As we look about us, we find ourselves in an increasingly violent society. Death in the streets, muggings in the subways, and rape and molestation in all places.
This violent trend in society, as a whole, is reflected, of course, in our sexual lives as well.
People find a greater and greater desire for their sex to include some sort of violence, or other bizarre act.
This book contains five stories of such violence and perversity. This includes the use of enemas as devices for sexual gratification, as well as forced sex and bondage.
In today's world, no secret vice is ever left untouched, no twisted desire unchecked.
All of the sexual needs are revealed, the need to have a nozzle shoved up an ass, and then squirting water through it, and countless others, are all examined in this book,
DOCTOR'S LOVE MEDICINE
Matthew Nichols woke every morning as soon as the sunlight's first rays hit his one room bachelor apartment. He had wanted a small place, a room with lots of fresh air and sunlight, a place easy for a recently widowed man to care for, and bright enough to help him forget his loneliness.
He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. He had a schoolboy's hands, his fingers soft and gentle, accustomed to probing the tender, inner parts of the women who were his patients.
A gynecologist for twenty years, Matt never became thoroughly accustomed to sliding his gloved hand into the magical cavern that women had between their legs. Maybe, he thought, that's why he became a Gyn in the first place. And, after twenty years, he still could not look a patient in the eye as he probed her ovaries, pushed an exploring finger in the tiny opening of her cervix.
Oh, he certainly knew that other doctors looked patients in the face he had heard enough stories from his colleagues to know that rubber-gloved finger was not all they shoved into their patient's private parts and that many of them had patients who came regularly for such subversive services.
He dressed, his shirt uncomfortably stiff from the Chinese laundry, and frowned at himself in the mirror as he shaved. Perhaps he ought to grow a beard, his old partner, Sam, had grown a beard. But Sam was gone now a sudden rainstorm, brakes that didn't hold, and Sam was gone forever.
They had been partners in practice since their days in med school and although Matthew knew that Sam had fooled around with their women patients, he never asked about it and Sam never told him. Matthew was an up-tight type, Sam thought no need to get him worried.
Married at twenty, faithful until his wife died the past year, Matthew was unaccustomed to relating to women. Hell, he knew how to probe their vaginas but he didn't have the courage to ask for a simple date.
A new partner might help and Matthew hurried to his office to interview a brand new doctor, just finished internship, who was recommended to Matthew as a possible new partner.
Matt was stunned when his nurse led the new Doctor into the office.
"Dr. Nichols, this is Dr. Stern. Dr. Margaret Stern."
Matt stared at the young woman. She was young enough to be his daughter but her grades at school were excellent and the residents at the hospital recommended her highly.
Tall and slender, blonde hair that fell easily and gracefully to frame her face and wide, blue eyes that held Matthew's gaze easily.
He laughed, despite himself, "I'm sorry, Miss ..."
She smiled only briefly. "Doctor," she corrected him, "Doctor Stem. But you can call me Maggie."
"Well, Maggie, I'm not what you would call a liberated man, I guess, but I don't think I would want to work with a woman as a partner."
The new doctor's face tightened.
"I've heard that for weeks, Dr. Nichols. Someone has got to give me a chance. I can't afford to set up practice by myself and I don't want to spend my life as a resident."
His nurse, Rita, spoke up quickly.
"Lots of women want to go to women doctors these days," she said, "especially Gyn's."
Matthew shrugged. What the hell, he really didn't care, anyway. His life was so dull, so meaningless, what the hell, give the girl a chance.
Maggie set up shop in the adjacent examining room very quickly and when Mrs. Rooney, a young housewife, dropped in unexpectedly for a simple Pap smear by Dr. Nichols, he referred her to the new partner.
He expected the suspicious look on his patient's face when she caught sight of the beautiful young woman but she went obediently into the examining room, Maggie's comforting arm around her shoulders.
When Mrs. Rooney exited, some fifteen minutes later, and stood at Nurse Rita's counter to make out her check for payment, she had a glow about her that Matthew had never seen before. She was flushed and radiant.
"I'd like to make an appointment for next week," she said to Nurse Rita, smiling sweetly and secretly.
Rita looked puzzled.
"I want a complete examination," she said softly and added firmly, "but I want it by the new doctor."
Matt's eyebrows rose, amazed at his new partner's success with the patients.
All day long, as patients piled up in the waiting room, Matt referred those with the lesser problems to the new partner. And every patient left Maggie's examining room looking rosy-faced and completely, radiant.
When the next morning, over coffee, Man complimented his new partner, Maggie just smiled knowingly. "I told, you I was good, Matt," she said, "All I needed was for someone to give me a chance."
She looked at him with some concern.
"You know, you work too hard, Matt. Do you ever have any fun?" Matt smiled half-heartedly and shrugged.
"I'll have to show you how to enjoy life, Man, I can see that."
She smiled a secret, knowing smile and disappeared into her examining room to meet her first patient of the day.
Matt watched the patients come and go for several hours and, at last, his curiosity was out of control. Mid-morning, he opened up the secret peephole between the two examining rooms that he and his old partner, Sam, had put there so, they could consult on cases without the patient's knowledge.
Through the small round hole, Matt .had a direct view of the examining table, its shiny metal polished spotless and its rigid surface covered by a spanking clean paper sheet.
The patient, Miss Rogers, a woman of about twenty-five was coming out of the dressing room, her front covered by a paper jonny coat. Matt knew this patient and had dreaded every time she came to his office. She was what the young folks called a Swinger and she was constantly requiring contraceptive medication and smears for possible VD. He had no patience with her and was glad that he could now refer her to Maggie.
He remembered the embarrassing experience, of inserting his gloved hand in Miss Rogers' amply stretched vagina and having her pump his fingers with her talented muscles. He pulled his hand out, shocked, and Miss Rogers laughed at him. "That's just a sample, Doc," she had said. "Interested?"
Matt had been-too embarrassed to even answer her.
Now, she stretched out on the examining table and Maggie, fresh and efficient looking in her smock, stood beside her.
"Place your feet in the stirrups, please," she smiled warmly at Miss Rogers, who did so.
"Never thought I'd want a woman doctor fooling around me," Miss Rogers said. "Now, what's the problem?"
"I got this coil, I just want you to make sure it's in place."
Humph, thought Matthew on the other side of the wall, just like her to waste a doctor's time.
Maggie spread Miss Roger's ample labia with her fingers.
"I don't think I need to us the speculum," she said, sardonically eyeing Miss Rogers' gaping opening. Easily, she slid her index and middle fingers up the young woman's vaginal opening.
Miss Rogers grinned and squeezed her talented opening against the doctor's hand.
Maggie smiled back and moved the fingers in and out.
Matt, peeking through the peephole, couldn't believe his eyes.
His new partner took three gloved fingers and began to move them in and out the patients opening. Miss Rogers, being her usual smart-aleck self, began to twist on the metal table. He could hear her moan. Maggie's fingers moved more quickly and Matt noticed that the patient's large breasts stood firmly tense, her stiff nipples pointing toward the fluorescent lit ceiling.
Maggie began to examine the patient's full and rigid breasts with her other hand, feeling professionally at first but then massaging in a rotating manner, rubbing the patient's erect pink nipple between her fingers.
Miss Rogers moaned more loudly and Matt was stunned to see his new partner remove her fingers from the patient's vagina and bend her beautiful blonde head toward the open, gaping cunt now shining under the strong lights, glistening with desire.
"By the way," the new doctor said as she lowered her head between the patient's stretched thighs, "everything's fine in there." She clasped the patient's erect, ruby-red clitoris in her mouth and massaged it well. Miss Rogers pressed her pelvis toward the doctor's facile mouth, reaching down with her arms and holding the beautiful blonde head into her aching, swollen cunt.
Maggie reached around the patient's thighs and found her swollen, stiff nipples with her fingers, pulling them, squeezing them, as she sucked the patient's throbbing cunt.
"Oh, yeah," the patient groaned, "Oh, yeah, honey, suck it, suck my cunt, make me come, baby, make me come all over your beautiful face."
Matt felt his own cock rising, the first hard-on that Matt had had in over a year. He pressed the palm of his hand against it, as though it might go away. He couldn't stop watching the action in the adjoining room.
Miss Rogers was moving her pelvis quickly against Maggie's hungry mouth, pressing her cunt deeper and deeper around the doctor's face. Her body twisted frantically as she arched her back and was still for one frozen instant.
"Ohhhhhhh, yeah, I'm coming, baby, I'm coming all over you, OHHHH!"
With a mighty heave, Miss Rogers emptied her cunt-juices over the doctor's face and fell back satisfied, a smile on her lips.
"Wow," she said, after a moment. Maggie was washing her hands and face in a most professional manner at the stainless steel sink.
"Wow."
Miss Rogers got up from the table and dropped her paper jonny coat on the floor. She reached out for the doctor, wrapping her slender arms around the doctor's shoulders.
"Let me do something for you," Miss Rogers whispered.
Maggie looked professionally disinterested. "Sorry," she said with a charming smile, "I have patients waiting."
Miss Rogers shrugged and headed toward the dressing room ...
"You're sure that coil is in place?"
Maggie smiled to assure her.
"I think maybe I better come back next week and make sure," and Miss Rogers, grinning, disappeared into the dressing room.
"My God," Matt thought, holding his throbbing prick in his hand, "we're going to have more business than we can handle!"
He could feel the blood pulsing in his thick cock and the urge to jerk it, stroke it to orgasm was intense. Damn, he hadn't jerked off since he was a kid, before he married, he squeezed his cock with his fist as if that would keep it from throbbing.
The next patient to climb onto Dr. Maggie's steel examining table, covered only by the see-through paper jonny coat, was Annetta Antoni. Matt stared, his hard cock growing closer to ejaculation. Annetta was a woman that Matt had lusted after for fifteen years.
Forty years old, she was a full blown and startlingly attractive woman with a warmth about her that drew men like flies. She been divorced for several years now, her husband couldn't stand the constant threat of finding another man in bed with his wife - although Matt was quite sure that Annetta had never fooled around. Matt had considered asking her to dinner, himself, had looked her number up but never found the courage to dial the phone. He stared at the woman's full breasts, outlined through the paper coat, the full, rich line of her thighs, her firm, broad buttocks. Through the paper, Matt could see the bush of pubic hair that protected her ample cunt. Every time he had examined her, he had forced himself not to think about the pleasure of pushing his stiff organ into her gaping and hungry snatch.
Now, she lay down on the table and put her feet into the stirrups, looking with. some curiosity at the new woman doctor.
"Do you examine your breasts regularly?"
Annetta shook her head, No.
"Dr, Nichols has never taught you how to examine your breasts?"
Annetta smiled, No.
In the other room, Matt, peeking through the hole in the wall, chastised himself. Of course he knew he ought to teach his patients to do self-examination, but he couldn't bring himself to do more than a cursory touching of their breasts himself. He could never take their fingers in his hand and show them the intimate touching needed for such weekly examination at home.
Dr. Maggie took the patient's long, slender fingers in her hands and pressed them to the patient's breasts. "I hope this doesn't embarrass you."
Annetta smiled non-committally and allowed the doctor to untie the paper coat and remove it.
Matt looked at the full blown woman's body sitting on the cold steel table. Such warmth against such impersonal, steel, it excited him even more. He watched his new partner take the patient's hands in her own and move them across Annetta's large, firm breasts, pressing, "And it is important around the nipple," Dr. Maggie said and pressed the patient's fingers around the edge of her large, brown nipple. Matt watched Annetta's nipple erect immediately. He thought he noticed a slight smile on the new doctor's face as she continued to rub the nipple with the patient's own finger.
"Some women are prone to spontaneous benign lumps," Maggie continued, and they mean nothing. "You should never be frightened by a lump that feels like this."
The doctor took the patient's hand and placed it under her doctors coat, onto her own firm, young breast.
Matt was amazed to see that his new partner was bare breasted under her professional coat. He watched the patient as she felt Maggie's firm, erect breasts in the same manner she had just been taught, including the prolonged rubbing of the nipples.
The woman doctor's nipples were stiff and eager, Matt could see clearly, and the patient, Annetta, seemed to move on the bench as though she were feeling a burning in her crotch. She moved her head forward easily, her eyes never leaving Maggie's, her thick mass of jet-black hair falling forward over her full, round shoulders. She took the doctor's erect nipple in her mouth and teased it lovingly with her tongue.
Dr. Maggie smiled with pleasure and encouraged the patient to lick and suck her breasts as she reached down between the patient's legs and pushed an ungloved, eager hand into the wet tangle of hair that surrounded the patient's swollen, throbbing cunt.
Matt could see her rubbing the patient's stiff, swollen clitoris with experienced fingers, first on the sides, then in a rotating motion until Annetta moaned with desire and wrapped her arms around the doctor.
The woman doctor removed herself from the patient's embrace and dropped her formal doctor's robe to the floor. She was naked underneath, completely naked, Matt was amazed. He held his cock more tightly, trying to stop the pounding, the need to come.
Annetta wrapped her strong thighs around Maggie's hips and leaned back onto the examining table, allowing the doctor to mount her and suck her full, hard nipples as she moved her pelvis against the patient's open, heated cunt, the doctor's slender pelvic bone pushing back and forth against the patient's stiff and aching clitoris.
From where he was watching, Matt could see Annetta's stiff clitoris moving easily, lubricated with juices, against the patch of cunt hair on the doctor's pelvis.
Maggie moved her head easily from one full breast to another, licking and sucking the patient's nipples. Matt could see Annetta pressing her breasts into the doctor's hot, hungry mouth, moving her cunt in a quickening rhythm with the doctor's thrusting pelvis.
Matt had never seen two women making love, ever, and the sight of the firm, hard thighs of his woman partner, rubbing the stiff clitoris of the voluptuous patient with her hard pelvis, excited him terribly. He squeezed harder with his fist, trying to hold off ejaculation.
He saw the doctor stop for a moment and the woman patient groaned with disappointment. Maggie reached down between her own thighs and parted her dripping labia with two fingers, placing her own rigid clitoris against the swollen and aching clitoris of the patient. Holding the contact with her weight, she began again to move her pelvis in a fucking motion.
Annetta wrapped her legs around the woman doctor's back and encouraged the movement, up, down, up, down, groaning deep in her throat as the beautiful doctor continued to lick and suck her aching nipples.
Their bodies moved quickly then, faster, faster, until Matt could heard Annetta's groaning through the wall.
"Yes, yes," she was crying, "please, fuck me, don't stop, don't stop, don't S-T-O-P!"
And the voluptuous patient's wide hips reared up into the arm, cradling the doctor's quickly moving pelvis.
Maggie raised her head from the hot breasts of the patient, her, mouth open, a long cry emitting from it.
"Yes, baby, now, now, come with me!"
Their bodies shuddered together and collapsed onto the table, the soft woman's flesh-making a beautiful contrast with its stark surroundings.
Man squeezed his cock harder as he watched them lie together in peaceful, satisfied exhaustion.
At last, the doctor sat up and slid off the steel table. She walked to the basin and used the disposable towels to thoroughly wash her dripping cunt. She soaked another towel and offered it to the patient, who did the same.
Matt paced the floor frantically and looked out his office door to see who would be next.
He saw Annetta at Rita's desk, making an appointment for the next day.
The next patient was an elderly woman and his new partner, Maggie the doctor, was professionally gentle and completely asexual with her. The old woman seemed pleased with the new doctor but Matt was somehow disappointed.
As. shocked as he was at the behavior in that examining room next to his, he still had a cock that was throbbing against his leg and he knew that he had never been so sexually excited in his life.
Rita opened the door suddenly, calling, "Doctor, I have a patient waiting for you."
Man didn't turn around. He didn't want to expose his rigid cock. He pushed it back into his pants with some difficulty and tried to compose himself as his next patient, Mrs. Meyers, came into the room.
Mrs. Meyers was a rather cold looking woman, perhaps thirty five. She had come to him in the past in the hopes of becoming pregnant but to date, she and her truck driver husband had had no success. She explained to Matt that was again the reason for her visit.
"I know I'm capable of carrying a baby," she said, her face frozen in some half-frightened look she always had. "And I'm sure my husband is virile. Perhaps, Doctor," she seemed quite hesitant to say it, "Perhaps it's because I never have."
"Never have what?" Man was hardly concentrating on the patient's problem. His own problem, stiff against his leg, was throbbing unmercifully.
"You know."
Matt tried to be professional, tried to listen.
"You mean you have never had intercourse?"
"Of course, Doctor," she said with a note of shock.
"You mean," he said, "you've never had an orgasm."
"That's right," she said stiffly, "I've never, as my husband says, come."
"Well," Matt said, "that shouldn't affect your conceiving. However, if you're very tense about it, that could affect conception. Undress, please, and get up on the table."
While Mrs. Meyers was changing, Matt squeezed his cock hard again. "Go soft, you bastard," he muttered under his breath, "Damn you."
"What was that, Doctor?" Mrs. Meyers came out of the dressing room and slid up onto the table.
"Nothing, Mrs. Meyers," Matt said and waited as the woman put her heels into the stirrups. He looked at the object of his concern, just another cunt, no different from the twenty cunts he had looked at every day of his professional life. But his rampant cock pushed professional considerations aside and as he drove an ungloved finger into Mrs. Meyers tight snatch, Man said, "I think I may be able to offer a treatment for your problem, M'am."
