Steam--A Marlon Jackson Erotica!!!

I think I have always, whether I realized it or not, admired Marlon Jackson’s physique. From his younger days where he was thin as a reed, he plumped with age and was once more slim at the conclusion of his last concert tour. I do understand that maintaining an attractive figure, even for a man, is a labor that requires a good diet and a decent amount of exercise. With that idea in mind, I penned a story that takes place in a gym, but this is not the kind of work out you can get in an aerobics class…



 



 

 

“Steam”

A Marlon Jackson Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

Zenith Athletics Club

Atlanta, Georgia

November 2005

In the early hours of the day, when the time read on any clock as morning, but the sun had yet to make its warming and illuminating appearance, most of what was downtown Atlanta was quiet and still.

Most of the nightclubs had rolled their last drunken patron out the door hours ago, and every restaurant’s last dish had been washed and put away in preparation of the lunch rush soon to come.

Rows and rows of stores boasting a variety of wares sat unmoving and dormant, their display windows slightly dimmed, as shoppers at that hour had dropped into bed to sleep off their sprees of yesterday--and would most likely melt the plastic of their charge cards again as soon as the cock decided to crow.

In the absolute heart of the metropolis stood a rather imposing and dominating structure, comprised of austere grey concrete and glass with minimalist touches.

A building that soared on, and above the blackened streets for over a dozen stories…a building whose interior was as unmoving and soundless as the area surrounding it.

Immediately beneath building was a parking garage, once full at the apex of the day, now containing only two luxury vehicles, parked on opposite ends of the lot.

The only movement between the cars, was that of a bum, his frail form in nothing more than rags against the crisp, brisk breeze blowing that early morning, curled up and trying to sleep behind a dumpster.

The stillness and darkness of the twilight hour was broken by the sound of a small ping.

A moment later, the doors of the elevator slid open slickly and out of that rectangular box suspended by a steel cable, a couple disembarked.

A man, somewhat stocky, and a bit on the short side, was donning a pair of designer sunglasses, despite there being no glaring sunlight to blind him, and with his free hand was pinching after the ample bosom of the (significantly) younger woman with him, causing her to playfully squeal in protest.

As the woman slapped at his hands, giggling and begging him to stop, the man suddenly threw his arms around her, drawing her slim, lithe body against his.

The two stared at each other, a raw, sensational passion immediate and plain on both their faces.

It was the type of look that could stop a clock, it was lusty, animalistic and bare, a look that cared no more for anyone in the world than the two of them.

The look was, quite simply was that of a new love.

Love, new and fresh as flowers budding in the spring.

A love so new, it had only been realized just that evening…

Several Hours Earlier

The Zenith Athletics Club was one of the newest establishments in the city of Atlanta, but had amassed an impressive and devoted following.

The ZAC had been in business for less than two years and already had a five-year waiting list of people jockeying and vying for a membership. (A membership that at the Elite Platinum level made the member over two hundred thousand dollars poorer annually.)

But the ZAC was the place, as clichéd as it sounded, to see and be seen.

Standing at twenty stories on the skyline, the ZAC had floors devoted to almost every sport imaginable: archery, golf, water polo, aerobics, jazzercise, basketball, football, and a fully-functioning gym for conditioning, cardio, and general working out.

There were saunas, massage parlors and a well-stocked juice bar offering smoothies and healthy meal and snack alternatives.

And with the ZAC opening its doors at five a.m. on the dot, and not closing until nine p.m., it was possible that anyone, no matter how hectic their schedule could make a cameo appearance there.

At least that was the idea.

With about forty-five minutes left until the ZAC closed its doors for the night, the usually jam-packed sports complex had reverted into something of a ghost town, its halls hollow, the water filled pools so calm, the surface shone like blue glass, the once boom-boom-boom of techno driven Zumba classes quiet as a church house.

The Ladies locker-room, once filled with a bevy of gorgeous, seminude women and rocked with their laughs and catty comments, was dead silent.

And beyond its swinging doors, in the electric pink and black tiled room, a lone woman before the long mirrored basin, staring at herself.

Draped in one of the short, terrycloth robes with the initials of ZAC emblazoned on her back in black, the woman is putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

A soft, oval face, boasting large, expressive and tempestuous dark eyes rimmed in false lashes under expertly arched brows.

The lids of said eyes bore a mix of silver and royal violet shadow, and were outlined in kohl.

Her lips were glossed to a high shine with a light berry color complimenting her fine, medium brown complexion.

She was a woman of average height, her body toned and well-shaped, comely and curved in all the womanly places.

Her hair, long and thick, a natural shade of jet black with the merest hint of deep auburn highlights, usually pulled back in a scrunchie, was now wrapped around large hot rollers in an effort to force volume into the tresses.

On the counter, as she tortured her lashes with a mascara wand, making her already black fringe their very blackest, a voice, high-pitched with amazement demanded,

“Larue Charmaine, what on Earth are you doing?”

Without moving from her spot, Larue began unwinding the rollers from her hair, allowing her tresses to fall down her back.

In the reflection of the mirror, she saw that an Asian woman, petite, with a bleached blonde pixie cut, wearing baggy pink sweats had appeared behind her.

Still loosening the curlers, Larue teased, in her deep, husky and heavily accented tone,

“I’m picking boogers--what does it look like I’m doing, Tessa Vo?”

“Looks like you’re laying it on pretty thick, Girlfriend.” Tessa snickered, coming forward and leaning against the low marbled counter.

“You got a hot date or something going after work?”

Rollers out and returned to their green plastic warming container, Larue picked up and brush and bent over passing it through her locks before replying sheepishly,

“Something like that…”

On the floor, one of Tessa’s tiny feet, in plaid Chuck Taylors, began tapping the floor again.

“Oh…so HE is coming in tonight, huh?”

Flipping her head back up and using her fingertips to get her hair to the desired height and fullness she desired, she wriggled her nose at her friend.

“Yes, HE is coming in tonight--” She started and was interrupted by Tessa sighing,

“I swear, I don’t understand your fascination with that guy, ‘Rue. If he’s as rich as he makes out to be, I don’t know why the hell he doesn’t build his own gym at his house. Why spend through the ass renting out this place and then coming after hours to work out? Craziest mess I ever heard.”

A cloud of unhappiness crossed Larue’s pretty face and she turned slightly, to glare at Tessa directly,

“Marlon Jackson works from home, he owns some kind of dotcom business. He told my Daddy he likes getting out and coming to the gym, because it’s the only time he can get away from ringing phones and things…and besides, whatever money goes into Daddy’s pocket, finds it’s way around to mine.”

Larue tossed her hair ruefully and picked at it some more.

Tessa sucked on her teeth thoughtfully,

“Well, your Daddy owns this place--what does that have to do with you?”

Picking up a bottle of spray and misting her hair, the twenty something cackled,

“Have you seen my father try to work the Juice Bar? It looks like Gunga-Din by the time he gets done! So I work the bar when Marlon is here.”

“Can’t the guy just bring Gatorade in a bottle like a normal person? He is so going over the top, ‘Rue!” Tessa cried, exasperated.

“He gets the same thing every time.” Larue boasted, spraying herself with a cloud of potent vanilla musk perfume.

“Some kind of smoothie with an energy boost, a fruit cup and a green salad. And I’m gonna have my Black ass there to fix it for him.”

“I don’t get you, Larue…” Tessa was shaking her head, picking at jade bracelet circling her wrist as her friend turned and crossed the room to a row of lockers and began turning the combination lock on it.

“You’re young, you’re pretty, you practically own the ZAC. There’s tons of sexy ‘roid-poppers floating through here every day. You don’t even give them a second glance. Why do you want a chubby guy who’s over the hill--”

“Tessa, shut the hell up before I lay you out, please.” The door to the locker came open and Tessa put her hands up to her face as Larue, back to her, dropped off her robe, revealing her naked body.

“Damn it, you could warn me before you do that! Damn!” Tessa grumbled, shielding her eyes from the spectacle.

“Oh calm down, we’ve got the same parts, you prude!”

“I am not a prude!” Tessa squealed, sounding more like an anime character than a human being. “At least I’m not chasing after some old dick!”

“I’m not chasing, I intend to catch it.” Larue spoke quietly, her voice tight with determination.

Such determination that Tessa peeked between her fingers to stare at her friend in awe.

And the small jaw at the base of her face dropped.

Larue stood a few feet away.

Her form was dressed for attention in a very low cut, dark purple bra top, with so much padding, lift and under wire, Larue had enough cleavage on display for two women!

