Pulling her tight against me, I deftly unbuttoned the four or five buttons that ran down the back of her silk outfit. The loosened garment fell forward and she quickly slipped out of it entirely. It was a one-piece affair that she wriggled out of in a few seconds. She kicked it away and it landed in a dark heap on the lush white carpet.
More quickly than I had hoped, Myra was completely naked in my arms. Her lithe body pushed itself against me and she nearly smothered me with her passionate kiss. Moving as quickly as I could, I slipped off the couch and stood up to undress. Myra stood with me and helped unbutton my shirt. She smiled at me and licked her lips sensuously as she watched me pull off my clothes.
As I undressed, I feasted my eyes on the beautiful female body before me. She stood with her legs slightly spread apart and the jungle of black hair was just visible in the dark region between her shapely thighs.
CHAPTER ONE
"You ... you do ... love me, don't you, Paul?" she asked softly as she unbuttoned her blouse.
"Sure I do," I replied automatically. I was standing behind Donna with my arms around her squeezing and feeling her larger-than-average breasts. "I love every beautiful ivory-white inch of you, baby!"
As she slipped out of her blouse, I unhooked her bra from behind and watched the odd-shaped garment fall to the floor of my apartment.
Donna turned to face me then, naked from the waist up. Her chestnut colored hair tumbled luxuriously over her shoulders and down over the mounds of her tits. She was a very pretty girl, very pretty indeed. My eyes were riveted on her blossoming bosom and the excitement was hard and ready between my legs.
"Oh, Paul," Donna moaned as I fondled her breasts and pinched the hardening nipples between my finger and thumb. "I love you, Paul, and I want you," she whispered with her eyes closed.
Hurrying now, I unhitched her fawn-colored bermuda shorts and deftly stripped them down over her shapely legs. "I love you, too," I murmured. Then I peeled off her fancy silk and lace panties and enjoyed the sight of her complete nakedness before me.
"Take your clothes off, darling," she urged. She was standing about a foot away from me with her legs spread slightly. Her hands reached out to help me and while I stripped off my shirt, she undid my belt buckle and unzipped my pants. The hardness almost leaped out at her, and when she felt the demanding rod beneath her fingers, she drew her breath in sharply and snatched her hand away.
"Don't be afraid, Donna," I said as I pulled off the last of my clothes. "Touch it and feel it, baby. You're going to get to know each other very well."
She lowered her eyes and reached out hesitantly to touch the swollen member that stood fully erect from the patch of black hair between my legs.
"It's ... it's so big," she said huskily. "It's so big and hard, Paul, are you sure you won't hurt me?"
"Maybe just a little at first, Donna," I replied. "But the hurt will be over quickly and then it'll just feel good. It'll feel so good up there inside of you that you'll never want me to take it out. Believe me, baby, you'll enjoy it."
"I know I will, Paul," she agreed, coming into my arms. Her nipples were hot and hard and I felt them dig into my chest as she flattened her breasts against me. Our open mouths met then and our tongues shot forward to probe and lick and linger. Instinctively, my hand moved over the smooth curve of her hip and caressed her soft, lush skin. She moaned at the touch and I slipped my hand between her leg to rub gently at her already-wet love box.
Slowly I lowered Donna to the floor of the darkened apartment. She stretched out invitingly on the deep, dark carpeting and the whiteness of her body sort of glowed in the soft light that found its way in the windows and patio door.
Her legs were opened wide now and I knew she was ready. She was a 21-year-old virgin and she was all mine. Donna's well proportioned body and pretty face made it hard to believe that she was still a virgin at her age. Undoubtedly she had come close many times to losing her cherry, but it hadn't happened-not until right now!
"Please, Paul, please," she begged, holding her arms up to me, inviting me to take her. "Please do it, darling, do it now."
"In a minute," I answered. I continued playing with her, feeling and massaging her breasts with one hand and toying with her love box with the other. I was rubbing her clitoris hard, now, making her squirm and writhe with desire. "You're all ready to go, baby, but I'm not quite ready yet," I lied. I had been more than ready since I had taken Donna in my arms from behind and started feeling her tits.
My hot rod was pulsating, aching for action, but I wanted one more thing from Donna before I made her a woman.
"You must be ready, too, darling," she said, grasping my weapon in her hand. "It's so hard!"
"I know, baby," I said, continuing the pressure with my finger between her legs. "It's just that I know I'm not ready yet. I get a certain feeling when I'm completely ready to go, and ... and, well, I don't have that certain feeling yet."
My finger play was building Donna's passion to the point of explosion and I eased off just a little because I didn't want her to come until I had had a bit more fun with her.
"Don't I excite you enough?" she asked with a worried tone of voice. "I wish I knew what to do to get you ready, Paul. I want you so much ... I'd do anything."
"There is something that might work," I said, gently rubbing her love button as her hips jerked spasmodically with pleasure.
"What is it, Darling?" she asked eagerly. "What is it?"
"You could suck me," I said, ramming my finger up into her very hard.
"Oh," she gasped, grabbing my hand and holding it tightly between her soft, white thighs. "Oh, God, I'm coming," she hissed.
While Donna's orgasm shook her with delight, I shifted my position and knelt on the floor, just beside her right shoulder. When she opened her eyes, my hard-on was just a few inches from her face. Dazed with the pleasure of her orgasm, it took several seconds for her to focus on the object before her, but when she did, she smiled and leaned forward to kiss it.
"I've never done this before, Paul," she said, "I'm afraid I don't know how to do it."
"There's no trick to it, baby," I assured her. "Just take it in your mouth and play with it. Do whatever comes most naturally."
Taking my swollen member in her hand, she pulled it to her and covered the head with her soft lips. Her tongue met it, then, and she licked it lovingly, inserting the tip of her tongue in the little opening for a second. Filled with the sexy sensation of her sucking, I leaned forward and plunged my rod deep into her mouth. Her eyes opened, startled, for a moment but she took it all and continued doing what came naturally to her.
Little animal-like sounds escaped Donna's throat when I reached down and slipped my finger into her again. She continued to suck, matching the rhythm of my hand between her legs. When I thrust my finger into her, she sucked hard on my rod. When I moved my hand back so my finger almost-but never quite-slipped out of her, she would move her head back and let my weapon slide tenderly between her lips until she caught it at the last moment to keep it from coming out entirely.
For her first time, Donna did well. So well, in fact, that I nearly came in her mouth. The pleasure was so intense as her lips and tongue lavished over my rod, that I had to fight myself hard to pull out without shooting a load into her.
"Are you ready, now?" Donna asked, licking her lips with the pointed tip of her pink-red tongue. Her eyes were glazed with carnal desire and they closed gently when I nodded that I was ready. "Then do it, Paul," she pleaded. "Screw me now! Get the pain part over with, I want to feel you inside me."
Taking the position between her widespread legs, I lowered myself into her. Probing gently until I felt my rod against her virginity, I stopped for a second and then rammed through.
"Oh, God," Donna nearly screamed. Her hips came up hard against me as my arrow pierced deep into her-where no man had been before. "It's filling me up," she moaned. "You're so big you're filling me up, darling. It doesn't hurt any more."
"Good," I whispered against her neck as I started the slow deliberate pumping motion that I knew would soothe and delight her. For a virgin, Donna was a pretty good lay. Her arms and legs wrapped around me instinctively to hold my body tight against hers. And her hips moved automatically to meet my every thrust and intensify the pleasure by driving my rod into her as deeply as possible.
As good as she was, I closed my eyes and pretended that Donna was Myra Lawrence, the lush young typist at the office with the fantastic 42-27-38 frame. I pretended it was Myra there on the floor under me, wild and writhing with passion.
When Donna came, she cried, "Paul, Paul, Paul," in my ear and shuddered with the pleasure. I imagined it was Myra hissing my name in her orgasm and then I shot my load deep into the pumping, pulsating body beneath me.
"Come, darling, come," Donna whispered, grasping my butt with both hands and trying to pull me yet farther inside her. When I had pumped myself dry, I slumped at her side and stared at the darkness above.
It was Donna's head resting on my shoulder and her soft hand caressing and stroking my legs and stomach, but my mind was on Myra. I knew it was just a matter of time until she would be the one stretched out naked beside me, sexually satisfied by my love making.
It was just a matter of time until I would lay Myra, and during that time, Donna Fletcher-the deflowered virgin-would do nicely. Besides having a nice set of jugs and a willingness to go down on me and for me, Donna had something else going for her. She had connections that were important to my plan.
CHAPTER TWO
It was exactly two Saturdays after that night in my apartment, the first Saturday afternoon in November, when Donna Fletcher became Mrs. Paul Norman.
And, it was during inventory time in late December when Paul Norman, former stock boy and clerk, became assistant purchasing agent for Space Age Metals Corporation.
Jim Liggett walked through the plant with me and we stood near a huge radial drill press, watching the skeleton crew of production workers completing the counts on the raw forgings and assorted skid boxes of casting.
It was quitting time. Time to leave the shop and drive along the streets where soot and slush-blackened piles of snow ridged both sides of the industrial district avenues.
Time to walk up to our second-floor apartment on the quiet residential boulevard and get ready for New Year's Eve.
"Why don't you call it a day, Jim?" I said. "You look tired." I grinned at the burly, thin-haired purchasing agent. "We have had ourselves one hell of a busy first week working together."
My new boss-who was also my relative by marriage-just grunted and continued to watch a couple of guys loading unmachined castings back into a drum near one of the milling machines.
I knew he still wasn't happy with me. So big deal! He'd made his feelings damned clear about my appointment being on a strictly trial basis. If it didn't work out, I'd be back at my old lousy job of sorting work orders in no time flat. I knew it wouldn't bother old Jim if I fell flat on my ass. That wouldn't bother him at all.
When he called me into his office to talk about becoming his assistant, he'd been busy on one of the three phones on the side desk, which butted against his immense walnut executive style desk. He'd waved me into a chair and I'd sat down gingerly, being careful not to look too comfortable in the soft leather easy chair.
As I had planned, I played it dumb at first. He'd slammed the phone into its cradle and then he'd just sat there with his frosty blue eyes boring holes through me.
Finally, Jim had said, "My wife talked me into calling ydu in." He lit a cigar then, taking his time about it. "I want you to know that I'm doing this against my better judgment."
"I was a little surprised that you wanted to see me, sir," I said rather meekly. "I didn't...."
"Bullshit!" he snapped. "You knew damn well that I would call you in. Don't tell me you didn't get my wife's baby sister, Donna, to put her up to suggesting it. I'm not a goddam idiot, Norman."
He dragged on his cigar heavily, sending up billows of smoke and snorting like a dragon. I looked up at him and then back at the floor. That's when I changed my opinion of the big, florid-faced slob. He wasn't as affable or as dumb as I'd figured him to be when we'd shaken hands at the wedding. I had pegged him as a pushover during our brief chat during the reception following the ceremony. Apparently I had been somewhat mistaken.
"That isn't what I meant when I said I was surprised, Mr. Liggett," I said, trying to salvage the conversation. "I'm just surprised that you did decide to call me in and talk about the possibility of giving me a chance to work for you up here in purchasing. I realize how important the purchasing function is in an operation like Space Age Metals."
Some of the suspicious dislike faded then and the old guy slowed down on his smoke production. He wasn't any happier about the situation, but by coming out and admitting I'd put Donna up to hinting to Liggett's wife that I was a bright, ambitious guy who deserved a shot at the assistant purchasing agent job, I'd managed to win the first round of the fight.
I'd known then that I was in. Maybe Jim Liggett didn't like it very much and I sure as hell wasn't in so far that I couldn't get shoved out quickly, but it was a beginning. I knew then that I'd have a shot at the job and that was all I needed. I figured that in another three months, I'd be ready to launch phase three of my own personal "shoot for the moon" program.
Phase One, marrying Donna, and Phase Two, getting the assistant purchasing agent job through her sister, had worked perfectly. There was no reason to believe Phase Three should be any different.
After that, I'd have it made. At least until I figured a sure-fire get-rich-quick plan with minimum risks for me. I was shooting for the moon in my own way, and I meant to have it all!
Of course, Myra was part of the "all" that I was after. I never really loved Donna, and I guess she realized that soon after we were married. She did what I asked her to do, though, probably in an attempt to win back my affection. She couldn't win back something she never had. Nonetheless, she went to her sister about getting me the assistant purchasing spot. And she did a lot of other things to try to hold us together.
It was no good, though, because Myra was the only woman I could think about. I guess that was because I was around her so much at the office. She worked in the typing pool, but for most of every week, she worked in the personnel office directly across the hall from purchasing.
The first time I had seen Myra, which was the first day she came to work for Space Age Metals, I knew I had to have her. She was the company's first black typist and the most sexually attractive woman I had ever encountered. There had been some racially tainted talk during Myra's first few days with the company, but nothing serious. It didn't take the girls long to realize that she was as good as any of them at her job-and better than most. The men, both in the plant and in the office complex, knew a sex bomb when they saw one, and Myra was one without a doubt.
Frank Weston, a black guy who worked in accounting, smiled knowingly when he saw the lustful looks on the white guys' faces every time Myra walked by. Frank was married to a great girl, but it was easy to see that Myra's beauty and animal attraction had the expected effect on him, too.
Myra was a big woman. She stood about 5 foot 8 or 9, and her body was magnificently proportioned. Her 42-inch bust was her most predominant feature. Her giant breasts stood out proud and firm, attracting attention everywhere she went. In addition, she was a truly attractive woman. Not pretty like Donna, and not beautiful by our Hollywood-formed standards.
Her smooth, flawless skin was the color of deep, bitter chocolate.
Her hair, however, was straight. Black as midnight in hell, shiny as a sleek thoroughbred horse, and straight. It flowed down gracefully to the middle of her back. Soft and silky looking, Myra's straight, jet-black hair usually was the second thing a man noticed about her.
Flat stomach and lushly flaring hips were hers too. The miniskirts she wore displayed her shapely legs to their best advantage. Her hips swiveled gracefully with every long stride she took and eyes were sure to follow.
A week or so after she came to Space Age Metals, I asked Myra for a date. Actually, I invited her to have a drink after work on a Friday night and she accepted. This was several months before I devised my three-stage "moon shot" and a long time before I considered marrying Donna-or anyone else for that matter.
I took Myra to a dark little suburban bar that first time. We sat at a small corner table, lighted by a tiny candle. The combination of a racially mixed couple and the striking beauty of Myra attracted a little attention when we entered the place, but it didn't bother either of us. Myra was used to being looked at with wanton lust by men, black and white, and I was too excited about being with her to worry about the stares of a few bar flys.
At our corner table, we had sipped our dry martinis and talked about a lot of things. The company we worked for, race relations, religion, Vietnam and baseball were a few of the topics I remember discussing.
When we touched on sex, Myra smiled at me knowingly. She realized from the moment I asked her out that I hoped to lay her that night.
"Let's get something clear, Paul," Myra said looking at me with her dark sultry eyes. "I don't sleep with clerks." She paused a moment to let her statement sink in. Then she took a sip of her drink and looked me in the eyes again. "I like you and all, baby, but I have a rule. I only sleep with guys who can do me some good ... or guys I'm in love with at the moment. Unfortunately, Paul, you don't fit into either category ... yet."
Somewhat taken back by her frankness, I managed a smile of my own. I clinked my martini glass against hers and said: "Let's drink to the time when I can qualify for the main event."
"I'll drink to that, Paul," Myra said with a sparkle in her black eyes. "I'm glad you understand and respect my position."
I may have understood and respected her position, but I didn't like it. I wanted Myra right then and there so badly I could taste the desire. She really played it cool, though, and there wasn't anything I could have done, except maybe rape her. Force wasn't my bag, though, so my only recourse was to wear down her resistance to clerks or get promoted or make her fall in love with me. Sounded like a pretty complicated order to me. But every time I looked at Myra's luscious body and saw the deep dark valley between her breasts that was revealed by her low cut dress, I knew I would do anything I had to do in order to have her.
When I took her home that evening-in time for her to dress for her Friday-night date-she let me kiss her in the car. I put my hand on her huge breast, and felt the soft, dark flesh supple and tempting under my fingers. When I slipped my hand inside her blouse and fondled her, Myra pulled away. "Remember, Paul," she warned. "Let's not start something we can't finish properly."
My rod was hard and aching to be in her, but I knew I didn't have a chance that night. We kissed again and she got out of the car.
That night I went to a bar where I spent a lot of time-and money-and did some serious thinking. Wanting Myra was certainly a factor, but it wasn't the most important facet of the decision I made at the bar that night. I decided I didn't want to be a clerk any longer than it would take for me to move up.
It was really just a stroke of luck that I decided on using Donna Fletcher to help me get ahead. She was at the bar that night with a date. She nodded to me once when she and her boyfriend were walking back to their table from the dance floor. It took me a few minutes to recall exactly who she was. Then it hit like lightning.
The sister-in-law of the company's purchasing agent! That was the job I was after and she could probably help me get it.
As you know, she did.
CHAPTER THREE
Donna lost the baby in April. I was surprised at the lack of emotion the miscarriage produced in both of us. I didn't want the kid and I made no effort to hide my feelings from Donna. Although I never told her my reasons, I think she sensed that I didn't plan to be around very long and I looked upon the prospect of having a child as I would have looked upon having a leg cut off. It would tie me down too much and prevent me from going where I wanted, when I wanted, and with whom I wanted. Because I didn't want it, I think Donna adopted the same attitude. Our relationship was deteriorating rapidly.
James Liggett lost his job the week after Donna had her miscarriage. I was surprised that his tricky heart didn't conk out completely that afternoon when the general manager and the plant superintendent both landed on him.
Myra Lawrence was the only person besides me who knew just how that gigantic screw-up in orders happened. How the quantities and delivery dates on those half-dozen purchase orders to Space Age Metal's major suppliers got so loused up that not even Jim Liggett really could be sure what had been so badly botched at our end.
Oh, he suspected. That's for sure.
When it was all over, when all the shouting and accusing in his office died down and his resignation had been verbally accepted, Donna's brother-in-law came looking for me. I'll never forget the look on his wide, beefy face that afternoon. He didn't openly charge me with tampering with the more than a quarter of a million dollars in purchase orders that had been screwed up. He just hovered there in the doorway to my office. He was a big, broken hulk of a man and whatever he thought but lacked the proof to say was there in his pale, tired blue eyes.
"You'll be moving into my office, tomorrow," he managed to mutter, his voice low and forced, as if the word hurt coming out."
I made myself keep looking across the desk at him. I tried to look sorry about it. In a way, I guess I really was sorry. But not enough to lose any sleep over. I'd shafted him but good and even though he may have guessed the truth, he could never make an actual case out of it.
"Look, Jim," I said slowly, "why don't you and the wife drive over and have a few drinks with us tonight? Donna's still real low over losing the baby and I'm not in a very happy frame of mind myself. Not just because of the baby, either, believe me. This thing with you, is terrible, and I'm sorry it happened, seriously."
Jim's expression didn't change. Then he shook his head and said, "No, we won't be over, Paul. Thanks anyway." Turning to leave, Liggett said: "What you should do, Paul, is take Donna out on the town and raise hell tonight. Celebrate your promotion. God knows you worked for it."
I knew what he meant by that last statement and he knew his meaning had gotten across. I watched him shuffle from the office, nodding and exchanging hushed goodbyes and handshakes with other employees he'd worked with over the long years.
When I let myself into our apartment in the pleasant suburban community of Elm Grove, Donna was standing with her back to me looking out the window a few isolated, feathery white flakes of snow were attempting to turn back the calendar, but they melted as soon as they touched the dull, brown lawns. I'd noticed a few tulips and lilies in one of the neighboring flower beds.
"You wouldn't think to look outside that next Sunday will be Easter," Donna said quietly. There wasn't anything at all in her voice and she didn't turn around to flash me a welcoming, wifely smile.
Of course, we hadn't really bothered with the pretense of love for a long time. Donna didn't have much left but her pride. She'd stopped trying to encourage lovemaking sessions after the previous New Year's Eve when I'd completely ignored her.
She had been waiting for me in the nude that night when I got home from the office. She had draped herself over me and even guided my hand to the pink-tipped breasts that had at one time delighted me. She was eager, in an almost pathetic way, to go to bed, but I made some weak excuse and yawned at her lovely, naked body.
I remember that Donna looked at me for a long moment that night. I could see the pleading lights of love dim and go out, their place soon to be filled with humiliated despair and dull disillusionment.
We hadn't know for sure that night that she was pregnant, but I thought she was and I suppose that was one of the reasons sex with her just didn't appeal to me any more. The other reason, of course, was Myra Lawrence.
Donna went into the bathroom crying after I turned away from her and I fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of the dark exciting promise of Myra.
I shook the memories from my head and realized what Donna was talking about. Next Sunday was Easter. I chuckled to myself and I walked over to the bar to pour myself a drink. I'd make the grade ahead of my schedule. According to my master plan, I was to be promoted to purchasing agent by Easter and I'd done it three days early.
What the hell, I thought. Why not start collecting on my winnings right away? The thought of climbing on top of Myra and feeling her beautiful body squirm with passion under me was enough to break me into a sweat. Why waste time? I headed for the door.