Dipping his fingers in Vaseline, he probed her cunt, stroking it, rubbing her clitoris in the same manner he had watched Maggie doing earlier that day. Mrs. Meyers moved slightly on the table and moaned.
Her clit was stiffening and Matt took his stiff prick out of his pants. He reached under the paper coat she wore and grasped her small breast, rubbing the nipple with his finger. Mrs. Meyers gasped but her cunt was seeping fluid and he could feel it swelling with hot lust as he finger-fucked her cunt-hole with three fingers and rubbed her clitoris in a rotating motion with his big thumb.
"Oh, doctor," Mrs. Meyers moaned, "Oh, doctor, that feels so good!"
He took his cock out of his pants again, harder, bigger than it had ever been. Throbbing, aching, he held his cock tightly, until he could climb onto the table and kneel between Mrs. Meyers' stretched legs. He continued to rub her clitoris until she was at the apex of pleasure, then he rammed his hot, rod into her tight hole and pumped it up and down in the boiling cunt. He could feel her cunt dripping onto his balls as he rammed his prick in and out of her snatch.
"Doctor," Mrs. Meyers continued to moan, "Oh, Doctor, my husband was never like this, oh, oh, oh, OHHHHH!"
Matt knew Mrs. Meyers had come and he allowed his rock-hard rod to shoot its steaming wad into her pulsing, sucking snatch. When his prick had shriveled and he climbed back off the stretcher, Matt said in his most professional manner, "If you don't get pregnant in the next month, call my nurse and make an appointment for another treatment."
Mrs. Meyers smiled at him in a most un-patient-like manner.
"Do you give lessons for husbands, Doctor?"
"No," Matt said, without a smile, "I'm afraid you'll have to do that for yourself."
The next day, Matt made a point of knowing the time of Annetta's appointment with his new partner and of being at the peephole again. The woman's full body excited him terribly and he wished that she were coming to him to be examined, instead of to his new woman partner. Now that he knew some of the joys inherent in his profession, he would treat that voluptuous patient quite differently. His eye at the peephole, Matt waited with excitement filling his cock as Annetta came into the examining room. This time, she had not even bothered to put on the paper jonny coat. She climbed onto the steel examining table completely naked, smiling at the woman doctor.
Maggie quickly unbuttoned her doctor's smock and dropped it onto the floor and embraced the patient, running her anxious hands along the. patient's thighs and back, massaging her large, breasts with eager, hot hands and pressing her own hot cunt into the swollen, sopping snatch between Annetta's legs.
He saw the doctor maneuver the patient into position, pushing her ankles into the stirrups, the doctor taking her place quickly between the patient's thighs.
Maggie's hand moved in and out the patient's throbbing cunt, sliding with the hot juices that flowed in anticipation of new thrills. She slid the lubricated fingers into the crack between the patient's buttocks and gently fucked her puckered brown asshole with two fingers.
Matt's cock throbbed and he released it from his pants and held it in his hand as he watched Annetta's tiny asshole open eagerly to admit the doctor's fingers.
"Don't make me wait!" Annetta groan and watched in amazement as the voluptuous patient held out her arms. The doctor seemed to understand what was desired and quickly crawled up on the table, pushing her own wet cunt into Annetta's hungry mouth and licking Annetta's stiff and aching clitoris her own eager tongue, continuing to probe Anetta's pulsing asshole with her fingers as she did so.
He watched Maggie's mouth at work on the huge, throbbing snatch, her tongue tracing the outline of the labia, plunging deep into the cunt-hole, centering at last on the waiting, eager clitoris and sucking it as she moved her tongue on its most sensitive parts.
Annetta seemed less experienced at the techniques of cunt-sucking and he could tell that she was trying to follow the leadership of the doctor who was making her cunt swell and throb with desire.
The man groaned and moved in tandem, a slight fucking motion in their hips as they sucked one another's flaming snatches. The groans grew higher, louder as they, rose to a climax, their bodies raising together in the air and their cunts pushing frantically into one another's mouths in orgasm.
He could see the juices running down Annetta's warm, lull thighs.
His, stiff prick in his hand, he could stand it no longer and rushed, waving his hot dong, into the examining room where the two women were beginning to fondle one another's breasts in preparation for another round.
"Dr. Nichols," Annetta said in surprise, staring at his stiff, long prick jutting from his starched white smock. "Why, Dr. Nichols!"
His new partner, Maggie, smiled knowingly and confined her fingers and her mouth to Annetta's full breasts, licking and fingering the erect nipples as Dr. Nichols replaced the patient's feet in the stirrups and stood between her thighs, his rampant cock in his hand.
"Wait," the new doctor urged, "Wait!"
She climbed onto the table and straddled Annetta's lovely face, pressing her clitoris into the patient's hot mouth and reaching down to titillate Annetta's ripe, plump breasts. Annetta reached behind the woman doctor and inserted two fingers into her tiny asshole as she sucked hungrily at the woman doctor's cunt.
Matt rammed his stiff rod into the patient's snatch and, felt the sopping wet and heat charge him even more. He felt his heart pound frantically and his balls ached with their load, ready to shoot it into, the patient's pulsing cunt.
He tried to wait until she began to close around his red-hot prick, sucking at it as he plunged in and out of her swollen, steaming snatch and when he felt that she was at the peak of pleasure, he rammed his rod fast and hard into her, his balls slapping against her buttocks, soaked from her juices, and at last, he spilled his hot jism into the aching, sucking receptacle between her legs.
Suddenly, the office door flew open. It was Rita, his nurse. She gasped at what she saw before her. Matt's limp prick sliding out the juicy cunt of Annetta, the voluptuous patient, while the new doctor, Maggie, still rode the patient's face, being finger-fucked in the asshole as she pressed her clit hard against the patient's open mouth Annetta's tongue moved rapidly to bring Maggie to climax and as Maggie screamed, "Oh, yes, honey, suck it, suck my cunt!" and shook with the total pleasure of orgasm, Nurse Rita stripped off her neatly pressed uniform and stood beside them, naked and trembling with excitement.
"May I join in?"
Within seconds, Maggie was ready for a second round and had Nurse Rita on the floor, initiating her into the subtle delights of lesbian love while Matt was happily fucking Annetta atop the examining table.
"Damn," he thought, grinning, as he plunged his stiff rod in and out the woman he had so long admired from, afar, "I wonder if she'd marry me? I'd certainly like to have this piece waiting for me every night."
As he was considering the proper time and place to ask the question, and thinking happily that his lonely, up-tight days of life were ending, he glanced at the floor where Nurse Rita and Doctor Maggie were happily sixty-nineing.
Maggie looked up for a moment and winked at him.
"See, Doctor Nichols, Gynecology can be fun!"
HOT TO FUCK
The scow pulled up at the deserted docks.
Jib got out of the old scow and thanked the Swede again, wondering if the salty. old devil thought he was mad. Well, it had been a slow trip down the Hudson and one thing about a stranger, Jib thought, you can tell them the truth and then just don't look back.
Jib watched the man's profile, his old man's beard making him look like King Lear, as the distance between them got greater. Twilight turned the water into a greenish blue that seemed to reach up and swallow the night.
When Jib looked away from the old scow captain and the blue water, the image hung in his mind like a photo negative.
He walked inland, aiming for the East Village, racing ahead of himself. Evelyn was the first thing on his mind, the first purpose, the reason he was in New York in the first place. Her gentle beauty had enchanted him so, that a year's time had done nothing to ease the nagging suspicion that his connection with infinity sat just out of reach, in the swampy regions of the East Side of Manhattan. Her image, stored in his mind and burning a hole in it, is what forced him back, forced him out of his reclusive venture in Canada where he had been living in a tent near Vancouver.
He approached Four-Fifty Grand Street hoping that the building was still standing. When he'd left, or, just before, there had been talk of tearing it down. It was old and falling apart, a stitch away from the cement mortician, but as he rounded the corner he saw the building. What's more, he saw her, Evelyn.
Jib stood on the corner and watched her. The bathroom light had been on and had gone off, then the living room light went on. He could, see her outline through the thin shades as she stood with her profile towards him, occupied with something or other.
Jib remembered what, Evelyn looked like when she came out of the shower. He'd broken out in a thin layer of sweat, dreaming up her tall girlish frame, her wild frosted hair combed loose and soft, her breast topping a sensual carriage with their graceful fullness, her lips, her nose. What was he doing on that corner just yards away from her and dreaming-about her.
Jib rang the bell. He had to. The door downstairs was kept locked as a safety device. It usually didn't work, the lock, and Jib sensed that a conspiracy of some type might be working against him; perhaps some Imp on cosmic Joker.
"My attending spirits had best behave," Jib said almost aloud as he stood in the doorway and waited for her to buzz back. No answer.
He buzzed again, salivating over the thoughts of her body, her sweet face, running through his mind.
Finally, a full five minutes of buzzing later, and his call was returned. He pushed against the door and it gave. In seconds, he was rushing up the old piss stained stars, his groin on, fire with the heat of her pictures.
Apartment 6J meant six flights up, meant a huff and puff for anyone not in the best of physical shape. On the fourth landing he learned that he'd been smoking too heavily, and by the sixth landing he was almost ready for bed, sleepy-bed. He knocked on the door.
She would alter his dreariness with one twinkle of her hazel eyes.
"Who is it?"
"Your voice is like a bird's chirp, an angel's fallen harp locked in its own symphonic orbit."
"Jib?"
"Might be. Try it!"
She opened the door, a white towel around her wet hair giving her features a pristine quality, almost too sweet to be real and earthly. Her smile was all that he remembered it to be, perhaps more! The towel she wore around her body was red, and contrasted hotly with the silken whiteness of her skin, just as her dark brows set off the glowy milk colored face.
He moved to kiss her, and she stood absolutely still, baffled beyond the ability to return his hunger. He peeled the towel off of her head and looked at her closely, holding her face lovingly in his two hands. He kissed her again, this time holding her with a rigid urgency, his hand dropping down to her buttocks and holding the firm circles in a light pip.
"Jib! What are you doing here? I thought. you were in Canada," she said, as soon as he allowed her the freedom to use her mouth, as soon as the heat of his kisses stopped and his mouth went on to explore the high shoulders, the long freshly washed neck.
"I came back to be with you Evelyn," Jib said, looking into her eyes as if a time of truth were approaching for them.
"Well, I can see there will be no conversation until you can get your mind at rest. Let's go to bed."
Evelyn suggested he take a shower, and he looked down at his dirty jeans, the old boots the denim jacket and sweat shirt. He felt suddenly like a compost, mulching beneath the grit and grime of the road and sea.
Jib smiled at her and kissed her again.
"Promise to shave, around your beard. You know how those little hairs leave marks on me?"
Jib walked into the bathroom which was already steamy and smelled faintly of the images he'd just traveled across the country to revive. He put the water back on arid stepped into the tub, looking straight up into the shower like a drunk trying to sober up.
When he turned the shower off, he could hear her softly strumming her guitar and singing, and he had to force the smile off of his face so that he could shave without a severe loss of blood. She was so beautiful! She radiated beyond his wildest dreams of womanhood.
Sometimes he still thought of her as he had met her in the beginning. She was the softest woman he'd come across during his morbid year in New Haven, where he was forced to live so that he could attend Yale.
New Haven was hardly a haven for Jib, a city boy with wild tastes and the words of Hassin superlative in his mind: "Nothing is true, all things are permitted." He was looked upon as frivolous, to be kind, by the young people that attended classes with him, walked around campus with him, turned him into a joke so that they themselves would not have to look in the mirror and see the real joke.
Then Evelyn. That Philosophy class he took to expose himself to some, suppose cosmic nobility. Professor Yenbark and his over-bred little dainty sentences, explaining the cosmos as viewed by the Rationalists, the Empiricists, etc. On and on, and old Jib hesitating to insert even an occasional comment "in the alien atmosphere, "a million abstractions flying around the room like so much chicken fat!
Then one day he looked to his right, and there she was. How long had she been sitting there like that? How long had he been oblivious to that beautiful creature?
In another place, on his own planet, Jib would have walked up to her and said something cute and dumb. He wanted to walk over and point at her pointing breasts and beam a smile, saying "Hey, I like those!" But this was Yale! His normal devices were jammed, and he let her go for two weeks, attending classes like a religious fanatic hooked on the Rationalists, when what he wanted was the proximity to her that class offered.
Finally, he'd smiled at her, a weak attempt but she'd returned it, and one afternoon they walked out of class together, the princess and the recluse. Lt was the beginning of something that would occupy his mind for a long time. He remembered wondering how long.
Looking in the bathroom mirror as he shaved around his face, he recalled enough to bring himself up to that initial question, of how long she would maintain power over him. That was two years ago, and so his question was still in the oven, still to be wondered about.
Jib stepped out of the bathroom wearing the towel that was left for him. He found her on the bed, sitting with the guitar. When he entered the room she put the guitar down and stretched out her needy and ready arms to embrace him. Jib fell into her arms the way a thirsty man falls into a tall beer. At once his lips were all over her, licking, leaving a trail of moisture over her light skin, now quivering with passion. He felt an urgent desire to please her, to have her value him sexually. He began at her lower calves and licked his way up to the, damp pubic hairs, still fresh from her shower. His hand covered the brown fluff, a finger sinking into the recess of her organs.
"Jib! It's been so long!"
What could that mean? It's been so long since she'd been with him, or with anyone? He doubted if solitude were even possible in New York City. He doubted if anyone in the whole shit house could imagine what it's like to not speak with anyone for two months or more, to only communicate through letters, and that was only on occasion.
Jib stretched out along side of her, where he could handle her gracefully, and watch her responses at the same time.
Evelyn was passive, accepting his caress gratefully, moving only when called upon to do so by the situation. She pressed her legs together, causing him to stop licking at her and look up at her face. Her hair was drying aid tangled up in excitement, as her soft full lips pursed and her eyes twinkled like a princess ship-wrecked in a storm, awaiting her savior on the gray shore in peaceful assurance.
She moistened her lips and reached out for his hand, sucking on one of his fingers, her eyes closed like a child's with a pacifier. He watched her, moaned her name, and without the control he ordinarily employed with her, so that she would be guaranteed to come and feel satisfied, he moved up on her, sitting lightly on her breasts lifting a pillow under her head so that her ups were in line with the hard cock he held out, a cock that had served its time in his pants and was now ready for the hot oven of her mouth.
With her eyes closed, she reached her hand out, touching the cock with a smooth graceful touch, forcing it to grow to its full capacity.
She guided it toward her mouth, stopping just an inch before the budding flower of her lips. At this point, her tongue protruded out to meet the hungry cock, striking out at it with soft reminding licks, bringing back the past as though the time between the last time she'd touched him like that were all negated.
"Evelyn! I can't believe how beautiful you are!"
She smiled, changing the shape of her lips, lifting them up and revealing the sweet smile lines that formed in the corners. He'd almost lost the image of her mouth smiling.
He'd almost lost so much. Worse. He hadn't even lost her. He simply left her. Looking at her now, her mouth reaching out, her hands cupping his balls and drawing him closer and closer to her mouth, he wondered how he left her. He wondered what drove him to it! It all seemed so real then, the need to be alone. There was no alternative open to him, just as he'd said in his letters.
He simply wanted ownership of his own mind, at all costs. The costs were high. Also, his own mind meant less and less to him out therein the wilderness.
"Jib. Fill up my mouth lover. I missed you so," she said, her eyes still closed, making her mouth the point of focus on her face.
He allowed his cock to enter her mouth, noting in his mind that he would have to remove himself from this ecstasy or he would come instantly. He'd not been near a woman in a year. He braced himself as his cock was drawn into her mouth, then allowed to slip out again. He watched her, about as detached as one can get in a dentist's chair after being informed that the croaker is out of gas. He had to close his eyes or he would lose control as quickly as it would take a pin to drop on the floor. He did a quick and quiet mantra, not having true discipline and employing a distraction instead. It worked. In a few moments he could open his eyes and observe the sweet eyeful of her delicate pale lips on his cock, without feeling a violent urge to satisfy himself.
"Your eyes are beautiful, open or closed," he told her, feeling her beautiful breasts under his ass, his balls on her chin, dancing with the rhythm with which she sucked him in and out of her mouth.
"Evelyn I'm going to have to come. If you want me to stop tell me now."
Evelyn did the opposite. She kicked into high gear, grasping the root of his cock to hold it firmly in place for her lips. She ran her lips over the hard shaft, her little tongue darting over the tip, followed by a deep plunge, then again, until he knew what to expect, what to wait for.
Jib held her loosely as a film of sweat covered her face, as she furiously sucked out at the cock, as though it could save her, as though it was a long time coming.
It was a long time coming, but the little jets of sperm were nothing like anything Jib remembered an orgasm to be.
"Deluge!" he said.
Evelyn stopped moving when the shooting started, and very quietly sucked the come out of his cock, not expecting quite so much and losing some out of the corners of her mouth, trickling onto the sheets. Her eyes were still closed.
"Jib!" she said. She cupped his balls and shrinking cock lovingly in her hands, warming up what she had already set on fire.
Jib watched her as she took his cock and placed it down below, where her sweet limbs met and nature had given her a tight womanly organ.
