OH JESUS, JESUS!" he gasped as her agile tongue reached his ass-hole. She paused in her work and looked up at him.
"I shock you?" she asked with a smile.
"Yes," he admitted, still breathless. "Shock me again."
"You liked that?"
"Oh, yes! I didn't know...."
"You thought your ass-hole was only for shitting."
"I suppose so...."
"...and your cock only for pissing."
"I knew what that was for."
"We'll see," she said. "Makes me feel like a missionary."
"I guess if it wasn't meant for other things, it wouldn't feel so good," he admitted.
"Like this?" she asked and delved her tongue once more into his now pliant ass-hole. He drew in a deep breath as her strong tongue pushed far in and around. He reached his hands to pull the plump cheeks of his ass farther apart, but she was ahead of him; her own hands were already providing more access for her tongue, and her fingers kept busy stroking around his ass-hole as her tongue pushed inside. She paused again. "This is called 'rimming', " she said. "Also 'around-the-world', in case you ever have occasion to refer to it in polite conversation."
"I wouldn't want to go any other place," he said.
"How about this place," she said, and once more she swallowed the sleek, hard head of his throbbing cock.
"Oh God!"
"Are you ready to fuck?" she asked, her mouth reluctantly surrendering its treasure.
"What the hell have we been doing."
"Getting ready to fuck."
"Christ, I don't see why I haven't come a dozen times already!"
With a wry smile, she gave her treasure a last assessment with her hands and her tongue. He was exactly what she had always day-dreamed he would be, his cock not so hard she couldn't maneuver it properly, nor so big she couldn't get it into her mouth without effort, yet large enough to meet the considerable requirements of her accomplished but demanding cunt. There was little hair on his smooth body, as befitted a Boston aristocrat; no hair at all around his deceptively small-looking ass-hole; only a soft blonde nest crowning the base of his satin-smooth cock and velvet balls. The dream had become a reality, and it was a reality she would not surrender without a battle. Her hands fondled his balls, her tongue flicked lightly over his cock in butterfly strokes. She glanced up to see his eyes closed a happy smile on his face. Yes, it was exactly as she had figured. He was the man she had been looking for.
And she knew well why he hadn't come a dozen times, despite what must have seemed total provocation, for if there was one thing she knew, it was the male penis and exactly what it took to bring the welcome gusher. As she sucked and stroked his cock, her hands had kept constant check on its hardness, had constantly measured the tautness of his balls, and it was her pride that she could tell within a fraction of a second, by the most fleeting signs, when a man was ready to come, when he passed the point of no return, and exactly at which second to still the motion of her tongue, her hands, exactly which second it was safe to begin again. She had no objection to letting a man come in her mouth; in fact, with a man who tended to come too easily, she would bring him to a boil with little subtlety, receive the gusher in her mouth, then prove to him it was only the beginning by expert manipulations to restore the dethroned king to his full power, the second coming designed for the far reaches of her cunt which had talents no less remarkable than those of her flexible mouth.
But Philip Steadman wasn't one of those quickies, and as was her usual custom, Gareth Ballinger intended deferring to the more classic relief of a healthy discharge of semen in the vagina.
Gareth confessed to a slight nag of uncertainty as she prepared for the climax of a total sex experience with Philip. In her considerable experience she had discovered only a handful of desirable men who would be content with the aggressive love-making that was her special forte, and at this moment it seemed to her that if Philip were not one of these, it would be the most crushing disappointment of her life, more disappointing, in fact, than the dismal failure of her three marriages.
She slithered her body all the way up his, beginning at the feet, lingering lovingly at his crotch, dragging first one trim breast, then the other up the length of his erect cock, erecting his nipples with her tongue, then clamping her lips on his, sucking his tongue into her mouth and awakening it to do manly battle with her own. She ground her cunt against his cock, pressed his hard balls against her cunt, one after the other, and dragged the head of his cock up and down the outer lips of her cunt, careful to keep the inner lips closed tight. The expertly circumcised head of his cock was ideal for this special stimulation. In full erection the corona of his glans stood sharply out from the long sleek shaft, so that as she moved the lips of her cunt up and down the head, the corona excited her clamped inner lips in passage up and down between the outer lips, and most exciting of all, her hard nub of a clitoris fitted exactly into the junction of his glans and the shaft. This was a moment she both feared and desired, the moment of truth, for at this point many men, who to this stage had seemed exactly what she wanted, suddenly seized control, and she became nothing more than a machine to be fucked: a vessel, not a person.
But even at this crucial moment Philip did not betray her. His cock throbbed with flattering excitement as her cunt engaged it so thoroughly without engulfing it. He had to pull his mouth from hers to suck in needed air, but he did not resist when she clamped her mouth imperiously on his again; he remained her creature.
With growing confidence she pulled herself away from him, looked into his glazed, willing eyes, exulting in his desire to be only the instrument of her pleasure. "Ten wasted years," she thought with a moment of urgent regret, but immediately afterwards she realized that ten years ago she had not known exactly what she wanted: their union then might have been no less a disaster than the others.
Now she was ready for the fuck for which she had so carefully prepared him and herself. And, best of all, he lay waiting to do exactly what she wanted and no more. As a sure sign of this, his hands and arms lay limp by his sides, in sharp contrast to his cock, which pulsed and throbbed as it waited for her to pleasure it. For a long moment she looked down at him, exulting in the triumph.
She straddled him, and though it was totally unnecessary as far as his readiness went, she indulged her mouth and her tongue, with still another gentle probing of his cock, his balls. Unwilling to press her luck still further, with the skill of a surgeon preparing to incise in an operation often performed but always a challenge she reached her right hand to his feverish crotch, and with firm delicacy slipped her little finger up his ass-hole, still slick with her saliva. She cupped the rest of her hand around his balls, and with her thumb and forefinger took firm hold of the base of his cock to aim it exactly for her purposes. He was so ready that the unexpected invasion of her finger up his ass-hole caused only the slightest intake of breath. He was utterly hers, for whatever she wanted to do with him.
Her left hand reached for the familiarity of her cunt, her middle finger took its position along the length of her clitoris, already in full excitement. With a sign of exquisite pleasure she lowered herself slowly but surely, and in one single motion her cunt accepted and devoured his long hard cock. The fit was perfect. His cock was sufficiently large that her whole vagina was intensely aware of the welcome intrusion, yet not so bloated that she couldn't bring her talented cunt muscles into full play. It was frosting on the cake that at the moment of total penetration the more aggressive of his balls, the one that hung slightly lower than the other fit hard against the slight recess that contained her sensitive ass-hole.
His eyes widened in surprise as she contracted her powerful cunt muscles on the shaft of his cock. He smiled, flexed his cock in return. She graciously let her cunt muscles relax slightly, as though giving way before the superior strength of his cock. This much masculinity she would not deny him. He smiled contentedly. He had demonstrated his strength; that was all that was necessary to his pride.
It was no longer a matter of calculation with Gareth. She had put it off as long as possible, but her body made demands that had to be met, and to try to stretch it out beyond this point, she knew from experience, could be shattering. With a sure motion of her hips and thighs she pulled her cunt all the way off his cock, but only for a moment. Immediately her cunt swallowed up his cock again, right to the bitter end until his dominant ball again found its haven in the recess of her ass-hole, then she pulled herself off once more.