The top had been paired with low-rise, hip-hugging purple and white tie-dyed, flared bottomed sweatpants.

Pristine white sneakers stuck out from under the pants.

“Holy shit…” Tessa gasped as her friend came strutting back over and scrutinizing her appearance again. “Marlon’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

“Got that right.” Larue fluffed her hair one last time, and asked,

“How do I look?”

“Like a woman about to go forth in sin.” Tessa nodded emphatically, and grinning brightly, Larue, hugged her friend’s arm.

“That’s exactly what I was going for, that ‘highway to hell’ look!”

Snickering loudly, both women headed for the door.

A half hour later, Larue Charmaine was the only soul in the whole of the Zenith Athletics Complex.

Lingering behind the neon splashed counter of the Juice Bar, the young woman let her mind wander, thinking of the one and only Marlon Jackson.

Though it annoyed her, Tessa hadn’t been too far off the mark when she had said Marlon was strange for spending quite a bit to rent out the ZAC after hours for a three-hour work out in the gym, when he could have one in his own home.

But in a place like Atlanta where in every five or so wealthy people there was one loose-cannon, you just sort of learned to look the other way and go with the flow on eccentricities.

That was what was so odd about Marlon, though.

Aside from the renting of the gym every week, Larue could see nothing else crazy about him.

He looked normal, was relatively polite and kept to himself, only bothering her for refills on smoothies.

Larue couldn’t understand it, perhaps she was still too young to understand it fully, but she did know she was attracted to this man.

Completely, wholly, totally.

She wanted this man, thought of him constantly, wanted to be with him at all costs.

And she was going to be damned if she didn’t have him.

Oh, to feel his touch, kiss his mouth, fuc--

“Hello.”

At the sound of that mellow, slightly twanged, gentle voice, every single immaculately placed hair on Larue’s head stood at attention as her spine straightened automatically and she turned, to find she was no longer alone.

Coming in through the double, frosted glass doors of the bar, was Marlon Jackson.

Larue’s heartbeat quickened so swiftly, she was dizzy.

And it was a joyous dizziness.

Marlon was a somewhat stocky man, a bit shorter than average, but Larue didn’t care, she found beauty and wonder in every inch of him, from his cinnamon-caramel complexion to his broad, plump lips, to his drowsy gold-tinged hazel eyes.

His body, showing a bit of heft in the middle, that night was covered in a casual, black Nike jogging suit, and black and grey cross-trainers. Completing the ensemble was a black ball cap, bearing the emblem of the Ferrari automakers.

And while it was pitch dark outside, a pair of Fendi shades hid his eyes.

Being dragged along behind him was a Louis Vuitton rolling case.

My, but this man did like his labels.

“Hello, Mr. Jackson…” Larue could barely speak as Marlon drew closer, the scent of his amber-based cologne loud and plain in the air. “W-would you care for anything?”

Setting his bag down and hoisting himself up on a stool, a large hand came and stroked the mustache decorating his top lip and making it all the more prominent,

The bridge of his flat nose wrinkled as he looked over the heated woman’s head at the backlit menu.

“I need something really healthy…” He chuckled, removing his glasses and giving Larue a small heart attack as the light danced on his golden eyes. “…I just got back from visiting my mother, I’ve been eating rich, sweet foods for the last week. The only greens I saw had ham hocks floating in them. Hmmm…”

There was just a touch of a goatee at the bottom of his lower lip; how Larue had dreamed of tugging on it.

“I’ll have the orange mango smoothie, and a small organic green salad, and some balsamic vinaigrette, please.”

With that, Larue was moving, making a meal out of raw fruits, veggies and yogurt.

In minutes, Marlon’s plate and drink had appeared and he was starting to dig in.

Watching him eat, Larue tried desperately to forge a conversation,

“Is that really all you want, Mr. Jackson?” She wondered, crossing her arms actively pushing her bosom up higher as she leaned on the counter towards him.

She got a zealous chill when she saw his eyes take in her flesh globes for a split second, then avert back down to his salad as he chewed, those gorgeous lips of his flapping.

“Yes, it’s all I need anyway, I’m gonna go run this off in a bit .”

Setting his fork down, he sipped at his smoothie.

“Mmm--tangy!” He laughed musically, a sound Larue treasured.

Nibbling on a cherry tomato, Marlon was thoughtful,

“I notice you’re always here when I come in to work out. It’s Friday night, wouldn’t a young lady like you rather be at one of the nightclubs or on a date or something? Not sitting and serving me”

Seeing his plate was empty, Larue, face on fire, cleared it away telling him,

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Jackson, really. This place is going to be all mine one day anyway. I have to know how to run it.”

“That’s right…” Those eyes focused on her and she had to grip the counter’s edge to keep from hitting the floor.

“Mac Charmaine is your father, isn’t he?”

“That’s right.” Larue nodded and took pleasure as a soft smile curled Marlon’s features.

“He’s a nice guy, letting me rent the place like this from time to time…”

His face was so smooth, showing only a few lines around the eyes, that he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the most.

Just the perfect age for Larue, older, but not too old…

Rising from the stool Marlon reached out a warm hand and patted her shoulder.

By golly, he was touching her! Larue wanted to swoon.

“I don’t think your father has anything to worry about, you seem like a very capable lady to me. Will you bring me another smoothie in about two hours, please?”

“Yes, Sir, of course!!!”

Marlon gave her a wide, bright smile.

“Thank you…”

Taking his rolling case, Marlon started from the bar, leaving Larue to marvel over his wonderfully, ripe and round backside.

Once the doors shut after him, Larue tumbled to the floor, fanning herself wildly.

The next two hours dragged on at a snail’s pace as Larue tried to kill time until she could take the smoothie in to Marlon. She desperately wanted to go up and watch Marlon whilst he worked out, but since Marlon seemed to be a man who liked his privacy, as he paid so dearly for it, Larue let him be.

And cursed herself for not having been more obvious about her intentions to Marlon. Oh she had wanted to, but every time his gaze fell on her she turned into a stuttering puddle of idiocy.

She sat and played every game on her Blackberry and tried to text Tessa--she got no reply and figured Tessa was underneath her own boyfriend, Ping. (And was jealous that her best friend was getting a piece of ass and not her!)

After what seemed like an eternity and a half, it was finally time for Larue to bring Marlon his drink, in the gym that took up the entire fifth floor.

Cold drink in hand, she stopped outside the closed doors to the gym, and gave her breasts an extra push to put them up higher.

Larue couldn’t figure just when the idea had come to her mind, but she was certain that Marlon was a boob man.

Somehow in the deep recesses of her mind, Larue could take an abstract notion and by the time she got done with it, had turned it into absolute, gospel fact.

“I’m young, I’m healthy, my tits are real, I’m good-looking--I’ve won five beauty contests“…Larue whispered to herself through gritted teeth.

“I’m the reigning Miss Pretty Peach!”

Readying herself to try to put on a better vixen act in front of Marlon.

He had to like her. Last time she checked he was a man, and men had certain things on their bodies that rose up when something appealed to them.

And Larue had fostered the belief she appealed to him.

That was all she needed other than Marlon Jackson’s touch.

Pushing the door open she let herself into the gym and all mention of her formulated plan seeped out right through her seashell-like ears and were gone in a poof.

About ten yards away, across the gym, there was a bank of twelve treadmills, facing a large sheet window overlooking downtown.

And on one of the those treadmills, Marlon Jackson was jogging.

Backing against the wall, Larue’s mouth was sagging in the breeze as she looked upon that creature.

Marlon was running with little effort or strain, eyes closed.

Stands of red from his earbuds and hooking to the iPod attached to his waist he was listening to some form of music.

His cap was off and laying on the floor behind the treadmill.

All over his body glistened with a sheen of perspiration.

He looks like a melting candy bar! Larue almost made the exclamation out loud.

His hat removed, Marlon wore his black hair cropped into a low flattop and it sparkled with his sweat.

Unconsciously, Larue was moving closer.

Soon she was behind him, watching as his glutes flexed with each stride he took.

The beautiful ass she wanted to sink her teeth into.

He was jiggling all over like a wonderful bowl of butterscotch pudding.

And with each stride Larue was becoming crazier and crazier over him.

She had to have him. Right then, right now.

“Ow--shit!”

At the sudden cry, the erotic spell Larue had cast on herself was broken, when Marlon leapt off a moving treadmill and hopped on his right leg, his left leg bent up and being gripped.

The cup of orange mango smoothie fell from Larue’s hand and splattered as right in front of her, Marlon collapsed to the floor, gripping at his left leg.