"Evelyn. I must see your eyes."
She opened them, and his cock was hard again at once, the hazel reflections causing him to soar with recall, with the intensity of the moment, all at once!
Jib allowed his cock to be guided, feeling too shaken and beyond himself to find even the simple parts of her anatomy. The girl let out a soft sigh as the hard cock found the lips of her sex, and another sigh when he entered her, his cock going where her mind had wanted it, so many nights or tossing over in bed alone.
Jib could sense the intensity of her feelings. There was nothing casual in her need for him. His heart told him he'd been right in returning to her, to New York, to Civilization. He lifted a long limb over his head and spun her around so that he was in her from the rear. That was a trick they'd discovered together one New Haven afternoon. He'd wanted to fuck her from the rear and, without pulling out, he'd brought her leg up over his, head and managed to get behind her like a thief. They were both amazed at his acrobatics. He'd been tempted to look at her as though everyone knew that, but he hadn't the capacity to lie to her.
Now, when he performed that act, a loose smile played with her lips and she knew what he was doing and why. She felt his hand creep down the nice flat stomach aid rest on her bush again, his finger working on her clit while he swiftly, entered and exited from the rear in perpetual motion.
The room filled up with her moaning, her sobs of pleasure, her pale lips grasping out, her nostrils pulling in air and flaring with the temperature of her own lust. Evelyn's body became an animated work of great art, making the moment of penetration a lasting monument in Jib's mind, a monument to the potential of sex, of women.
He maintained his rhythm, conscious of every point of contact. Conscious of his belly brushing up to her buttocks, of his finger, sticky with love and working her tiny clicker like a master works a pin ball machine. Each groan she let out enforced his suspicions that he was the master and she the device he was addicted too.
"I'm coming Jib! Your cock feels so good. No man has done that to me quite like that." she said, and suddenly the question that had bothered him before, about whether or not she'd slept with anyone else, became a matter worthy only of dismissal. It didn't matter who she went to bed with. Tonight, with Jib, she was making love! That was all that really mattered and that was apparent.
"Keep it coming Jib! It's been so long!"
He had no intentions of coming until he literally drove her wild. His first orgasm had eased the total hunger, and he felt relaxed now, and capable.
"You tell me when to trigger!"
"Keep it coming! I love it! I love you Jib!" she moaned, her words filling the room, her hoarse whispers realty sounding like, quiet screams, the music of hunger.
"I love you, Evelyn. I love you, woman!"
She continued to move in her own rhythm, having perfected her position to get a maximum of sensation out of the arrangement of his cock and finger on her clit.
Jib had a sudden urge to dive into her asshole once, startle her and wake up those lovely eyes. He settled for imagining the look on her face, and left the act for another time. He turned her toward him now, sensing from her that breathing and the movements of her body, that she was going to come.
Suddenly, her fluid motion turned to abrupt patterns, and her lips searched out until he finally lifted the free hand he'd been using to appreciate her big breasts, and allowed her to suck in a finger. This relaxed her for a second, but then the full force of her passion was upon her, and her moaning, pushed the finger out of her mouth and she became a wild seeker of gratification, beating against him with a near violent urgency until her spasms caught her. She moaned his name and opened her eyes, gazing into his, burning into his, her little buttocks moving in a rotary fashion with her orgasm providing the steam and also signaling Jib that it was time to let loose.
They came together in a sea of old photographs, old memories merging with the present and rising the juices of celebration. The, mutuality of their satisfaction was obvious right after, when, Jib reached for a cigarette and the two of them sat in the semi-darkness of the apartment and embraced each other lightly.
"It's been along time, Jib," she reflected, her eyes straight ahead, looking beyond the room.
"It's been much too long. Eve. You know how I can get. I had to let myself do that, go plum crazy in the streets. I had to be alone and it was hard to leave you."
"It was hard to be left."
"But you understood, didn't you?"
"Does anyone understand anyone else? I could say now that I understood. Now that you're back. You are staying?"
"Yeah! I'm staying. I'm staying right here."
"To be a hermit?"
"No, baby! That whole thing passed. Solitude is a cruel mistress. She asks too many questions for one man. I know who I am for all practical reasons, and I don't want to go beyond that just yet, you know?" he said.
"I've wanted to fall, asleep in your arms," she said.
He embraced her and pulled her towards him, comparing the feel of her softness to the practical coarseness of his woolen blanket, his morbid stiff cot. He smelled her womanly aroma and compared it to the canvas must of the tent when he'd wake up in the morning, knowing very well that nobody, not one singe person in the universe, would know or care that Jib just woke up, just cooked himself a few eggs on a wood fire, just washed down some black coffee and wondered who the fuck he was and what was driving him away from people.
"What was it like, Jib?"
"What was what like?"
"Being alone. You were alone, weren't you?"
"I most certainly was. I can tell you in detail what being alone is like. It's much different than being alone on a campus full of people or in a big city."
"What was it like?"
"It was lonely. It was serene and thoughtful, but God, I got tired of having nobody to share my thoughts with. I got tired of my own monologue."
"Was there any way to break it up?"
"Yes. I was just ten miles south of Vancouver and I had to hitch into town once every week or two and buy some groceries and cigarettes, and sometimes score some reefer if I could find anyone in that town who'd trust me. Damn is Vancouver wholesome. Almost made me sick!"
"Did you connect with anyone?" she asked, looking at him and wondering how he survived the ordeal of being alone. She'd been without him, but she did have men at her disposal, and she'd used a few of them. She had her girlfriends from Yale who'd settled in New York. She'd had the luxuries of civilization.
"Yeah, in a vague way. Whoever passed by my campsite had a cup of coffee and a few words. That's the way out there, there being so few people that when you come upon one you're really ready to talk. It was strange walking here, passing all those people without a glance given or received. And I, grew up here! You'd think I'd be ready for that."
"Did you really connect with anyone?" she asked.
"No, not in any real lasting ways. I read a lot, then I decided that words are not definitive and I stopped reading and started thinking. I missed you, but I sat on that. That was the one thing I might have given in to, and I couldn't let it gain on me."
"Well I missed you also," she said, seeming pleased with him, seeming to understand him, though well he, knew that he would never understand himself, nor anyone else. Well he knew that true understanding was just not a human capacity. That much he had learned by venturing into his own mind, by leaving it all in the past and being as alone as a man can be in this day and age.
Evelyn appeared to be lightly sleeping, but her hand began suddenly to revive his cock with warm caressing, lightly employing her fingers like little magic wands. His cock got hard and he put out the cigarette, watching the sleeping beauty as she put her face in his crotch, her nostrils hungry for the scent of him, her mouth once again stretching to submit itself to his cock.
"Slow," he said, his poor cock hurting and swollen, no longer used to these events.
She must have sensed his pain because she moved in a quiet contained way, as though she were sucking on him more as a pass-time then a means to end her hunger.
He looked down at her face straining to get his hardened cock in up to the hilt.
"Evelyn! You are so beautiful."
She smiled, the cock not exempting her mouth from mobility. He must love her very much, she thought, to give up his solitude and join her in the city.
"Roll around Evelyn. I've thought about your tiny little asshole. Do you know what it's like to be in the wilderness and have that tight little asshole on your mind?"
Evelyn rolled around and moistened his cock before she allowed him to enter her little ass. Once he was inside, she groaned with pleasure, his hand reaching down for her clicker again.
Jib began to move up and down on her, loving the soft skin of her body as it strained to receive his cock. His finger on her clitoris served to keep her motivated, keep her machine working, the rotary motions of her ass bringing him to a quick orgasm, intensified by the tightness of her ass.
"Baby! I've been dreaming about that for a year;" he said to her, pulling out, his cock dripping onto the sheet.
They made their way to the bathroom and got under the shower together, the warm water seeming almost absurd to Jib. Jib had been washing, when the mood struck, in a stream of cold water. He was almost lulled to sleep, standing on his feet.
"You've come all these miles Jib. At least make it to the bed."
He smiled, but it was a mushy smile. It was the smile of a man who'd done too much hard traveling and couldn't land really, but had to crash-land. He did just that, as soon as she'd navigated him back to the bed and his head hit the pillow. He went to sleep with the scent of her in his nostrils and in his mind but not just in his imagination.
"Welcome home, Zarathustra," she said to him, but he was long asleep, long lost to the world of animation, and she was talking to herself.
ENEMA LOVING BOY
Roger could hear his mother talking in the living room. He was locked up in the bedroom, again, confined for his rotten behavior.
"I just don't know what to do with him, Miz Samuels," the maid was whining, "he's the baddest boy I ever come across."
"Now, what exactly did he do, Agnes?"
Roger knew his mother's executive, bored tone of voice. He imagined her, her very chic leather jacket hanging open, her smart pants suit without a rumple after a full business day.
She would be running her long-fingered hands through her short, graying hair and, with one finger, pushing her glasses up her nose. She was probably smoking a cigarette and thinking more about getting to the living room bar to have that first martini than she was about the disciplining of her son by the maid.
"He talks back to me all the time," the maid continued, "and he goes into that bathroom and locks himself in. I worry about him in there. I don't know what's he's doing in there, Miz Samuels."
"He's an adolescent boy" his mother said tonelessly and he could hear her footsteps moving, across the thick carpeting toward the bar. He heard the, click of glasses and a noticed the sigh of relief. Mom must have taken the first sip of her martini.
"I don't see any reason for locking him in him in his room, Agnes," his mother continued, "and this is the third time this week. If you and Roger can't co-exist together ..."
The maid knew her job was being threatened.
"I'm trying to understand him, Miz Samuels. I just worry when he's in that bathroom and he makes such a mess. Water everywhere."
"Agnes, I'm going to be frank with you," Roger's mother continued, "he's an adolescent, boy. Adolescent boys masturbate."
Agnes gasped. She never liked to hear sex discussed.
"Agnes, leave him alone in the bathroom. If he wants to stay in there all day, let him. But stop locking the kid in his room every afternoon. Is that understood?"
Roger guessed that Agnes had nodded her head obediently, looking angry and bewildered. He knew that the maid tried to do what she thought was best for him. She was always telling him that she tried to treat him like he was her own boy.
Roger giggled, thinking his mother really thought that he was jerking off in the bathroom.
Well, she was almost right Partly right. If she only knew. Well, fuck her, he thought it's her fault, anyway. If she hadn't always been giving me those goddamn enemas.
Roger's mother was a successful bank executive and had, shortly after Roger's birth, dumped his itinerant father. She worked long, hard hours and when she came home, her interest was always more in her latest woman friend than in taking care of a small boy.
Sometimes, she'd get to feeling guilty, though. Especially when the little boy wasn't feeling well. Roger learned that very fast and felt rotten as much as he could get away with.
He learned early that constipation was something that attracted attention. His belly blew up, his breath got foul, he lost his appetite and his mother would, rush him to the doctor's office.
The pediatrician always recommended an enema as the fastest solution to Roger's predicament. His mother would reluctantly administer the hot, soapy water up his tiny rectum and Roger quickly associated his mother's attention to him and the relief, the pleasurable evacuation that followed the swell of hot water in his young intestines.
Whenever Roger wanted attention and that was frequently, he got himself thoroughly constipated.
His mother, exhausted with the doctor bills, soon ceased to take Roger to the pediatrician for his constipation and simply diagnosed the situation herself and administered the enema.
An enema, to Roger, meant his mother loved him.
And as Roger grew and his normal instincts began to play upon him, he found that the stiffening of his little prick and the hot need in his groin could be relieved, most pleasantly, by an enema - and thoughts of his mother.
Then when his mother said to him, "Roger, you're thirteen years old, and too big for me to be giving enemas. You'll have to learn to do it to yourself," Roger did not stop finding his pleasure in the bathroom with the hot fluid tilling his rectum. He had learned to attach the rubber enema bag, as his mother used to do, to the shower rod and unclip the tube to release the wanted water into his own eager asshole.
He would hold the fluid in himself until the pain and pleasure grew so great that his little rod would stand stiffly and a mere touch of his practiced hand could cause him to shoot his hot fluids both from his asshole and from his aching cock. And all the while, Roger saw his mother's face, his mother's body, in his mind.
Of course, Roger made a mess every time he did it and he tried to wash the bathroom up adequately - but evidentially he had not learned how to clean up well enough. Oh, all the shit and come was gone but Roger left puddles of water throughout the bathroom, on the tile floor and on the cabinet beside the sink.
Agnes would see it, of course, since she had been worried and frantic that he had locked himself in the bathroom, and as soon as she heard the lock unsnap and Roger open the door, she rushed in to see the damage.
Roger wished that his mother would leave, the door wide open when she bathed. He had never seen her naked and he wanted desperately to know exactly how her body looked so he could better enjoy his bathroom enema fantasy.
Of course, he imagined how it looked. He imagined her full breasts and soft shoulders, her long waist and slender hips, her tight buttocks and the triangular bush that would separate her thighs.
Roger wondered if her cunt hair was red. His mother had been a redhead until she began to let the gray show at her temples, premature but very sharp-looking for an important lady executive. He dreamed about running his fingers into red cunt hair, he dreamed about his prick, stiff and throbbing, sinking into a deep, deep cavern surrounded by the stiff and curly red cunt hair.
Roger thought that his mother probably did not know that he still took enemas. She kept the rubber enema bag hanging on the shower rod but she changed the rubber tip to a larger one with many holes in it. When he asked, she said it was for her personal hygiene.
At school, the boys in gym class, who didn't know, of Roger's predilection for enemas, explained to him that it was douche, bag, that his mother shot a cleansing lotion up her cunt hole. The boys said that their mothers did it after they had fucked with their fathers. Roger didn't know why his mother did it, since he had no father and his mother never had a male friend stay over.
His mother did have some male friends. But they were pansies, Roger thought, although he never got to hear them talking about it because his mother shooed him out of the room.
When his mother had business parties and Sunday brunches, she always hurried Roger to the park or off to a movie with the maid or with a baby sitter and Roger never got to hear the conversation.
Still, nobody ever stayed over at, his house except his mother's women friends. Sometimes, it would be the same friend for months and sometimes a different friend every other night.
At thirteen, Roger suspected that his mother and her friends were something other than friends but he didn't know about lesbianism to know for sure.
"Cunt-suckers," his friends told him when he asked about lesbians. "Dykes."
But that didn't mean anymore to Roger than what he had read in the dirty books he frequently bought with his allowance and hid under the rug under his bed, the only place that Agnes wouldn't look.
His mother came through the door suddenly, her martini in hand. Roger felt his crotch getting hot, looking at her body, outlined through the slacks suit. He couldn't take his eyes off the triangle between her legs, clearly outlined as she stood, her legs apart, glaring at him.
"For Christ's Sakes," his mother said, "will you stop scaring the shit out of Agnes?"
Roger grinned. He had to admit to himself that it pleased him to scare the shit out of Agnes. She was always trying to smother him. Not that he didn't want to be smothered with love - but it was his Mom's arms he wanted around him, his Mom's breasts he wanted to bury his head in - not Agnes, the overweight maid.
"What am I going to do with you?" His Mom sat on the edge of the bed and tousled his head. "You're growing into a man and I don't know what the hell to do with you!"
"I'm okay, Mom," Roger said and buried his head in his mother's breast, smelling her expensive perfume, basking in the heat that emanated from her body. He looked down at the point where her legs met, staring at the puff in the material that indicated the plump mound of Venus, the object of his curiosity.
"What the hell are you doing in the bathroom every afternoon?" She didn't ask him in an accusing way - just curious. He didn't answer but buried deeper in her breasts, hoping he would feel the pressure of her nipple through her shirt.
"Never mind," the said and laughed, "I don't want to know. After all, a fellow has the right to some privacy, don't you think?"
She pushed Roger away as though she felt uncomfortable with his face nuzzling her breasts. She stood, leaving Roger to jostle on the bed. He caught himself on his elbow and looked up at her as she drank quickly froth the martini glass.
"Well, baby," she said, "your dinner's in the oven. Agnes made chicken for you."
"Oh Mom," Roger whined, "Can't I eat with you tonight?"
"Sorry, sweetheart," his Mom said and heeded toward the door, "I'm going out. Come on tiger, let's get some food in your belly."
He followed her into the kitchen where he took the hot plates out of the oven and put them on the table. She headed back to the bar for another martini. Roger pushed at the food, not caring if he ate or not.
"Mom, could I go with you tonight?"
"No, honey, it's business, you wouldn't enjoy it. I'm going into the shower now. Don't forget to put the dishes in the dishwasher when your through."
He really didn't give a shit about eating.
Roger cut the chicken into little pieces arid arranged it on the plate like the shape of a person. Three pieces for the head, one for the neck.
He could hear the shower running. He imagined his Mom taking off her clothes.
He got up suddenly and tip-toed to the bathroom door, squatting and trying to peek through the keyhole. All he could see was the steam from the shower and his Mom's underwear tossed on the closed seat of the toilet.
