She had a lovely body, but she added something to the loveliness of it in the way she anointed herself with the oil. She touched and stroked every part of it.
In a way she was making love to herself. This was what she wanted a lover to do, to touch her with every intimacy, with feathering fingers gliding in the scented oils, bringing to life the pointed nipples of her high breasts. And there her fingers lingered especially, caressing, until each nipple was as hard and erect as her supple fingers could make them, her thoughts far beyond this rooftop, each hand a lover, a lover not yet there, but speeding to drench her with kisses.
He lay down beside her, turning to kiss her, his hand moving up her thigh, over the roundness of her hip, and finally cupping her left breast as he pulled her to him, feeling the first pleasure of their physical contact. Quickly he slid off his swim trunks.
ONE
Jeff Riordan woke in stages. In the first stage he groaned without opening his eyes, pulled the sheet over his head and tried to sink back into the painless oblivion of sleep. That didn't work. The second stage didn't work either. This consisted of lying on his back and putting the pillow over his face, still remaining under the tent of the sheet. In this stage he tried to pretend he was a Boy Scout in a pup tent.
This was supposed to evoke nostalgic memories of the time he was fourteen years old and a Boy Scout on an overnight hike to Pequod State Park, about to awaken shortly and make a breakfast of bacon and eggs over an open wood fire, which they were supposed to kindle by rubbing two sticks together, but they all used matches. The memory was there ... the memory of the woods still sweet with the odor of early dew, the pungent smell of other little wood fires all around him, and of course the eggs and bacon.
Ah, those wonderful days when he could eat breakfast. But that was the big difference between fourteen and thirty-four. At fourteen, you could eat anything, including fried pork and beans, but at thirty-four the very idea of breakfast was akin to the thought of a cup of hemlock, laced with paraldehyde and Epsom salts.
He groaned again and opened his eyes. That was safe, for his face was still covered by the pillow. The sudden shock of undiluted daylight would have been too much. He had a hangover and his mouth felt as if he'd been up all night, licking Lithuanian postage stamps.
He had to get up, he knew. If he tried to stay in bed, he'd feel worse. What he needed was a cold shower. That was not a cure-all by any means, but it would be a beginning. At least he would be in an upright position and able to make himself a cup of steaming black coffee.
He pushed the pillow off his face and sat up in bed. The explosion of sunlight through the two windows facing the bed was pure agony, but from experience, he knew that would pass. It was something he would have to put up with, or else crawl back into the womb of the pillow and sheet, which was out of the question because he had to be at the desk at four o'clock. The Observer was an evening paper and he was Assistant City Editor.
He looked blearily around the bedroom. It was a strange room, but then, he was accustomed to awakening in strange rooms, and sometimes even in strange cities.
"Ah, the curse of the demon rum," he murmured, in a feeble attempt at humor. This morning, any attempt at humor would be either feeble or downright anemic. He hadn't the faintest idea of how he had gotten here, or whose apartment it was. A female bedroom from what he could judge, for there were jars of various creams, and other such feminine nonsense on the dressing table in the room. There were other indications too, organdy curtains at the window and a matching organdy skirt on the dressing table, and beside him on the bed lay one of those French dolls with a painted Folies Bergere smirk on its face.
His hands were shaking badly. The door creaked open and he almost jumped out of his skin. Any sound, any at all, would have sent him into a spasm. Now he was shaking all over.
It was a painful effort to focus his eyes on the doorway and he didn't quite believe what he saw. She was tall and blonde, wearing the sheerest of nylon negligees, through which the flesh tints of her full, ripe-breasted body glowed warmly. She was carrying a small tray on which stood a glass of tomato juice. She smiled warmly at him ... but for the life of him, he could not remember ever having seen her before.
She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his limp hand and putting the glass of tomato juice into it.
"You just drink that right down, lover," she murmured solicitously. 'It's good for what ails you."
"There's only one thing that's good for what ails me," he said sourly, "and that's suicide. What is this foul brew?" he said, eyeing the glass suspiciously.
"Mainly tomato juice, love," she evaded. "And only the other day I read in a magazine that it's crammed full of vitamins. On top of that I dissolved four vitamin pills in it, just to make sure. My druggist told me it's the newest thing ... vitamins. They're good for everything, he said. I took eight of them the other morning and felt wonderful."
"Teah, vitamins," he said. "What the hell."
"Drink it down, lover," she urged. "You're spilling it on your chest."
"Oh, sorry. You can't be too careful with vitamins, or I might wake up tomorrow with a full beard on my chest."
He drank thirstily. His palate was dulled from all the liquor he'd consumed the night before, but the juice was cold and wet and assuaged his parched throat. He closed his eyes and lay back on the pillow. That was just what he needed ... a tall glass of cold tomato juice.
Then he slowly became conscious of a small spot of warmth in his stomach. It spread into his chest and then into his arms and legs. This, too, was a familiar feeling and he knew what it meant. He opened his eyes and smiled, for the warmth was beginning to creep into every nook and cranny of him, and for the first time since awakening, he felt like smiling.
"You're a genius," he said. "Vitamins are good for the body and vodka is good for the soul. How much vodka did you put in my vitamin drink, angel?"
She flushed. "I didn't think you'd taste it. You're not supposed to."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I didn't taste it. But it's full of vitamins, too. We call it the happiness vitamin. I hope you put in a good dose."
"I did. Right up to there." Her finger indicated a point three-quarters of the way up the glass. "I kind of thought it would dissolve the vitamins better."
"You thought right, sweetheart. What time is it, by the way?"
She consulted her wristwatch. "Five-fifteen."
"Five-fifteen!" He started to scramble out of bed, frantically throwing the sheet, unmindful of the fact that he was completely naked. "My god, I'm supposed to be at the desk at four."
She licked her lips nervously. "I know. That's what you kept saying early this morning when you went out into the kitchen to make yourself another drink. You had to be at the desk because you're Assistant City Editor. I tried to wake you up at three, but you were dead to the world, so I called the Observer and said you might be a little late because you were at the doctor's. They were very nice about it, but ... " she uneasily licked her full lips again, "they also said you hadn't worked there for two years. You quit right after you wrote that book, they said."
Jeff gaped at her. "I ... quit two years ago?"
"That's what they said, Jeff. Two years. You wrote a book called Two Weeks Every Year. Hot stuff, they said. Ten girls to every man on one of those vacation cruise boats. Sex on the high seas, and if I read it, I'm supposed to wear asbestos gloves, the man said. He was laughing fit to bust and said he had a copy in his apartment and would be glad to lend it to me anytime I wanted to pick it up. And if I couldn't read, he said he'd be glad to read it to me." She paused for a moment and laughed. "I told him I only read in bed and make it a rule to sleep alone. What's the matter, Jeff? Don't you feel good? You're all pale, kind of."
He felt pale. It had been two years since he quit his job on the Observer.
"I'm okay," he said. He finished his drink in a gulp and held out the glass. "Make me a refill, will you, sweetie?"
She said, "Sure, Jeff," and jumped to her feet, eager to please him.
He watched her walk to the kitchen. He could see her through the open door of the bedroom. Her hips were wide, very wide, and beneath the sheer negligee her buttocks were round and much too soft looking. She was older than she had seemed a few moments ago, but then he had been looking at her through eyes dulled by sleep.
He sank back into the pillow, shakier than ever. He'd blacked out before after a drinking bout, but never had he blacked two years out of his life, and it scared him. When you started blacking out like that, the next step was the DT's. He shuddered. He'd seen DT cases in the county hospital, screaming and trying to climb the walls, screaming for another drink. But there were no drinks in the county hospital. When they gave you the cure, it was cold turkey, except for the shot of paraldehyde the nurse gave you every three hours or so. He knew all about that, for he'd written a feature story on the alcoholic ward when he was a reporter for the Observer. The sight had scared him even then and he'd laid off booze for a week afterward. It was worse now, for this time he was the one who was on his way to one of those little rooms with bars on the windows. He knew how bad his nerves were, for at the slightest unexpected sound, he jumped and quivered and an alcoholic sweat crawled down his face.
He glowered at the empty bedroom doorway. What the hell was taking her so long. A drink was the only thing that would get rid of the shakes, and he could not stop himself from yelling.
"Make it a little stronger this time, will you, baby? I've got to pull myself together."
Sure, pull himself together so he could start off on another toot. But this time it would be different. There wouldn't be another toot. All he wanted was just one more drink so he could walk across the room without lurching into the furniture.
He heard her call, "Coming, Jeff." The kitchen door opened and he watched her cross the living room toward him. And taking her time about it, too, he thought irritably. She offered him the little tray with the glass on it.
"There wasn't any more tomato juice, Jeff," she apologized, "so I put it in orange juice. Is that all right?"
"Fine, fine." He wouldn't have cared if she'd mixed it with ammonia, just so long as it was well laced with vodka.
By this time, he was shaking so badly that he had to use both hands to guide the glass to his mouth without spilling it. It was a tall glass but he drank it straight down, pausing only once for a breath. This time he could taste it and he knew it was practically straight vodka with just enough orange juice to color it. She was a smart girl. From experience he knew it would take only about ten minutes to steady him.
He lit a cigarette with his shaking fingers to take his mind off the next ten minutes. In this case, ten minutes could seem a lifetime.
"This your apartment, sweetie?" he asked. He knew it was, but wanted to keep talking to help pass the time.
"Yes, I know it's not much but ... "
"It's fine, sweetie, just fine. But, uh, just where is your apartment? I mean, geographically. I once woke up in Pennsylvania in a quaint, picturesque hamlet called Jordan Crossing. It was run by some religious sect, and there wasn't a drop of liquor to be had in the whole damned county. I aged ten years before I got back to New York. This isn't Jordan Crossing, is it?"
"Oh, no." Her laugh was a little uncertain. "It's only Hoboken."
Hoboken. That gave him a funny, queasy kind of start. This was the third time in two months that he'd wound up in Hoboken after a bad toot. Sure, the Observer office was in Hoboken, but that couldn't be the reason, for never once had he gone near the place since quitting two years ago. So why this drunken interest in Hoboken all of a sudden? Then it came to him and he snapped his fingers.
"Steak sandwiches!" he said. "Every once in awhile when I'm crocked, I get a yen for the steak sandwiches they serve at the Bavarian Town House on Stockton Avenue. I've always been crazy about those steak sandwiches, even when I worked on the Observer."
"I've never been there," she said. With an odd sort of shyness, she sat hesitantly on the opposite side of the bed, and it was not until he noticed how her eyes kept shifting to avoid meeting his directly that he became conscious of the fact that he was staring at her.
He saw it was making her uncomfortable, and he looked away. But there was something familiar about her. He was positive he had seen her before, but she was older now and her round, pretty face was puffy. She had dark circles under her eyes that even heavy pancake makeup could not hide, and the corners of her wide mouth drooped. Still, when she laughed unguardedly, it was loud and full and he could tell that a lusty enjoyment for life was not yet entirely gone from her. He remembered that laugh, too.
"This isn't the first time I've met you," he said finally.
"Oh, no." Her voice lifted, pleased that he recognized her. "I'm the waitress at Angelo's Diner at the north end of Washington Street. I worked there five years. You used to come in a couple of times a week with some other reporters from the Observer. You always order a special pizza with sausages, cheese and anchovies. The others usually had spaghetti and meatballs." Her face softened and the tiredness went out of her eyes as she went on eagerly.
"I liked you even then. You were nice. You called me princess. 'Princess,' you'd say, 'bring me one of your inimitable pizza delights.' And I know what inimitable means, too. I looked it up in a dictionary. I didn't like the others, but Angelo made me put up with them because they were steady customers. My name's Betty, and I dunno why, but they always called me Dora. I could see they were making fun of me, but I didn't get it. They were always making jokes at me, and they got their kicks outta asking me things they knew I couldn't answer. But you were different. You were always a perfect gentleman. You didn't make any passes or anything like that. I know they thought I was dumb, but that didn't stop them from asking me for a weekend to Atlantic City, or any kind of date after Angelo closed at midnight. But no thanks, I knew what they had in mind. But you were different. I liked you."
Jeff felt guilty and this time it was he who avoided her eyes. He remembered her now and he had done his share of laughing at her, though not to her face.
"What happened last night?" he asked.
"Well, you came into the diner at nearly midnight and wanted a pizza, but I saw you was so loaded you wouldn't of eaten it. Anyway, we were closing up. I helped you out of there because you could hardly walk. I couldn't let you go off by yourself because I knew you'd get mugged or rolled or picked up by the cops, so I brought you here. We had a couple drinks and you seemed to sober up a little, except you couldn't walk straight. Then ... " she flushed, "well, then we went to bed and, well, you know. But I'm not a tramp, Jeff," she blurted defensively. "Honest I'm not. I don't go with just anybody."
"I know you're not, princess," he said, feeling like a heel.
"I knew you'd be like this," she said with pitiful gratitude. 'I wanted to cheer you up, too. You were down in the dumps. I guess that's why you got so drunk."
That was another thing he did not want to think about. He'd been down in the dumps all right. He'd been down in the dumps for months. It was this damned second book he was working on. He had lost faith in it and in himself. It was two-thirds done, but he had stopped right there over three months ago. He did not want to finish it. He did not even want to think about it. He held out his empty glass.
"Build me another, will you, princess?" he asked. "But cut the vodka in half this time."
"Sure, Jeff," she said eagerly. "Anything you want." Her smile was uncertain.
She hurried from the room. She wanted to please him. She knew he needed a drink and wanted to get it as quickly as possible.
He closed his eyes. He knew what she really wanted. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her and reassure her that she was not a tramp and erase the memory of all the cruel and boorish things the reporters used to say to her, and then she wanted him to make love to her. But he was feeling a little ill, not just from the hangover, but from this situation as well.
Yet he knew he would have to make love to her. She had been kind, more than kind, watching over him the way she had last night, even taking him into her bed. He was sure she went to bed with other men, but not very often and afterward she probably felt guilty, for she had made it obvious that she thought of herself as a respectable girl. Yes, he would have to make love to her and reassure her again and again that she was not a tramp. In a way it would not be a lie, but only in a way, for no matter how kind she had been, he could not think of her as anything but a poor little moron, clinging desperately to the faltering illusion of respectability, and no matter how reassuring he might be, his making love to her would wear that idea just a little thinner.
She came back into the room, still wearing that uncertain smile. He took the glass she offered and smiled back.
"Lie down beside me, princess. I want ... " he fumbled, not quite knowing how to continue, "I want you close by for a little while before I go. I have to be back in New York before seven."
There was still a touch of that peculiar shyness when she hesitated, then lay on the bed beside him. He put his glass down on the bedside table, turned on his side, facing her, and kissed her. Her response was immediate and desperate. She clung .to him. Her mouth was open and her tongue probed wildly, reaching for the touch of his. She rubbed her body feverishly against his and in every movement there was naked hunger and need. He unbuttoned the front of her negligee and, with a small moan, she lay back, her arms limp on the pillow at either side of her head in an attitude of complete surrender.
"Do anything you want, Jeff," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Anything. Anything at all."
He put his hand on her heavy breasts, moving it from one to the other, feeling her nipples stir and become rigid under his fingers. But the breasts were soft, too soft and too big. He kept kissing her, keeping his eyes closed. He knew that if he opened them he would see the flaccid mound of her belly and the spongy softness of her wide hips and heavy thighs. She sighed as his fingertips moved lightly down her offered body, not feeling the yielding softness, but the smooth texture of her belly and thighs.
He tried to stir himself by thinking of another girl, the one he had picked up in a bar on Third Avenue, the wild one. She had stripped off her clothes the moment she was in his apartment. She had a taut, slim, exciting body with high breasts, tipped with hard pink nipples. She was in bed, her slim, avid body already beginning the first sensual movements of the love act even before he was completely undressed. And when he slid into bed beside her, she was all over him, not even giving him time to put his arm around her, and her mouth slashed wrenching kisses across his lips. That was the only preliminary. She wanted him to make love to her at once and she couldn't seem to get enough of him. They made love until it became a mindless frenzy and finally the frenzy became exhaustion and he fell back on his own side of the bed, more spent than asleep. When he awakened, she was gone. He did not know her name and he never saw , her again. The memory of that night still had the power to arouse him.
Jeff turned quickly to the soft blonde girl beside him. He reached over and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her toward him and engulfing her lips with his mouth, his tongue probing searchingly inside. Betty's arms slid around his well-developed chest forcing him on.
Jeff knew he would have to give a performance to get through it, but his own sexual arousal had taken over. He released her mouth and bent over her body, trailing his tongue down Betty's soft skin starting with kisses at her throat until he reached her soft, oversized breasts. The tip of his tongue flicked back and forth across the tip of one of her nipples.
"Uhhhhh, Jeff," she sighed in ecstasy as her nipples stiffened and expanded at his touch.
He sucked one nipple gently into his lips. He felt her body tremble and opened his mouth wide and sucked a large portion of her breast between his lips. Betty's hands clutched his hair and her fingers combed through it as he sucked harder on her breasts.
"Mmmmmhhhhh, uuuhhhhh, aaaahhhh," she moaned, biting her lips.
His mouth moved on down across her round belly and found her navel.
"Oh, Jeff-that feels wonderful," she said as she lurched forward up off the bed.
Slowly his lips nibbled their way down to the soft blonde hair covering her Venus mound. As his lips moved back and forth caressing the lower part of her stomach, she writhed joyfully. He dipped his tongue down and flicked the tip of it along her vulva.
"Ohhhhh," she hissed, sitting up farther and pulling on his hair. She spread her legs wide apart and pressed Jeff's head down toward her cunt. She began shoving her cunt hard against his face.
"Uhh, Jeff, suck my cunt-eat my pussy! Harder ... suck it harder. Aaggghhhhh!" Betty screamed with passionate fervor.
Jeff could feel sweat dripping from every pore in his body and he kicked the damp sheets free of their bodies. He stiffened his tongue and searched for the opening of her pussy. Finding it, he flicked his tongue in and out with rapid movements.
He started to nibble on her clitoris and she fell backward on the bed, pulling her legs up in the air. She reached down with her hands and pulled her knees wide giving Jeff full access to her pussy.
He continued to nibble at her clit with added vigor as he pressed the inside of her thighs farther apart with his own arms.
"Now, Jeff! Please-now, please do it now! Make love to me ... put your big cock inside me," she moaned pulling Jeff's head up.
Jeff looked up at her with sweat dripping from his eyebrows. Betty's large blue eyes were burning with passion. Her mouth was open and saliva drooled from the corners. Her breath was coming in short, ragged heaves.
Jeff felt a spasm of excitement course through his body. "You can have my big cock, princess, if you suck on it first."
Betty started to shake her head she was so anxious to have him inside her. Then she suddenly pulled Jeff forward toward her, urging his body upward till he was straddling her chest. To his surprise, Jeff's body twitched with excitement and his cock jerked involuntarily, waiting to be sucked inside her mouth. She leaned forward and closed her mouth over the head, tasting the sweet moisture on the tip. Then she opened her mouth wide and let it slide into her mouth until the head was touching the back of her throat. She gripped the base of his cock with her hands, as she slowly began moving up and down on it, sucking as hard as she could.
Jeff looked down at her face. Rockets of fire shot through his nervous system as he watched his cock disappearing between her pouty lips. Her breath was coming in quick hard pants and he could feel her large breasts heaving up against his sweat covered buttocks.
Betty continued sucking his cock for several minutes. Then slowly she let it slide from her mouth. Her lips were damp and shining with saliva.
"Will you make love to me now, Jeff?"
"I'll fuck you all right, princess, and fuck you and fuck you," he gasped, feeling a new surge of energy sweeping through him.
"Then lay back down," she murmured pushing him off her chest.
Jeff fell backward and lay spread across the bed with his cock sticking straight up in the air. She straddled his hips and he reached up eagerly to massage her overripe breasts.
"Oooooohhhh, Jeff, you really know how to turn me on!" she cooed.
"You're not doing bad yourself, princess," he answered, feeling his head start to spin.
Betty crouched over Jeff's cock and reached down taking it between her fingers. Then she lowered her body until Jeff's cockhead was resting against the soft hair covering her vulva. She wriggled her hips from side to side, spreading her vulva apart with his cock, feeling for the opening of her pussy. Suddenly she was very still as the shaft found the opening spot. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered her weight onto it.
She closed her eyes and hissed as she sucked air in through her teeth. Then she threw her head back and sank a couple of inches of Jeff's cock inside her, clinching her teeth. She rested for a moment, then slowly began moving up and down on it.
Jeff, his eyes momentarily closed as if in a half-dream, inched his cock inside as she carefully raised and lowered her body, keeping her eyes tightly closed and her teeth clinched. When it was in over halfway, she began bobbing up and down with quick, sure strokes. Jeff's eyes blinked open in time to see that her eyes were also open now and flaming with sensuousness.
Jeff was boiling inside watching her warm limpid stare as he felt his cock shoving its way inside her hot canal. He began to buck his hips up off the bed to meet her hammering cunt until his shaft was buried up to the hilt.
Betty reached down and grabbed Jeff by the neck pulling him up slowly as she fell backward spreading her legs wide apart. Jeff lifted her legs in the air assuming the aggressive position and slid his hands along her thighs feeling the satin smooth skin with his hands, forcing her knees back toward her chest as he continued ramming his cock in and out of her with driving rhythm.
Betty's breath was coming in quick short breaths now. "Oh, Jeff ... Jeff ... uhhhhh ... ooohhhh ... aaahhhh!" She seethed as the pressure of her climax slowly built up inside her. "Fuck me, lover ... fuck me ... I'm about ready to ... "
"Okay ... princess ... yes ... I'm almost there," Jeff stammered as his balls swelled from his pent-up semen. Just as he was about to climax, he reached down and cupped her buttocks pushing her cunt up higher in the air and began spearing her with long, slamming drives of his cock.
"Oh, Lord, Jeff. Beautiful! That's it, baby. Fuck me ... harder," she sighed with pleasure. "AAAG-GGGHHH," she screamed, "I'm COMMMIIINN-NGGG!" Jeff dug his fingers into her buttocks and pounded his cock into her as Betty screamed and writhed under him convulsively. "Aaaiiieee," he screamed as his load began to shoot forward like' explosions from a Roman candle. He held on tight as his body jerked about the bed, causing the two of them to roll and twist in ecstasies of frenzied passion. Betty clamped the lips of her pussy tightly about Jeff's cock, milking every drop from it. His cock began to deflate and finally slipped out. Very quickly Jeff was sound asleep.
Betty crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom to douche. When she came back into the bedroom she tried to move about as quietly as possible as she started to get dressed to go to work. She moved over to lower the shades so that Jeff could keep on sleeping. Then switched on a lamp on a table across the room.
Jeff opened his eyes and glanced about the room. This time he knew where he was. "What ya doin', princess?"
She came over and sat down on the bed beside him. The look on her face 'told him that he had given her the reassurance she had hungered for. "I gotta go to work, Jeff, but you can keep on sleepin.'"
"Nothing doing, princess. I gotta get back to New York." He slid out of bed. "Mind if I take a quick shower?"
She nodded and got a fresh towel from the linen closet. He showered and dressed quickly. He wanted a fast goodbye.
He kissed her lightly on the cheek, but she grabbed his arm. "Jeff ... "
"Yes, princess?"
"Call me sometime, will you? Whenever you get the chance. Let me know how you're getting along."
"I'll do that. And thanks for everything."
"I always liked you, Jeff. Right from the beginning I liked you. Goodbye, Jeff."
"So long, princess."
She had closed her eyes as he left the apartment. The thought struck him once he was outside headed for the tubes to Manhattan that she knew it had all been a pretense and that was why she did not open her eyes. She would go on making herself believe in this pretense, holding tightly to it. She would keep her eyes shut even when cornered by inevitable reality, for by that time the memory of this delicious pretense would be the only reality she would recognize.
TWO
It was a quarter of eight when he arrived back at his apartment on First Avenue, a few blocks north of the great, imposing slab that was the UN building. There was an envelope under the door and he picked it up. He grimaced. He did not want to read any communiques from anybody. The effects of the two drinks he'd had at Betty's apartment in Hoboken-he hadn't touched the third-were beginning to wear off and he felt terrible. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten anything. Carrying the unopened envelope, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a good amount of straight bourbon.
He went back into the living room, the shot of strong liquor already putting a fresh spring into his tired muscles. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, the unopened envelope dangling from his fingers.
Now he knew why he kept going back to Hoboken when he got loaded. He had known all along, but had refused to admit it to himself. It was Laurie. Laurie Taylor. They'd had quite a thing when they worked together as reporters on the old Observer, even after he became her boss as Assistant City Editor, and still later after his book had been published. He had continued to see her two or three times a week until about four months ago. He remembered their last conversation.
"It's no use, Jeff," she said. "It's all over. We don't have anything to say to each other anymore. These days our conversations consist of remember when's.' like ... remember the time you were supposed to cover the flower show and got sidetracked into a raid on a whorehouse by a Lieutenant friend of yours from headquarters. It was a very funny story, I admit, but I can't live on remember-when's. Oh, yes, I know we go to bed together once in a while when you're not too drunk and it's wonderful, but the next morning you're practically a basket case until I make you two or three muscular drinks, and then you want more sex, and this time it isn't quite so wonderful. Half the time you're just going through the motions because you're hung over. I'm not young and I'm not old. I'm only twenty-nine, and I want more out of life than remember-when's and stale sex. Call me again sometime, Jeff. Call me next month. My attitude may have changed, but I doubt it."
So he called her the next month, and the month after, but it was no use. They were washed up. And thus it happened that when he got tanked up, he mourned over the lost Laurie and staggered over to Hoboken under the drunken illusion that he might meet her there and things would be as gay and carefree as when they worked together on the old Observer.
In memorial, he muttered, and trudged out into the kitchen for another bolt of straight bourbon. He knew he'd be drunk all over again if he took another and plodded back to the living room. He gradually became aware that he was still carrying that unopened envelope he had found under his door when he first came in. He ripped it open.
Dear Jeffrey:
Have been trying to get in touch with you all day. Please call me at Plaza 9-0020 if you get in before eight o'clock. Important.
Cordially, Joel
Joel was Joel Faraday, and the owner of the Faraday Press, his publisher. Over the past few months he'd had a number of communiques from Joel and he'd thrown them all in the wastebasket. But the fact that Joel had come to his apartment to put the note under his door, gave this added importance. Joel had given him a five thousand dollar advance on book number two and now he was more than three months past the deadline. On that basis alone the contract could be canceled and Jeff would have to return the entire five thousand, which he had long since spent on booze and women. Five thousand down the drain and nothing to show for it but a hangover.
At this point he was still sensible enough to call Joel. He could stall and make some excuse or another, but with a little fast talking, he might not be forced to return that five thousand.
It took him five minutes to get up from the sofa and go to the telephone and dial. Thank God it was Joel himself that answered instead of his wife, that bitch, Adele, or one of their maids, who could understand English only if you were the Mayor.
"Welcome home, prodigal son," said Joel with light irony. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I went to Hoboken for a little local color. Why?"
"I hate to mention this, old boy, but we did have a luncheon date with some television people who are interested in serializing your next book. I've read two-thirds of it, you know, and passed some scripts around where I thought it would do the most good. You got a very favorable response. When you didn't show up, I had to give them the hard sell and my tonsils are still raw. I don't know whether they bought it or not, but they seemed interested. What I'm getting at is that you have to finish the stinker before we can sell it to anybody. On the basis of the two-thirds you showed me, it's a sure thing for a television series and Adele is positive we can get the book clubs interested. But look, are you home now? I'd like to come over. Will you be there for awhile?"
"I'll be here."
"Good."
Joel Farraday had a hearty voice which, until you got used to it, made you feel as if you were the only author associated with the Faraday Press. By now Jeff knew better. Joel Faraday could order an office boy to run downstairs to the sandwich shop and get him a carton of coffee, black, in the same hearty tones.
Everybody liked Joel Faraday except those who knew him, and even to those, he was an enigma. The Faraday Press was a highly successful publishing house, but Joel didn't quite seem to fit the pattern. He wore an Elks tooth on his watch chain, a Kiwanis pin in his buttonhole, and a Masonic ring on his finger and so far as Jeff had been able to gather, he belonged to a multitude of other clubs as well.
This did not fit in with Jeff's idea of a publisher. Still, Faraday Press had accepted his first book and even after two years, the royalty checks were still coming in, so Joel Faraday must be a lot shrewder than his backslapping, public image might lead one to believe.
