me get my hands on your shoulders and push you down, onto the cold, wet grass? Please? I know it may be strange for you, so I'll kiss your mouth first, to let you get used to it. My strange mouth fumbling at yours, exploring its inside with my tongue and pressing our lips together so hard it almost hurts.

I'll rub my body against yours, finding a nice place on your lower body I can use to pleasure my poor burning clit, humping you in my dirty panties. I'm a little animal, aren't I? A little dirty savage. That's why I'm pressing my fingers into your mouth now, instead of my tongue. Gently, though. Sweetly. Taste them, darling. Just for a moment before I pull my halter down and give you my tits. Nice little tits, streaked with sweat and earth, my nipples so hard and pink in the middle of all that. Hard and waiting for your tongue.

Oh, you like that. You're getting into it, aren't you? You like the way I gasp and move myself while you lick. You're starting to see things my way.

So let me try this: I'll change position now, turn my whole body around so that my cheek is pillowed on your middle. I'll bow one leg up in the middle and press the ball of my foot to your mouth, give you my toes.

Oh, and you take them, don't you? You love them. As eagerly as you took my mouth or my nipples or my fingers. You get my poor, dirty toes between your lips and suck them hard, until the dirt is gone and they're wet and clean again. But you're not really trying to clean them, are you? You're sucking them because you love them, they make your ass bump the ground, they make what you have between your legs hard...or is it wet?

See, I don't know you as well as you know me now. I don't know if you're a man or woman. You could be black, blonde, asian, or any combination of the above. You'll remain my mystery for the time I'm telling you my story.

Will you think I'm an awful tease if I stop the fantasy there? I've got so many other things to tell you, and I'm sure you know what happened, after all. We wrestled there in the grass, fucking and sucking and licking (or any combination of the above) until the dew and your tongue made my body clean, and the heat of the rising sun made it dry. Of course, my pussy remained wet, and my mind remained dirty, but really, would you have expected otherwise?

Shall I tell you my story now? Don't be jealous. You're still my beautiful mystery. And you're my audience. Without you, there'd be no point in my having started speaking...in my being at all.