Lay Lady Lay

Lay Lady Lay

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Living in sin: the year was 1969, Laurel had The Pill and a new lover.


Living in sin: the year was 1969, Laurel had The Pill and a new lover.


Submitted: January 20, 2013

A A A | A A A


Submitted: January 20, 2013



Lay Lady Lay; Lay Across My Big Brass Bed/Bob Dylan/Blood on the Tracks

By Delphine

You know you are in love when both of your families don’t want you to be together, but you can’t even feel it or know it.  You can’t feel the anger, dislike, madness, and misery. All you know is each other.

I had a love like that once, and it came at just the right time. Adolescents no longer, not quite up to bearing the weight of adulthood, on this quiet strip of no-man’s-land. We were trying on the clothing of grown up man and woman with the option open to shrug these off if they didn’t fit right.

As I sat nude, cross-legged on my lover’s bed, facing him, I looked into his large blue eyes, twin pools of light, and sighed. Matt reached forward,  gently cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. I leaned back and we twined our legs around each other. Matt began to stroke my breasts.

“Laurel, you are perfect for me in every way, my true soul mate. Remember what we read in Steppenwolf  about Harry Haller, the “wolf of the Steppes” as he called himself, finding his female counterpart that night he goes walking and finds a café that is called For Madmen Only? That’s you and me.  Even our sun signs complement each other. I’m Pisces the Fish, a water sign, and just like the book said, I’m interested in philosophical and magical and poetical things. You come next, Aries the Ram, full of fire. The two signs are connected, especially in sex.” He smiled at me. “You are a hot fire, you are so full of passion and I need your warmth.”

The candles Matt had set around the room were flickering; I was trying not to laugh. This new man, this new lover, was who I needed and I loved him deeply; sometimes he got carried away. What saved him from being a bore was his high intelligence and his blue-collar work ethic. Matt plowed away at his philosophy courses as if he was driving a bulldozer. 

Matt put his big toe on the hard little ball of flesh that was exposed between my legs. and began to play. He knew me by now; he knew my sexual drive was more demanding than his. But—and this shocked me at first—he liked that. He liked strong, dominant women.  So, being the excellent lover that he was, he learned ways to keep me satisfied.  In this way he seemed truly psychic at being able to read my wants and needs. From my end, to keep up with his ever-wandering mind, I read some of the books he gave me and attended a few philosophy lectures with him. My favorite book was the one  mentioned earlier, Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf.  I owe Matt a lot for giving it to me to read; it supplied the key to my own private difficulties and ambiguities.

Matt kept up the teasing pressure with his toe, and I fell back on the bed. He rubbed me just long enough for me to begin to have an orgasm, then he pulled back his foot, climbed on top, and pushed his penis inside. Soon we were breathing together and moaning.

Matt lived on the top floor of an old, crazy-looking building at the end of Coltart Street. It was cheap, clean, comfortable. Students lived there, but not on the top, where Matt lived. His bricks-and-boards bookshelves lined all the walls. He had a big bulletin board where he posted all his favorite quotations and pictures. His heroes were Sartre and Hegel, also Bob Dylan, and his former back-up group, The Band. Oh the time we spent, lying on the clean but shabby sofa, listening to Dylan’s weird lyrics and trying to interpret them. I just liked listening to it, but that was Matt’s mind, that’s where it led; he loved solving philosophical dilemmas and the deeper meanings of lines of obscure poetry.  Other than reading and thinking and reflecting, he loved to walk and we walked, always at night, all over Pittsburgh, talking, talking, talking—about everything.

Matt was a virgin, had almost no knowledge of women or sex, had been on few dates. He was interested though; but being somewhat passive he waited for the right woman to come to him.  I shared all my experience of sex with him and he never, ever, asked me where I gained what I knew.

Before actually moving in with Matt, I made up a new girlfriend named Kathy. I became quite close with “Kathy” and stayed nights with her. The first “Kathy call” as we called them came soon after we met. Matt and I stood facing each other in the dark bedroom. He wanted me to undress him and I found that strange but in matters of sex I’m a good time girl, a cheerful, easy to please lover. So I took his sweater and jeans off and found, under his jockey shorts, a huge erection.

“I’m going to touch you now. Is that OK?”

“Yes. Please.” He was gasping for breath.

I held his penis in both my hands, kissed the top, and played for a little while. Matt let me know that he couldn’t take it much longer. I laughed at this.

Rapidly I dropped my clothes and he sat on the bed, looking at me.

“You’re unbelievable. Look at your breasts and your nipples, so delicate and pink. Uh-oh, I’m gonna lose it…”

“Hang on,” I encouraged him. I pushed him back and quickly positioned myself on his penis and sat.

Immediately, he came.

He lay there, eyes closed. I told him to open them. What did he think?