Holy mackerel, he realized, Agnes could see him through the keyhole. He wondered if she ever looked. He envisioned Agnes, her fat behind squatting at the keyhole, watching him push the enema nozzle up his asshole and let loose the spring, his face flushing with excitement and pleasure as the hot fluid rushed into his body, filling him to the point of explosion. He wondered if she saw his cock rise as he held the hot fluid deep inside him, reluctant to let it go, thrilling to the pain and pleasure of it. Did she see him stroke his cock and then close his eyes in the delicious thrill of the hot fluids shooting from his asshole, the hot jism firing from his prick. Did she see the long moments afterwards, the smell of his sweet shit, the taste of his hot come, imagining his mother's breasts, imagining the red-haired cunt?
He saw his mother's leg as she stepped from the shower and the sound of running water stopped.
He tried desperately to look up farther but the keyhole allowed no view beyond, his mother's long and slender, fresh-shaved legs. He saw her reach for the roll of toilet paper and saw her hand press a torn piece of paper her leg, a small spot of blood spreading across the porous paper.
He could see the towel moving on her body and wished that he were the towel, rubbing her full, warm breasts, sucking up the dampness from those full nipples. He wished he could remember what her breasts looked like, he must have seen then as a baby. He could remember his goddam teddy bear and even his teething ring why couldn't he remember those breasts, those big tits that fed ham life, those full nipples that he sucked and licked with his small mouth?
He heard his mother reaching for the door and he moved quickly away, trying to look as though as if he were just walking down the hall.
She stepped out of the steaming bathroom, her rich terry cloth robe pulled tightly around her.
"Finished eating, honey?"
He nodded, trying hard to see through the robe, inside it, aching to touch her body - she must be naked under the robe, those tits are hanging unencumbered, that snatch is bare and fluffy from the towel drying.
His Mom looked into the dining area.
"Roger, you didn't put the dishes away."
He shrugged and turned back toward the dining table.
"Roger, you didn't eat your supper, either. No wonder you've got problems with your bowels. Get in there, buddy, and eat that chicken."
Roger went back to the table and stared at the chicken until his mother came out of her bedroom, dressed in a full-length white silk gown and carrying a full stole on her bare arms.
He climbed up on the back of the sofa to give her a hug before she left. He had discovered that from the back of the sofa, he was tall enough to see a little bit down her dress. He could see the soft beginnings of her breasts - he could see the dark cleft in between. But he couldn't see the nipples, dammit!
"Be a good boy," his Mom said, "don't wait for me. I'll probably be late."
Roger hung onto his mother's neck a little longer, pressing against her tits.
"Come on," she said, prying him off, "and put those dishes away before you go to bed."
Roger didn't put the dishes away. He smeared the goddam thicken all over his plate and left the whole mess sitting on the table.
Then he went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water faucet.
As the water ran, getting hot, he stood on the edge of the tub and unhooked the enema bag from the rod, touching its slippery rubber surface lovingly with his fingers. He hugged it to his face for a moment, then tested the running water with his fingers. He turned on a little cold until the water temperature was just right. Not too hot, but hot enough, hotter than his Mom used to make it. Hot enough to burn his ass a little bit, it made the pleasure greater.
He filled the bag, making sure the clamp was closed on the tube, and climbed on the edge of the tub again and hung the bag in place. He went into the bedroom, his Mom's bedroom and took her panties, only slightly stained from a day's wear and held them to his face. He lay down on her king-sized bed and rolled across the satin spread, burying himself in the pillow she had used. He felt his cock hardening.
In his own room, he took one of his pornographic magazines from the rug under his bed. Crawling back out on his belly, he paged through the glossy pictures until he saw his favorite one. In color, a two-page spread, of a well-built redhead, her breasts full like his Mom's and her pink nipples stiff, holding apart the lips of her red-headed pussy and pushing a large black dildo into her cunt-hole.
Roger hurried quickly to the bathroom. He dropped his pants, keeping them around his feet. He was always afraid to take his pants off altogether - afraid there'd be a fire or a burglar would suddenly appear or something. He reached for the rubber hose that led to the enema bag and sat down on the toilet seat.
He liked the feeling of pushing the hard plastic nozzle up his asshole. It always resisted at first and he liked the brief feeling of pain as he pressed it past the muscle and into the waiting dark rectum. The nozzle fully inserted, Roger held his Mom's panties to his face and placed the two-page naked photo of the woman fucking herself with a dildo on the floor in front of him.
His balls were tightening and he could feel the sperm inside them getting hot. He wished that he were pushing that big dildo into his Mom's hot, red-headed cunt.
He wished that his cock was big enough to plough his Mom's big snatch, he wondered how he had felt being born out of that cunt, touching it, smelling its juices as he came into the world. He tried to remember being born, sliding all him, his face, his head, his body, his hands, his little prick, all sliding through that magnificent cunt. His fist tightened around his cock and moved slowly.
Putting his Mom's panties over his head, he reached for the clasp on the rubber tube and released it, waiting only a second in gleeful anticipation before the hot liquid rushed up his rectum, flooding his intestines, pushing his insides tight, tight, tight. When he couldn't stand the pressure anymore, he clasped the tube shut again but he left the stiff nozzle in his asshole, feeling the plastic nozzle become hotter and hotter with the heat of the water and of his own excited body. He reached behind himself, tracing the crack of his butt and touching the nozzle inside his ass. He moved it slightly in and out, feeling the fluid in him sloshing as he did so. His belly was distended, aching with the pressure. He envisioned the loops of his lower intestine, distended from the warm water, his shit floating through it, the sides of his intestine being washed pure and pink and clean. He closed his asshole as tightly around the nozzle as he could and continued to move it in and out, peeking through his Mom's panties at the center-fold on the floor before him, pretending that his asshole was his Mom's big cunt and the nozzle was his own stiff prick, pretending her was fucking her, in and out, in and out, and that her belly was bursting with wanting him, as full and stretched as his was now, the fluids pressing against him at every point.
His fist moved more quickly up and down the shaft of his prick. He looked at the veins in it and felt the pulsing of the blood against the skin, the swollen tip. He examined the opening at its swollen head, the foreskin swelling over it. He felt the unevenness of his throbbing rod and marveled at its stiffness. It was steel, his cock, it was powerful. Powerful enough to force itself into the red-headed cunt of his mother, powerful enough to ram itself up the cunt of any schoolgirl.
Roger had never fucked a girl. He had jacked off once at the school library and made a girl watch him. She cried the whole time she was watching, from embarrassment and from the pain of Roger's strong arm holding her tightly and forcing her to watch as he pulled the skin back and forth on his hard prick until he shot into a handkerchief and wadded it up and pressed it into her hand. She grimaced and dropped the sopping piece of cloth and ran from the library.
With the other guys, he had circle-jerked but it wasn't anywhere as good as doing it here and now, this night, in the bathroom, the smell of his Mom surrounding him, the boiling pressure of the enema inside him, the ache of the stiff plastic nozzle rammed into his ass, the throb of his stiff prick as he stroked it, staring down at the red-headed cunt fucking itself with a dildo. His Mom's cunt.
He jerked himself faster and faster and reached behind to push the plastic nozzle in and out.
"I'm fucking you, Mom," he whispered, afraid somehow that someone, could still hear him in the empty, echoing apartment, "I'm fucking your big cunt, feel my stiff prick in your cunt, Mom!"
His prick convulsed and spat a stream of steaming sperm onto the, tile wall and as he came, he jerked the plastic nozzle from his tightly closed asshole and let the warm fluid spray from his asshole, smelling the sweet shit, feeling his insides empty into the toilet bowl in one shattering explosion.
Roger tried to clean up the bathroom. He scrubbed his jism off the tile and scrubbed the underside of the toilet seat with wads of shit paper. He sprayed the deodorant spray until the room was sickening with lilacs and he carefully tossed his Mom's panties back onto the laundry heap inside her bedroom.
He belly-crawled under his bunk bed and slipped the magazine back under the rug.
Then he stood under the shower, steaming as hot as he could make it, until the outside of him felt as clean as the inside.
Roger put on his man-cut flannel pajamas and sat at his school desk in his bedroom and tried like hell to study algebra but his mind kept wandering, wandering to a red-haired cunt, wandering to what it felt like to push his prick into a hole, into a woman's hot, aching hole.
He stood at the window of his room and looked across the alley to the apartment building next door. The room was lit by candlelight and he could see two figures moving closely together. Dancing, they were dancing.
Roger hated to dance. His Mom had sent him to dancing school and he had been paired up with Miranda Angelo who was as flat as a board and as boney as a flounder. It was like dancing with one those skeletons you hang up on Halloween. Once, though, when he was little, he remembered his Mom catching him peeking at one of her late-night parties. She lifted him up, smelling of gin, and held him to her full breasts and danced around the room with him before she put him back into the bed and, snapped shut the lock on his bedroom door.
He would like to dance with his Mom. He was just the right height to press his face fully into her breasts, to search for her hard nipples with his eager mouth, to push his rock-hard cock against her thigh. But his Mom would never dance with him.
The couple across the way began to move apart and he could see that they were naked. The, man had a hard-on and the silhouette of his rigid cock bobbed as he moved, pulling the woman to him and pushing her away, in rhythm with the music. Roger could see the woman's full breasts bobbing, moving sensuously as she swayed, dancing.
The man stopped suddenly and faced the woman. Roger could see his erect cock pointing toward the ceiling. The woman faced the man and Roger saw the firm high outline of her breasts, the silhouette of her erect nipples, the plump protrusion that Roger knew was a ripe and silky pussy. He wondered if the hair was red.
The man lifted the woman easily into the air and lowered her with his thick and muscular arms onto his pulsing cock. Her legs wrapped his waist. In the semi-light, they seemed to Roger to be as removed and graceful as dancers on a stage.
The man placed his huge hands below the buttocks of the woman and moved her up and down on his prick. The movement was slow at first, steady and slow, like Roger's fist on his now stiff prick, but the man's arms moved the woman's body faster and faster until the man could not stand any longer. Roger watched him drop to his knees, placing the woman on her back in the half-lit room, continuing to pound his thick rod into her gaping cunt. Long before the man had pounded his final thrust into his partner's hungry snatch, Roger's prick had shot off into a hurriedly grabbed piece of notebook paper.
He was asleep when his mother came home, quietly laughing and motioning her friend not to wake the boy. Roger didn't hear a thing until a half an hour later, after his mother and her friend had had a night cap and adjourned, hurriedly remodeling the expensive clothing and jewelry they both wore, and groping hungrily at one another, fell into the king-sized bed.
Roger heard the muffled sound of throaty laughter, the hiss of whispering and he climbed out of his bunk bed and padded lightly across the carpeted floor of his bedroom to the door. He opened it gently, knowing that if his Mom was in the living room, she would rush him back into the bed and lock his door from the outside.
He, pushed back his door and tip-toed into the hallway and to the living room. It was dark and quiet. No one there.
He tip-toed back and saw the stream of moonlight falling through the half-open, door of his Mom's bedroom. He heard the gentle moaning begin and he moved silently to the opening of the door.
He had never seen the woman before. She was blonde with long, full hair that spread across the pillow as she tossed her head and moaned gently. Roger's Mom lay on top of her, kissing and sucking the woman's throat and shoulders.
"Yes," the woman moaned, "Yes, please!"
"Want it?" It was his mother's husky voice, "Want it, honey?"
"Yes, oh god, yes, do it, please!"
Roger stared, too amazed at first to feel anything at all. He knew he mustn't make a sound, he had to watch, he had to be allowed to watch.
His Mom's mouth was full and her wide lips glistened as she moved them down the bare and arching midriff of the other woman. He saw her tongue dart in and out between her lips, hungrily grazing the soft skin of the woman beneath her.
Her mouth followed the full line of the woman's breast and he heard the moan intensify as he saw his mother's mouth cover the woman's nipple, sucking, then moving away to flick the erect nipple with her tongue.
The woman clutched his mother's head, grasping handfuls of the short, curly hair and pushing down.
"Now, please," the woman whispered, "Now, darling, I can't wait any longer."
"Tell me," his mother's husky voice again, "Tell me what you want."
"Please ..."
"Say it, baby, tell me what to do ..."
Roger felt his balls tightening, the heat invading his cock. His hand went to his crotch, wrapping his fingers around his growing organ.
"Suck it, honey," the woman moaned, "suck my cunt."
His mother laughed deeply and continued moving her mouth across the woman's stomach, resisting the woman's pushing motion against her head.
"Tell me again," she said as her mouth moved in the creases of the woman's groin and the woman thrashed her long, and slender legs around his mother's body.
"Suck it, goddamit," she hissed, "suck my cunt!"
His mother, in one quick movement, lifted the woman's slender legs over her shoulders and buried her face in the woman's cunt.
"Oh, yes," the woman moaned, "Yes, yes, do it now!"
He saw his mother's mouth moving furiously along the woman's wet slit, glistening in the moonlight. Her tongue darted in and out the woman's snatch and flicked teasingly at the woman's stiff, anxious clitoris. He took his prick out of his pajama pants and began to stroke it.
"Dammit," the woman begged, "don't tease me!"
Roger had never heard his mother's voice so low, so sensual.
"Suck it, suck it, please!"
His mother's lips closed around the woman's throbbing clit as she enclosed that seat of pleasure in her hot mouth and massaged it with her talented and experienced tongue.
Roger watched the body thrashing above his mother, emitting long and crying groans. He saw his mother's long, strong fingers reach up to pull and finger the woman's stiff nipples. The woman's blonde hair showered across her shoulders as she leaned upward to give his mother's hand full play across her breasts. She pressed his mother's face in her cunt.
"Yes, honey, yes, do it to me, suck it, honey, make it come!"
His mother groaned as though she was, in some kind of way, answering the woman's pleas.
"Oh," the woman said and her body arched, her head fell back. Roger squinted, trying to see the exquisite expression of pleasure on her face as her body heaved in climax.
His mother's hands left the woman's breasts and held on tightly to the woman's thighs as she heaved and thrashed in climax.
When she lay still on the bed, breathing slowly, her nipples soft and relaxed, she whispered, "Wonderful, that was wonderful. Perfect."
Roger's mother looked up at the woman, her chin on the woman's plump, tangle of pubic hair. He could see her teeth flashing as she smiled.
"The best, baby. I want to hear you say that it's the best."
The woman laughed gently. "I wouldn't want to make such a definite statement on the basis of one trial run."
His mother lifted herself up between the woman's legs and lay on top of her, full-length, her body pressing into the woman's.
Roger could see their breasts, pushing into one another's, the woman's cunt open to his, mother's pelvis, thrusting slowly, teasingly.
"You want more, huh?" His mother's voice whispered as she moved her wet mouth, glistening with the woman's come, across the tangle of blonde hair that fell across the woman's shoulders.
The women rocked together, his mother licking and sucking the woman's shoulders, her full breasts, teasing her stiffening nipples with her tongue, as she moved her pelvis harder and harder against the woman's open, hungry cunt.
Roger's cock was full. He didn't have anything to shoot it in. He couldn't come here. If his mother caught him ...
He wished his ass was full of hot fluid, he squeezed his asshole tight, trying to imagine it, he wished he had the enema nozzle up his ass.
He couldn't stand it. He tip-toed to the bathroom and, trying not to make a sound, he stood on the edge of the tub and pulled the plastic nozzle from its rubber nub. He slid his hand inside his pajama pants and pressed the nozzle hard into his asshole, moving it in and out. Yes, that would help.
He slipped quietly back to the bedroom door and good, scarcely daring to breath, moving the nozzle in and out his tightly held asshole, rubbing his stiff rod with his other hand.
His mother had turned around now and was straddling the woman's head. For the first time in Roger's life, he saw his mother's full triangle of hair, glittering with the juices of excitement, surrounding a full and open cunt. In the moonlight Roger could see that her cunt was red, as red as the hair on her head used to be. He was right and he could hardly hold back his cock, pounding to explode as he stared at the open wetness of his mother's throbbing cunt. He stared at her rigid clitoris, standing stiffly, eagerly as his mother lowered it into the woman opening, waiting mouth.
"MMMmmmmm ..."
His mother lowered her head and found the woman's cunt again, moving her head hungrily between the woman's thighs. Their bodies stiffened as they sucked one another, not wanting to move, not wanting to lose the feeling, not wanting their stiff and aching clits to move from one another's hot and hungry mouths.
Then Roger heard a groan that sounded as if it came from the very depth of his mother's body. He could smell the female smell of their wet cunts as they pressed them into one another's faces, he ached to be where the blonde woman was, to bury his face in his mother's cunt, to nave his face surrounded by her wet, red, cunt-hair, to have his prick imbedded in his mother's wide, warm mouth, her tongue moving on its shaft the way his fist did at this moment. The groan grew longer, louder and the woman below his mother thrashed and groaned in concert until the groans became an animal scream and their hips fucking their own cunts toward one another's mouths, the two women shuddered in a long climax.
Roger's sperm shot across the carpet, his rod stiff and throbbing as he shot. He turned quickly and ran back to his room. Deep under the covers in his bed, he trembled, fearful that they might have heard him, afraid that tomorrow morning his mother might see the puddle of sticky, dried white flakes of his young male semen on the carpet by her bed, terrified that Agnes would find out and lock him in his room again.
At last he concentrated on the red cunt-hair, his mother's gaping pussy as it hung above the blonde woman's face and, dreaming that it was his mouth enveloping his mother's stiff, hot clitoris, Roger, at last, fell asleep.
"Did you hear something?"
The blonde woman sat up in the bed and reached for a cigarette.