This became the pattern. This was the way she liked best to fuck but never before had it been so stimulating; she could see after only three or four full strokes that her left hand delving into the top of her cunt would merely have to keep her clitoris awake, not give it the usual hard stroking needed to bring herself to a climax at the moment her experienced right hand could tell that he would catapult his semen into her uterus. The hard crown of his glans provided exquisite stimulation as it pushed demandingly through her inner lips to the ridged tunnel within. At first she provided only the slightest resistance of cunt muscle to her inner lips, for it had seemed to her that her mouth's measurement of the amount of excitement required to make him come had found it to be very slight indeed. But she could see he was making a successful effort to prolong the pleasure, so she was able gradually to increase the resistance of her inner lips, until the sleek, swollen head of his cock had to pause measurably before forcing past them. As she fucked her cunt up and down his cock, her little finger deftly massaged his ass-hole. He was watching fascinated now to see his cock revealed in its gleaming entirety at the nadir of each stroke, and she too found it exciting to watch the sight, to see his dear cock disappear entirely inside her. But she knew the limits of her endurance, how much her hip and thigh muscles could do and she clamped her cunt muscle even more firmly on his cock with each stroke, until her experienced hand on his balls and on the base of his cock, the tense quivering of his ass-hole muscle on her finger, told her that the irreversible process had begun. Her left middle finger stroked hard at her clitoris to match his climax with one of her own. His eyes closed, his sharp breathing became moans and told her what her hand had already detected, that the climax of their first union was nearing, but she forced herself not to quicken the pace, knowing that only at this steady, unhurried rate could their climax have its fullest impact. His hands and arms abandoned their passivity, reached up to grab her hips to help guide them to his cock's sweet sanctuary; but even at this crucial moment she maintained full control his hands were not so insistent that they hurried her; they seemed to want only to share in the experience.
They came together as she knew they would; he screamed at the moment, his fingernails dug into her flanks, drawing blood. But she didn't realize this till afterwards, for her own explosion amazed her by its intensity; she came as near losing control of herself as she ever had; long shudders racked her body, and it took a monumental effort of will to keep from fainting.
Still she remained squatting over him, his cock still deep inside her cunt, until the dizziness passed. She slowly pulled herself off him. His cock was nearly flaccid, but she couldn't resist one final contradiction of her cunt muscle so that the head was caught for a moment and emerged with a noticeable popping sound. He laughed, and so did she. She lay down beside him, and to her pleasure he reached over and took her in his arms. It was at last the time for him to be masterful.
"Did you mind that I let you do all the work?" he asked.
"That's what a woman is for."
"Oh?"
"Shall I elaborate."
"Please do."
She could see that what she said could color the whole relationship, now and forever. What was important was to convince him that his passive acceptance of her voracious sexual demands in no way diminished him as a man. She knew for certain that letting her do all the work was the way that would always best suit him, now that he had found it. All it took was to convince him it was also right.
"What makes men better than the animals?" she asked.
"He has a soul?"
"That's debatable."
"He uses toilet paper?"
"Be serious."
"He can earn a living?"
"He knows how to use a woman, a female."
"And how do you use a woman?"
"Exactly as you used me."
"I used you?"
"In the best possible way. Some men climb on a woman, fuck away like a caveman, say 'thank you, ma'am', and that's it. Do you think a woman gets pleasure out of that?"
'They don't?"
"A cave woman might have, but a modern woman wants to feel needed, wants to feel that she can give a man something no other creature can."
"You did that all right!"
"And I did it for my own pleasure."
"It was only a little painful for me," he said.
"You son of a bitch!" They both laughed. "Some women are selfish," she went on, "some women are so cold, so unfeeling that a man has to knock himself out warming her up, when it should be nothing but pleasure for the both of them, from beginning to end."
"And I was feeling guilty, letting you do all the work."
"If we ever did it any other way, I could never enjoy it as much."
"I don't think I could, either."
"Then it was right for you?" she asked.
"You know it was."
"Yes." They lay silent for a time. She placed a warm hand on his soft but full genitals. "Philip ... why the hell did you ever marry Patricia Seldon?" She could feel his arms stiffen. She wondered if she was going too fast.
"What do you mean?"
"You could have had any of us, you know."
"Could I?"
"Just about."
"I didn't have a penny."
"But you had family, and in Boston that's always more important than money."
"Not to me."
"But if it was money you wanted, most of us had more than Patricia."
"Your families did."
"Ah. Was that the difference?"
"In a way. You know, Patricia had half a million from her aunt when she was fifteen. Free and clear."
"Free and clear, that's the magic phrase, right."
"Right."
"Where did you get the rest? I know for a fact you're worth a good ten millions."
"All from that half a million. That's all it took."
"Is that the only reason you married Patricia?"
Philip hesitated a long moment. "Yes," he said finally.
"Any regrets?"
"Not until today."
"And now?"
"You tell me," he said.
"Do you think I did it because I needed a fuck, just any fuck?"
"It had entered my mind."
"Philip, if there had been you at the beginning, there would have been only you."
"Is that the truth."
"I know it now. Today."
"You didn't know it yesterday?"
"Yesterday I hoped it. And the day before that. But until we had actually possessed each other, I couldn't be sure. I've always loved you, Philip. Even if it hadn't been as fabulous as it was, you would have been enough for me; I'd never look at another man'. "
"I don't know," he said.
Gareth could hardly blame Philip for his doubts. Three husbands and a wide reputation as an easy lay tended to cloud her protestations of sincerity, but actually her conscience was clear. She never fucked with a man she wouldn't have married, and the fucking was not an end in itself, but rather a relentless search for that man who exactly fitted her sexual hang-ups. It wasn't that she couldn't stand to have a man eat her cunt and perform other distractions, but rather that she loved a man's body so much she didn't want to be distracted in her enjoyment of it. It took a number of years to learn exactly what she wanted and only today had it happened in the best possible way. Her search had been so thorough, the wonder was that her reputation wasn't even lower, but since most of the men she'd had were gentlemen, it was her secret and theirs that she was a cocksucker, and, in very special circumstances, like those today, a rimmer.
She had been born into one of the best Boston families, christened Gertrude Gareth, the hateful first name in honor of a rich old aunt who fucked them all by finally leaving her two millions to her young gardener, who had a sincere taste for eating aged cunt. On the money he retired to Capri, where he developed an easily-satisfied taste for young Italian cock.
In boarding school, she disposed of her hateful first name by starting the fashion of calling each other by last names, thus she became "Gareth", and had remained Gareth ever since. She had been a natural leader. Years later, in a rare moment of confidence, a retired teacher encountered at tea at the Parker House admitted to Gareth that they had watched her like a hawk for signs of lesbianism. What amused Gareth was that the gentlest and most lady-like of her classmates, Lillian Hayworth, turned into an indefatigable eater of young cunts once the lights were out. No one ever gave her away and clearly the staff never suspected it.
Such passive sex as letting Hayworth lick her cunt never much appealed to Gareth, who even preferred masturbation, so she had begun to look forward, with increasing hope and enthusiasm, to her first boy. It was her good luck that the first one wasn't a boy at all.
At fifteen she was still young enough to be a virgin, but old enough to be impatient about it. Her impatience made her sensitive to the meanings of looks men gave her. What had surprised her, and still surprised her, was that it was always harder to read the expressions on the faces of boys her own age than of men far older. A young face, without lines, was a mask to begin with and, from puberty on, boys had been so conditioned to hiding their feelings from adults that inscrutability became a natural thing. But once lines had etched their way upon a face, it became impossible to maintain the mask, especially when lust gnawed from within. But used as she was to the looks of lust on the faces of older men, it still came as a shock to Gareth to recognize it on the face of her mother's younger brother, her Uncle James. A dapper bachelor, James had a reputation as a woman-chaser, a reputation known even to Gareth's set but one hardly expected an uncle to feel lust for a niece-or so Gareth believed at that innocent age.