“Son of a bitch!” He gasped hoarsely, as Larue dropped to her knees beside him, frantic and ready to do anything to aid him.

“Calf…charley horse…pain!” Was all he managed, his handsome face squinching up, buds falling from his ears--James Brown clearly screaming through them--and his breathing labored.

“It hurts! That’s all it’s doing! It hurts!”

Larue couldn’t have been more hurt than if it were herself with the severe leg cramp.

Marlon, her Marlon, was in pain!

A man that stunning need never experience any sort of discomfort.

She had to rescue him, soothe him.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Marlon punched the polished hardwood floor and made a gurgling noise that sounded like another swear word.

His left leg stood up at a forty-five degree angle.

Larue was moving before she could even think, she had seen so many charley horses occur under the roof of the ZAC.

Her hands were on his hot, bulging calf, hands kneading the hardened, muscle like bread dough.

“Ow! Ow! Ooooohhhh…” Marlon mumbled, breathing heavily into the floor, Larue deftly working the muscle to get the kink out of it.

“Oooooh--Oh my God-- damn!”

It took a bit of work but after about ten minutes or so, Marlon’s breaths had steadied and the cursing had come to a halt.

Under her hands, Marlon’s left leg eventually fell straight like his right one.

Lying on the floor, Marlon’s head turned and his cheek pressed it as he whispered graciously,

“Thank you, Larue…”

Larue spoke, but was staring at that ass…

“You’re welcome…”

It was so large, so perfectly round and in tandem with the rest of his body…

Her hand went up to touch it.

It were anything like his calf, how firm it would be!

And was snatched away, when Marlon rolled over onto his back and laughed dryly.

“Well, I know not to run on that damn thing for two hours straight ever again. It’s good cardio, but not if my leg gets turned into a pretzel.”

With a light grunt, Marlon had pushed himself up into a seated position.

“I think this is God’s way of telling me to knock off for the night and carry myself home.”

He started to get up and automatically, Larue was wrapped around his arm, helping him to his feet.

His scent was intoxicating, the strong cologne mixed with mild funk. It was a manly aroma and it made her mouth water.

(Author’s Note: Anyone running for two hours straight will not smell like a rose!)

“Thank you, Sweetie, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” He chuckled and Larue checked out momentarily.

Sweetie, he had called her Sweetie.

“It’s…no problem, Mr. Jackson.” She was hot all over and almost tongue-tied.

“You just massaged my leg while I screamed like a little White girl--call me Marlon, please.”

“Okay, Marlon…” Larue repeated it in a lust-riddled hush, and her eyes drifted to the yellow-orange puddle on the floor.

“Let me get some towels for that. My father would kill me if I start an ant infestation.”

Letting go of Marlon’s thick arm Larue was gone, returning with several large, fluffy white towels and dropping them onto the spilled smoothie.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go make you another smoothie once I’m done here…” She apologized, resting on her knees and trying to absorb the drink before it stained the wood. Off to the side, stepped over and retrieved his hat.

“You don’t have to do that. I think…I’ll hit the showers after all this.” Marlon whistled, placing the hat on his finger and twirling it in the air.

“Yes, Sir.” Larue started to gather the soiled towels into a ball when Marlon abruptly inquired,

“You always call me ‘Mr. Jackson’ and ‘Sir’, just how old are you, Larue?”

Still fumbling with the towels, she answered,

“I’m…I’m twenty-seven.”

“Hmm, that’s a little older than I thought. I figured you for about twenty or so.”

Keeping her gaze downwards, Larue gave a witty reply,

“I take very good care of myself, Marlon.”

That pungent scent of manly stink and expensive perfume as Marlon hovered over her, his shadow falling on the towels and Larue.

“Are you the only one taking care of that sweet little body?” He asked and Larue’s heart nearly exploded behind her ribcage.

“Is that a question, or an offer?” Larue paused, and glanced up at the sweaty, swarthy face above her.

She couldn’t remember ever being so brazen and bold, but this man was extracting that element from her.

And she liked it.

“You want an answer or a proposition?” Marlon’s light eyes were burning into her dark ones.

Looking back, starting to bubble over like a volcano, Larue challenged,

“What do you want to give me?”

Marlon’s eyes swept over her, and a large hand gripped her right bicep,

“Come on, Baby.”

With a strict and authoritative tug, Marlon began leading her towards the Men’s Locker room…

Patience was a not a virtue possessed by Larue Charmaine.

Pacing back and forth with in the electric blue and black interior of the

Men’s Locker room, Larue was a woman on the verge of an erotic nervous breakdown.

Just a few, brief, intensely sweet moments before, Marlon Jackson had escorted her inside, pressed her forehead with two of the softest lips she had ever felt the sensation of before, and very politely excused himself to “freshen up”.

Larue was so mixed up, so bothered and hot, she could have very easily taken him right there, sweat, stank and all, but Marlon was a gentleman.

He did not want to offend and insisted upon showering first.

Truly, that was the only sound available to Larue, aside from the rapid and irregular beats of her heart: running water.

Stopping in the middle of the floor, her eyes were drawn, almost unwillingly, to that blue steel door, standing shut, faint wisps of steam rising from beneath it.

The door leading to the Showers.

A shaking hand went to her forehead, which still tingled from the light smooch Marlon had left there.

Larue knew she should have remained right where she was; Marlon had been extremely kind in his asking her to wait for him. ‘

But insatiable curiosity and a mojo being kicked into maximum overdrive were soon getting the best of the young woman.

How her heart thudded, it was so loud, nearly deafening as apprehensively, Larue’s sneakered feet began to carry her over the tiled floors to that closed door.

It seemed her body, her mind her thoughts were no longer her own. She was moving freely of all conscience, and all she could think of was Marlon.

Marlon, completely naked and dripping wet, standing his lusciously plump body under the running water.

Just standing there, not knowing how without a word, and only a sweep of his eyes had seduced Larue and put her under the influence of masculine charms.

Larue had passed through the door to the Showers, without realizing it and found herself in a large room that was humid, muggy and filled with steam.

Far off, she could hear the steady pattering of water running, and about three rows of showers away, the steam was billowing up in white, cotton like mists and wafting across the ceiling.

Her heart, oh her heart!

Larue’s poor heart had beat like this. Thundering hard and fast and yet felt like it was being squeezed with a strong fist all in the same instant.

Larue had tunnel vision and saw nothing but that single rainwater showerhead running, producing that haze of sweet smelling steam.

The air was filled with the scent of that inviting, tantalizing aroma that had been Marlon’s cologne.

Jesus Christ, was he bathing in the perfume?

Larue was so wound up and staggering about that she never noticed Marlon’s rolling bag against the wall, opened, filled with a large black terry cloth towel, matching robe inscribed with his name, and a collection of lotion, antiperspirant, and eau de cologne all in deep indigo bearing his name.

A few feet beyond the bag, a small pile was comprised of his discarded sweats, shoes, socks and plaid boxer-briefs.

Larue stepped right over them and hands to her chest, tightening and pounding, passed to the last row of showers, in the back of the room.

And rounding a corner, a sight of heavenly proportions unfolded before her.

So wonderful was it, she had to clutch the wall to keep from falling down.

In the center of the line of showers, Marlon Jackson stood.

Bare as the day as he was born, he stood in profile, hands pressed to the wall in front of him, head thrown back, body arched as he let the warm water splash into his face and run down the rest of him, which, in places were white with lather.

His body, twinkling with those little droplets and teeny bubbles, was the fine, tempting shade of caramel all over, with an indiscernible tan line showing on his right hip, where he had most likely worn a Speedo.

Standing like that, to the side, Larue was witness to his figure, the flat face, the plump torso, the strong, rippling legs, the thick hips and rotund buttocks sticking out back.

He was so beautiful, so solidly built and there was also something so delicate, so flimsy as evidence by the way he hit the floor like it was an air raid when a cramp took him.

With his hands still pressed to the wall, Marlon dropped his head forward and as the water ran enticingly down his back, he spoke up out of the mist.

“What took you so long?”

He turned abruptly and was approaching her.

Was she dead? Had Larue died and not realized it?

All she was the divine moving in her direction.

That lovely, bitable moist skin, dripping wet, the broad shoulders, the slightly undefined pectorals with deeper brown nipples standing up and bouncing with each move, that rotund little Buddha belly jiggling, right above…

Larue’s throat drew tighter as she took in the sight of Marlon’s bare groin.

It sparkled from the water caught in the thin patch of jet black pubic curls, trimmed down into a triangle surrounded his…

His penis, thick and brown, hung flaccid, swinging with each step, its tip hidden by a flap of uncircumcised flesh.