"Think I'll go back to the plant and put in a few hours moving some of my stuff from that hole-in-the-wall to my new office," I said as I passed Donna. She was standing at the darkening living room window, looking absently into the street below.
I looked outside, too. From our second floor apartment, I could see down into the windows of the apartment building on the other side of the driveway. A guy and his wife were curled up comfortably on the couch. He was reading the newspaper and she had her head resting on his shoulder. In the dimly lit room it was impossible to tell if she were even awake. It certainly was a cozy peaceful scene. I suddenly thought of myself envying the dumb slob in that other apartment, but then I shrugged and grinned. I had my own cozy scene planned, and it would be piece-ful too.
"Good-bye," Donna said in her wooden, listless voice. She was wearing a green jersey frock and her figure had returned already. She was still a hell of a good looking girl, but she wasn't the same starry-eyed, passionate female I'd married. Her body was as fine as ever, but it was without life. Like marble, she was beautiful and cold to the touch. Donna just didn't give a damn about anything any more and I knew I had driven her to that attitude. It worried me sometimes. Not much, though. She had served her purpose as far as I was concerned and that was that.
If anyone was keeping score, they could have chalked up two victims for Paul Norman at that point. Jim Liggett and Donna. It wasn't the sort of thing a guy feels good about. I didn't hurt either of them for any sort of sadistic kick.
Donna didn't fit into my long-range plans. I'd never loved her and I think she knew that when we were married. I guess she figured I'd change ... or that she'd change me. No chance! We were a million miles apart in most respects and she just didn't want the same things out of life that I wanted.
Now that I'd sandbagged her brother-in-law out of his fat job, the next item on the agenda with Donna was a divorce.
She was still at the window when I got to the door. Then I decided to shave, shower and change clothes. She probably suspected that I wasn't going back to the office when I changed into another suit, but what the hell. If she didn't know now, she'd find out later. I really didn't give a damn.
She finally turned from the window when she heard me come back into the living room. It was almost totally dark outside by then and the only light in the room was the table lamp I'd flicked on before going into the bathroom.
"You haven't had anything to eat, Paul," she said softly. "Don't you want me to fix you something?"
"No thanks," I said, shaking my head. "I'll get something on my way downtown."
Donna looked straight at me. Her eyes were tired looking and hurt. "You've got what you wanted through me, didn't you, Paul?"
I just shrugged, tossed her a smart-ass grin and moved through the room to the door of the apartment. "Don't wait up, baby," I called back to her as I left. "Hard to tell what time I'll be back."
"Why bother coming back at all?" she shouted. "You're a no-good bastard, Paul, and I don't care if you ever come back!" That outburst was the most emotion she'd displayed for weeks.
As I left the apartment building, the light, fuzzy white particles of snow had stopped coming down and the dark sky was clear again as I drove along the suburban Cleveland streets in the direction of Westover.
Donna has me pegged, all right. She had said what Jim Liggett has thought but hadn't had the guts to say. They were both right. I was a no-good bastard.
But I was going to be a rich, successful no-good bastard. Donna and Jim were just unfortunate casualties of my "moon shot." Tough.
Suddenly the moonlight came through a dark glob of clouds and glinted luminously through the windshield of my station wagon. I grinned up at it.
It was getting closer all the time. Someday, I'd have it in my hands.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Come in, Mr. Purchasing Agent," Myra smiled, opening her apartment door wider. She didn't look at all surprised to see me there. I brushed past her fantastic body and walked unhurriedly into the room.
"Nice place," I said, looking around the spacious, ultra modern apartment. That was putting it mildly. The apartment was just what you'd expect a girl like Myra to have. Beautiful and bigger than life. The furniture, what there was of it, was all chrome and black leather. Everything in the place was dark or jet black-everything except the carpeting.
The wall-to-wall was white as snow and about a foot thick. The black furniture, teak coffee table, the dark, softly playing stereo, everything was perfectly set off by the stark whiteness of the carpeting.
The only area that wasn't carpeted was a semi-circle about six or eight feet in front of the fireplace. A log fire crackled and hissed on that side of the room, casting an eerie orange glow over the place.
"I'm glad you like it," Myra said with a purr in her voice. She was dressed in black silk lounging pajamas that clung to every curve of her dark, smoldering body. She moved past me on that white carpet like a black panther on the prowl. Every movement was pure grace and I caught my breath sharply when she sat on the black sofa in front of me and the front of her silk pajamas fell forward to reveal the massive globes of her tits.
They looked like two giant coal piles. Almost completely black and shiny, her breasts were tipped with large, pointed nipples that glistened in the soft light from the fireplace.
She leaned back with an unlit cigarette between her long fingers. When she raised it to her lips, I took my cue and pulled out my lighter. The flame showed the dark, liquid pools of her eyes, shiny and deep looking.
"Make yourself comfortable, Paul," Myra purred, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. When she blew the smoke out slowly, I could tell by the sweet, acrid smell that it wasn't tobacco she was smoking. I was no expert, but it smelled like marijuana to me. Then I remembered the deep, faraway look in her black eyes.
"Do you want to share this with me?" she asked, holding the smoking stick out to me.
"Not me, baby," I answered. "That's not my bag."
"Okay," she replied and took another deep pull on the cigarette. "You want a drink or something?" She pointed to a small bar in the corner near the stereo.
"Great," I said, "I'll have a drink now and we'll get to the 'something' later."
"Anything you say, boss-man," Myra giggled. She sounded slightly drunk and I knew the pot was having its effect. "I don't think I've ever been laid by a purchasing agent before, Paul."
"It'll be a first for both of us," I replied with a wink. "I've been looking forward to this evening for a long time, Myra. I hope you're in the mood for fun and games."
"I'm always in the mood for the kind of fun and games you have in mind," she said. "And this grass is getting me more in the mood every minute."
She took another deep puff and inhaled it slowly while I walked over to the corner bar and poured myself a healthy slug of scotch over an ice cube.
As I settled back on the couch beside Myra, she looked at me with dreamy, sexy eyes. She smiled and puckered her lips playfully so I leaned over and kissed her. Instantly, her tongue darted out and licked teasingly at my lips. The swift, sudden contact sent a shiver of excitement through me and I knew right then that I was in for a night to remember.
I put my drink on the coffee table in front of us and slipped the burning cigarette from Myra's fingers and put it out.
"Hey," she said, faking anger. "I wasn't finished with that stick!"
"Yes you were, baby," I replied. "You're high enough now. I'll never catch you if you sail any higher."
"You've already caught me, Mr. Purchasing Agent," she snickered. Then she came into my arms and nestled her head against my chest. Her long, silky hair spilled down over her shoulders and I stroked it with my hand, amazed at the texture and feel of it.
"Do you smoke pot often?" I asked suddenly, somewhat surprised as the words came out of me.
"Whenever I feel like it," she answered after hesitating for a moment. "Why? Don't you approve?"
"It's really none of my business, is it?" I replied. "I've never tried it myself, but I've known lots of people who have. I don't think it does anyone any real harm as long as you can stay away from the hard stuff."
"Why haven't you tried it?" she asked.
"Don't really know," I answered honestly. "I guess I got hooked on booze early. I enjoy a good drink so much I guess I've never felt a need for anything else."
"That makes sense," she said, again hesitating for a few seconds before speaking. "If you ever decide you want to try grass, just let me know. I have an unlimited supply."
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied. "By the way, how does that stuff affect your lovemaking?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, pot makes sex even better." Myra raised her head up from my chest and looked me in the eye as she spoke. "And I'm not saying that to tempt you to try it either, Paul. But it's true. At least it is for me. When I'm high-like I am now-not really flying but just pleasantly high, I could screw all night. I can't get enough of it and every time I come it's like the greatest in the world."
"Its sort of hard to explain, Paul, but it's such a fantastic experience with pot. It's too much. Out of sight."
"I guess you know what kind of effect your description is having on me, don't you?" I asked.
"No," she said, playing dumb. "I just can't imagine." As she spoke, Myra slipped her hand down between my legs and grasped the growing hardness. "My oh my," she said with a faked Southern accent. "That's really a hand full!"
We both laughed and she turned her beautiful face up to me. Our open mouths collided again and our tongues flashed into each other's mouth, probing and licking urgently. My right arm was around Myra and I slipped my left hand into the opening in the front of her black silk pajamas.
Her breasts were cool, black marble under my hands. They were smooth and firm yet slightly yielding to the touch. She moaned deep in her throat when I pinched the dark nipple between my fingers and played with it. It quickly grew firm and erect, hard against the palm of my hand.
Myra's giant globes were more than a handful. They were great, heavy masses of flesh that somehow miraculously stood high and proud, not sagging at all.
As we continued to kiss and tempt each other with our tongues, Myra's hand was again between my thighs, squeezing and feeling my now fully ready rod. The desire was boiling inside of me, but I knew that the longer I held it back, the better it would be once I actually plunged into Myra's body and let myself explode.
Pulling her tight against me, I deftly unbuttoned the four or five buttons that ran down the back of her silk outfit. The loosened garment fell forward and she quickly slipped out of it entirely. It was a one-piece affair that she wriggled out of in a few seconds. She kicked it away and it landed in a dark heap on the lush white carpet.
More quickly than I had hoped, Myra was completely naked in my arms. Her lithe body moulded itself against me and she nearly smothered me with her passionate kiss. Moving as quickly as I could, I slipped off the couch and stood up to undress. Myra stood with me and helped unbutton my shirt. She smiled at me and licked her lips sensuously as she watched me pull off my clothes.
As I undressed, I feasted my eyes on the beautiful female body before me. She stood with her legs slightly spread apart and the jungle of black hair was just visible in the dark region between her shapely thighs. The firelight reflected on her moist love box, giving me a fleeting half-glimpse of that most inviting spot. Myra noticed my attention and added to my delight by rubbing her hands slowly over her stomach and thighs, circling the focal point of my desire.
When I was completely naked, too, Myra pressed herself against me and whispered, "Let's dance." My arms went around her naturally and we fell into step with the softly swinging music coming from the stereo.
Her giant jugs flattened against my chest produced a delicious, fleshy sensation and I could feel her nipples digging into me. My hands moved down her bare back slowly until I felt the swell of her buttocks under my fingers. Gently, I grasped her backside and pulled her even tighter against me.
My rod, now swollen and pulsating with desire, was inserted between her legs, buried beneath the hairy spot in the warm sheath formed by her thighs. We didn't move very far over the deep, white rug, but we swayed with the music and enjoyed the contact of every part of our bodies. With our arms wrapped tightly around each other, we soon realized that our dance had degenerated into a rhythmic pumping motion, more or less in time with the music. Our hips moved back and forth in the age-old love motion, but I had not yet buried my weapon in the wet, black cleft Myra was so anxious to have filled.
"Let's go to bed," I murmured against Myra's neck. "I'm about to explode."
"Easy, baby," she moaned, grinding her love region against me. "You may enjoy the fire more if we stay out here."
Before I could reply, she pulled away from me and led me by the hand to the area in front of the big, stone fireplace. The carpet was even thicker and softer there. Apparently she had had a lovemaking pad installed under the carpeting in front of the fireplace.
As we settled down into the deep white softness, I made a mental note to congratulate Myra on her functional planning. I also made a note to ask her how the hell she could afford a layout like this on her salary. Somehow, I knew there was probably a connection between her ability to afford such an apartment and her statement about an unlimited supply of marijuana. She probably had a boyfriend in the rackets who kept her supplied with grass and the rent money. What the hell she was doing as a typist with our company was beyond me.
We stretched out on our backs on the soft carpet and rested our heads on two large cushions Myra pulled off a nearby chair. Gazing into the crackling flames, I let my mind go completely blank and enjoyed the sensual feeling of the warm fire and the passionate female at my side. What more could I want? I just relaxed and let "the sensations wash over me.
Suddenly I was aware that Myra's hand was moving slowly up over my thigh. I looked down in time to see her wrap her long, tapering fingers around my hard-on in a firm but gentle grasp. Slowly, she began moving her hand up and down in a maddeningly deliberate motion that shook me with pleasure. After less than a minute, though, I had to ask Myra to stop her handy work before I spurted like a fountain.
She stopped and I rolled over on my side to look at her naked loveliness. The fire gave her dark skin an unreal look and when I touched her I was a little shocked at the softness of her flesh. Her eyes were closed and her long black hair was spread out over the pillow as I caressed and fondled her breasts and then stroked her stomach.
As my fingers crept into the tangle of hair beneath her belly, I lowered my head and kissed the nipple atop one of her huge breasts. She shivered slightly and smiled when I took the erect, hard nipple in my mouth and sucked it. She raised her hands and held my head against her, thrusting her tit full against my face so its softness crushed against my mouth and nose and eyes. I flicked at the hard, pointed nipple with my tongue and felt Myra tremble beneath me.
Continuing my attention to her tits, I gently slipped my finger between the wet, waiting lips of her love box. I pushed the clinging lips aside and plunged my finger as deep into her as I could reach. Myra responded by jerking her hips up to meet the thrust of my hand. As I continued the pressure inside of her most sensitive area, she pumped herself against my hand again and again, enjoying the sensation the imitation screwing produced.
She was still holding my head to her breast when her first orgasm, a small one, wracked her body. Arching her back and crying out softly, Myra indicated that she wanted the attention of my tongue elsewhere. More than willing to oblige, I moved from her breasts and grazed slowly over the flat expanse of her stomach. I paused long enough to dart my tongue into her navel and then proceeded down into the black valley between her legs. When I kissed the inside of her thighs, Myra spread her legs wide to accommodate me. I separated the moist, pouting lips of her box with my tongue and pushed it inside. As I did this, Myra squealed with pleasure and pressed my face hard against the mass of curly black hair.
Enjoying her work, I tongued her for several minutes, probing deep into her sensitive cave and licking and lapping at her clitoris between probes. The lapping soon produced Myra's second climax. It was a bit more substantial than the first and I think she enjoyed it more because she came with my tongue thrust far inside of her.
When she relaxed, I knelt beside her and looked down on her throbbing body that just ached to be screwed. My erection, dripping with excitement, stuck out proudly over her. Myra looked up at it and smiled. Then she raised herself up on her elbow and whispered, "I want to suck it!"
I shook my head, and gently pushed her back down. "No, baby!"' I said. "If you touch me with your mouth, I shoot in about two seconds. I want you to do that for me when I'll have some time to enjoy it. Okay?"
"Anything you say, lover," she said. "Any time you say."
I moved over between her outstretched legs then and looked down at the dark gaping slit that my rod would fill. It drew me like a magnet of flesh and I slowly lowered myself down on her, piercing her soft, womanly body with my battering ram.
"Oh, God," Myra moaned as my tool filled her. "Oh, God, yes, yes. Screw me, Paul, screw me!"
Suddenly relaxed and in complete control I rocked back and forth, pushing my rod deep into her and withdrawing it almost to the tip. Each time I pushed forward it was almost like entering her for the first time. She moaned with delight every time I rammed forward in the tightness of her box.
Finally the lightning struck and my cream shot out of me in great spurts, hot and thick. She dug her nails into my butt and tried to pull me inside of her, straining to get every drop of my orgasm. While I was still coming, a tremendous climax rocked Myra, too. She whimpered loudly and buried her face against my neck. "Oh, yeah, oh, yeah!" she moaned, trembling with the intense pleasure.
Then it was over and we fell asleep in each other's arms. The warmth of the fire and the strain of our passions combined to put us to sleep for nearly an hour. When we awoke, the fire was dying, so I refueled it with two more logs.
I made us a couple of drinks and Myra dug up some cheese and crackers in the kitchen. Then we sat together on the couch, staring into the flames and eating and drinking. Both of us were completely satisfied and it was good just to sit there.
After ten or 15 minutes of silence, Myra turned to me and asked: "When do I move in and replace Mrs. Marshall?"
"Soon," I answered. "But let's not talk about it now."
"You wouldn't welsh on me, would you, Paul?" she asked.
"Of course not, Myra," I replied. "But I can't just pick up the old bag and throw her out of the plant, you know. After all, I just got the job."
"I guess not," Myra said, sounding unconvinced.
"Old lady Marshall could screw us up," I explained. "She could go charging in and tell Zimmer what she told me this afternoon. That she thinks those purchase orders must have been changed after she typed them up for Liggett."
"What makes you think she won't spill her guts to the general manager anyway?" Myra asked.
"Because I told her that she might lose her own job," I sold her on the idea that if Zimmer thought she was trying to cover up for Liggett she might get bounded, too." Myra laughed softly and tossed her beautiful black hair. "Cute, darling," she smiled at me. "Very cute indeed."
We both laughed and she came into my arms again. We were both still naked, sitting there on the couch and the touch of her soft, black skin against me sent a rumble of desire through me.
We kissed a long, passionate tongue-lashing kiss and my rod nearly jumped to attention. Automatically my hands caressed and fondled Myra's big, boobs and she murmured "yes, yes" when I pinched the nipples.
"I thought you'd be good, baby," I muttered, "but you're even better than I hoped."
"Glad you're pleased," she whispered, running her fingers lightly over my thighs. "You're pretty good yourself. Maybe in your case I made a mistake."
"How do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.
"I should have gone to bed with you when you were just a clerk, too," she replied with a lecherous grin.
"I hate to say I told you so," I grinned back at her, "but, I told you so."
"We have all night to make up for that ... don't we?" she asked, trying to determine if I planned to stay with her all night.
"Of course we do," I answered. "And tomorrow and Sunday, too, if you can stand having me around that long."
"One night at a time, Paul, baby," she smiled and grasped my hot, hard rod in her hand.
I tensed at her velvet touch and slipped my hand between her thighs, into the damp warmness of her pussy.
"Oh, yeah," she sighed when I pushed my finger up into her cleft. "Let's go to bed and do this right."
"I thought you'd never ask," I replied.
Her bedroom was done in red and black and was at least as dramatic and attractive as the black on white living room. The deep, thick carpet was blood red and the heavy-looking Spanish style furniture was almost black. I didn't have much time to look around, however, because we jumped right into bed. I did have time to notice that the sheets were as red as the carpet before Myra's lips covered mine and her long black hair tumbled down over both of us shutting out the world.
A dim red lamp was on in the far corner of the bedroom, and, like the fire, it bathed the room in a mysterious, unreal glow. The combination of the colors and the pot she had smoked apparently heightened Myra's passion. She was like a wild animal, clutching and kissing, feeling and fondling whatever came to her touch.
"Kneel over me," she suddenly ordered, her eyes wild with sexual desire. "Kneel over me and I'll give you a special thrill."
"Anything you say, baby," I agreed, getting myself into the position she wanted. I was on my knees astride her waist, with my rod sticking out over her giant breasts.
"Do you like to be sucked?" Myra asked, looking up at me with a wicked smile. Her beautiful hair was spread out over the bright red pillow beneath her head. Without waiting for my answer-which she no doubt knew would be 'yes'-she took my weapon in her hand and slipped down farther in the bed until its tip was just a few inches from her lips. Then Myra arched her back to raise her bosom up toward me and buried my hard-on in the deep valley between her great mounds of flesh. The immediate sensation was fantastic. The warm softness of her breasts surrounded me and Myra pushed her tits together with her hands to increase the pressure on my rod.
"Now, move, baby," she moaned low, her black eyes glazed with passion. Supporting myself by holding on to the headboard of the bed, I thrust forward with my hips and slipped my rod through the clinging valley. Back and forth, back and forth, I rocked slowly enjoying the intense sensation.
Myra was obviously enjoying it, too, because as I looked down at her, she smiled wickedly at me, closed her eyes, and licked her lips sensuously with her tongue. Then she shifted her position just slightly and the next time I pushed my love log forward, the head of it slipped between her full lips. Back out and in again to be caressed by her soft, pink tongue.
The combined sensation of her giant, soft breasts and her warm, wet mouth soon brought my passion to a point I couldn't remember reaching ever before. Then I came. Hanging on to the headboard, I rammed my weapon deep into Myra's mouth and exploded. She released the pressure she had been maintaining pushing her tits together and grabbed my butt to pull me even further into her. The cream shot out and Myra moaned deliciously in her throat as she swallowed it.
CHAPTER FIVE
"B-but, you just gave them to me to type! Just before lunch, M-Mr. Norman!" the old bat squeaked.
Henrietta Marshall looked as if she was going to wet her pants. She wasn't crying yet, but she was sniffling and her thin, long nose was twitching and the skinny, mousy-haired old bag was about as close to tears as she could get. Her eyes were getting watery behind the shell-rimmed glasses she wore.
I glared down at where she was cringing behind her desk in the outer office. "Don't give me excuses, Mrs. Marshall!" I snapped. "Get those goddamned purchase order records typed-now! I want them on my desk in half an hour." Although I was really sticking it to her, I kept my voice down so anyone who was passing the purchasing department would not get an earful.
"I ... I can't get it done that quickly, Mr. Norman!" she stammered. "I simply can't do it." She had spoken as I pivoted and walked rapidly toward my plush, spacious inner office. I stopped and whirled to confront the scared, sniffling secretary with another irate glare.