Once she spotted it, Gareth felt she had to do something about it. Suddenly it seemed the easiest, most logical solution to the problem of her unwelcome virginity. Some of her friends had made much of the supposed pain of losing one's virginity, to the extent that Gareth fully expected it to be a most difficult experience. There were terrifying stories of the damage a thoughtless boy could cause a virgin, how he could in one ruthless stroke destroy her every hope of sexual happiness, but it occurred to Gareth that one's uncle, provided he was sufficiently modem to brush away the feeble question of morality, would be anxious not to cause pain. Gareth assumed Uncle James' reputation as a woman-chaser was deserved, and that there could be no better initiation for her. Uncle James was a frequent visitor at their summer place in Marblehead; he did not share the family enthusiasm for sailing, so it was no problem contriving to be alone with him. The problem was how to approach him how to do it without seeming either naive or corrupt. The others had gone sailing; Uncle James was having a late breakfast on the terrace overlooking the ocean. The servants had served him, then gone off shopping. Gareth removed her underwear in her room, slipped on a loose-fitting dress, and hurried down to join him.
She didn't pussyfoot around. "Could you guess that I was a virgin?" she asked.
He paused with a piece of English muffin halfway to his mouth. He put it back on his plate. It seemed to Gareth that his hand trembled. "It would not be surprising at your age," he said. "What are you ... fifteen?"
"Were you a virgin at fifteen?"
"A man is never a virgin."
"Had you ever...? "
"That's none of your business." He picked up the piece of English muffin and stuffed it into his mouth. "Fuck me," she said.
His mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon."
"You heard me."
"Yes, I did." She looked him straight in the eye. He was the first to drop his eyes. "Don't you want to?"
"That's beside the point." He sat drumming his fingers on the table. "Why me?"
"I want someone who knows what it's all about. You know what it's all about, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't you enjoy it."
"That's beside the point."
"What is the point?"
"I don't think I have to tell you. You know as well as I do."
"Do you think I haven't weighed everything properly."
"Have you."
"I have."
"Well, then ... let's fuck."
"Do you mean it?" she cried. "Don't you?"
Her answer was simple. She raised the hem of her skirt, slowly, steadily, until her tight young cunt was revealed.
He sat openmouthed, staring. "Oh, God!" he gasped. He seemed hypnotized. Suddenly he got hold of himself. He glanced quickly, desperately around to make sure no one was looking. "Get into the house!" he snapped. She dropped the hem of her skirt and darted inside, laughing. He followed, walking rapidly. She went up the stairs and had her dress off over her head by the time she was in her room. Uncle James pushed her onto the bed and dove his head into her young crotch; his tongue delved hot and hard into her cunt. It felt exactly the way it did when Hayworth had done it. No different.
"I want you to fuck me," Gareth said. She pushed his head away from her cunt. He looked up at her. "Take off your clothes," she said. He tried to put his hand on her cunt. "No, take off your clothes first," she ordered.
Gareth watched, fascinated, as Uncle James took off his clothes. It wasn't that she didn't know what a man looked like naked, for there had been pictures shown furtively at school, even a picture of a man with an erection; but she was unprepared for the excitement of actually seeing a man naked. No picture could have done it justice; it was. a far different thing even than seeing a man in the briefest of swimming trunks. The difference was how a cock and balls looked in motion. Uncle James stood naked for a moment, to give her a good look. Without conscious volition her left hand went to her cunt and stroked her clitoris. Uncle James was in his early forties, but he had taken good care of himself; his stomach was nearly flat, but what really fascinated Gareth was that his cock was larger than she had expected a man's cock to be, looked larger limp than the fully erected cock of the man in the picture. "You have so much," Gareth whispered.
"Now may I touch you?" he asked with a wry smile. "Or is this what you meant by 'fucking'? "
"Go ahead," she said, unable to take her eyes off the enormous limp cock, the balls that seemed to swing even when he was motionless.
Uncle James plunged his head between his niece's young thighs again and sucked on her cunt in earnest.
But if she closed her eyes she still wouldn't have known it wasn't Lillian Hayworth. As his tongue probed into her tight young lips his fingers began rubbing her clitoris hard. She could see that it wouldn't be long before she came. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head away from her cunt. "Now what?" he demanded. "Don't you want to come?"
"Not that way," she said. "Put your cock inside me, the way it's supposed to be."
"I wouldn't dare."
"Why not?"
"It could hurt you."
"So what? It's supposed to hurt the first time. I know that. Now put it in."
"I've never fucked a virgin. It could split you open! I don't mean just your virginity. It could split your cunt open so you'd need stitches. .Then where'd we be?"
"I don't believe it," she said. "Watch." Firmly, surely, she forced four fingers into her cunt, then withdrew them and held them next to his cock. "I stretch," she said. "You ought to know that. Now fuck me." I can t.
"Why not? If it's because I'm your niece, you wouldn't have sucked my cunt."
"No, it isn't that."
"What is it, then?"
He looked at her thoughtfully, then looked down at his cock. "I can't get a hard-on."
"All those women...? "
"There haven't been that many. And the ones I know now like to have me suck them, that's enough for them."
"Well, it isn't enough for me! I can get my cunt sucked any time at school. What I want is to get fucked."
"Sorry I can't help you."
"Couldn't you ever get a hard-on?"
"That's the frustrating part. I wake up in the morning with a hard-on."
"I'll rush to your bedroom tomorrow morning, then."
"It goes down as soon as I wake up."
"But it can go up."
"Apparently."
"Do you enjoy sucking my cunt."
"Yes."
"Okay, go ahead. Make me come, if you want."
"You won't enjoy it."
"Ech...."
"I'll enjoy it enough for both of us," he said. "Excuse my selfishness." He dove between her legs, with obvious enthusiasm, now that the air had been cleared between them. But this time he was stretched out beside her. She looked up at the ceiling as he worked his tongue, his hands, into and around her cunt. It was pleasant, but so much less than she had wanted that she couldn't really enjoy it. He looked up at her. "Mind if I take my time?" he asked.
"Why should I? It's your party."
He laughed. He returned his mouth to its young feast. His whole body jiggled with the effort he was putting into it. His limp cock and long balls seemed to be doing a dance all their own as they hung over his thigh, almost to touch the bed. They caught her eye and she reached out to touch them. His cock was curiously warm to her touch. He paused for a moment and looked up at her. "Any objections?" she asked.
"Nope." He went back to his work.
She shifted her body to get a better look at his useless appendages. His balls felt remarkably solid in her hands. She'd expected them to feel soft and yielding. And his cock, for all its limpness, seemed solid and strong. As she held them in her two hands, suddenly it seemed to her that she was enjoying more what he was doing to her cunt. She lifted his heavy cock to get a better look. She was startled when the foreskin peeled back, revealing the tender pinkness of the head. She felt a strong impulse to taste it. After only a moment's hesitation she slowly reached out with her tongue until the tip touched the satin pink of the head of his cock.
She withdrew her tongue quickly. It had been, she realized, a pleasurable taste. She stuck her tongue out more boldly, let it rest for a moment on the head. She felt her uncle pause in delving into her cunt, and pulled her tongue away. He resumed his delving. She boldly pushed her tongue out and let it explore the whole head of his cock. Then, even bolder, she popped it into her mouth, like a marshmallow on a stick. He moaned, but did not pause this time. She worked her tongue in and around the head of his cock as it filled her mouth. One hand steadied the shaft, the other hand pulled at and massaged his balls.
Suddenly she felt his cock swelling alarmingly in her mouth. She hastily pulled it out before she choked on it, and it continued to grow to a size that amazed her. Then, as suddenly, it began to shrink. Dismayed, she sucked the head back into her mouth, rubbed her tongue hard over it, massaged the shaft with both hands. This time it seemed nearly to explode as it stiffened to its full magnificence. She took it out of her mouth to admire it, but kept massaging the shaft with her hands, kept her tongue working over the throbbing head. If her uncle was aware of it he gave no notice, except to grow even more frantic as he probed her virgin cunt. "Uncle James!" she cried out. "It's hard now! Fuck me."