His eyes caught the light, showing as a fiery, fierce bronze, as he grabbed onto Larue, mouth mashing hers for the very first time.

A joyous, maddening, arousing kiss it was, from lips that felt like two clouds, and tasting a tongue that still bore the flavor of the mango orange smoothie.

Legs turning to putty, Larue mashed herself against his wet figure and threw her arms around his thick neck, vowing to let go, never.

There they stood, a good long while, mouths connected, the world be damned.

Marlon’s arms circled her waist, and hands touched her little ass, such a spark from his touch that she had to wrench her mouth from his to gasp and pressed her chin into his shoulder.

“Your ass is like a dream, Baby” Marlon hissed, sucking at Larue’s neck, hands on her cheeks roughly.

SMACK!

Larue jumped, in a delicious pain as he slapped her backside, and was pulled from him. Just far enough for him to bury his face into her cleavage, tongue swabbing after the top of the globes.

“Oh…yes…yes Marlon…” She whimpered feverishly and took delight in the light reflecting off the bald spot on top of head.

Perhaps he was older than he appeared.

It was not a matter in her mind, scarcely a blip on Larue’s radar.

His head came up and he was peering at her intently, Larue almost came right there.

His hand was at the waistband of her low-slung pants, and starting to slip inside where his brows went up in surprise.

“You little minx.” He chuckled as his hand touched nothing but searing skin. “You’re not wearing panties…”

“No…No…NO!” Larue’s head jerked back as Marlon’s hand disappeared into the pants and a finger was forcing its way inside of her.

“Christ…it’s so tight…”Marlon whispered, eyes leaving her face and going downward his free hand steadying her as his occupied one twisted in those damp, warm folds.

“You…you haven’t been treated right Larue…”

Hands came up and gripped her face.

Marlon squeezed his eyes shut, and told her,

“You need a man in your life…a man to give you what you need. I can see in your face, what you need…”

Somehow, Larue’s top appeared in Marlon’s hands then on the floor as his mouth assaulted her bosom.

Lips kissing loudly, mouth sucking dark, chocolaty nipples, hands caressing them and ruining Larue with each passing second.

Holding on to his head, Larue smooched Marlon’s bald spot, causing him to bust up loudly.

Squeezing her tightly, junk banging her leg. Marlon snorted, then spoke seriously,

“I’m about to tear it down for you…Sugar.”

In seconds, Larue was as naked as he.

“Goddamn” Marlon’s voice was light as he stood, one hand on his pudgy hip, the other up stroking his mustache as his eyes roved every peak and valley available to him.

A surge of sensuality washed over Larue and putting her hands into her hair, looking very much like a pin up, she teased,

“Like what you see, Mr. Jackson?”

Hand being taken, she was thrilled beyond compare, when her lover stated,

“My name is Marlon, and you’re going to say it enough before the night is over…”

Larue was tugged over to the still running shower and stood under the spigot, warm water rushing over her. (effectively taking all the volume out of her well-tended hair)

Leaning forward, as Marlon joined her she put her lips to the strip of flesh in the center of his chest.

“Yes…woo, shit.” Marlon gasped as slowly, Larue was kneeling in front of him.

Face to shaft with that glorious piece of prick, she was mesmerized by that hunk and wondered how Marlon walking without perpetually stepping on it.

Hand just barely going around it, she licked her lips in anticipation, pushing the foreskin back to expose the rudely pink, mushroom-like tip.

“Lord…” She heard Marlon mumbled and gazed upwards seeing he was staring down at her.

“Do you want me to--”

And as Marlon mouthed the affirmative, Larue began mouthing him, in one swift take, her face was mashed into that fluff of man fur, that large dick gone down her throat.

“You’re gonna do it like that? You’re doing it like that? Motherfucker!” Marlon squealed, falling back against the tiled wall of the shower, shaking, overwhelmed by what was happening to him.

“You…Girl, your mouth…Goddamn!” He was at a loss for words as that mass in her mouth began to grow and harden, extending to a full ten inches or so.

Slowly pulling back allowing the flesh to pop from her mouth and erect, it pointed upwards, Larue, water sprinkling on her leaned down and kissed at the small, swollen, fuzzy jewels that were his testicles.

“Aaow! Girl! Larue! Damn!” Marlon cried, hands to his head, nails grating against the bare patch on top.

Hearing Marlon exclaiming wildly, only turned Larue on further and as her tongue passed along the ridge between the two balls, Marlon stamped his foot.

“Don’t…” A handful of her wet hair was grabbed and her mouth pried from him. “You’ll make me come like that, Sugar…stop it…”

Incredibly, Marlon dropped to his knees, mouth pecking her, and popped right back up, bringing up his leg and slapping his thigh.

Stooping over, he pulled her to her feet.

Hands pressing her hips, he instructed, “Grab the pole--”

As her hands wrapped that dick, he crowed,

“Not THAT pole! The one over the shower! HAHAHAHA!”

Larue was lifted up and could only marvel as Marlon dropped to his knees again, this time taking her legs and resting them on his tensing, shoulders,

“OH MY GOD!” Larue’s head smacked the hard tiles as Marlon’s face disappeared into her loins, sucking wildly at her vagina.

“Oh.--oh-oh! Marlon--Oh! Oh! Shit! Oh!” She grunted as his mouth covered her tiny love button sucking on hard, and producing a loud smacking noise.

Her grip tightened on the chrome pole supporting the shower head, as Marlon’s hands came up, cupping her buttocks, holding her in place and continued to suck for so long, she was sore.

For a split second, he moved his mouth just enough to snicker nastily,

“Such a good, sweet little pussy…and it’s all mine….”

“Marlon-no! Marlon--stop it! Stop!” Larue cried as he began wagging his head wildly from side to side, tongue plunging to depths that had gone untouched.

She was going to ruin his face!

Larue shrieked so shrilly, Marlon jumped back.

Large goofy grin on his face, he teased and prodded her clit with his thumb,

“If you raise that kind of hell, then I know exactly what I want to do to you!”

Just as before, Marlon popped to his feet with the greatest of ease, smacking his thigh.

Bringing Larue back onto quaking legs, Marlon eased around her, arm wrapping her waist and was kissing at her neck.

Putting an arm back, Larue whimpered, and was gripping his thick neck enraptured, his free hand rubbing after her.

Her cheek pressed his, Marlon guiding her towards the wall of the shower.

A hand came up and reduce the water to a light spray.

“I’m gonna be good to you, Larue.” He promised, hands coming down and starting to spread her legs, positioning her the way he wanted.

Larue obliged completely at the will of Marlon Jackson.

He could have done anything just shy of setting her afire and roasting marshmallows, she was so taken, flustered, wanton and horny.

Marlon spoke stealthily off into her ear.

“I want to be right up on your ass while I do this, Baby. I want to hear every breath you take, feel every single movement of that sweet body of you. Hear you…we’re alone…we’re alone.”

“Ah!” Larue gasped sharply, Marlon easing that length into her, pushing her deepest innermost folds back as she struggled to accept him.

“I know Baby…it’s big and you’re so small…but young as you are…you’ve got a lot of stretch…Ugh!”

“Oh no…oh my God…Ah!” Larue cried hoarsely, reaching back and holding onto Marlon’s massive ass cheeks as he found his rhythm and was merrily plugging away at her, his breathing heavy, but not strained.

Marlon Jackson knew what he was doing, and fucking Larue to insanity was his area of expertise.

His crotch was flapping sternly, his mouth on her throat and shoulders, hands up and kneading her firm breasts to a goo.

“Ugh, oh yes, Ugh, oh yes…good pussy…tight pussy…”He murmured, hand brushing her hair out his face, movements quickening

“I--I can’t hold on much longer…I can’t! MARLON I CAN’T! MARLON! MARLON-AH-MARLON-AH-AH-AH-AH-AAAAAHHHH!”

Larue, shaken to the core, and losing the battle to keep an orgasm at bay shrieked and tried to pull away from Marlon before the feeling overtook her.

Marlon immediately placed both arms around her waist, keeping her against him as his pace never broke.

“I’m not letting you go.” He growled his voice hitting it‘s deepest registers. “You wanted to fuck me, been wanting to fuck me…I’ve seen you--Ugh!--prancing around in spandex with those tits and ass in my face. You’re getting what you want! GODDAMN IT!”

Marlon’s voice transformed and became alarmingly calm.

“I’m going to come…”

Talk about the power of persuasion.

At the very mention, Larue could no long hold on.