Jeff was still feeling lousy, but instead of taking another drink, he went into the bathroom and took another shower-this time, a cold one. He felt a lot better when it was over and he was back in the living room, wrapped in a terry cloth robe.
It was almost fifteen minutes before the doorbell rang, but by this time Jeff was ready for it. He'd had another straight bourbon and a benzedrine tablet. Not the best combination in the world, but temporarily they both sharpened his wits and calmed him down. He felt almost human when he crossed the living room to answer the doorbell.
Joel Faraday was there, as he expected, but to Jeff's surprise, Joel's wife, Adele, was with him.
She was so sleek and highly groomed that almost any women would have looked dowdy beside her. Her hair was combed straight back and caught in a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. It was chestnut, and there were smoldering suggestions of red in the depths of it that matched the red flecks in her huge eyes. Jeff had had some preliminary dealings with her at Faraday Press and although she had been seemingly cordial, he'd always had the impression that it was a manner she used for business purposes. She was highly intelligent and he reluctantly had to admit that her suggestions had improved his book, but he had never been at ease with her. She was cold, if not frigid, and not an easy woman to live with he decided.
Joel Faraday, although in his middle fifties, Jeff judged, was muscular and compact, and there was not even the hint of a bulge at his waistline. Except for a fringe of gray hair that ran from both temples to the back of his head, he was bald, but even this added to his appearance of masculinity. He was big and wide-shouldered and for one season had played fullback in college. His old helmet, varnished and waxed, had a place of honor atop the bookcase in his office. His sole claim to fame was that during the one season he served, on the first string he was the best defensive back in the history of the school.
"When I hit them, they stayed hit," he was fond of saying, implying that the runners he tackled had to be carried off the field. It was a story Jeff had heard many times.
Jeff led them into the living room. Joel Faraday strode along as befitted an athlete, but Adele sort of flowed along behind them, not seeming to hurry, yet keeping right up with them. She curled herself in the Wide armchair, tucking her legs under her, sinuous and relaxed. The word "sleek" came to Jeff's mind again. She was sleek as a cat and moved like one. Joel plumped himself down on the sofa and flexed the muscles of his arms and legs before he sat back against the cushions.
Jeff knew he was in for a bawling out, no matter how camouflaged or polite. His delivery of the manuscript was months past the contract deadline and, worse still, he had completely forgotten the luncheon date that noon with Joel and the television people. Forgotten hell. He was dead drunk in Betty's Hoboken apartment, but he was not about to go into such intimate details with Joel and Adele.
"Can I make you good people a drink?" he asked, stalling.
"No, thanks, my boy," said Joel. "We've had a couple already and I'm taking the ten o'clock plane to Chicago from LaGuardia."
Jeff sat on the arm of the Sofa at the opposite end from Joel, but facing Adele. Some military genius had once said something to the effect that when you were completely surrounded and your position was hopeless, there was only one thing left ... attack.
"I know why you're here, Joel," he said. "And if you're sore, I don't blame you. But I'm stymied and I don't know why. When I sit down at the typewriter, I can't get beyond one word. I know what I want to say, but I can't write it. So if you want to cancel the contract, I'll give you back the advance and no hard feelings. But I simply haven't been able to write for months and there's the whole thing in a nutshell."
To Jeff's surprise, it was Adele who answered, giving him a disarming cat smile. "We're used to this, Jeff," she said. "We call it the second-book jitters. Your first book all but made the best seller list, and it was well received by the critics. I'll talk to you about that later. But the book you're working on is a much better book. Your style is much more mature and the subject matter is beguiling. On the basis of what I've read, I'm sure we can get one of the book clubs to pick it up, perhaps get a television serialization, and from there it's being a best seller is inevitable. So what's holding you up?"
Jeff had been prepared for a thunder and lightning bawling out, which, he admitted, he deserved, but here were Joel and Adele being as nice as pie.
"I think the book stinks," he mumbled. "I'm not really a writer. I'm a newspaperman, and that's where I belong ... at a desk in a newspaper office."
"There's nothing the matter with your writing, Jeff dear," said Adele. "And I love your title . . .It Ain't What It Used To Be. An ironic comparison between the sex of today and the attitude toward sex in the past. I loved your chapter on Messalina. She was a wild one. I was on the edge of my chair, half hoping she'd get away with it. You're a good writer, Jeff, and there's nothing wrong with you except, as I mentioned before, a bad case of the second-book jitters. The critics will be laying for you this time. They always sharpen their knives for the second book of a writer whose first one was as much of a success as yours. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? That the critics will tear your book apart."
"Well ... something like that," Jeff mumbled, startled at her accurate analysis of what he had been going through. "But I have to get out of this rat race of one gin mill after another and the girls that go with it. All I have to do is go downstairs and a half a block away there's a bar and after a few drinks there's a cute little blonde and the next thing I know I wake up in ... " he was about to say Hoboken, but he changed it to, "Staten Island. Anything to stay away from the damned typewriter. If somebody asked me to keep the UN gardens free of cigarette butts, I'd jump at the chance, just so long as the typewriter wasn't involved. I've got a proposition, Joel. You want this book, don't you?"
"You're damned right old buddy," said Joel in his hearty voice. 'It's a number one property and we'll package it right, I promise you."
"Okay. I might be able to finish this stinker once I get off the scotch-and-soda circuit. It's too easy here. I can start off from my front door downstairs and in a half hour I can find at least eight gin mills in any direction. Once inside I know they'll not only give me all the drinks I can pay for, but there will also be the usual little blonde-sometimes she's a brunette-who'll be only too glad to give me loving care and sympathy. Of course I buy her drinks, too, but that's beside the point. What I'm getting at, Joel, is this. You once told me you have a little shack on an island somewhere in the wilds of Jersey. Let me use that shack for two months and I think I can finish this lousy book for you."
Joel looked puzzled for a moment, then he laughed. "Oh, yes, yes. Your description confused me for a moment. But I do have a little cottage on an island in Lake Powhatan. Adele goes there once in awhile when men bore her and she wants to be alone. But you don't know what you'd be letting yourself in for, Jeffrey. It's the most forsaken place on the face of the earth. Your nearest neighbor is a mile away and he's a crackpot. He gets up at five in the morning and watches birds. You'll be five miles out of town which consists of a gasoline pump, a general store, a druggist and a barber shop. The nearest tavern is twenty miles down the highway. Do you own a car?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. Most New Yorkers don't. So there you'll be stuck in the midst of poison sumac, brambles and ants in your bed. As for the other residents around the lake, half of them are retired infantry colonels and the other half sit around holding their breaths until the next Social Security check comes in. It's not the liveliest place in the world, Jeffrey, but you're welcome to it. We have another cottage on Lake Teepee, but I wouldn't advise that for you if you want to work. There's a tavern behind every tree and enough girls in bikinis to keep you away from the typewriter for the rest of your life. Do you still want that shack on Lake Powhatan."
"Yes," said Jeff doggedly, wishing he had a drink. "Give me the directions and I'll go up tomorrow."
"Why not tonight?" Adele interrupted. "You might change your mind by tomorrow. I'll drive you up."
"But, dear," Joel objected, "I thought you were going to drive me out to LaGuardia."
"Darling, it would be much faster and much simpler if you took one of the airport buses from the terminal and I wouldn't have to buck all that awful traffic. I'd like to get Jeffrey up there before he starts brooding about all that poison sumac and ants in his bed. Actually," she smiled at Jeff, "there won't be any ants in your bed, but they will get in the sugar unless you keep it in a tight canister. Well, that's decided. Pack your bag and gather up your manuscript and off we go. And I mean right now."
Jeff found the next half hour very confusing. He wasn't even allowed to pack his own bag. Adele took care of that. "Oh, don't be silly," she said.
"You won't need any dress shirts or suits. Just throw in a few pairs of light slacks, some sport shirts, underwear and a pair of swimming trunks. You're doing fine, dear, but that's all."
She closed the bag and within ten minutes, Jeff found himself wedged between Adele and Joel in the front seat of the Faraday station wagon.
"I don't like buses," Joel grumbled. "They remind me of waiting rooms in towns like Hohokus."
But he was in a better mood when they let him off at the airline bus terminal. He gave Jeff's limp hand a hearty shake.
"I'll expect the last third of that book by Labor Day, old buddy," he said cheerily. "Once up at the lake, you'll find there's nothing to do but write, so set that old typewriter on fire and we'll all be rich."
Jeff mumbled, "That's the general idea." He was getting too drowsy to match Joel's unending heartiness.
He was fast asleep before Adele was through the Lincoln Tunnel and on her way north. He did not awaken until she shook his shoulder.
"You can wake up now, Rip Van Riordan. We're here. Let's get it over."
"Here," was the interior of a small clapboard garage. Jeff stumbled sleepily from the car, dragging his bag from the rear seat. Adele pointed to a blue and white outboard motor hanging from two pegs on a side wall.
"Bring that along, unless you want to swim, which I wouldn't advise because this end of the lake is full of water hyacinth, which is worse than an octopus if you get tangled in it. Follow me."
With his bag in one hand and the heavy outboard in the other, he stumbled down a shelled path, just about able to keep her in sight. There was no moon and the sky was overcast so that not even a shred of starlight glimmered through. Jeff had never seen anything so dark and he could not even see the outlines of the trees that loomed around them. He couldn't see the lake; he couldn't see anything but the faint shimmer of Adele's white dress on the path ahead of him. But she knew the way, and she stopped at a low structure, which he figured was the boathouse, for now he could hear the water lapping against the posts.
"Light a match," she ordered irritably. "This damned flashlight is burned out."
Inside the boathouse was a twelve-foot fibre glass boat and while Adele lit another match, he hung the outboard motor on the stern. Jeff pulled the starter rope and the motor immediately roared into life.
"Thank God you can run that damned thing," said Adele. "I'll sit in the bow and give directions. The channel is very tricky. We cleared it of water hyacinths, but it shifts. Keep the motor in low and maybe we won't get fouled up."
For all Jeff knew, they were chugging into a pit of impenetrable darkness, but Adele knew what she was doing and kept calling sharp commands...
"Easy to the right ... sharp left ... steady as she goes, ease more to the left ... hold it ... quarter to the right ... steady ... we're almost there ... aah, here we are. Cut the motor."
He switched off the gas and they drifted on the surface of an inky pool that was Lake Powhatan. He felt the soft leaves of a tree brush his face and then there they were, snug and safe beside a narrow little dock. Jeff swung out his bag and stepped over to the dock. He went to the bow to give Adele a hand up. She slipped and almost fell as the boat slid away from under her right foot. She flailed and grasped wildly for support and he grabbed for her, but not being able to see her clearly in the almost pitch black darkness, his hands closed over her breasts. They were soft and round and she could not have been wearing a brassiere for almost immediately he could feel her rising nipples sharp against the palms of his hands and there was no mistaking that. He quickly shifted his arm around her shoulders and kept her from toppling back into the lake.
She leaned against him and her fingers dug into his ribs.
"Thank you, Jeffrey," she panted. "For a minute I thought I was in for a dunking. It might seem silly, but I can't swim. I've tried and tried, but I always go straight to the bottom. Water scares me. Let's get up to the cottage and have a drink. I'm shaking all over."
He couldn't see any cottage. He couldn't even see his feet it was so dark, but she knew the way, and he trudged after her up a winding path, through bushes and around trees and suddenly there they were, at the wide front door of a pitch-roofed little cottage. He held another match until she found the proper key and unlocked the door. She slid her hand up the right side of the doorway, finding the electric switch and the room sprang into light.
This was no shack. The living room was twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide and a huge fieldstone fireplace dominated the far end of it, around which were grouped a conventional but comfortable type sofa and three lounge chairs. There were throw rugs on the floor and to Jeff, who had never lived in the country, they looked like Navajo blankets. At their end of the room was a smaller sofa and more chairs.
Over the fireplace was a large walnut plaque on which was mounted the stuffed head of a mouse.
"That's the only wild animal Joel ever killed," Adele explained, laughing. "He hates hunting and hunters and he killed that poor little mouse by accident. He stepped on it. He wanted to bring it back to life and wanted to call the vet and I had to stop him. So he had it stuffed and mounted and hung over the fireplace to remind him never to step on another one. I think that's rather nice, don't you?"
Jeff said, "Very," but he could hardly keep from yawning in her face. All he wanted to do now was go to sleep. He hadn't had a thing to eat all day-and possibly yesterday-and he'd had several good belts of liquor. He wanted to sleep.
Adele must have seen this in his sagging face, for she said quickly, "I'll show you the bedroom and you can get a good night's sleep. I hope you don't mind boating me back to the mainland for my car, but it's the only way I can get there."
"You've been wonderful, sweetie, driving me all the way up here," he said. "Would you like a scotch and water before you go? I have a bottle in my bag."
"No thanks, darling. It would only put me to sleep at this stage and it's a seventy mile drive. Oh damn, I wish this silly flashlight had picked a better time to go kaput."
They stowed his bag in the only bedroom and, leaving all house lights burning, they went down the path to the dock. It was easier to see now.
And it was just as easy to see that the boat was not at the dock. There was nothing beyond the warped planks but the restless inky water. No boat. There was a slight breeze coming from the north and this was the southern end of the lake. There was no doubt that the breeze had taken the boat and set it adrift beyond the dock. They stared into the darkness, knowing all the while that it was hopeless. They could see nothing beyond the faint perimeter of light from the cottage windows.
"I know I should have tied it up, or something," Jeff said lamely, "but I'm not used to boats."
"Don't blame yourself, Jeff. I am used to boats and I'd have made it fast if I hadn't almost fallen into the lake. Well, there's no sense just standing here. We can't find the damned boat in the dark. I guess I'll have to sleep on the sofa. I hope you don't mind."
But he did mind and groaned silently to himself. He wanted to go to bed and sleep. He did not want to be bothered with anybody sleeping on the sofa, especially this chilly, business-like bitch. He'd been through this whole I'll-sleep-on-the-sofa bit before. To be fair, most of them did sleep on the sofa, but that was only the beginning. That part was easy. It was in the morning that things became difficult.
You woke up, say, around nine in the morning and your throat was so dry that you'd give an arm and a leg for even a glass of water, but there was old I-won't-be-any-trouble fast asleep on the sofa, and in order to get to the kitchen or bathroom you had to go through the living room or part of it. The problem was you slept in the raw. So, if you had to go to the bathroom, you had to wrap yourself in a blanket and tiptoe to your rendezvous with the plumbing. Then you had to tiptoe to the kitchen for either a Bloody Mary, a bottle of Pepsi, or that glass of ice water ... usually the first. But there was always that damned nuisance of having to slink around, clutching that lousy blanket, for fear you might awaken the sleeping guest, who'd immediately go into the kitchen with you and drink up at least half the remaining liquor and there you'd be at eleven o'clock with not a drop in the house and not being able to go back to bed for another two or three hour's sleep.
And if the so-called guest happened to be a woman, her husband would be asleep somewhere else in the house or apartment and you could never depend upon when he'd appear. This was especially bad when you woke up with a lecherous hangover, and would take a tumble in bed with Typhoid Mary, if no one else was handy.
Now this.
And all he wanted to do was sleep.
"Mind?" he said. "What do you mean 'mind?' This is your cottage. You take the bed. I'll sleep on the sofa."
"Once you take a really close look at it, I think you'll change your mind."
He trudged up the path to the cottage beside her. There was but one hopeful thought in his mind ... that bottle of scotch in his bag. She could go into the bedroom and he'd take his bag into the living room and bed down on the sofa, have a few drinks and fall peacefully to sleep.
By this time they were at the cottage. They'd left the front door open to throw more light down on the dock below, and to light Jeff's way back to the cottage from the mainland in the boat. They stopped in the doorway.
"There's the sofa," she said, pointing; her voice edged with irony. "You can sleep on it if you wish, but I wouldn't advise it. Do you see what I mean?"
He saw what she meant. The sofa was short and the back was curved. He'd wake up in the morning with his knees up under his chin and it would take at least three hours for him to get the kinks out of his backbone.
"How tall are you?" she asked.
Jeff thought he caught a twinkle in her eye. "Six-foot-one," he mumbled.
"I'm five-feet-two and the sofa is a bitch for me. C'mon." She grabbed him by the hand. "We'll both sleep in the bed. Fuck the sofa."
Her aggressiveness surprised Jeff momentarily, but there was no mistaking her meaning.
"Lead the way, lady."
As they walked toward the bedroom, Adele reached up with one hand and deftly removed the hairpins holding her chignon neatly in place and her rich chestnut hair cascaded downward toward her shoulders. With a toss of her head, the thick mane fell into a curly frame around her face lending a new beauty to her wanton actions. Jeff blinked his eyes in disbelief. Suddenly she appeared warm and vulnerable.
As if reading his mind, Adele murmured, "Thought I was just a tight-assed bitch, didn't you, Jeff?"
Jeff nodded.
"I'm glad you're not a gentleman," she said briskly. "I hate men who insist upon sleeping on the sofa, then keep you awake all night with their twistings and turnings and groans. So let's relax and have a nightcap. I'll make it."
He watched the trim, crisp movement of her slim hips and buttocks as she walked into the kitchen. She had good legs, he conceded ... slender but not thin, filling out in the calves, slimming at the knees, then flaring slightly to the hem of her skirt. He settled down on the edge of the bed.
Adele came back into the room carrying a small tray on which there were two glasses. The ice tinkled faintly with every undulating step she took.
Undulating.
Sleepily, Jeff watched her.
He watched her drift across the room toward him. He was really very sleepy now and everything drifted.
"A nightcap, Jeff," he heard her say softly. "Then we'll go to bed. I'm sleepy."
He took one of the glasses, held it up to the light and looked into it as it if were a crystal ball. His grin was wide as he made cabalistic motions around the glass with his right hand.
"Ah, yes ... " he said, imitating a crystal gazer he had once known during his newspaper days in Newark. "Mahatma Jeff knows all, hears all, sees all. And what does he see? The crystal is blurred, but-ah! it clears. He sees a mattress, a pillow, a sheet, a blanket. It is on a bed. And who is on the bed. Oh! No, no. This cannot be. The figure on the bed is Mahatma Jeff-almost asleep. Can such things be? It must be the will of Allah."
She sat down on the bed next to him and clinked his glass with hers. "Cheers, Jeff," she said huskily.
"Cheers." Jeff drained his glass, looked at her, startled and said, "What did you put in that?"
"Scotch," she said smiling. "There's a case of it out in the kitchen."
"After this drink, there's only a half case left. But the glass seems to be empty. Could something be done to rectify this unfortunate situation?"
"Why not?" she said.
She took the glass from his extended hand and disappeared through the bedroom door.
This time he watched her with more interest ... the soft clench and unclenching of her provocative buttocks beneath the thin fabric of her dress, the suggestion of flowing movement that was not at all glacial. An interesting thought. Adele Faraday, the IBM wonder, betrayed by a pair of wanton buttocks.
He shook his head and shook it again, as if to clear it of this erotic fantasy. He could not imagine anything so remote as a rewarding sexual experience with a human computer like Adele Faraday.
Surprisingly, he felt himself becoming more and more awake. A half hour ago he was so drowsy that he could have fallen asleep on the warped planks of that little dock. Now he was wide awake and becoming more so by the minute.
He watched Adele reenter the bedroom carrying his drink on that silly little tray of hers, smiling.
But his eyes were not on her smile. They were on the way she walked, the sinuous movement of her full thighs against the revealing dress, and her breasts forming and reforming with every step as she came toward him.
He shook his head again, to clear it. It had to be a fantasy. This could not be the Adele Faraday of Faraday Press. The whole thing was an illusion and he was drunk.
Yet his head was surprisingly clear when he looked up at her. As she offered the drink on her little tray, he could even see the moistness of her full lips in that smile, and although he was not about to analyze her smile, there was more to it ... he told himself ... than met the eyes. And hadn't she pulled him into the bedroom. Of course!
He took the glass, still feeling unusually wide awake. Adele settled down beside him, still smiling and sipped her drink.
"You're tired, Jeff," she said, giving him that cat-look over the rim of her glass. "Let's drink up and get some sleep."
"Fine," he said, "fine."
He drained his glass and staggered to his feet. He was not drunk, nor did he feel drunk-he felt exhilarated, but he felt the room swaying. He was not dizzy, but things were not quite in focus.
He felt her arm steady him as she turned back the top sheet and blanket. The bed looked so wide and inviting. He was wide awake, but his legs kept doing funny things.
Adele helped him off with his jacket, then took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling up the tails all around from under his trousers.
He sat down on the bed and grinned up at her. "I'm a big boy now," he said. "I can change my own diapers."
"Thank heavens for that. Lift your arms ... "
She took off his shirt and threw it on the low slipper chair at the side of the room. He lay back on the bed, his eyes closed, as she knelt down and took off his shoes and socks. Then she unbuckled his belt and he heard rather than felt the zipper of his trousers being opened.
"Now please, Jeff," she said.
Eyes still closed, he lifted his hips from the bed and felt her slide his trousers from his hips and pull them off.
For a moment the room was quiet, then Jeff heard the feminine whispers of the exciting ritual of a woman unclothing herself. He knew and was fully aware that she was hanging her panties and slip over the slipper chair at the opposite side of the bed, just as he knew by sound that she had put her dress over a hanger.
When she came to bed and lifted the covers to slide in beside him, there was scarcely a dipping of the mattress to let him know she was lying there.
He lay, unmoving. He did not believe it was happening, yet it was. He did not know what she would do next. He was in such a state of quiescence that all he wanted to do was wait and see what her next move would be. For all he knew, she might just turn over on her side, give one of those final sighs and fall asleep immediately.
But she didn't. She shifted a few times, as if to adjust the sheet over her, and then he felt the feathering of her fingertips on his leg. Her hand stroked his thigh and moved up to the flatness of his taut belly. He could hear the quickening of her breath. Then Adele reached up and put her arms around him. "I've been wanting to do this all night," she said, as her lips covered his eagerly, pulling and tugging with a soft, damp warmth. Jeff slid his tongue into her mouth. Her breath was warm against his cheek as the sweet taste of her mouth filled his. His tongue probed at the sides of her mouth and across her teeth.
"Oh, Jeff," she sighed. "I knew it would be good-so good with you."
Jeff cupped her breast with his left hand and squeezed it gently as he slid his right hand down her back and felt her firm buttocks. He was getting aroused rapidly and he knew this was no dream.
"I want you, Jeff. I've wanted you for a long time." Adele touched the sides of Jeff's face with the tips of her fingers.
He looked into her face intently. "You really are beautiful, Adele." His cock was already throbbingly erect.
Adele was running her fingers up and down his flat stomach, fondling his pulsating cock. She cupped his balls in one hand and squeezed them firmly.
"Mmmmmmm," Jeff groaned.
"Do you like that, Jeff?" she said in a half whisper. Her eyes were shining and her glistening lips were slightly parted.
"Yesssssss," he hissed.
She bent forward, throwing the sheet back from his body, and trailed her pink tongue down across the muscles of his midsection caressing the lower part of his stomach. She got up on her knees and leaned across him. Her abundant mane of chestnut hair fell forward, partly obscuring his view of her movements, but there was no mistaking the flicking, darting actions of her tongue as it dove into his navel, then moved from side to side across his lower stomach. She nibbled the flesh lightly.
"What are you trying to do, Adele, drive me crazy?" Jeff moaned hoarsely.
She sat up and looked down at him as her hands began kneading his balls and massaging his cock. Jeff reached out to touch her jutting breasts. She moved closer to him, leaning over slightly so he could easily reach them with his hand, but she never stopped stroking his cock.
"You've always intimidated me so, I'm almost afraid to tell you, Adele, but you've got such great tits," Jeff whispered as he cupped the satin-smooth mounds of warm, resilient flesh in his hands. He leaned forward and flicked the tip of his tongue across her nipple and it became a hard knot between his lips.
"Sssssss," Adele seethed, sucking in her breath with pleasure. "Say anything you want, Jeff. Do anything ... "
Jeff opened his mouth wider and let part of her firm globe slide between his lips and began sucking it as hard as he could. Adele released his cock and balls and backed away from him pulling her breast from his mouth. Jeff looked up at her as her mouth descended on his. Her damp, shining lips were open wide and her tongue was taut and stiff as her mouth touched his. Their tongues intertwined as she melted against him. He ran his hands up and down her smooth, naked back, feeling her satiny skin as their lips clung and their tongues probed at each other.
Adele put her hands gently against the sides of Jeff's face and withdrew her tongue, smiling down at him.
"Adele, if I'm dreaming, don't ever wake me up, but are you deliberately trying to tease me."
"Be patient, Jeff." She bent over him again and began kissing and nibbling at his stomach. She fondled his cock and balls with her hands as her head moved from side to side on his belly. Once again Jeff reached down to cup her breasts. Then he felt an unexpected thrill soar through him as she pressed her lips against the base of his cock and squeezed his balls.
"Sweetieee!" he gasped, squeezing her breasts. Adele's tongue slid out and flicked from side to side on his cock as she slowly moved up the shaft, leaving a trail of glistening saliva. Then she dragged the tip of her tongue slowly around the head of his cock, making Jeff writhe and lurch upward in spontaneous reaction to the feel of her tongue. Then every muscle in his body stiffened as she opened her mouth wide and let the head of his cock slide between her lips.
She pressed his cock between her tongue and the roof of her mouth as she slowly forced her head downward on it, letting more of his cock slide into the hot, damp stricture of her mouth. She squeezed his balls and Jeff shuddered at the pleasure of the pain. Her head moved downward until the head of his cock was touching the back of her throat. Then she slowly began pulling her head back up, exerting a strong sucking pressure in her mouth.
"Dynamite, sweetie-that's pure dynamite!" Jeff whispered as he massaged her breasts.
Adele gripped the base of his cock with one hand and cupped his balls with the other as she began moving her head up and down with gradually accelerating movements.
Jeff reached down and slid Adele's hair back so he could have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth. The sight of his throbbing cock sinking into her beautiful face doubled the thrill he was experiencing. He felt the first quivering surges of his approaching climax begin to gather deep in his loins. Adele's head moved up and down with a rapid bounding motion and Jeff could feel his control slipping away. He held onto it as long as he could, wallowing in the beautiful sight and sensation of this gorgeous creature sucking his cock.
When he was almost at the edge, he sat up and rested his body on his elbows. "I'm about to ... come ... Adele," he panted. "You'd better finish it off with your hand.
Adele threw her head back with a cackling laugh. "Don't be naive, Jeff. I want you to come in my mouth!" Then she lowered her head toward his cock again, wrapping her fingers around the base of his cock and gathering his balls in her other hand as she opened her mouth wide to let his cock slide back into it. He pushed her hair back again so he could see it gliding between her lips. The gripping pressure of her mouth descended on his shaft once more and every nerve in his body tingled as he watched the thick, swollen tool disappearing between her red lips. Her head moved up and down with a slow, deliberate motion for a couple of strokes as she pressed his cock firmly between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Then she relaxed the pressure in her mouth as she began breathing in and out around his cock once more. The feeling of her hot breath around his cock and the sight of her sucking on it quickly brought him to the brink of climax again.
"Yeeeeiiiiiiii," Jeff gasped throatily, grinding his teeth to hold on as long as possible. He thrust his hips upward in lunging surges as his approaching climax wrenched the muscles of his body. Adele brushed her hair from her face as he grabbed her tits and squeezed them. The pressure of his semen building up was overwhelming.
"Aaaggghhh, sweetiieeee! I'M COMM-IIINNNNGGG!" he wailed as the blessed relief of his hot thick come spurting into her throat washed over him. Adele grasped his cock with both hands as she eagerly sucked the come from it and swallowed it. Her tongue wrapped around his cock as she squeezed his balls and massaged the base of his cock, milking every drop of come out of him. Jeff's cock began to deflate as the last of his load was sucked from him. Finally it was a limp, lifeless tube of flesh. Adele released it and a stream of come oozed from the corners of her mouth. She crawled up the bed and lay across him.
"Ummmmm, Jeff, you taste so good," she whispered and covered his mouth with hers. The taste of his come was hot and pungent on his tongue as they kissed each other passionately.
It was over and he lay back into his pillow, exhausted, not even able to think. The tumultuous assault, so unexpected, had drained him.
Then later he felt her arm across his chest and he said thickly, "What's the matter, sweetie?"
"Nothing, Jeff. Go back to sleep. I'm setting the alarm clock. I have to be up at six o'clock. I have to be in the office before ten. Go back to sleep."
The alarm clock rasped as she wound it and set it on the small table beside her side of the bed. It was only then that she gave out that small sigh that preluded sleep.