He interrupted his work to look up. He seemed truly amazed to see his cock in full erection. "God, I wish I could!"
"Why can't you?"
"Listen," he said. "You'll have to put it in yourself. I don't dare do it. I still don't think your cunt is big enough for it."
"Put it in myself?"
"Straddle me. Sit on it. Put it in as slowly as you want. You be the one to decide."
"Why can't we do it the way you're supposed to?"
"Do you want to get fucked, or don't you?"
"All right. We'll do it your way. It doesn't seem right, though."
He stretched out on his back. His cock remained gloriously erect, continuing to astonish him. She looked at it, impulsively sucked on it. "Watch it!" he warned. "I'll come before you get in."
"I love it!" she cried. "It tastes so good!"
"It's not lady-like to suck cocks."
"This doesn't seem lady-like, either." She squatted above him, straddling him, and he held his cock aimed at her cunt as she slowly brought it to the head. It seemed so huge against the small slit that she began to have doubts about accomplishing the union. Then she figured she'd rather be dead than unable to have so beautiful a cock inside her. She gave a hard push and felt excruciating pain as the head of his cock disappeared inside her. He gave a grunt of surprise, but she forced herself to remain mute.
"Is it all right? he asked, worried. Not daring to speak, she gave him a reassuring smile with no small effort. He reached his hands up and stroked her hips, the sides of her thighs.
The pain slowly seeped out of her cunt until there was only a numbness. Once more summoning her courage, she gave a push of her hips. His cock entered her cunt two more inches. There was only a small stab of pain with this new penetration, and she smiled with relief. "I thought it was suposed to hurt the first time," she said.
"It doesn't?"
"Not a bit," she said. She gave another push, and once she got started she kept going, until his cock disappeared entirely inside her, until his balls looked as though they were growing from her groin, not his. She looked down at their complete union in delight. "It's in!" she cried. "All the way! Now what?"
"You feel all right?"
"Perfect! God, you don't know how wonderful it feels!"
"All right now, let's fuck." He put his arms around her, swung her around until he was on top of her without dislodging his cock a fraction of an inch from her cunt. He reached around and expertly placed her legs around the small of his back, his hands around her shoulders, and slowly, carefully, he began to fuck his cock in and out of her tight cunt. It was so tight, in fact that he was immediately aware he could come in a few strokes. A second later it occurred to him that if he shot his load into his niece's nubile young womb it could very well impregnate her, and a fine kettle of fish that would be! He stopped pumping and held himself still, his cock fully within her.
"What's the matter?" she asked, anxious for him to begin.
"We don't want to make you pregnant," he said.
"Would this do it?"
"It's the only way."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to pull out before I come, that's what I'm going to do." And to her sharp disappointment, he did just that. What surprised him was that there was no trace of blood on his cock. She could hardly have been a virgin.
"Isn't there something you can use?" she said. "So you can fuck me all the way?"
"Afraid not," he said. Already his cock was beginning to sag. Torn with disappointment, the sight of his cock wilting seemed too much of a defeat for her. With a cry she seized it in her mouth. Her hands frantically pumped on it with an intuitive skill, in and out of her mouth. Immediately it reerected. Fully aroused now, straddling his young niece, he began fucking his cock in and out of her mouth. His excitement was so great that in hardly a dozen strokes he shot a full load. The amount caught her by surprise but only delighted her. She pressed his sagging cock against her cheek and savored his semen, holding it for a long time in her mouth before swallowing it
Though thoroughly depleted, he felt a responsibility towards the girl. "Shall I make you come?" he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"I came," she said. And she had. For while she had been sucking on his cock her left hand had reached for her clitoris, and she had brought herself to a quick, expert climax exactly as he was shooting his wonderful load into her mouth.
"I'm glad," he said. "But I wish it could have been more...."
"More what."
"Well, more regular."
"It was perfect the way it was," she said. And she meant it.
"You weren't a virgin," he said, remembering. "You promised me you were a virgin."
"But I was!' she protested. "Then where's the blood?"
"Oh!" she said, recalling the awful stories. "Does there always have to be blood?"
"As a matter-of-fact, there doesn't have to be," he admitted. "Do you ride a lot?"
"We have to, at school."
"That might account for it."
"Now that I've learned, there's only going to be one kind of riding I'm interested in," she said slyly. "I shouldn't be at all surprised," he said."
That night, she rather hoped he'd try to slip into her room, but he made no attempt. It struck her it would be very pleasant to have a real live affair with so sophisticated a man, and she felt a sudden surge of pride at the thought she had apparently brought him to an erection where many other women had failed, many experienced women, and that for this reason her uncle would probably be eager for an affair. Figuring this out, she was a long time getting to sleep. She got up late the next morning to find that her uncle had returned to Boston. He had indeed, to his surprise, learned some interesting things about himself through the most remarkable deflowering of his niece. Actually, he felt he was the one who had been deflowered. In his wide acquaintanceship he knew many women who could service him as willingly and as successfully as his niece, and without the family complications. His reputation as a man-about-town grew, and when he died of a heart attack only three years after his niece had opened a new world to him, there were those friends of his who said, with envy, that he had literally fucked himself to death. Members of the family were dignified in their grief at his funeral, but several of the ladies attending, including the wife of a banker, gave way to grief in a most un-Boston-like manner.
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER THE FLIGHT of her uncle, Gareth discovered that sexual adventures were not difficult to come by, and she grew expert at reading lust even on the inscrutable faces of her male peers. But in the social circles in which she was required to travel it proved impossible-at least for her-to get fucked by older men, however much they might be tempted. And as she had feared from the beginning, being fucked by a boy her own age or only a few years older was hardly an improvement over masturbation. She was not even tempted to suck their hard, unfeeling cocks, for the thrill had been to feel her uncle's grow rigid under the ministrations of her mouth, and it seemed to her there was never a penis under twenty that was ever limp.
Uncle James remained Gareth's ideal of a man until her last year at finishing school, when Philip Steadman began courting Patricia Seldon. He was everything a proper Boston girl secretly wanted but feared she would never find. He was, most important of all, a bona fide Boston aristocrat, and the fact that the money had run out in his father's generation seemed of minor importance. Secondly, he was remarkably handsome, something not unknown among Boston aristocrats, but usually accompanied in its extreme forms by an air of ineffectiveness. Philip looked as much Greek god as Boston aristocrat, thanks to his blonde curly hair; and to complete the inventory of Philip as a proper catch, even at twenty-five, fresh out of Harvard Business School, fathers of marriageable girls pegged him as a young man who would quickly restore his own family fortune.
To Gareth at eighteen, Philip Steadman at twenty-five was already a member of the older generation, of the late Uncle James' generation, if you will. She had not the slightest doubt that he had passed over that animal threshold, where a cock no longer rose unbidden, but could wait to be summoned. Gareth was not the most beautiful girl in her class, but she was far more attractive than mousy Patricia Seldon, who tended to plumpness, knew nothing about clothes, and had few friends. So it hurt that the god-like Philip gave Gareth only the most casual of glances when he saw her, in spite of her efforts to be at her most attractive. Other girls made fools of themselves to attract his attention, ignoring the many really rich boys who flocked to man their stag lines, but Philip had seemed to know what he wanted with Patricia; she was head-over-heels in love with him from the beginning, so it was hardly a surprise when their engagement was announced at the tacky tea dance that marked Patricia's coming-out.
It gave Gareth pleasure now to hear that Philip had married Patricia purely and simply for her half-million. She saw now that no other girl in their class had had that kind of money in her own name, and that Philip would have thought it too demanding to try to get his crucial stake out of some suspicious father. Philips surprise and pleasure at the way she fucked told her the marriage had produced nothing for him but money. She wondered whose idea or fault it was that Philip and Patricia had no children.