“Aaaaah! Ahhhh! Fuck me! Fuck me! Aaaaah! Marlon!”

And unleashed a torrent all over his rapidly plunging rod of destruction.

“Yes Baby, you do that…you come for me. You come for your Marlon! Come for me! Squirt it--- Squirt for Daddy--GRRRRR!” He was sounding less human more animal.

“Oh shit…here it comes--my turn!”

Marlon Jackson was quite noisy.

“Oh, yeah….YEAH! YEAH AAOW! AAOW! HOLY--AAOW! AW-AW-AW-DAMN IT-AW-SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.”

He howled like the heated beast he truly was.

At the last moment, Marlon ripped his dick from Larue and panting wildly, he hugged her tighter than before, to the point he nearly cracker her ribs, his meat trapped between them.

There was a new, hot wetness spurting skywards and dousing Larue’s back.

“Aw, it’s a lot….holy shit….oh girl, Baby!” Marlon jerked against her, breaths heavy, his flesh warm against her.

“Sweet Jesus….”

Slowly, very, slowly, Marlon released Larue and she slumped against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Marlon wondered when he noticed Larue wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes…”She nodded staring off into space, as Marlon moved away from her, returning with a bar of Dove soap.

Larue was silent as he began lathering her body, staring through the water, allowing herself to be washed by his gentle hands.

Sudsy, Marlon paused to soap himself up, and Laure spoke, barely aware of it.

Halfway breathless she wondered,

“What happens now?”

Those caring, deep gold eyes glowed with affection, as Marlon positioned her directly beneath the showerhead, rising her body.

“I take you home with me, that’s what happens now, Larue.”

Larue, lungs deflating, threw herself against Marlon.

“I…I know…I know…” Marlon chuckled, mouth finding Larue’s and connecting hotly. “I love you too, Baby.”

As the sun rose, causing dawn to break on the sleepy city of Atlanta, on the outskirts of town, inside the ivy-covered fences of a gated community, a large, luxury vehicle stopped before one of the many mansions.

The driver’s door opened, and a man, in a gold sweater, jeans and Ferrari emblem cap slipped out, made his away around the car and opened the passenger door.

A young woman, draped only in a black terrycloth robe, bearing the name ‘Marlon Jackson’ stitched in silver, was helped down from the car.

Smiling, the removed the sunglasses hiding her lover’s eyes and slipped her arm through his.

And the two of them continued on into the large house sprawling before them, to sleep and wake up to their new life, together.



Getting Back to Michael....

Hey Y'all!

Just yesterday I posted a new Marlon Jackson erotica, entitled Chance Encounter. And in general the response to the story has been positive and has close to 20 reads already, which makes me feel nice so many people are looking at my work.
But I got to thinking. It really is time I get back to my roots and write out another Michael Jackson erotica, the reason I began this blog in the first place. It's time for me to put on my thinking cap and get to work on our One Gloved Wonder.
I am not exactly sure what the new story will be about, or even what ERA of Michael it will feature yet. I'm just going to leave my head open to inspiration and if the idea hits me, I will run with it.

(Chance Encounter is what I call a "cold write" because it had NO outline and was frankly written off the top of my head over the course of about 6 hours. The new MJ story may also be a "cold write", I don't know, but I am looking forward to a story featuring him again.)

More is definitely on the way guys!

Chance Encounter--A Marlon Jackson Erotica

 

I’ve always liked how accessible Marlon Jackson seems to be. Unlike most celebrities, it appears you can meet him in the most mundane and normal of places--walking in a park or eating at a local McDonald’s. He does his own grocery shopping, pumps his own gas; the sort of thing you wouldn’t expect of a noted personality. With that idea in mind, I have penned a story in which a girl meets Marlon under the most ordinary of circumstances. A meeting that leads to a rather extraordinary experience.

 

 

 

“Chance Encounter”

 

 

A Marlon Jackson Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

 

Providence, New York

Spring, 1977

There were just some things that could turn a good day into a great day.

It had already been a relatively good day for Jacqueline Bow.

That particular Saturday in late May had dawned and become a wonderfully mild and pleasant day. Though the sun shone brightly and the sky was a clear, sapphire-like blue, the weather was not yet blistering, as it could get as summer continued to come closer and closer.

The temperature was barely cresting at eighty degrees, and every so often, a cool, skin prickling breeze would blow.

It was the sort of day that begged to be spent in the out of doors, and that was exactly what Jacqueline planned to do.

A short jaunt from the cottage she called her own--Providence was a small, coastal, country town, nothing like the round-the-clock, bustling metropolis of New York City, some thirty miles south--led the young woman to one of her favorite spots in town: Alexander Hamilton Park.

Hamilton Park was the heart of Providence, the general gathering spot for all. On any given day there were elderly couples tossing stale bread bits to the pigeons, young men playing touch football in the open, expanse fields, young ladies stretched in the grass sunning themselves to skin cancer, and small children skateboarding and using chalk to draw hopscotch grids.

Yes, it was a good day to be able to sit on one of the many wooden benches dotting the park, crack open a trashy romance novel and enjoy a day of doing nothing.

The good day became great, when a vendor went by with a pushcart and enabled Jacqueline to buy her favorite snack: a large, soft pretzel, brushed with spicy brown mustard and an ice-cold bottle of Diet Coke.

Spreading her vittles and herself casually on the bench--she had no intention of sharing it--and picked up her book, a small, thick tome.

Holding it up, she stared at the cover.

It read as The Conquistador by Tiffeny M. Bailey in brilliant gold lettering against a plan, emerald green background.

Tiffeny M. Bailey was Jacqueline’s favorite authoress and since discovering her books a few months ago, had read just about all seventeen of her novels. Everything from Florence’s Fantastic Folly to White Marble. It made Jacqueline’s heart sing to pick up books that concerned fantasies of African-Americans. That women who looked like her graced those gilt-edged pages and could have breathless, torrid affairs with an enchanting variety of men. Some black as midnight, and bald heads that shone like a fresh oil slick. Some were golden-skinned with haunting green eyes. Others were a soft mocha brown, with backsides so well rounded, it was as if they had been sculpted by the very hands of God.

The Conquistador was no different.

According to the summary on the back, the story was that of a Black Spanish nobleman who, on a trip to Paris, in the late nineteenth century, falls for a Cancan girl he meets at The Moulin Rouge.

Jacqueline

Flipping the first page, Jacqueline, with her free hand was breaking a piece of pretzel and gnawing on it, was instantly absorbed in the tale.

 

CHAPTER ONE

“Born into one of the premiere families of Spain, Sir Rodrigo Montalba physically appeared as noble as he had been bred to be. The son of a full-blooded Spanish father whom could trace his lineage back for nine generations, and an Ethiopian mother, his unorthodox appearance placed him head and shoulders above his contemporaries. Rodrigo was of average height, but a swarthy sort of man, with skin the color of a smooth, light bronze. His face, though rather flat, boasted a wide, broad nose, and below it, protruding, thick lips that were the result of his mother’s pure African blood coursing through his veins.

 

His eyes were that of his European father’s. Large and bright, his eyes were a queer shade of pale gold touched by the merest hint of hazel when caught in the right lights. His hair, tinged a deep reddish brown and unlike other men, was worn out extravagantly, with its natural, kinked curl, circling his head as something of a follicular halo.

Rodrigo’s figure was refined, slim, sleek and toned and was draped in only the finest silks that passed through from China. He was one of the best-dressed individuals in all of Spain.

A soft-spoken, vividly intelligent gentleman, he was, whom excelled in all the manly pursuits: horseback riding, hunting, holding copious amounts of liquor with a cool head and courting all the young ladies of the upper echelon of society…”

Pulling another piece of pretzel loose, Jacqueline nibbled on it thoughtfully, closing her eyes, and doing her best to try to imagine this Sir Rodrigo Montalba.

She did this when trying to envision every last one of the male heartthrobs in Tiffeny Bailey’s novels.

Jacqueline had never heard of a person with golden eyes. Brown, hazel, green, blue and even violet, like actress Elizabeth Taylor, but never gold.

Lifting that cold, no-calorie soda to her little lips, she wondered if gold eyes even truly occurred in nature or was merely a characteristic dreamt up by Miss Bailey just to make her leading man all the more intriguing.

Either way, Sir Montalba was something that she could dream about. He was just the kind of guy she could go for…if a guy like him even existed.

Popping the last bite of pretzel into her mouth and savoring it, it was so soft and buttery, with the kick of that hot mustard, she considered hunting down the pretzel man and throwing another seventy-five cents at him.