"That's the sort of whining jazz you've been giving me all week," I hissed. "If you can't do your work and stop giving me an argument every damn time I ask for something, you don't belong behind that desk."
"I ... I'm sorry, Mr. Norman," she said, bristling at my threat. "Mr. Liggett never complained about my ... "
"I'm sure he didn't," I said with a sneer. "And he got dumped because he couldn't handle his job right. I don't give a goddamn what Liggett did or said. I'm running this department now, Mrs. Marshall, and there isn't going to be any more goofing off. Do you read me?"
I didn't wait for her to blubber out another tearful protest. I just spun on my heel and went into my office, slamming the door behind me.
I couldn't figure why she stayed around and kept taking the crap I was dishing out. Hell, I'd ripped her clear to the bone all that week. Always when we were alone in the office and always without raising my voice.
It wasn't just because of Myra Lawrence that I wanted Henrietta Marshall out of there. The dried up old biddy was too conscientious and loyal. She could be trouble. If she ever opened up and word got to Les Zimmer that she thought those purchase orders Jim Liggett was blamed for botching had been tampered with, I could expect to be called on the carpet by the short, wiry runt of a general manager and asked some embarrassing questions. I felt sure I'd be able to handle that sort of a suspicious interrogation and keep hedge-hopping around the truth so nothing drastic would come of it, but still, why let it happen at all?
Right then, I was in solid with the top brass. I was really digging in and making the dust fly-giving the impression that I was knocking myself out in the best tradition of the "do-or-die" spirit, giving my all for good old Space Age Metals.
For those first few weeks, that was my plan, because I knew Les Zimmer and the other executives were watching to see how the new purchasing agent could run with the ball.
Evenings, too, of course. Except that all I was really doing was pushing piles of purchase orders from one side of my desk to the other, making unnecessary phone calls to suppliers, asking about deliveries, checking prices, changing quantities on my previous orders-anything to keep the phones in my office ringing and a steady stream of industrial sales representatives parading in and out of the office.
All the time that the war of nerves was going on between me and Mrs. Marshall, Myra Lawrence was getting more impatient. Finally, one Friday night about a month after I'd taken over the purchasing department, that red hot woman cut me off. By that time, of course, we'd been through some pretty wild sexual games together, and I was hooked on her. She had an effect on me that no other woman had ever come close to duplicating and when she closed the door in my face, I was one unhappy guy.
The first few times she' said no were sheer hell. We'd be in a secluded booth in some out-of-the-way bar or we'd be dancing somewhere with our bodies pressed tightly together. Myra would give me a strange look. Not just a teasing smile or a taunting stare with her seductive black eyes, but a million-volt gaze that promised sexual delights that would surpass everything we'd experienced together.
She'd press her firmly soft, rounded breasts against me, and if we were dancing, grind her hips against me, too. If we were in a dark booth, she'd let my hand slide between her legs and glide up under her skirt, or she'd permit me to cup one of her superb tits for a moment.
Then she'd pull away.
"Is it getting difficult for you, Paul, baby?" she'd whisper, giving me another of those slow, high-voltage looks that promised everything. "Do you want to screw me so bad that you can't sleep when you go home and climb into bed with your wife?"
"Goddamn it, Myra," I'd usually snap. "Cut it out!"
She didn't have to tell me what I'd have to do to make her "friendly" again. I knew damn well.
By then, of course, Donna knew I was definitely playing around with another woman. We'd been careful, but we had been seen together by someone who knew my wife. Actually, an interracial couple like us drew attention no matter where we went. And the fact that Myra was so strikingly attractive just added to the stares we got everywhere we went together. So, it came as no surprise that someone who knew Donna spotted Myra and me together.
It got to be a full week since I'd done anything in bed with a woman except sleep-and damn little of that, either. So, on a Sunday night when Myra coolly refused to even see me, lying on the phone that an out of town cousin was visiting her, I stayed home with Donna.
It was a hell of a long evening. We sat in the apartment living room. She was in the big chair and I was sprawled out on the sofa. We watched Ed Sullivan and then the Sunday Night Movie on television. Rather, I should say, the set was on and we both looked at the flickering images. I don't know about Donna, but I couldn't have told you what I had seen ten minutes after it was over.
Before the end of the TV movie, I found myself looking at my wife's legs. Donna was wearing a dark brown outfit with a mini-length skirt that hit her about four or five inches above the knee. From where I was propped on an elbow on the sofa, I could see far up under her tight skirt and, to tell you the truth, I found that view a hell of a lot more interesting than the tube.
Then, I realized I was staring at the big, thrusting bulges in the front of her dress. Donna was a tall, well-proportioned woman. If she were not, her 38-inch globes with their ruby-red nipples would have looked ponderous and awkward. Actually, although they were smaller than Myra's, Donna's jugs were more than a handful.
I glanced up, taking in the neat, intelligent, pretty face and the way the reflection from the nearby table lamp and TV set highlighted the reddish-brown silken shine of her hair.
Suddenly I realized that I wanted to make love to her.
Not just her, I guess. Any woman would have probably looked good. And I didn't want to make love, either. I wanted to be screwed-but good! Donna was still my wife, I rationalized. She was there and so was my passion and desire, begging for release.
I got up and walked over to where she was seated. Donna's hazel eyes left the TV screen they had been dully staring at. She must have seen the lust in my eyes, because even before I could reach down and get my hands on her lush tits, she blocked me.
"No, Paul," she said without emotion. "It's too late for that sort of thing." Her voice was steady and quiet and bitterly final.
I grinned, shaking off her restraining fingers. "Late?" I mocked. "Why, it isn't even ten o'clock yet. Come on baby, let's go to bed and...."
"Stop it, Paul!" she shouted. "I don't want to....!"
She tried to squeeze her legs closed when I reached down to touch her.
"Now don't tell me that you don't want it, Donna," I growled. Unless she was getting some sex on the side, and I knew she wasn't, she hadn't enjoyed sexual intimacy with a man for months. Every fiber in her body had to be tingling with desire so I pressed my attack until I had one hand cupped over her breast and the other between her legs, stroking her love box. She let me pull her up from the chair and put my arms around her, but when I tried to draw her toward the bedroom, she surprised me and slipped out of my embrace.
Shaking her head violently, Donna shouted as she ran across the room: "No Paul, no! I don't want you to touch me! I don't want to go to bed with you, you dirty bastard! You'll never lay me again ... never!"
"You're my wife," I reminded her, my own passion beating savagely at my loins. I stalked after her as she headed toward the kitchen. "Damn it, Donna, I'm going to have you right now, whether you like it or not. You can just lie there." I told her.
She gasped when I grabbed her from behind and reached around her to squeeze the fleshy mounds of her breasts. She didn't fight me when I turned her around and started undoing the front of her dress. Softly, with no emotion, she said: "Do you want me to get pregnant again, Paul?"
Her words stopped my lust more quickly and effectively than if she'd pulled a gun on me.
I dropped my hands from her jutting bosom. She turned her face from me, but I noticed tears running down her face beneath her hair which has tumbled forward.
"Go to....to your other woman," she said with her voice on the point of cracking. "Go to that black slut everyone in town has seen you with. I never want you to touch me again."
I wished to God that I could go to Myra right then, but I knew I couldn't. I left the apartment, though, and went for a drive out by the lake front.
When I returned several hours later, Donna was sleeping. As I crawled into bed with her, I was determined to do something the next day to change things with Myra.
Les Zimmer was in the process of dictating letters at his desk, when I walked in. He waved me to a chair beside his desk and went right on talking into the small microphone he held close to his mouth.
I lit a cigarette and leaned back. I wondered just what Henrietta Marshall had whimpered to the general manager when she'd turned in her resignation the first thing that morning. She was finally leaving after more than a month of enduring the brand of vicious fault finding and unfriendliness I'd been dishing out.
Unfortunately, the old prune had felt it necessary to explain her reasons for resigning to Zimmer. Myra Lawrence had phoned me as soon as she got the word on the office grapevine that Mrs. Marshall was in bawling her eyes out to Zimmer. Naturally she was excited about the old battle ax leaving because she knew she would step into her position as my secretary. Just to make sure Myra felt indebted to me, I had lied to her on the phone.
"I knew she was leaving, baby," I told her. "Didn't I tell you that it was all arranged. There's no reason for you to hold out on me any more is there?"
"No reason at all, Paul, darling," she cooed. "I'll make it all up to you tonight."
Her promise and her husky voice had nearly given me a hard-on right then and there. Getting my hands on that gorgeous chunk of woman again was all I could think about.
"All right, Paul, now we can talk," Zimmer said, switching off the recording machine. He folded his hands on the desk top and looked at me with his blue eyes grim and searching in back of his dark-rimmed glasses.
He frowned, preparing to plunge into the midst of what I knew was on his mind.
"Mrs. Marshall was in here to see me early this morning," he began. "In fact I asked her to drop by when I learned that she was leaving without even one week's advance notice."
"She told you I was a slave driver. Right?" I interjected. "That she just couldn't stand any more abuse from me. Right?"
"That's about what it boiled down to, Paul," Zimmer said, nodding his head. "Why were you so rough on her?"
I shrugged, acquiring a troubled, thoughtful look. "Maybe ... maybe I was too rough, Les," I said. "Mrs. Marshall tries hard, but....she had that job for a long time, didn't she, Les?"
He nodded again, still watching me with critical interest. "Almost as long as Jim Liggett. They'd worked together on our purchasing for close to twenty years. Why did you have to climb on her back, Paul?"
"Well, I didn't want to," I lied, "but ... Les, I'll give it to you as straight as I can. She was geared to ... to Jim's work speed. That wasn't fast enough for me. I guess I'm impatient, Les. I'm in a hurry to get things done and get them done right the first time."
I paused and took a deep, thoughtful drag on my cigarette. "Maybe I was rude to Mrs. Marshall sometimes, Les," I continued. "It's just that I like to get things done, keep things moving, and ... well, she just couldn't keep up, Les. It's as simple as that."
The office was very quiet. Zimmer continued to stare at me. He was absorbing my explanation, deciding whether to buy it.
Finally, Les Zimmer nodded again. "I suspected it was probably something like that, Paul. You'll have to watch yourself, you know, with whomever you get to replace Henrietta. An executive has to be able to get alone with his people. Human relations is one of the most important phases of any business. How you get along with others often means the difference between making good in your own career or washing out. I'm sure you realize that, Paul."
I put on a serious, grateful grin. "I want to do a job here for you, Les. And, I appreciate it when you take your own valuable time to steer me back on the right track. I'll try to remember everything you've told me. And ... well, thanks a lot."
Did he ever lap it up! A benevolent, fatherly-type smile replaced the thin stiffness of his lips and those keen blue eyes crinkled with friendly approval.
"You are doing a good job, Paul," he said. "Just don't let it run away from you. Yell when you get in deep water of any kind. After all, it wasn't too long ago that you were a clerk and I know you're still learning. I don't expect you not to make mistakes. We all make them. But you're doing a fine job. Keep it up and you'll be fine."
"I hope Mrs. Marshall will get a job where she can work at her own pace," I said, looking at the carpet on the floor. "I do feel rather bad about what happened, Les. I'd be lying to you though if I said I was sorry she's not around to slow me up. I need a younger woman-a girl who has the energy and speed and intelligence to handle the job."
Les stood up, signaling that our conversation was about finished. I stood, too. "Got anyone particular in mind?" he asked.
I snubbed out my cigarette and tugged at the lobe of my left ear, pretending to think about his question.
"Oh, I guess there are several girls in the office typing pool who could become good purchasing department secretaries," I said. "Miss Lawrence has done most of the extra typing that Mrs. Marshall couldn't handle ... and she'knows shorthand, too."
Zimmer grinned broadly at me. "She's also about the best looking woman I've ever seen and she had the biggest set of jugs in the whole damn company." He laughed as he spoke and walked around in front of his big desk. "Okay, Paul. Help yourself. You can tell Mrs. Hughes that you cleared Myra's transfer with me."
I grinned down at the runty, balding general manager as we stood next to the closed office door. We shook hands and I thanked him again. Then I left his private office and went off in search of Mrs. Hughes, the plump, brown-haired clerical department supervisor.
She gave me a bovine stare of frank displeasure when I located her in the cafeteria lingering over a cup of coffee. She and Henrietta Marshall were pals and she made it obvious that she considered me in the rotten bastard category.
"There are other girls better qualified for a secretarial position." she started to protest.
"Just tell Miss Lawrence that she's transferred," I interrupted, my own eyes becoming hard and equally chilled and ugly as I stared the buxom frump into silence. "I want her at that desk in my outer office and ready to go to work just as soon as you can tear yourself away from your coffee break. Any questions?"
The bitchy supervisor would have loved to toss her paper cup of scalding hot coffee into my face, but instead, she gave a contemptuous sniff, tossed her snooty nose in the air, and strode away from me toward a table where some of the other older females were gathering for the mid-morning gab fest.
She would do what I'd told her, there was no doubt about that. She would take her good old time about informing Myra that she was now secretary to the purchasing agent, but eventually, she'd have to do it.
It was almost noon when she did.
I was at my desk, getting ear-weary from listening to the canned sales pitch from a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed college boy turned sales rep for an industrial paint manufacturer. Then I saw Myra's 42-inch bust punching provocatively against the blue sweater she was wearing. She stood in the doorway and gave me one of those slow, taunting looks with her black, smoldering eyes and soft, full lips caressing me from a distance. It wasn't the same cool, stand-offish look she'd been deviling me with for almost two-weeks of hellish abstinence. This one was a look of pure sexual promise.
He stood up and when he saw Myra, I thought his knees were going to give out. He almost tripped over his sample case and when she stayed in the doorway so he had to edge his way past her jutting beauties, you could almost hear him panting.
Myra waited until I'd walked over, checked to be sure that the coast was clear for a minute at least, and then eased the door shut. When I turned to face her, she pushed her luscious tits into my eager, outstretched hands for me to feel and fondle. Then she eased the rest of her fantastic frame against me and we kissed a long, soul-searing kiss.
Her full, dark lips were sweet tasting and her tongue lashed against mine in a frenzy of rapid, urgent thrusts while my hands continued to squeeze through the softness of her sweater. I could feel the explosive pounding of her heart and the hard erectness of her nipples through her bra.
We broke it up in less than a minute, because both of us realized that fooling around in the office at that time of day was just asking for trouble.
"Tonight," I growled at her. "I'm coming over tonight, baby, and we'll have our own, private little orgy."
"You're ... the boss, darling," Myra whispered through her moist, slightly parted lips that were curved in a soft, satisfied smile. "I've missed our good times, too Paul. Tonight I'll show you how much I've missed you."
Her shapely backside twitched happily under the material of her mini-skirt as she opened the door and went out to her desk to begin her new duties as my secretary.
I grinned, looking out at her. She finally had her promotion and the considerable boost in pay that went with it.
I'd collect my bonus later that night!
CHAPTER SIX
Donna's older sister, Vera, wasn't a bad looking woman. Especially not bad looking when you considered that she was at least fifteen years older and the mother of four kids.
She was starting to go silvery-grey around the edges of her short, modernly-styled brown hair and there was the beginning of a slight bulge where the belt of her green summer dress spanned her waist and accentuated the breadth of her sleek hips. Nonetheless, Vera Liggett was still worth more than a once-over to any man's eye.
I let my eyes roam over her body slowly while I grinned, trying not to let her see that I was somewhat less than happy to get home from the office and find her in my apartment.
"Donna is very ill, Paul," Vera said as we faced each other just inside the front door. "I put her to bed."
The hall door was open. I glanced away from Vera just long enough to close it. "You mean she's drunk again, don't you?" I snapped.
"Yes ... yes, she is, Paul," Vera stammered. "How long has this sort of thing been going on?"
"Well, let's see now," I said, sauntering past her into the dimly lit living room. It was almost 6 p.m. and there was a lot of sunlight left, but the drapes were tightly drawn.
"This is July third, isn't it?" I said absent-mindedly as I snapped on the table lamp near the sofa. "Oh, I guess Donna has been supporting one of the local liquor stores single-handedly for about the last six weeks or so."
"Oh, my God," Vera said, raising her hand to her lips. "She needs help, Paul. She needs help and understanding." She paused for a moment and then continued. "I know better than to include love," she said. "You don't love my sister, do you Paul? You never have loved her."
I turned around and gave her figure another slow, insolent up and down look. "She doesn't want me to love her, Vera," I said with a sarcastic grin. "In case she hasn't confided in her big, sympathetic sister, we sleep in separate beds ... in separate rooms."
"And of course, that's her fault, isn't it?" she snapped.
"Ask her when she sobers up," I shot back.
"I'm asking you, Paul, right now," Vera said with anger flashing in her dark eyes. "I'm asking you to help me save Donna from a nervous breakdown ... or something even worse."
Vera Liggett was quite aware that my eyes were taking inventory of her more-than-adequate physical equipment. She couldn't help but notice, because I was doing everything I could to make her uncomfortable by just standing there, alternating looks from her legs to her hips and up and over her nicely-jutting breasts.
"You're ... you're sleeping with another woman, aren't you Paul," Vera asked, clearing her throat and looking away from me.
"You guessed it, Vera, baby," I replied with a smile. "Would you like a sample of my abilities, too? You'd probably enjoy it."
I knew she wanted to lunge across the living room to slap my face and claw her fury at me. Instead, however, she just bit down on her lower lip and glared pure hate at me.
"Donna was very drunk when I arrived this afternoon," she finally managed to say. "I ... Jim and I have been worried about her for some time. I tried to phone her, I don't know how many times during the past few weeks. She won't answer the phone, Paul. Does she ever go out or does she just stay here in the apartment drinking all the time?"
"She goes out," I said. "Long enough to get another bottle and a pack of cigarettes."
Vera was silent for several moments and then she said: "Do you want her to ... to die, Paul?" Her voice was hushed and her eyes were stricken as she swung around to look at me. "Is that why you're letting her drink herself to death? So you can marry that ... that slut you've been seen chasing around with so openly of late?"
Marry Myra! No chance, baby. She was great in bed and all that, but marry her? Never! As a matter-of-fact, I was more than a little concerned about her possessiveness. That afternoon she had mentioned something about not seeing anyone besides me ever again and she was hinting about a raise now that she'd been my secretary for two full months. There would be no raise.
I walked through the apartment while Vera Liggett stood stiffly near one of the chairs in the living room. I checked in the bedroom and found Donna sprawled on the bed. She was nude except for a pair of sheer panties and her reddish brown hair was tousled. Her breathing was deep and ragged, nearly a full fl-edged snore.
The bedroom smelled like a distillery. The windows were open but not even the incoming breeze could fumigate the stink of stale booze.
Donna was perspiring heavily. She had apparently kicked off the sheet that Vera no doubt had carefully covered her with after undressing her and tucking her into bed. Her legs were spread wide apart and the dark patch of her sex was clearly visible through the next-to-nothing sheer panties.
I closed the door and went into the kitchen for a cold can of beer. Vera was at the kitchen door a few seconds later and I could sense her hate-filled look boring in my back. Without turning, I said: "She can have a divorce any time she wants it."
"With no alimony, I'm sure," Vera hissed at me. "You're scum, Paul. You're a dirty, filthy, rotten piece of scum!"
I took a long swig from my beer can and shrugged. "Give my regards to Jim, honey."
"My husband doesn't need or want your regards," she screamed at me. "You've hurt him enough, too! You son of a bitch, if I were a man I'd kill you!"
Again I looked at her soft, ripe feminine body and smirked, "I like you better as a woman, Vera baby. Any time your husband isn't feeling up to it and you need a real man, just give me a call."
At that, she stormed out of the apartment. I chuckled to myself as I watched the fleshy curves of her butt bounce violently down the hallway. Then I closed the door and wandered back into the apartment.
I looked out the window at the soft summer evening and remembered that the next day was a holiday. What would I do to celebrate, I asked myself. Fireworks with Myra seemed as good a way as any. Might as well get started right now, too, I figured.
Finishing off the can of beer, I headed for the bathroom and a quick, refreshing shower. After changing into fresh clothes, I headed for the door. Donna moaned in the bedroom. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob, but she was quiet. She must have really tied one on this time, I thought to myself. I was glad I wouldn't be around the next day when she woke up with a head the size of a basketball.
I left the apartment and aimed my station wagon for Myra's apartment. About half way there, I realized that I didn't have any cigarettes, so I whipped into a shopping center and parked in front of a drug store. Even before I got out of the wagon, I noticed the beautiful young chick walking aimlessly in front of the store fronts.
She was really quite young, and I guessed her age at about 17. Despite the youthfulness of her face, she had the body of a woman. Her long, light brown hair fell softly over her shoulders and down over the dark blue sweater she wore. There was no mistaking the twin bulges under that sweater. She was a kid, but she was really built. Her form-hugging sweater came down over her full, womanly hips and it was impossible to tell what-if anything-she was wearing besides the sweater.
The young girl moved with the easy grace of a cat, slowly walking along the sidewalk as though she had no particular destination in mind and no timetable for getting there. Her attractiveness stunned me for a moment, but then I just smiled at myself and got out of the car. Messing around with 17-year-olds wasn't my bag.