How it would have comforted her at eighteen to know that it had been a marriage of convenience on Philip's part! But even if she had known, it probably wouldn't have spared her her disastrous first marriage. It had been, ironically, at Patricia and Philip's wedding reception that Gareth first met Boy Deering, an Older Man. The fact that he was Lillian Hayworth's uncle should have warned her, but she was too freshly crushed at losing Philip to concern herself with side issues. He had many things going for him: he was rich, he was handsome, he was a bachelor (more discreet than the late Uncle James, she figured, for she had heard no gossip about him. Would that she had!), he was charming gay (ha), he seemed to enjoy being with her. Also, he seemed remarkably sophisticated. She was wearing a dress that to the casual eye seemed exactly like the dresses other girls her age were wearing, but he astonished her by telling her not only where she got it, but what she had paid for it. Such sensitivity, she thought, was most unusual. She was right. It was. Though Patricia's family guarded the champagne at the reception fiercely, Gareth managed to have all she wanted, and was a little drunk by the time the reception was over. She was not displeased that once she had met Boy Deering, he stayed near her. As was usual with a Boston reception, everyone seemed to want to leave at once. "Well, what shall we do now?" Boy asked Gareth.
"Let's fuck," she said. To his credit, he didn't say, "I beg your pardon?" He looked at her with a curious smile.
"Why not?"
He lived at the Copley; they went to his suite. "Very nice," he said when she stripped off her clothes. He did not, she noted with satisfaction, leap on her, drooling and panting, the way youths whose maturity she'd overestimated did when she unwisely afforded them access to her. Then he stripped off his clothes. His cock, she saw happily, looked very much like Uncle James', and was exactly as limp as Uncle James had been. But the limpness didn't seem to delight him as it did her. "Looks like I can't get it up," he said wryly. "What do we do now?"
"This," she said, as she pushed him to the bed and dove at his crotch. She sucked his limp cock into her mouth and fondled his heavy balls.
"Oh, you dear girl!" he cried.
It took a while, but Gareth coaxed him to an impressive erection, and, best of all, once she mounted him and got his big cock all the way inside her, he did not seize her and roll her over as Uncle James had done, but was content to let her ride him. "I'm afraid I'm going to come in an awful hurry," he groaned. At this, Gareth plunged her hand down to coax her clitoris into a climax, and she was so successful that she had had her climax only a few seconds after he exploded a big load up her womb. It was so wonderful that she clung happily to him when it was over. "My God, I never thought I could do it," he said.
"Never know till you try."
"You are a remarkable girl! Are you as understanding as you seem?"
"Even more," she replied happily. "Will you marry me?"
"Of course!" she said, and in celebration she dove once more into his cock and filled her mouth with it.
It was a far more spectacular wedding than Patricia's for Boy seemed as eager to make it elaborate as Gareth's mother. In fact, Boy and her mother made a marvelous team planning the wedding. You'd almost have thought he was the bride.
Everything worked out well until Boy's old boyfriend returned from an extended stay in Mallorca. It seems he had not been told of the wedding; he came straight to their house on Beacon Hill from the airport and made a wild scene. Boy finally got rid of him, and swore to Gareth that he was completely through with homosexuality, but that night nothing Gareth could do would coax Boy's cock to an erection. When he burst into tears she knew it was no use. She was thankful she wasn't pregnant. It was, as they say, an amicable parting. Gareth was able to shed her hated first name 'Gertrude' once and for all, and legally became Mrs. Gareth Deering.
But not for long. She met Billy Camden, yachtsman and also, by highly reliable reports, swordsman extraordinary. If he had a fault, it was that it took an effort on his part to keep his cock limp so Gareth could suck it to an erection. The suspicious Gareth insisted on an affair of a full two months before she finally agreed to marry him. Then, after they were married, to her dismay, Billy announced that he was through being queer for her, that they were going to fuck properly. He wouldn't let her suck him; he seemed to think she ought to melt when he rubbed his hands into her cunt and over her breasts, and always insisted on being on top when they fucked. He wouldn't even let it be on their sides. Gareth put up with this perversion for about six months, and when she realized that Billy had no intention of changing his nasty ways, she had firm words with him, and in an agreeably short time became Mrs. Gareth Camden.
How she became Mrs. Gareth Ballinger, her present title, was only slightly more edifying. Chuck Ballinger made a sincere effort to conform to her desires, he seemed truly to love her; but after a time he found it impossible to come only with Gareth triumphantly riding him. If he couldn't roll her over and fuck her he didn't come at all. So this was also an amicable parting.
It became almost a joke in the men's' locker room at the Waybury Country Club that Gareth Ballinger was holding tryouts for husband number four, but it was to her credit that not one of the applicants (all carried, ironically) gave away any of the details to the untried, or even discussed it with the tried. Gareth had grown overly suspicious of bachelors, from bitter experience, and she honestly tried to audition (oralition?) only men whose marriages seemed to her far from happy. She reasoned there must be one among the many presentable married men belonging to Way bury Country Club who wanted nothing better than to have his cock erected by a tender female mouth, and was being denied that boon by a prissy wife. She had trembled with excitement when the Steadmans had bought an old estate in Waybury and had joined the country club. At thirty-five, Philip seemed even more handsome and god-like than he had ten years before, but even so, even though she could see at once he was nearly indifferent to Patricia, she waited six months before making her move. In her heart she knew she was right, but she felt she wanted to know all she could about Philip before making her bid. It had been simple enough to persuade him to come for dinner-alone-but the rest had not been so easy, and for a while she wondered if she would have any luck.
"I suppose anybody seeing you here," she said "knowing you had come, would think you had come for one reason only, and that I had invited you for one reason only."
"And why did you invite me?" She smiled . "For one reason only."
"Do you know why I came."
"For one reason only?"
"No. I came to disillusion you. I like you, Gareth; I want you for a friend-so does Patricia-but I can see that we can't be friends until we have demonstrated that we can't be lovers."
'Why can't we be lovers?"
"I presume you know what sublimation is."
"Yes. But I don't believe in it."
"I don't believe in it as such, but it happens to have worked very well for me, without my consciously willing it."
"How do you sublimate your sex? Pulling the wings off butterflies?"
"Making money."
"Ah. And when you have enough."
"I will be dead."
"Sex means nothing to you."
"Nothing. I almost enjoy doing without it."
"And how are you going to convince me."
"By making love to you, and disillusioning you."
"Shall we go upstairs for the disillusionment? I have a room."
"Why not?" he said. "Will you promise that we'll remain friends."
"We'll see."
Then they had taken the elevator up to the room she had engaged, and they fucked.
"Well, are you disillusioned?" Gareth asked Philip with a smile.
"Yes," he said. "About business."
"So finally you have found sex."
"No, finally I have found you."
"You really mean that, Philip?"
"Can you doubt it?"
"So, what are we going to do?"
"Yes, what are we going to do?" he echoed.
It had, in fact, come as a terrible shock to Philip, and not necessarily a reassuring one, that sex could be so delightful, so important to him. Almost from puberty it had been something to be endured, whose sublimation could easily be more enjoyable. Back in the late 1700s the Steadmans had made a fortune in the rum-and-slave trade, a fortune made respectable by investments in railroads and canals in the early 19th Century, but the Civil War introduced no Steadman to match the new money men New York was spewing forth; they barely held their own, desperately invested in the wrong things at the turn of the century, and with Philip's ineffectual father the last of the Steadman fortune slipped away. But from the beginning it was clear young Philip was a throwback to some earlier Steadman. His mother's brother, whose ancestors had founded the family fortune on soap, took a imagine to
Philip and paid his way to Harvard, hopeful the boy might come into the soap business, for his own son was clearly destined for a life of idleness.