Within a few minutes she really was asleep, breathing quietly. It was quite awhile before Jeff, too, fell asleep, although he was exhausted. And as he drifted away from consciousness he had a small fragment of a dream in which he was the alarm clock and she or some madness, was winding him up and up and up....
THREE
The jarring sound that awakened Jeff was not the alarm clock, but an explosive clap of thunder that was preceded by a flash of lightning that illuminated the room as bright as day for only a second. He shook his head trying to discover exactly where he was and as he blinked his eyes he saw Adele's naked body bound from the bed in one swift leap. She was all over the bedroom in a second closing windows, then dashed through the door to the living room. He heard windows being slammed shut and the banging of the screen door hitting the outside wall of the house until she closed and latched it.
When she returned to the bedroom her hair was dripping wet as was her body. She dashed into the bathroom and came out toweling her hair and body dry.
"Dammit," she said quietly. "Just what I needed. If this rain keeps up, I'll never make it into town."
Jeff watched her as the fluffy towel moved through her hair and then down across her breasts. His head was a little foggy, but his cock was erect. A case of the hangover hots, he thought to himself, something I haven't felt in a long, long time.
"Would that be so bad, sweetie. I mean, if you couldn't get into town." He reached out and put his strong arm around her stomach and started to pull her backward toward him.
"Oh, for God's sake, Jeff, not now."
It sounded like the old Adele had recovered her body. The sound of rain beating steadily on the thin roof was the only sound in the room.
Jeff remained silent for a few minutes, then glanced over at the clock. "Well, sweetie, then why don't you go back to sleep? Look, it's only 5:30. You weren't programmed to get up till six."
She remained silent for a moment, Then her shoulders slumped. She turned toward him, "I'm sorry, Jeff. Sometimes I'm too compulsive for my own good."
She moved across the bed to face him, pressed her body close to his and rubbed her full breasts against Jeff's muscular chest. The rumpled sheet lay between their lower bodies.
"C'mon, sweetie, get back under the covers," Jeff said with an impish grin.
She rolled off him and he kicked the sheets down. Adele glanced at his rigid cock and ran her tongue over her lips.
"My, my, but you are in a playful mood this morning," she said with a lighthearted laugh. She lay on her side and Jeff faced her.
Jeff took her in his arms. Their lips fused together in a deep, tongue-stabbing kiss. She sucked heatedly on his tongue as he drove it deep into her willing mouth. The heat from their kiss and the rubbing of their nude bodies accentuated the desire that was building in both of them. Adele moved her hands over Jeff's back, lightly touching his smooth skin with the tips of her fingers. Jeff shuddered and his flesh became covered with goose bumps. She moved her hands farther down until she reached the swell of his buttocks. She caressed them, pulling the cheeks apart and running her fingers up and down the crevice, lightly fingering his ass-hole.
Jeff pushed her over on her back and straddled her thighs. He bent his head to her heaving breasts, stuck out his tongue and began to lick her rosy nipples, making Adele moan with passion.
"Oh, God," she murmured. "That's it, Jeff. Suck them. They're all yours. Gobble them up! Love them!"
As he sucked her fleshy globes, he felt her hand slide between their bodies until she grasped his throbbing cock.
"That's what I want-your thick, fat cock. I want you to fuck me this morning. Damn this rain. I want you to fill me up with that big fat piece of meat."
The aggressive, tight-assed Adele had given way once again to the strong-willed sex goddess. Jeff's tongue traced circles around her rigid nipples. Her hand gripped and caressed his hard cock, expertly massaging the swollen flesh. Her other hand raked across his back and buttocks.
"Now, Jeff. Now, please!"
Jeff moved one of his large hands between her trembling thighs and teased his fingers over her pussy mound. Her cunt lips were moist. He parted them and knifed his forefinger into her pulsating cunt. Adele bucked her hips and her fingers closed tighter around his thick prick. She was shaking all over from the raging heat within her. Jeff knew he had her in his power, but he kept himself from springing at her and ramming his cock deep into her undulating body with a single violent thrust. He wanted to make her wait until she was screaming for it, begging for it. He was not used to this new image of Adele that lay before him and he wanted to explore the depths of her sexuality.
He moved down her body and his cock slipped from her grasp. Her fingertips grabbed for it, but he slid it out of her reach. Flattening his tongue, he ran it over her stomach, pausing to suck at her navel. Adele's breath hissed through her teeth and her body began twitching when his teeth nibbled at the soft hair between her thighs. He traced the tip of his tongue along her vulva and she began crying out.
Jeff laughed inwardly. With the storm beating down overhead in this remote lake cottage, no one could hear no matter how she screamed.
Adele seized his head between her hands and spread her legs wide. She moved her hips upward, pressing her cunt lips against the lips of his mouth. Jeff stiffened his tongue and jammed it into her pussy, rubbing the tip of it across her clitoris. Adele threw her arms back on the bed and dug her fingers into the bedsheets. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her forward so that her legs went up in the air and over his shoulders. Then he titillated her clitoris again with hard, fast tongue touches. Jeff opened his mouth wide and bit her labial lips. Then he slammed his open mouth against her gaping pussy and jammed his rigid tongue in and out, in and out, until Adele began screaming a stream of vulgarities.
"Eat it! Eat cunt! Cunt! EAT CUNT!"
Jeff looked up from her crotch and said, "You really are a hot little cunt, aren't you, sweetie?"
"Yes," she said, her stomach heaving, "and it turns you on doesn't it, Jeff, baby!"
"That it does, that it really does!"
Jeff sat back on his haunches and looked at Adele. Her eyes were bright green and glowing. Her lips were open and she was breathing rapidly.
"Oh, put it in me, Jeff. Please put it in me."
Not yet, he thought. Not yet, my fair lady. Not until you're really begging for it.
"You can have it as soon as you suck my cock."
He moved upward so that his knees were on either side of her shoulders. He squatted down so that his buttocks pressed against her full tits. He pushed the head of his cock against her moist lips. Her mouth opened wide and Jeff jammed it deep into her hot mouth. She clamped her lips around the shaft and began sucking on it, moving her head back and forth in short movements. He felt his cockhead pressing against the roof of her mouth. He repositioned himself higher on his knees so that she could take more of his cock in her mouth and down her throat. Then as he adjusted his position, his cock began to slide down her throat until her lips were brushing his pubic hair and she was fighting for her breath. Her eyes began to water and slowly he eased his cock back out. She grabbed his heavy balls in her hands and began squeezing them as he plunged it forward down her throat once again, just long enough so that she wouldn't gag, and then pulled almost all the way out.
Jeff looked down, enjoying the sight of his thick cock disappearing between her beautiful lips.
Adele's breath was coming hard, making her breasts heave against his buttocks. Finally Jeff pulled his cock out of her mouth. Her lips were damp and shiny with saliva, as was his cock. He pressed his cock against her cheek and rubbed it over her face until her entire face was wet.
"Suck my balls," he commanded. 'Take both of them in your mouth."
Adele obediently parted her lips and sucked his right ball into her mouth. Using the tips of her fingers, she stuffed the left one in and sucked noisily on both balls while Jeff continued rubbing his cock back and forth over her face. She ran her hand down to her crotch and poked her fingers in and out of her aching cunt. She pulled her mouth off his balls and cried, "For God's sake, Jeff, give it to me! I've got to have it up my cunt!"
"Beg for it!"
"Pleeeaaassseee," she sobbed. "Please, Jeff!"
On his knees, he edged his way back down over her body, dragging his cock and balls over her abdomen until the head of his cock rested on the wet lips of her pussy. She thrust her pelvis upward and her cunt lips practically grabbed the head of his cock like a greedy child grabbing a piece of candy. Jeff took his cock in his hand and rubbed the shiny red head against her burning pussy lips.
"PLEASE, JEFF!" she screamed.
Then with one swift, violent movement, he thrust the full length of his cock into her cunt all the way up to his balls and Adele emitted a low guttural sound and threw her legs around the small of his back. Jeff lay still for a moment, savoring the feeling of his cock buried in her hot pussy. Adele began undulating her pelvis with rapid movements.
"Fuck me hard, Jeff," she hissed. "Hard as you can!"
He slid his hands between her legs and cupped her buttocks, forcing her legs higher into the air. Then he began fucking her with long, hard thrusts, withdrawing his cock until only the head of it remained in her and then pow-driving it back. Adele's moans were coming rapidly and Jeff knew that she was way ahead of him. She gave a ragged cry and then burst into orgasm. Her fingernails clawed his back and her teeth nibbled the flesh of his shoulder as she flung her body against him. . Jeff, hurrying to catch up, dug his fingers into her buttocks and began pounding his cock as fast as he could. She thrashed beneath him in sexual convulsions. He could feel his come rising. His thighs became tense and as hard as rock. He felt it rushing up the shaft of his cock and his scrotum twitched as hot, thick come spurted out and he shot inside her cunt.
"I can feel it!" she screamed. "I can feel your hot come!"
Jeff's come overflowed and began spilling out of her ravaged cunt, coating their pubic hair. Jeff finally stopped shooting and abruptly fell on her.
Adele continued to move her hips from side to side, wringing out the very last drop of his come. She kissed him softly about the face as his cock grew smaller inside her cunt. Then he withdrew and rolled over on his back. His soft cock and balls were smeared with his own juices. Adele, seemingly insatiable, bent over his body and began licking the come from his soft prick and balls.
She sucked on his soft cock. Funny, she thought, how she enjoyed sucking a flaccid cock almost as much as a hard one. It was like a warm little animal with a life all its own. Soft, Jeff's cock didn't quite fill up her mouth, so she opened her mouth wider and sucked one of his balls inside.
Jeff shifted his body until he was on his side. Adele lay with her head between his legs, lazily sucking on his cock and ball, wishing that she could somehow manage to get the other one into her mouth at the same time. She stretched her mouth open as far as she possibly could and, using her fingers, forced the remaining ball inside.
Jeff looked down and groaned. "You are really something, sweetie. Now you've got it all. My cock and both my balls."
The thought of it turned him on and his prick began to harden inside Adele's mouth, forcing his balls out of her mouth. Adele looked up at him hungrily. He knew that she was ready to try it again.
The jarring clamor of the alarm clock spoiled the effort. Adele let his cock slip from her mouth as she sat bolt upright in bed. Jeff's precipitous hard-on disappeared.
Adele slid out of bed and stood still for a moment. The room was silent. She glanced out the window. "Thank God," she sighed, "the rain has stopped." She ran into the bathroom.
When Jeff heard the sound of the water running in the shower, he grunted, turned on his side, and sluggishly pulled the pillow over his head. He dropped off to sleep within minutes.
It was a scant half hour later when Adele awakened him fully with an urgent hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes reluctantly. She was standing beside the bed, fully dressed.
"Wake up, Jeff, please. I have to get back to town and it's a seventy mile drive. I'm sorry to wake you again, but I have no choice. Here. Drink this. It might help."
Adele banded him a cup of steaming black coffee. He groaned and sat up, bracing himself against the headboard of the bed. He drank the coffee in cautious sips. It was scalding hot. As he became more and more awake, he thought he could see a difference in her this morning even though the tightly wrapped chignon was back in place. Something had changed during their night together. There was a softness about her that hadn't been there before. It was in her voice and in the uncertainty of her smile as she handed him the coffee.
"How do you feel?" she asked. "Fine."
"You looked so peaceful, I hated to wake you. Please don't be mad at me."
There was now a definite femininity about her he hadn't thought existed. The word softness came to his mind again. She wanted to please him as a woman wanted to please her chosen man. That was the difference.
Something dangled from her hand and, following his glance, she held it up and said, "Your swimming trunks. I found the boat. It's only about two hundred feet off the dock. You can swim, can't you?"
"I invented swimming," he said, finishing the coffee in a gulp. "Hell, when I lived in Jersey City I could swim so well the kids called me a sewer trout.
In fact, I used to wear my water wings to bed. Two hundred feet? Oh God ... "
He lumbered out of bed. He was suddenly aware that he was naked and felt her eyes on him. He pulled on his swimming trunks as quickly as possible. He wanted her again, right there and then, but he knew it would be a mistake. He bent over and pawed in his bag, which now lay open beside the bed and took out a pair of leather sandals. The need for sleep was flooding back on him again. He trudged down the path to the dock beside her. There was the boat, all right, nosed into the leafy pads of the water hyacinths just about two hundred feet away. He took a breath and plunged into the slick, unmoving water of the lake. The water was brown from-the cedars growing along the banks. And it was cold from the morning rain. Coming to the surface, he shook the water from his eyes and swam to the boat with laboring strokes. The years of drinking had gotten to him and his wind wasn't what it used to be. He climbed heavily over the side of the boat and sat panting as he bent over the outboard motor and pulled on the starting rope. The motor blasted into life at the first pull. He steered the boat back to the dock and stood up precariously as he held out his hand to help Adele into it. She sat on the thwart, her slim legs tucked and crossed neatly beneath her. Her smile was both warm and intimate.
Jeff turned the boat and chugged through the channel about three hundred yards south of the mainland. He had to be cautious for the channel. was only eight feet wide and slightly winding.
"Do me a favor, sweetie," he said, watching the open water head. "Call the superintendent of my apartment when you get back to town and give him the address of my new abode, so he can forward my mail."
"The moment I get to the office," she promised.
And then they were at the mainland dock. This time he made sure the boat was fast when he climbed out. He handed her up to the dock and her arms went around him, her mouth soft against his, her tongue a promise.
"I'll be back Friday afternoon, darling," she whispered. "It won't be so long. This is Wednesday. I wish it could be sooner, but I do have to take care of the office with Joel away."
"Friday," he whispered back, bending over her, prolonging the kiss.
She put the palms of her hands against his chest until they stood apart.
"Friday isn't so far away, darling," she said. "We can wait until then. Now go back to your island quickly or we'll get caught up again and I have to be in the office before ten. Please."
He said, "Friday," and clambered back into the boat. He turned just in time to see the flash of her waving hand before the car sped away and was lost almost immediately behind the leafy wall of trees.
Back in the cottage he plodded into the kitchen and looked around. A half-empty bottle of scotch stood on the counter beside the sink. He took three deep swallows straight from the bottle and went into the bedroom. He stripped off his wet swimming trunks and lay down on the bed. Without Adele the cottage felt strange and empty, forlorn and deserted. He turned on his back and covered his face with the pillow. Now there were only two places for him to go ... back to the kitchen for a few more slugs of scotch, or to the refuge of sleep. He was asleep within ten minutes, his arms around the pillow over his face, blotting out the world.
It was noon by his wristwatch when he awakened, but it was another half hour before he came out from under the pillow and crawled from bed. It did not seem worthwhile to get up, but he knew it would become more depressing if he stayed in bed. He groped to the kitchen and had another drink of scotch from the bottle. He opened the refrigerator, but there was nothing in it but a can of grapefruit juice. He grimaced and opened the cabinet over the sink. That was better. There were several cans of vegetables, chili con carne, and two cans of condensed broth. He opened a can of the condensed soup, found a spoon in one of the drawers of the cabinet beside the sink, and stumbled back into the living room. He sat on the edge of the sofa and doggedly began eating. He knew he had to eat something within the hour. This was the dreariest part of the day, waking up alone in a strange place with nothing ahead for the day but the bottle of scotch in the kitchen, then more sleep and more scotch. Friday seemed an eternity away.
Then abruptly the door from the porch opened and the sunlight splashed into the room. He started and looked up, blinking. In the doorway was the silhouette of a girl, all legs and breasts in a scanty bikini made of tied bandanas.
Her voice was as bright as the tickle of a crystal, "Adele! I saw your light on last night and ... "
She stopped with a gasp and neither of them moved, caught in this moment of frozen surprise.
Jeff snatched up one of the sofa cushions to cover his nakedness and, recovering his poise, grinned up at her.
"Welcome to Bali H'ai," he said. "Adele won't be back until Friday. I'm Jeff Riordan. The Faradays are letting me use this hideout until I finish my book."
. Her wide, full mouth hung agape, still not recovered from the sight of a nude man there on the sofa, eating condensed soup out of a can. Her eyes swept over the tall, handsome stranger and she felt a tingle in the crotch of her bikini as she surveyed his muscular body and the black hair matting his chest. The quick glimpse of his exposed cock was a definite turn-on.
"I ... I thought it was Adele," she stammered. "I saw the light and ... I mean last night and ... I ... I didn't mean to burst in on you like this."
Her embarrassment was so evident that Jeff held up the can of soup, still grinning to put her at her ease. "Can I offer you some soup?" he said. "It's awful cold. But I also have some canned peas, asparagus, creamed corn, chili con came, beets and grapefruit juice. Or would you prefer a scotch on the rocks?"
She stuttered, "Friday?" still trying to recover her poise.
Jeff said quickly, "She said she'd get in touch with me on Friday. I don't know if she's coming up here to the lake or not."
Hung over though he was, he suddenly realized it wasn't the best idea in the world to let the neighbors know that Adele would be spending the weekend on the island with him. "Between you and me, I think all she wants is to make sure the genius is working. 'Riordan,' she said to me, you're a no-good souse, but you can write, so let's get something down on paper. Pronto.'"
The girl gave a small, nervous laugh, but there was a softened note of relief in it. "Yes, that sounds like Adele. She practically lives for the Faraday Press. Other writers have used this cottage before and she drove them mercilessly until they finished their manuscripts. Did she say she was coming up here on Friday?"
"Honey, for all I know she might send up the National Guard to stand over me with fixed bayonets till I wind up this stinker."
"You don't really think it's a stinker, do you, Mr. Riordan?"
"Hell no. It'll be the best book ever written. But where's the typewriter?" he went on in aggrieved tones. "Without a typewriter I'm practically illiterate."
"The typewriter's over there," she said, pointing.
He turned his head. At the far end of the room, angled from the wall beside a wide picture window was a desk, and on the desk a typewriter, shrouded in a milky plastic cover. It would be a wonderful place to work, for there was a grove of birch trees outside the window, shading it from the long rays of the afternoon sun, but not obscuring the view of the lake that lay beyond.
He looked sharply away. He did not want to see the typewriter; he did not even want to think about it. He couldn't work today. He felt too lousy.
"There's paper in the top drawer of the desk," the girl was saying. "And the carbons are in the next drawer down, on the right. I've seen Adele work here when she's editing a manuscript."
Jeff did not want to hear any more about typewriters, paper, or manuscripts, and for a moment he was annoyed, feeling that she was trying to push him into something he didn't want to do. But almost immediately he realized what nonsense this was. Adele and Joel Faraday were the only ones interested in his finishing the book and it was obvious that this girl, whoever she was, had not had the opportunity to talk to either of them. Her surprise at seeing him there had been too evident to have been faked. His humor was partially restored ... so far as his hangover would permit, that is. All the same, he knew he was at a distinct disadvantage sitting there naked on the sofa, the small square pillow barely covering him.
He rose from the sofa and started backing toward the bedroom door, still holding the little pillow in front of him.
"Please excuse me," he said, "until I get rid of this damned fig leaf. But please don't go away. I'm a stranger in these parts, and in need of a native guide."
He ducked into the bedroom and pulled on his swimming trunks, grimacing, for they were still wet and clammy from his early morning's swim.
Then it suddenly struck him and he stopped with the wet trunks drawn halfway up his thighs. That little boat had not escaped from the dock of its own volition the night before. There had been a bit of feminine assistance involved. It did not take a genius to figure that one out. According to this little mermaid outside, Adele was in the habit of coming to the island when she wanted to do some editorial work on manuscripts. Therefore, she should have been accustomed to the eccentricities of boats.
So far as Jeff was concerned, boats were a complete mystery. They never did what you wanted them to and at times even seemed to have a grudge against him personally. like, for example, the time he took Laurie Taylor crabbing on the Shrewsbury Paver down on the Jersey coast. That was a fiasco if there ever was one.
For weeks he had promised Laurie this little weekend at the shore. Jake Stryker, suburban editor of the Observer, had a little cottage at Towne's Landing on the Shrewsbury and Jake owed him fifty bucks from a poker game that they had played in one of the back rooms of the Old Van der Sluys House on River Street.
That was the damnedest place, the Old Van der Sluys House, Jeff remembered nostalgically. It was right across the street from where the big Holland Line ships docked, and in the evening the seamen from the boats used to come in and drink and sing, but mostly sing. They didn't sing in the barroom, but on the second floor. They sang in chorus and while Jeff and other reporters from the Observer sat in the back room, playing poker, they were also entertained by the lusty voices from above. The sailors sang old Dutch songs, most of them had good voices. It was as good as a concert ... until the liquor caught up with them and then the fights would begin. In some way or other the three barmaids downstairs were involved. Hoek de Boer, who owned the Old Van der Sluys House, swore the girls were good, clean and decent, and the police seemed to agree, for the place was never raided. Yet, somehow or other, during the evening the blonde and buxom barmaids used to disappear for possibly an hour at a time.
Bedrooms could be rented by the hour. Sex in the Old Ven der Sluys House on River Street in Hoboken was not confined by the narrow middle-class notions of spurious romance. The attitude there was both practical and logical. The seamen needed it and the girls enjoyed it, but sex was never strictly business in the Van der Sluys House. If the barmaid didn't like you, you could shower her with diamonds and rubies and she would still tell you what to do with them.
This had led to one embarrassing contretemps, Jeff remembered, grinning at the remembrance. One of the barmaids had taken a imagine to him. He even remembered her name ... Gerte.
She had taken a imagine to him, for no reason he could discover. At that time he was tall, over six feet, but had not yet filled out. But Gertie wanted him. She used to languish and melt behind the bar, as she served foaming steins of beer to the sailors, whenever he came in and walked to the back room, bound for a poker game.
She was a big girl, big and blonde and as buxom as they came. One day she walked into the toilet adjacent to the card room. Since it was not open to the public, it was not marked for either men or women. The card players used it occasionally as did the barmaids. Jeff had been standing over the toilet bowl taking a piss and had not heard Gerte enter. Quietly she closed and locked the door behind her. When he finished taking his leak, Jeff reached over to flush the toilet and then turned around. He still had not replaced his cock in his trousers. Gerte's big, beaming face was one complete ear to ear smile.
"Did you know your fly is open?" she asked.
Jeff flushed beet red with embarrassment and started to stuff his cock back into his trousers.
Gerte advanced like a bee headed for a honey-filled flower. "Let me do it."
Jeff grinned in delight and surprise.
"You're pretty well hung for such a young man," Gerte said, beginning to massage his thick tool. Jeff's involuntary muscle lost no time in stiffening up. "Yep, really well hung," she added, as her hand became filled even more.
Quickly Gerte undid the rest of the buttons and unbuckled his belt. Jeff pushed his pants down and his boxer shorts as well. He took his fully erect cock in his hand and held it out to Gerte. She was down on her knees immediately. She opened her mouth wide and Jeff slid it into her. She put her hands on his hips and he watched her at work. She was en expert cocksucker, sucking him with gusto, filling her throat with his swollen shaft. Jeff was being devoured by inches and loving it. He glanced , to his left and saw their reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door. He had a good view of the proceedings and loved watching himself while he was being sucked. Gerte saw what he was doing and moved to the side a bit so that both of them could get a better view of the action. She took him as far into her throat as she could without choking, and still there was enough cock left for her to hold onto with one hand. With her other hand she began exploring his balls and ass. Jeff started bumping his pelvis against her face, making her take even more of his meat. Jeff loved what Gerte was doing to him. She was good at it.
Jeff pulled his cock out of Gerte's mouth. It was covered with her saliva. He pressed it against the flat of his stomach and urged her to go on to his balls. She ran her tongue over both of them in turn. Then she opened her elastic lips and with a loud slurping sound, took the left one inside. Jeff watched her in the mirror as she sucked first one ball and then the other. She tried to fit both of them into her mouth, but just couldn't manage. His cock throbbed and bounced against her forehead. Jeff leaned down and began to manipulate her breasts under the fabric of her blouse. Her nipples were as hard as stones and strained against the thin blouse she was wearing.
Gerte stopped for a moment, and looked up at him. Her hair was mussed, her face red with excitement and wet with her own saliva.
"You're very good at this," he said.
"Honeybun, you learn to be good at everything in this place," she answered with a chuckle.
Jeff reached down and pulled Gerte to her feet. He wanted to fuck her in the worst way, but knew they had no place to go. Gerte seemed to read his mind.
"Come on over here, honeybun, and let Gerte show you one of her stand up acts." She led him over to a sink in the corner. She turned away from him, undid the hooks on her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Jeff got the picture very quickly. Gerte smiled at him in the mirror over the sink and put her hands on either side of the sink, bracing herself as Jeff began pulling down her panties. Her breath whooshed through her teeth as his hands felt her pussy and buttocks. He dragged the tips of his fingers back and forth over her soft vulva and the crack of her ass. Then she gave a long sigh and leaned over the sink.
He moved toward her, letting his cock slide between her legs and rest against her vulva.
"That's it, honeybun," she giggled, as she parted her legs slightly so that his trembling cock could slide all the way forward between her legs and press against her cunt. Gerte straightened slightly and tensed as she felt his throbbing organ touch her pussy. Jeff began stroking her vulva with the tips of his fingers and he undulated his hips, sliding the head of his cock back and forth along her cunt, dry fucking her.-
He spread her vulva apart with his fingers and pushed his cockhead through it. Small shudders passed through Gerte's body as his swollen cockhead touched her clitoris. He searched for the opening of her pussy and found it. Then he eased the tip of his cock inside. Gerte arched her back even deeper, holding her pussy up for him and Jeff slid the head of his cock into her cunt. Gerte trembled all over as the large piece of meat penetrated her.
Jeff eased a couple of inches of his cock into her and waited. Gerte stood trembling, her breath coming in a slow, steady panting. He slid his hand forward to feel her breast once again and began rocking his hips, pressing more and more of his prick into her. Gerte spread her legs farther apart and braced herself firmly against the sink. She began thrusting back against him as his cock inched inside. It seemed as though his hands couldn't move over her smooth skin fast enough. He grabbed at her thighs, buttocks, pussy and breasts while his cock kept steadily driving farther into her moist channel.
When his cock was almost all the way in, he put his hands on her waist and held her tightly as he began fucking her with long, hard strokes. The sensation of his cock sliding into her hot pussy and the sight of her bent over the sink in front of him began gnawing at his control. His enjoyment was made much more intense by the unexpected novelty of the situation. He quickly drove his cock in until the thick part of the shaft was goring her pussy. Gerte began moaning in a soft, sing-song manner and surged back against him. He slid one hand down under her, searched for her clitoris with the tip of his finger and with the other hand, squeezed one of her breasts. He found the tiny bud and Gerte quivered all over as he began stroking it, squeezing her breast with the same rhythm that his cock was spearing into her cunt.
He pulled his cock out of her and lifted her up from the sink, putting his arms around her as he turned her around. Gerte's face was flushed and taut with passion as she looked up at him.
"What ... what ... why ... did you ... do that?" she panted.
"You'll see, Gerte, you'll see." He kissed her and her lips clung passionately to his as he pushed her back against the sink, lifting her gently. She sat back on the sink, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he slid his cock back into her cunt. Her thighs quickly wrapped around his waist and she began thrusting forward as he started fucking her. He lifted one of her arms and bent down to nuzzle at her breasts. Gerte leaned back, gave a small cry and burst into orgasm. Jeff decided to join her. He let his come surge upward and it began gushing out, filling her cunt with creamy, thick spurts. The sink sagged and creaked as they lunged together, their bodies writhing and jerking in the wild sensation of a simultaneous climax.
Ah, yes, with an ache in his loins, Jeff remembered Gertie. And it was with a different kind of ache that he remembered Betty Anders, the waitress in Angelo's Diner, at the north end of Washington Avenue in Hoboken, and how he had awakened in her pitiful apartment, and what had gone on before and afterward.
And it had been the same with Gertie and scores of others. In this bleak moment of self-revelation, he stood there, all but naked, the swimming trunks concealing nothing, thinking of the women he had taken ... and "taken" was the word, for he had given them nothing in return.
He stopped in mid-thought and shook his head, as if to clear it of these aimless reminiscences. Too often these days he lost himself in reverie and it could happen any where ... on buses, trains or planes. And when it happened, he invariably wound up somewhere he didn't want to be. like the time he took a plane from Miami to Atlanta and ended up at the Newark Airport in Jersey, only because he had drifted into a day by day remembrance of the week he had spent in Daytona Beach with that divorcee from Detroit. She was ingenius in bed. No matter what he wanted to do, she knew all about it, with variations. It had been a wild week, and it had ended only when the police caught them chasing one another up and down the white sands of the beach, naked as peeled bananas, at four in the morning. Nothing had happened to them. The police had been more amused than anything else. But the girl had been scared and checked out of the hotel before breakfast.