"Hmmm," Roger's Mom said, running a finger through the woman's well-sucked slit.
"You're insatiable," the woman smiled.
"You're terrific," Roger's Mom smiled back.
"The kid's in bed?"
"Oh, sure," Roger's Mom said and leaned across the woman to feel for a light on the bedside table. "He's been asleep for hours."
She struck the lighter and lit the blonde's cigarette, watching her almost-perfect features flicker in the light of the fire.
What a beautiful woman, what an incredible lay.
The blonde woman watched Roger's Mom as carefully as she was being watched. Rich, good-looking, a hell of a cunt-sucker but most of all, the blonde thought, running a hand through her ,own tangled, long hair, powerful. Powerful enough to get a bank to advance her the capital she needed to open a boutique. She smiled.
She could fuck a man for money, of course, but she didn't consider herself a whore. She was just a working girl with the dream of having her own business. She could marry money but then she'd be stuck with a dreary husband. If she fucked a man to get money for her business, she'd have to have him hanging around or else she'd feel like a whore.
But fucking a woman, well, that was different. And Roger's Mom was just as economically powerful as any man. And no strings attached. The blonde sighed and slid down on the bed, smoking the cigarette and encouraging Roger's mother to continue to rub, her slit with hungry fingers. She could feel the heat in her loins, her clitoris stiffening quickly under the probing finger. With a woman, she thought dreamily, you could go on all night.
And she had every intention of doing so.
She parted her legs to give Roger's mother room to drive her fingers in the dripping cunt, to massage the labia, to run a massaging finger in a rotating motion around her rigid clit.
She took a puff of her cigarette and watched the smoke disperse across the moonlit room.
She congratulated herself.
She had found a good thing.
With her free hand, she ran her hand through Roger's mother's hair and pressed her head down, down, until she felt the hot tongue licking between her legs. Then she pressed her cigarette into the ashtray and lay back to enjoy the best of all possible worlds.
It was like being in heaven, resting there, getting eaten out like this.
"A little higher," she directed.
The mouth and tongue moved up.
Now she was directly over her clit, lapping away at it madly.
"Now, harder."
She jabbed at the nub harder, feeling how hot and hard it was.
The next morning, Roger's mother was sleeping late. As the maid fed him breakfast and hurried him off to school, Roger knew that his mother was in that locked bedroom, her naked body wrapped around the tall, slender blonde.
Walking toward the school bus, Roger tried to think of ways he could get sick-sick enough to need an enema and on Saturday, tomorrow, afternoon, the maid's day off. His mother would have to give to him, wouldn't she?
She always filled the rubber bag with professional efficiency, like the nurse did the one time that Roger was in the hospital, and she hung it on the shower rod while Roger watched the water sliding off the bag, dropping into the tub, in anticipation.
He would close his eyes and hold his breath, leaning almost off the toilet seat, his bare bottom exposed and anxiously awaiting the cold thrust of the plastic nozzle pushing through his tight asshole into the warm and aching blackness of his rectum. He kept his hands tightly across his cock so that his mother wouldn't see it stiffen and swell as the warm water filled his insides to bursting and his mother fiercely instructed him to hold it, keeping holding it, hold it in.
When he could not hold it any longer, when his cock was throbbing and his hand aching to stroke it but terrified to do so with his mother in the room, Roger would announce his intentions and his mother would quickly leave the bathroom, leaving Roger to explode his bowels, sweet and hot, diluted by the water, into the toilet bowl, and stoke his throbbing prick to shoot off in a wad, of toilet paper.
By the time he got to school, Roger's cock was half-hard from the thought of it.
Rosemary Lumas sat next to him in home room, one of those perfectly dressed girls with perfect behavior and perfect grades. Roger always had a great urge to trip her or shove her into the mud outside.
As usual, her homework was letter-perfect and Roger had missed four of, the math problems.
"Huh," he said to Rosemary, "Bet your mom helps, you with the math."
Rosemary turned up her nose and the teacher spoke curtly to Roger for talking during class.
At recess, Rosemary said to Roger, "My father helps with my homework."
Roger continued to draw the sign of the zodiac, which he knew well because his mother's girlfriend of a year - she lasted four whole months - had been an astrology freak and had done his horoscope several times, especially toward the end when Roger's mother was trying to get rid of her and the woman used Roger's horoscope as a good reason for sticking around.
Rosemary kept on, however, "Don't you have a father?"
Roger didn't want to say that he did have one somewhere, a father that didn't give a shit, that didn't even send a birthday card, that didn't claim his son.
"My father died in the war."
"What war?"
Roger thought very fast.
"The second world war, the big one."
Rosemary laughed. "You weren't even born then."
"Viet Nam," Roger corrected himself, his face turning red, "it must have been Viet Nam."
Rosemary ran her toe around Roger's drawing in the sand, smearing his carefully cut lines.
When he looked up, pissed off, she grinned.
"Wanna go to the woods with me?"
Roger was always hearing about the older guys going to the woods with girls but he never heard a girl in his very own class talk about the woods. His cock was still half-stiff from his morning fantasy and Rosemary's enticing smile hardened it more.
"Sure," he said.
Roger hadn't ever done it to a girl, although he told the guys at school that he had. He knew they hadn't done it, either, although they said they had; too.
But he was sure he knew how. He had his porno magazines under the rug in the bedroom and he had seen his mother doing it just the night before.
He had to run to keep up with Rosemary's long legs. Like most of the girls in his class she was a head taller than all the boys.
She stopped under an Elm, falling into a pile of leaves, her pleated skirt flying up and giving Roger a full view of, her blue lace panties with "Tuesday" written on them.
Geez, Roger thought, and she thinks she's so smart. It's fucking Friday, already.
He lay down beside her and started throwing leaves at her fuzzy hair.
"I guess you don't know what to do in the woods with a girl," she said in that same smart singsong way that she answered all the questions in class.
"Ha, Ha," Roger said. "I guess I do."
Remembering his mother's progress the night before, Roger reached over and began to massage the barely budding breast. He could tell Rosemary was impressed.
He felt her tiny nipples erecting through the fabric of her cotton dress and he tried to find a button or a zipper that would let him get at them to suck them like his mother had done the blonde lady's the night before.
"It unzips from the back," Rosemary said, efficiently and leaned forward to let him pull the zipper down. She easily slid her arms out of the puffed sleeves and took the dress off carefully, placing it beside her. She was standing in front of Roger now, bare except for the "Tuesday" panties. Her nipples stood out firmly from the slight mounds that would someday become her breasts.
Roger reached up and pulled Rosemary down beside him. He locked his lips around one of the nipples and dug his hand down inside the blue lace panties, feeling her hairless little slit and rubbing it the way he'd seen his mother do.
He knew what was between her legs, he'd seen in the magazines, and he dug one finger into her tiny hole.
"Oh," she said and spread her long, thin legs farther apart.
He could feel some wetness inside the hole, he kept moving his finger until the wetness spread all across her little cunt.
He moved his finger up and rubbed her tiny clit until it felt hard under his finger. Rosemary was groaning. He nibbled on her nipple, nipping it until she said, "Ow!"
He took his rigid prick out of his pants and crawled on his knees between her legs, feeling with the head of his-throbbing cock for her cunt-hole.
"No, no!" Rosemary pushed him off.
He rolled over on his side in the leaves his stiff cock sticking from his jeans.
"Let me suck it for you," she offered and she got on top of him, the way his mother had gotten on top of the blonde woman the night before. As she gripped his hot prick in her hand and took it down the long, hot tunnel of her throat, bobbing her head frantically, as she pressed her hairless, seeping slit over his face and he licked her stiff clit with his tongue, just like he had seen his mother do. He could easily imagine it was his mother's mouth expertly sucking his hot cock and his mother's red-headed snatch, wet and steaming over his face. His cock was ready to explode and he sucked frantically at the cunt, his mother's cunt and bucked wildly with his hips fucking his mother in her hot mouth.
"Oh, oh, oh!"
He shot a boiling toad of jism into Rosemary's mouth. She kept on sucking his prick, although it was soft and wilted, and pressed her cunt harder onto his face, wiggling her hips as if to help him, fucking her stiff clitoris in and out of his open mouth.
"Fuck me, you little prick," Rosemary was yelling, "suck my hot cunt, you bastard, you little cock, suck me hard, make me come, I'm going to come all over you, you prick!"
And she did. Her juices ran down Roger's face, across his cheeks, onto his neck and ears.
The bell rang and as Rosemary climbed off of him and slipped into her dress, Roger wondered how he could get to the Boy's Room before roll call so he could wash his face.
As they ran back to the schoolyard Rosemary; a good three yards ahead of him, called back.
"You're not bad for a guy, Roger, maybe we'll do it again on Monday!"
Roger grinned all the way home on the bus as the other guys talked about "doing it" and who they were going to "do it" with over the weekend. Roger knew the only way those guys were going to "do it" was to jerk off in their rooms over pictures in magazines. But this very day, he wanted to shout out loud, he had his cock sucked off by smart-ass Rosemary Lumas. Man, wouldn't they cream if they knew that!
At home, his mother's room was empty, the bed nearly made, the ashtrays emptied and no sign or his mother or her new bed-mate.
He went into his room and pulled out the magazines from under the rug. Paging through them until he saw a picture that turned him on, a red-headed woman forcing her wet and gaping cunt into the face of a struggling man, he took the magazine, folded carefully under his arm, into the bathroom and snapped the lock.
Agnes heard the sound from the kitchen and quickly wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to the bathroom door.
"What are you doing in there, Roger?"
"A guy's got to have some privacy, Agnes, go away."
In fact, Agnes knew full well what Roger was doing in there and walked away long enough for him to fill the glistening rubber bag with hot water, hang it on the shower rod, take down his pants and lean over on the toilet seat and plunge the plastic nozzle up his asshole.
That was her favorite part of it, she thought, as she knelt by the keyhole, her own hand between her hefty thighs, rubbing the hot swell of meat between her legs. She liked to watch the plastic nozzle penetrate the boy's small asshole, pushing it open, shooting its contents up his insides.
She watched his face fill with pleasure as the water pushed to every part of his lower intestine, filling swelling him. She smiled as she saw his eager fist clutch his stiff prick and begin to stroke it, his balls tightening, filling as they dangled between his young legs.
She put one finger on either side of her stiff, big clit and rubbed it, feeling its steaming, slippery surface grow under her titillation. The other hand she slipped between the buttons of her stiff maid's uniform and pushed under her silk slip and her stiff, reinforced brassiere to masterfully touch and stroke her huge, stiff nipple. Agnes hardly ever got a fuck anymore, a real fuck, not since her man Eric had passed on. Eric used to drink a six pack and fuck her hard and natural with his thick, stiff cock, but since he went, Agnes found her pleasure in peeking through the keyhole of the bathroom to watch young Roger as he filled his bowels with hot water and jerked off his stiff young cock as the enema emptied his steaming, sweet-smelling young shit into the toilet bowl, splattering across the sides of the bowls, splashing onto the under side of the toilet seat.
Roger held it a long time this afternoon, his sides swollen with the load, his face flushed with the excitement of holding the hot, hot water inside his body. He stroked his cock with long and steady movements and thought about Rosemary's mouth around his prick but most of all, he thought about a red-headed cunt pressed hard against his mouth, its stiff clitoris jutting in between his teeth, aching to be sucked, the smell, the taste of his mother's cunt.
Agnes moved her fingers in the same, slow strokes, keeping perfect pace with Roger until she saw his face stiffen in sexual frenzy and his free hand grab for toilet paper to catch his come.
Then she rubbed her rod-stiff clitoris furiously as she watched him rip the nozzle out of his asshole and shoot a furious stream of watery shit into the bowl as his cock convulsed and shot its hot wad into the toilet paper he held against its tip.
Agnes shuddered, too, the swollen lips of her big cunt pounding against her hand. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound. When she had rubbed the last bit of pleasure from her snatch, she got up in a most professional manner and returned to the kitchen and her dishpan.
As she dried the dishes, Agnes thought that she would like to teach the young man how to really do it with a woman. Such a handsome boy and such a mother he had. She knew that his mother was doing unnatural acts with lumen in that bedroom. She had, time and again, opened the door to find the lady of the house entwined, naked, with another woman.
Agnes clucked her tongue. She surely would like to see it but to do it!
At any rate, the boy needed lessons in normal fucking, that was for sure but Agnes couldn't afford to lose her job and she knew she would have to wait for the right time, the right moment. It would happen, given time. And god knows that Agnes had waited for most everything in her life. Agnes was a patient woman.
Roger carefully cleaned up the bathroom, swabbing the toilet seat and bowl and watching the soiled tissue float in the bowl filled with his diluted shit before he hit the button that caused the toilet to swirl quickly and silently suck its contents down the pipes.
He wondered what his shit looked like as it flowed through the pipes and into the river, many miles away. He remembered going sailing with his mother many times.
He was only five years old at the time. His mother was involved with an out-doors type then, a suntanned young woman who lived on a boat and wore cut-off dungarees and sneakers with large holes in them. That was all that Roger remembered about her except that when he took a shit on her boat, she showed him how to pump the toilet until his dark brown turds swirled out to sea. He watched them leave the toilet bowl and then he hurried to the back of the boat to watch them shoot from a pipe into the sea. It was though the boat were shitting his shit. As though the boat had become him. It confused Roper even now, to think about it.
He basked in the sweet, dung smell for a few minutes, collecting his, things, carefully washing off his limp penis, carefully putting his pants on and drying off the enema bag so no one would know it had been used. Then, his magazine tucked neatly under his arm again, he sprayed a long spurt of Lilac Deodorant Spray into the air and unsnapped the bathroom lock.
After carefully hiding his pornographic magazines under the rug under the bed, Roger lay down across the bedspread, determined to study for his math exam, determined to get a better grade than Rosemary Lumas.
When Agnes looked into his room some hours later, she smiled at the sleeping boy. Such a tender age, she thought, and considered the pleasure of directing his firm young prick into her fleshy, steaming cunt.
The blonde woman was at home now, in her own small apartment, smiling at herself in the dressing table mirror, thinking of the profit she might make from an alliance with such a powerful woman as Amanda Samuels. Too bad, she thought, that Amanda had a child. It would inhibit their relationship. If Amanda were unencumbered, free, she could really hook her. She could live in that kind of luxury with her.
Well, she sighed to herself, she could at least profit from the relationship. The money for her long-wished-for boutique should be easy enough to get Amanda to put up.
And, the sex, well the sex was goddamned good.
She'd see Amanda tonight and she considered what to wear, something casual, she mustn't seem too impressed by the woman's money and luxurious surroundings. She mustn't seem intimidated by Amanda's power. The doorbell.
She ran her hand through the blonde hair. She wasn't expecting anyone. Perhaps Amanda sent her flowers, women were like that.
She opened the door to a stocky young man who grinned and leaned against the doorsill preventing her from closing the door.
"Well, Sunny," he said in a threatening husky voice; "you didn't think I'd find you, did you?"
He pushed her aside, roughly, and slammed the door behind him.
"You thought you got rid of me for good, huh?"
"Mark!" She walked toward the table with the telephone, she felt fear rising in her, she might need to call for help.
"Yeah, Sunny, your old husband, Mark, remember me? I'm the guy you told you was pregnant so I'd marry you back in North Dakota, huh? The guy you lied to so you could get my check while I was off in goddam Cambodia. Right?"
He walked menacingly toward her.
"And when I wired you I was coming home, at last, coming home to my wife, you split, didn't you, honey? Just cut out with the money and forgot all about old Mark."
"Mark," she tried to reason with him, "you were never in love with me. You were just doing me a favor, marrying me. I did you a favor, leaving you."
"You took me, baby," he said and hitched up his leather britches with his thick thumbs, "you took me for a ride. Nobody walks out on Mark Lynch. Nobody."
He backed her up against the wall, still grinning, but an evil grin, a threatening grin. She felt frantically for the telephone. He kicked it off the table.
"I just came back to get what belongs to me."
He took his thick, long cock out so quickly that Sunny hardly saw the action. His balls were full and hairy and his rod pounded with a fierce excitement. He pushed her down onto the sofa and with one hand, ripped her dressing gown from her, leaving her vulnerable and naked below him.
He ran his rough, big hand across her body, rubbing her breasts, stroking her midriff, gushing the ball of his hand into her soft, full Venus mound. He pushed her legs apart and got between them on the sofa, pointing his huge, red cock at her silken slit.
"Mark," she begged, "NO, it's over for us. I'll pay you back the money, I promise."
"I think I'll take it out in trade," he muttered and pushed his prick between her dry labia, pounding at her tight cunt-hole. "Open up, honey, open up."
"Mark, that hurts."
"Good," he said, "a little of your own medicine." He rammed the cock inside the dry opening.
He began to pump his rod in and out of Sunny's dry and unreceptive cunt, pounding against her pelvis, slamming in and out until his own cock's leaking juices lubricated the area and made his forceful entry easier, in and out and in and out.
"Dig it, baby, want some more?"
He continued, to pound, rubbing her tits hard with the palm of his hand. Her nipples were stiff, not from excitement, but from his fierce rubbing of them.