I went into the drug store and bought my cigarettes. When I came out of the store, I was startled to see the young beauty I'd spotted before, lounging against the side of my wagon.
She looked intently at my face as I approached. Just as I was about to speak, she said: "Hi, there, you're Paul Norman, aren't you?" Her voice was soft and youthful, but full of confidence.
"Guilty," I replied with a puzzled smile. "Who are you?"
"Bess Walters," she answered. "You went to high school with my sister, Eileen."
"Oh," I said with an unusual flash of brilliance. Then what she had said registered and I woke up. "Oh, yes, of course, Eileen Walters. Sure, I remember her."
"I thought you would," the teenager smiled.
How could I ever forget Eileen? She was about the best looking girl in our high school class. Like every other guy, I had tried to date her. I succeeded once, but I tried to lay her about 10 minutes after I picked her up in the car borrowed from a friend. That had been the end of our relationship, but I had always longed to get to know her.
"How is your sister?" I asked, fighting to keep my eyes off the beautifully rounded boobs poking through the youngster's sweater.
She answered quickly and easily, tossing her soft, shiny hair as she spoke. Eileen had gone to college for a few years and then married an all-American type. An athlete and computer expert all wrapped into one, apparently. Their marriage had lasted three years. They lived apart for a year and a half and then got divorced. Eileen had come home about a month ago, Bess said. She was still rather depressed, but she was looking for a job and an opportunity to start a new life.
While the girl spoke, my eyes traveled up and down her lithe, young body. She wore no shoes and her long, tanned legs were bare up to the point where her sweater came down over her thighs. Suddenly she shifted her position and the sweater crawled up even higher. She wore a white bikini bathing suit under the dark blue sweater and my eyes almost fell out when she spread her legs slightly and caused the sweater to hike up again.
My look was not lost on young Bess. She smiled knowingly as my eyes feasted on her charms. Then, when our eyes met, she looked at me suggestively and said softly: "Why don't you drive me home and stop in to say hello to Eileen? I know she'd love to see you."
I couldn't believe what this teenage sex-bomb was promising with her eyes. It was all there ... just for the taking. Then her suggestion finally soaked into my brain and I snapped out an anxious, "Yes, sure. That's a great idea."
In a few seconds, Bess had parked her white bikini bottom on the front seat of my wagon and we were pulling out of the shopping center parking lot. We didn't talk much at first and I concentrated on driving and keeping my hands on the wheel. That sweet young thing beside me just radiated sex. She had a strange, wild animal magnetism ... and she knew it, too. Her appearance was that of a young teenager, but her eyes had the experienced look of a woman of the world. Bess was no cherry, that much I could tell without further investigation.
As we zipped along the busy streets, it suddenly occurred to me that Myra was expecting me at her apartment. We'd talked about trying a new supper club out along the lake that evening and I knew she would be mad as hell at being stood up.
Tough, I thought to myself with a smile, shooting a quick glance at the tender piece beside me. It was time that Myra learned that we were playing house on my terms.
If she didn't like it, she could quit-both job and joy sessions. I realized that Myra was a fantastic sex partner, beautiful, completely uninhibited and passionate. She'd been great, but, well, I guess a guy gets tired of even the juiciest, tastiest dessert if he has it as a steady diet. I was a little surprised at myself, but that's what I discovered I was thinking as we drove into the Cleveland suburb where the Walters' lived.
I knew that I needed a little variation in the menu, a different dessert. I knew it would be taking a chance, but the young girl in the bikini and sweater might just be what I was looking for to celebrate the Fourth of July.
"You used to date my sister, didn't you, Mr. Norman?" Bess asked, breaking the long silence.
"Well, not exactly," I said. "We only went out together a few times." That was a slight exaggeration, but what else could I say. Eileen Walters had looked right past me throughout high school. She had been my dream girl, but except for our one ill-fated date, she had hardly even known I was alive.
"She's still quite good looking, you know," Bess said. "Blonde and really built."
I laughed softly at her phrase. "That's a pretty good description of her when she was in high school," I said. Then I looked over at the young girl and ran my eyes quickly over her appealing body. "Except for the word blonde, that's a very good description of you, too."
She smiled and stuck her chest out another inch or two. "I'm glad you like me, Mr. Norman," she purred. "I hope we'll be friends."
"At least friends," I joked and she laughed.
"Does it have to be Eileen that you're coming to visit?" Bess asked in a serious voice. I knew her eyes were staring at me as she waited for my answer. Frankly, I didn't know what to say. She certainly was tempting, but her youth frightened me more than a little bit. There are some pretty tough laws about screwing broads under 18 years of age-no matter how badly they appear to want it.
But there was more to my reluctance than that. I really wanted to see Eileen again, too. She had been a knockout in high school and the chances were the few years since then hadn't changed her very much. And, too, as a divorcee, she just might be looking for a little action in the sex department.
Fortunately, however, I didn't have to answer Bess' question because we arrived at her house just then. It hadn't changed.
"Don't look now, sweetheart," I said to Bess, "but I believe we have arrived."
"Oh, damn," the teenage beauty muttered. Then she smiled impishly and thrust out her jugs again, straining at the soft material of the sweater. "Just when we were getting to know each other."
"We can talk later," I said. "Now how about telling your sister that I'm here. I mean you did invite me, didn't you."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eileen Walters hadn't changed very much at all. Not in appearance, anyway. Her voice was still soft and sweet and her dark brown eyes had that same mystic glow of lovely intensity that I remembered from ten years ago.
We sat in the living room of the aging but neat and comfortable house that evening and talked about school, the neighborhood and how much we missed the good times back in those by-gone days. Eileen's portly, pleasant-looking mother nodded and smiled as we talked and then brought us root beer and potato chips. She sat down on the sofa and contributed an occasional word or two to our conversation.
Eileen had on a V-necked light blue blouse and a tight navy blue skirt that was just a shade longer than mini-length. She sat in the chair across from the one I'd taken with her knees crossed, denying me a good look at her shapely thighs. Her powerful perfume tickled my mind and my imagination provided clear pictures of what my eyes couldn't see.
"I'm afriad I've lost track of everyone I used to know in high school," she said, giving me a faint, rueful smile. "Fred and I were still married and living out on the West Coast when our class reunion was held last year. Did you go, Paul?"
I shook my head, "They wouldn't have let me in," I said, grinning at Eileen, and then briefly at momma to show that she was included in the conversation. It pays to keep in good with the parents of the babes you're on the make for.
"Back last summer, I wasn't very sucessful," I said. "I haven't really traveled very far since then, but ... well, things are a little better now."
"Oh?" Eileen said interestedly. "Where do you work, Paul?"
I told them, but I played down my purchasing agent position. The way I described my job, I could see they both were thinking that I was a modest, unassuming young executive who had come up in the world without being conceited about his good luck.
I could almost hear the dollar signs clicking in Momma Walters' bright, interested eyes as she rose and waddled briskly out to the kitchen for more root beer.
As soon as Mrs. Walters was out of the room, I concentrated on my main objective. I stared up from those luscious legs past the full hips covered by the blue skirt and gazed on the twin summits of her breasts. As her sex-hungry baby sister had said, Eileen was blonde and really built. Her boobies were restrained beneath the filmy, blue blouse, rising and falling gently with each breath.
Eventually, I worked my way up to Eileen's pretty, oval face where I enjoyed the smiling softness of her full, red lips. Then our eyes met and held. She knew she'd been looked at by a man ... a man who wanted her. She was supposed to.
"What about spending the day at the lake with me tomorrow?" I asked quietly. "A friend of mine has a cottage up around Meadowview. He and his wife would like to see me out with a nice girl like you, Eileen." I gave her a slow, boyish-type grin "They think I've been working too hard and that I've forgotten how to have fun."
Eileen smiled back at me. "Have you forgotten?" she asked.
"I don't think so," I said, "but we can find out for sure when we're together tomorrow."
"I'm afraid I can't, Paul," she answered. "Not tomorrow."
"Another date?" I inquired. "As if it's any of my business."
"Well, sort of," she replied. "I promised mother that I'd take her to the beach for some sun. Ever since Pop died last winter, she doesn't get out much. She'll enjoy it and the outing will do her good."
Just then, Momma Walters returned with more root beer and that distraction gave me a little time to revise my plan of attack. I knew I was dead if Momma found out that I was married, so I decided to be extra careful.
"I've just had a great idea," I announced. "Why can't we have that picnic up at that cottage near Meadowview? We'd have more privacy up there than you'd have at any of the local public beaches. If tomorrow is as warm and muggy as today, you might not even get near the lake around here."
Momma Walters beamed and went for the idea immediately. I had the feeling that Momma dug me. Apparently she considered me as husband material for Eileen and she wasn't very subtle about showing her approval of the match.
She excused herself after voting to accept my invitation. "I think I'll go off to bed," she said, heading for the stairs to the second floor. "This heat really tuckers a body out. Goodnight, Mr. Norman. You and Eileen can work out what time we should be ready to leave tomorrow."
"You bet we will, Mrs. Walters," I said, watching the plump, grey-haired lady start up the stairs. "Goodnight." After she was gone, I turned to Eileen and said: "You know, I really like her. She reminds me of my own mother."
Good-hearted, friendly old Paul Norman. Respecter of mothers ... and hopefully, lover of their daughters. That was something the brown-eyed babe with the high, firm tits poking out against the light blue blouse was going to discover-the hard way.
Eileen uncrossed her legs and gracefully got up from her chair to take my empty root beer glass. Her tight skirt curved nicely in from her hips and blended with the shapely lines of her thighs. Our fingers touched casually in transferring the empty glass and Eileen gave me another smile before turning away to take the glasses out to the kitchen.
"I'm glad you decided to stop by and say hello after all these years, Paul," she said.
"So am I," I answered honestly. "But you can really blame it all on your sister, Bess. We met at the shopping center on Westover Boulevard and she invited me over."
"Oh, I see," Eileen said from the kitchen. "I'll have to remember to thank her for finding you for me ... or did she find you for herself."
We both laughed, but I was never sure whether or not Eileen meant that last comment seriously. I left my own chair and followed her from the living room, watching the supple swing of her cute behind and getting another seductive dose of her perfume.
"I've thought about you often since our high school days, Eileen," I said. "I hope you won't hold that one date we had against me."
"Oh, of course not, Paul," she laughed. "That was a long time ago and we were both children then." She paused and then looked at me seriously. "You know I'm divorced, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Did Bess tell you or has the word spread all around town?"
"Bess told me," I said with a reassuring smile. "But don't tell her I said so. She wants us to be friends."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll get along fine with Bess," Eileen said with a little laugh. "As long as you're male, she'll be your friend forever."
"Well, I plan to stay a male forever, so I guess that takes care of that." I replied. I was a bit confused by Eileen's last comment about her younger sister, but I just shrugged it off.
She put the empty glasses on the kitchen counter near the sink and I placed the plastic potato chip bowl and cheese dip dish there, too, brushing past Eileen's lovely shoulder and breast to do it. I just touched her enough with my arm to make it a casual contact.
"Do you know very much about the circumstances of my divorce, Paul?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Not a thing, Eileen," I answered. "It's really none of my business, is it?"
"No, I suppose it isn't," she replied and I noticed a sound of relief in her voice. "Let's just say that my husband and I disagreed about many things, but we agreed that a divorce was best for both of us."
"That sounds fair enough," I answered, still unsure of exactly what Eileen was driving at-or avoiding, to be more correct. It was obvious, however, that she didn't know a thing about my marriage to Donna. I decided it was best to let things go without telling her. Maybe the fact that I was married wouldn't have any effect at all on the relationship I hoped to establish with Eileen-in bed. But, on the other hand, if she found out about Donna, I might be out of the running completely. What she didn't know couldn't hurt me, I figured. Besides, I didn't expect my not-so-blissful wedlock to last much longer, so there wasn't any point in bringing it up.
"You shouldn't have any trouble finding another guy," I commented, breaking the silence that had developed. "You're a great looking woman, Eileen. Maybe even better looking than when we were back in high school and I used to watch you from a distance."
"Well, thank you for the compliment, sir," she said with a slight blush. "But I'm not sure I want another guy, Paul. At least not right now. First, I want to get a job and be on my own for a while. I'm really not sure exactly what I want to do."
Then she looked at me and I knew she was mentally trying me on for size as a future husband. We were standing close together and the bulging peaks of her tits almost touched me. I wanted to reach out and take a handful of her, but I didn't. The time wasn't right.
"I'm surprised that you aren't married, Paul," she said suddenly. "How did you ever manage to evade all the tender traps I'm sure many girls have tried to lure you into?"
I smiled and looked up from her light blue blouse. "Not as many girls as you might think," I said. "I've been pretty busy building my career and I guess I haven't had much time for romancing." I paused, pretending to be embarrassed. "Besides, I've always had very definite ideas about the girl I wanted to marry." Then I looked her up and down again slowly and let her know that she was under serious consideration.
"Maybe you expect too much from a woman," she laughed softly. "None of us is perfect."
"You're close enough," I said, looking into her eyes intently. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in a bathing suit tomorrow, Eileen."
"When it comes to filling out a swim suit, I'm afraid my little sister, Bess, has far surpassed me," she said with a laugh. She moved away from my hand which was resting easily on her shoulder. "She's really the beauty of the family," she said, leading the way back into the living room.
I'd caught the faint flickerings of warning in her big brown eyes and I knew that Eileen wanted me to slow down. She didn't want me to push too fast this first night-the first time we'd ever really been together and talked. I took the hint and kept walking instead of sitting down.
"It's getting late," I said, looking at my watch. "Nearly ten o'clock now." Eileen smiled and walked to the front door with me. "What time shall I pick you and your mother up tomorrow?"
"Are you sure you want to, Paul?" she asked looking gravely up into my face. "It might not be much fun with Mother along. You don't have to take us, you know."
I looked right back at her. "A man would have to be either blind or a fool not to want to be with you," I said.
A faint flush crept into her soft white cheeks and she smiled. "Would ten o'clock be all right with you?" she asked.
"Perfect," I replied, opening the front screen door and stepping out onto the porch. "I'm actually going to enjoy getting up tomorrow morning for a change. Thank your mother for the snack. Good night, Eileen."
"Good night, Paul," she responded.
Walking along the sidewalk away from where she stood in the doorway, I grinned to myself. Perfect was the right word. The blonde who had been my dream girl in high school was just as starry-eyed and sweetly desirable now as she had been then-maybe even more so.
I waved back to Eileen and opened the door of my station wagon to slide in behind the wheel. It wasn't until I was a full block from the Walters house that I heard a giggle in the back seat. It almost scared me to death and I screeched to a stop.
It was Bess. She had taken off her dark blue sweater and was now clad only in her tiny white bikini. The sight of her lithe young body as she scampered over the seat to join me in the front of the wagon was almost too much. Her form was full and ripe in spite of years.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, honestly shocked.
She smiled at me wickedly and said softly: "My but you jumped when I laughed, Mr. Norman. Did I really surprise you? I hope you're not mad at me.
"No, I'm not mad at you, Bess, but...." I stammered.
Moving quick as a cat, Bess slid across the seat toward me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Instantly her mouth crashed against mine and her fingers ran mischievously up through my hair. Our tongues lashed at each other and her soft young body pressed against me demandingly.
Somehow I managed to slip out of her embrace. "Easy, baby, easy," I said. "We're not very far from your house and this is a pretty busy street."
"I don't care," she said with a devilish smile.
"Well, I do," I told her. "I can get in enough trouble playing around with a chick your age without doing it on a heavily traveled street."
"Okay, Mr. Norman," she said, returning slowly to the passenger side of the front seat. "Whatever you say."
"And don't call me Mr. Norman," I said. "Make it Paul. I don't want to be reminded of how young you are."
"Okay, Paul," she smiled broadly.
I started the car up again and pulled out. We were driving out of the residential section in which the Walters home was situated, heading out into the country.
"Do you always walk around in that bikini?" I asked. "It's a wonder you don't get raped."
She giggled and shook her head. "No, I don't dress like this all the time," she said. "I had a pool date this evening. That's where I was going when I saw you at the shopping center. My boyfriend will be mad at me."
"Well, that makes us even," I said. "I stood up my date to go along with you, too."
"To meet my sister, you mean," she said with a frown.
"Come on now, Bess," I said. "I thought we were going to be friends."
"Okay," she nodded. "I just can't help being jealous of Eileen."
"No need for you to feel that way," I noted. "You're a good-looking woman in your own right. You have no reason to be jealous of any other woman. You'll get all the attention from the guys that you can handle."
"I already do," Bess admitted with a satisfied smile. "But it's not enough. I mean I'm tired of high school kids and college guys. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I think I do," I said. I couldn't believe this was really happening. This teenage sex-bomb was throwing herself at me and I was going along with it. I knew that one reason I wasn't fighting the situation was that I wasn't thinking of Bess as a teenager. She had the body of a mature woman and that's all I could see-that gorgeous, ready-for-anything body of hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bess hid on the floor in the back of the station wagon under a blanket while I registered at the small hotel about thirty miles from her home. I talked for several minutes with the clerk about driving from Chicago and the weather I'd had on my imaginary trip and how far I planned to go tomorrow. I had him thoroughly convinced that I was a traveling businessman by the time I left the little office. I knew he wasn't suspicious and that he wouldn't bother checking my room for hanky-panky.
A few minutes later, I closed the motel room door quietly behind me and flicked on the light. Bess, with her long light brown hair flowing down her back, pranced around the room like a curious kitten, poking into the drawers and closets, inspecting the place for nothing particular.
As I watched Bess scamper around the room, I had to shake my head and pinch myself to prove that it was all really happening. I was in a motel room with a teenage broad I'd met a few hours earlier, watching her parade around in a bikini. I laughed at myself as I thought, this would be a hell of a way for the up-and-coming purchasing agent of Space Age Metals Corporation to end his young career. If the cops raided the motel for any reason, I was in big trouble. I knew the chances of a raid were one in a million, but I kicked myself for taking even that much of a chance with my "moon shot."
Bess had found a card in one of the drawers and was reading it very intently. It was one of those cards that list the services available through the motel and the phone numbers for each service. I watched her and mused over the conversation that had brought us to the motel.
We had been driving for about twenty minutes when she had said, "Well, Paul, where are we headed?"
"No place in particular," I admitted. "I thought we'd just drive for a little while and then ... "
"Let's go to a motel," she said calmly, as if she'd said it hundreds of times before. "I don't particularly like screwing in cars."
"It's better than not screwing at all," I commented, working hard not to show my surprise at her suggestion. "But if you prefer motels, young lady, a motel it shall be."
And that was it.
"Are you going to take off that damn bikini or is it glued on?" I asked, when Bess continued her search of the drawers in the dresser and desk.
"Oh, sure," she said, turning her attention to me and reaching behind her back to undo the top of her bathing suit. In a second, the tiny garment fell away and her large, tanned tits ballooned into view. "It feels good to get that off," Bess said, running her hands up over her stomach and over the dark-tipped mounds of flesh. She squeezed them and raised them with her hands and then let them fall free again, to bounce gaily.
"You're quite a girl," I said with my eyes riveted to her young breasts. "Come on over here and let me get my hands on those things."
"Anything you say, Mr. Norm ... I mean, Paul," she replied with a smile. Then she hooked her thumbs in the bottom of her skimpy bathing suit and tugged it off, too.
The first thing that struck me, even before my eyes travelled to the soft-looking patch of light brown hair between her thighs, was the evenness of her tan. Apparently young Bess enjoyed sun-bathing in the nude, because her entire body, including her succulent looking boobs, and the cheeks of her cute little behind were evenly and beautifully tanned.
"Where do you do your sun bathing, Bess," I inquired. "I'd like to drop by and watch sometime."
"Silly," she giggled, walking slowly toward the bed where I was still lying fully clothed. "I have a boyfriend with a boat. When we go out on the lake, we both run around naked like a couple of natives. It's a gas and it gives you a really great tan. You ought to try it."
"I'd love to," I said, reaching out my hands to touch her globes, dangling above me. "Let me know the next time you're going out." I squeezed the mountains of flesh in my hands and pulled Bess gently down on me. "Your boyfriend won't mind if I come along, will he?"
"Oh, no," she said, clamping my hands tighter by pressing them to her with her own hands. "Buddy's kind of in the orgy groove anyway. The more the merrier, he says."
I continued to massage and fondle her tits, pinching the nipples gently and then roughly between my thumbs and index fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled with pleasure. She was now lying full length on top of me, arching her back to give my hands access to her breasts.
"And what do you say to orgies?" I asked. My rod was hard as steel and felt like it was about ready to burst through my pants. Bess had positioned herself so the hardness was right between her legs, rubbing against the downy softness of her sex.
"I kind of dig them, too," she admitted. Her voice was soft and low, almost husky with passion and desire.
Moving deftly, Bess unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it open. Then she lowered herself and crushed the softness of her tits against my bare chest. "Oh, God, that feels good," she moaned. She squirmed a little, causing her hardened nipples to dig in to me delightfully.