Philip was two years older than his cousin Perry Fillmore, but was sufficiently impressed by the Fillmore money to cultivate Perry however obnoxious. The elder Fillmore paid no attention to Philip until the summer of his fifteenth year, when Perry persuaded his father to have Philip spend the summer with them at Bar Harbor. For all the spaciousness of their summer home, Perry insisted that Philip sleep with him, and on the first night Philip discovered to his horror exactly why. Though he had never been self-conscious at school undressing before other boys, the look in Perry's eyes made him feel suddenly shy as he stripped off his clothes. The shyness was replaced by acute embarrassment when Perry looked him over with great frankness, his eyes lingering a long time on Philip's mature crotch. "You're beautiful," Perry had whispered. He insisted they sleep with no pajamas.
When they got into bed, Perry immediately reached out and took Philip's cock in his hands. "Hey, cut that out!" Philip said.
"It's all right," Perry said. And he stroked until Philip's cock became hard. Philip had barely adjusted himself to this shocking familiarity when Perry darted under the covers and took Philip's cock in his mouth. He rudely pushed Perry away. This time he couldn't think of words to accompany his indignation. "I'm going to suck your cock," Perry said confidently.
"No you're not."
"Why do you think you're here, then?"
"Is that why I'm here?"
"Yes."
"And if I don't let you?"
"Boston's pretty hot in the summer."
"It's not that bad."
"My father seems to think maybe he ought to do something to help you. If he thought we didn't get along...."
"It isn't right to suck somebody's cock."
"For me? For you?"
"Do you just go around sucking people's cocks."
"What business is it of yours."
"It's my cock."
"Okay. So I won't suck your lousy cock."
"And I can stay?"
"No."
"Just this once."
"Whenever I want."
"No."
"I'll miss you."
"Oh, shit, go ahead."
"Sure you don't mind."
"Suck it, suck it!"
Being perfectly objective, which wasn't easy, Philip had to admit that Cousin Perry was a pretty neat cocksucker, and if it was humiliating to have to offer his cock whenever Perry wanted it-sometimes several times a day, and always several times during the night-at least he had the consolation that it caused no pain. As he hoped, as Perry virtually promised, at the end of summer Perry's father offered to send Philip through Harvard and Harvard Business School, if that was what he wanted, no strings attached. The frosting to the cake was that Perry decided not to go to college, and headed for Europe as soon as he could persuade his father to let him go.
Though he hated to admit it, Philip actually missed having Perry suck his cock all the time. For several months after leaving Bar Harbor he was unable to get to sleep without jacking off. But by the next summer he'd been able to get hold of himself, or rather to leave himself alone, and once he got to Harvard, his name and his good looks and his uncle's money kept him so sought-after in activities he considered worthwhile that there was no time to worry about a sex life. Perry earned his gratitude by not even hinting to his queer friends who went on to Harvard that Philip had a suckable cock and could be had if the incentives were sufficiently attractive.
Philip managed to get through four years at Harvard with his virginity intact, and at the same time without a reputation as a prig. Harvard was going through an enlightened period, and a fellow who wanted nothing to do with sex, or at least wanted not to talk about his sex life, was as respected as any activist. It was nearly axiomatic that go-getters were left alone by homosexual activists. Philip easily avoided the reputation of a misogynist by dating a succession of pretty girls for events that required he have one, and since most of the girls usually dated boys who considered trying to fuck them a necessary part of the game, it was a relief to go out with a boy who seemed to treasure them for their attractiveness and charm, and not for the chance of a furtive feel that might provide meat for masturbation fantasies.
Philip's luck held all the way through graduation, and even through Harvard Business School. The time he saved in not pursuing girls, he used in a careful observation of the business world so by the time he was ready to enter Life, he had a good idea how to make his first million if he could get his hands on a fair stake.
It was Cousin Perry who, belatedly, on a brief visit home to attend the funeral of Philip's mother, rewarded Philip's long summer of passive acquiescence with the tip that Patricia Seldon had half a million free and clear, and seemed particularly vulnerable. She had come to the funeral with her parents, and Perry correctly read the despairing looks she cast at the bereaved Philip. Her vulnerability was immediately apparent to Philip when he took Perry's advice and sought her out, and never from that moment did he waver in his determination to marry her. Of course he had already checked and found that Perry's information about her inheritance was correct. He did not doubt he could make her a good husband, not only on the score of being remarkably attractive, but he was certain that as far as sex went he would be able to fuck Patricia with enough skill and regularity to keep her frustrations in sufficient check.
It was a tribute to his single-mindedness of purpose that he was unaware of the efforts of Gareth and others at
Patricia's school to woo him away from her, but had he known it, he would have been only amused, not flattered. He was sufficiently aware of his good looks to see it as natural that girls should throw themselves at him.
The first five years of their marriage slipped by effortlessly with amazing speed. Their wedding night had been painful for Patricia who had been the worst kind of virgin, an uninformed one, so his penetration of her unprepared cunt had been awkward and messy. Fortunately, though she had said nothing about the pain, Philip had been aware of it, was also concerned about the well-being of his penis, consulted a doctor was advised to try vaseline for the second night, and thanks to this and to the fact her ruptured hymen would give her no more trouble, Patricia found the second night painless, the third night even mildly pleasant. And Philip was pleased to discover he could fuck her without deleterious results to his cock. Though fucking Patricia required more effort, including a sometimes trying arrangement of limbs, than having Perry suck his cock, once he'd made the awkward insertion, the result was no less enjoyable. He was a considerate husband and was ready to fuck Patricia every night he was home, desisting only when it was her wish that they not make love. It surprised him when she failed to become pregnant in the first six months after their marriage, but it didn't seem to bother him so she put off seeking a doctor's advice. Philip's plan for building a fortune, hatched even before he left Harvard, had, as he figured, needed only Patricia's half million; at the end of five years they were worth three million, at the end of ten years it was ten million.
After three years of marriage, Patricia had heard about a charm school guaranteed to transform her into a beautiful creature. She shyly suggested to Philip that she try it. "Why?" he asked. "I like you as you are. I like the girl I married. Besides, I suspect no one we care about would go there." Secretly pleased, she abandoned plans for entering the charm school. She was so comfortable in her sweater and skirt, with her single-strand pearl necklace, her basic black for special occasions, that she'd not have felt herself in anything else. She was used to herself as she was, and so apparently was Philip, so why tamper with a good thing?
They moved out to Waybury. Patricia had feared at first that living on a country estate with a staff of servants, much as her parents had done when she was a child, would mean a new formality, but instead it meant even less ceremony. Even after they joined the Waybury Country Club they rarely attended evening functions there. She took up golf, then Philip adopted it. They were well-matched for both were good at it, but Philip usually played only with business associates, so Patricia played by herself, or joined others in need of a partner. She didn't mind, for unlike many other businessmen she knew of, Philip was home more evenings than he was away, and if they rarely talked, it was sufficiently reassuring to Patricia that Philip was often with her. When they moved out to Waybury they switched to twin beds, but after ten years of marriage they still fucked three and sometimes four times a week, which Patricia imagined was far more often than other couples married ten years. The fact that she never truly enjoyed it was beside the point. It was the principle of the thing. Besides she had heard it was a necessary release for a man, and she congratulated herself that Philip's apparent freedom from the tensions she observed in many other men of the country club set was due not a little to their san sex life.
There was a television program they particularly liked at ten o'clock Thursday evenings, and even if he had a business dinner engagement that evening, which was rare, Philip usually managed to get home in time for the show. In fact, they had gotten into the habit of preparing for bed before the show, and fucking immediately afterwards.