The weekend on the Shrewsbury with Laurie had been worse. He hadn't started out to get drunk. It was because of that heavy, clumsy old rowboat they hired to go crabbing. A sudden storm came up while they were out in the middle of the river and he tried his damnedest to row back to the old dock where they'd hired the boat, but he couldn't make any headway against the wind, for the oars kept jumping out of the locks and in the end, the dock man had to come to their rescue and tow them back into shore.
Jeff got a strained back out of it and had to lie in bed, groaning, propped up with pillows, hardly able to move, and there was nothing he could do but drink steadily from the bottle of bourbon that stood on the floor beside his bed. There wasn't even an aspirin in the cottage and the liquor was the only thing he had to deaden the pain. No wonder he'd gotten drunk ... though he couldn't blame Laurie for being sore. That was the beginning of the end. Things were never the same after that ...
But what had started him off on that again? It was an old story, one he had brooded over for more nights than he cared to remember. But what had brought it up this time? Oh, yes, the boat. Not that sodden old scow on the Shrewsbury, but that featherweight little boat with the outboard last night at the Faraday dock. It hadn't just drifted away, nor had the wind taken it. Adele had deliberately kicked it off into the lake when she pretended to stumble.
But why?
Why had she gone to all that needless bother, he wondered. If she wanted to sleep with him, which she obviously did, why all the unnecessary nonsense of kicking the boat adrift? Why did she think she needed an excuse to spend the night with him? She could have stayed without making any explanations. But perhaps Adele Faraday was one of those women who became dissatisfied if she could not complicate a simple situation.
He broke off irritably. He didn't want to think about anything today, especially past history. Having a hangover didn't help either. It was hard to think of anything cheerful when you had a hangover. He pulled up his swimming trunks and went back to the other room.
FOUR
The girl was sitting on the sofa, legs tucked under her, leafing idly through an old copy of a news magazine, not reading, not interested in last month's sizzling reports from abroad, but merely looking at the pictures to pass the time.
She looked up quickly when Jeff entered the living room, but he scarcely glanced at her except to note that her hair was tawny and partially bleached from the sun in interesting streaks that swept back from her forehead. He did not waste any time admiring the effect, but hurriedly picked up the empty soup can and spoon from the coffee table.
"This is hardly decorative," he mumbled. "Excuse me a minute while I get rid of it."
In the kitchen, with the door closed behind him, he noisily threw the can into the wastebasket, then urgently snatched up the scotch bottle, unscrewed the cap and took three deep gulps from it, scarcely pausing for breath between swallows. He coughed and leaned against the counter beside the sink. The familiar warmth spread through him and he began to feel like living again. He needed those drinks. He walked back into the living room smiling.
"Sorry to have been so long," he apologized. "But I'm not quite organized yet. I'm Jeff Riordan, by the way."
"I know. I recognized you from the photograph on the jacket of your last book, Two Weeks Every Year. Adele lent it to me. I'm Ellen Drew. I have a cottage on the east side of the lake. I've known the Faradays for years. I'm sorry I barged in on you the way I did, but I expected to find Adele ... or Joel here. Anyway, life is a lot less formal here at the lake. We're in and out of one another's cottages all the time. What I mean to say is, I hope you'll forgive me."
Jeff could see that the girl was more curious than embarrassed and was appraising him carefully from behind long blonde eyelashes.
His own glance was quick, but comprehensive. She was a tall girl, slim as a candle flame, but there was a flare to her thighs that flowed flawlessly into the rich molding of her rounded hips. His eyes widened slightly when they came to her breasts, which were so full and mature that they seemed ready to burst from the skimpy bra of the bikini. And there was something about her mouth, too, that disturbed him. It was wide and ripe with a hint of sensuality.
And there was something else about her, too. Most young girls looked naturally provocative in a bikini, but this one seemed to be making a special point of it. It wasn't anything obvious. She did not thrust out her hips or move her shoulders to bring his attention to her ripe, uplifted breasts. It was more subtle than that. He could not put his finger on it, yet he knew she was deliberately trying to intrigue him. Perhaps it was merely the automatic response of a young girl to an unattached male. Still, she did not look like a girl who'd have trouble finding male companionship no matter where she was.
"I'm not interrupting your work, am I?" she asked in an assured voice.
"Oh, no, not at all," he said, still wondering what she was up to, if anything. "It always takes me a few days to become acclimated after I move into a new place. I usually get around to the typewriter after awhile, but it takes time. In fact, I'm glad you dropped in. I was rather at loose ends."
Her slight, secretive smile told him that this was exactly the answer she expected. Even at this early age, she was accustomed to having her own way. She couldn't be any more than nineteen or twenty, he decided.
"If you don't have anything planned for the day," she said, just a shade too casually, "Let me show you around. It's quite a nice lake, five miles long and about a mile wide."
"Good. I have a boat."
"That little dinghy of Adele's," Ellen laughed. "It would take forever. I have a speedboat."
"Good. What're we waiting for?"
"For you to make up your mind," she said frankly. "For awhile there you looked as if you couldn't decide whether or not you liked me."
"That's silly. Of course I like you."
But he wasn't sure. There was something about her, something he had not been able to figure out. She was provocative yet watchful at the same time. He was not at all sure she would be an easy girl to know. But hell, all she wanted to do was take him for a boat ride around the lake.
"Let's go then," she said, smiling.
Her sixteen-foot speedboat was drawn up on the tiny beach at the side of the island. It was sleek and painted white, except for the mahogany decking over the bow. It had clean, fast lines.
Once out on the open lake she opened the throttle wide and the motor roared into life. The nose of the boat lifted as it sped over the surface of the water. Ellen looked at him and laughed, her hair blowing in the breeze. The moving air felt good and Jeff relaxed against the seat cushions.
"This is the life," he said.
"I'm not supposed to go this fast, but what can they do except perhaps fine me ten dollars or call up and make nasty remarks. Anyway, there are no boats near enough to be swamped in the wash. It wouldn't be the first time."
"What's that over there?"
At the far side of the lake was a low rambling white building and the grounds in front of it seemed alive with people. A raft was anchored out on the lake. There were obviously quite a few swimmers in the lake and he could clearly hear their shouts and laughter.
"Oh, that," said Ellen contemptuously. "That's the so-called Powhatan Lake Club."
"You're not fond of the Club, I take it."
"Oh, it's all right ... if you like old fogies who sit on the verandah and gossip about one another, or muscular young male juveniles without a thought in their heads except how fast they can get you in the back seat of their cars after dark. Or more elderly juveniles who make passes at you in the dark of the verandah during a dance when they think their wives aren't looking."
"My, my, such goings on."
"I've been there a few times, and no thank you, never again."
He looked at her sidelong and now in the bright sunlight he could see she was older than she had appeared inside the shadowed cottage. She was about twenty-five or six, he guessed ... too old for the young college crowd at the Club, yet too young for the amorous antics of the older men.
There was also a slightly bitter note in her voice, as if she'd had a bad experience or two at the Club. She lapsed into a silence he did not interrupt for her face had darkened and there was a tightness in the set of her mouth.
There were several other boats ahead of them on the lake now and Ellen cut the speed. With the rush of wind gone from his face, Jeff felt the sudden weight of the high summer sun on his unprotected head. Soon he began to feel hot and thirsty. His hangover was coming back and now he wished he'd had the forethought to bring a thermos of cold scotch sours along. It did not improve his mood to remember seeing a big thermos bottle on the counter in the kitchen. It would have been so easy to have filled it with scotch, grapefruit juice and crushed ice. He was always getting himself caught in situations like this, he thought gloomily ... hot and thirsty and hung over, and not a drink in sight.
All this must have shown on his perspiring face, for Ellen broke suddenly into his mounting depression.
"I think you've had enough sun for one day, Jeff," she said. "Let's go to my cottage and have a long cold drink. You look as if you could use one."
"Right now," he said fervently. "Right this minute."
"Be patient. That's my cottage ... " she pointed at a small green and white dwelling about a hundred yards east of them. "Well be there in no time."
She opened the throttle wide again and the boat skimmed over the water. In less than ten minutes she cut the speed and they drifted up beside a freshly painted white dock. She sprang out, deftly tied up the boat bow and stern, and led him to the cottage. It was pleasantly dim and cool inside.
"Sit down and stop perspiring," she said. "I'll make the drinks. What'll you have?"
"A gin rickey, dear. A double gin rickey in a long glass with lots of ice."
He sank gratefully into one of the deck chairs before the wide picture window facing the lake. There was a breeze, a lovely cool breeze, made possible by the dense overhanging trees.
Ellen returned within a few minutes with two tall, frosted glasses on a tray.
"I always keep two glasses in the refrigerator these days," she said. "They frost up so nicely and your drink doesn't warm up so quickly."
She was holding the tray in such a way ... surely not deliberate ... that it obscured the lower half of her bikini and made it look as if she was wearing only the bra. A nakedness that was more than just plain naked, the provocativeness of the partially revealed, with the promise that there could be more than met the avid male eye.
He didn't touch her. He did not even reach for her, although the desire was there ... she was so young, and full, so much younger than his thirty-four years. But no one was old at thirty-four.
And when you were thirty-four, to take a girl of twenty-five, was not like committing rape. He had written many accounts of alleged rapes when he worked for the Observer. Rapes, he thought with revulsion.
Yes, he knew all about rape, Jeff thought tiredly, sitting there in the deck chair in front of Ellen Drew's picture window, overlooking the glittering ripples of Lake Powhatan.
This was just the place to think about rape, he thought sourly, looking at the placid lake. This was the perfect setting. This was just the place you could appreciate what rape was all about.
What about the time six punks beat up an old woman of seventy-three, snatched her purse containing a hundred and eighty dollars, then raped her, one by one.
He ground his teeth, remembering the story he'd had to write for the Observer. A seventy-three-year-old woman raped by a gang of teenagers. Great. Wonderful. And the judge had a bleeding heart.
Jeezus, he'd seen so many of these suspended sentences and he'd seen the same punks come back into court and get the same kind of useless suspended sentences until he was ready to puke.
A seventy-three-year-old woman!
Forget it, he told himself. Forget the whole damn thing. You've been through it. Have another drink.
He had another drink.
This was the way he could lose himself. Have another drink.
It would have to be rape if he reached for the fullness of her ripe body, for she was not offering it to him. All she did was walk into the room clad in only her bikini, offering him a drink. That was no defense for rape. So many girls wore bikinis these days.
He took the glass from the tray she offered him. It was better to be drunk than make a pass at this ,too-provocative blonde. Much better. If Adele Faraday found out he'd taken this girl, he would be up for grabs. Adele was not a woman who might make allowances for a lover who went to bed with one of her friends.
He made up his mind not to lay a finger on this blonde little temptress, no matter what she did ... and he had an uneasy feeling that she knew as many, if not more, tricks than he did.
Now he wished she had never showed up at his island, but it was too late to do anything about that. He was here in this deck chair in her cottage . and there she was, opposite him, in another deck chair, sipping at her drink and smiling at him over the rim of her glass ... still in her bikini.
Play it cool, he told himself; don't think of Adele Faraday, don't think of anything. Play it cool. Nothing has happened and nothing will. Play it cool.
He played it cool.
Or so he thought.
"Do you live up here alone in this cottage?" he asked. "You don't belong to the beach club, or whatever you call it. Don't you have any friends around?"
She all but laughed in his face at this ingenuous question. "Oh, I have friends," she replied, still with that suggestion of inward laughter. "I don't necessarily have to depend upon the juvenile and senior delinquents of the Powhatan Lake Club for my recreation, do I?"
"You shouldn't have any recreational difficulties."
"I don't, darling. I really don't. Do you know anything about sex, Mr. Riordan?"
He knew she was laughing at him, or his surprised expression, or possibly at the notion that he was thirty-four-years-old and she was only twenty-five, and therefore his ideas of sex might possibly be antiquated.
Her smugness infuriated him. What the hell did she know about sex? Real sex. He could just see her down on River Street in Hoboken, being so damned provocative and superior. She'd last, he figured, just about an hour, and later the police would find her in that little park at the end of River Street, raped, possibly naked, her clothes ripped from her.
Or the kind of sex he'd had. All of it. The variations, the girls, all the girls.
He caught himself sharply before he drifted off into another dead-end reverie.
What was her last mocking questions ... oh yes ... "Do you know anything about sex, Mr. Riordan?"
"I'm only beginning," he said. "It's very complicated. I don't know why. It used to be so simple. Take rabbits, for example. The sex ritual of rabbits is the simplest thing in the world. Have you ever seen an unhappy rabbit?"
"Yes," she said. "I had a rabbit once. I wanted a white one with pink eyes, but the one they gave me was mottled brown and it died in two weeks. That was my Easter present."
That all but forgotten childhood tragedy was so apparent in her voice that he refrained from the obvious rebuttal.
"That was a long time ago," he said trying to keep his voice light, seeing the way she felt.
She lay back in her chair, her long legs stretched out before her, her face lifted to the ceiling, her eyes somewhere far beyond ... not beyond the present or future, but back to the memory of things past.
Jeff had seen girls do this before and he felt like kicking her and saying, "Pull yourself together, baby. You're not the first girl who's been jilted."
What did she want? Pity? She wasn't going to get it from him, for there was no pity in him.
"What's the matter, sweetie?" he asked. "You look a little glum."
"Glum!" she laughed. "I'm not glum at all. This is the time I usually take my sunbath on the roof. It's a conditioned reflex."
He knew she expected him to go up on the roof with her, but he'd had enough sun for one day. "You take your sunbath, dearie," he drawled, savoring the tang of lime in his heavily laced gin rickey. "But as for me ... nothing doing."
"Why?"
"I've never had any great yen to immolate myself in the cause of solar therapy. I prefer to remain cool and calm. It might not sound very exciting, but you'll have to admit it's comfortable. So, darling, you take your little sunbath on the roof and ... " It suddenly struck him that he had no way of getting back to his island.
He looked around the living room of her small cottage: the short sofa at the opposite end of the room. There was the bedroom to the left of the fieldstone fireplace, the turned-down sheets of the bed, the fluffed pillows.
"But me," he continued, 'I'll take a little nap down here."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll come up on the roof with me and ... "
"I'd be delighted, darling. But just exactly what do you expect me to do? Turn you over and baste you from time to time to time. I'll be glad to, at twenty minute intervals. Meanwhile, however..."
"Meanwhile you'll come up to the roof with me!"
He was surprised to see an angry flush come to her cheeks as she turned in her chair to face him and he was momentarily without words. His jaw dropped, literally, and he stared at her. He had not said anything to bring on this violent reaction.
But immediately ... and it was as if someone had flipped a light switch ... she smiled again.
"You don't have to take a sunbath with me, Jeff," she said. "There's an awning over part of the roof and you can lie there in the shade. Furthermore, I have a little refrigerator up there and you can make cold drinks for us. I won't be more than an hour or so. We can chat."
He brightened. That was better. He felt like chatting anyway.
She was an attractive girl and you could talk to her without having to resort to basic English, and if there were drinks and ice cubes up on the roof, why not?
There was a kind of ladder-stairway up the side of the bedroom to the flattop roof. It was narrow and had a handrail, and at the top was a trap door.
The four sides of the roof were enclosed by a four-foot high fence that shut out the view, but admitted whatever breeze might be blowing.
The roof was covered to a depth of an inch with white crushed stone to reflect the heat from the rooms below and keep the cottage cool. Scattered here and there were six adjustable cots, so that the sunbather could toast himself in any direction.
"There used to be a nudist colony about five miles from here," Ellen explained. "That's where I got these cots. They're adjustable. You can tilt them in any direction and get the sun on all sides. Originally they were very expensive, but I got them for a song. And do you know why?"
Jeff knew he was supposed to ask, "No, why?" So he did. Though knowing the answer.
"The police closed them down one night without warning," she said bitterly. "The church members demanded it and they controlled the vote. And that includes some of those 'Puritans' over at the Lake Club."
Jeff was amused at her indignation. She was so young. She'd find out in time that there would always be people who felt holier than thou. She'd find out that they were worse than crab grass. She'd find out that her best friends would turn against her. She'd find out.
Him, he'd found out a long while ago, and so far as he was concerned, they could take their opinions and stick them. But he felt a little too sleepy at the moment to do anything about it.
"They closed down the nudist camp," she said angrily, adjusting one of the cots to face the sun. "I don't go in for nudism as a cult. It's sun worship and the sun is my God or my doctor and all that kind of stuff, but there is something to it. I mean, these people believe in it. They didn't go to this camp because the girls showed their bodies or, oh hell, a nudist camp, believe it or not, is the most moral place in the world. It has to be."
He had heard this kind of talk all too often and usually from people who didn't know what they were talking about. like this little girl here.
"Yeah," he said. "That's the way it goes. Where's that refrigerator you were talking about?"
"Over there."
She pointed to a part of the roof covered by slanted shingles. Under them was a small white refrigerator and beside it, a small sink. He made himself a drink and when he turned, she was standing beside one of the tilted cots, completely nude, rubbing some sort of oil on herself.
There she stood in the sunlight, long-limbed, high-breasted, her arms lifted as she applied the gleaming oil to her skin, first down one side, under her breast, and then down the other. She bent, her breasts slightly pendulous, as she leaned over to oil her legs, kneading the thighs and bringing her palms down over her calves.
She had a lovely body, but she added something to the loveliness of it in the way she anointed herself with the oil. She touched and stroked every part of it. She poured the oil into the palm of her left hand, dabbled her fingertips into it, and then with slow, lingering strokes, covered herself, lifting again first one breast and then the other, so that the undersides were fully protected.
In a way she was making love to herself. This was what she wanted a lover to do, to touch her with every intimacy, with feathering fingers gliding in the scented oils, bringing to life the pointed nipples of her high breasts. And there her fingers lingered especially, caressing, until each nipple was as hard and erect as her supple fingers could make them, her thoughts far beyond this rooftop, each hand a lover, a lover not yet there, but speeding to drench her with kisses.
This was what she was doing there beside the tilted cot. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed, and her hips moved and lifted to the touch of her hands as she worked the oil up her thighs and over her legs.
Jeff had never seen anything quite like this and his glass wilted in his left hand as he watched her making love to herself there on the roof in the sun. Already tanned, her body was burnished bronze.
He could not keep his eyes off her, although he knew by now that she was completely unaware of his presence. Nothing meant anything to her except this sun-drenched glorification of her own body and its response to what she was doing with her hands. No one would take this long putting on oil unless there was something special about the process and there was something very special about this one. She was not putting on this oil to protect herself from sunburn. It was for him. By now, she didn't care who he was. He was there; that was all that mattered, and he knew it.
Jeff put his glass atop the small refrigerator and crossed the roof in long, swift strides. He lifted her in his arms and lay her on the canvas cot. She did not open her eyes, but moaned and clung to him.
He put his hands on her breasts, open-palmed, not moving, but just holding them, feeling the nipples rigid against his palms.
She did not open her eyes, but lifted herself to meet the feel of his hands on her. She made small sounds of pleasure. She touched his face with sensuous fingers for a moment and then lay back, her arms spread on the small pillow behind her.
He lay down beside her, turning to kiss her, his hand moving up her thigh, over the roundness of her hip, and finally cupping her left breast as he pulled her to him, feeling the first pleasure of their physical contact. Quickly he slid off his swim trunks.
Both her hands were on him, first holding the width of his shoulders, then his ribs and hips, bringing him closer, then behind him to keep him there. The feeling of her oily silk skin sliding about him was highly erotic. The desire to have this blonde beauty coursed through his nerve centers.
"Turn over on your stomach, sweetie," he whispered in her ear. Automatically she responded. Jeff reached for the small pillow. "Lift up a bit." She did so quickly and he slid the cushion down and under her lower stomach. Ellen folded her arms and rested her head on them as she slid her legs apart and wriggled her hips, settling herself comfortably.
"All right, Jeff?" she asked quietly.
Jeff surveyed her lightly oiled, well-tanned body with the tiny interruption of white skin where her bikini had covered her bottom. "Perfect!"
The sight of her body curved over the pillow and her beautiful, firm buttocks spread apart for him made the blood rush to Jeff's head with a dizzying force. He crawled onto the cot and crouched over her, feeling her warm flesh between his hands as he ran them up and down her back. She spread her legs farther apart so he could get down between them on his knees. Jeff slid his hands down to her waist, then lay down on top of her, his cock pressing against her upraised buttocks and his stomach and chest fitting against the slippery curve of her slender back. His cock rested in the cleavage between her buttocks. It quickly expanded into a full erection as he pushed her hair to one side and ran his lips from side to side over her smooth shoulders. The suntan oil covering her body had a sweet, intoxicating odor that filled his nostrils.
Ellen raised herself slightly on her elbows so he could get his hands under her to cup her breasts and she turned her head to one side to hold her mouth up to his as he felt and fondled the warm, resilient flesh of her beautiful globes. Her lips opened to meet his and she sucked his tongue into her mouth. Jeff stiffened his tongue and pushed it far into her mouth and then ran the tip of his tongue around the edges of her teeth and the inside of her mouth. A hot, demanding flood of desire surged through him-a fiery need to drive his cock deep into her body and let his come flood through her. Jeff trembled all over as his hips began undulating, driving his cock against Ellen's buttocks with quick, sharp snaps. He raised himself on his elbows and moved backward slightly as he positioned himself to slide his cock into her.
Ellen reached back with one hand to help him get his cock in and wriggled her hips from side to side as she wrapped her fingers around his cock and parted her vulva with the head of it. Jeff put his hands on her waist and pressed his cock forward as she positioned it between the lips of her pussy, then she arched her back slightly and it slid in. An ecstatic wave of sensation shot through Jeff as the head of his cock dipped into her hot, tight cunt. He paused for a moment, then took a firm grip on her waist and rocked his hips slowly to ease more of his cock inside her. As it inched its way in, Jeff was on a cloud of sexual enjoyment. Her hot pussy enfolded his cock like a glove.
When his cock was halfway in, Ellen took her hand away and once again rested her head on her forearms as she spread her legs wide apart and arched her back deeper to hold her cunt up to him. He ran his hands up and down her smooth body as he undulated his hips and fucked her with a slow, gentle motion. Then he raised himself to a kneeling position behind her. He cupped her pelvic bones with his hands and raised her hips slightly. Then he looked down at her soft, beautiful body as he slid his cock in up to the hilt. Every muscle in Jeff's body tensed and tendrils of fire raced along his nerves as he watched his cock sinking between the smoothly rounded curves of her buttocks. He began fucking her harder and she responded by wriggling her hips from side to side as his cock slid in and out. He quickened his pace and Ellen began to moan as her body tightened and shook with quick jerks under his.
She began driving her body back against his as his cock speared its way into her. She pushed the pillow farther back so her pussy would be higher and his cock could probe more deeply into her. Jeff reached down and pinched her clitoris as he fucked her. She cried out and arched her back deeper and began thrusting herself back against him with driving lunges. Jeff knew he was about to explode inside her. He stopped fucking her and relaxed on top of her trying to regain his control. The blood was racing through his body as his heart pounded wildly and his breath came in short, ragged gasps.
"What's the matter, Jeff?" Ellen moaned. "Why did you stop?"
"I was about to come," Jeff gasped.
"That's what you're supposed to do, dammit. Just like the rabbits ... " Her voice trailed off with a choked laugh.
"At least you got your sense of humor back, sweetie. I just don't want to come so soon-I want to enjoy this as long as possible," he moaned.
Ellen sighed and nodded. "Do you want to try it some other way? Shall I lie on my back for you?"
"No-get up on your hands and knees, sweetie."
Jeff held her hips with his hands and kept his cock in her as she cautiously raised herself. Then he crouched behind her with his cock still buried in her up to his pubic hair so he could dog fuck her. He undulated his hips and slid his cock in and out of her a couple of times. Ellen slowly lowered her head to rest it on the pillow which she pulled forward as she kept her buttocks up in the air for Jeff. She arched her back deeply and his cock buried itself in her hot, tight pussy. As his belly pressed against her buttocks and his balls touched her vulva, he put his hand on her waist to brace her. Then he began dog fucking her with hard, driving thrusts of his cock.
Ellen began moaning and writhing in front of him as his cock slammed into her body. Jeff felt his come ballooning again as his orgasm swelled inside him. He lost all control as he plunged wildly into a cloud of delirious enjoyment of her body. Ellen responded and he could feel the mounting tension in her body as her movements became more frantic. His come suddenly broke loose and exploded inside her. Her body began thrusting back at him as her sensations also reached a peak. Jeff s come erupted in hot, thick spurts as his cock continued to pound deep inside her. They lurched together in convulsive spasms till they were drained. Ellen fell forward on the cot and Jeff collapsed on top of her, his cock still buried between her buttocks.
The wild pounding of Jeff's heart gradually slowed and his labored breathing returned to normal. They lay there in the heat of the sun, clutching each other, drenched in perspiration.
"Am I too heavy, sweetie?" Jeff asked, rolling off her.
"Let's go over under the awning," she whispered. "We'll be baked to a crisp if we stay out here in the sun."
Groggy from both the heat and spent emotion, they staggered across the roof and fell together on one of the cots under the awning. Jeff lurched to his feet.
"I think we could both use a cold drink," he mumbled.
"With lots of ice, darling," said Ellen huskily.
He made two tall, strong drinks and carried them back to the cot. They sat up and drank them in long, thirsty gulps, then lay back on the cot. It was wide enough so that they did not have to crowd each other.
Jeff's eyes became heavier and heavier and very soon he was asleep.
FIVE
It was dark when he awakened and he was alone on the cot. A night breeze was coming in off the lake and he felt chilly lying there in the altogether. He groped about for his swimming shorts and was relieved to find they were entirely dry. The moon was coming up and shining through the trees. He had no trouble finding the ladder down the side of the house to the lawn below.
He peered in the window of the living room, but did not see Ellen. He entered the house through the kitchen door. He had a reason for this. He knew there was liquor in the kitchen.
He took three deep swallows of gin straight from the bottle, putting it down on the counter as carefully as possible so that Ellen would not hear him. Females, he had learned from past experience, had ears like lynxes when it came to your sniping a few fast ones in another room.
He stood there in the dark of the kitchen, barely lighted, until the gin did its work, and then he went into the living room, smiling. As he entered the big room he could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom. Just as he neared the bathroom door, he saw Ellen slip into the shower and close the glass door behind her. He watched her pick up a cake of soap and begin soaping her body.
Quickly he removed his swimming trunks and crossed to the shower. He tapped lightly on the glass door. Ellen glanced up startled. When she saw him grinning mischievously through the water-spattered pane of glass, she smiled back.
"Come in," she shouted over the noise of the pelting water.
Jeff opened the door and quickly stepped inside. The shower was a bit tight for two people and their bodies touched.
"Hey, you look like a blonde on blonde," he said jokingly referring to the mass of shampoo covering her blonde scalp.
Ellen stuck her head under the jet of water and rinsed away the shampoo. Then she took the bar of soap in her hands and began soaping down Jeff's body.
She wondered why she wanted him so. True, he was handsome, well built and certainly well hung, but inwardly she knew it conflicted with her regular routine.
She moved the cake of soap over his tight, muscular body, pausing to scrub the thick, black hair on his chest. She felt something pushing against her thigh. She looked down. It was his large cock, half erect and poking at her flesh. Ellen looked at Jeff and smiled.
"You really are insatiable, aren't you, Jeff?"
He laughed heartily and knelt down on the tiles of the shower. Ellen shifted so that the water splashed against her back and not in his face. He brushed his lips over her curly, blonde pubic hair and blew hot breaths over the lips of her vagina.
"Ummmm, Jeff, that's it!" she moaned.-
Jeff parted the lips of her cunt and slid a finger inside and touched her erect clitoris. "Uh-uh-uh ... Jeff! Ah! Ah! You got it!" He stroked her clitoris with swift movements of his fingers and nuzzled her pubic hairs. Ellen leaned backward and spread her legs farther apart, giving him easier access to her cunt. He began licking the lower part of her stomach and Ellen moaned like a wounded animal. He pulled his finger out of her cunt and planted a wet kiss on it. Then he dragged his tongue in her vulva. He pushed his head forward, stiffened his tongue and slid the tip of it into her pussy. "Do it, Jeff. Do it!"