My hands were stroking her back and feeling the tender flesh of her backside. I grabbed her butt with both hands and pulled her down hard against my throbbing rod. She moaned again and smiled and humped against me demandingly.
Then I flipped Bess over on her back on the bed and slipped off my shoes and pants. Both completely naked now, we wrapped ourselves in each other's arms and kissed a long, fiery kiss. Her tongue licked and lashed at mine expertly. It was obvious that despite her young age, she knew what sex was all about and how to enjoy it to the fullest.
Again my hands were on her breasts, feeling, fondling, massaging and caressing. She arched her back to press her tits harder against my hands. "Suck," she commanded in a deep, throaty voice.
I covered her right nipple with my mouth and flicked the upright hardness with my tongue. "Yes, yes," she breathed. Then I nipped the nipple with my teeth and she squealed with pleasure. Finally, I closed my lips over the cherry-like tip and sucked.
While I continued to suck her tits, my hand crept slowly down across her flat stomach until my finger tips touched the edge of the hairy sector around her love box. Highly excited now, Bess reached down with her own hand and pulled my hand firmly between her legs. I had been trying to prolong the pleasure for her, but she was a demanding young broad and she wanted it right now!
While she held my hand on her joy box with one hand, Bess wrapped the fingers of her other hand around the shaft of my hard-on and began an expert frigging action. Her touch was gentle but firm and confident. She knew what to do and she did it well.
My fingers were busy, too, of course, probing and caressing the lips of her box. She was moist and ready, but I wanted to increase her passion before taking her. I began a slow rubbing motion on her clitoris, moving my finger back and forth again and again as I gradually increased the pressure.
Automatically, her hips began the familiar pumping motion as she tried to draw my finger inside of herself. She jerked and twitched on the bed for nearly a minute and then I drove my finger into her, plunging in hard, trying to reach as far up as possible.
At that instant, she exploded and she shuddered with pleasure and tightened her legs together locking my finger inside of her. She buried her face against my neck while she came. When she finally laid back, relaxed and spent, she smiled up at me and blinked her dark, shiny eyes. "That was just great, Paul," she murmured. "We're going to have a great time tonight."
"Anything you say, Miss Walters ... I mean, Bess," I joked.
My hard-on was pulsating with excitement. It was red and swollen stiff, ready for action. Bess continued to caress it with her finger tips, tickling and playing like a child. Finally, I could stand it no longer. Quickly I knelt up in the bed beside her and spread her legs wide apart.
"I've been looking forward to this ever since I first saw you at the shopping center," I told her. "I must be out of my mind for fooling around with a girl your age, but I can't help myself. I'm drawn to you like a magnet. I don't know what it is."
I was embarrassed for talking so much at such a moment, but I couldn't stop. "You have a strange, weird effect on me, Bess. I can't explain it."
"Don't try," she said, soothingly. "Come into me now, Paul, I want it."
I crashed down on her, ramming my hardness far up into her warm, clinging sex. I rested for a moment with my rod in as far as it would go, and then I raised myself on my arms and slowly withdrew it until it almost slipped out. After pausing for a split second, I rammed into her again, pushing my staff between the wet lips of her sex up to the hilt.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes," she moaned beneath me. "Screw me, Mr. Norman. Do it!"
I did it. Again and again I slammed my sex into hers until I was on the verge of my orgasm.
"How long has it been since you laid a 17-year-old girl, Mr. Norman?" she asked, breathing heavily.
"Seventeen!?" my mind shouted and then dissolved in sexual pleasure. My load shot into her in thick, heavy spurts and the intense sensation filled my body as the fluid poured out of me. I shivered and then it was over.
Still atop Bess and still filling her sex tunnel with my rod, I remembered what she had said. "Are you only 17 years old?" I demanded. "My God, Bess, I thought you were at least 18 or 19."
"Sorry about that," she smiled up at me impishly. "I'm only 17. Guess I look a little older, huh?"
"You sure as hell do," I told her. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd be in if anyone ever found out that I brought you to a motel?"
"I don't plan to tell anyone," she replied. "Do you?"
"Of course not," I sputtered. "That's not the point. Have you ever heard of statutory rape?"
"Doing it with statues?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "Well, whatever turns you on, baby!"
"Oh, come on, Bess," I barked. "This is serious."
"Somehow, Mr. Norman," she said smiling sweetly up at me, "I just can't take it all very seriously when you're lying on top of me with your thing still inside me. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah," I replied. "I know what you mean." I pulled myself out of her and flopped over on my back.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Norman," she suggested. "Do you still want me to call you Paul?"
"Yes, please," I answered.
"Okay," she nodded, "but, please don't be nervous about my age. That'll just ruin everything."
I was quiet for a moment, thinking. "As I mentioned before," I said seriously, "you're quite a girl. Maybe you're only 17 years old, but you're a sophisticated young lady, Bess. You probably have the only attitude that makes any sense in this crazy, messed up world. Enjoy now and don't worry about the disasters that will probably never happen anyway."
"That's the idea, Paul," Bess giggled. "Now you don't sound nervous."
She moved over against me and her soft body molded itself to my side. Her billowing breasts were crushed against my arm and chest. Again my hand stroked her lovely form, feeling and squeezing. She grinned and made a noise of pleasure deep in her throat.
"Yes, Paul, yes," she whispered. "Touch me, touch me everywhere. I love it."
My caresses seemed to set the teen-age sex machine on fire. Everywhere I fondled seemed to double her passion and desire. Soon she was moaning and squirming on the bed, digging her fingers into the sheets.
Again I placed myself between her outstretched legs and prepared to ram my shaft into her tight, waiting sex box. As I started to lower myself into her, she reached up and held me off.
"No, Paul, not yet," she said. "I want to suck you first."
Her hands were on my pulsating hard-on, pulling it toward her lips. Naturally I didn't argue. I just relaxed and concentrated on enjoying the sex play that Bess obviously enjoyed too.
As she pulled me toward her, she licked her lips with her pink, wet tongue and smiled up at me with her eyes. "I hope you like this," she muttered. "I adore having a boy's ... I mean a man's sex in my mouth. It excites me so much I can come sometimes just by thinking about it for a while."
Again I was amazed at the complete lack of inhibition my teen-age temptress displayed. She enjoyed sex and that was that. I had discovered a partner that guys dream about and hope for.
Suddenly my thoughts were shattered by the wild sensation of having my rod slip between the velvety smoothness of Bess' lips. She pulled it far inside, licking and caressing it with her tongue. I drew in my breath sharply when she started to suck, surprised by the strength and power she used.
Her head moved back and forth in a bobbing motion and her long, flowing hair tumbled about both of us as she blew me. Her tits bounced delightfully as she put every ounce of her considerable talent into her work. The sensation on my rod was unbelievable and soon I was a approaching a tremendous climax.
Just before the lightning struck deep inside me, Bess let my rod slip from her mouth for a split second. "Go down," she ordered quickly and instantly resumed her oral love making. I understood at once what she wanted and I shifted my position quickly to gratify her.
A second later my head was held tight between her shapely thighs and my tongue was buried deep in her love box. Her moist warmth pressed against my face and her feminine smell filled my nostrils.
Then I came in her mouth. She tightened her grip on me and shuddered with her orgasm, too. My cream spurted into her mouth in a thick stream and she sucked even harder to draw it all down her throat. Her warm sex juices flowed over my tongue, too. It was a fantastic sensation to pour myself completely into her and to feel her climax at the same time.
A few minutes later, we stretched out beside each other to catch our breaths. We had been at the motel less than two hours and it was just past midnight.
"I'll have to be getting home soon," Bess said to me, running her small, feminine hand over my thighs and stroking my tangled patch of hair with her fingers. My rod was still stiff from our most recent game, and she stroked its length with her soft fingertips.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It's after midnight. Your mother will be wondering what happened to you."
Bess giggled. "She thinks I'm out with Buddy, parked in some lovers' lane. She's always warning me about necking and petting."
I laughed, too, at the irony of such a warning being given to a girl like Bess.
We got up and dressed then and turned out the lights in the motel room. I opened the door to make sure the way was clear and then we both slipped into my station wagon and headed back to the Walters home.
It had been quite a night-so far.
CHAPTER NINE
After dropping Bess off a few blocks from her house, I drove into the parking lot of a nearby bar. It was about 1:15 a.m. I knew it was a hell of a time to start making phone calls, but what the hell. I didn't give a damn what kind of explaining Harry had to do to his wife and kids. That was his problem.
The lakeside cottage at Meadowview that I'd promised to take Eileen Walters and her mother to the following day belonged to a carbide tool sales representative named Harry Tamkee. I had some arrangements to make.
I climbed out of the wagon and walked into the bar. It was strictly a shot and a beer joint, populated by about half a dozen boozy, bleary-eyed characters who didn't even look away from the television set when I walked in.
At the dark, shiny bar I ordered a beer and asked the bartender for change for the telephone. Then I took my beer and the handful of silver to the phone booth in the back of the place.
As I'd expected, my call wasn't exactly received with joy. In fact, Harry balked at first when I told him I needed to use the cottage the next day.
"Aw, hell, Paul," he whined after I explained what I wanted. "I'm taking my family up there tomorrow. A couple of friends of ours are driving up, too."
"Okay, pal," I said nonchalantly. "You just forget that I ever called. You go back to bed and I'll phone George Grepp." I made my voice sharp and bitter to convey the fact that I was annoyed.
"No, Paul," Harry said quickly. "Now wait a minute." He was quiet for a few seconds and then and then he asked, "Does it have to be tomorrow, Paul? I mean if...."
"Look, Harry," I snapped. "Would I have called at this goddman hour of the morning if it didn't have to be tomorrow? Forget it, Harry. I'll call George."
"Wait, Paul, please," he begged. I was silent for a moment, letting the guy stew. The last thing in the world that Harry wanted me to do was call George Grepp, one of his competitors. Harry had been selling tool bits and cutters to Space Age Metals for years and he didn't want to risk losing the lucrative account.
"You know how to get up there, Paul?" he finally asked. He'd given in to me just as I knew he would.
I finished my beer and then walked out of the bar smiling to myself. Back in the station wagon, I reviewed my options for the rest of the night. I could go home or head for Myra's pad and listen to her bitch about being stood up. Not much of a choice, but at least I knew there would be sex and plenty of it with Myra. That quickly made up my mind for me, so I fired up the wagon and headed for her apartment.
The quickest route there took me by my own apartment building. I was surprised to see the light on in our living room as I drove by. For some strange reason, I felt" that something might be wrong, so I swung the wagon around and parked in my usual spot. It was odd for our apartment to be lit up at that time of morning. A gnawing fear inside my stomach suggested that Donna had killed herself and the police were there. I looked around for cop cars as I walked to the door of the building, but there were none to be seen.
Nervous, but not understanding why, I slipped my key into the lock and opened the door of my apartment. Donna was standing in the living room doorway. She wore her light green dressing robe and her reddish brown hair was combed.
I could tell she was sober even before she quietly said, "One of your girlfriends called you this evening, Paul. I think it was that black slut who phoned the other time. She seemed quite upset when I told her I didn't know where you were."
"You didn't know much of anything when I left," I snapped. "You were completely wiped out this afternoon, baby. Glad you sobered up enough to answer the phone for me."
"I was drunk today for the last time, Paul," Donna said with her stiff voice hiding any emotion.
"Is that a fact?" I said in disbelief. "What other major problems have you decided to work on next. Air pollution, international relations? What?"
"I'm serious, Paul," she said. "I mean it. No more drinks. Not even one."
I laughed and took a deep drag on my cigarette. I let my eyes go over her. 'What's going to hold you together honey?" I asked sarcastically. "We both know you'll come apart at the seams in a hurry without your booze. We both know what a mess you've become."
She hesitated for a moment and then looked down at the carpet. "Yes, I guess I am rather a mess," she said. "I never was very pretty."
"You can say that again," I muttered.
"Thank you, Paul," she snapped at me. "I believe that's the first honest thing you've ever said to me!"
"Oh, it's honesty you want," I retorted. "Okay, baby, let's be honest. I needed you. That's why I married you. Now I don't need you any more. It's as simple as that, Donna. Even you should be able to understand that."
She turned away, obviously furious but not wanting to show it. Finally she sat in one of the living room chairs and picked up a magazine.
"Hey, you lush," I snapped, grabbing the magazine out of her hand and tossing it across the room. "I'm still talking to you."
She closed her eyes and turned her head away. I almost belted her, but I didn't. Instead, I sat on the couch a few feet from her chair and worked at controlling my temper.
"You want a divorce?" I asked. "I'll agree to a divorce but there'll be no settlement. No alimony. We just split."
We stared across the few feet that separated us like a stone wall. As we glared at each other, I realized that Donna's hazel eyes were dark orbs in tragic hollows. Since she'd been on a steady liquor diet, her flesh had become drawn and her complexion was pallid. She seldom got any sunshine. In fact, she seldom left the apartment at all except after dark to walk to the local liquor store for another bottle.
"Yes," she finally said, lifelessly. "I'll take the divorce on your terms. "You're letting me off cheap, Paul." She laughed bitterly. "I thought I might have to borrow money from my parents or from Jim and Vera to buy my freedom from you."
"Not a bad idea," I grinned, crushing out my smoke in the ashtray. "But since I didn't think of it first, I'll be generous. Neither of us has to pay anything."
"I'll move out tomorrow," Donna said. "I've already packed most of my things."
"Oh, there's no hurry about leaving," I said, getting up and walking across the living room toward the apartment door. "I won't be back again tonight. I'll just throw my shaving kit and a change of clothes in a bag. I won't be around here tomorrow, either."
She followed me into the bedroom and stood watching as I selected a pair of slacks and a sport shirt from the closet. I dug out my swim trunks from the dresser drawer and went into the bath room to collect my shaving gear and a towel.
When I was all set to leave, Donna stood in the center of the living room. Her voice was calm and controlled when she said, "I hope you drown. Or pick up a fatal dose of syphilis from one of those whores you've been rutting with. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy."
Involuntary chills raced through my frame as I opened the apartment door with my overnight bag in my other hand. I'm no more superstitious than the next guy, but no one enjoys having such a low, fervently-vicious curse put on him.
"I love you, too sweetheart," she called back over my shoulder. "The quicker the better with the divorce."
Myra was waiting to pounce on me with claws flying and blood in her black, smoky eyes when I rapped on her door around 3 a.m. She cursed and cried and called me every rotten name she could think of-and she knew plenty of them. I waited until she ran out of both breath and words and then I told her about my agreement with Donna.
When she heard of the impending divorce, she calmed down. I told her I'd spent the evening talking to an attorney friend of mine. I apologized for not calling her, but lied that my friend and I had been so wrapped up with divorce talk and recalling old times together that it had completely slipped my mind.
As I unfolded my story about the lawyer and the divorce, Myra melted right before my eyes. We eventually made our way to the couch and when I pulled her into my arms, she came willingly.
"Take me, Paul," she moaned as I let my hands rove over her soft, tender fullness. Her black curves were scarcely covered by a wispy white night gown. "I've been waiting for you all night, baby," she muttered, pressing her full, warm lips against my neck. "Don't take too long getting your clothes off."
I'd had quite a workout with my little teen-age sex maniac and I was a little worried that I wouldn't measure up to Myra's demands. But then her hand grasped at me between the legs and I felt my manhood growing hard and strong.
Then Myra slipped out of the next-to-nothing gown she had on and displayed her fantastic body to me.
"God, you're beautiful," I told her, reaching out to press her huge breasts with my hands.
"Take off your pants and let me see your 'pretty', too," she smiled. "I can see it bulging in there trying to get out."
In a few seconds I was naked too, and we pressed our eager bodies together urgently. The feel and smell of Myra's total femininity soon had my passion at fever pitch. I pulled her down on the couch on top of me and our open mouths met in a long, hot kiss.
Panting, Myra fell to her knees beside the couch and rested her head on my stomach. She smiled up at me and I could see the sex glint in her dark eyes.
"It'll be great when your divorce comes through," she purred. "Then we can spend even more time together." She hesitated for a moment and then added, "Maybe we can even ... get married, Paul."
I reached down and wound my hand in her long, silky, black hair. "Who knows," I said. "Anything might happen." I had no intention in the world of marrying Myra, even though she was about the sexiest woman I'd ever had. And it wasn't because she was black and I was white either. I didn't want to marry anyone after I got rid of Donna. Why should I? Sex was the only part of marriage that I enjoyed and I was having no trouble getting my fill without the disadvantages of marriage. Bess was the perfect example. A little broad like that could keep me sexually satisfied for weeks and there was no shortage of willing women all over the city.
"I think I'd like being married to you," Myra said softly. "You like the same kind of things that I do." Then she turned her head and rested her other cheek on the tight flatness of my stomach. She was looking at my erection, then caressing it with her fingertips. "I know we both like this," she whispered, sticking out her tongue and licking the hard, thick shaft of masculine sex.
"Yeah," I murmured, tensing up at the wildly wonderful touch of her tongue. "I like that, baby, don't stop."
She didn't. She continued to work on my hot, swollen rod with her tongue until I was nearly out of my mind with passion.
"Don't come," she cautioned, sensing that my orgasm was approaching. "I want you in me."
"Hurry," I said. "I'm almost there."
Moving quickly, Myra stood beside the couch where I was lying on my back. She spread her right leg over me and lowered herself on to my stiff rod, guiding it with her fingers as it slipped into the dark, tender slit between her legs.
"Oh, God, oh, that feels so good," she moaned as my maleness pushed deep inside her. She leaned back and sat almost straight up, squirming a little to feel the rod move inside her love tunnel.
I reached up and squeezed her giant tits with my hands. They were so large, that one more than filled each hand, with dark, billowy flesh overflowing beyond the reach of my fingers. I fondled and caressed her globes and pinched the big nipples that stood out hard and erect in the center of each mountain.
At the same time, my hips had begun the powerful pumping motion that drove my love peg hard up into Myra. Resting her hands on her hips, she rocked back and forth on top of me, causing my organ to slip in and out easily and smoothly.
"Go, Myra, go, baby," I whispered up at her. The rocking movement became more intense and she worked hard, bouncing up and down delightfully on my staff.
Suddenly my dam broke and I let go of her breasts to grab her wide, lush hips with both hands. I pulled her down on to me forcefully, causing my rod to reach a greater depth within her sex-mad body. The deep thrust triggered her orgasm, too, and we came at the same time, clinging to each other in a fit of pure, lusty passion.
After resting on the couch for a while, and smoking a couple of cigarettes, we got up and went to bed. There we played some more and once again Myra's great sexual abilities aroused me and brought me to yet another orgasm.
Finally, just before dawn, we fell asleep in each other's arms. Myra had a sleepy, satisfied smile on her face when I woke up a few hours later. I slipped out of bed and dressed quickly before writing Myra a note saying that I would be tied up with a sales representative at a picnic all day.
CHAPTER TEN
After my marathon sessions with Bess and Myra the night before, I was content to settle for a quiet, uneventful Fourth of July with Eileen and her mother. I'd had my share of fireworks during the early morning hours.
The day was a pleasant, relaxing excursion after the hectic night before. Eileen and I roamed the meadows around Harry Tamkee's cottage while her mother sunned herself on the pier. After our picnic lunch on a table under the trees near the cottage, I surprised Eileen and Momma Walters with a boat ride in Harry's 16-foot outboard.
We skimmed around the lake for a few hours watching the water skiers and waving to people in other boats. The relaxation did me good and I knew I was scoring heavily with both Eileen and her mother.
After docking the boat and gathering up our belongings, we piled back into my station wagon and headed back to the city. It was a fairly long drive and the traffic was rather heavy, but I took it easy and the miles rolled by quickly. We arrived back at the Walters house about 8 p.m. After unloading the car, Eileen and I sat out on the front porch steps, listening to the sounds of the evening. Soft, quiet music was just audible from a radio or stereo playing in a nearby house.
After several silent minutes, Eileen said, "I want to thank you for a wonderful time today, Paul." Her long blonde hair rustled gently in the evening breeze and she smiled at me. I filled my eyes with her lovliness. The fullness of her breasts, her slim waist and her full, womanly hips had had my complete attention all day. Somehow, knowing that laying her would be difficult, made the challenge more exciting. I wanted her right then and there and it was all I could do to keep from pushing her back on the porch floor and taking her.
With my mind full of lust, I grinned back at Eileen. "There can be lots of days like today," I promised. "When can I see you again? How about Friday night?"
"Well," she began haltingly, looking down at her feet. "I don't have any plans for Friday night." Her dark brown eyes were luminous in the moonlight. "But, I ... "
"Now, don't change your mind," I said, taking her hand.
"We'll see, Paul," she said with a weak smile. There were several more minutes of silence and then she said, "Mother certainly enjoyed the change of scenery today, Paul. That boat ride was just fabulous. Be sure to thank your friends for us, won't you? It was too bad they were called out of town so suddenly and couldn't come to the cottage. It was very nice of them to let us spend the day at their lovely place."
While she was talking, I had watched a car slow down as it approached the Walters house where we were sitting on the shadowy porch steps.