And that’s when she felt it.

Something warm and furry, and rather heavy pressing down on her left foot.

Eyes popping open, Jacqueline was startled to see that a large dog was at her feet, its head resting on her foot and staring up, as though he belonged to her.

It was beautiful beast. Its appearance, wolf-like in that he was a strong looking animal, with a thick coat of dense grey and white covering him. His eyes, a crisp shade of blue remained calmly up at the woman, as he panted lightly.

Leaning over, Jacqueline went to pet its head; he didn’t appear to want to take a chunk out of her.

“Champ! Bad dog! Bad dog! Get off that lady’s shoe! Get off, Champ!”

A voice nearing her demanded sternly. The dog remained planted.

A set of feet, wearing dark leather loafers and attached to deep brown flared denim trousers appeared beside Champ.

Still looking down at the animal, she watched as a set of long, manicured, caramel colored hands began fastening a collar, made of black leather, with a silver name tag dangling from it around the dog’s thick throat and attached a chain-link leash to it.

“Bad dog!” The voice repeated and a finger wagged. “I left you to get my camera and you run off and bother this lady! Bad Champ!”

The dog seemed unaffected at the scolding, but rose when his lease was tugged.

Then, much softer, the voice questioned,

“Did he ruin you shoe? If he did, I’ll pay for a new pair.”

Jacqueline had been wearing an expensive pair of navy leather, platform espadrilles, but Champ had only laid his head on her foot.

At least he hadn’t raised his leg and peed on her!

She lifted her head to tell Champ’s owner there was no harm done and was struck dumb.

Standing at her side was a man.

He was of average height, and slim, with a figure that was shown off by the dark trousers and a plaid top. A plaid of dark and light brown, interwoven against a background of white.

Colors that only helped to enhance the man’s light bronze complexion.

Her breath caught in her throat the longer she gazed at him.

He had a wide, broad nose, and thick, pouted lips that stuck out prominently. The sun dancing through the trees, showed his hair, arranged in a large afro, as being tinged with red.

And as he returned her gaze…his eyes! Jesus Christ!

His eyes were gold!

For a second, Jacqueline’s eyes fell to her book.

This man was the living, breathing embodiment of Sir Rodrigo Montalba!

Staring at him all over, she noticed his lips were flapping.

 

“…what?”

“I said, I’m sorry he came over to you…” The man repeated, his speaking voice as mild as the day. “He’s trained better than that. I spent six weeks having him trained in English and German. Cost a pretty penny, too.”

Jacqueline didn’t care if the dog could recite Mein Kampf by itself, she’d damn near forgotten it was there.

This man…she’d never seen a man like him. She had to know him.

She couldn’t just let him walk off and out her life.

“What…what kind of dog is he?” Was all she could muster and the man’s face brightened at her interest.

“Champ is a Siberian Husky. He’s about a year old. I got him when a neighbor of mine’s dog had puppies and he was giving them away. Raised him from a pup. You can pet him if you like, he‘s really docile.”

Reaching down, he was scratching Champ behind the ear.

Enjoying the scratch, Champ’s mouth was open m with him panting and grunting happily.

Petting at the top of the canine’s furry head, Jacqueline glanced at the man. He was so proud of his dog, he was puffing up in the chest.

“I know your dog’s name is Champ…” She spoke in carefully measured tones. “…do you have a name, too?”

“Oh!” The man gasped and a hand was jutted out. “Excuse my manners! Champ got me loony. I’m Marlon! Marlon Jackson!”

Marlon Jackson. It wasn’t as colorful as Rodrigo Montalba, but when he was that gorgeous, who truly cared?

Taking hold of his soft hand, Jacqueline snickered.

“I’m Jacqueline Walcott, My friends call me Jackie--”

“I can’t call you Jackie!” Marlon swiftly refused, shaking his head, hair swaying. “My big brother is named Jackie!”

At the mention of his brother, Jacqueline gasped,

“Jackie Jackson is your big brother? The same Jackie Jackson that owns Kay and Jay’s restaurant?”

Why, everyone in Providence knew of Kay and Jay’s. It was the most popular eatery in town, that, against the backdrop of an opulent setting, served down home, Southern comfort foods, like fried chicken and green bean casserole.

She celebrated her four birthdays in the restaurant!

Jacqueline was talking to one of the wealthiest men in town!

Marlon nodded, “Yes, it was named after our parents, Katherine and Joseph….well me and my siblings all have partial ownership.”

He paused, then questioned meekly,

“May I call you Linnie, instead of Jackie?”

Eagerly she nodded. He wanted to call her names!

That meant he wanted to talk to her some more!

A sweet smile came to that face and those pale eyes sparkled.

Jacqueline wanted to pass out. She wasn’t used to having handsomeness of this magnitude so close to her.

“I was going to film Champ doing some tricks, would you like to come watch?”

He was asking her along! By golly, he wanted her company!

Rising to her feet, Jacqueline discovered she was taller than Marlon, with the help of a five inch platform, that matched the navy, short, shorts romper on her body.

It wasn’t lost on her that those golden eyes took in her adequately sized bust--with just a touch of cleavage showing out of the zip-front of the romper--and her long legs. He was checking her out.

And by the touch of a smirk on that plump mouth of his, he seemed to like what he was looking at.

“Sure, I’d love to!” She grinned, hoping he noticed her pretty, smooth brown face, the dark eyes adorned in blue eyeliner with gobs of mascara and the small, thinnish mouth painted a glossy red. Noticed how her shoulder grazing jet black bob had been feathered and flicked from her face attractively.

Snatching up her book, she fell in step with Marlon, Champ obediently trotting out front, as they started off down the side walk.

As they passed other people on the pavement, Jacqueline wondered if people thought she and Marlon were a couple. Did they look good together? Look like they belonged together?

Noticing the book in her hand, Marlon commented with a chuckle.

“You read those stories by Tiffeny Bailey, too? My little sister loves those!”

“Yeah” Jacqueline commented as he hooted,

“I don’t know how Janet--that’s my sister--gets her hands on those books. She’s only eleven, and I picked up one of them when I was visiting my folks. I started peeking at it---Lord, my hair went bone-straight!”

Crowing, Marlon wagged his head.

“Some of that stuff is off the walls. Not the kind of stuff Janet should read, but if I told on her, she’d get noisy. I ain’t never met that Tiffeny chick, but she got the kind of ideas that can scare a dude…”

Looking down at Marlon’s bobbing afro, Jacqueline was already developing some ideas of her own.

Some that maybe, Tiffeny Bailey could write about, provided the book didn’t burst into flames!

 

Sometime Later

“…play dead! Come on boy! Play dead for Daddy!”

Marlon commanded, standing a few feet from his dog, a small, gun-like video camera up to his face.

Sitting in the shade of a grand oak, Jacqueline was a happy spectator, looking on as Marlon a few yards away was trying to film his pet.

Champ stood at attention, panting, pink tongue out, staring up at his master.

“Play dead for me! Damn it! I spent two grand on you to learn tricks!” Marlon, exasperated, cried, and stamped a foot.

The view from behind Marlon Jackson was glorious. His strong lean legs and plump backside were hugged perfectly by his tight jeans.

Had they been painted on?

“Fine, don’t play dead!” Marlon whined and began pointing at the ground. “Sit down! Sit down!”

Much to his displeasure, instead of sitting, Champ rose up and placed his paws on Marlon’s shoulders.

“Oh shit! No! No! What the hell? Down Champ! Down!”

A dance broke out as the dog refused to let go of Marlon and his tongue lapped his nose.

“Aaaah! Dog breath!” He shrieked, flailing helplessly.

Jacqueline would have lent a hand, had she not been curled in the grass laughing so at the spectacle.

“NEIN!”

Marlon screamed and instantly, Champ released him.

Staggering around, he grumbled,

“You mean to tell me, I gotta talk to you in German? I ain’t German! I’m a Brother and I’m gonna kick Michael crooked for ever telling me to have you trained in two languages! A Husky is Russian anyway!”

Jacqueline sat up, awed, when Marlon started doling out commands in the language of lederhosen and cold lager.

And with studied training, the Husky obeyed his master.

 

“Sich aufritchen!”

Champ sat.

 

“Umdrehen!”

He finally rolled over on his back, legs in the air.

A third, he was sitting again.

A fourth and he barked brightly.

Marlon spoke a sentence Jacqueline didn’t understand and Champ trotted over, picked up a well-chewed tennis ball on the ground near the woman and trotted back out to Marlon, where he took the ball and flung it.

Champ was a memory, off to retrieve it.