He opened his mouth wide and took her entire vulva into it. The warm, sweet taste of her cunt filled his mouth. He searched for her clitoris with his tongue. Ellen whimpered with ecstasy as his tongue stroked the tiny organ. She eased her hands around the back of his head. He continued stroking her clitoris with his tongue. She pressed her thighs together and held his head firm. She leaned back and relaxed as his tongue titillated her clitoris. Her climax built progressively. She began pushing her pussy up against his face. Suddenly a ragged cry exuded from her lips and her body twitched spasmodically.
"Oh, do it, Jeff. DO IT!"
Jeff's mouth was flooded with her sweet juices. He repeatedly licked her with his tongue until she stopped trembling. Then he stood up, clasped her around the waist and pulled her out of the shower. They both fell down on the soft carpet covering the bathroom floor and his hardened cock searched out her still damp slit. With one single thrust Jeff entered her. As Ellen cried out, he clamped his mouth over hers. She wrapped her legs around the small of his back and thrust upward, pushing her cunt against his marauding cock.
"Fuck me, Jeff. Fuck me hard!"
He speared his cock all the way into her pussy. His balls brushed against her smooth, tight ass each time he pushed forward. He pulled his lips away from her mouth, took one of her breasts between his lips and began chewing on her large nipple. Ellen whipped her pussy up at him with strenuous lunges.
"I'm getting close, Ellen," he whispered.
"Then let it go, for God's sake, Jeff!"
They rocked their bodies back and forth, grinding their pelvic bones together as they fucked on the bathroom floor. Jeff's cock exploded. He ground his teeth together and let out a howl of pleasure as his semen began shooting deep inside her cunt in long, wet spurts. Ellen worked her vagina, pulling and sucking on his cock until she had drawn the last drop from his climaxing cock. After they returned to their normal breathing, they stepped back into the shower.
Ellen finished first, toweled herself dry and disappeared from the bathroom. Jeff stood under the stinging hot needles of the shower for a long time, drained of energy, until he was able to drag himself out. He took his time drying himself. When he was finished, he realized he still only had his swimming trunks to wear. He slipped back into them.
Ellen was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room in front of the picture window reading a magazine. She had changed into a light cotton frock, figured with a pattern of blazing red hibiscus blossoms. Her sun-bleached hair was drawn back from her face and she was wearing dark-rimmed reading glasses.
Sitting there so seriously intent over her magazine, she looked like a seventeen-year-old doing her homework, and it was hard for Jeff to remember that this was the same girl who had just given herself to him for the second time with such abandon only a short time ago.
"Tell me, sweetie," he said, as he walked into the room, "was it your intention to let me sleep right through until Labor Day? Why didn't you wake me up when you woke up?"
"I never wake up people who want to sleep. I learned a long time ago that it was a sure way to get a fast poke in the snoot. You didn't sleep much longer than I did. Did you have a nice nap?"
"Lovely, but it got a little chilly up there all by myself."
"Well, I'd say you managed to warm yourself up once you got back down here. How would you like a drink?"
"I like being warm ... and I'd like a drink."
"I'll make you one and then we're going out to dinner. I'm not only the world's worst cook, but I hate pots and pans. There's a nice little restaurant about five miles up the highway. I have a car so I'll take you over to The Rock and you can change your clothes and ... "
"The Rock?"
"Your island, precious. That's what we call it hereabouts ... The Rock. Alcatraz. Where dear sweet lovable Adele keeps her prisoners when Joel's away in Chicago, or wherever it is."
He looked at her and waited just long enough for the silence to curdle.
Then he drawled, "Do you know something, sweetheart?"
"What?"
"You're a stinking little bitch when you want to be, aren't you?"
She flushed, tried to meet the hard glare of his angry eyes, and then turned her head away.
"I didn't mean that, Jeff," she whispered.
"Then what did you mean?"
"I don't know."
"You must have meant something. What was on your mind, sweetheart?"
She shook her head, still keeping her face averted.
"I'm sorry, Jeff."
"Good. That makes two of us. We're both sorry. So what? I still don't know what you meant."
"I didn't mean anything."
"You're a bar."
Still refusing to meet the glare in his eyes, she made a small, futile gesture with her hands.
"It's ... well ... you're not the first writer who stayed there and ... well, Adele and Joel play around a lot. They don't seem to care what the other does. I mean, both of them sleep around ... and, well, your staying over there on the island, and ... "
He silenced her with a sharp wave of his hand, partially because half of what she was saying was true, in a sense, and partially because he had never liked this kind of conversation.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Let's put it this way. I'm not one of Adele's tame writers. I'm staying on the island because it was my idea in the beginning, and I don't give a damn if you believe that or not. It's true, nonetheless. Now ... " he grinned, "where did you say we're going for dinner?"
She looked confused at this abrupt change in his mood, but finally she said in a small voice, "It's a little place up the highway. It's called the Fireside Inn. The food isn't very good, but it's a lot better than if I tried to make dinner. Actually, there aren't any good restaurants around here."
"Hell, I'm not especially hungry anyway."
"What have you had to eat today except that can of soup when I walked in on you this morning?"
"Nothing, but ... "
"You have to eat, Jeff. Do you want to get sick? We're going out for dinner. We'll have a drink and then we'll go."
She went out into the kitchen and made two very strong gin martinis. He felt much more indulgent by the time he was halfway down his glass. She was a little bossy, but then, most women were, at one time or another.
Afterward they went outside to the garage. He took the car, a small red MG, and she took the boat. It was complicated, but it was the only way it could be done. He couldn't very well go to a restaurant, even the Fireside Inn, clad in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.
He drove slowly around the unlit, unpaved lake road. He was a little drunk. That last martini she'd made had really hit him ... and twice he almost drove off the road and into the bushes. Then he took a wrong turn and for about twenty minutes drove through a tangle of unfamiliar trees and wound up facing a small pond. Big frogs croaked from the pond, and from the trees around, the tiny frogs, no bigger than your fingernail, were shrilling away at so high a pitch that it set his teeth on edge. He swore and turned the car on the narrow road. And then he had barely started back when a deer stood transfixed in the road ahead, blinded apparently by his headlights. He yelled at it and blew the horn, but it refused to move until he got out of the car and threw stones at it. A skunk waddled out of nowhere and disappeared into the darkness at the other side of the road, and he drove fearfully until he was well beyond that point. The headlights showed him the narrow, rutted road ahead, but that was about all. The trees were so dense that it was almost like driving through a green tunnel.
He was in a thoroughly bad mood when he finally found the lakeside road again, and even at that, he'd have driven past his dock if Ellen had not posted herself in the middle of the road, waving him to a stop with a flashlight.
"I thought you were lost," she said. "I've been waiting and waiting and ... "
"I was lost," he said sourly. "I've been inundated by deers, skunks and frogs."
"I brought your boat over from the island." Ellen sprayed the lakefront with the beam of her flashlight, and he saw the small outboard tied up beside her speedboat at the dock. "I'll stay here with the car. The road's pretty narrow and I may have to move it if someone wants to pass."
She turned the car so that the headlights showed him the channel through the water hyacinth. He was just as well pleased that she didn't come along. Up in the cottage he went straight into the kitchen and had two long pulls at the scotch bottle before going into the bedroom to dress.
The scotch picked him up a bit and his bad humor passed. He put on slacks, a shirt and a pair of sandals. He looked at the bed and wished Ellen were there. He remembered her long legs and the flare of her thighs and the pink-tipped tilt of her breasts.
But there was no sense in thinking about that now. That could come later. He went back into the kitchen and had another long pull at the scotch bottle.
Then he went down to the dock and chugged back to the mainland in his little outboard, guided through the treacherous water hyacinth by the beam of Ellen's car headlights.
She was seated behind the wheel of the car waiting for him. He said, "It's been a long time," and pulled her to him, bending over her, prolonging the kiss until she pushed him away.
"Later," she whispered. "Let's have dinner first."
He sat back in his seat beside her. "Women are so damned practical," he sighed.
SIX
The Fireside Inn was about ten miles up the highway. Although there were several hamburger joints and a few filling stations along the way, this was fairly wide open country. The Inn itself was at the end of a blind road, blocked off by a stand of scrub birch, ghostly white in the glare of their headlights. The parking lot was almost full, but Ellen found an empty space at the far end and cut the lights.
Jeff reached for her in the darkness, found her mouth and forced her lips apart with his demanding tongue. She tried to push him away.
"Please, darling," she said. "Not now, not here."
Then she said, "Don't wrinkle my dress, darling. Please let's go inside. Jeff, you're hurting me. I'm jammed under the wheel ... "
Then, her breath coming hard, she panted, her fingers digging into the sides of his neck, "Let me put the seats down, darling. There'll be more room."
Jeff watched in amazement as she felt for and found the releases that allowed their seats to fold back to a horizontal position. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd paid a lot for this custom innovation in an MG. It wasn't exactly roomy, but at least it was serviceable.
"Better take off everything, sweetie, if your worried about messing up that dress," he whispered.
She unfastened her dress and slid out of it carefully and shoved it to one side of the seat. She wore no bra and her ample breasts heaved with anticipation. She slid off her sandals and then peeled down her bikini panties. Jeff shucked his clothes as quickly as possible.
Quickly Ellen took his prick in her hands and Jeff gasped at the touch of her cool, smooth fingers. She kissed the tip of his cock lightly, barely touching it with her tongue, and then drew her head back and blew a puff of warm air on it. Jeff sat looking down at her, his upper torso propped up on his elbows, with rapturous enjoyment, seeing her wonderful blonde hair catching highlights in the moonlight, watching her mouth open and that wet pink tongue come out to flick over the tip of his cock. Her face was slightly contorted by the act of stretching her tongue out that way. In Jeff's mind, that slight contortion of her features only served to make her that much more appealing. There was no sight quite like that of a beautiful naked woman, her legs spread for you, he thought, unless it was the sight of a beautiful woman with her tongue stuck out and ready to lick your dong. He settled, back, still bracing his arms behind him, prepared to enjoy a nice blow job.
This was no novice between his legs. Ellen gave him the works, raking her soft wet tongue over the head of his cock again and again, then over the shaft, but careful not to touch the cockhead. Not yet. She was saving that for later, obviously, and Jeff was content to leave the timing to her.
His cock was so stiff it was painful and throbbing, but she was just beginning. He already felt a strong tingle of pleasure running through his prick and up into his abdomen. He looked down at her, still enjoying the sight. She began licking his cockhead now, running her tongue over it lightly at first and then with a steadily increasing pressure. She ran low on spit and threw her head back and worked up a fresh supply of saliva. The noise as she did that was exciting and he let his head fall back and looked up at the car's ceiling as her tongue continued its job of moving over that sensitive little crown. The tingle of pleasure had become more intense now and he was beginning to gasp from time to time, his teeth gritting and his lips pursing in between the gasps. Sweat was starting to stand out on his body in separate drops.
"Uhhhhhh!" he grunted and gasped as her tongue continued after a short pause to work up more saliva. Then her mouth closed gently, caressingly, over the tip of his cock, covering its head. Her teeth grazed the cockhead lightly and he grunted again. She was more careful after that, taking great care not to make him come any sooner than necessary.
Her lips closed behind the head of his prick and her tongue pressed gently against the tip of it, digging into the slot in the eye of his cock. She held everything like that for a moment and then began to move her tongue, sliding it over the tender, sensitive skin of his cockhead. Jeff bit his hp and grunted with exquisite pleasure and she eased off, letting him regain control of himself, keeping things going for as long as possible.
While Jeff got control of himself again, she let things hold and then, slowly, giving him plenty of time to figure out what she was going to do and to ready himself for the sensation, she placed her hand between his thighs and grasped his balls lightly, playing with them, petting them, squeezing them just enough to give him a thrill without causing him any pain from the pressure.
He lay all the way back on the leather seat, already tired from the tension of his body, covered with a fine sheen of sweat, letting her do her best for him. She held off for awhile, letting things float along with just a mild stroking of her tongue over the head of his cock, and now and then a little movement of her hands down below on his balls. Then she slipped her mouth forward along the shaft of his cock, taking more and more of the organ into her mouth. He felt it rub against the roof of her mouth and then come to rest softly against the back of her throat. He felt her body contort briefly and then settle down as she gained control of herself. She moved her tongue over the shaft now, up and down the length of it as far as she could manage with her mouth in that position and then her hands did their thing, moving under his balls and up the crevice of his ass till her fingers grazed his ass-hole. He raised his head and looked at her for a moment in surprise, but she did not look up. The sight of her face buried in his crotch, the hair of his abdomen against her cheeks and nose, made his temperature rise even higher.
He felt himself about to come and knew that they had reached the point at which it couldn't be stopped by any skill of his, or any artful maneuver of hers. She obviously saw it coming, too, because she suddenly pulled her head back, running her lips and, very lightly, her teeth, over the length of his cock. Then she pursed her lips, pulling them in over the edges of her teeth and began to move her body back and forth quickly, using her neck to increase the motion. It was a masterpiece of timing and coordination. Her fingers inched their way into his ass-hole acting like a trip switch. His cock filled with wild pleasure and his belly quivered and he just tried to hold back for as long as he could, but it was just too late now for any of that.
Her lips rubbing back and forth over the head of his cock were stroking him to a fever of pleasure, and when the orgasm hit, it was like a truck running over him. It shook him, wrung him out, flattening him with its power.
"Uhhhhnnnnnggggghhhhh," he groaned.
His jism shot into her mouth with fire hose force, driving back into her throat. The come filled her mouth, coming out between her lips and running down her face and over the inside of his legs. His body twisted and turned and contorted with the pleasure that dominated it. He shut his eyes and let the incoherent sounds in his throat come gurgling out. His come gave one last spurt and then it was over.
Jeff reached forward, took her under the armpits and slid her up across the car seat alongside him. Ellen put her arms around him and they kissed each other passionately.
"Liked that, huh, Jeff?"
He could still taste the residue of his own come in her mouth as he probed the inside. "Sweetie, ole Jeff liked that a lot!"
They began to roll and hug each other letting every inch of their surface flesh touch, push and squeeze. Slowly but surely his cock began to inflate again as he ran his hand over her belly and slid it down over the smooth expanse of skin to the hairy nest at the bottom of her belly. She smiled up at him like a lovely child and he slid his hand lower still, until his fingers extended between her legs. She squirmed involuntarily and her breathing grew quick and shallow.
Jeff slid down farther until he could feel Ellen's cunt lips with his fingertips. He pushed his finger between the lips of her pussy, just a little way, feeling the dampness inside. She gasped and squirmed again, hugging his chest even closer. He let his thumb move over her clitoris just above his fingers and that got a real reaction from her. Her body shuddered and her face contorted with pleasure. Then she smiled at him again and her hand went tight on his cock. Her pussy was starting to gush its juices and he knew she was as ready as she had to be.
He turned onto his side, placing his free hand on her hip, his fingers pressing lightly into the soft, luxurious flesh of her ass. He pulled her onto her side facing him and she came to him willingly. He was having a slight struggle to keep from hitting his feet against the dashboard, but such a minor problem had little room in his feverish brain. Her pussy, sopping wet now, pressed against him, making a damp spot on his skin. He could feel the molten heat of her body as desire grew in her and he knew that his own body heat was matching hers. He slid his hand down from her hip to her thigh and pulled forward. The thigh moved under the urging of his hand and her leg came up onto his body, the knee bent and the thigh and calf resting on his hip and thigh while the knee extended beyond his body. Jeff thrust his leg between hers, pushing himself closer to her. His cock, as stiff as steel now, went between her legs. Before he could move a hand down and manipulate it, she slipped one of her own hands down and took the cock in it, inserting it between her cunt lips. She thrust her ass forward, driving the stiff rod deep into her snatch.
Ellen sucked in her breath with an audible intake of wind, then made a little sound, half in jest, that said she was pleased. Jeff circled her arms around him and placed her hands on his buttocks. He could feel the stiffened nipples of her tits against him. She could feel his buttocks flex and tighten as her fingers probed near his ass-hole.
Jeff's entire body came alive with desire and with a tender emotion he hadn't expected. He held her close for a long time, not making a move, just clinging to her and enjoying the feeling of his stiff prick buried in her wet snatch. Then he let his hand slide down over the small of her back to her ass, cupping one cheek, and began to move her in time to his own body, pumping and thrusting with luxurious slowness. He drove into her and pulled back, and she made a low moaning sound deep in her throat.
Jeff caught a glimpse of her face, a curious mixture of contorted pleasure and affection. Ellen opened her eyes briefly and in the dim light, Jeff was certain he saw something in her expression that went beyond the necessity of pleasing him.
"Umm, sweetie, so good. So good," he purred, as he nibbled her ears and kissed her briefly. Her arm went up around his neck and pulled his face against her own. The other arm remained down on his buttock.
"Oh, Jeff ... I ... aggghhhh," she sighed. "Oh, my darling Jeff."
Then her ass was moving in its own time, more quickly than his demands, making demands of its own. Their bodies were slick with sweat. His prick slid through her pussy like a torpedo with wet sounds and their bellies banged and slapped together loudly. Every feeling, every sound, seemed to excite them more and draw them closer together. The whole experience was an unexpected surprise to Jeff. His cock slid through her with greased ease and his body tightened inside. He slacked off and then fucked her again savagely. Her body seemed to respond directly to his feelings as if their nerve ends were braided together. She reacted instantly without need of any signal from him.
Her face, flushed with pleasure and need, pressed against his. He could feel the rigidity of her nipples and the tightness of her cunt as it caressed his cock. Her hips moved in perfect counterpoint to his. They both knew it couldn't last much longer. They stroked and plunged against each other, bringing themselves to a full orgasm within seconds of each other.
"AAAIIIEEEEE!" Ellen wailed in his ear, her voice filled with pleasure and emotion, her body rigid against his.
"Ugh ... uggghhhh," he grunted back at her as his cock spewed its load of come into her snatch and their bodies locked together like two clasped hands, rigid with the intense, overwhelming pleasure.
When it was over they lay together for seconds and then Ellen rose reluctantly. She reached over to the dashboard and turned on the car's air-conditioning.
"Roll up your window, Jeff," she said, doing the same. "We have to cool down-and quickly!"
Jeff looked at her face. It was incredibly lovely and radiant. Jerkily they managed to get back into their clothes, although it took some doing.
As Ellen combed her hair in the rearview mirror, she asked, "Are you always this hard on a girl's wardrobe, Mr. Riordan?"
"Just think what you'd look like if I hadn't persuaded you to take it off entirely," he shot back. Then he laughed. But he was not quite sure what he was laughing about. He felt physically drained, but the emotion still pulsated inside him. Things had really gone wild for a few minutes. Hand in hand, they walked unsteadily to the entrance of the Inn, about two hundred feet across the parking lot.
It was fairly crowded inside and a noisy three-piece band was playing a disco number as if they were hammering nails through a piece of cement. A number of teenagers were doing their thing on the small dance floor.
They were met just inside the door by a bored hostess with flaxen hair. Jeff slipped her a folded five dollar bill and the hard lines of her face became a bit more cordial.
"A table as far from the machine shop as possible, sweetie," Jeff murmured.
"I know what you mean," said the hostess, grimacing at the band and the dance floor. "How do they stand it?"
She led them outside to a small side porch, dimly lit, but screened in. The porch was so small that there were only two tables on it and neither table had a tablecloth on it.
"We don't usually put customers out here," the hostess confided. "It's too far from the bar and the kitchen and you don't make any money in this kind of joint unless you can serve fast. On top of that, it's too nice and cool out here."
"It's lovely," said Ellen.
"Thanks a lot," said Jeff. "But what do you mean by 'too cool?' I think it's very pleasant."
The hostess actually smiled this time. "I hate to be commercial," she said, "but when the customers are cool and comfortable, they don't buy those tall cold drinks at two bucks a throw, and those tall cold drinks are what pay the rent. So that's why we keep the customers inside where it's hot and sticky, and the suckers buy those nice tall drinks and kid themselves that they're having a good time. If you're as smart as I think you are, you'll drink beer at a buck a stein. It's the only honest drink in the house. Those long cold ones are mostly ice and soda."
"The boss should hear you," Jeff grinned.
"The boss? I am the boss. Me and my husband, that is. Do you think I'd work in a joint like this if I didn't own the action? Me and my husband, we make enough here in three months to live the rest of the year in Florida with no worries."
"I think I'm going to like this place," Jeff grinned at Ellen. Then he turned to the hostess. "You're working against your best interest, telling us all this."
"Don't worry about it, brother. You'll drop a few bucks before you leave. And tomorrow or the day after, you'll come back for more. I'm a comedian, know what I mean? That's what people pay money for, to be entertained. You'll be back, if only to hear me tell you how you're being gyped. Now, what'll you have? Two steins of beer or a nice tall glass of soda for two bucks a throw?"
"We'd like to have dinner," Ellen said in a small voice. "Do you have a menu?"
"You came here to eat? You must be out of your mind. My husband's the cook and I know. The food won't give you ptomaine poisoning or anything like that, but with him in the kitchen I wouldn't even eat a bowl of corn flakes with milk fresh from the cow. I'll tell you what kind of cook he is. He can take the best filet mignon in the world and make it taste like fried cigar butts. Are you really hungry?"
"I'm losing my appetite rapidly," said Jeff, 'Imt we've been drinking all day and we have to eat something or we'll fall flat on our faces. Do you have some hay or maybe an old bone we could chew on?"
By this time he knew that all this talk was part of her act. That this was the kind of chatter she gave customers she thought had more than a mere two dollars to spend for a drink. There were restaurants that had become popular because the waiters insulted the customers. She had a new gimmick. She insulted the management.
"I'll bring you a menu if you want one," she said, "but it'll be a waste of time. There's steak for eight-fifty, but we don't have any, and you wouldn't be able to eat it if we did. And we don't have any lamb chops, or sliced turkey, or eggs Benedict, or even a decent hamburger. And if we had any spaghetti and meat balls, I wouldn't let you eat it. If you're that hungry, why don't you go home and open a can of soup?"
"I've had a can of soup," said Jeff. "And I sprained my wrist with the can opener. Right now I'd be satisfied with a few crusts of dry bread, if you think you could spare them."
The hostess threw up her hands. "Well, if you want to be a sucker, that's your business. I'll give you something to eat. But I'll have to make it myself. If I let my husband cook it, you might sue us, and we need all the money we have to put up bail for my mother. Are you sure you want something to eat?"
"You've got me sold," said Jeff.
"Then you'll take what you get and it'll cost you six-fifty apiece. I made some stew yesterday, but today we call it Hungarian ragout, or I can make you a western omelette. We have corned beef hash, too, but I don't recommend it. If you want hot dogs, it'll cost you the same. In here, all the food's the same price, even if we don't have it."
"I'll have lox and bagels," said Jeff. "What'll you have, darling?" he asked Ellen.
"The shore dinner," she joked, then to the hostess, "two western omelets and two steins of beer."
"Could you change the beers to two glasses of soda and two glasses of scotch?" The last thing Jeff wanted right now was beer.
"It's your funeral," said the hostess and left.
There was an awkward silence for awhile and Jeff became very busy lighting Ellen's cigarette and then his own. It was one of those silences that fall between two people who have not known each other long enough to have anything to say.
Finally Ellen said, "Jeff, will you do something for me?"
"Of course." What else could he say?
Then, again not looking at him, she went on. "Please don't tell Adele you even as much as met me. Please."
That surprised him and he stared at her. "What's wrong with telling Adele I met you?"
"You don't know Adele the way I do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything, Jeff. I mean ... you won't get mad, will you?"
"Which means you're going to say something that might make me mad. Right?"
"Right." She sounded a little hopeless, but looked pleadingly at him. "Look, I'm very fond of Adele, but she can be very difficult. You know how wrapped up she is in her publishing business, and if she as much as dreamed I was interfering with one of her writers she could give me a very bad time."
"A bad time? How?"
"Please, Jeff. Why complicate things unnecessarily? I like Adele and I like you. I more than like you, in case you haven't noticed. So do me this favor, please. Let Adele be the one to introduce us and you can pretend you've never met me before. Is that too much to ask?"
"Okay. If it means that much to you."
"It's just to avoid an unpleasant situation. Adele has a quick temper and a sharp tongue."
He saw that she was quite upset and reached across the table to pat her hand reassuringly.
"Don't worry about it, sweetie," he told her.
"We'll play it any way you wish."
"And I'd better not come to your cottage anymore," she went on hurriedly. "Adele is sure to find out and she'd make an awful scene. I've seen her do it before and sometimes over nothing at all. And she is coming up this Friday, isn't she?"
She was bound to find out anyway, so he shrugged and nodded. "She said she might. On account of the book."
"I thought she would. She'll check up on you every chance she gets. That's the reason we have to be very careful. You do understand, don't you, Jeff?"
"Sure. We'll be careful."
While they were talking, two men peered at them from the open doorway, then came out on the porch and approached the table. They were a little drunk. One of them grinned down at Ellen.
"How's about a dance, honey?" he asked. "No sense in letting all that good music go to waste."
"A nice friendly little dance," said the other.
"The lady doesn't feel like dancing," said Jeff. "Why don't you go back in there and dance with some of the other girls."
"How do you know she don't feel like dancing, bud?" said the first man. "I didn't hear her say nothing."
"I really don't feel like dancing," said Ellen quickly. "I'm tired."
The second man scowled at Jeff. "She don't feel like dancing because you said so, is that the idea?"
"I honestly don't feel like dancing," said Ellen, her voice shaking a little now; she was becoming frightened at their insistence.
The men ignored her and concentrated on Jeff.
"Maybe you don't think we're good enough to dance with the little lady," one of them suggested in a menacing voice.
"Yeah," contributed the other, "maybe you think we're nothing but a pair of slobs."
Jeff said, "Now just a minute ... " and started to get up, but the first man shoved him roughly back into his chair.
"You know what I think, bud?" he said, "I think you want a good bust in the mouth."
"I had the same idea," said his friend.
The hostess came out on the porch, carrying four glasses on a tray. She took in the situation at a glance.
"What's going on here?" she demanded. "What do you two monkeys think you're doing, anyway?"
They were taken aback at her sudden appearance, and seemed a little in awe of her, especially when she set the tray on the table and wrapped a business-like fist around the sides of one of the tall glasses ready to hurl it at them.
"Nothing, Marie, nothing. Honest," said the first man hurriedly. "We just asked the little lady for a dance, that's all."
"Well, you can just ask yourselves to get out of here. Go on, beat it. Go home. You've had enough to drink anyway."
One of them swore at her, but in such a mumble that it was hard to hear the actual words. They glowered at Jeff and shuffled sullenly off the porch.
Marie leaned on the table and shook her head.
"Actually, they're pretty nice guys till they get slopped up a little," she sighed. "Now they'll go down the road to the next gin mill and really tie one on, and the cops'll throw them in the can before the night's out. And they'll be fined fifty bucks apiece, which they can't afford, and have nothing to show for it except a headache, and their wives will give them hell to the bargain. Do you still want your westerns?"
"I ... I think we'll go after we finish our drinks, if you don't mind," said Ellen. "I'm really quite sleepy."
"I don't blame you, honey," said the hostess. 'Two mugs like that can spoil anybody's evening."
"I didn't mean ... "
"It's okay, girlie. I have to throw them out on an average of once a week. Actually they don't mean no harm, but they can be an awful pain in the neck. Anyways, I didn't expect you two to hang around long. This used to be a pretty nice place, but the disco trashers kind of took over. Rich kids from the lakes around, and between you and me, they're a lot freer with their two bucks than some of the old fogies that'd sit around all night over one drink and a hot roast beef sandwich."
Ellen and Jeff spent about a half hour over their double drinks. Both felt a little jaded.
"I'm not rushing out on you, Jeff," Ellen apologized as they rose to leave. "But up here in the country I simply can't keep my eyes open after ten o'clock. I get a lot of sun during the day. I suppose that's it."
"That'll do it every time."
Jeff was just as glad to leave as she was, but his increasing drowsiness was not due to the sun. His hangover was coming back, and all he wanted to do was to go to his cottage, have a few drinks in peace and quiet, and go to bed.
Outside it was as dark and moonless as the night before, and the single naked electric light bulb over the back door of the Inn did not help very much. They had not gone very far when two men jumped out from behind a parked car.
One of them said happily, "Now's just about time for that bust in the mouth, ain't it, bud?" and swung heavily at Jeff's head.
Jeff had no trouble ducking the clumsy, looping blow, but as he did so, the other man hit him in the ribs. It caught him just right and the breath went painfully out of him. He doubled over and fell, feeling another blow as the side of his head hit the macadam of the parking lot.