This Thursday evening Philip had seemed distracted as he told her he had a dinner engagement. Usually, he merely mentioned it was business, but this time he surprised her by telling her the name of the man he was having dinner with, someone she'd never heard of. "Oh, yes," she said politely, feeling at fault for not recognizing the name, which surprised Philip, since the name had been fictitious. "I'll wait for you," she added with a smile. "I may be late," he said.
Patricia had watched their favorite TV show alone, waited another hour when it was done then went to bed at midnight. Though Philip was quiet when he returned, she woke up. She resisted turning on the light to see what time it was. When he came to bed, she resolved, she would pretend she was asleep. But if he felt like fucking, she would awaken in a hurry. Except that she did not think "fucking" when she thought of it. It was only a concept in her mind, not a word.
After thirty minutes there was no sign of Philip. Suddenly a chill of horror ran through her. Could it have been a burglar? Clearly someone had entered the house. She found herself shaking in her bed, yet lacking the strength to go and investigate. For once she wished her live-in pair weren't such sound sleepers. It was a full hour before she could get hold of herself. Finally she slipped out of bed. In bare feet she crept to the top of the stairs. Everything seemed in order downstairs, if dead silence was significant. She looked down the hall and noticed that the door to the guest suite was closed. She went to the door and opened it slowly, silently. Philip was sprawled out on the guest bed asleep, gently snoring. She'd never heard him snore before. Puzzled, she reasoned that he had not wanted to awaken her, though he had never hesitated to come to their bedroom before, no matter how late. Patricia returned to their room, vaguely troubled, and managed to sleep the rest of the night.
Next morning she got up at her usual time and dressed. As she came out into the hall she resisted the temptation to open the closed guestroom door. The cook seemed surprised when she arrived alone in the breakfast room. "Mr. Steadman will be down later," Patricia said before the cook could ask any questions.
Patricia was having her second cup of coffee when Philip came down. She offered a shy, forgiving smile. He nodded his head formally, without smiling, and sat down. Cook brought his breakfast. As he ate he did not seem disposed to talk, Uot c.'.i he pick up the morning paper.
"You were delayed?" Patri ' tVist.
He looked at her. Or rather he looked in her direction, for his eyes seemed focused at a point where her halo would have been, had she deserved one, not her eyes. He cleared his throat. "It hasn't worked out," he said. He coughed
"What hasn't worked out?"
"Us. Us."
"Has something happened?" In a way.
"Is it something I've done?"
"In a way."
"I don't understand."
"There will be a generous settlement. It was your money to begin with. You are entitled to half. Morally, I mean. Not legally. That will be over five million."
"What are you saying?"
"I married you for your money."
"I know that. I married you because I loved you. I love you."
"Do you know what love is?" "What is love?"
"It is possessing another person completely, and being possessed completely by that person. And having a son by thatperson."
"That's unfair! You never mentioned wanting a son before."
"Isn't it obvious ... a man always wants a son."
"It was wrong not to speak of it if you were thinking about it."
"I shouldn't have had to," he said sullenly. But he refused to meet her eyes. "You've met someone else," she accused. He met her eyes then looked down. "Yes."
"Is it anyone I know?"
"That's not the point! The point is that our marriage hasn't worked out. It isn't fair to you. It isn't fair to me."
"I have been satisfied. And I thought you were."
"No. I was never satisfied."
"Why didn't you say anything."
"I didn't know why I wasn't satisfied."
"Yes."
"Now you know?"
She was silent for a moment. She seemed to be thinking. "Is it Gareth Ballinger?" she asked.
"Gareth Ballinger? What makes you say that?"
"In the locker room at the country club the other day I overheard two women talking about Gareth. One of them said she wondered how long it would be before Gareth got to you. They didn't know I was there. They seemed to suggest she was sleeping her way through the male half of the country club. I was only amused at the time. I thought I knew you."
"It was a vicious remark to make."
"Was it?" He looked away. "Well, is it Gareth?" she persisted.
"In a way."
"In a way!" she cried, impatient. "Either it is, or it isn t!
"It is," he said. "But it's fundamental."
"Fundamental! What has she done to you."
"She showed me what ... love was."
"And what is love?"
"It is possessing another person completely, and being-"
"You already said that," she interrupted. "What does it mean?"
"It means that she...."
"Sex?"
"Sex."
"It never seemed that important to you."
"Because I didn't know any better.' "What could I have done differently?" she asked. He gave this the benefit of a moment's polite thought. "Nothing, I guess."
"So ... "
"You will be far wealthier than you ever were before. Your father never had this much."
"I don't want the money! It means nothing to me!"
"It never did, did it? Because you always had it. But if you didn't have it, it would have meant a great deal. I know."
"Does all this have anything to do with money."
"No. Not in any way. I have fallen in love. That's all there is to it."
"I see. When are you leaving."
"Now. This morning."
"Where are you going."
"I'll find a place in Boston."
"Gareth is here in Waybury. I can go to Boston."
"No. I will go to Boston. You stay here."
"When do you want the divorce?"
"I'm not sure.
"You will want to marry Gareth...."
"I suppose so. But meanwhile, we want to find ourselves."
"Do you blame me? Should I have seen a doctor? About the children, I mean."
"No."
"What shall I do with the rest of my life?"
"That's up to you. You're young," he said.
"I was. never young. But I suppose it is up to me. It never was before. I shall have to get used to it."
"I am not as strong as you may have thought."
"I never thought you were strong. I just never thought you were weak."
"I am not weak. It's only that I have needs I have neglected."
"I would wish you every happiness, but that wouldn't be honest."
"You begrudge me happiness?"
"Have you any right to ask that of me?" The anger was slowly building up inside her.
"I had hoped this could be a friendly ... separation."
"Goodbye." She feared that if she tried to say more she would lose control of herself, something that had never happened but now seemed entirely possible. She got up from the table and went over to the French doors to look out at the garden, her back to him.
Her attitude mystified him. He had felt guilty at the thought he must desert her; he had dreaded her helpless tears, which he had confidently expected, though he had never seen her cry. He was even prepared to take her gently in his arms, in a brotherly fashion. Tears he could have understood, could have felt sorry for. But her bitterness made him angry. He had not even raised it to himself that she had been fortunate to have had him for ten years, though that was exactly the truth. She had been a tacky heiress with half a million. Now she would be a tacky divorcee with five million. She was no beauty to begin with, and ten years had not harmed her in any way, had not even touched her. Her bitterness, then, was self-indulgence.
If there was anyone to be felt sorry for, it was himself, he thought, that only at age thirty-five had he discovered his body. It had been so meaningless when Cousin Perry sucked his cock; though he had been persuaded to accept it as harmless, it was nevertheless a perversion. It had shocked him even more when Gareth hardly had he gotten his clothes off, had leapt upon him, had sucked his cock, but once the shock had passed it had seemed so right, so perfect, even without her later quite convincing explanation it was a woman's need and right to pleasure a man. When he had married Patricia he had only married half a million dollars, not a woman. Now he could see he had earned the half a million by being her husband for ten long years, just as surely as he had earned the years at Harvard letting Cousin Perry suck his cock. With Gareth the act had a far different meaning, for Cousin Perry had been pleasuring only himself. With Gareth it had been an act of love; she had been pleasuring him, and when at last they fucked she had demonstrated how far he was from the animal Patricia had made of him, by the exquisite meaningful drawing from him of the fountain of life. It was even possible, he thought, that he had not been ready for it till now, that with Patricia he had not been spoiled, as he might have been with some more demanding but equally unfeeling woman; that he had remained chaste, in a state of suspension, until that moment when his mind, at ease with the accomplishment of wealth in his own name, the refurbishing of a great old Boston name, could sit back and let the requirements of his body, unknown until now, bring to his life the richness that was his due.