She felt his hot and hairy balls slapping against her ass as he continued to batter her cunt with his throbbing cock, grinning with an evil enjoyment. She turned her head, tried not to look at him as he plundered her but he grabbed her chin in his rough, big hand and forced her to look up at him.
When he had shot his steaming load into her cunt, he pulled his cock out and, leaving it outside his pants, went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
"Got no beer?"
"I wasn't," she hissed, "expecting you."
He opened a bottle of scotch that sat on the counter and drank it, directly from the bottle, light brown fluid running from the corners of his mouth.
"Oh no," he said, coming into the room and finding her reaching for the remnants of her dressing gown. "We ain't done yet."
He sat on the coffee table, his legs splayed.
"Suck it, baby," he said and took another slug of Scotch, letting the excess roll out his lips and down his chin.
He grabbed her hair roughly.
"You heard me," he growled, "Suck it."
She took his cock into her mouth. It was limp but it smelled of his own come and even limp, it was large. She sucked on it with distaste, glancing up now and again, hoping that the evil grin would leave his face, that he would look on her with gentler eyes and leave. As she sucked his prick, slowly hardening, she thought frantically how she would get rid of him before her date that night. His cock grew long inside her mouth and she felt its heat deep in her throat.
He laughed and set the bottle down beside him with a shattering sound. His big hands clutched her thick, blonde hair and he held her face immobile while he began to pound his throbbing rod into her throat.
"All the way, honey," he said, "take it all the way, every inch of my big prick down your little throat. Suck my meat, you cunt."
He fucked her furiously in the mouth, so deeply that she thought that she would strangle before she, at long last, felt his prick throb frantically and shoot a boiling load of jism into her belly.
She gasped for breath as he pulled the rod from her mouth and left it hanging, limp, outside his pants.
She tried to get up but he pushed her down onto the sofa gain.
"Okay, Sunny, what are you up to?"
She looked blankly at him and turned her head away.
He grabbed her chin roughly and made her look at him ...
"You're always onto something, aren't you honey? You got a rich old man here in the city? You got a sugar daddy, Sunny?"
He waited for an answer but she refused to speak.
"You're going to be my meal ticket now," he said, "and I know you got the talent for doing it. You took me good. Now, I'm gonna live on the proceeds from some other bastard who thinks your goddam cunt is made of sugar."
He sucked on the mouth of the scotch bottle and glared at her.
"Well, who is he?"
"I don't have a man."
"You sure as hell don't have no job," Mark hissed, "so how're you living?"
"I'm going to open a business," Sunny snapped, "a business of my own. And you're not going to be around."
"With what? What money? Where are you getting it from?"
Sunny pulled away and stood up, naked, looking down at him.
"A friend ... A friend is giving me the money."
Mark grinned. "Now we're getting somewhere. Who is he?"
Sunny walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
"Who is he?" Mark stood in the bathroom doorway, the bottle in his hand. "Who's the patsy?"
"There is no patsy," Sunny screamed, "there is no man. A woman, a FRIEND of mine, is going to lend me the money."
"A Broad?" Mark was disappointed. "Shit. You really taking out a loan from a girlfriend?"
Sunny stepped into the steaming water, anxious to wash away Mark's rough hands, his battering cock.
"Hey," he said, slugging the scotch and grinning, "hey, maybe you could introduce me. I'm not above fucking for money."
"No," she said firmly, "she's not available."
He shrugged. "Some guy already latched onto her, huh? Broads with money don't have no trouble getting cock, that's the truth."
Sunny left the shower, and began dressing.
"You're getting real dressed up to see .a girlfriend," Mark sneered, watching Sunny dab perfume on her pressure points, around her groin, across her pubic hair.
Sunny ignored him and quickly dressed, anxious to get out, to get rid of him.
She walked so quickly to the bus stop that she didn't notice Mark's stocky figure, his leather outfit glistening in the lamplight, following her.
When she turned into the magnificent, modern apartment building, the doorman was busily answering the inter-com and he had no trouble following her inside the building and watching the lights above the elevator until he found the floor.
No one, not even Roger, heard the plastic card slip into the lock of the front door and no one knew how long Mark had been standing in Amanda's bedroom door, watching his ex-wife Sucking Amanda's full, ripe cunt before he spoke.
"This is better than I thought," he said suddenly and Amanda's head turned quickly to the intruder. Sunny lifted her beautiful young face in terror, her skin shining with the juices of the other woman.
"Don't move," he ordered them and he quickly produced his rod, stiff and pounding from the action that he witnessed between the women. He knelt behind Sunny and, with no, foreplay, rammed his steaming cock into her asshole.
"Ohhh!"
"And don't scream, you cunt," and he plunged his rod in and out Sunny's tight nether entrance. "Keep sucking the broad," he ordered, "I like to see it and, oh, lady," he said to Amanda, "I'm no burglar. I'm her husband."
When he had watched his beautiful wife tongue the woman into climax and had himself shot his steaming wad into his wife's tight asshole, he stood up and pushed his cock back in his pants.
"From what I can see here," he said, casually, "I figure this to be worth five grand."
Amanda sat up, shocked.
"You're fucking around my wife, lady," he said threateningly, "I could go to the cops. That'd get in the papers, do a lot of damage, huh?"
Amanda looked with hatred at him and at Sunny.
"How could you do this to me?"
Sunny shrugged. What was the use of explaining. She hadn't meant for Mark to break in, to fuck it up. But she had meant to use Amanda, for herself. The only difference now was that she wasn't going to get the money and she was going to lose a hell of a lesbian bed-mate. "Five thousand dollars?".
"I can see you've got it, lady," the man said and grabbed Amanda's arm, lifting her from the bed.
"Don't touch me!"
Roger heard the noise, the voice of his mother, and he ran from his bedroom to the doorway to his mother's room. He saw his mother, naked, held against the wall by the rough intruder.
"Mom!"
"Get back to your room, Roger," Amanda ordered, "lock the door."
But it was too late. Mark kicked the door shut, locking Roger with them, inside the room.
"Well, well," he said, "a kid. We can have a little fun."
He forced Sunny to suck on Roger's little prick until it was standing hard and ordered Roger to mount his frightened, mother and press his hot young rod into her cunt, pumping his young hips up and down frantically, clutching at his mother's ripe breasts, until he shot off inside her cunt. He looked down at his prick, shriveling out of her cunt-hole, surrounded by her red cunt hair. He buried himself against his mother's breasts, frightened for her, frightened for himself, but happier than he had ever been. He had, fucked his mother; fucked her red-headed cunt, at last!
When Mark forced him to get onto his knees and suck his own come out of his mother's warm slit, he quickly became erect again and Mark lifted him up and placed him over his mother, pushing his hard prick into his mother's mouth and forcing his face into his mother's steaming cunt. He sucked her the way he had seen her suck Sunny's cunt until she writhed underneath him and he felt her cunt-walls, heave with climax, wetting his cheeks and mouth. His own little prick throbbed and shot a steaming stream into his mother's mouth.
"All right, all right," Amanda begged, "I'll give you the money if you'll get out of here."
She wrote the check and double-locked the door behind them. "I'll call the police if I ever see either of you again," she promised and held Roger in her arms the rest of the night, protectively.
Roger never got so close to his mother again. He thought that the night's event, however, had been beneficial in some ways. His mother was, from that point forward, much more careful about her choice of girlfriends and Roger had, without guilt, been able to fuck and suck and shoot his load into his mom.
BIKER'S BITCH
He finally spoke to her.
"The wildest thing that grew in your head are the seeds of discontent. That isn't so for everyone. For some, ideas have led to purpose, no matter how perverse or abnormal, as your would put it," Rafael said to her, finally meeting her coal colored eyes in the dim light. Her face was a white mask of beauty, olive actually, and only her eyes beamed through and connected her with the world around.
"You're always lecturing me, Rafael." she said, her tone tense, yet her posture seductive and casual. She knew Rafael had a way of arriving at understanding, and that way often included deep bitterness. Now he wanted her to express her connection with him, by acknowledging his connection with infinity, which is, quite simply, the bike.
The bike sat outside, and Rafael was the modern pirate, the essence of symbolic hipness, the highwayman, the romantic perched on his thunder paying respects to the God Of Noise, protector of Power, and Rafael knew in the blind corners of his mind that power was the sacred God of all motorcycle Thunder! He sat watching Pamela, and already, his mind was on the road, not on a direction but the abstraction of flight, the holiness of motion.
"I can assume you're not coming with me." Rafael let out, a passionless monotone that fell out like message unitized produce, and hardly like the words of a man of passion. He could see the bike by gazing out the window, and it, unlike its human counter-part, looked and felt primed, well primed.
"I can't go. You know I can't take any risks with my life Rafael. I've already been married and divorced. I must finish school, and I won't do it in New York with you and your chaotic bunch." Pamela said, not feeling capable of a dramatic scene but wanting deeply to be understood.
He looked at her, in her fine cotton dress, her olive complexion set off by the understated warmth of the blue cotton, her long limbs dangling from a bar stool in her family's private bar. Her breasts were pointed at him, and he suspected her to be, more than dimly aware of this. He didn't know why he wanted to take her back to New York with him. She belonged here, in the remote suburb just outside Boston, where her comforts were attended, and she, had no surface chaos to deal with. He forgot his commitment to take her with him, and concentrated on her grace, on her fluid mobility. He smiled at her.
"You can always phone me and come with me. There isn't really any urgency." Rafael said.
"The only urgency was coming from you, Rafael."
"I know! It's true. I can attack your myth because your myth is perishable, but reason doesn't work, only passion. If you had the passion to come with me, you would forget your petty comforts and recognize the potential of chaos. One day you'll let loose and come to me."
He crossed the room and looked deeply into her eyes, which were almost as dark as her own, though his twinkle was cryptic and his mischief was the first to shine through. She kissed him, going limp against his body, allowing him to caress her soft breasts under her dress, his hand moving directly from her hip to her inner thighs, resting above the curly triangle.
"Pamela, in many ways you're such a child."
"Not in these ways." Pamela said, her skilled hand freeing his hot cock from the holster of his jeans, palming it ever so warmly, her eyes working their strange magic on him.
"No Pam, in some ways you don't remind me of a child at all." Rafael said, allowing his finger to enter her lips, a soft sigh coming from her mouth, her face limp with expected pleasure. She was twenty-one, but she'd had a failed marriage and felt breakable. She knew he sensed this, and would understand it eventually, perhaps on the way home. Things always became comprehensible for Rafael when he was riding.
Pamela guided Rafael onto the barstool where she could better remove his jeans and shirt. She bent down between his legs, her eyes on his all the time, hoping to burn in to his memory bank forever. Pamela moistened her lips with her tongue, and slowly advanced on his trembling cock, her lips expanding to take in the entire shaft, a slow rhythm of her head dictating his pleasure.
"Pamela! You're so sweet and soft." Rafael said, his hand going down her body, not reaching the tiny buttons of her nipples, and resting them on her neck, and under her chin. He watched her as she sucked his cock, her moaning and gestures all recording on his mind's machine. He wanted her little mound, but he could wait and let her suck on him, let her reach out to him in her own specialized way. He might even allow her to swallow his come.
Rafael stopped her by grasping her head. He moved down off of the bar stool and led her over to a couch, of which there were many in the finished basement that was actually the first floor of Pamela's family house. On the couch he let her continue to suck on him, but this time he could "touch her and see her, watch her mouth in profile as it descended on him, the sucking sounds reminding him of blue notes. His hand found her nipples, which were like hard little olives, standing an inch off of her bosom. He rolled the fruit between his fingers and she sighed, a rich air that he felt with his moist cock.
"Do you want me to come in your mouth?" Rafael said to her, his passions mounting, the moment approaching when he would no longer be calmly in control of the situation. He noticed that her clear smooth body was covered with sweat that the smell coming up from her passionate body was of a sweet perfume mixing with the chemistry of her own beauty.
He held her up to his lips and kissed hers deeply on the mouth, pulling her lips into his, tasting her with his tongue rolling over the white teeth that hid behind her dark lips until she smiled. His hands were covering her breasts and pussy, agitating her passions as she kissed him with greed.
How, she would miss him! She did want to go. It was just that she had to finish school. Surely he would see that, if not now, than with time. She looked deeply into his eyes and returned his powerful kissing, feeling his hands come up and grasp her long black straight hair, feeling her head being moved back to the core.
She licked the shaft of his cock, her tongue out like a snake and waving across the big line of his cock. He sighed and pushed her head forward, causing his entire cock to enter her mouth. Pamela almost gagged for a moment, and grabbed the cock in her fist, allowing only two inches to protrude. These two inches got the full extent of her attention until Rafael was a sweating mountain of passion kneeling over her and watching her as she expanded her lips again and again over his cock, his hand on her chin, tracing the skilled movement.
"I'm coming, Pam." Rafael said, cupping her face in his palm and, looking deeply into her eyes, her beautiful dark near-gypsy eyes.
She responded by increasing her tongue play, fluttering on the head of his penis until he had no choice but to respond to the great release, until she felt the jets of his come filling her mouth, going down her throat, in the corners of her mouth mixed with her own saliva and sweat Her eyes, little coal beans, were on his, every second, watching his face contort with pleasure, watching his appreciation of her.
Pamela licked him clean, and stood .up, her lips looking redder than usual but her smile intact, her eyes beaming, her little nipples hard and sweet on top of her womanly mounds of Rafael covered both her breasts with his one hand, his other still on her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"Stretch out, Madonna."
Pamela allowed the man to come on top of her and open her legs. She knew her pussy was wet and ready, but his sudden motions were jarring her. Almost roughly, he let his weight down on her and entered her pussy, where his rhythm became paced and regular. His hands went down under her, to the sweet circles of her buttocks, to cup them and to bring her bush closer to the driving of his cock. He lifted her, until his penetration was so complete she wanted to scream and cry. Tears started to flow down her cheeks. Tears of what? Why? Because he was leaving? She wondered for a moment and then accepted them, the tears.
He noticed her trembling and examined her eyes, licked at a tear and became a tender monster, holding her gently yet pounding away with the same rhythm as before.
"Rafael!" Pamela said aloud, bringing her back to the moment of passion, bringing her beyond all worlds of regret and pity, of lost love and love losing.
"Rafael! Drive it in!" Pamela moaned out her tiny pussy expanding warmly around his cock, her hands up and around him, caressing his hard riding ass and the fine lines of his shoulders. She feared closing her eyes, sensing that her grip on the moment might slide past her, out into space, and leave her an orphan, ripped out of the moist blanket of security and lowered into the kingdom of madness. His weight comforted her, as his organ grinded.
"Rafael! I'm coming!" Pamela said, her vagina tightening up and confirming her words. Rafael didn't trust words. He held himself up on expanded arms and watched the moist mounds of her breasts as they gyrated to the tempo of her hips, running counter-point with his cock in time.
"I love you, Pamela, woman come for me!" Rafael said, watching her face as her trembling turned into a spasm of pleasure, her breasts and hips suddenly losing their fluidity and dancing out the tarantella in a wild series of gestures.
"Pamela, you look so sweet when you come. Go take a shower and come back." Rafael said. Pamela left the room at once and Rafael sat by the window and looked at the big Harley. He lit a joint of dark wet African marijuana, and let his mind dance out of his body and around the picture presented by the frame of the window. The grass, the trees, the clear blue night, all served to intensify the woman who'd just left her photos to develop in his mind like a non-earthly presence.
She came back into the room and Rafael only patted the bar stool, placing her with his abbreviated gestures. She sat on the stool, her freshly washed body sparkling under a white towel, the olives of her breasts just visible, extending over the white Cotton.
Rafael removed the towel and ran his hands skillfully along the sensual lines of her inner thighs, causing her legs to open as she threw back her head in an attempt to clear her face of the wet strands of jet black hair. She looked at her fallen Brahmin, as his tongue reached out for her, his hands holding the skin away gently, causing her clitoris to protrude and reveal itself to his lick. Now she was the one who would have her mind full of pictures, pictures that would make her toss in bed, and perhaps enter the terminal chaos of New York City and live with Rafael.
Rafael lapped at her pussy as she half sat on the, stool, her long clear limbs coming up and onto his shoulders, her whole position geared at the aiming of her clitoris and his tongue. He continued to look up, his eyes looking crazy, his eyes seeing her tiny diamond face glistening down from between the animated mounds of her breasts, the nipples accenting her delicate beauty. He allowed his hands to leave her cunt and roam, one finding the soft opening of her buttocks and pushing gently in, the other hand rolling her taut nipples around between fingers.
"Rafael! Oh, I can't take it much longer."
Pamela was beginning to lose any hint of control, feeling his tongue and seeing him in his humble position, knowing the power that he'd conquered when gravity became his, when his bike took him beyond the orbit we're all trapped in, and freed him. She felt that same thing happening to her now, and he became easier to understand suddenly, as he continued to lap at her pussy, his, beard covered with her juices, his face lost in the ecstasy he was giving her.
She tightened her inner thighs around his head to hold him steadily in place, as his hands were no longer guiding him, and she looked into his eyes, seeing warmth where others usually saw only trouble. She began to come at once, a slow mounting orgasm that refused to pass, and made her body shake in tiny fits.
He continued to lick at her until she was limp and passive, only using him as a prop to hold up the weary flesh, then he carried her over to the couch and stretched her long thin frame out on it. He watched her and noted that only her nipples seemed flushed with passion. The little buttons were always taut and alive looking.