One of the men hauled Jeff upright and the other took a roundhouse swing that might have torn his head off, but fortunately they were both too drunk for accuracy. The blow landed against the side of his shoulder. It was painful enough, but at least it didn't break his jaw.
There was a furious yell and Jeff dimly saw a figure come bounding from the back of the Inn, brandishing what looked like a baseball bat.
One of his assailants gasped, "Oh, my god, here comes Joe!"
They let him go abruptly and vanished into the darkness. Jeff lurched against one of the parked cars and felt the side of his head. He looked numbly at his fingers, but there was no blood. His ribs hurt and he wanted to throw up, but Ellen had her arms around him, incoherently babbling something that made no sense to him. She was crying, which annoyed him for after all, she was not the one who'd been knocked down.
By this time their unknown rescuer came bounding up to them. He had a battered-looking face, but his hand was gentle as he took Jeff's chin in his fingers and turned his head from side to side, inspecting him for wounds. He looked relieved.
"You're okay, mister," he said soothingly. "They didn't cut you up and there's no busted bones so far's I can see. You're just a little shook up, that's all."
Jeff muttered something as the man patted his shoulder.
"You're fine, old buddy. You'll snap out of it in a minute." Then anxiously added, "You're not thinking of going to the cops, are you?"
"The cops? No. No cops."
"That's fine, that's fine. After all, there's no harm done. And don't worry about those two comedians. Sober, they're the nicest guys you'd . want to meet."
"I'm getting tired of hearing what nice guys they are," said Jeff, understandably peevish. "All I want now is fifteen minutes alone with them in a locked room with that baseball bat of yours."
"Just leave them to me, buddy. The next time they come around, I'll take care of them. And I'll make them apologize. How's that?"
By this time Jeff was tired of the whole thing and having a hard time keeping from being sick.
"I want to go home," he said thickly to Ellen. "Drive me home. I want to get out of here."
"I'll help you to your car, buddy," said the man. "Can you drive, miss? I don't think he's in no condition yet. Just get him home. He'll maybe have a little headache in the morning, and if he wants to see a doctor, just send the bill to Joe
Burke, care of the Fireside Inn. But he'll be okay. You'll see."
She could see that he was glad to get rid of them.
She knew she should take Jeff to a doctor immediately, but she shrank from that. If the police made an arrest and it got in the papers, Adele would surely see it, and that was just the last thing she wanted.
Still, she felt terribly guilty, and after they had been driving in silence for about fifteen minutes, she finally said, "Jeff, do you want me to take you to a doctor?"
"What for? I'm all right-or I will be."
She felt an immeasurable surge of relief. If he said he was all right, it absolved her of the responsibility. They were back at the lake within a half hour, and he climbed wearily out of the car without attempting to kiss her.
"I'll phone you in the morning," he said, and trudged down to the dock.
She kept her headlights on the lake until she saw him climb out of the little outboard on the island.
SEVEN
It was almost noon when Jeff awakened the following day. There was a dull ache on the side of his head where he'd struck it on the macadam of the parking lot the night before, but it was no worse than many a hangover he'd experienced in times past. He mixed himself a strong double scotch in grapefruit juice. He took it into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He was glad to be alone. He did not want to talk to anybody.
When he finished his drink, he went back to the kitchen and peered through the screen door toward the mainland. The dock there was empty. Ellen had apparently come very early that morning to take away her speedboat. And it would have been early, too, for she would not have left the boat there long enough for the neighbors to spot it.
The grapefruit juice in the refrigerator was gone, and he searched the cupboard and found three tall cans of a nauseating concoction called Passion Fruit Punch. However, with ice in a tall glass, it effectively disguised the flavor of raw scotch, at which his stomach was beginning to rebel. After the third drink, he found it even mildly pleasant. He thought of doing some work on his neglected book. He was exhilarated and thought of several amusing ideas for his chapter on Messalina, that sexy little hoyden of Rome, but when he crossed the room and looked at the typewriter, he could not remember what the ideas were. He went back to the kitchen and made another Passion Fruit drink.
He did not telephone Ellen. By now she was only part of a not totally pleasant memory. The sex had been great, but by her own admission, she could complicate things with Adele Faraday and it wasn't worth it. It simply was not worth it. He resolved never to see her again, so long as he was staying in the Faraday cottage at the lake. With some honest work he could finish his book in less than three weeks. It made him feel good to think of finishing the book and he went back to the kitchen and made himself another drink. He lay down on the sofa. His head was aching and he closed his eyes.
Vaguely he heard the phone ring in the kitchen, but he did not bother to get up to answer it. If it was Ellen, he didn't want to talk to her; and if it were Adele, he'd be seeing her tomorrow anyway, so what was the point.
He fell asleep, the ice slowly melting in his half-finished drink on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was that if you were tired enough, you could fall asleep in a tight little ball on that damned sofa.
It was after eleven when he awakened. Now the ice was completely gone from his glass and he went sluggishly to the kitchen to freshen up his drink.
He was asleep again shortly after one o'clock. His glass had tipped over on the rug beside the sofa, and the liquid made a dark, spreading stain.
His sleep was restless and, strangely enough, he dreamed of Betty Anders, the blonde waitress from Angelo's Diner in Hoboken. In the dream she was not flabby and growing older. She was young and beautiful, and her slim, cool hands were a solace on his aching head.
As Betty's body writhed with sexual pleasure, Jeff kissed her searchingly while massaging her breasts. He moved his mouth from her lips downward to suck her breasts. Then he worked his way down to the lips of her cunt and began tonguing her vagina. He licked and slurped through her pubic hair and darted his tongue in and out of her cunt. Betty threw her legs wide apart so he could plunge into her as far as he wanted. Her cunt was juicy and she was ready to-have him spear her.
Without warning, Jeff shifted his position so that his face was pointing toward her feet and his enormous, pulsating cock was hanging down over her face with his legs straddling her head. He slowly eased himself down so that the tip of his cock was against Betty's lips. She opened her glistening red mouth and started to swallow the long shaft. He flattened himself out so that his hairy chest rubbed against her melon sized breasts and stomach as he buried his face in her vagina.
Betty thought she was going to choke and had a panicky moment, but Jeff was gentle and just at the moment when she thought she couldn't swallow anymore of it, he pulled away and let her breathe. She was wildly excited and she knew from the stiffness of cock that he, too, was in the throes of passion.
Jeff pulled his cock out of her mouth and his balls hung just in front of her lips. He lifted her legs by gripping her buttocks and stuck his head farther down and starting licking the crevice of her ass. Betty sucked one of his large balls into her mouth as she ran her hands over his firm buttocks and fingered his hairy ass-hole. Jeff groaned with pleasure and plunged his tongue into Betty's ass-hole and probed deeply. Betty's body twitched with this new pleasure. He had pulled her legs up toward him and bent them back toward her head so he could have better access to her ass-hole. Now he pulled his balls out of her mouth and sat his ass-hole on her mouth. At first Betty clamped her mouth shut not knowing what to do, but then she was so hot she grabbed the cheeks of his ass and pulled it down and started rimming his hole. Her body was practically bent into a U shape.
She could feel her climax nearing and was wildly pushing her ass up to Jeff's face as he plunged his tongue in and out of her bunghole. Then he stopped and once again changed positions.
"Roll over on your stomach, Betty," he hissed as his breathing was coming in jerks and his chest heaved. Her ass-hole was well laved now and he spit into his hand and rubbed the head of his cock. Face down, Betty wasn't sure for a moment what he was going to do, then as the head of his cock started to burrow into her ass-hole, she screamed.
"Noooooo, Jeff, no, please. Not that. You'll split me in two."
But Jeff didn't stop. He slapped the side of one of her buttocks with a stinging flat palm and plunged on. The pain of the slap made Betty's blood rush and set a new pattern of sexual sensations into motion. She began to relax and her sphincter muscle loosened up. Jeff took full advantage and plowed on.
"Oh, sweetie," he moaned with pleasure, "it's so good."
He moved his hands under her and squeezed her breasts as she spread her legs wide and pushed her ass-hole up to him to push his cock all the way into her. Jeff felt his pubic hair against the cheeks of her ass and his balls lay across her moist vagina. The tender lips of Betty's anus stretched wide open and his hot prick drove into her molten passageway. She ground and twitched and heaved her beautiful feverish body. She was impaled on his cock. He began to bang into her with brutal power.
"Oh, no, Jeff, that's too much. You're going to kill me."
"No, sweetie, no. You can take it," he said, as he pinched her nipples hard.
Once again the extreme pain shot through her nervous system. She inhaled deeply and relaxed. The pain began to subside in her ass. She began to rotate and undulate her luscious ass in slow circles with the cock that was fucking her from behind.
"Oh, yes, Jeff. That's it, Jeff!"
She tightened her ass and let it go, again accompanying each thrust of his driving cock.
"God, Jeff. Fuck me. Fuck my ass," she screamed. "I love it!"
Jeff was surprised at how quickly she adapted to being fucked up the ass. Her ass was warm and tight and she clinched and let go, expanding just like a pussy only with even greater sensation.
Jeff plunged on driving his cock up to the hilt again and again. Then he withdrew, taking it nearly all the way out and then plunging in again, skewering her with lust as his cock ravaged her ass.
"Deeper," Betty moaned. "Fuck me deeper!" She was helpless in her lust. She wanted it harder and faster now.
"Give it to me, Jeff," she screamed demandingly.
Jeff pounded her with a sadistic fury as she writhed and moaned. She was quivering beneath him and she loved it.
Jeff was sweating and breathing hard from the pressure building up inside him. He gripped her ass tightly with his strong hands. He pulled her cheeks apart so that he could see his huge cock jamming in and out of her ass-hole. He sank it in deep, plunging it all the way in.
Betty heaved her ass back, wanting it. She was desperate now. She could not get enough. Her hot channel squeezed and clasped at his thrusting cock like a pressure chamber. She spread her thighs wide apart as he fucked her ass. She pulled up on her arms and her breasts swung wildly from side to side. Her nipples were rock hard as she urged him on.
"God, Jeff, how I love it. Ride me, Jeff. FUCK ME HARDER!"
As if Jeff were not stabbing her hard enough, Betty ground her buttocks back against his plunging cock. She loved the feel of his belly slamming against her back. The slap of his balls against the back of her thighs made her cunt dripping wet. She circled her ass faster and faster, loving the feel of his thick, pulsating cock ramming in and out of her ass. Her steaming cunt was dripping juice. She loved the pleasure of being fucked in the ass.
She pulled up on all fours beneath him and rolled her ass round and round as his stabbing hot cock moved with greater speed. Betty matched Jeff stroke for stroke. She was gasping and panting as she butted her ass against his thighs and stomach, taking every inch of his large shaft inside her hole. She pumped her ass faster and faster. She took all he had to give and begged for more.
Jeff sank it all the way in. Suddenly he could hold on no more and released his heavy load. Betty felt the gushes of sperm spurting into her ass-hole. She squeezed her buttocks on his exploding cock, moving her body wildly back and forth. Jeff's ejaculation seemed to go on forever and Betty screamed through her own climax. Her pussy was dripping cream all over the bed. Finally Jeff's cock began to deflate inside her ass-hole. He pulled it out and they both lay on the bed exhausted.
"Oh, Jeff," Betty panted, "you make me want to do things I've never even considered before. Now you can sleep as long as you wish and when you wake up, I'll be here. Would you like me to make you a western omelette?"
"On toast," he told her. "When I was a little boy, my mother used to make me chocolate layer cake. On my birthday, we had roast pork with dressing. In the summer we flew kites from the hill behind the library. We used to go swimming at Lake Hopatcong. What happened to Alvin Salaski?"
"He got sick."
"Oh, yes, I remember. Then we moved away.
Later, Grandma got sick, too. I left my roller skates in the cloak room at school and somebody stole them. I used to take my lunch to school in a little tin box; two sandwiches, a piece of cake and an orange. We used to play marbles during recess."
"You never won."
"I know. The other kids kept yelling 'Knuckle down.' That meant you had to keep your knuckles on the ground when you shot and I could never get the hang of it. But I could run faster than any of them."
"You could always run fast, Jeff."
"And I still can. I wonder if I can still do the fifty-yard dash."
"Sure you can, Jeff."
But then it wasn't Betty Anders. It was Laurie Taylor, which surprised him because Laurie was a brunette.
"Time to get up for school, Jeff," she said. "You have to run the fifty-yard dash."
"I can't. I'm tired."
"The fifty-yard dash."
"Betty said I can sleep as long as I wish."
"The fifty-yard dash, Jeff."
Laurie Taylor wasn't speaking now. It was Adele Faraday.
"The fifty-yard dash, Jeff," she said. "And you'd better do it because Ellen Drew's afraid you can't do it. The school colors are gold and blue."
Then there was a crazy jumble of everything and he lay limply on the sofa, his right hand hanging over the edge, lying palm up in the wet spot on the rug made by his spilled drink.
EIGHT
The sun was full on his face when he awakened. He looked at his wristwatch. It was eleven-thirty. He sat bolt upright on the sofa. He did not want to be groggy and bleary-eyed when Adele arrived and he had a good idea she'd be there early in the afternoon.
He went into the bathroom and took a cold shower. He swore at the sting of the spray. He hated cold showers, but he knew it was the only thing that would bring him fully awake. Afterward he went into the kitchen and made himself a glass of strong iced coffee. He looked yearningly at the scotch bottle, but did not touch it. All he needed, he knew, were two drinks and he'd be drunk again. He could drink all he wanted after Adele got there, but he wanted to be sober when she arrived.
She came at exactly ten past two. He heard the horn of her car and he went outside. She was standing on the dock waving gaily. He waved back, but his hand felt limp. It would be another half hour before he could have a drink.
He chugged over to the dock in the slow little outboard. Adele was smiling and looked very summery in her white cotton frock. Her full breasts lifted against the thin fabric. There was a breeze and her strongly curved thighs were clearly outlined against the skirt. He managed a grin, held up his hand and helped her down into the little boat. She settled herself on the cushioned seat in the bow and smiled at him. He was surprised to discover how good it was to see her again, her wide mouth, her chestnut hair glowing in the sunlight. He was glad now he'd decided not to see Ellen Drew again. Just looking at Adele Faraday gave him the feeling something was going to be fulfilled this weekend.
"Miss me?" she asked as they left the dock and moved smoothly toward the island.
"It's been a long few days."
"I'll make it up to you. We'll have the whole weekend together."
In the cottage she went straight to the bedroom, carrying her small overnight bag. He went quickly into the kitchen for a much needed drink of scotch. He was back in the living room when he heard her call to him. He went to the bedroom door and there she was lying nude on the bed.
"I've missed you, too," she said huskily. "Come to bed. I don't want to wait another moment. But you'd better lock the doors first. Up here at the lake, people calmly wander in and out without bothering to knock."
He was more than glad to be in bed with her again, to feel the texture of her skin, and the thrust of her body against him. He had wanted this more than he knew. He did not feel any shame at having gone to bed with Ellen, but what a waste of time it had been, what a pallid substitute for this vital woman.
He covered her avid mouth with kisses and took her breasts in both his hands, rolling the hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He bent over and took the nipples in his lips, running his tongue over the sweet, blunt tips of them, his hand caressing her taut stomach.
She lay back on the bed in such abandon that Jeff's passion soared to fever pitch. She spread her legs wide apart and pulled her knees up and outward, running her hands along her calves until they slipped under the soles of her feet. Then she spread-eagled them straight out to either side, stretching the lips of her juicy cunt wide open for his invasion.
Jeff pressed downward on the backs of her thighs as she held them spread open and barreled into her with the full force of a pile driver ripping into cement. Then he slowed to a stop for a moment, leaving his cock buried deep in her cunt. He looked down into the enormous, cat-like green eyes that were burning into him with lust and smiled.
"Adele, you are-as they say-far-fucking out!" Jeff's eyes gazed down at Adele's curvaceous body. Her chestnut hair was splayed across the pillow, framing her almost perfect features. Her heaving tits were two quivering mounds of satiny, resilient flesh. Below her narrow waist her hips flared out in a womanly fashion from which extended her long, shapely legs. God, he thought, if ever there was a woman built for fucking, it's you lady.
Adele's lips curled into a wicked smile. "If I'm so far-fucking out, how about a little far-fucking in, baby!"
Jeff pushed her legs back over her shoulders and slowly eased his cock out of her cUnt till only the bulbous head was lodged at the entrance to her canal. Then he slammed his shaft back inside roughly. Slowly, he eased it out again and then drove it up into her stomach. He kept up the process like a prizefighter giving his opponent death blows, but she was ready for everything he had to give, her cunt moist and ready.
"My God, sweetie, you were dripping wet on arrival," he gasped, between strokes.
"I've been dripping ready for your cock ever since I left here Wednesday."
The harder and more intensely he plowed her, the more she moaned and writhed beneath him.
"Good, Jeff. God, that's good. Just what ... I ... needed." Her voice was coming out in piggy little grunts. "Don't stop ... ever ... I mean, I want you to just fuck me and fuck me ... "
"...and FUCK YOU!" Jeff shouted, slamming into her.
Adele's body jerked involuntary as his shaft drilled into her. She could feel her climax about to break open. "Oh, Jeff, that's it. Do it, honey-that's it, baby. Uh-uh-uh-FUCK ME!" she urged, screaming it out in complete abandonment.
Jeff increased the acceleration of his hammering and the sweat from his chest dripped down onto her breasts which were glistening with perspiration. The room was hot and Jeff's head began to spin.
He reached down with one hand and fumbled for her clitoris. He found the button and squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger as he continued plowing her cunt. Adele was pulling her legs as far back over her shoulders as she could.
"Stuff it in me, Jeff, baby. Fill this hot bitch up to the top."
"You really are one hot bitch, sweetie," Jeff croaked in agreement.
"You bring out the worst-and that's the best-in me, babe."
"Do you like this, sweetie?" Jeff whispered through clenched teeth, as he felt his balls tightening ready to dump their load inside her. "Do you like ole Jeff's big, hard cock pounding into your cunt, you slutty bitch?"
"Yessss, Jeff, yessss," she hissed, grasping his hair and pulling him toward her. "Oh, yessss ... AAAIIII-YYIIIEEE!" Her scream pierced the still air in the room as her orgasm erupted inside her.
On the next slam into her, Jeff let his hot, thick come spurt into the searing hot walls of her cunt. "Adellllllle," he moaned weakly. "Oh, sweetie ... God, oh, god, oh, god!" he gasped, as his body jerked and twisted releasing his pent-up load.
Adele's legs flopped downward as their arms encircled each other, their bodies continuing to flop, twist and writhe on the bed like two decapitated chickens moving wildly and blindly, afraid to let go of the erupting sensations of their climaxes.
Jeff was the first to come to his senses. He fought to regain control of his ragged breathing. He pulled his cock out of Adele and slid down between her legs and began lapping the lips of her vulva.
"Baby, that's heaven's sweetest cream," he mumbled as he licked her pussy clean, slurping up every last drop of their combined orgasms.
Finally she could stand it no more. She gently pushed Jeff back to his pillow where he lay still, breathing heavily. He reached for her again, but she warded off his lusting hands.
"No, darling, not now," she whispered, lightly touching his ear with her tongue. "At this rate we'll wear ourselves out. I want you all weekend. You know that. But if we stay at this pitch, we'll be exhausted before we get started. Let me make you a nice cold drink."
"You said the magic words. I could use one."
Adele slipped from the bed. He really could use a drink now. The violence of their passion had left him spent.
When Adele returned nearly ten minutes later, Jeff's hands were trembling badly.
Adele's eyebrows arched in surprised curiosity. "Darling," she said, "you're shaking. Do you feel all right?"
"I'm shaking inside, too," he bed. "I don't make love like this every day, lady."
"I should hope not, but you'll have to get used to it because I'm not leaving here until Monday morning-and this is only Friday!"
"I'll be a physical wreck."
"Oh, I think you'll survive. But I warn you, I'll want as much of you as I can get."
If I last that long, he thought, thirstily gulping his drink. A three-day bender, or worse, was not the best training in the world for a prolonged session in bed with a wild woman like this.
Adele sat up in bed beside him and sipped at her drink. "Now tell me what you've been doing while I was away," she said. "Have you worked on your book?"
"Frankly, I haven't even looked at it."
"That doesn't surprise me. It'll take you a few days to settle down. I don't suppose you went for long walks in the woods or went out bird-watching at five in the morning."
"God forbid. I did a little swimming, went out in the boat a few times, but mostly I got drunk."
"I thought you might. Did you meet any interesting people up here?"
He knew a leading question when he heard one.
"Most of the people seem to be down at the other end of the lake," he said evasively, "yelling and jumping around in the water. But that's not for me. I got enough exercise just listening to them."
"Poor baby," she sighed, leaning over to kiss the end of his nose. "Up here in the wilderness all by his lonesome. But that's over now. For the next three days we'll have fun, just the two of us."
"Wonderful," he said. "And you can begin by making me another drink."
The phone rang and Adele quickly put a warning hand on Jeff's arm. "I'm not here, remember," she said.
"Right," he said, and picked up the phone.
It was Ellen's voice that asked impersonally, "Is Mrs. Faraday there, please?"
Jeff's heart sank, knowing that Adele was listening and could clearly hear every word.
"I'm sorry, but she's not," he said formally. "Would you care to leave a message?"
Apparently Ellen understood that Adele was there, for she answered just as formally. "There's no message. Just leave a note saying that Ellen Drew called."
Jeff said, "I'll do that, Mrs. Drew," and hung up.
He turned to Adele, who pretended she had not been listening at all.
"It was a Mrs. Helen Drew," he told her. "No message, except to tell you she called. Does that mean anything?"
Adele wrinkled her nose. "That old battle-axe. One of the pillars of the Beach Club. She probably wants a donation to buy marshmallows for the Girl Scouts, or to remind me to be sure to go out and vote for Chester A. Arthur. She always has something to keep everybody else busy. Picnics are her specialty."
Jeff knew Adele was lying, but he could not figure out why.
"She didn't sound like an old battle-axe," he probed. "The voice seemed quite young, as a matter-of-fact."
"Oh, that was probably her niece then," Adele said quickly ... and right then and there Jeff decided that Adele was much faster on her feet than he'd given her credit for. "That must have been Ellen. You said Mrs. Helen Drew, dear."
Since everyone was lying, Jeff went along with it.
"It sounded like Helen," he conceded. "But Ellen had quite a nice voice. Interesting."
"The Bryn Mawr voice, darling. It's bred into them."
"You didn't go to Bryn Mawr, I take it."
"No, darling. I went to Europe instead and I was in Paris for four years. I was graduated cum laude. Would you like the details? I'll be glad to supply you with material."
Jeff laughed softly. "Come to think of it," he said, "there is something you can tell me about. When someone says, 'Let's do it the French way,' what does he mean?"
For a moment her face hardened, but she knew he was joking, and said, "Have you ever seen a Frenchman."
"Yes."
"Have you ever seen a French woman."
"Yes."
"Have you ever gone to bed with a French woman."
"Yes."
"Now you know. Was there anything so strange about it."
"Yes."
"There ... what do you mean?"
"She asked fifty dollars and she wasn't worth ten."
"Am I worth ten, darling?"
"At least. Remind me to pay you before you leave. Can I have my drink now?"
"Pig," she said, and kissed the side of his cheek.
She left the bedroom and Jeff waited impatiently for her return.
He heard her call from the living room, "Come out here if you want a drink. I'm not going to bring it into the bedroom."
He went out into the living room. She was sitting nude on the sofa with tall, beaded glasses in front of her on the coffee table.
"If I brought your drink into the bedroom," she said, "you'd just fall asleep."
"I'm not drunk."
"I didn't say you were, but it wouldn't take too much encouragement. Furthermore, sweetie, I happen to like your company and don't want to spend the entire weekend listening to you snore."
He went over to the sofa, sat on the edge of it beside her, bent down and took her slim, attractive body in his arms.
"How shall we spend it?" he whispered, kissing the side of her neck, running his lips up to her ear, across her cheek and to her mouth.
She was eager for him and parted her lips, her tongue seeking his as her arms went around his neck, drawing him down to her on the sofa.
"Let's spend the whole weekend this way, darling," she whispered, holding him as her body began to move against his. "Let's not put on any clothes, and let's make love every time we want. It can be a wonderful weekend."
"Suppose your friend comes over," said Jeff maliciously.
"The doors are all locked, darling. Make love to me. Oh, please make love to me. Now!"
Silently Jeff extended his hand to Adele. She took it and he stood up, pulling her up with him. He slid his arms around her and kissed her hotly on the mouth, then nibbled his way down her neck, across her breasts, her lower stomach, and then let his nostrils brush against the soft hair covering her pubic region as he knelt in front of her.
Adele felt electric currents running through her body. She was hyper-sensitive to his every touch.
Jeff's cock began to stiffen and was soon sticking straight out in front of him, bobbing up and down like a conductor's baton. Adele could feel the lips of her pussy once again brimming with moisture.
Jeff held his cock in his hand, pointing it toward Adele. She reached toward him and ran her hand over his huge cock. Then she bent over and ran her tongue over the head of it. She knelt down in front of him and sucked the head of it into her mouth.
"That's it, my sweet, suck my cock. Suck it!" Jeff moaned with delight as her mouth sucked him inside her, temporarily blotting out his thirst for alcohol.
Playfully Adele ran her hands through his legs and probed for his ass-hole. Then she worked two fingers into his ass-hole, all the while sucking on his rock-hard cock, building her rhythm slowly with her mouth on his cock and her fingers up his ass-hole.
Jeff began to grunt as his hips rocked back and forth. He watched Adele's swinging mane of chestnut hair bouncing up and down as her breasts bobbed about. She was a lovely vision even with her face contorted and her hair disheveled. Her soft skin glowed in the afternoon light.
Jeff pulled his cock out of Adele's mouth and turned around. Quickly he bent over and grabbed his ankles, exposing his ass-hole to Adele's face. Adele looked admiringly at the strong, muscular buttocks that faced her.
"Suck my ass, Adele, " Jeff said hoarsely. He wanted to feel her hot flicking tongue in his ass.
Adele was ravenous for his naked body. She crawled forward, grabbed his hips and buried her face in the crack of his ass.
Jeff grunted with pleasure and reached behind him and pulled the cheeks of his ass as far apart as he could to give her the greatest access to his bunghole.
Adele attacked the hole with fervor, probing her tongue in and out as deeply as she could. Jeff circled his hips round and round spreading his cheeks all the while. Adele never let go, but kept her tongue spearing in and out.
Jeff could feel an orgasm beginning to swell inside him. He grasped the base of his swollen cock and squeezed hard to stop his imminent discharge. He had to hold back because he wanted to fuck her hot, hungry cunt again.
He stepped away from her and her dagger-like tongue. He turned and pulled her up from the floor and pushed her backward onto the sofa. He pulled her legs apart roughly, but Adele was eager to have him do anything he wanted to her for she was flaming with passion. He got down between her legs and started licking her cunt. It was well-lubricated from her body fever and he stabbed his tongue along the lips of her dripping vagina. More and more of her juices flowed as she really began to open up.
He kept one of his knees on the floor and put the other on the sofa. His hands were on her hips and as he raised his head, he saw that she was braced on her elbows looking down at him. The view up between her globular tits to her beautiful face excited him all the more.
"God, sweetie, but you're a beauty. I want to fuck this cunt of yours till I collapse."
Adele spread her legs eagerly as far apart as she could, the pink lips of her pussy slit winking at him teasingly. He pulled himself up onto the couch on top of her, shoving his cock into her with one full thrust.
Adele screamed-but not with pain. The feeling of his large, fat cock slicing its way through the walls of her vagina filled her with a strange searing pleasure. She slid her hand down between their stomachs and she could feel his cock wedged into her right up to his balls. She grabbed his balls and squeezed them hard, forcing him to ram into her harder than ever.
Jeff started fucking Adele furiously. She threw her legs around the small of his back and clutched his hair with her hands to hold on to him. With the strength of her legs, she pulled him down to her, bucking her hips up to meet his every thrust as he banged against her. Her head was spinning with pleasure. She never wanted him to stop. Again and again she thrust forward to meet his push and the elastic circle of her cunt lips hugged his cock greedily, wanting to squeeze out all of his juices.
"I can't hang on much longer, Adele," Jeff gasped. "I'm going to shoot any second now. I'm going to fill that pussy of yours up all the way to your throat!"
Brutally he whammed his cock into her and she opened her legs and pulled them wide apart to take the maximum impact of his hips. He tightened his buttocks as his load exploded into her cunt and he began a series of short, uncontrolled spasms.