With the dog running after a piece of rubber, Marlon sauntered over to Jacqueline, joining her in the grass.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with that mutt.” He lamented, sitting Indian-style beside her. “He usually responds to English commands…but no, today he wants to be German. Ugh.”

Impressed that Marlon was bilingual, and wanting to hear that soft voice of his some more--he sounded like he was singing when he spoke, Jacqueline inquired,

“How do you know German, Marlon? Did you learn it when training your dog?”

“No…” Marlon tried to lean back against the tree and bumped his head. “Ow--I studied abroad when I was high school. Foreign exchange program. My parents insisted all of us kids study abroad, to make us more well-rounded. Spent a year in West Berlin. Ate so much bratwurst, sauerkraut and strudel, I gained thirty pounds! I won’t touch the stuff now. I don’t even like beer.”

Smiling, Jacqueline looked over Marlon. He was so gorgeous. If he had gained thirty pounds, it had been worked off and produced a svelte body. Damn it, he was hot!

“My brother, Tito, spent his year in Paris, and he STILL hasn’t lost the weight he gained eating all that rich French food and pastries…”

Marlon paused abruptly, and stared at Jacqueline.

“Am I talking too much? I run off at the mouth sometimes…” He commented, a soft redness coming to his cheeks.

“I don’t mind…you can talk all you like.” Jacqueline encouraged him, staring at his beautiful mouth.

She wondered what it would like to kiss such lips, so big and cushiony looking.

Marlon, setting up, reclined against the tree trunk next to her, the scent of a salty, oceanic smelling cologne mingling in her nose. He smelled so good.

“Well, you know I own a restaurant--we’ll open more soon--but what do you do, Linnie? You know, aside from sitting and looking cute in the middle of public parks?”

Jacqueline’s ears perked up at the compliment. He thought she was cute!

Unable to help giggling, her cheeks flaming, she stammered,

“I’m a teacher’s aide. It’s helping to pay for me to take classes at NYU to become an elementary school teacher.”

A hand came up, stroking his chin and Marlon mumbled,

 

“Wow, smart and cute! That’s nice.”

Hot all over, Jacqueline had to look away.

Champ returned with the ball and as soon as it was released to Marlon, it was flung across the field again.

The dog was gone once more, chasing after it.

Jacqueline’s hot body broke out in a mist of cool sweat, when something warm and damp brushed her rouged cheek.

Turning, she stared and found Marlon gazing at her through the lush lashes on his oddly-colored eyes.

A smirk was curling that mouth of his.

Had…had he just kissed her?

His hand, smoother than any man’s she had ever touched, gripped hers warmly.

Those eyes, those golden eyes burned into hers passionately for a moment, before closing, as his head drew nearer.

Seconds later Jacqueline found out just what it felt like to kiss Marlon Jackson.

Something close to Heaven…his mouth tasted of peppermints strongly, and just the right amount on moisture; his mouth was as pleasant as the day itself. His lips were as soft and supple as the clouds themselves.

She became so dizzy, overtaken and overwhelmed, she didn’t know which way up.

This man!

She sagged, weakened with lust as he pulled his lips slowly from hers.

Those same lips brushed her ear lobe as he whispered, his breath steamy against her lobe,

“Why…why don’t we get out of here, Linnie? My home isn’t far from here…”

Home! He wanted to take her home! Jacqueline wasn’t the type to just run off with a man she had known only a few hours, but there was something different about Marlon. Something sweet and genuine about him that made it alright. Made it alright for her to go with him.

And even if it wasn’t, he was so fine, she would have followed him any way!

Her gaze dropping to her lap, Jacqueline managed to question hoarsely,

“And what do you want to do at your home, Marlon?”

Fingertips brushed her arm playfully as he replied,

 

“Something we’d get arrested for if we did it here in the park…”

“Oh, God…” Jacqueline stammered as Champ returned with the ball, panting loudly from his run.

Taking the ball, Marlon stood and held a hand out to her.

She stared at it a moment.

She was really going to do this. Going to go with this man, simply because he looked like a storybook character.

It was crazy. This was so crazy. Too crazy.

Reaching up, she grasped his hand and was helped to her feet.

She then draped his arm around her hips and the two, led in front by Champ, started away.

She was going to be crazy…

* * *

 

“…this is a Manzanilla…it’s a type of sherry…”

Marlon was explaining, as he entered his living room, a tall, dark bottle in one hand, and a long, crystal flute in the other.

“I have other wines, but they’re down in the cellar. This was already chilled in the fridge. I prefer my wine cold.”

Taking a seat beside Jacqueline, he began pouring the pale yellow liquid.

Marlon Jackson lived alone, in a cottage, much like Jacqueline’s, that was only a short walk from Hamilton Park. The only difference was Jacqueline’s house was to the north of the park, and Marlon’s, to the south.

Though most of the houses on the block looked like the ones in Jacqueline’s--modest, one story cottages painted a variety of colors--it was clear Marlon’s neighborhood was filled with affluence.

Large, luxury sedans sat in many of the driveways and all over, gardening trucks were tending to the well-kept, lush green lawns.

Marlon’s cottage, in the center of the block on the left side, was a nice, white-washed, bungalow style residence, with a small, black Ferrari parked in the driveway.

Champ was out back, resting in a dog house that matched his master’s home--in smaller form. A custom creation Marlon mentioned he’d had made in Canada.

And the two-legged folks were in the living room.

It was a neat, wide room, with lots of windows allowing warm sunshine in.

The room was paneled in rich, dark woods, and appeared to have a classic look to it.

All of the furniture was upholstered in a deep red leather, and faced a large console television.

Scattered about, were portraits of Marlon and his family.

Above the television, a large, silver framed photo showed the entire family, Marlon, his parents and his eight brothers and sisters.

Jacqueline watched as Marlon tilted the flute to his mouth, lips covering the rim, and took a deep sip.

“Hmm…that’s good stuff…” He said more to himself than to her and lifting the bottle was replacing the sip he’s taken with liquid.

“Here, try some….” The glass was held out to her. “…I had to taste it first, I’d never want to share anything that didn’t taste right.”

Though Jacqueline wasn’t much of a drinker, she did accept the glass and take a sip.

Not a connoisseur of wine, as Marlon appeared to be, she didn’t quite like the dry, unsweetened, and mildly salty flavor of the sherry.

At least, not to the extent of Marlon’s enthusiasm.

But she did manage to swallow what she had put in her mouth.

Taking the glass from her, Marlon finished what was left, and set the empty flute on the top of the highly polished coffee table.

“Linnie…” Marlon paused and chuckled, almost in an embarrassed fashion. Leaning forward over his parted legs, he linked his hands together. “Before we go any further, I want to tell you something.”

Jacqueline’s heart instantly tied up.

What was he going to say? Did he have a girlfriend? A wife? Did he have children?

(A venereal disease?)

“What is it, Marlon?” She whispered, frightened of what he might say. Maybe her perfect man wasn’t so perfect after all.

Looking forward at the dim television, Marlon chuckled again.

“You know how Champ came up, and laid his head on your foot?”

“Yes…” Jacqueline eyed him curiously.

“Well, that was no accident, Linnie. It took me three solid weeks to teach him to do that. You wear shoes similar to my older sister, Latoya, and I trained Champ using her…you see…”

Marlon’s head turned and he glanced back at her.

“You go to the park a lot. And I noticed you one day. Just like you were today, sitting alone, reading a book, eating a pretzel. I’ve been looking at you for about a month, trying to figure how to come up to you. Talk to you. At first, I was scared--”

“Scared? Of me?” Jacqueline snickered, feeling special that Marlon had been attracted to her for quite a while, and had to work up his nerve. Girls liked hearing things like that from men who seemed so in control.

“Kind of. As pretty as you are, I kept expecting somebody who looked like Apollo Creed to come up and throw his arm around you. But he never did. All I saw was you, with a book in your hand, reading, and sitting there. And so I trained my dog. You saw how loony Champ was today, I didn’t even think he’d go up to you, since he wasn’t used to you. But he did…”

A pleased, almost sleepy look crossed Marlon’s face.

“You’re here with me…right now…and I don’t want you to go…”

Reaching up and patting his smooth cheek, Jacqueline, touched and overwhelmed he’d gone through so much just to be near her, assured him,

“I’m not going anywhere, until you say so…”

Marlon’s face flushed again, and teasingly pinching his cheek, Jacqueline heard herself talking before she was fully aware of it.