He was holding the white towel that she took out of the shower, as he stood over her. He placed it on her to keep her warm, her sweating body having shivered, but it was cold and did her no good, and her arms reached out to him and he felt himself being drawn down on top of her again, this time to give her warmth.
"Why did you say that I'm a child sometimes?"
"Because you are afraid to take risks. Because you have yet to realize that there is so little to lose, and one must become a player."
"I think you expect so much. I'm frightened I-I have a year of school left and I will."
"You will suddenly become an adventurer! That isn't something that one needs a degree for. You become your own credentials. It would be so easy for you. I would be there with you."
"But you would be there with me in your own world. It wouldn't be mine," Pamela said, a tear falling down her face.
"There is no difference between my world and yours. It is a simple matter of interpretation. You choose to follow the terminology of the people who would have us believe that we must follow in their shoes. I choose to create my own myth, or use my own components from other myths and form my own collage. It makes sense." Rafael said.
"Since when do you worry about sense?"
"I'm a survivor. I worry about serise." Rafael said, then he kissed her, slowly and deeply, sucking her lips into his mouth and running his tongue along the sweet texture of her lips and teeth, causing her to lose the sentence that was forming in her head, the question she was going to pose. What was it? His tips took over and caused her to flare her nostrils in passion and hunger, her eyes opening wide and his own lid closed so that she could explore his face without being observed seeing the clear tan complexion of his skin, the scars from the accident on his left cheek his sensual lids glistening with sweat, the expression of peace on his usually tormented brow.
"Rafael. I'll come to New York when I finish school. I must be with you. You must for me realize that I'll be there."
"To realize something is to see it."
"Which means?"
"Which means words are horseshit. Not your words especially, but words in general."
"And what would you have me do?"
"Listen to the Pan Pipes. Burn out on your brilliance! Don't follow me, just come with me. Follow only yourself or I'll get bored with you." Rafael said, reminding her that he also had his demands, his universe was as ordered as hers. In his, passion and creation are the only values. If you let them die inside you, you are no longer of use to Rafael."
She let a soft moan escape her lips, to communicate her anguish as well as to release it.
She was thankful for the dull light in the room, thankful for the knowledge that her eyes would remain beautiful and sensual no matter how she wept.
"I don't know if I'm ready!" Pamela said, and her words brought the full tears that had been building up in her bosom, shaking her, making her need the comforting arms of her lover.
"I know that there are potentials in the realm of experience that I haven't even touched. My heart tells me I have to touch everything I can! The fucking stars!" Rafael said, and she thought to herself that there was little difference between his poetic outburst and a gorilla pounding its chest, except perhaps that Rafael was a higher primate, and should have the capacity to live in a civilized world, or myth, as he would say. Here he was standing before her, not asking for her to come away with him and live, a normal life somewhere in a place she could relate to.
He was asking her to take the leap of fucking faith! He wanted her to trust her sanity to him, leave it in his hands, and he would teach her to trust herself , the way he trusted himself, the way he, the mighty Rafael, believed in himself.
His hands found her breasts again, and she could tell from the intensity with which his fingers molded her round globes, that his cock would be filling with blood, preparing to stab her again.
"Pamela, I need you." Rafael said.
His words are always applicable to the present, and the present only, she thought. She allowed him to bring his hand between her legs, parting the long limbs to suit the pointed finger. Slowly, her clitoris responded to the gentle but consistent pressure of his finger, and she began to rotate on his hand, her breasts moving with the flow of energy, dancing out, nipples closer and closer to his lips, until he had her button of a nipple in his mouth and was sucking it gently. Rafael let his tongue tickle the nipple the way Pamela's tongue had tickled the tip of his cock, from the inside, and steadily, first across, then around, the lips gaining and losing pressure skillfully.
"Rafael. I need you so." Pamela returned, whispering directly into his ear, and following her whisper with the warm little pink tongue, exploring his inner-ear in a licking motion.
He pulled her up and sat up himself on the couch, then lowered her gently onto his cock, his hands supporting her entire weight by grasping her around the waist. He moved her up and down as though they were a piston and his arms provided the essential ingredient! Power! The motorcycle thundered in the hidden corners of his mind! He watched her weightless body as she bounced on and off his cock. He watched her buttocks slap against his belly, then ascend with his arms, only, to return.
"So deep Rafael!" Pamela moaned. She felt her female essence being penetrated to the core, her nerve fibers alive with new sensations, new promises!
"So deep, your madness!" Pamela whispered, wondering what made her say that, as his cock again was plunged into her.
He suddenly let her stay still, on his lap. His hands came up just under her arms, hooked in the hot recesses, but covering her breasts as well, though gently so that he could feel their dancing.
"You work it baby! Get your motor!" Rafael commanded, and she began to go up and down on her own locomotion, driving her own steam shovel on and off his cock, her breasts bouncing lightly in wide circles, which Rafael could trace by simply holding his hands over them lightly, giving them the room they commanded to flow with the fucking.
How easily he leads me from one realm to the next, from thinking to fucking, she thought. And why should she let herself be led? She felt his cock drive into her and tightened her pussy to accommodate the wonderful machinery. Why should she fly with him? Why not command him to adjust to her world, and they could go live in some nice house somewhere in New England. He could keep his motorcycle. She sensed that the bike wasn't as important, however, as what it symbolized. Wildness, rootless passion! That was what he'd never give up for her!
"Slow down." Rafael said, snapping her back to the present. Her little pussy had been moving on its own, almost without her, and it felt nice, she remembered it vividly, perhaps feeling it more later than she even could right now.
Pamela slowed, down, and was in fact exhausted, grateful when Rafael's hands returned to her waist and he'd once again assumed the responsibility for her weight, for her war with gravity.
Rafael began to move her up and down on his cock, this time slowly, but with a consistent drive that promised to mount and takeover.
"Pamela. I'll miss you tomorrow night Pamela!"
She noted a plea, a quiver in his voice that only served to cause her greater pain. Was he telling the truth? What matter? She would miss him tomorrow night! She would toss in the quiet suburban bedroom and conjure up his image with her eyes tightly closed. She would use her, own hand to fulfill the hunger for sensations that would flood her loins, and she would weep afterwards without his strong arms for comfort.
"Will you?" Her eyes were coal colored darts, voodoo oracles, threatening him by demanding the truth. Would he miss her, or would he be back among his fallen angels, his drunken boat mates? She found it painful to guess at that.
Rafael did his physical best to show her that he meant what he said, ceasing to make his own pleasure a superlative, and giving her little box every delight her organs were designed to contain. He wanted his body to do the talking, not his words. Words were designed to obscure issues, not clear them up. His cock spoke in long even sentences that pushed her against the couch; causing her to strain with pleasure.
Did she believe his body? He was telling her something wasn't he? She couldn't decide. He'd look at her with adoration in his own dark eyes one moment, and the next moment he would be starting his bike, jumping up on the big starter kick, his eyes out onto fate's highway as though fate were a lady much more beautiful than Pamela.
Rafael felt his orgasm rising in him, and had to close his eyes and let the image of her fade, in order to control himself. Still, her perfume made it difficult, her movements made it more difficult. Still, it was just a matter of time and he would explode. He wanted her to be exhausted, to riot miss him until tomorrow. He wanted her to drift off peacefully to sleep and wake up tomorrow with a clear head for assessing herself, and him.
The image of Pamela's warm body returned when Rafael opened his eyes. He felt the orgasm gaining on him, but waited until she'd come almost a complete cycle, and was primed. They came together, his warm throbs triggering hers. She moaned and fell backwards forcing him against the rear of the couch. He rested with her on top of him, his arms reaching around her to feel the perpetual life of her nipples, to caress her tight shoulders and trace her smooth sweating belly.
"I love you Pamela."
She turned and looked at him, at his eyes, now burning into her the way men often said her eyes burned into them. She suddenly understood their compulsion to talk about it, about her eyes tearing into them.
His arm came up and brought his hand to her chin, cupping it gently and watching her textured lips form the words as she told him how deeply she loved him.
Rafael and Pamela made their weary way to the shower, and the cold water revived Rafael, as was necessary for the ride back to the city.
Rafael held her lightly in the shower, as though she were fragile. He soaped her up gently, sensing that her little bush was sore and needing some neglect after his extended span of passion. They had been making love for two days, since her parents went to Europe and she had the big country house to herself.
He'd come up in a puff of smoke along the driveway, his craziness apparent even in a flash, and she'd had him hide the big bike behind the Weeping. Willow tree where the passing neighbors and police wouldn't chance to see it.
They'd made love since that moment, beginning almost five minutes after he'd walked in the door, and continuing each time the urge struck either one of them. It seemed that neither had the will to deny the other one pleasure, and the slightest hint at desire was enough to send them both off.
Soon Rafael would be leaving, she thought. He would be back in flight, on his bike ripping toward that maniac asylum of a building he lived in on Avenue A near Fifth Street on the lower east side of New York.
She felt like a prophet when he handed her the soap and told her that he would have to leave soon, that he was growing weary and it is a bad policy on a motorcycle, to even think in terms of weary.
"One must be cunning on a bike." Rafael said. She looked at her warrior, her mad bandit pirate who refused her his presence so gracefully, donning his jeans and his old beat up leather jacket, the black helmet that made him look like a Uranian invader, especially with the green lenses pulled down, giving him an insect tint.
"This really makes me sad. I was hoping to have your warmth behind me on the bike." Rafael said to her. He jumped up and came down heavy on the starter, then again, finally, the thunder!
She looked at him, and the dramatics of his animation caused her to question him again. Was he crazy? The bike roared so loudly, breaking up the serenity she valued so highly, the blank serenity of evening.
"I have to clear out of my pad. I'm getting a new one and a new phone number. If you change your mind and want to come with me, I'll be living on Second Avenue at Saint Marks Place." He gave her the phone number, explaining that it was a friend's apartment and he would be able to keep the phone number in the place now.
Just like Rafael to give me vital data with that furious bike roaring away, she thought. She found herself repeating the phone number over and over as he got on the bike and blew her a kiss. He tossed a cigarette at her feet, how like him, she thought, and roared out of the drive.
She stood and watched as the dust settled back on the dirt road. It took a long time. She bent down and picked up the un-finished cigarette. It had, gone out and was intact. She re-lit it and blew the smoke out of her mouth, watching it the way one watches one's dreams evaporate.
PART TWO
Rafael felt the beautiful hand of the wind. He lifted the green visor and squinted his eyes, his face basking in the delicate caress of motion on his brow, on his lips. He removed the helmet and for once could hear and appreciate the haunting wailings of the motor as it propelled him along like a mad bullet.
When the city was in his sight from the highway, he let his speed down finally, and pulled off the road, seeking one last contemplative moment, this one alone, before he returned to the true chaos of his life.
He turned off the headlamp and let the engine die, causing the stillness of the woods to hit him at once with the sounds of birds, of bushes moving, containing small animals. He sat down and took a joint out of his cigarette pack, lighting it with a hand cupped to the May wind.
Rafael knew that Pamela had registered on his brain and would cause him pain. He'd known that before the weekend. He'd known what effect she would have on him when he'd first met her, when a mutual friend had brought them together, arranged their meeting, and through accident at that.
The friend, Jim Benon, would have never thought that Rafael and Pamela would walk out of his door together. Benon was a Professor of English in the City, and his interest in the literary sub-cultures had caused a friend of Rafael's to convince him to attend a class. Benon was true to his reputation. He told the class how, on the last pages of Huck Finn, Twain sets the course for modern literature by having Huck weigh the living choices open to him. He could go back to civilization, or go and be a wild boy living his own weird story out. Huck, of course, sees only one option, finding civilization deplorable and limited.
Rafael was impressed. And Rafael the character interested Benon. Rafael, for whatever reasons, was not a thin transparent actor, but a genuine intellectual pirate. He was an intellectual in the sense that he used his brain alone, to de-code matters at hand, never relying on the tribal prescriptions for the situation. Rather, he would create his own.
He knew his qualities, and where they came from. And he knew they were born of fear, that he was afraid to give them his mind! "Them," being abstract, Rafael would clarify it.
He was afraid of anyone having possession of his mind, anyone but him.
Benon had a party, and Rafael was probably the token weirdo, and he stood out, even with all those campus weirdoes around. The girl gravitated to him and he didn't stop her. Rafael didn't flirt with her, he didn't compromise his grim presence for the party, smiling or laughing only on occasion, when something was really funny.
That first night was almost a year ago. It was the beginning of last summer, and Pamela was going for her B.A. so that she could return to Boston and do her grad work. She was also starting a new life without the cordial jelly bean she married. Rafael laughed, thinking of what a high spun orbit she must have been in that night.
He'd brought her to his apartment, which was in a basement then, on Fourth-Street and Avenue B. She really looked incongruous with the neighborhood, in her pretty little rich girl's haircut and long flowing gown type dress, but she'd lifted her well-bred ass onto the seat of his Harley, and they'd buzzed from Benon's apartment in the, West Village, to Rafael's tidy slum in the East Village.
On the way over he felt her breasts pushing into his back, as she squeezed him tightly, scared of the way he swayed around traffic with fluid dexterity, never losing the situation, never even risking an inch, but just knowing where everything goes.
He'd managed to keep knowing where everything goes later that evening, when he startled her by being the first man she'd ever met who'd bother to seek out and find her little clitoris, which only protruded its sensitive head when the skin was held aside. He'd found that secret out himself, and watched her eyes register with delight as he let his hand caress it, then, his tongue, finally mounting her and fucking her with the slow even rhythm that drove her wild!
Sometimes chemistry makes strange bed fellows stranger, and she began to explore other ideas about pleasure, ideas her husband would have found most appalling.
She'd been delighted when he ate her pussy, his head sinking to his task, his beard foaming with the corporeal sign of her intense pleasure. She was grateful, and found it easy to accept the strange cock between her lips, a thing she hadn't, done since high school. She'd let her lips expand over his cock and loved the salty taste of him, the sweet symbolic taste of his cock, life and art, mixing it up!
Rafael sat on, the seat, of the Harley watching the cars whiz into the Apple and thinking about Pamela. Perhaps he would hear from her soon, but then how would he feel? His life was so complicated, so jammed full of hidden details. He could fall on his ass anytime, and he'd learned to live with it, but could he take her in with him? Rafael was a tattoo artist. Could he expect Pamela to live in his circle of friends and experiences?
When he thought of her with love, there was a duality that overcame his enjoyment of the thoughts. It was, in one sense it would be great to have her, to have her beauty around him, and her understanding. On the other hand he was vulnerable to her, and if he destroyed her he would pay for it!
He got back on the bike, the problem not resolved, and started the motor, coasting the big monster out onto the highway and flashing into the city on the West Side Highway as the dawn began to show itself over the water, the cliffs of Jersey's shore standing up like a mighty fortress protecting its own beauty and majesty.
Rafael turned down Avenue A and took it right to Fifth Street where he parked the bike outside the apartment he was soon to move out of. Everything, even his tattoo equipment, was packed into cases, and the place looked bare with all the boxes in the middle of the room.
He fell asleep quickly, before he could experience any extreme sense of loss.
Susan woke Rafael the following day by hitting the buzzer on his door until he answered it. A full ten minutes! She was a local girl, a good friend and sexual playmate. She was a brown haired child of twenty-two, with a slum bum's grace and bouncy Street femininity.
Rafael opened the door and allowed her to come in, explaining that the place was a wreck because he was moving out.
"Rafael! Let's make love!" Susan said, looking playfully at the couch he'd spent the night on.
Rafael was already undressed, and Susan simply grabbed him by the cock and led him back to the couch.
"Now you're not going to be too tired for me are you? I mean that might work on wives but I'm just a sexy bitch!"
"You have that right!" Rafael said, watching the curly haired long skinny girl try to coax another inch of his cock into being.
Rafael flexed his cock, causing it to quiver in the, air, and Susan grabbed it again, this time warming it in her mouth, where she knew it would instill some inspiration.
She was right. Rafael's moans picked up and he pushed the curly hair back so that he could watch her face. She sucked at him for a few moments and then brought her full breasts up to his cock, filling her cleavage.
"Susan's going to dance for me now!" Rafael predicted, and true to the prophesy, the girl's breasts began to quiver, as her shoulder flew into a practiced motion, causing the mounds of her breasts to grasp and caress his cock.
"I get to witness all your technique." Rafael said.
"You're my testing pad."
Rafael cupped her breasts in, his own palms and poured the sweet flesh together, tighter to his cock, pushing them in so that he could weigh their every movement.
He looked down at her and saw her breasts, her cleavage moist with sweat and lubricating cream, the mounds slightly red from the intensity of his grip, the nipples taut and cream, a light pink, fitting well with the general creamy skin around them.
Rafael slid his cock Out of her cleavage, his tip hungry for the true warmth of her pussy. He had to take the lead with Susan, because she wouldn't just give it to him, but he managed to get her down on the couch, looking deeply into her green, almost oval eyes as he penetrated her, his hands on her ass lifting her pussy into position.
"Oh Rafael!" she moaned. She scratched at his back and bit into his shoulder, making him come alive and deepen his thrusts into her.