Just as she felt her climax nearing, Adele realized Jeff was sliding backward and they were going to fall to the floor. In a daze of ecstasy she let go of her legs and dug her fingers into his buttocks, squeezing against his shaft and as she landed on top of him on the floor, she felt it plunge up into her stomach as he valiantly pumped again and again dumping his load in her. Adele climaxed in a series of rapid orgasms while Jeff's load drained out. He didn't lose control of his hard-on as he continued to ram his cock in and out of her cunt until she finally stopped shuddering from her climax.
Adele fell forward on the floor next to him. "Jeff, that was unbelievable. I don't want you ever to stop," she groaned hugging him about the chest and kissing his sweating face. She squeezed the mouth of her cunt not wanting his cock to escape. But finally his hard-on dissipated and he pulled out of her, releasing an avalanche of their combined juices.
They lay on the floor inert, panting, barely able to move after the wrench of that final convulsion of love.
But Jeff sensed a passionate note of hate in it, too, for they lay there, only inches apart, staring into each other's eyes. Their shared passion had all this in it, and now that the passion was spent and they were close to exhaustion, love was gone, and only the self-protective impulse to hurt remained. It was only a flickering instant as they lay there, but in that moment it needed but a touch to flame it into snarling, destructive physical violence.
It passed.
Adele sat up and, smiling, handed him one of the tall, cold glasses from the coffee table.
"You've earned it, darling," she murmured. She leaned over and kissed his belly. "We'll have a wonderful weekend," she said.
NINE
It was a wonderful weekend. They didn't stir out of the cottage, and they didn't wear a stitch of clothes all the while she was there. The doors were locked and they didn't answer the phone, although it rang several times.
The hours passed. And then the alarm clock went off and it was six o'clock Monday morning. He did not want her to go, but she had to leave and he took her to the mainland in the small outboard. She would not kiss him goodbye out on the road, but inside the small garage before she drove off.
"It's only till Friday, dear," she whispered. And then she was gone.
Jeff went back to the island. It was like being in solitary confinement without her. He looked around the empty living room with a kind of wonderment. "Love" was a word you read, or heard, in the movies ... but was this what it was? This awful loneliness and overwhelming feeling of desolation. Was love an emptiness and a wilderness? Apparently there were a few things he had to learn about life.
Ellen called him later in the day.
"Things got a little lonely, Jeff," she said in a small voice, "and I thought I'd call and say hello. How's the book going?"
"Fine," he said, "fine. I'm up to my ears in chapter fourteen. If I finish up early, I'll give you a ring.
"Oh," she said, her voice fading into a kind of hopeless apology. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."
The quality of her loneliness infected him and accentuated his own feeling of desolation. He was not going to work; he knew that. He wanted Adele there and she would not be back until Friday, and there was nothing between him and Friday but those bottles of scotch in the case in the kitchen, and that, he knew, would be nothing but a kind of temporary suicide.
Sure, Riordan, kill yourself until Friday. Get soused. Pass out every hour on the hour. Big deal. Pass out on Friday, too. Pass out for the rest of your life. Pass out forever.
"I'm just winding up, sweetie," he said quickly to Ellen, keeping her on the phone because he knew he would not be able to stand the silence of being alone. "I'll finish in about a half hour or so. Why not come over and have a drink?"
"I'd love to," she said, just a little too quickly. "I'll see you in about a half hour, then."
After he hung up, he wished he hadn't asked her. He liked her all right and she could fill in some of the empty moments, but she just wasn't worth jeopardizing his relationship with Adele.
He went into the kitchen and had himself a stiff drink of scotch straight from the bottle. He had a water chaser, and then another drink from the bottle. He put some ice cubes into a tall glass, filled it with scotch and went back to the living room.
Jeff went to the telephone and phoned Ellen's cottage, hoping to head her off. He could always say he did not want to leave the typewriter. That was always a good excuse. He had used it many times in the past to get rid of an incipient guest. All you had to do was say you were working and couldn't stop, and nobody in the world could give you an argument on that.
He was now feeling a little high on the scotch and chuckled, congratulating himself on the ingenuity of his ploy.
Ellen did not answer her phone.
He listened while it rang fifteen times, then hung up irritably. He knew exactly what she had done ... she had left her cottage immediately after talking to him, and was now on her way to the island. It was a dirty trick ... just as if she'd divined he'd call back and cancel the whole thing. She deliberately put herself out of touch. He felt like pretending he wasn't on the island when she arrived, but that wouldn't work either. She'd see the little outboard tied up to the dock. Of course, he could go off in the outboard, but the idea of floating around out there in the sun made him feel all but sick to his stomach.
He was fairly drunk by this time. In fact, he felt rather good, all charged up, and very clever. He was always much more clever when he was a little drunk. He knew this. It was a fact. He'd been half drunk all the time he'd written Two Weeks Every Year, which had been a very clever book. Even that noted reviewer had said so. Who was the reviewer? Oh, yes. Peter Jack. Peter hadn't known he was drunk most of the time, or half drunk. But on the other hand, Peter himself was half drunk most of the time, living out there on Staten Island. Jeff knew Peter very well. And Jane. Jane was half drunk most of the time, too. Anybody who was anybody fell in love with Jane. Beautiful, blonde Jane.
In a way Ellen reminded Jeff of Jane and Peter, and now he was glad she was coming. There had been some wonderful times in Peter's house out there on Staten Island, particularly the night he went swimming in the bay with two lesbians and tried to make one of them and almost got himself killed. What a night that had been. Swimming in the bay with his wristwatch on, the younger lesbian making a date with him for the next day, keeping it, and the older gal busting their party. It was a funny thing about lesbians. Every once in awhile the fluffier one seemed to want to prove she was still female, and what a time she could give you in bed.
Now why had he thought of that?
It didn't make sense. But who cared about making sense? The scotch had taken hold and he felt pretty good. He went out on the porch and looked across the lake. There were twenty or thirty boats out there. In one of them, he knew, was Ellen, ready to converge on his safe little island. Now he didn't care. He was protected. He didn't quite know in which way, but he knew nothing could touch him. He was safe.
He went back into the house, into the kitchen and made himself another drink.
He was perfectly sober, he told himself. Perfectly. He knew exactly what he was doing. He returned to the living room and switched on the little transistor radio. It was playing a Strauss waltz, which suited his mood exactly. He felt very gracious and rhythmic. He was sitting on the sofa, feeling gracious and rhythmic, when Ellen walked into the cottage. He looked up, smiling over the rim of his glass.
She really was beautiful in a sun-browned, wholesome sort of way, he decided. She had practically no clothes on, which aided his decision. She had on a different bikini, which consisted of two bits of fabric. A small, narrow bit did not quite conceal the fact that her deep, full breasts had nipples, and the other narrow scrap hung precariously below her hips.
"Well, hello, Shakespeare," she said brightly, an erotic female silhouette against the sunlight in the rectangle of the open doorway. "Who's for swimming?"
Jeff did not move from the sofa. "Trout," he said. "I think there's a trout hatchery over in Norris-town. They have hundreds of trout and they all like to swim. It's about a four hour drive from here. Tell me how you make out. Some trouts are very friendly, I hear."
"Oh, come on, lazy. Let's take a swim. The water's wonderful. Then we'll come back and I'll make a cold supper."
"You take a swim. But dry yourself off before you come back. I loathe damp females. Would you like a drink?"
"Oh, hell," she said as she plopped down onto the opposite end of the sofa, stretching her long, full-thighed legs before her. "I might just as well, I suppose. Why are you so opposed to physical exercise?"
"Because it makes me breathe heavily. Water or soda?" '
"Water, thank you. What's wrong with breathing heavily? It's good for your lungs."
"Not outside of bed, dear."
"I know you must have been the champion of something. What was it ... the highball jump or the hundred-yard-dash of bitters?"
"The shot-put," he said promptly. 'Two shots of scotch in every drink. With water."
She rolled her eyes in comic resignation. "Water," she said. "To drink, not to swim in . . .though I was dying for a swim. Sure you won't change your mind?"
"Look, dear, if you want to go swimming with me that badly, I'll compromise ... we'll go in the bathroom and take a shower together. How's that?"
"Scotch and water, thank you."
He went into the kitchen and prepared the two drinks, making hers especially strong. With perverse curiosity, to see what would happen, he made hers twice as strong as his. Not to get her into bed, or anything of that sort, but just to see what she was like when she let her hair down. She was a very defensive girl.
Within the next two hours they just sat on the sofa and had three drinks and talked. The drinks did not seem to affect her one way or another. There was still something about her he could not quite like, but he could not put his finger on it. She was easy to look at, perhaps beautiful, friendly, intelligent, but there was something. He didn't know what it was. Then he lost interest. He wanted to talk about Adele.
"How long have you known Adele?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Two or three years. On and off. She's not too easy to get along with."
"I find her very easy to get along with. What do you mean?"
"I mean she's not easy to get along with. She's so positive about everything. Are you in love with her?"
He was startled, but was careful not to show it. "Sure," he said. "And I'm in love with Joan Crawford, too. But she's dead."
She gave him a sharp, cautious glance from the end of clinical eyes. "But Adele isn't dead," she challenged.
"Thank god. She's going to publish my book."
What gives here, he wondered? Her questions were becoming pointed and her voice was beginning to sound honed. Oh, hell, he thought, now she's sore because'she knows I tried to give her the brush-off. Which I did.
"How long have you known Adele?" she asked.
" A few years. Since they published Two Weeks Every Year, I think."
"It wasn't a very good book."
"I know, but I had fun writing it."
"It was too full of wisecracks. And so obvious."
"Everybody knows that men and women go to bed together and have what the professors call sexual relations. So why write books about that ? Writers are doing it and nobody seems to have gotten tired of it yet. Maybe there's a reason. Can you figure it out? Or would you prefer that people wrote books about stuffing your own chipmunks at home?"
"Books bore me," she snapped. "And so do writers."
"Perhaps I'd better make another drink."
"Perhaps you'd better. The drinks are better than the conversation."
He grinned to himself as he went to the kitchen. Yes, she was really beginning to let her hair down now. He loaded her drink again, filling it almost completely with straight scotch.
But she fooled him. She was as nice as pie when he returned, and apologized to him.
"I'm sorry, Jeff," she said. "I was a bitch. I liked your book. Really I did. I don't know why I said that. Will you forgive me?"
"Only God can forgive people, sweetheart, and I'm not God."
"Oh, come now, Jeff. Be nice."
"Okay. I'll put whipped cream on my head and you can call me a birthday cake. How's that?"
"Fine. You do that. I'll watch."
"You're a bitch, of course," he said, after some thought.
"I thought you knew that."
"I suppose I did. You're right, you're right. It's my fault. You are a bitch. And when someone's a bitch, it's not her fault that people don't recognize it. What kind of bitch are you?"
"That's a good question." By this time she was showing her liquor, too. "I'm a specialized kind of bitch, I guess. I'm the kind of bitch who wants to go to bed with you and have ... what do the professors call it?"
"Relations, sweetie," he said, leaning over and, with one finger, twitching the slight band of the bikini that hid the nipples of her firm, ripe breasts.
Her breasts did not spill out when he did this. Only soft breasts spill. Rather, released from the slight bond, her breasts rose, the nipples now pointing up, coral and erect. For a long moment there was a silence between them. Her breasts surged from their constraint and he just sat there, half bent over, looking at them.
He reached out slowly and touched them. He had touched them before, but that was in another place and in another time, and touching them now was new. She sat there, not moving, bolding her breath as his fingers gathered over each nipple, pressing them lightly, pulling them a little, making them achingly firmer. They could not be more pointed than they were, but they responded to the touch of his feathered fingers.
He felt her nipples as she sat there, unmoving. Then, still very slowly, he passed his hands down the sides of her softly padded ribs, savoring the texture of her skin, down to her hips, and there pushing the fabric of the second half of her bikini from her.
Her head was back, eyes closed, mouth partly open, her arms limp on either side of her, lying in attitude of complete surrender. Whatever he wanted to do, she was willing to submit to. She lifted her hips slightly to enable him to slide the bottom half of the bikini down her legs and off.
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled gently, easing her down full-length on the sofa. She did not open her eyes, so he slid her on down to the floor. Her back was slightly arched, knowing what was coming, and not waiting, but rising to meet it. Her arms became rigid and her hands turned into tight fists at her sides. There was a sharp intake of breath as his hands again cupped her breasts. Her whole body was alive now, quivering at every touch from him.
For some reason he wanted to prolong it. He wanted to make her want him so much that she might scream. He wanted to punish her. He continued his merciless teasing until she moaned and her body writhed uncontrollably under his sensual strokes. Jeff straddled her body and his pulsating cock beat a steady rhythm on her bare stomach as it jerked in anticipation of skewering her.
Ellen, responding to the thump of his cock and the tickle of his hairy balls, pushed her pussy up toward his crotch.
Jeff trailed his cock up and down her stomach. "Oh, sweetie, am I going to fuck you."
"Prove it, lover man," she cooed, as she writhed beneath him.
He ran his hand down to her quivering slit, worked his fingers over the soft vaginal lips and stuck one inside.
"That's some honey-pot, sweetie, a really hot honey-pot. I'm going to get down there and lick it until it's as juicy as a cool, ripe slice of watermelon." Then he looked up and saw her eyes were closed.
He leaned forward across her body and pressed his lips roughly against her mouth and dug his fingers into her" soft breasts, feeling them tighten into hard little points.
Ellen sucked hard on his tongue, so hard that Jeff thought she was going to pull it out by the roots. He pulled his lips away from hers and pushed back, sitting on his calves.
"Just don't want you falling asleep on me, sweetie," he said, somewhat sluggishly, the alcohol making his tongue thick. Then he leaned forward and sucked on her nipples and finally raised up on his knees and grasped her breasts, sending pinpoints of passion scurrying through her body.
"You're a beautiful girl, sweetie, even if you are a bitch, do you know that?"
She eyed him smiling. "Thanks, Jeff, I like hearing that. You're a handsome dude, yourself, but you know that, don't you, Jeff."
"Yeah, and if I'm so handsome, how about sucking this dude's dick awhile?" He leaned forward over her face, his cock wagging back and forth.
She moved her face up bending her head at the neck and kissed the shiny cockhead. She stuck her tongue out and trailed it over the tip.
Jeff adjusted his legs, spreading them farther apart and lowering his cock so she could lower her head. She cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently. Then she began to drag her tongue back and forth along the area of flesh where his cock intersected his balls. The muscles in Jeff's legs knotted as she worked on him. She dragged her tongue up the full length of the underside. Ellen took the base of his cock in both of her hands and began licking it like it was a stick of candy.
"Put it in your mouth, sweetie. Open up wide and take it inside."
She did as he asked. She spread her lips as far apart as she could and let the long, thick cock slide inside.
Jeff moved in closer. His eyes were shining with passion as he gazed down into her face watching her manipulate his cock. His buttocks clinched and unclinched, the muscles in his legs hardened. Ellen closed her mouth around his cock and moved her head forward, forcing the entire thing into her mouth and down her throat. Jeff leaned forward and braced his upper body on his strong arms against the floor. Then she moved her head back and forth, letting it slide out of her mouth almost all the way and letting the head of it rest on the tip of her tongue. She worked the tip of her tongue into the slit of his cock, spreading it open before taking it into her mouth once again. Her lips were stretched taut around the thick shaft and she worked the entire thing down her throat until her lips were pressed against his wiry pubic hair.
"Do it slower," Jeff whispered.
Ellen looked up at him. Her eyelashes fluttered. Slowly she pulled her head back, disgorging the big cock from her mouth and throat.
Jeff wanted to make it last longer, but he could already feel the semen building up inside him as he watched her suck his cock. He pulled out and backed up. He leaned down and kissed the hollow of her throat and spread her thighs apart so that he could slide his hand against her moist slit.
Ellen wiggled her hips with pleasure as she felt his fingertips approach her cunt. His fingers forced apart the lips of her vagina and she could feel that her juices were already beginning to flow. Her clitoris was erect and pulsating. He moved down and kissed the soft flesh around her navel. Then he sniffed the warm odor which exuded from her body. He spread her thighs farther apart and using his fingers, opened the folds of her cunt. Then he moved his head down and buried his head over her pussy.
Ellen squealed with delight as she felt the touch of his lips. She closed her thighs around his face and felt the gates of her cunt open to his expert tongue. Jeff began teasing his tongue in and out of her cunt, driving her wild with passion. He slid his hands under her buttocks and squeezed her flesh as he sucked her drenched pussy. His head bobbed up and down and Ellen stifled a scream of sheer ecstasy.
Jeff pressed his lips around her distended clitoris, sucked the little organ into his mouth and began chewing it gently.
Ellen was ecstatic. Jeff continued to lick her until his tongue was tired, then he pulled his face away from her cunt and began to kiss it again, pressing his prick against the wet walls of her hole.
"Slip it in, sweetie. Put your hand around my cock and stick it into your cunt."
Ellen reached down, stretched the lips of her pussy apart with one hand and took his red hot cock in the other. Then she pushed her hips up against his, rubbing his cockhead over her wet slit.
"Now," Jeff groaned. "Now. Shove it in."
When the head was in place, Ellen pushed forward and the hot ring of her cunt wrapped around his cock, the inner walls of her vagina stretching to encompass his large member.
"Now hang on, sweetie. Just hang on."
He bucked his hips back and thrust his cock in forcefully. Ellen opened her mouth and he clamped his mouth down over hers and began kissing her roughly. As he accelerated the movement of his cock in and out of the tissues of her cunt, Ellen smashed her mouth against his and sucked his tongue inside. Her moist cunt tightened around the invader and she pressed her pelvis against his hot driving thrusts. Slowly Jeff built up his rhythm, twisting his cock slightly so that she could feel more action against her clitoris. He guided her legs up so that they crossed at the small of his back and began thrusting at her more violently.
Ellen slid her hand down between their bodies. She felt his cock going in and out of her cunt. She squeezed the base of it and fingered the lips of her pussy which surrounded it. Then she squeezed his balls and played with them as he fucked her.
"Stick your finger in my ass," he commanded.
She slid her hand around to his pumping buttocks. The crevice was moist with perspiration. She worked her finger into the hole easily, fucking it with the same rhythm that he was fucking her cunt.
"That's it, sweetie. That's it! Stick it in deeper. Stick your finger all the way in!"
Ellen plunged her finger in and out of his ass as she tightened her legs around Jeff's waist.
"Oh, sweet joy of heaven," she moaned as she began the start of her orgasm.
Jeff was grunting, getting rapidly closer to his.
She wrapped her legs even tighter around his waist as his cock began to shoot, spewing forth its creamy load which gushed into her cunt and scalded the inside of her vaginal walls.
Ellen threw her head from side to side, experiencing her own delicious orgasm as she felt their juices meet inside her.
They thrashed about on the floor kissing and scratching. In the end there was nothing but his exhaustion and her convulsed arms around him and the torment of her breath against his ears as they lay clasped together.
They did not exactly separate, but rather they slowly fell apart and lay side by side on the floor. They could not have been more apart.
After a long, labored silence, Ellen whispered, "That was wonderful, Jeff. That was what I came here for. You know that."
In a way he believed it. She had come over to go to bed with him and have this. But there was something else and he didn't know what it was, but she was lying, and he knew that, too.
"Yes, it was wonderful, sweetie," he lied.
TEN
But it was not wonderful. She still eluded him. It was not antagonism nor hostility. Rather, in a subtle way, she seemed to withdraw from him, and now that it was over, it was as if she had merely gone through the motions of passion without feeling it, as if he had not really reached her at all. He felt baffled and frustrated. It was irrational of him to feel cheated, but he did, as if for some obscure purpose of her own she had used him. It was not a pleasant feeling.
After awhile he got up heavily from the floor and made two drinks. When he returned to the living room she was sitting up on the sofa, as fully clad as her readjusted bikini would permit. She took the drink with a small, private smile.
"This will have to be for the road, I'm afraid," she said. "I'm expecting some people in for cocktails tonight."
This was another lie. Earlier she had proposed making a cold supper for them here on the island, but he did not remind her of this. He did not want her to stay. He did not want her around. There were two reasons. The first, of course, was his baffled resentment. The second reason was just as potent. She had a marvelous body. It was young and vibrant and he knew only too well how responsive it could be. Just the sight of her sitting there on the sofa generated an excitement he did not want to feel. If she stayed, it would begin all over again, and would end the same way, in exhaustion without completion. He did not want his senses to awaken again.
At the same time he wanted to try again, just to see if he could make a breakthrough with her. It was a challenge. He knew he could get a strong physical response from her body, but that was only a matter of the moment.
That was the one thing about sex. The truth and perspective of it did not come until it was finished, as you lay together in the soft intimacy afterward.
"Call if off," he said.
"I can't, Jeff. Honestly, I can't. I'll call you tomorrow."
He made one more try though, now knowing she was impatient to leave.
"We'll go out to dinner," he said.
But it was of no use. She left within twenty minutes. At the end she was hardly polite, hurrying out of the cottage, hurrying as if she could hardly wait to go home and take a shower ... anything to get away from him.
He had a few more drinks and was asleep in bed by the time the late summer darkness fell, a sodden, unrestful sleep.
She called him again Tuesday afternoon. He made the same excuse about chapter fourteen and hung up. On Wednesday and Thursday he did not answer the phone at all. He did not want to see her or talk to her. She was a neurotic little girl and he did not want to complicate his life with her fears and problems. Her voice sounded angry, but he did not care.
On Thursday, after a night of tormented dreams, he went to sleep on the sofa before noon, but the dreams continued. He had a strange dream about Betty Anders, the waitress in Angelo's Diner in Hoboken.
They were at the shore, way down around Seaside Heights, and they were both naked and lying under one of the big commercial fishing dories that were always drawn up on the beach there.
"Now Jeff," she said to him, holding out a bowl, "you have to eat your oatmeal."
"I hate oatmeal, mother."
"But you must eat it. You want to grow up to be a big boy, don't you?"
"A bowl of chili, princess."
"You're the only one that was ever nice to me, Mr. Riordan."
"Be nice to me, Betty. Now."
"Yes. Right now. Oh, Mr. Riordan!"
"Do you know why I always come back to you, Betty?"
"You have to eat your oatmeal, Jeff."
That faded and later Laurie Taylor came into the dream. They were out in the country somewhere. It looked a little like Eagle Rock where they used to go for picnics on Sunday afternoons. But in the dream he was walking alone, he knew she was nearby, although he could not see her. She was calling him. She was not saying anything, just calling his name.
He woke up with a start and she was still calling his name. He thought, this is the DTs, but her voice persisted. It was hot in the room. He rolled over on the sofa and covered his ears with his hands to shut out the sound of it, for now he had begun to shake, and he was afraid. It did close off her voice, but when he took his hands away, he could hear her again. It was so real that he went out to the back porch and there, unbelievably, on the dock on the mainland stood a girl in a yellow dress, her hair so deeply brown it looked black in the shadows thrown by the birch trees.
He yelled, "Laurie," and leaped for the boat. It seemed to take forever to wind through the channel between the beds of water hyacinth, still afraid it was an illusion. He leaped up to the dock and swung her in his arms, grinning, for she was real.
"Well, for God sake!" he exclaimed. "What brought you here? And how'd you find out?"
Her laughing, upturned face glowed, and he kissed it several times, until she pushed him away, still laughing.
"Stop it, you idiot. I thought you were on your deathbed or something."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, last week somebody called the Observer and said you wouldn't be in to work. We all thought it a little odd, since you haven't worked there in two years. I have a new job in Newark, and Harry ... you remember Harry Emery, he's City Editor now ... got hold of me yesterday. I phoned your apartment. No answer. So I called the super and he told me you were staying up here and here I am.
"I'm working on my second book. Jeezus, I'm glad to see you, sweetie."
He was glad to see her ... but it wasn't the way it used to be, when the mere sight of her walking across the city room could set him on fire. Now it was like meeting an old, dear friend, and it was warmth instead of flame. But it was good to see her again.
"Come on, I'll show you the sights," he said. "I share the island with some frogs and about two million mosquitoes. But don't worry, they all sleep during the day."
"You're as crazy as ever," she laughed, but there was a look in her eyes that was as intimate as a kiss.
He did not see that, nor did he see the car flash by on the road as he helped Laurie into the boat. Behind the wheel of the car was Ellen Drew, her face as set as frozen ashes, her eyes furious.
Although they chatted happily in the boat, a queer constraint fell between them when they walked into the cottage on the island. Jeff felt very strange, as if he had been dislocated in time. The intervening years seemed to have fallen away and he was again a reporter in Hoboken, and his heart was turning over in his chest as Laurie walked across the cluttered city room with that light, quick step of hers. He wanted to reach for her and feel again the swift, eager lift of her mouth to his and hear again the caressing murmur of her voice close to his ear as they lay side by side in bed in that funny little one room apartment on Graylock Parkway in Belleville. As he remembered, it had a Murphy bed that came out of the wall.
It was so achingly clear in his memory that Jeff involuntarily reached for her, to hold her again, as if by the feel of her he could shed off years of binges and hangovers.
But she evaded him and crossed the room to the picture window and looked out over the sparkling lake. "What a lovely spot," she said. "Anybody could write here. How is your book coming, by the way?"
"Great," he lied. "Wonderful. It's practically writing itself. And frankly, sometimes when I first wake up in the morning, I wish it would, and let me go back to sleep."
"Yes, I know you in the morning, Jeff Riordan. You always ... " She broke off abruptly, flushing, and changed the subject. "Do you remember when you were finishing your first book? You simply vanished, and it was a week before we found out you'd holed up in the Hotel Comstock in New York."
"I remember. It was a good place to finish a book. To be frank, it was about all you could do in the Comstock. The mattresses felt as if they were stuffed with lead dust. And you and Harry kept sending me bowls of chop suey from the Chinese restaurant across the street. What a wild month that was."
Without realizing it, he kept moving toward her, and at the same time, she kept moving away, keeping the furniture between them.
"I'm glad you're all right, Jeff," she said. "We were worried, you know. Harry asked me to drop in and see how you were. I'm on my way to Morristown to do a feature on one of the houses George Washington slept in. He really slept around, didn't he?"
"Oh, come now, sweetie, don't kid me. I'm an old pro. You don't have to rush off right this minute to look at a house where George Washington slept. It's been there for two hundred years and it's not going to vanish overnight. Sit down and have a drink."
"Well ... all right," she was not nearly so reluctant as she tried to sound, although she still kept the sofa between them. "But please make mine rather mild. I don't drink the way I ... we used to."
"Who does?" he said gaily, glad she was going to stay awhile longer.
He went to the kitchen and made very mild drinks in the tallest glasses he could find. Then he thought about it, poured half of his out, and filled it up again with straight scotch. The bigger the glass, the longer she would have to stay. Nobody left before he or she finished a drink.
She did not flee him this time. She was seated at the end of the sofa, her yellow skirt demurely covering her rounded knees.
"I really do have to write this feature, Jeff," she said, as she accepted the glass. "And it has to be in by tomorrow for the Sunday magazine section."
"You-can write it here, sweetie. You don't have to go to Morristown at all. I've been there several times. In fact, I've written this same feature at least three times. It's a lovely white Colonial house, of course. They all are. And it's full of lovely mahogany furniture, including a canopied bed in the master bedroom. The general style is Chippendale and Sheraton, but it's called the Philadelphia period or Federal. In the master bedroom there is an especially noteworthy highboy, with original hand wrought brass fixtures ... are you following me?"
"Oh, go to hell," she laughed. "I've done the same feature twice before, too. We do it every year.
How's your book coming?"
"Lousy," he said frankly, with a touch of gloom in his voice. "I'm beginning to think I'm a one-book writer, sweetie. I did all right with Two Weeks Every Year, but this one just won't jell." Here was one girl he could be completely honest with. "I don't think I have anymore to say. I said it all in Two Weeks, and now I'm just repeating myself."
Her hand moved in swift, reassuring sympathy to touch his knee and she looked appealingly into his face.
"You're a good writer, Jeff," she said. "A really good writer. But you don't write until your nose is right against the deadline, then you come through. Just like when you worked on the newspaper."
"Sure. But my deadline was six months ago and I fluffed it."
"Why, Jeff?"
"I don't know," he said and took her hand in both of his, kneading it lightly, his eyes staring unhappily at nothing at all beyond the walls and boundaries of the room. "I fluffed it, that's all. I just don't give a damn anymore. I don't care. You know something ... when you're young, there's an excitement about everything, even going down to the diner for a cup of coffee and a doughnut at midnight."