The vehicle pulled in and parked at the curb in front of the house and both Eileen and I watched Bess open the door of the late model Buick Riveria. She climbed out with her mini-skirt high up on her lovely tanned thighs, giving me a quick, fleeting glimpse of the charms I had enjoyed so thoroughly at the motel the night before. A young guy got out of the car, too, and hand in hand the couple approached the porch.
"Hi there you people," Bess called happily. "Have a nice picnic?" Her eyes sparkled with devilment and her long brown hair fell softly over her shoulders which peeked out of her sleeveless blouse. As she skipped up the steps, her big breasts bobbed freely beneath her blouse, revealing that she wore no bra.
"We've only been back a little while, Bess," Eileen answered. "Where did you and Buddy spend the day?"
Before Bess could answer, Buddy's deep baritone voice replied, "We went out on my boat for a while with another couple. We were going to go out to the fair grounds to watch the stock car races, but Bess talked me into going out on the boat."
Just then Bess' eyes caught mine and she winked wickedly. Then it clicked! Buddy was the boyfriend who liked orgies on his boat. Bess had mentioned him the night before and her wink told me that their double date had been a real fun time.
Buddy looked like a high school football hero. He was about as tall as I am-just over six feet-and built like a middle line backer.
"Oh, Paul, I'm sorry," Eileen said, remembering that she hadn't introduced us. "This is Paul Norman, Buddy, an old friend of mine. Paul, this is Buddy Wilson, an old friend of Bess."
We smiled at each other and shook hands. The kid had a grip like a vise. "Hi ya, Mr. Norman," he said. "Bess has been telling me all about you."
"Oh," I said lamely. I shuddered to think what young Bess could have told him about us. I shot a quick glance at the teen-age beauty and she crinkled her pert little nose at me and flicked her green eyes mischievously over my frame, teasing.
"I've been telling Buddy that you and Eileen went to high school together." Bess finally said, breaking the awkward silence.
"Yeah," Buddy said, stumped for anything else to add to the already shaky conversation.
Luckly, Momma Walters came out on the porch then and invited all of us in for ice cream. Buddy slipped his ape-like arm around Bess, ready and willing to accept the invitation.
"Thanks, but I'll have to take a rain check this time," I said. Then, looking at Eileen, I asked, "Eight o'clock Friday night?"
She nodded with her dark brown eyes warm and friendly. "Fine, Paul," she answered. "Can you give me a hint as to how I should dress?"
"I thought we might have dinner somewhere and do a little dancing," I said. "That is if you don't mind taking a chance-it's been so long since I've danced that you could get hurt."
Everyone laughed, including Momma who was beaming and nodding happy approval from the porch while Bess and Buddy moved up the steps.
"I'll take a chance, Paul," Eileen said. "Goodnight-and thanks again for the lovely day." Her fingers touched my arm and lingered gently for a moment before she withdrew.
"Yes, it was a wonderful way to spend July Fourth!" Momma called. "Come again, Paul. Come often!"
"Goodnight, Mr. Norman," Buddy said from the porch where he and Bess stood beside Momma. "Nice meeting you."
"I'll be seeing you, Paul," Bess yelled. That was her way of telling me that she still expected to be picked up on the corner the following evening as we had arranged last night.
I gave them all a friendly wave as I opened the door of my wagon parked in the driveway. "Goodnight, everyone!" I shouted.
As I drove away, I looked up into the rear view mirror and saw Eileen watching me while Momma and Bess and Buddy went into the house.
Eileen thought I was a real gentleman. I hadn't as much as kissed her or tried to put my arm around her. I hadn't even stared at her too avidly when she'd had on her curve-clinging two-piece bathing suit up at the cottage that afternoon.
She may have considered the possibility of being kissed. She probably expected at least a goodnight kiss to conclude our date scheduled for that Friday night.
I lit a cigarette while I drove toward the suburb where Myra's apartment was located. Women were easy to fool, I chuckled out loud. They all believed what they wanted to believe.
Like Eileen who apparently had me pegged as a good-natured, hard-working citizen type. Since her recent divorce, she was lost and a little frightened of establishing a real man-and-woman relationship. As long as I let her believe that I wasn't after her body, at least not too aggressively, she wouldn't be fearful of getting involved with me.
Myra Lawrence believed what she wanted to, too. That afternoon, on the way back from the cottage with Eileen and her mother, I had phoned Myra when we had stopped for gasoline. She hadn't even questioned me when I told her I'd been busy all day helping Donna get moved back in with her parents. My black beauty was so anxious for me to get rid of my wife that she hadn't even thought it was strange that I hadn't called until late afternoon.
Now I was going back to spend the night with Myra again. I grinned, thinking that another wild and sex-filled night like last night would be a good way to wrap of the celebration of Independence Day.
Of course, Myra wasn't aware of it, but Donna wasn't the only woman I intended to kiss off and forget about. My sexy secretary was on her way out, too.
I didn't know how or when I would get rid of her, but ever since I had been around Eileen and her mother, I knew that Myra wouldn't last much longer. It was difficult for me to explain to myself and just about impossible to understand. I still considered Myra the most sensual woman and the best lay I'd ever known. Even then, as I drove toward her apartment, I could feel the animal desire growing inside me.
The trouble was that I was falling in love with Eileen. How the hell it happened, I'll never know. I didn't want to marry her, but she had some kind of weird attraction for me that I couldn't shake. I guess her mother and her friendly maternal ways were part of it, too. My family hadn't been much and I guess I wanted Momma Walters to fill the void.
Goddam, what a mess! A mother substitute, a broad I couldn't touch and didn't want to marry, and the little sister who was a sex maniac and jail bait besides. Leave it to old Paul Normal to get mixed up with the typical American family.
When I pulled my wagon up in front of Myra's apartment, I tried to shake the strange collection of thoughts from my mind. My life was getting more complex every hour, but right then, there was only one thing that I wanted to think about-Myra's fantastic body. I knew I could lose myself there and enjoy the sensation of sheer sexual pleasure. That's all Myra and I were to each other, but at times like that, it was enough. It was a comfort to know that Myra had no strings on me and wasn't going to have any.
It was just after 9 p.m. when I knocked on the door of Myra's apartment. She greeted me with a broad smile, and opened the door wide. As usual, she was stunning. A low cut gold colored blouse revealed much of her bountiful bosom and her full, lush hips were covered with soft white bermuda shorts that clung tightly to her flesh.
My eyes ran over her dark form, set off dramatically by the light colored clothing. She smiled at my approving glance and stuck her boobs out another inch or so just to show me that she could. My experienced eye told me that Myra wore no underwear at all beneath her cool looking outfit.
"You look great, baby," I told her. "Good enough to eat."
She smiled at me wickedly, lowering her eyes seductively. "That's the best offer I've had all evening," she said in a deep, throaty voice.
I took her hand and led her into her red and black bedroom. Once again the red carpet and sheets clashed dramatically with the dark, nearly-black Spanish style furniture. Myra stopped in front of a wide, full length mirror that hung on the wall across from the large bed. "Here," she said. "I like to watch while you do it."
I smiled at her, understanding what she wanted. As I started unbuttoning my shirt, Myra moved quickly over to her dressing table and returned with a wrought iron chair with a red velvet seat. She positioned it carefully before the mirror and returned to her dressing table on the other side of the large bedroom.
This time she returned with a lit marijuana cigarette dangling from her thick, dark lips.
"What are you smoking that thing for now?" I asked, continuing to undress.
"I want to enjoy this little session completely, baby," she answered. "A little grass always improves the vibrations."
"Anything you say," I shrugged. "You still look good enough to eat." I was naked then and my rod was hard and erect. She looked at it and grinned wantonly.
She took a deep drag on the joint and inhaled. Then she reached behind her back and unfastened the few buttons that held her gold blouse together. The light garment fell from her ripe body revealing the magnificent chocolate colored globes that rose proudly from her chest.
Next she skinned off the soft looking bermudas she wore and kicked them away. She was nude now and only a few inches from my eager hands and lips.
I pulled her to me roughly, crushing her body against me and feeling her big breasts flatten against my chest. I kissed her hard. I pushed my tongue between her partially open lips and lapped anxiously at her tongue, probing deep into her mouth and throat. Naturally, she tightened her arms around me and moved her hips against my stiffness. She responded to my kiss as I had expected, plunging her tongue into my mouth.
We parted then and Myra sat on the black wrought iron chair with the red velvet seat. She still held the smoking marijuana cigarette in her fingers and as I knelt on the blood-red carpet before her, she took another deep drag and pulled the sweet smelling smoke into her lungs.
"I'm ready, Paul, baby," she whispered hoarsely, spreading her legs apart as I rested my hands on her thighs. "Do it good."
Slowly, trying to increase the tension of the moment, I lowered my head between her legs and kissed the tangled mat of black, curly hair. She moaned when my lips touched her and tossed her head making her long, soft mane fall back over the chair.
I kissed around the slit that was the opening of her sex box and then gently pulled the lips apart with my fingers. My slow, deliberate movements were driving Myra mad with passion. Suddenly, her hands reached out and grabbed my head, forcing my face hard against her warm, moist pussy.
"Do it," she begged. "Oh, God, Paul, do it!"
Responding to her plea, I thrust my tongue, forward and rammed it between the soft, pink lips of her sex. She nearly screamed with pleasure as she felt my tongue reach deep into her moist sensitive parts.
Her hands were still behind my head, pressing me to her. Then one of her hands moved and I knew she was taking another pull on her grass. I had just started moving my tongue back and forth in imitation of the natural sex act when the pressure of Myra's hands reversed and she pulled me away from her dark, tender spot.
"Here," she said, sticking her marijuana cigarette between my lips. "Now's the perfect time to try pot."
For some reason I'll never understand, I didn't resist. Instead, I eagerly took two heavy puffs of the stick and inhaled deeply. The smoke felt warm and relaxing in my lungs, so I took a third drag before she pulled the joint away.
"Hey, don't hot-box it," she warned. "This is good grass."
I laughed and returned immediately to the job I had started a few seconds before. I buried my face in the dark crack between Myra's legs and gave her the best tongue lashing I'd ever given a woman.
Fortunately, my efforts were not lost on her. She arched her back and squealed with delight each and every time I pushed my tongue between her tasty lips. Finally, I settled on biting, sucking and lapping her clitoris and the sensations were nearly more than Myra could stand.
The marijuana was having its effect on me then, although I didn't fully realize it. I felt light and bigger than life and somehow I just knew that my tongue had grown to a tremendous size. Every time I shoved it into Myra, it seemed, I brought her to a new level of sexual ecstasy.
She was watching the entire operation both from her vantage point on the dressing table chair and by watching our reflection in the big mirror beside us.
"Oh, yes, baby," she cried, as I flicked her clitoris with the tip of my tongue. "Keep doing that. It's beautiful!"
I continued the same motion with my tongue and in a few seconds, Myra screamed and pulled my head against her with such force that I could hardly breathe. Her orgasm rocked her beautiful ebony body for nearly two minutes, sending shiver after shiver of pure pleasure throughout her being.
Still high from my brief encounter with pot, I was in a state of sexual excitement that I had never experienced before. My hard-on was nearly bursting with its desire for action and I could feel the faint rumblings of an orgasm deep within me although no real stimulation had yet been applied to my rod.
"Come down here," I finally demanded, half lifting and half pulling Myra off her chair. Her limp, sex-drained body fell heavily on top of me and she laughed as we toppled over.
The sight of her lovely, voluptuous body spread before me on the crimson carpet was too much to bear. I threw myself on her and rammed my weapon into her quickly. The soft, wet flesh of her love box closed gently around my rod as it pushed forward, catching me in a warm, sensuous embrace that made me shake with pleasure.
Her hard, dark nipples dug into my chest and her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me, locking me in for the ride of love. I started the slow, hammering, rocking movement and Myra's hips responded beautifully to my every thrust.
"I've just decided to screw you all night long," I announced, surprised to hear that my voice sounded like an echo chamber. The pot was powerful stuff, but I loved it.
"You just do that, lover boy," Myra murmured, pumping her love region against me to take in every inch I had to give.
Then, suddenly, I came. Instead of it being an intense explosion that rocked me with undescribable pleasure, my first orgasm under the influence of pot was a wildly wonderful experience that I can only relate to flying. I seemed to be soaring through the sky without benefit of an airplane or any such device. As the cream poured out of me, I felt like I was in a steep, swift dive, thrilling to the sensation of the wind rushing past me at fantastic speed. Every cell of my body could feel the wind and every cell of my body experienced that orgasm. Even now, when I think about it, a strange chill sort of feeling comes over me and my rod twitches, ready for another trip.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For a moment I thought the brawny, beefy-faced executive lunching with me a week after the July Fourth festivities was about to burst a blood vessel.
Eyes bulging, Frank Harris gaped incredulously across the restaurant table at me. "You ... you can't be serious, Paul!" he said, almost choking on his food. "You couldn't mean what you just said."
I grinned at him and sipped my third martini. "Okay, Frank," I said in a soothing voice. "If that's the way you feel, don't worry about it."
I took another drink and then continued. "Federal Foundry is hungry for business," I began. "Joe Peterson from over there practically got down on his knees the last time he was in to see me. He begged me to give him our next order for those gear housings, Frank. So if you don't want to play ball, just forget it."
"But ... but, Paul," he sputtered. "What you want to ... what you're asking me to do ... is ... well, it's...." He stopped and swallowed visibly with his red face growing ashen and pasty as he reached for his water goblet and took time out for a quick, convulsive series of swallows. "It's damn near criminal, Paul!" he finally continued. "We could both get...."
"Rich," I filled in, smiling at him and keeping my eyes on his. I leaned back then and took a healthy swallow of my drink. Frank, the sales manager for Gordan Foundries, Inc., was wide-eyed and nervous. After nearly a minute of silence, I hunched my shoulders over the small table and snapped at Harris with no trace of my smile left on my face:
"You figure it out, Frank, you're a big boy. At ten cents per casting multiplied by quantities we buy in a year, I can see close to thirty grand we can divide."
"We'd both lose our jobs!" he retorted. "We'd be prosecuted for collusion ... for fraud ... and for grand larceny! We'd both wind up in prison!"
I gave him a warning scowl because our waiter was coming over to our table with the check. The dining room of the midtown executive's club that Frank Harris belonged to was virtually empty except for us and a few other businessmen lingering over after lunch drinks and cigars at the far end of the lavish room.
After Frank hurriedly scribbled his name on the tab, the waiter picked it up and moved away from our table. I leaned forward in my chair and began selling the idea again.
My get-rich-quick scheme wasn't very complicated. In fact, all Harris had to do was hike the per-unit price on each gear casting supplied by his foundry. A dime bump was just right. Not enough to cause questions on my end and yet enough to guarantee each of us about fifteen thousand bucks extra at the end of the year.
I'd okay the increases and have the voucher checks sent directly to Frank. When he received them, he'd deposit them, draw out the difference and start a new account in his own name. It would mean some juggling of records on his end. My neck wouldn't be out very far, but I didn't tell him that. If anyone ever did tumble on to what we were doing, they'd discover that the amounts shown on the purchase orders I issued tallied exactly with the amounts of the checks written to Gordon Foundries, Inc. I'd be completely blameless.
Harris was one of the major stockholders as well as a vice president in charge of sales for the foundry. He was authorized to make deposits and withdraw funds and there wasn't any reason why any part of the plan should backfire on us. He'd give the bank deposit slip to the bookkeeper at his office. The amount shown would reflect only the balance of the vouchers received from me after he'd deducted the difference between the cost of the castings shown on his billing records and the dime per casting added for us to split.
I'd put plenty of time and careful consideration into deciding which of the half-dozen major suppliers could be pressured into such an arrangement. Frank Harris won hands down. He was one of those guys who always lived beyond his income, no matter how much he was earning-and he earned roughly three times what I did!
Not only was the fleshy, puffy-faced slob always hungry for an extra buck, he was also scared to death that old Bill Gordon, who was his uncle as well as his boss, would fire him on the spot if he lost our business. I'd often heard Frank complaining about what a demanding old coot his Uncle Bill was to work for.
So, I was pretty well certain that the big boob would fall in line with my scheme before I phoned him and informed him that he was buying me lunch that day so we could talk about the new purchase order he'd been bugging me about for weeks.
By the time we left his club and stepped outside into the glaring July afternoon heat radiating up from the sidewalks and down from the sultry blue sky, Frank Harris looked like a well cooked lobster. His beefy red face had a haggard, jittery hangdog expression and his fat hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the cigarette he'd jerked from my extended pack before he could light it.
I kicked the cigarette into the gutter. "Yes or no, Frank," I demanded. "Which is it going to be?"
His tormented blue eyes were watery and glassy with fear. He licked his thick lips and looked nervously over his shoulder as though he expected to catch someone trailing him.
"Jesus, Paul," he stuttered. "I ... let's talk about it some more. Can you have dinner with me tonight, Paul. I just can't give you a fast answer. Not on something as big as this."
"We can't very well talk it over in front of your family," I said, assuming he meant for us to have dinner at his fancy suburban home. "And we really shouldn't do too much' talking about it in restaurants, either."
He blinked, apparently trying to think clearly. Then he wet his lips again. "I ... there's another place," he finally blurted out. "We can talk there."
"Where?" I asked, curiously.
"I have ... there's an apartment on Blythe Road, Paul," he admitted, glancing furtively around again as if he was worried that a cop or a plainclothes detective from the vice squad might be lurking at his elbow. Then he sidled closer to me and muttered. "I've got a girlfriend staying there." He chuckled nervously and nudged me in his best man-to-man manner. "She's a cute little piece. Half Chinese and half Norwegian." Then he chuckled again. "Name's Lila. You'll like her, Paul."
Suddenly I realized that the fat, sweating son-of-a-bitch was leering at me. He was playing the pimp role, hinting that I could have a go at his private playmate.
Struggling to control my temper, I shrugged. "Okay, we'll talk there tonight over dinner. What's the address and what time?"
"How about eight o'clock," he said, taking out a pen and jotting down the address for me. I stared coldly at him and he added a phone number before handing me the little piece of paper.
What a slimy, repulsive slob Harris was. I could just imagine the weird babe he had tucked away in his secret apartment. She was probably some ignorant young whore he'd found in some bar. He probably got his jollies beating her up and the dumb broad probably thought he had every right to punch her around since he was paying the rent. I got a mental picture of some tiny-titted chick who didn't know how to do anything but roll over on her back and spread her legs apart for Frank Harris. The thought made me sick.
I was relieved when we finally parted company there in front of the executive club. Even the air seemed to smell a lot better as I walked around the corner to the parking lot and redeemed my station wagon for the drive back to the office.
I wasn't worried at all about whether Frank would go along with my idea. Let him stew and mull it over all afternoon, I figured, and eventually, he'd still have to agree. He only had two other choices, as far as I could see.
He could refuse and probably get tossed out of his soft, lucrative position after I pulled our regular order out of Gordon Foundries.
Or, if he had more guts and brains than I gave him credit for, he could go directly to his Uncle Bill and squeal about the proposition I'd made to him. From what I knew about Bill Gordon, he would unhesitatingly reach for the phone and call Les Zimmer and then it would be my turn to sweat.
But there wasn't much chance of that happening, the way I had Frank Harris figured. I'd picked my pigeon carefully. I had Frank pegged right and we both knew it.
Entering the air-conditioned coolness of the office, I traded unfriendly glares with Mrs. Rachel Hughes, the clerical supervisor, and headed into the men's room When I came out, Mrs. Hughes was waiting for me. I nearly bumped into the frowning, fat-faced hag.
"I have to talk with you, Mr. Norman," she began, her somewhat sagging bosom heaving with agitation under her tent-like dress. "It concerns your secretary. Do you wish to talk in your office or shall we...?"
"Unless you want to go back into the men's room with me, let's make it my office," I suggested sarcastically.
That little joke agitated her even more. She gasped with outraged indignation and marched stiffly ahead of me toward my office door.
I sauntered in and noticed that Myra wasn't at her desk. I walked past where the bristling, frowzy-haired bag stood rigidly, her piggy eyes staring at me with severe distaste if not downright loathing.
Mrs. Hughes didn't even wait until I reached my desk and sat down to face her. "Miss Lawrence should be discharged!" she began sharply. "I intend to go directly to Mr. Zimmer if I am unable to obtain satisfaction from you, Mr. Norman."
I took my time lighting a cigarette. Then, grinning at the livid lumpy bitch in what was supposed to be a friendly, placating manner, I quietly said in my best executive tone, "Oh, I'm certain we can handle whatever it is between ourselves, Mrs. Hughes. Why don't you sit down here and tell me what this is all about?"
She ignored my friendly, placating invitation completely. "When I noticed Miss Lawrence having what appeared to be a cramp as I came in with the morning mail, I naturally asked her if she was ill."
"Naturally," I replied, trying the friendly bit again. "That was a kind thing to do."
The old bitch screwed up her fat, petulant face even more. "Don't be sarcastic with me, Mr. Norman!" she snapped. "I won't tolerate any more abuse. I've taken enough today!"