It was her suddenly rampant emotions, all falling and tumbling over one another--love, lust, want--that made her say,

“You brought me here, saying that whatever it was you planned to do would get us arrested in the park. When are we going to start breaking laws around here?”

It wasn’t naturally in Jacqueline to be that forward and spunky, but something about Marlon was drawing it out of her.

Standing up, Marlon took her hand.

“We become outlaws--right now.”

And Jacqueline was snatched clean off her feet.

* * *

“Oh! Oh! OH! Stop! Marlon! Stop--please!”

Jacqueline screamed weakly, gripping a large, down-stuffed pillow to her bare bosom.

That damp, slightly rough sensation that threatened to drive her to erotic madness never stopped its flicking for one instant and a muffle chuckle was heard.

Jacqueline lay nude, nestled in the center of the stark white bedroom of Marlon Jackson, her body draped on the silk sheets.

The only bits of color to the room where Jacqueline and Marlon themselves.

The embattled young woman could scarcely remember what had happened.

All she knew was that Marlon had grabbed her hand, quite literally flown down the hallway of the bungalow, to the master suite in the rear of the house.

His suite was a white wonderland, with everything the color of a cloud inside. The walls, the shag carpet, the king-sized bed draped in silk.

Even the television, set off in a corner, was white.

It was something of a blur from there.

There was kissing, copious, obscene amounts of kissing. Lips smacking carelessly. Tongues flopping in and out of mouths that didn’t belong to them.

Bodies pressing against one another, rubbing and caressing wildly.

Then clothing came off.

Jacqueline’s romper, and panties off and tossed on the floor, out of the way.

Marlon had knelt before her, kissing at her ankles as he unbuckled her sandals and removed them.

Then his clothing had come off.

The plaid shirt, the white undershirt, the brown trousers and socks and shoes.

All that remained, as far as Jacqueline knew, was a pair of skimpy, bikini-cut underwear, that were bright red.

One long hand, with one decisive push, had sent Jacqueline off onto her back so rapidly her head had swam.

By the time she figured what was up from what was down, Marlon Jackson was making his next move.

Gently, how Marlon went from rough to soft with such ease amazed her, he parted her legs and had stared at the little slit of flesh that was her pussy. Adored with a single stripe of hair.

(Author’s Note, this is the 70s, but I’m not sending Marlon into an overgrown bush!)

A slit that now was obscured, as ‘Linnie’ looked down over her body, by a large, red-tinged afro.

“Ah!” She gasped sharply and twisted as Marlon’s tongue, continued to plug away at her, flicking off her “love button” rapidly.

It was a sensation she had felt before, but not with the expertise with which Marlon was showing.

In and out, in and out, one long lick, then the flicking, then in and out of her again…

Was the man a porn star in his spare time?

“Marlon, stop! No! No!” She begged hoarsely, and went to grab at his hair to pull him away.

He was making her feel too good, too fast.

With a loud pop, Marlon withdrew his mouth from her and gazed sneakily up through his lashes.

“Why do you want me to stop, Linne, Honey? Gonna come?”

He taunted, rubbing at her with one hand and starting to suck on his fingertips.

 

 

“Yes--”

 

“I can’t just do that…” Marlon’s tongue, pink and wet, lapped at his pinky finger. “You’re too delicious!”

With that, he placed warm hands on her cool thighs and pushed her legs open as far as he could get them.

Again, half his face disappeared.

“Ah! Marlon! Marlon! Baby! Stop! Please!” She pleaded, her voice escalating in decibels as he used his fingers to sweep in and out of her, tongue flicking faster and faster.

Forcing herself forward, she grabbed a hold of his hair, and started to tug at his kinked strands in an effort for mercy.

She didn’t want to come…not this quickly.

She wanted the moment to last as long as possible.

“Ow! OW! Okay! Okay, let go, Linnie! Ha! Let go!” Marlon conceded and withdrew his mouth, stopping long enough to kiss the inside of her inflamed right thigh.

Gazing up at her secretively again he laughed,

“And what would you like now, Sweetie…would you like for me to um…”

He trailed off and stood. His body was a glorious wonder of thinness and well-defined muscles all over, from his six-pack abdomen, to his pectorals, waving tiny brown nips, to the beautifully outlined thighs and legs he possessed.

Jacqueline didn’t know exactly what Marlon did, but he kept his form in excellent shape.

She did know if he didn’t touch her, she’d burst into flames.

That’s when the red satin that had been containing Marlon’s bits and pieces fell away.

And that’s when Jacqueline sat bolt upright, her eyes widening in awe.

Sprouting from a modest fluff of gleaming black pubic curls, was Marlon’s penis.

Long and thick, with about an inch of pink in the tip protruding from the uncircumcised halo of foreskin, his dick had to be knocking on at least ten inches if not more so.

Jacqueline had never seen a man with such an endowment.

Would…would he even fit?

Toying with that mammoth mass, and patting at his hairy little scrotum, Marlon inched his way onto the bed.

Once he was settled beside her, he tucked her hair back behind her ears, and silently began to stare at her.

He stared so long, Jacqueline became uneasy.

“Is…is something wrong?” She asked, worried he didn’t like her body.

“No…“ Marlon huffed. “I just wanted to memorize how you look at this moment, before we share each other, that’s all.”

Leaning over, Jacqueline pecked at his lips.

Moments later, Marlon was lowering himself onto her, his mouth covering hers as he was easing that girth of flesh into her.

His sweet kisses muffling her cries of pleasure and pain.

Slowly tentatively, he began grinding those powerful little hips of his, bumping into Jacqueline over and over and over again.

Jacqueline’s crimson nails found their way into Marlon’s back and were greedily gripping at him and after his round, globe-like ass as he continued to pick away at her.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes….Oh, aw!” Marlon whimpered taking his mouth from Jacqueline’s and hugging closely to her, pressing her bosom against his own.

The two people were becoming one and it couldn’t be figured where one ended and the other began.

“Oh…oh Marlon…Marlon….Marlon!” Jacqueline lost for speech at the way Marlon was…was loving her…could only call his name.

Marlon wasn’t fucking her…he was making love to her.

“Oh…oh my God…damn…oh my God, Linnie…Ugh, ugh, ugh….”

Hugging Marlon closer to her, Jacqueline sucked along his neck, which was starting to perspire, salty little beads of sweat leaking into her mouth.

Marlon’s face, which had been watching her intently during the sex, was now starting to squinch, as throes of ecstasy were starting to wear on him.

“Linnie!” There was urgency in his voice. “I can’t hold it much longer! I cant--I can’t--I can’t--I can’t!”

His eyes closed, mouth puckered and he collapsed forward, his hips starting to flail and flop harder and harder.

“Ah, MARLON! Ah, MARLON! Ah, MARLON!”

The sudden increasing of the momentum was starting to pull Jacqueline on home in the very same instant.

Curled together, in a ball of chocolate and caramel colored flesh, bodies damp from their exertions, Marlon’s hands, which had been firmly planted on Jacqueline’s slim thighs, holding her open for himself, moved.

And found their way to cupping her face.

Less than an inch above them, Marlon was staring again, and breathing loudly, sweat streaming from his brow,

With one final, piercing thrust, both man and woman locked eyes and shrieked, as in unison, one gave up to the other.

Hotly, wetly, and messily.

‘Marlon…” Jacqueline whined as he laid on her, his chin falling onto her shoulder.

“I…I…I love you Linnie…” He whispered sweetly and kissed at her damp forehead as he gingerly withdrew himself from her and wrapped his arms around her.

His head went down and he sucked lightly at one of her nipples.

“I love you too, Marlon.” She replied, breathless, a feeling of love like she had never known permeating her down to her bones.

It seemed much too strange. Much too odd.

To feel so strongly about she had met in the park and had only known so briefly.

But life is strange like that.

Sometimes it takes only a chance encounter…just as it did for Jacqueline.

 

 

In a Marlon Kind of Mood...

Hey Y'all!

I just wanted to pop in and post a little update. I am currently trying to work on a new all Marlon Jackson erotica again. Don't fret, I haven't forgotten about Michael. It's just at the moment, I have over a DOZEN MJ stories in my head and in an effort to clear my mind and to think more clearly, I'm tossing my focus off on the OTHER sexy Jackson. Marlon.

I don't want to give away the entire story, but I can say this, it does involve a younger Marlon. After A Grey Suit, which featured Marlon in his fifties, I wanted to go back to an earlier time. A time when Marlon was an adult, but still had his afro.

Okay, that's all I can say. I'm working on it and hope to have it up relatively soon!


Thank you so much, all my wonderful readers!


Something like this, but not quite so...PINK.