“What do I think? Are you mad? Why did it take me so long to find you?”

We stayed up all night and he was strong as an ox, spending, then attaining yet another erection.

“You’re 20 years old,” I told him. “You’re making up for lost time. You’re ready for this to happen.”

We were, as Matt said “all asses and elbows,” that night. A second time with me on top, then reversing, with him on top. After that we lay like spoons and he came in from behind. He liked that position a lot because, as he said, “it’s equal,” nobody’s dominating. Oh brother, I said, please don’t think too much about the philosophical divisions between sexual positions. Just, and I kissed him before saying this, enjoy it. It’s a banquet, a smorgasbord, a feast.

“I love you Laurel,” Matt said when dawn came and we were exhausted. “You’re everything I need.”

It was then that something struck me. When my high school boyfriend dumped me and I was deeply depressed I took long walks in strange neighborhoods to escape from home. I had a fantasy that I indulged while taking these long walks; it was a picture in my mind of a boy, a young man, living alone in some odd place, isolated, and he was cold and sick and I came and warmed him.


Oh the joys of “living in sin” as it was called then. The Pill, anti-war demonstrations, taking some classes together, reading the same books for these classes, talking about them. My junior year at Pitt was a cornucopia of fun of all kinds; I was taking a two-semester history class on Russian history, along with courses devoted to Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. That year I attained dean’s list. My sexual needs, in the past causing me to do unwise things, were satisfied indeed; nobody in my family was speaking to me but that was OK; my courses were kind of flowing along together, making total sense.

Matt worked at night in the campus McDonalds. His father owned a bunch of parking lots in Philadelphia and could not help him financially. Matt attended classes, took copious notes, was alert and ready for thought and discussion after coming back to Coltart Street at 2:00 AM, carrying bags of McDonalds food—leftovers that the employees were encouraged to take home. I always woke up when Matt got home. I got to associate the pleasantly greasy smell of Big Macs and French fries with sex, because when Matt walked in he’d dump his bags of warm food, drop his clothes and jump into bed with me. He had been thinking of me all the way home and what he wanted to do with me; sometimes he would push me back on the bed, run his hands slowly over my breasts, stop at the nipples and play. Quickly I was ready for the next step but not being particularly hot-blooded, he stalled around, playing with my nipples for a while until I was ready to burst. Even then he would not satisfy me, not quite yet. He loved seeing me struggle and reach for his penis so he would come inside me, but he waited—ran his hands down my legs, stopping at the junction between my thighs and playing some more, making a comment about how wet I was, so wet and turned on that the juice was seeping onto the sheet. Then he finally took off his McDonalds clothes, his penis standing up straight and he would gently stroke the mouth of my vagina with it, teasing still more until I was practically crying . It was only at this point of absolute frenzy that he would enter me and of course I would come immediately, but that wasn’t the end. We all have our fetishes and private dreams and with Matt it was my breasts. He never paid any attention to my legs or ass. He would want to lie down on his back, his erection strong as usual, and have me kneel between his legs. Then with the help of a little KY between my breasts, I would, as Matt said, “fuck him with my breasts,” meaning that I would hold his erection securely between my breasts and rub. At the moment of climax, when his breathing became gasps and his thighs loosened, I would take his penis into my mouth and suck. After this, he would grab me and kiss me open-mouthed, so he could taste his own semen. As usual, I might have been a little surprised at this deviation from the norm, but being the good girl that I am I did what my lover asked of me and enjoyed seeing him so fulfilled. Then we would eat all the McDonalds food and go to sleep.

Matt liked secrets; he was a private person. He enjoyed occasionally doing something outrageous that was not obvious to others around. One day, I was sitting in a philosophy lecture at the back of the classroom with Matt; he had requested that I wear my big poncho that covered me completely and I knew my lover had something special planned. I sat with the poncho draped all around me and Matt carefully put his hand under the rough material and found my right nipple. I wasn’t wearing bras then and he had no trouble in locating it. Very gently he began to touch and tease it, making me squirm in the hard chair. Nothing was out of place; Matt was actually taking notes while doing this. There was something a little perverse about the situation, or maybe perverse isn’t the right word. The hard chair, the slightly abrasive material of the poncho, the way he was touching me; I felt bound and helpless and my face grew red. I was sweating and trying not to move while Matt looked straight ahead at the professor.

When the lecture was over I jumped up, charged into the ladies room, locked myself into a stall, jerked down my jeans, and rubbed the sensitive spot between my legs. I reached an orgasm very quickly due to the stimulation that Matt provided plus the bondage/discipline feeling of being trapped in a wooden chair during a lecture.

I left the ladies room and found Matt leaning against a pillar, waiting for me with a big grin on his face.

“Mad at me?” he asked flippantly.

“Let’s go home,” I said.



© Copyright 2018 Delphine. All rights reserved.

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