"All right," I retorted, leaning forward and bringing a stern, serious expression to my face. "Let's quit playing games, shall we, Mrs. Hughes? Just what is your problem-this time. Last week, if I recall correctly, you were riled up because Miss Lawrence refused to work on those letters you wanted her to type. She was right to refuse, of course. I gave her explicit instructions to get a batch of 'rush' purchase orders." I'd lied quite smoothly, I thought.
Mrs. Hughes snorted and sniffed in contempt. "Humph! She was giving herself a manicure when I looked in on her that day last week. But I'm not talking about that incident. What happened today is far more serious. It was a deliberate breach of office discipline!"
I yawned, causing her already flushed features to turn an even deeper shady of crimson.
"Myra Lawrence swore at me, Mr. Norman!" the old bat announced. "Yes, she did! When I asked if she were sick and offered to send for the plant nurse, she swirled around and told me...!"
It was obvious that repeating the words was extremely difficult and distasteful.
"What did she tell you?" I asked, adding to her embarrassment.
"Why ... she told me to ... to go screw myself!" Mrs. Hughes blubbered. "She said, 'Go screw yourself you fat old bitch! Keep your damn nose out of my business.' Those were her exact words."
I didn't even bother trying to hide my grin. "Doesn't sound as though Miss Lawrence was very sick, does it, Mrs. Hughes?"
"I won't be laughed at!" she nearly screamed.
"No?" I asked. "Just go in and tell Mr. Zimmer the pathetic little story you just told me, and see if he doesn't laugh, too." Chuckling, I rose from behind my desk. "If you won't tell him, I will. I think Les could use a good laugh, too."
"Well, I...!"
"What?" I snapped, immediately replacing my grin with an irked glower. "You've taken up almost ten minutes of time, just to sniffle and complain about a girl who only had enough spunk to call you on your bad habit of spying on everyone and everything around the office!"
"Really, Mr. Norman!" she sputtered.
"Oh, shut up!" I told her.
I thought she was going to have a stroke right then and there. I stalked over and stood in front of her while she gaped and gasped like a fish out of water.
"Now you listen to me, Mrs. Hughes," I said. "You've had a burr under your tail ever since Miss Lawrence was transferred to this department. Yes, I know, you've resented it all the more because you didn't have anything to say about who got the promotion. Ever since, you've been pussyfooting around, just trying to come up with something to pin on either Miss Lawrence or me."
That's when she started crying. Big tears rolled down her face and her shoulders shook causing her fat, sagging breasts to bounce around. She pressed her blubbering face into her hands.
I wasn't finished with her, though. Not quite.
"Do you want to go in and drag all this business out in front of the general manager?" I asked. "I'll go in with you if you do. We'll let Les Zimmer hear both sides and he can handle any disciplining he thinks is necessary. Or, we can do the sensible thing. We can just forget all this stupid nonsense and get back to our jobs-which we should have done fifteen minutes ago. You name it, Mrs. Hughes. What's your pleasure?"
Finally, she blinked furiously and dabbed at her tears and recovered sufficiently to speak.
"I ... I don't w-want ... trouble, M-Mr. Norman," she croaked.
"Of course you don't," I agreed. "I don't want trouble, either." I smiled at her soothingly to show her I was willing to forgive and forget. "Now don't you think we should both get back to our jobs and ignore Miss Lawrence's outburst? Naturally I'll speak to her about it and warn her not to let it happen again."
"T-That's all ... I really wanted ... M-Mr. Norman," the sniviling office supervisor replied. Then she turned and walked shakily from the office, still dabbing at her tears.
I sighed and returned to my desk. Now I thought I knew why Myra wasn't in the office. She was pregnant. This would be the second menstrual period Myra had missed. She must have taken off to see her doctor. He was some weirdo, buck-hungry quack who managed a health food business and gave astrology readings. He wasn't exactly a licensed M.D., but he supposedly had a real talent for helping women erase biological mistakes.
That evening, I showed up promptly at eight at the address Frank Harris had given me. It only took one look to see that the doll who opened the apartment door was a terrific playmate-far too nice a piece for a slob like Frank.
Lila was small, not more than five-two. And she was rather dark skinned with a luxuriant wealth of smoky black hair piled high on her head to give the impression of more height.
Surprisingly, her breasts were far from small. They stuck out like a delectable pair of rounded pyramids beneath the silky fabric of the black frock she wore. She turned away as I entered the apartment and I quickly confirmed that the rest of her trim, small-waisted shape was equally exquisite. She was a real doll, all right, and the only hint of her Oriental parentage was the slight almond slant of her mystic, dark eyes.
Frank was on the sofa with a drink. He nodded as I sat down across from him. Suddenly Lila put a chilled martini in my hand.
The apartment wasn't cheap and neither was she. I grinned up at Lila when she pressed the cocktail glass into my hand. Frank had evidently briefed his mistress on my visit and told her to be extra nice to me.
She smiled back at me. Her small, sensually sullen lips were moist and inviting and her dark eyes encouraged me to do as much looking as I wanted as she turned and padded softly back to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a martini.
Frank didn't bother to formally introduce us. When she came back and began to sit beside him on the sofa, he scowled at her.
"Take your drink into the bedroom," he ordered. "We have business to discuss."
She altered course with a graceful flick of her trim, cutely-curved backside and flashed me a departing smile as she glided silently through a door behind where I was sitting.
Frank and I actually didn't have much to talk about. In fact, I didn't talk at all. I just sat there and waited for the harassed-looking guy to give me his answer. He grunted with the exertion of heaving his build off the sofa. I watched him prowl nervously around the large, modern apartment living room and listened while he hemmed and hawed and sputtered his many misgivings about what I'd proposed that afternoon.
"Cut the crap, Frank," I finally told him curtly. "Just a definite yes or no. That's all I want to hear. Not all this bitching and moaning you've been giving me for the past twenty minutes."
"You have to give me more time, Paul," He pleaded.
"I don't have to give you a goddamned thing," I corrected. "Just forget it." stood up briskly and polished off my drink with two quick, impatient gulps. Then I stalked over to the walnut liquor cabinet and placed the glass on top with finality.
Frank caught up with me before I'd taken two steps toward the apartment door. "All right ... I'm in ... I'll do it," he muttered.
I let him stop me and I swung around to look into his round, wild-eyed face. "You can stop at my office tomorrow and pick up the new purchase orders," I told him calmly. "At the end of every month, you pay us out. I want my money in cash. No checks. Got that?"
He nodded dumbly. "Do you think we should go easy at first, Paul?" he asked hesitatingly. "How about starting with a nickle per casting and...."
"A dime," I snapped. "It's all settled, Frank. Right?"
His beaten face turned away from me and he nodded again. He was walking slowly back to pour himself another drink. That's why he didn't see me heading for the closed bedroom door until I was reaching for the knob.
"Finish your drink and lock the hall door on your way out, partner," I said grinning at him.
For a split second, Frank's fat mouth opened and a scowl bunched his forehead. Then, his shoulders slumped again and he turned woodenly back to pour out another martini.
Lila was naked and nicely arrayed on the mattress. Moonlight penetrated the room through windows on the opposite side of the bed, bathing her dusky perfection in a shimmering light.
"You finish business?" she asked, looking up at me with her beautiful, dark eyes.
I nodded and started climbing out of my suit. I ran my admiring gaze over her nude young body, lingering on the nipples of her opulent breasts and on the triangle of dark hair that covered her love region. She moved her hips slightly, giving me an even better view of the shadowy black velvet area between her lithe thighs.
"You like?" she asked with a smile, running her hands sensuously over her hips and up the inside of her legs.
"I like," I grinned, moving forward through the semi-darkness to stand beside the bed where I could look directly down at her lovliness.
"Lila like, too," she smiled up at me, reaching out to feel my already stiff love lance. She purred low in her throat and placed her free hand behind the swirling mass of black, silken hair that sprawled richly across the whiteness of the pillow.
Then I bent over her and filled my hands with the fragrant warm firmness of her tits. She kept her gentle grip on my rod as I lowered myself into the bed beside her.
My right hand moved quickly down over the flatness of her stomach and caressed the downy smoothness of the insides of her thighs. In a few seconds, I slipped my finger into her love slit and played between the wet, wanton lips. Her hips moved rhythmically against my hand and she moaned sweetly as I increased the pressure of my finger.
Suddenly, she raised herself up on one elbow and whispered, "You lie down and relax. Lila will bring you much pleasure."
Before I could respond, she jumped up and threw one leg over me so she was sitting astride my waist. She placed her hands on the bed above my shoulders and lowered herself forward on me. Gently, one of her nipples touched my face and she moved her shoulders gracefully to trace the light touch over my eyes, across my nose and over my cheek until the still, hard nipple found its way between my waiting lips.
I sucked it briefly, but soon she pulled it from my mouth and slowly moved down over my chest. Both nipples were touching me then, barely making contact with my skin and creating a strangely titillating sensation.
She dangled her breasts above me, just letting the hot, dart-like tips touch my skin. I could feel the twin trails they left across my chest and down over my stomach. Lila moved down on the bed until she was kneeling between my outstretched legs.
Her boobs continued to set my body on fire with their delicate, delightful, tempting touch. They were hovering above my stiff, pulsating hard-on, then. With my head propped up on a pillow, I watched as Lila lowered her body slowly until the red, ripe nipples touched the head of my weapon. I remember that I almost came then. The tension and the anticipation were so great that I almost blew my load when her tit touched me there.
I controlled it, though, sucking in my breath sharply and digging my fingers into the mattress. She was far from finished. Moving her shoulders from side to side slightly, Lila caused her breasts-hanging down like ripe grapefruits-to sway temptingly above me. Then she would quickly bring them down on either side of my erection, so the nipples touched briefly on my hips and the soft warm valley between her globes, covered my rod.
After dallying for several minutes over my sex area, she moved farther down in the bed and continued tracing lightly over my body with her nipples. When she reached my feet, I was on fire from head to toe. Of course, she knew the effect her actions were having on me, because a split second before I decided to leap up and throw her down on the bed and take her, Lila stopped her playing and moved back up to my hard-on.
She held it in her hands for a few seconds, caressing it and looking at it intently.
"You have a nice one," she said to me finally. "It is thick and long. Will make me feel very good."
"Don't play with it very much longer," I warned, "or I'll go off in your hands."
"No, no," Lila said with a mock frown. "You must come in Lila. That is the best way."
Without further ado, thank God, she raised herself up on her knees and inserted the tip of my tool in her hot, love box. She smiled as she lowered herself on it slowly and felt the male organ push deep into her feminine softness. She was surprisingly tight, and I thrilled to the sensation produced by the clinging lips of her sex.
As she rocked back and forth, Lila moved her hands all over my body. She knew how to play a man like a musical instrument. Every nerve in my frame quivered under her touch until, finally, all the sexual sensations cracked together and I poured my orgasm into her. Throbbing and spurting, I came with a shudder and a shake. Lila performed some kind of strange twitch with her hips and her love box seemed to nip at the head of my erection, trying to draw every drop of pleasure from me.
Fifteen minutes later, I screwed Lila again. This time, however, our position was more conventional with me on top of her. Once again she excited me until I almost came unglued and then she brought me swiftly to an orgasm that left me limp-figuratively and literally.
Although it was hard to keep track, I think Lila came about six times during our frolic. She shuddered and screamed with the waves of pleasure, digging her fingers into my back passionately.
An hour after I had entered the bedroom, Lila and I laid side by side in the rumpled bed, resting and staring into the darkness. Frank Harris was a pain in the ass and I didn't have much use for him. But, he had wonderful taste in a mistress. I had found a new, adventuresome playmate and I knew I would be welcome any time I decided to return to Lila's apartment, with or without Frank's invitation.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I left Lila's apartment before 10 p.m. Driving back toward my apartment, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want to go home that early. Also, I didn't want to go over to Myra's apartment and listen to her cry about being pregnant. I had just about had enough of my sexy black beauty anyway, and her carelessness in getting pregnant was the last straw. She must have skipped taking "the pill" and didn't tell me. What a stupid trick.
An inviting-looking cocktail lounge suddenly appeared on the right side of the road. There were only a few cars parked outside and it looked like the quiet, friendly sort of place where I might have a few drinks and relax. As I pulled into the ample gravel parking lot, I noticed that the name of the bar was simply "Harry's Place." I smiled at the unassuming title and got out of the wagon.
Inside, "Harry's Place" was even more inviting than it appeared from the outside. It was dark and cool as I'd expected, but it was furnished like a big, comfortable living room. There were big, overstuffed chairs and couches spread in intimate arrangements throughout the large room. Cool jazz oozed softly from a massive stereo outfit in one corner and about four or five good looking cocktail waitresses dressed in mini-skirts and form clinging tops moved gracefully about the room waiting on the few customers. I was surprised that "Harry's Place" wasn't more popular. But then I remembered that it was still early in the evening. A small bandstand was set up at the far end of the room, but apparently the live entertainment didn't start until a later hour.
In addition to the couches and chairs, there was a small bar against the left wall. It was just a little bigger than the kind of bars you find in suburban game rooms. There were five or six stools standing before the polished bartop, so I picked the one at the far end-where I would have a good view of the entire room-and saddled up.
I ordered a very dry martini from the smiling bartender and lit a cigarette. The drink was good and I finished it in a hurry. The warmth of the gin was spreading through me while the bartender built me another one.
The combination of the gentle music and the not-so-gentle booze combined to relax me as I hadn't been relaxed in weeks. It was good to just sit there all alone and think.
The first thing I thought about was that I was finally all alone. Donna, who had been off the booze for about a week, had left the apartment and moved back in with her parents. Our hatred for each other had reached a point of near perfection by the time she finally walked out. I was glad to be rid of her. So glad, in fact, that I had agreed to pay for the divorce in lieu of any other kind of financial settlement or alimony.
I knew I'd have to face up to ending my affair with Myra sooner or later-and probably sooner. I had planned to hand her a line about there being too much talk around the office about our relationship after working hours. I was going to suggest to her that it would be best if we worked for different companies rather than risk possible scandal as well as the loss of our jobs. With my influence as purchasing agent, I could have easily swung another position for her with one of our suppliers.
Now that I knew for sure that she was pregnant, though, that plan was no good. From the way she'd blown up at that old battle-ax, Mrs., Hughes, I knew that she was in a frantic, frightened state and would come completely unstrung if I suggested that we split up. I just couldn't take a chance on Myra because I knew how highly, emotional she was. She might jump off a bridge or she might go screaming to the top execs at Space Age Metals. If she realized I was trying to dump her, she would probably try to ruin me by revealing how I dumped Jim Liggett.
My next move with Myra, I figured had to be convincing her to get rid of the baby. Once she wasn't pregnant any longer, I could safely begin easing her out of my life without complications. I was sure her friend the funny doctor could either perform the abortion or recommend where to have it done. It would no doubt cost me a few hundred bucks, but it would be worth it to help me get rid of Myra once and for all. Beautiful and passionate as she was, I'd reached the point where going to bed with Myra was more of a chore than pleasure.
Free from Myra, I could pursue Eileen Walters more ardently. I had to tell Eileen about Donna in the next few days before she read about our divorce proceedings in the newspaper. I figured I could bullshit her with a big story about why I didn't tell her I was married right at first. I'd make it sound like I was so stunned by her that I didn't want to take a chance on not getting to know her better. If she knew I was married, I'd tell her, she might never have given our relationship a chance to develop.
I was really in love with Eileen by that time. I still hadn't enjoyed her in bed, but I knew it was only a matter of time until she weakened and let me have my way. I smiled as the thought of Eileen's sex-mad sister, Bess, flashed through my mind. Now there was a willing woman! She was still a young girl according to the calendar, but Bess had the body and physical hungers of a woman. I had screwed her twice since our first night together in the motel. Once in my apartment and once on the back porch of the Walters house while I was waiting for Eileen to return from a shopping trip. We had done it standing up, right next to the open kitchen window. Momma had been doing the dishes and we talked to her as we made love so she wouldn't suspect there was any hanky-panky going on right under her nose. That Bess was something else.
Just as I had no intention of marrying Eileen, I had no intention of stopping my games with her younger sister. I wanted everything the Walters family had to offer-the wild, wanton sex play from Bess, the tender love and physical enjoyment with Eileen and the o h-s o-motherly "root-beer-and-potato-chips" attention from Momma.
When I thought of Bess, the image of the woman I had just left came into my head, also. Bess and Lila were two of a kind. They were both pure, sexual animals. Love and affection were not part of their makeup and that was that. I congratulated myself on finding and enjoying two such prizes. Most men look for women like that all their lives and count themselves lucky if they find one and enjoy her pleasures only fleetingly.
After my fourth martini, I slipped off my stool and left "Harry's Place." The cool sounds from the quartet followed me into the parking lot, which was jammed by that time. Harry's was starting to swing, but I was leaving. It was time to have a talk with Myra and get the ball rolling on her abortion.
She was curled up on the couch watching Johnny Carson on TV when I left myself into her apartment with my own key.
"Where the hell have you been?" she asked without looking up from the screen.
"Business," I replied curtly.
"Humph," she snorted in disbelief.
"I hear you're knocked up," I said, sitting down in a chair across from the couch.
"You hear right," she answered. "Where'd you hear it?"
"Mrs. Hughes told me about your run-in with her," I said. "When she said you almost fainted and then you didn't show up for work after lunch, I figured you'd missed another period."
"You're a regular Dick Tracy, man," she said. "What else have you figured out today?"
"Well, for one thing, I figured out that you're pretty goddamn dumb for getting pregnant," I snapped. "Why weren't you taking the pills?"
"Like, I forgot, man," she retorted. "Sorry about that."
"You'll be a lot sorrier if you have a damn kid," I told her. "Can your quack friend get rid of it for you?"
"He doesn't perform abortions, because they're too dangerous," she said.
"Well can he send you to someone who doesn't think they're too dangerous?" I asked in an irritated voice.
"Haven't asked him," she replied with a nonchalant shrug of her beautiful chocolate colored shoulders.
"Well, goddamn it, Myra, ask him!" I shouted at her.
She continued staring at the television screen and the expression of her face didn't change. Suddenly, I realized that she was crying. The great, crystal-like tears sparkled brightly on her dark cheeks and she was biting her lower lip to keep from sobbing out loud.
I went over to her then and sat beside her, taking her into my arms. She cried openly then, burying her head against my shoulder and neck.
"I'm scared, Paul! For the first time in my life I'm really scared."
I went through all the right motions. I gently cradled her head and stroked her hair while my other arm held her. "It'll be okay, baby," I whispered. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Don't be scared."
"There's something else, too, Paul," she whimpered against me.
"What is it?" I inquired.
"I ... don't want to ... to lose this baby," she stammered. In stunned silence, I listened as she continued. "I love you, Paul, and I want to have your baby. Don't make me get rid of it. Please!"
I didn't know what to say. I was completely taken by surprise. I had no idea that Myra felt that way about me. I thought I was just another lover to her, nothing more or less. I knew she had used me-as I had used her and Donna-to move to a better position at the office, and I thought that was the extent of my importance to her.
I kissed her big, dark lips and she sighed as the tension left her body. Tears dimmed the shine of her eyes as she pressed her luscious body against me, kissing me back from head to toe. My hands raced over her captivating curves, feeling and squeezing until she moaned with delight.
"Take me, Paul," she pleaded. "I need you ... I need you in me...."
I picked her up and carried her to bed. There I quickly and skillfully stripped her naked and laid her beautiful black form on the red sheets. She spread her shapely legs wide apart and ran her fingers lightly over her love region while she watched me take off my clothes.
"I'm ready for you," she sighed when I moved to get into bed with her. Instead of lying beside her for the usual foreplay, I knelt between her outstretched thighs and looked down at the dark, inviting slit. Then I lowered myself into her and shivered with passion as I felt my weapon pierce her love box to the hilt.
"Hard" she whispered in my ear, with her arms wrapped around me. "Do it hard and fast, baby."
Bang! Bang! Bang! I slammed my rod into her with all the force I could put behind it. She responded to every thrust, pumping her hips up to meet me and causing our bodies to collide forcefully.
In less than two minutes, the intensity of our screwing paid off. "I'm coming," Myra hissed against my neck, clawing at my back with her nails and pressing her giant breasts flat against my chest. Cushioned on her soft, feminine flesh, I soared with sexual pleasure too, and pumped my cream into her with one violent twitch after another.
Satisfied, we slept peacefully together for the rest of the night.
The next day was Saturday, and we spent it together in Myra's air conditioned apartment talking, drinking and making love when and where we felt like it. Several times, I tried to bring up the subject of the abortion again, but Myra wouldn't even hear of it. She was sure I loved her as much as she loved me and she wouldn't give up our baby. Naturally, my feelings for Myra hadn't changed at all. She was still just a big sexy woman who was fantastic in bed. I didn't love her and if she insisted on having the baby I intended to have my lawyer force her into a position where I wouldn't be expected to support it.
During our day in the apartment, Myra's telephone rang a number of times, but she refused to answer it.
"It might be something important," I told her.
"No," she smiled each time. "I know who it is. My friend Malco, the black cat with the Afro haircut, who gives me all the pot I want, free."
"Why is he calling," I asked, "and why are you refusing to talk to him."