"I remember," she said. "Angelo's Diner in Hoboken. Except you used to have bowls of chili and we talked for hours. I remember. Sometimes we talked until dawn."
"That's right," he said eagerly. "And then we took the Hoboken Ferry and went over to New York and on down to the Fulton Fish Market and had a big breakfast of halibut and French fries and cole slaw and felt wonderful, though we hadn't had a wink of sleep all night."
"And the time we went to the farmer's market," her voice was just as eager. "We didn't buy anything or do anything, just walked through as the trucks were coming in, and those awful men. And then we went back to Angelo's Diner for another of your famous bowls of chili."
Both avoided mentioning how they had slept together and the kind of love they had made in those days, when nothing seemed to matter except the next kiss, the next promise, and the whole world lay open before them, for fun and laughter and making more love when they returned from those wonderful, carefree excursions to nowhere and back.
In the remembrance of it, he reached for her, his hand grasping her breast, his other arm about her shoulders, to draw her to him ... and that was it. That finished it. The illusion was gone, and she whipped away from him.
"Aw, come on, Laurie," he pleaded. "I know you care. Don't you care-even just a little bit?" His speech was thick from the heavy intake of scotch.
"Oh, Jeff, let's don't start this."
Jeff made a grab for her arm and she pulled away and stood up angrily. "Dammit it, Jeff, you're drunk, and when you're drunk I think I could hate you." Her voice softened slightly. "Please, let's just leave it alone. Take me back to the mainland, Jeff." She started to turn away.
He jumped from the sofa, grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"What's the matter, Laurie? Not good enough for you anymore, huh? You used to like me-a lot-and you liked me drunk or sober, rough and ready." He rocked unsteadily on his feet, the room beginning to spin around him.
"Stop it, Jeff," she said abruptly.
"No, I'm not gonna stop it, Laurie. I want you, here and now! He lunged for her, fell forward and knocked them both to the floor.
"Get away from me," she screamed. "Oh, God, Jeff, leave me alone. Just let me go. This is so ugly." Tears were brimming in her eyes.
"No, I'm not gonna let you go, Laurie. I said I want you here and now."
Laurie quickly spun over on her stomach in an attempt to crawl to her knees, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her backward, causing her skirt to flap upward exposing her round buttocks covered only by a thin pair of bikini panties. She screamed, but he pulled himself forward and grabbed her wrists, pinning her body down under his.
He brought one elbow across her back freeing one of his hands and he ripped the yellow panties away from her ass. Then he lowered his head and bit one of her downy, melon shaped buttocks with his teeth.
A silent scream slid through her open mouth as her breath went out of her. Tears flowed down her face. She knew what he wanted and she knew there was no use fighting. She had seen his mad-man performance on too many drunken evenings.
Jeff probed a finger into her ass-hole and her body stiffened, but she did not cry out. She knew it was going to hurt and it would be better not to fight him.
"Get on your knees," he commanded. He pulled her thighs apart. On his own knees, Jeff got between her legs. His cock grazed the crack of her ass. For a few moments it rested upright against the crack. Then he grasped the cheeks of her ass in his large hand and painfully began kneading them like large lumps of dough. Only they weren't dough and the intense pain shot through Laurie's nerve centers. She wished he would stop, but said nothing. Then he began slapping her very hard. The moment she was dreading happened.
"Aaaaaiiiieeeee," Laurie screamed at the top of her lungs. "Oh, please," she said, breathing raggedly, "please stop."
"You need it up the ass, you snot-nosed, bitch. You come here knowing what you do to me and then expect to just walk away. Well, you're not going anywhere right now." He slapped her hard on the right buttock.
Laurie screamed again.
"Stop that screaming. No one can hear you, but if you don't stop screaming, I swear I'll slap you so hard across the mouth, I'll knock your teeth out." The alcohol had washed away all of his rationality.
Laurie looked at him over her shoulder, tears rolling down her face. "Oh, Jeff, Jeff ... "
Roughly, harshly, with no preparation, he plunged a finger into her sensitive opening. Again, her body tensed.
"Relax, sweetie, or it's gonna hurt even more."
"Uh ... uhhh ... oh ... ooooh," she cried, as his long thick prick fucked its way into her with steady strokes. He reached forward and pinched her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.
In spite of the pain, Laurie started to come. Long minutes passed as Jeff continued to plow her hole. She came several times. Finally from the movement of his hairy thighs against her, Laurie realized Jeff was coming, too. He bucked and reared and screamed.
"Aaagggghhhhh," he groaned, as he pumped his load into her.
Jeff collapsed on top of Laurie on the soft carpet. His dick was still inside her. When his dick became soft again, it slipped from her bludgeoned hole.
At first Laurie was afraid to move for fear of what he might do next, but as she heard his breathing become deep and regular, she turned her head around and saw he was gradually sliding off her body to the right and he was sound asleep.
She squirmed out from under him and pulled herself to her feet. Quickly she removed her dress and staggered through the bedroom into the bathroom.
She stepped into the shower and turned the water on full force, letting the stinging needles wash away the ugly memory of what had just happened.
"Oh, God she cried out, "why ... why, Jeff? Couldn't you see how much I love you and want you to succeed? Why ... why ... why does it always have to turn so ugly?" She stood under the shower a long time and finally soaped her body and rinsed the lather away. She toweled herself dry and returned to the living room. Jeff was still asleep on the floor. She grabbed her purse and her dress and returned to the bathroom. She did her best to freshen her makeup, but every time she tried to apply mascara, she burst into tears and finally washed her face again and gave up. She slipped into her dress and returned to the living room.
Gently she shook Jeff's shoulder.
"Jeff, Jeff, wake up."
The words fought through the fog surrounding his brain. His eyes opened slowly and when he looked into her face, he wasn't sure he was awake or dreaming.
"Laurie? Laurie, is that you?" he said groggily.
"Yes, Jeff. Now get up, honey. You've got to take me back to the mainland. I've got to get to Morristown, remember?"
He wasn't sure he did, but he did remember that he had done something wrong.
"Come on, Jeff, honey. I have to go now, really. It's a long trip, and I have to write the feature tonight." She realized he'd probably not remember what had happened until later-much later-too late to repair the damage.
Jeff stammered and finally got his tongue moving. "You have to leave? But you just got here."
"I'm on an assignment, Jeff, I told you that. Even as it is, I won't get back to the city till after dinner. It was good seeing you again, really it was. I'll phone you soon. I promise."
"Sure," he said in a flat voice, hiding his disappointment. "We'll go down to Angelo's diner in Hoboken and have chili con carne."
She had to help him to the boat and she held her breath till he got the outboard motor started. Long before they reached the mainland, conversation had stopped. As they bumped into the pier, Laurie quickly scrambled up onto the landing.
"Stay in the boat, Jeff. I'm all right now." She reached down and stroked his face.
He smiled and looked up at her. "Don't forget now, that's a date," he said. "Angelo's Diner in Hoboken for a bowl of chili, just like the old days."
"I won't forget," she said and turned away hurriedly so he would not see the tears starting anew in her eyes. She ran to her car and was gone in minutes.
Jeff felt a great sense of loss when he returned alone to the cottage. He went into the kitchen and had two quick shots. Then he glanced over at the waste can near the sink and saw her torn yellow panties. A piercing scream welled up in his chest. "Oh, my God!"
He grabbed the bottle of scotch and bumped his way toward the bedroom. He tilted the bottle end up and drained it trying to blot out the reality that he had believed was only a dream.
ELEVEN
Jeff awakened about eight-thirty Friday morning with a feeling of dread, as if he had done something reprehensible the night before and was now about to be punished for it. He was lying across the bed, still dressed in slacks and shirt. He tried to keep his eyes shut and escape back into sleep, but it was no use.
He slowly and painfully realized that the punishment had already begun. It was his usual hangover and there was nothing he could do about it except stagger to the kitchen and have a few quick drinks. He managed to get that far. The scotch tasted awful. He opened the refrigerator and took out a can of that Passion Fruit juice mix. He did not care about the flavor now. It was cold and wet and he drank it down in long gulps. He had another drink of scotch, then made himself a cup of hot coffee. He carried it back into the living room and sat down on the edge of the sofa to drink it. It took an hour and a half and two more cups of coffee to feel as if he might want to live again. He helped it along with a little more scotch, but he did not hit the bottle quite so hard this morning.
He went to the typewriter, picked up the manila envelope that contained his book and went back to the sofa with it. It had been a long time since he had even looked at the manuscript. He read it through, all of it. It was good. It was very good. It would be a good book.
But instead of cheering him up, it had quite the opposite effect, for he knew that he could no more sit down at the typewriter at this moment and write two consecutive sentences than he could climb Mount Everest. He desperately wished Adele were there.
Adele came early that day. It was only a few minutes past noon when he heard the blare of her car horn from the mainland. He ran down to the dock, waving eagerly to her. Now that she was here, the vast loneliness would be over.
But she was in a foul mood. He could see it in the rigid way she stood on the dock while waiting for him to bring the boat in. He was not very good with boats anyway and he bumped heavily against the old tires that hung over the side of the dock.
"That was fine," she said in a chilly voice. "You're getting better. But maybe I'd better get a rubber boat. Then you can bounce into the dock like a basketball."
She refused his hand and stepped down into the boat without assistance. She sat coldly on the thwart in the bow. He turned the boat back toward the island.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," he apologized. "But you know I'm no sailor."
"Forget it," she said shortly, and lapsed into an impenetrable silence.
Now what? he wondered miserably. What's she sore about? Then, guiltily, he thought of the manuscript. He did not blame her for being angry ... but what a way to start a weekend.
He soon found out it was not so simple as all that. The moment she was in the cottage, she flung her overnight bag across the living room and blazed at him.
"I hear you had a guest yesterday. I trust it was a pleasant visit."
He stared into her furious eyes, uncomprehending, not yet understanding her anger.
"A guest?" he said stupidly. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the guest you had yesterday afternoon. A female guest in a yellow dress. Or do you have so many female friends that you can't remember one from the other?"
It was not until this moment that he remembered Laurie's visit.
"Oh, for god sake," he said. "It was a girl I used to work with when I was a reporter. She was on a feature assignment in Morristown, and just dropped in. That's all there was to it."
"Morristown, hmmm? And she just happened to drop in. That's very interesting. Morristown is exactly twenty-seven miles southeast of here and people don't take twenty-seven mile detours just to say hello to old friends." Anger contorted her face and there was an ugliness in the twist of her mouth that Jeff had never seen before.
He stammered. "But you've got it all wrong, sweetie. She just dropped in to say hello, and that's all. She didn't stay more than fifteen minutes."
"You were in love with her!" she screamed at him, clenching her fists. "I know all about it. You just told me. She's the one you dedicated your first book to. 'To Laurie, with love.' Deny it!"
He suddenly felt very tired. How comforting it would be to have Laurie here, instead of this insane, screeching virago. But lousy as he felt, he shook his head at her with as much patience as he could command.
"There was nothing," he said, and then with an overtone of reminiscent sadness added, "nothing."
She turned her back sharply and when she turned back again after a few minutes, her slim face was surprisingly wiped clean of all the twisted jealousy and ugliness.
"I'm sorry, Jeff," she said contritely. "You'll have to forgive me. I have a foul headache. One of those migraine things I get every once in awhile. I've got some stuff in the medicine chest to take for it. I'll be all right in an hour or so."
She gave him a wan smile and went into the bathroom. She was back in a few moments. "I must have finished the last of them," she said. "Would you mind driving into town and getting me a refill? You'll have to drive to Dover. It's about twenty miles north on the highway. All you can get in the local pharmacy is Kleenex. I'll he down while you're gone. I'm sorry I was in such a stinking mood, darling, but these headaches are beastly while they last, and I get in tempers and say the most horrible things to people. You will forgive me, won't you?"
"Of course, sweetie," he said, and kissed her on the cheek, feeling guilty because he did not want to kiss her at all.
He left almost immediately after she gave him the keys to her car. It was about a thirty mile drive to Dover, north on the crowded weekend highway.
He was in love with Adele. He knew that. He was in love with her and had been barely able to wait for her to come to the island. And then she had blared up at him with that unwarranted tirade. But he could not blame her for that. A migraine headache was no joke in anybody's language. He had no call to be angry with her.
The druggist took forever to refill the prescription and the traffic was again heavy on the highway. Altogether it took him a little over three hours to make the complete roundtrip. Just to make things worse, the outboard ran out of gas and he had to paddle to the dock with one of the oars.
As he trudged up the path to the cottage, he saw Ellen Drew's speedboat pulled up on the beach. His stomach gave a small, uneasy turn ... but then he reminded himself that she was Adele's friend and that their little sexual episode was over and done with, and that probably Ellen no more wanted to bring it up than he did.
Still, there was some trepidation in his step when he walked into the cottage.
He was surprised to find the living room empty and the house so quiet that it seemed deserted. Then, halfway to the kitchen he happened to glance into the bedroom.
They were both naked on the bed, oblivious of everything except each other. Ellen was lying on her back and Adele was bent over her. They were . deep in a feverish kiss and Adele's avid hand covered Ellen's left breast, kneading it hungrily, fingering the soft flesh, then fingering lightly up to hold the rigid nipple. Both of Ellen's hands were on Adele's nude back, and they moved slowly down until they encompassed the rounded buttocks. They lingered there sensuously, then moved farther down to the backs of the thighs.
Jeff remained glued to where he was standing, his gaze transfixed on the beautiful couple.
Adele's fingers continued caressing Ellen's breasts, her pressing fingers manipulating her nipples. Now they were both caught up in passion as they swirled their tongues around each other's mouths.
They began to breathe more heavily. Adele began to part Ellen's legs with her hand and ran her fingers up the inside of her thigh, letting her fingers come to rest on her cunt. Ellen could feel herself getting wet.
"Mmmmm, Adele, my darling, how I've missed your touch," she sighed softly.
Adele smiled down at her and continued rubbing her pulsating mound. "Oh, God, my sweet, you don't know how much I've wanted you." Her gaze swept in the beauty of Ellen's globular breasts, so firm and round with delicate pink nipples. She leaned forward, cupping them in her hands and kissed first one and then the other. Then she opened her mouth and sucked the pink nipple of Ellen's breast into her mouth. She nibbled on it gently at first and soon started biting softly into the flesh bud. Ellen's nipples ached with passion and were high and erect.
"Oooooh, honey, that's so good," she wailed.
Adele lathed her tongue around the nipple and then ran her tongue into the deep valley between Ellen's breasts leaving a trail of saliva. Automatically Ellen reached forward and began fondling Adele's breasts, squeezing the hardened nipples with her fingertips. Both of them were moaning slightly.
Then Adele started moving her mouth down to Ellen's stomach, covering it with little bites and coming to rest, she stuck her tongue deep into her navel.
"You have such a heavenly body, my pet. I want to lick every inch of it," she purred, like a cat cleaning up a bowl of cream.
Adele buried her face in Ellen's crotch. She opened her mouth and completely covered her Venus mound with her tongue, breathing her hot breath over Ellen's wet labial lips.
She raised herself up on her knees and as she looked up at Ellen's heavy-lidded eyes, buried her tongue in her pussy. Ellen moaned, spread her thighs and pressed her pubis hard against Adele's face.
Adele's tongue shot up and she began to run it up one side of Ellen's pussy and down the other, nibbling the soft fur. The scent of Ellen's cunt excited her. She thrust her tongue inside her pussy and began sucking out her sweet juices. Ellen's cunt was steaming hot and so was Adele's. She could feel the sticky moistness starting to trickle down her legs.
Adele buried her tongue deep inside Ellen's hole. She ran her tongue over her clitoris and massaged it lightly with her teeth.
"Aagggghhh, Adele," Ellen squealed, "that drives me crazy!" She lay flat on the bed, rolling her head back and forth and arching her pelvis harder toward Adele's face.
Adele licked and chewed on Ellen's cunt lips driving Ellen into rhapsodic ecstasy. Ellen moaned loudly as Adele dug deeply in and out of her pussy as if her tongue had a life of its own.
Ellen's body began to shudder and she felt her muscles tense. She moaned louder and louder as Adele applied her skillful machinations to her twat. She knew that she was about to explode in an orgasm.
"Oh, Adele, I'm ... ccooommmiiinnngggg," Ellen screamed as Adele's mouth was filled with her sweet secretions.
Adele licked and lapped at it with a frenzy, sucking Ellen's cunt until it was free of every trace of the bubbling, creamy juice. She licked and licked causing Ellen's body to twitch and squirm. Ellen felt another orgasm approaching.
"Oh, Adele, it's so unbelievably good ... I'm coming again!" she yelled as her body lurched up off the bed.
Adele continued eating her pussy wildly, taking more and more of the sweet cream into her mouth as Ellen lay twisting and squirming under her.
With a burst of energy, Ellen lifted herself up and pushed Adele back on the bed. Adele was taken by surprise, but she quickly spread her legs wide as Ellen crouched over her.
Ellen got on her knees and leaned forward, running her tongue up and down Adele's svelte, curvaceous body. She lingered on the breasts sucking the nipples as Adele had done to her earlier. She ran her tongue down until it brushed Adele's dark pubic fur. She pressed her lips into the softness of her immense brush of soft chestnut pussy hair and rested her lips on the lips of Adele's cunt. Then she slipped her tongue inside, gingerly at first, then darting faster and faster.
Ellen let her tongue sink deeper into Adele's vaginal lips, prodding the cuntal folds apart. Adele urged her on by lifting her hips up off the bed slightly.
"That's it, Ellen, honey. Make me feel hot!"
Ellen's tongue dug deeper into Adele's cunt lips. She moved her tongue rapidly, sometimes clumsily, but Adele continued to moan with pleasure. As she darted her tongue in and out of Adele's squirming cunt, Adele ran her hands down to Ellen's head and pressed her closer. She knew that it would not take her very long to come since she was already so excited from the build-up.
Ellen lapped eagerly now, faster and faster, until Adele squeezed her shoulders. Ellen knew Adele was about to come and she kept up her pace until the sweet juices flowed onto her tongue and down her throat. She didn't stop sucking until Adele had completed her orgasm.
All the time he had stood watching the two beautiful women carry on, Jeff did not move or make a sound, but suddenly, as if by an obscure osmosis, both girls knew be was there and all motion on the bed stopped, frozen. They turned and looked at him. In Adele's thin eyes there was nothing but hostility and Jeff knew then that this was no accident, that he had not just happened upon this scene, that Adele had planned it this way to punish him because Laurie had been at the cottage the afternoon before. And on Ellen's mouth, like the edge of a sword, was a thin, triumphant smile.
Adele made no move to hide her nudity, nor Ellen's.
"Do you mind closing the door?" she asked coldly.
TWELVE
There was a big round clock on the wall. It had a white, senseless face, stolid black numbers, and two inexorable black hands. Beneath the clock was the stainless steel hood that overhung the big gas stove and the griddle for hamburgers. The clock said that it was ten past eleven. It had to be nighttime because it was dark outside.
Jeff sat on one of the stools at the white counter, clutching a large manila envelope to his chest. He saw a waitress come up behind the counter.
"Gimme a bowl of chili," he mumbled.
He was jerked out of his half-sleep by her shrill voice.
"Mr. Riordan! Jeff! What's the matter with you? Are you sick, or what?"
He looked up hazily, and there behind the counter was Betty Anders. He smiled at her.
"What are you doing here, sweetie?" he asked.
"I work here, Mr. Riordan. I've always worked here. This is Angelo's Diner in Hoboken. Gee, Mr. Riordan, you look awful!"
"I feel awful, Betty. I've had a traumatic experience. Don't ask me what it was, because I don't remember, but it was traumatic. However, I think I'll feel better after a bowl of chili. There's something about a bowl of chili that's very healing. Probably an old family remedy. All I remember is that if I have a bowl of chili, I'll be all right."
She looked at him in horror, backed away a little and cried, "Angelo, Angelo!"
Jeff could not understand what the fuss was all about. A short, swarthy man came running through a swinging door that obviously led to a kitchen. It was Angelo. Jeff remembered him from the old days on the Observer.
"Hello, Angelo," he said pleasantly. "You're getting fat. Maybe you're eating too much of your own pizza. How's about a bowl of chili?"
He knew he was speaking clearly, enunciating every word, and being very polite, because he had always liked Angelo in the old days. But something must have happened to Angelo's hearing, for he didn't seem to understand a word that was said to him. Instead, he turned to Betty.
"What's the matter, baby?" he asked. "This guy, he give you a bad time, maybe?"
Betty shook her head hurriedly. "No, no, nothing like that, Angelo. This is Mr. Riordan. You remember, he worked on the newspaper and used to come in here a couple times a week. Mr. Riordan ... "
"Mr. Riordan!" Angelo stared. "He's sick. He's bad sick. I don't recognize him. We call the police, eh, Betty? They get a doctor quick!"
Jeff was amused by all this. He didn't need a doctor. All he wanted was a bowl of chili. There was something about a bowl of chili that was very curative, but neither Betty nor Angelo seemed to realize it.
"I'm fine, Angelo," he said. "All I want is a bowl of chili. Two bowls of chili. I forgot for a minute. It has to be two bowls of chili. I have a date."
Betty said worriedly, "Look, Angelo, please don't call the cops. He's all right. I know what's the matter with him. I'll take him hjome, okay?"
"Sure, sure. Take off right now, baby. You get him home. He's in no shape. Look, baby, you stop work right now. I'll call a cab, and you take him right home. Okay?"
Jeff laughed. He couldn't understand what was wrong with them. He kept talking to them and they didn't seem to hear a word he was saying.
"Wait a minute, Angelo," he said. "Just give me two bowls of chili and ... "
He stopped. He had to stop, for suddenly he realized no words were corning out. He was moving his Lips, but there was no sound. There was nothing except a blackness that came up over his face as he fell backward off the stool.
THIRTEEN
Things weren't the same as they used to be ... but then they never were. It was Betty and she had a glass of tomato juice in her hand. Then he changed his mind and smiled at her. She hadn't changed. She was still Betty ... wonderful, blonde, comfortable Betty with a glass of tomato juice for him. And two bowls of chili. Two bowls of chili? Why should he want two bowls of chili?
He knew he must have had something in mind when he first thought of it, but it didn't matter now, for there was Betty beside his bed with a glass of tomato juice for him.
"You're Betty," he said, happy to be with her.
"Yeah, that's me, Betty," she answered. Her hand was shaking as she held out the glass of tomato juice. "Now please drink it all up, Jeff, please."
"Well, sure. Why not? I love tomato juice."
She was wearing that same transparent negligee again and with the window behind her, he could clearly see the soft lines of her full body. It was true that she was getting too hippy, and her breasts were pendulous, the nipples no longer pointing outward, but in all this was something so essentially female that he would have exploded if he did not reach out and drag her down into bed beside him.
He knew she was struggling and trying to get away, but he held her tightly, for this was what he wanted, the fullness of her, the encompassing femininity that he could take while at the same time it enveloped him.
Then suddenly he came alive. The slam of the hall door was as if someone had let go with both barrels of a shotgun and he leaped to his feet, running to the living room. He heard the panicky scatter of Betty's feet down the uncarpeted steps.
And there was only one terror-stricken thought in his mind ... oh, my god, I've done something bad!
He was dressed and out of her little apartment with his manila envelope within five minutes. And none too soon. He was on the sidewalk about twenty feet from the entrance to her apartment when the police car drove up.
He heard Betty say hysterically, "He didn't try to rape me or nothing like that, but he's sick, and you gotta take him to a hospital."
He could see the police didn't believe her, for both of them jumped out of the prowl car, one of them saying, "Okay, lady, we'll take care of him."
Jeff felt a little sick as he trudged toward the Hudson and Manhattan Tube that would take him to New York. He had raped her, and by this time he knew it. And the next time he got drunk, he might rape somebody else, somebody who wouldn't go to bat for him the way Betty Anders had.
And there was work he had to do, a book to finish, a good book. And then ... something about two bowls of chili in Angelo's Diner.
He shook his head. He didn't know what it meant. It meant something because it kept coming up ... two bowls of chili in Angelo's Diner in Hoboken.
It was important for some reason, but he could not go back to Hoboken for the police were looking for him there, and Betty had blown the whistle on him.
But where could he go now?
Everyplace was closed to him.
The longer you lived, the more places were closed to you, if you hadn't behaved yourself. Powhatan Lake was closed to him because of Adele Faraday. Hoboken was closed to him because of Betty Anders. Were there other places? Places he didn't remember because he'd been drunk at those times?
It was a chilling thought.
You could walk into almost any city in the country, and all of a sudden a police detective might put the arm on you and say, "Let's go down to Headquarters, buddy. We'd like to talk to you."
Oh, God, what was becoming of his life?
Once in New York, he knew where he wanted to go. He had gone there before when he needed a haven, and that was the Hotel Comstock.
He got a cab almost immediately, and then felt frantically on the seat beside him to make sure he still had the manila envelope with the manuscript inside it. It wasn't there, but tucked inside the waistband of his trousers, where he'd put it when running from Betty's apartment.
But he wanted a drink. He wanted a drink so badly that he had to clench both hands to hold on to his momentary sanity. He told the cab driver to stop at the first package store, and he bought himself a quart of vodka.
He registered into the Hotel Comstock and went to bed with the quart of vodka.
Jeff had a panicky moment in the morning when he awakened and could not find the manila envelope. He found it finally, cunningly hidden beneath his shoes. Then he went downstairs and across the street to the Chinese restaurant.
He did not want anything to drink-ever again. He knew this was a vain resolve, but he would not drink anything until he finished this book.
His stomach rebelled against food, but he did drink two bowls of soup. Then he went back to the hotel and asked the desk clerk to rent a typewriter for him and get a ream of bond paper and a dozen sheets of carbon paper.
Shortly after, his supplies delivered, he set up the rented typewriter on a small table beside the lone window in his room, opened his manuscript, and began to read. The urge to write was coming up inside him again, and before nightfall, it was ready to spill out of him.
He wrote all that night. The words and sentences and chapters that had been locked up in him for so long poured endlessly into the typewriter.
In the morning there was a knock on the door and it was the bellboy. He had a tray and on the tray was a plate of bacon and eggs and a pot of coffee.
Jeff stared at it. "Where'd this come from?"
"The restaurant across the street, Mr. Riordan."
"Oh. Yeah, well, thanks," he mumbled, slipping the boy a dollar.
At lunchtime there was another knock on the door. It was the same bellboy. This time his tray held a glass of milk, a chicken sandwich on rye and a fresh pear.
Jeff didn't think about it. He was glad to have the food and gave the boy another dollar. His mind was bemused by what he was writing into the manuscript. He went back to the typewriter and sat before it, studying the page he had written, planning the next page, as he ate the chicken sandwich. The book was going very well, and now, finally, after all these months, he was glad to be back writing again, creating something.
He finished the sandwich, the milk and the pear, and his mind full of what he was going to say next, he went back to the typewriter. He wrote all afternoon, swearing at the typewriter when his mind went faster than the keys and made a mess of the manuscript.
Darkness was falling when he heard another knock on the door. He was writing well and fast, and his impulse was not to answer the knock. But it came again, and then again and again, and he knew it was the bellboy. He could no longer pretend he had not heard the knock. So he went to the door, and it was the bellboy again, with another tray and a large steaming covered dish on it.
"What the hell is that?" asked Jeff, scowling at it. "I didn't order any dinner."
"I don't know, sir," said the aged bellboy meekly ... he was actually only thirty-seven years old, but he'd discovered that by dying his hair gray, he could look fifty-seven, and collect larger tips. "It's a plate of chop suey from the Chinese restaurant across the street, that's all I know."
Time spun in Jeff's mind. There was a swivel of time and it stopped at one spot that had poignant meaning.
At this particular point Jeff's life was suspended, and he could go either one way or another. This was the choice.
Jeff Riordan made his choice.
It meant a lot of things. It meant the long hard pull of getting himself over the drag of alcoholism, of curing himself of going to bed with every girl who was willing, of purging himself of irresponsibility.
It meant going downstairs to the lobby ... he knew who would be there. Laurie Taylor, for she had fed him the last time he'd holed up in the Hotel Comstock to finish a book.
But he also knew that if he went downstairs to face her this time, he would have to mean it.
He made his choice, and this was it.
He gave the astounded bellboy a five dollar tip.
"And do you want another tip?" he asked.
"Well, sure, Mr. Riordan, sure."
"Fine. Put the whole five bucks on Jeff in the first at the Comstock ... "
Then he went downstairs to find Laurie all over again....
