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By Raziel Moore
Invisible Lines (Novella)

Passing Notes
© 2003 by Chris Bridges

Thwack! A little folded football of paper bounced off the monitor, startling the crap out of me and landing on my mouse pad.  Inside, in purple ink, it said, I wub you!

I followed the logical trajectory across the room to see Maria sitting on the couch watching television.  There was an unearthly beauty about her face and throat, reflected in the dancing blue light.  She gave absolutely no impression that she was aware of me, but there was a big and incriminating purple marker in sight by her hand.  Uh-oh.  She's bored.  This means trouble.

Our tastes in casual hobbihood are very different.  I prefer unwinding and relaxing by getting on the computer and cruising the net, finding cool new sites, downloading mp3s, playing games, making web pages, stuff like that, stuff that's generally a one-person activity.  She likes watching movies, which should have meant that we were completely compatible, except she liked watching movies with someone, which meant me.  It's a tricky thing to explain to the love of your life that you'd rather stare at a computer for a little while than spend time with your honey, and I've yet to discover the best way to go about it.  Usually, we manage.

I took the note, wrote I wub you more!! on the back, refolded it, and casually pitched it back in her direction.  Then I turned quickly back to the computer before the note landed.  There was no audible sign that the message was received.  Back to work.

The next note landed squarely on the keyboard, causing a brief flurry of fhgfg's.  This one read "I wub you more than all the sequins on Tina Turner." A glance—she was furiously intent on her show.  My return over-the-shoulder volley read I wub you more than all the grapes in Grapeland. I went ahead and saved the page I had been working on, since clearly this would escalate and the chances of getting any more work done were slim.

The next one hit me in the head and rolled under the desk, which made retrieving it nonchalantly an exercise in stealth.  It read I wub you more than all the fins in Finland, which is way more than the grape thing because there was a drought in Grapeland this year and they all died and it was very heartless of you to bring it up. This time when I looked over she was still facing towards the screen, but I could see muscles twitching in her neck where her giggles were being squashed.

Obviously this was going to take more direct action.

I got up and walked over to stand in front of her; she moved her head to the side with magnificent disdain to keep the TV in view.  I dropped to my knees to spare her neck and immediately noticed two things: one, the pile of assorted notepads stashed between her thigh and the arm of the couch, and two, she was wearing nothing beneath her nightshirt.  A soft, gray, stretchy nightshirt.  A course of action presented itself.

Lifting the hem of the shirt, I carefully rolled it upwards, scooting it past her hips (which she coincidentally lifted just then) and over her breasts.  She continued to watch the movie, to all outward appearances completely unaware that she was now barefoot up to the neck.  I nuzzled that neck a bit but got no obvious reaction, so I moved downwards and began to feast on the tops, sides and undersides of her breasts.  This might not have been the attention she was looking for, but her notes hadn't been terribly specific.

Another note came into view: Excuse me, what are you doing? The interesting thing here was that I hadn't seen her move, which meant that either I had been more preoccupied than I thought or she had a pile of notes ready for probable eventualities.  Fair enough.  I kept working my way around the south slope of her left breast while reaching blindly for utensils, pulling back to see a handful of sticky notes and a pen.  I wrote "Nothing to see here, go about your business" and stuck it on her right nipple upside down so she could read it.  It stayed solidly in place at first, but as my tongue finally reached the center of her left tit I had an excellent view of the note pulling s-l-o-w-l-y away from her skin to accommodate the growing nipple underneath.

Clearly such a breakdown in communications would not do.  I reached over and used my fingers to hold it down, pinning her nipple underneath.  A small circular motion seemed indicated to help keep it in place.

She began to move against my hand.  A quick glance upwards showed that she was still watching the screen, seemingly unaware of me, but the sweet humidity coming from below argued otherwise.  I let go of the note and everything stopped as I watched it tugging at her skin, millimeter by millimeter, before it finally pulled free to perch atop a very rigid nipple.  When I looked up she was still staring straight ahead, but her eyes were very bright.

I tongulated my way around her tummy and bellybutton, occasionally dipping into the thatch of soft curls below.  A pressure on my hand caught my attention; there was a note stuck there: Lick slowly. I let my grin sink between her spreading thighs.  The sight and the smell of her hit me hard, like it always does, and I could feel the familiar boil rolling through my bloodstream.  Drops of moisture were appearing along the soft fleshy ridges between her legs, so I used my tongue to gather them together and spread them more evenly.  I'm a helpful kind of guy.  Slowly, as per instructions, I licked up and down and around and through and back and forth and all of it all over again.  Her legs eased away from either side of my head, tugging her lips apart with a moist sound, and I dove for the sharper tastes to be found deep inside

I almost laughed out loud when the next note appeared.  It said, in shaky handwriting, Ahh! She had yet to make a sound, so that became my goal.

Her juices covered my mouth and dripped down my chin.  I licked up into her, straining my tongue and my jaw to hit the right spot, and was rewarded with a frantic wiggle and what sounded suspiciously like a person biting her own arm to stay quiet.  The Ahhh! note was joined with a new one: AHHH GOD! I took the new note and, placing it squarely over the bulging bud of her clit, stabbed it in place with my tongue.  Her heels pounded on my back and her hips thrust forward, so I did it again.

And again.

And again, finally pinning the note and swirling it around as fast as I could.  Notes began swirling down over her thighs as she began to lose control, and I chuckled into her pussy when I read some of the situations she had been prepared for. Not so fast, Use your teeth, Harder, Eduardo, harder (my name is Tony), Stop that, Eat me, you Scandinavian stud (I'm not), I'm coming! and more.  I took the last one and stuck it on my forehead so she could see it while I took the soggy note over her clit, and her clit, between my lips and munched happily away.  But even as I felt her rocking into her pre-orgasm buildup, I decided it needed something extra.

I grabbed the fat purple marker.  It was a Sharpee with smooth rounded edges on the cap, which was good because I didn't want to hurt her when I shoved it up into her slit and held it firm against the upper inside of her cunt.  Her hands clutched the sides of the couch and she bore down hard on the marker, forcing it against a favorite spot.  I attacked her clit with hungry glee and was rewarded with silent screams from above and a neck-breaking orgasm exploding around me.  I licked her through it, lapping more gently as the waves subsided, until I was nuzzling the inside of her thighs and catching my breath.  A new pre-written note appeared, displaying an admirable prophetic ability.

Thank you.  Get that thing out of me.

I let the pen drop into my hand and wiped it on my shirt.  Then I rose up to sit next to her.  Maria was drenched in sweat, her thick curly hair plastered to her face, and she still had her nightgown bunched up against her neck.  Her breasts were full and jiggling from her panting.  Her legs were still spread wide.  Her eyes, fixed on the direction of the TV, were lidded and sensual.  She was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, and there was only one thing left to do.

I reached over, plucked the notepad from her side and started writing notes.

For the first time all night, Maria turned to look at me and smiled, waiting.

© 2003 Chris Bridges.  All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Chris Bridges is head honcho at "Silly sex, for silly people," and author of Giggling Into the Pillow, a hilarious new collection of silly smut.

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