"He's jealous of you, Paul," Myra said with a wide grin. "Malco digs me. He's all uptight because I'm in love with you-Whitey!" We both laughed at the way she said the word with mock contempt. "Anyway, Malco's been driving me nuts with this "Black is Beautiful" bullshit. He wants me to cut you off and go live with him." She chuckled and tossed her lovely hair. "I mean I dig his "Black is Beautiful" line, but I'm hung up on you and that's it. Like the kids are saying, "White is out of sight, too!"
We laughed together and the phone finally quit ringing.
"What does Malco do, besides give you pot and preach that black is beautiful?" I asked.
"He's a jazz musician," she replied. "Blows trombone. Tough sound, too. He might make it big some day if the law doesn't bust him for smoking grass."
"Sounds like a good friend to have," I said quietly, thinking of the day when she would be out of my life-with or without the baby.
"Yeah," she said, nodding in agreement. "You never can tell when you might need a friend like Malco."
While Myra napped that afternoon, I read over the business section of the previous day's paper.
The market was stable and the demand for the products turned out by Space Age Metals was certain to grow steadily throughout the coming months. I smiled with satisfaction, as I recalled my deal with Frank Harris of Gordon Foundries.
The money soon would be piling up the new bank account Frank would establish next week. The big, dumb slob didn't know it yet but there wasn't going to be any fifty-fifty split of the money. Why should I share it with him? The more I thought about my revised decision to keep the entire kick-back he would soon be banking, the better I liked it.
He wouldn't dare blow the whistle on me, when I told him he was cut out after he'd made the first few illegal deposits in his own name. If he tried to give me a bad time, all I had to do was threaten to withdraw the purchase orders; cancel out the quantities of castings his company was producing for my outfit. Best of all, Harris couldn't expose me, because he was the guy all the records would incriminate.
I had some plans for Les Zimmer, too. His job was the next step in my personal moon shot program. All I had to do was topple him some way in a few months. The other management people liked and trusted me. With Les out of the picture, I would have a good chance to move up. Since Les was a cautious, conservative guy who would never, ever fool around with a broad-unless he was certain it was safe-I planned to involve him with some whore and then blackmail him out of his soft job. I hadn't worked out the details yet, but I knew it could be done.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next three weeks went more or less smoothly. Myra stood firm in her refusal to have an abortion, but I continued to urge her to do it. I was seeing less and less of her all the time, and she was becoming more and more possessive of me. Every day in the office, if I had not seen her or called the previous evening, Myra would look up at me with her dark, smoky eyes and ask where I had been and what I had done. Since she had admitted her love for me the night she told me she was pregnant, she became more of a menace to my freedom.
I felt that Myra was a thing of the past with me, becoming less and less important every day. She had been completely replaced in my thoughts by Eileen Walters. And, if a conversation I had with Frank Harris meant anything, she would soon be replaced in my office, too. Frank, who had accepted the first payment in our rigged price deal, had agreed to find a secretarial job for Myra at Gordon Foundries.
Although I had not yet succeeded in seducing Eileen, I believed I was making some progress. On our most recent date, she had let me fondle her firm, thrusting breasts and she returned my passionate kisses eagerly. When I slipped my hand between her legs, however, she balked and ended our petting session in the front seat of my station wagon.
"No, Paul, no!" she had muttered seriously as my hand moved up over the silky smoothness inside her thighs. She forced my hand down and moved away from me.
"Why, Eileen?" I asked, puzzled by her continuing refusal. "I love you and want you. Don't you love me?"
"I ... I don't know, Paul," she answered uncertainly. "I just know that ... that I ... when you touch me, I ... Oh, I don't know!" She cried then and suddenly bolted from the car.
I caught her on the front porch of the big old Walters home. "It's all right, Eileen," I whispered, holding her in my arms. "You're still not recovered from your divorce, I guess. You'll change your mind soon enough and then I'll love you like a man should love a woman."
She had just nodded, kissed me lightly on the cheek and disappeared into the dark house.
Little sister Bess, on the other hand, was still as ready and willing to play games as ever. She had come to my apartment several evenings when her mother and sister thought she was out on dates with Buddy. As soon as she closed the apartment door behind her, Bess would peel off her clothes and the fun would begin.
Sometimes we made wild, carefree love right on the living room floor and sometimes we made it into the bedroom. Wherever we did it, though, she gave herself completely to the pleasures of the moment.
She enjoyed whatever type of sexual act I could dream up-and she dreamed up a few beauties herself! I was constantly amazed by the amount of experience and worldliness she had for a high school girl.
One night, after we had screwed four times-reaching new heights of pleasure each time-Bess relaxed in my arms and told me how her sexual life had begun when she was only fourteen years old. Physically developed beyond her years, she explained, she had looked like a girl of 16 or 17 when she was 14. Her sexual hunger and desire was far ahead of her actual age, too, and she thought constantly of sex.
Finally, one summer afternoon when her mother was in the city shopping and she was alone in the big old house, Bess seduced a boy who was doing yard work for the family next door.
"He was 18," Bess recalled as I toyed with the then-soft nipples of her tan, tempting tits. "He wasn't very good looking, but he was hung like a stallion." She laughed out loud as she indicated the size of her first love's weapon with her hands. "Like that, at least," she said. "I invited him in for a cold drink. While he sat at the kitchen table guzzling the lemonade I poured for him, I went into the dining room and took off my blouse. When I walked back into the kitchen wearing only my skimpy shorts, I smiled at him and he almost fell off his chair. He just stared at my boobies with his mouth open."
As she told her story, I noticed that Bess' nipples were growing hard and erect again. Obviously recalling her first encounter with a man was having an exciting effect on her.
"I walked over to him slowly," she continued with a far-away look in her eyes. "When I was just a few inches from him, I stopped and asked if he'd like to stay for a while and listen to records. The poor kid was too shook up to answer. He just nodded his head slowly without taking his eyes off my bare breasts. Then I reached down and took his hand and brought it up to cup one of my tits. He stood up, finally, and kissed me on the lips. It was just what I wanted him to do, but I was a little surprised when he forced his tongue into my mouth. His hands were all over me, then, and I put my hand between his legs, too. Wow! was I surprised at the size of the thing I felt!"
Bess' story was having an effect on me, too, and she reached down to caress and squeeze my throbbing erection.
"Soon we were both completely naked, lying on the couch in the living room. He seemed reluctant to screw me, even though we were both ready to explode with passion. Finally, I took his big thing in my hand and guided it between my legs. 'Do it! Do it!' I told him. Boy! Did he ever do it! He went off in about fifteen seconds, but I wouldn't let him off me until I'd come about three or four times. He came a second time when I had my last climax, too. It was great, Paul, just like I knew it would be."
She paused and I lit cigarettes for both of us. Then she went on: "Well, that was the beginning. I loved it and wanted it all the time. Couldn't get enough. Still can't get enough," she giggled. "Last year, though I got kind of tired of screwing teenage boys. They always want to do it in a car or in a park somewhere. Never in bed where you can really enjoy it and make it last. That's when I decided to go after older men. The first one was my English teacher in high school. I stayed after school one day to do some extra work for him and conned him into driving me home. Well, I used a few tricks on him-stuff I knew would turn him on-and we wound up going out to dinner together and shacking up until after midnight in his apartment. I had to lie like hell to Momma, but it was worth it. The next day in school, I thought that teacher would go out of his mind every time he looked at me. He just couldn't wait to get his hands on me again, so I let me feel me a little bit right in the classroom during the lunch period. We went to his apartment again that evening and really blew our minds."
I interrupted her story then by rolling over on top of her fantastic young body and making love to her again. We finally left my place about 11:30 p.m. and I had her home by midnight, just as Buddy was required to do.
It was Wednesday and I happily left my office looking forward to my dinner date with Eileen. I told Myra that I wouldn't be able to see her that night. No explanation. She looked at me with hurt in her eyes as I left, but I didn't care. She had to learn that I was putting her out of my life for good.
I took Eileen to an intimate little steak house about 20 miles from the city that night. Her silence in the car as we drove out there should have told me that something was wrong. I dismissed it, though, figuring that she was just in a quiet mood.
After a few drinks and dinner, we danced slowly to the muted music from the juke box. It had been a pleasant evening but Eileen had not loosened up as I had expected.
"What's the problem?" I asked as we moved about the small dance floor. "You're extra quiet tonight."
"There's ... I want to ... there's something I have to tell you, Paul," she blurted out a few seconds later.
"Sounds important," I said. "Let's sit down."
Back at our secluded table, I signaled the waiter for another round of drinks and lit a cigarette. Eileen wouldn't look me in the eye and I knew then that our relationship would never be the same after our pending conversation.
"Well...?" I said, urging her to begin.
"I don't want to see you anymore, Paul," she said quietly, still avoiding my eyes. "It would be easier on me if you don't ask me to explain. I just don't want to see you again."
She sipped her drink and took a cigarette from her pack on the table.
"Sony if it will make it rough on you, baby, but I want an explanation," I told her. "I love you, Eileen. I've told you that many times and it's still true. I think that entitles me to an explanation as to why you don't want to see me anymore."
She was quiet for more than a minute and I was silent, too, waiting for her to speak.
"Paul," she said finally, "do you remember that first night when you came over to our house to see me? I think Bess brought you over."
I nodded.
"Well," she continued. "I asked you then if you knew anything about the circumstances of my divorce. Do you remember that?"
"Yes," I snapped, more than slightly irritated at the way she was putting off getting to the subject. "Get on with it!"
"Very well," she said. "You told me then that you knew nothing about my divorce and I said that it was probably best to leave it that way. I've changed my mind. I think now that you should know the circumstances of my divorce. It will help you understand why I can't see you any longer-why I don't want to see you."
I took a long sip on my drink then. Every word that Eileen spoke drove us farther and farther apart. From the tone of her voice and the hard glint in her eyes, I knew that nothing I could say would alter the decision she had announced while we were dancing.
"I am a lesbian, Paul," Eileen said calmly, letting the smoke she had just inhaled drift slowly from her mouth and nostrils. She looked me directly in the eye and repeated the word. "A lesbian!"
The impact of what she said nearly knocked me off my seat. How? Why? The questions shouted in my mind, but I remained silent waiting for her to continue.
"That's the reason why my husband divorced me," she said. "It was bad for business, being married to a queer woman." Eileen took a drink and a very long pull on her cigarette. What she was telling me was very difficult for her and it was obvious that she was struggling to control her nervousness. Frequently, she looked over her bare, white shoulders to see if a waiter was nearby or if any of the other patrons of the restaurant could possibly overhear.
"What happened?" I asked suddenly, surprised to hear myself speak.
"I got caught," she smiled. "George, my husband, walked in unexpectedly one afternoon and found me in bed with our maid. Lucy was her name-a sweet young thing, but not very bright." She stopped for a few seconds, and I could tell she was recalling the situation in detail. "I had just peeled that ugly black and white uniform off her voluptuous young body. She was built like a young Venus and was actually a virgin. Imagine! A virgin!"
Eileen laughed nervously and then continued. "At any rate, I had just thrown her down on the bed and was filling my mouth and my hands with her sweet, tender flesh-when George appeared in the bedroom door."
Again she laughed nervously, covering the sound with her hand this time. She looked at me to see the reaction her story was having and puffed furiously on her cigarette.
"Lucy screamed when she saw George. I think she was enjoying it up until then. George, of course, was too astonished to utter a word. He just stood there with a stupid look on his wonderfully handsome face while Lucy jumped up off the bed and raced out of the room without a stitch of clothes on. I knew I was caught, so I just lay there on the bed and waited to see what George would say. He said plenty, believe me."
I was stunned, but strangely fascinated by Eileen's tale. I gulped my drink and nodded to her, indicating that I had understood so far and wanted her to continue.
"We never slept together after that night," she said. "George hardly spoke to me or acknowledged that I was his wife. Lucy, poor thing, was fired, of course, even though I explained to George that what he had discovered was in no way her fault. She was black, you see, and I think it was terribly hard for her to find another position without references."
"Why did you go out with me, let me kiss you, have anything to do with me, if ... if you're ... you're the way you say you are?" I struggled to ask. "Why did you let me touch you and fall in love with you?"
"You were my one chance for escape," she explained. "My last hope. I thought that if I could make a go of it with you, love you as a woman loves a man, I would be cured of this strange, overpowering desire I have for other women. I was wrong, of course. Every time you put your arm around me, every time you put your hand on me, I almost went out of my mind ... with revulsion! I don't mean to hurt you, Paul, but it's the simple truth. I like you very much as a person and I would like, if it is possible, to keep you as a friend. I just can't stand for any man to touch me or to try to make love to me. I hope you understand."
Now it was my turn to be silent while I thought of what to say. My mind was a blank. A confused, hurt, mixed-up blank. What could I say?
What could! possibly say that would make any difference?
"Why now?" I muttered. "Why are you telling me all this now, tonight, instead of last week, or next week? Why now?"
"Fair enough," she said. "I'm telling you now, because, well because there's someone else ... and I just can't continue pretending that there can ever be anything more than simple friendship between us."
"Not another man, I assume," I said, glaring at her.
"Of course not," she replied quickly. "I've met a wonderful girl, a simple, loving person who really needs me."
"Great," I said sarcastically.
"I didn't expect you to understand," Eileen said, lowering her eyes. "Nonetheless, Myra's a wonderful girl and ... I know this must sound strange to you, but ... I love her very much."
Myra! The name rocked me, but I stifled my surprise with a question. "What does your new friend do?"
"She's a secretary," Eileen answered openly. "I don't know the name of the company she works for, but she's been sleeping with her boss and he must be a real bastard!"
"Why is that?" I inquired, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Why, he's made her pregnant and now he's trying to get rid of her," Eileen answered indignantly. "He wants her to have an abortion! She loves him and wants his baby and he wants her to have an abortion! Goddamn men!"
"Very interesting," I commented weakly. I signaled the waiter for the check and reached for my wallet. I couldn't stand to hear much more of what Eileen was telling me. It was too fantastic!
Too much!
Outside in the car, Eileen added the words that completed the crushing blow she had begun in the restaurant. Up until then, I had held out some small glimmer of hope that everything she related about her new-found love was just a coincidence. There were lots of girls named Myra, and probably quite a few who were pregnant.
"Myra's black, too, you know," Eileen said with a trace of a smile. "Lucy and now Myra. There was one other black girl before Lucy, but I can't remember her name." She paused and then snickered. "I guess you might say that black women are 'my bag'."
I raced my station wagon back to the Walter's house and let Eileen off without another word. "Goodnight Paul," she murmured while I stared straight ahead through the windshield. "Don't hate me, please." Then she kissed my cheek lightly and got out of the car.
Fifteen minutes later I was in my apartment, pouring myself an extra-stiff drink. My mind was staggered, unable to accept everything I had heard in the past few hours. Eileen was queer and Myra-my Myra-was her new love. How could it be? Had my callousness toward her and our unborn child driven Myra into lesbianism?
Apparently that was the case. Eileen had even mentioned that she was especially glad Myra was pregnant because it would give her an opportunity to fulfill her maternal urge. Both she and Myra were hoping for a girl, she had added.
Three double drinks later I forced myself to go to bed. I wanted to drink myself into oblivion, but even more, I wanted to see Myra at the office in the morning and confront her with Eileen Walter's name. The look in her eye would tell me if everything Eileen said was true.
I remember thinking just before I went to sleep on the chair in the living room that my life had suddenly and certainly taken a violent turn for the worse. "I hope nothing else happens," I recall muttering to myself. "One catastrophe at a time is enough."
Disaster number two occurred without warning while I was drinking my morning coffee and looking over the newspaper before leaving the apartment the following day.
"FOUNDRY EXECUTIVE, MISTRESS FOUND DEAD" the headline screamed at me from the front page of the paper above pictures of Frank Harris and Lila, his girlfriend. I could feel the blood draining out of my face as I read the story alongside the photos.
Police had found the two bodies in Lila's apartment after neighbors reported hearing two shots. A bullet had struck Lila in the forehead, killing her instantly. Harris, who apparently killed his girlfriend before taking his own life, had fired the .45 caliber weapon in his mouth.
The gun and a lengthy suicide note were found near the bodies in the bedroom, the story related.
Trembling, I read the portion of the news story about the suicide note. The paragraph read:
"Police refused to reveal the contents of the note because, they said, it contained the names of persons who must be contacted first.
The note was four pages long, handwritten on notebook paper in a masculine script, police said."
If my name was in Frank Harris' suicide note, the ball game was over. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7 a.m. According to the newspaper, the bodies had been discovered about 11 p.m. the night before. If my name was in the note, it seemed to me that the police would have contacted me during the night. That thought relaxed me for a moment and I leaned back and sipped my coffee.
Then it occurred to me that if Frank has spilled his guts about our price fixing deal, the cops would be taking their time putting the facts together before grabbing me. They'd want to look at the books at Gordon Foundries and at Space Age Metals. And, they would impound the new bank account set up in Frank's name until they figured out the difference between some of our records.
I was in a state of panic. What the hell could have driven Frank to suicide besides his fear of being discovered in the price fixing deal with me? And why would he have killed Lila? Perhaps I shouldn't have been so descriptive when I told him of the good time the Oriental beauty had shown me the night he and I closed our deal. Maybe he really loved her or something crazy like that and the thought of me enjoying her-and her enjoying me-drove him mad with jealousy.
By that time, I was shaking so badly that I nearly spilled my coffee. I had to get out of town, but I was afraid the police would be searching for me. My only chance was to hide out somewhere until I found out for sure whether or not Frank had blown the whistle on me. But where?
Donna wouldn't have anything to do with me, that was for sure. I couldn't go to her for help anyway. I had too much pride for that.
Eileen might help, but after last night, I doubted it. Bess and Momma Walters were possible sources of assistance, though. I hesitated to contact them because of what had happened with Eileen.
That left Myra. If she really loved me the way she said she did, maybe I could talk her into helping me get out of town if it turned out that the cops were after me.
It was about 7:15 a.m. when I telephoned Myra.
She answered after several rings and I knew I had awakened her.
"Myra, baby," I said trying not to sound overly excited. "Can you come over to my place right away? I may be in some real trouble and I might need your help."
"What's the matter?" she inquired with a note of hostility in her voice. "Did your white queen say no to your proposal last night?"
"I'm serious, Myra," I pleaded. "Please come over right away, hurry."
"What's the story, baby?" she asked with a new sound of interest.
"I can't tell you on the phone, but believe me, it's serious," I said. "Will you come over?"
"Yeah," she answered after a moment's silence. "There's something I have to tell you anyway."
Relieved to know that at least one person cared enough to help me, I raced into the bedroom and began packing my clothes. I was scared. Very scared, indeed.
Myra's knock on the door about 30 minutes later almost sent me through the roof. I let her in and embraced her momentarily. She noticed my bags beside the door and asked the obvious question:
"Where are you going?"
"I have to get out of town, Myra," I explained. "That's why I called you. Does your trombone playing friend, Malco, have any connections who can help me out of town and hide me for a few weeks?"
"Easy, baby, easy," she said. "Don't blow your cool. Just because Malco smokes a little pot and give me a few joints from time to time doesn't mean he's a goddamned Al Capone. What's your problem anyhow?"
Briefly I explained about the murder-suicide story in the newspaper and about my arrangement with Frank Harris.
"If he ratted on me in that note, Myra, the cops are probably on their way to get me now," I said urgently. "There isn't any time to lose. Can you and Malco help me?"
"I doubt it, Paul, baby," Myra said with a sad smile. "Malco's out of town with the band and I don't know anyone else who might have the right connections. Guess you better just hit the road. I'll send the fuzz in the other direction when they show up and at least maybe that will be of some help."
That was it. Nothing left. No one to help. Nowhere to run but right straight down the road where every cop would be looking in a few hours.
Suddenly there was a loud rap on the door. Even before the sound had completely registered in my brain, I knew it was the police and I knew my luck had run out.
When I opened the apartment door, two plain clothes detectives and two uniform guys stood there, crowding the hall.
"Mr. Norman?" one of the detectives asked and I nodded. He flashed his badge at me with a practiced flip of his hand and announced, "Police." Again I nodded. "We'd like to ask you some questions about your relationship with a Frank Harris and a Miss Lila Lee Wong. If you refuse to cooperate, I am authorized to place you under arrest on suspicion of fraud and grand larceny. May we come in?"
After that, everything including the two-week trial that resulted in my conviction and sentencing to five to twelve years, all of the events become fuzzy and hard to remember. Since I've been in prison, Jim Liggett has been reinstated as purchasing agent and Myra has given birth to a little girl. Myra escaped prosecution in connection with the doctored purchase orders that got Liggett fired by testifying against me. I couldn't blame her. I'd have done the same thing.
I think the most crushing thing that happened to me that day, when the police came to the apartment and my moon shot crashed back on the launching pad in flames was the brief comment that Myra made as I was leaving with the officers.
"You said on the phone that you had something to tell me," I reminded her. "What was it?"
"Oh, nothing important," she said shaking her head. "I just wanted to mention that I'd met a friend of yours. A girl by the name of Eileen."