Susan stretched her head over the end of the couch, and the whole world seemed to be upside down. Rafael took the opportunity to kiss her sweet neck, running his tongue into the recesses behind her ears, then bringing her full lips to his and kissing her hard and long, his cock beating a steady rhythm onto the drum-skin of her body.
Rafael suddenly brought his arms around to her hips, and grasping them for traction, he went into a terminal fuck, her long slender body gasping and moaning for release.
"Tight little bitch!"
"Hmmmmmmm!"
"Feed it to me, baby!" Rafael's voice quivered and shook as he lost control, his hands tight on her thighs, moving down to her inner thighs just above the knees and holding her in a perfect V which he rode between with the power of a cement mixer until the orgasm built and he heard himself groan and release the hot shots of come into her.
Her pussy responded hotly to his throbs, bracing itself to his cock, her muscles hard at work. She began to come almost as soon as the hot moisture became his motivation, and soon her orgasm forced her face to flush, and her eyes rolling back as though the grim reaper was gaining on her.
Rafael watched her heavy eyelids flutter, her full mouth gasp for breath behind her bright, snowy white teeth. He wiped the stray hairs off of her face, loving the wild look of her lovely hair as it clung to her sweat covered skin, and danced about on her head.
She was very quiet and allowed herself to be cradled, and Rafael found that he really had to keep his eyes open or Pamela's own vision kept-imposing on this hot moment, completely transcribing it into melancholy. He simply had to keep his eyes on Susan, linger, concentrate on her big, soft breasts, on her long, slender frame and those two big, ripe melons all of a sudden perched upon her chest, in graceful uplifted lines.
"You are very pretty," Rafael admitted, patting her gently, the exact way, that one pats a pet.
"You are a good lay," she let out, "and a good fuck is hard to find."
"In this place? In this fueling big city? You haven't been looking!" he said.
Susan didn't go into the matter. Her inner world was a private place, and Rafael gladly respected her privacy. Susan had just showed up at his place one bright day and asked him if he would bum a special design into her skin, into her creamy thigh. She would show him the spot, and he had almost salivated, looking at her rich skin, her firm, muscular yet delicate shape.
That evening, he had turned on the small electric needle gun, and his hands burned her symbol into the flesh of her inner thigh, for all eternity. Ever since then, Susan just appeared whenever the mood to do so hit her, which was spontaneous and in strict keeping with Rafael's wild mode of living, and they would always have good sex, a quiet talk, a little tea and some marijuana, together.
Rafael ran his big hands over her inner, hot thighs, and looked at the tattoo he had left her that night, the wound long since healed. It was a crimson, red circle, in the center of which, a horseman rode, his lance pointing out to the road.
It was a simple tattoo and required no unusual pain or hurt, though he did offer her various sedatives. She chose to remain very alive and conscious, and he was glad of that, because she was so impressed with the skilled craftsmanship, the pure beauty he had given her, that she had rewarded him with her tongue, showing him at once that what he used to call a simple blow-job was really the work of inexperienced, crude, non committed, dull, half-sensualists who were posing as full blown flowers.
Rafael enjoyed her so because she doesn't need him, and just laughed at the thought of ever needing anyone. That was her own secret wisdom, and that was her great treasure, as well as what made her so valuable to him. She reminded him that he was really sane sometimes. Now, what more could a woman do?
Pamela had him enchanted, he was sure of that, sitting back on the big couch, with sweet Susan and fighting Pamela's strong image was a definitive signal that the little wealthy bitch had gone deep inside him. But her mode, of operation was so distinctly wholesome that it made him almost barf sometimes. He really loved Pamela most when the lusting animal emerged; when they were heatedly fucking, or riding on his bike, or she was gently crying. Her absolute composure and calm when they were doing other things, was far too normal for Rafael.
Now Susan was more his type of woman, and the limitations that he had with Susan were sane limitations to Rafael. His strict logic was born of great pain, of suffering, and he trusted it the way other men trusted their instincts.
"Susan, stay with me tonight."
"That's an unusual request, coming from you."
"Will you?"
"I really don't know. I have things to do." Susan got quiet, thinking about whether or not she could afford the time.
Rafael soon grew quite restless, and wanted to be alone. He walked into the hot shower without saying a single word, and then looked straight up at the streaming water, imagining he was in a lush, tropical rain forest, and his whole mind, his entire consciousness, was going to be purified by the fresh splashing of water on his brow.
A short hour later, when Susan finally, left, he was quite grateful. Grateful for both her appearance and departure. She is a strange girl, he though. Strange, all right, and yet just like him.
Rafael closed his eyes and stretched out on the soft, empty couch, yet feeling confined by the mere fact that the couch was the only comfortable place left to sit in the whole room. The only objects that weren't packed, were his recording equipment and some jazz tapes. He put on some jazz and thought about her, about Pamela.
Usually, just thinking about lovely Pamela without her around simply meant a constant erection, But this time, his cock was weary from Susan, and he could be objective and look at Pamela in the light of day, and not the blazing blinding light of hunger.
Yes, he loved her, for sure. He decided that long ago. She was a part of him in some strange way that, he didn't really comprehend. And what did that mean? He sensed something, deeply, as surely as if it were a piece of heavy, material in the room with him. He clearly sensed that he would have to deal with it, rather with them, with something much larger than his own tight nexus. He sensed in her being the power to lead him out, into the dark unknown, if only she were free in her mind, if only she would free herself.
He lit a cigarette and went into his dark, tiny kitchen. In here, only the coffee maker and the large cups hadn't been packed. He slowly prepared a cup of strong, black coffee and drank it, his body too drained to be revived by such a feeble attempt.
Rafael kept drifting regularly in and out of steep, Pamela's haunting image coming back into focus and then fading again, her scent flooding his nose as though she were actually present, under him, her strong perfume and bodily chemistry sending up the sweet bouquet that he associated with her, only it wasn't her, it was him. His own imagination, gone wild and flaming with a warehouse stuffed with images all built up over the weekend, over, the last year.
Rafael wondered if she would try to go and find him. He had told her his number, and even if she forgot it, his big bike would be out in front of the building. Anyone really looking for Rafael usually found him, unless, of course, there was a specific reason he didn't want them to find him.
He almost drifted off, but was awakened by the sharp smell of the couch when he roughly turned over and faced downwards, the must and dust of the old relic he was sleeping on stinging his nose.
Rafael gave up all thoughts of sleep and rest, and put on his tight pants, and a simple cotton undershirt. Then he, went out on his stoop where the neighborhood trash were always loud and entertaining. He truly liked all of them and they all liked him, even the old winos who were so starved for attention that they were truly amazed, dumbfounded, when someone actually listened to them. Rafael listened. He had learned to seek wisdom in strange places.
Josh, an old regular who was on the big stoop every night, offered him a drink.
"No, thanks, man. I'm strictly from the weed gardens."
The old wino looked a bit offended, but Rafael soon had him laughing once again, and in the process, Rafael noticed that he himself was cheering up.
Rafael decided to take a walk then, and when he realized that every dark haired, slim girl he had seen would cause him palpitations, make him think that Pamela was coming to look for him, he retreated back to the crowded stoop, and then back into his tiny apartment full of boxes.
He knew what she was going through out there, in the quiet, sleepy little world of New England. He knew that she was putting herself on trial as well, and trying to decide between the way of reason and the way of deep magic.
He found himself hoping that she would sort her self out and be at his door, her eyes alive with-with the spirit and adventure of magic.
When Pamela was in trouble or deeply upset, there was one friend on who she knew she could rely. She left her parent's cozy New England home and drove her little sports car into Manhattan, seeking her lover, Rafael. When she tried in vain, to find even a clue as to where he was, she was beside herself with fear and the torment of making a decision to join her lover only to have circumstance re-make the decision, re-define the possibilities at hand.
That was the shape she was in when she called on Jim Benon, barging right in without even calling up on the phone. Jim, as fate would have it, was alone, and as always, warm and receiving.
"You look wonderful, but troubled," he told her, taking her hand and leading her into his large West Village Apartment: Jim was a professor at City College, where Pam had done part of her under graduate work. He was a consistent friend and gave sound advice, as well as a shoulder to cry on. He was also a source of sexual release to her, in her student days.
Had he seduced her or she him? Pamela couldn't remember.
She trembled as she sat down on his couch and accepted the cup of tea, the pipe of marijuana.
"Your old friend, Rafael. I'm afraid I'm in love with him," she finally admitted.
"But I told you he's mad! I understand the attraction! It's so refreshing to see someone being free, but there's a price! You have to think clearly!"
"I've been doing nothing else for two weeks but thinking clearly. I'm tired of logic. It's illogical."
"Ah! Now we're getting into a paradox. Best leave them to the wise men and see what we're up against here on earth," Jim said. Jim's field was English Literature, and it gave him a loose way with words, a way Rafael found amusing and she, Pamela, found awe inspiring.
Jim was honest enough to admit that much of his verbalizations were speculative, that he didn't in fact, have the facts, but would indeed articulate the conflicts. That alone can be a great luxury to a person in stress.
Jim knew where Rafael was. He'd left town for two days to go to Philadelphia.
"Why the hell would anyone go to Philadelphia?"
"Don't be provincial now, dear. He told me he was going. I didn't ask why. I have his new address and phone number and you can stay here if you wish, and call him tomorrow towards evening. He should be home," Jim said.
Pamela raised her dark clearly defined brow.
"Are you inviting me to spend the night?"
"Well, we don't have to sleep together!"
"And if I want to sleep with you?"
"If you. want to, honey, you will," he said, feeling the warmth of her coal black eyes peering out of her brush of black hair. Her complexion reminded one of olives, especially her nipples, which were as close, a likeness to the little fruits as Jim could think of. He looked down at her nipples, their taut shape firm and defined under her thin cotton top.
"Pamela, you're such a sensual woman. Why didn't you tell Rafael you were coming. He speaks about you all the time. He misses you so. He only contacted me because he knew that if you came looking for him, if you broke out of your own jail, as he said, you would end up here."
"I didn't tell him because I didn't know. I found myself packing my car as soon as my parents left for the weekend. I just left them a note. The less they know the less painful for them. They could never accept Rafael."
Pamela started to cry, a tear tracking down her cheek, accenting her high cheekbones in the light of the single candle that burned in the center of the room, causing a great sea of shadows to dance every time someone moved.
Jim sat with her on the couch and put his hands around her to pull her towards him. He found himself comforting her, feeling no immediate need, other than to provide her with peace.
"Jim! Make me forget about everything for the evening. You can do it!"
"I'll try," he said, moving his hands through her thick jet black hair.
"You'll do it then," Pamela said, reaching out for the bulge in his pants that traced the outline of his cock.
She freed his cock and began to stroke it with delicate finger tips, as Jim sighed and settled back, his hands falling loosely on the hem of her dress, his hands sliding under it quickly and meeting her hose, which he began to peel off her body.
Pamela had to stand up for him to get her hose off, and she enjoyed watching him intently pulling the sheer nylons, revealing the true olive complexion of her legs, which was sweeter and more sensual than the nylons.
She stood there like a child looking down at some adult who was tying her shoe laces for her.
"Jim! Oh you feel nice, Jim," she moaned softly as Jim brought his warm palm over her pussy, his fingers curling in the black pubic bush. "Oh Jim! I feel like a little undergrad from out of state. I feel like a naive little coed who fell in love."
"Let's not think about it. He'll be here tomorrow. You're just frustrated because you took the move and played it, and now you have to wait for him. But you know what he'll do. You already know he loves you."
"Do you think I can live with him?"
"I think you'll find out. Let's worry about the moment for awhile," Jim said, bringing his lips down to her pussy, moving her long sweet limbs apart and licking at her playfully, testing her eagerness.
Pamela put a pillow under her own buttocks, to lift her up, and to show him that she thought his idea was excellent. She sighed with relief as Jim brought his tongue down on her little bush, his lips meeting the lips of her womanhood.
She watched him as his head moved back and forth, tracing the motions of his tongue. She tightened her long limbs around his head and held him steady while his tongue, brought her to a pleasurable release of tensions, of thoughts and complications. His tongue was all that mattered to her as she closed her eyes and, began grinding into him, pushing her pussy down on his mouth.
Jim felt her come and freed himself. His face was glistening with her juices.
"Baby, Rafael is right! You smell like a sweet bouquet," Jim said to her, as he stretched out on the floor, on the thick carpet, and invited her to do the same.
Pamela still had the dress on, although it was pushed up around her stomach, and when she stood, she lifted it off, revealing her perky round orbs of breast to him for the first time in years.
He went for her buttons right away, caressing the nipples at once, his tongue playing with them gently, their taut texture causing his expression to simulate adoration, total appreciation.
"Jim, you're so gentle," she said, stroking his cheek as he sucked on her little fruit.
Jim was obsessed with the tiny nipples that, once hard, sat up proudly on her breasts, rising off of them by almost an inch, and it was a very sweet inch. He rolled them between his fingers and returned one to his mouth.
"Jim! Let's go in the bedroom," Pamela said, and she freed herself from his grasp, walking into the bedroom with a soft sensual swaying of her hips, designed to bring out the beast in this basically sane creature. She could always do that to men, and they always told her the same thing. They would tell her about her sweet button nipples, and about her piercing coal colored eyes.
Pamela would smile, her full mouth spreading to reveal sparkling teeth, and accept their petty compliments. Men always stated the obvious, she'd long ago decided, not realizing that in that statement was the implication that she herself saw her as they did, as a work of art, an animated work of art.
"What would you like me to do to you Jim?"
"Why don't you suck my cock? I've thought about those dark eyes of yours looking up at me and sucking my cock. Rafael says you're great at it."
Pamela laughed, and pursing her lips, she descended on his shaft, allowing the tip to enter so that she could grasp it firmly between ,her lips and flutter her tongue on it from the inside, her fist holding the very base of the shaft, squeezing it softly and warmly as her lips expanded over the tip.
Jim tossed her black hair aside and watched her intently as she continued to suck him off. He loved her delicate features, her full wide mouth, textured perfectly and looking like a Goddess's opening.
"Just let it rest in your mouth," he said to her, his hands forcing her head still. Jim stared at her profile, her jet black brows contrasting with her olive colored skin, her sharp little cheek looking like it was chiseled out of clear ivory.
Pamela enjoyed being inert with his cock in her mouth, She enjoyed being close to him. He was a part of her past, and if she remained in New York, if Rafael would have her, Jim would be a part of her present once again.
Pamela liked the idea of having Jim in close proximity. She began to flutter her tongue over the tip of his cock again, wanting him to know that she appreciated his warmth, his natural hospitality and desire to help her. She appreciated the fact that he wasn't aggressive about making love to her, but rather, made it her choice completely.
She sucked at his cock as though it were a straw, and Jim noted that her cheeks were pulled taut by the suction. He stroked her cheek, the soft skin supple and fresh as it grazed his palm.
"Come in my mouth, now. I want it," Pamela said, and she, began to give him a super blow-job, the way her lover, Rafael, had taught her, concentrating on the under-tip, her little tongue licking about in quick snake-like motions, jamming the head of the cock in only when she felt his urgency, and then withdrawing it from her mouth so that she could lick at it, nibble at his balls which she'd, cupped in her hands. Rafael had taught her how to please a man. He'd also taught her how easily a skilled man could please her, and that, needless to say, was part of the attraction.
What really attracted her to Rafael though, was his surface chaos, the way he accepted the random element in his life and flowed with things, not out of control, but beyond all needs for control.
"Pamela, I'm going to explode if you keep that up," Jim said, snapping her back to the present.
She was letting him have it alright. She knew he'd tell Rafael. She knew that if Rafael was here now, they'd both be fucking her because Rafael made a great point of never trying to own her, or anyone. It would have been a natural threesome, and she guessed it would happen soon enough.
All at once Jim's cock began spurting jets of come into her mouth, and she had to hold onto him to keep control of the situation, to keep the hot cock in her mouth. She grabbed him at the base, her little fist gripping and easing his cock, controlling the ejaculation of sperm into her mouth.
When he was finished, he released her, and she reached to the bed table to see if Jim still kept the bottle of wine in there to wash it down.
"I know what this is for," she said, finding the wine right where it had been before, when she knew Jim.
"That's to wash it down."
"You don't say?!" She laughed. He'd forgot how well she really knew him. She thought she was in love with him once, and he thought he loved her, but he'd been through a flicked up marriage, and finally, at forty-five, he'd decided to play it alone.
Pamela washed down the come with the wine and returned her attention to Jim, wanting his cock in her aching bush. She left him alone while he smoked a cigarette, and then she was back on him with her warm hands coaxing his cock along until it stood up like a pole again.
"You should go to sleep," he said. "Tomorrow will probably be a big, fun day for you, and for Rafael. I'm glad for both of you. If I can help you adjust to New York, City and Rafael's crazy modes of existence, just come right over," Jim said.
"You don't have to tell me that. That's what I did," she said to him, her voice telling him she appreciated the loving manner in which he treated her.
Pamela went to sleep in a warm bundle on the bed. He'd had to carry her in, and tuck her in like a sleepy child. He watched a smile come to her vague lips, her consciousness given over to sleep. He kissed her forehead and wished her luck with the mad pirate she'd fallen in love with, thankful to him, to Rafael, for bringing Pamela's beauty back into his life, if only for the evening.