He felt only small pangs of guilt for having thrown her childlessness at Patricia, when he should be grateful for it. It could have complicated the separation and divorce. He had a sudden image of Gareth's svelte body swollen in pregnancy, and shuddered. No, clearly that was not what her body was for.
If Patricia felt bitterness, he did not. "Someday you will understand it is only that I have grown up," he said to her back.
She did not turn around. "And I have not."
"I wish I could answer that."
"How have you grown up?" She whipped around. "Because a wanton woman brought you guilty pleasures."
"Are you quoting the Bible."
"What did she do to you."
"She brought me to life."
"You never asked anything of me." He shrugged. "You think I should have known what to do?"
"It wouldn't have been the same thing."
"What does she do, that no other woman does?"
"She understands what a man needs."
"Does she cater to your perversions?"
"I have no perversions. Ten years should have taught you that much."
"Ten years taught me nothing!" she snapped. He shrugged. "What does she do that I didn't do? Are you ashamed to talk of it?"
"No, I'm not ashamed of it. It was beautiful."
"Can't you put it in words? Is it something she does with her mouth?"
"There's no point in all this. It would accomplish nothing."
"I gave you half a million! Can't you give me a few words?"
"I knew you'd throw it at me sooner or later."
"I'm sorry," she said. She turned to look out the window. "Then it's really over?"
'I'm afraid so. But I shall always."
"Be grateful?" she interrupted bitterly. "Something like that."
"Shit!" she said. He looked at her in astonishment, and for a brief moment she felt a surge of satisfaction.
He took even this triumph from her. "You are what you are," he said gently, "and there's no changing that."
"You changed," she accused. "Apparently."
"I came alive."
"And I am all the alive I am ever-likely to be."
"I'm afraid so."
"I don't think I ever understood you, Philip Steadman, and now I think I don't want to."
"Then we can part friends?"
"Friends are persons one can respect. I don't believe I can ever respect you again."
"There were no perversions," he said, too firmly.
"I dislike you more each moment, Philip. I'm going to Boston now. When I come home this evening, I want to find no trace of you in this house."
"It's my house. It's in my name."
"Then I shall never return to it."
"No, I give it to you. And I shall move out during the day."
"Goodbye, Philip." Without another word she went upstairs to dress for the trip to Boston, called a taxi, and left without seeing him. When she got home in the early evening, he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS A strange life for Patricia, being a grass widow, but no more unreal than marriage with Philip had been, she belatedly realized. She had not, to her bitter disappointment, caught fire on their wedding night. Hers had not been one of the cunts Lillian Hayworth had ever approached; in fact, Patricia had not the slightest idea that Lillian-or anyone, for that matter-ever did anything more forward with her lips than place them on the closed lips of another person-a male person, if she was lucky.
On their wedding night she had known exactly where Philip was supposed to put his cock; what she hadn't been prepared for was its size, which bore little relation to the occasional male penis she had noticed out of the corner of her fastidious eye on copies of Greek statues in the Museum of Fine Arts, those little tapering appendages that, Patricia had suspected, would have to eject a stream of semen quite some distance to reach the womb, if her notion of the womb gleaned from furtive thumbings through an antique medical book in her parents' attic, was correct. On their wedding night a fleeting glimpse of Philips penis belligerently erect, a far cry from the Greek ideal, made her wonder if the seed was supposed to be deposited directly in the womb, or maybe a little beyond it, whatever was there, to seep back by simple flow of gravity. But her faith in God and the design of His nature would not let her believe that the entry of that shaft of angry pink into what, till then, had been exclusively an exit route for unmentionables, would be uncomfortable and never, never painful. So it was a terrible shock that Philip's unyielding great penis hurt terribly as it forced its manly way to her virgin womb. The second night, to her relief, it hardly hurt at all thanks to the vaseline Philip thoughtfully applied to himself, but she couldn't honestly have said the process brought her pleasure.
It was her love of Philip that made her hide any show of reluctance. Whenever he was ready so was she. Philip did not seem overly enthralled by the process, but Patricia had heard reliably that a regular discharge of semen was necessary to maintain a man's sensual equilibrium, and she didn't want to be the only wife on the block whose husband had a faulty equilibrium. She was mildly relieved when the occasions for sexual congress began tapering off. Had they stopped abruptly she might have suspected Philip was maintaining his sensual equilibrium at the hands of some other woman, but the tapering off was so gradual she logically credited it to a completely natural decline of Philip's sensual needs with the increase of his years.
Patricia was not a complete innocent. She knew there were those women who derived considerable pleasure from the act of having a man enter them and achieve orgasm; but she believed it was not a natural faculty, that a woman must go out of her way to cultivate a taste for the pleasure perhaps in a manner similar to Pavlov's dog salivating at the sound of a bell. Just as Philip had his business to keep him occupied so thoroughly that he had no need of the trappings of sex, so Patricia was occupied in the same good works and chanties that her mother had raised her on, and she believed with all her heart that she and Philip were well-matched psychologically, if not physically, and that it would be a contented marriage.
So, after things had gone on for ten years without a single quarrel, without a word of complaint from Philip, Patricia assumed all was well. She had never heard her parents quarrel, though in fact they had done so frequently, but never in front of the children so it did not occur to her that a marriage without quarrels was a marriage of indifference. The few efforts she made to improve her general appearance had no encouragement from Philip, which led her to conclude that if he had been sufficiently satisfied with her to marry her, there was really no justification to change the woman he had married.
But when he left her for another woman, for a woman who obviously went to great pains to make herself conspicuous, Patricia wondered if the time hadn't come to reassess herself. The verv night she returned from Boston to the lonely mansion, sire had stripped off her clothes to look at herself in a full-length mirror. What surprised her was the prominence of her breasts, even on so generous a body. They were, she could see, rather large and pointed for a woman who had adopted inconspicuousness as a way of life. True, she was addicted to sweaters, and traditionally sweaters tend to accent a woman's breasts, but she had countered this without conscious effort by bras designed to reduce what she considered an over-endowment to neutral bulges. Certain men, she had heard, judged women by the size and shape of their breasts, which made little sense to her, since some of Boston s most imposing dowagers had bosoms that could only be called monumental, and they were not noticeably honored by men. She had, of course, seen Philip naked; he had seen her naked, but not deliberately, and only in the dimmest of lights, as if some Boston censor had inflicted shadows on what made them no better than the animals. When they had ... when they had-she couldn't bring herself to use even in her thoughts the vulgar expression-when they had had sexual congress, he had seemed to hold himself away from her in such a way that his chest did not come in contact with her breasts.
As for the rest of her, it was clearly a body that would raise lusts only in a sex fiend, for not only was there little indentation for a waist, but at twenty-eight there was, unmistakably, what could only be called a pot belly. Her legs were fair, she would give herself that; her thighs were not yet fat and flabby; she still held her shoulders reasonably erect; but all-in-all it was a body that however drab in the clothes she wore, was still more attractive that way than stark naked. Certainly she'd never make the centerfold of Playboy. She'd have a better chance with The Farmer's Almanac.
There were, she knew, women who would consider it a point of honor to win back a straying husband; who would at this point go to some reducing salon and emerge looking like a middle-aged Twiggy, but she was already convinced there wasn't the slightest chance she could ever win Philip back, nor was she even sure she wanted him back, once he had expressed a preference for Gareth. After all, it wasn't only a matter of looks. She'd never seen Philip give a second glance to even the most beautiful women, and she had known it was not out of concern for her, or fear of her reaction. She was no believer in magic but she truly believed that Gareth had stumbled on some sexual trick which could, as surely as Circe's magic turned Greek mariners into swine, transform Philip into a dog in heat.
What Patricia didn't know was that there were many women at the Way bury Country Club who had envied her Philip, who had wondered what such a drab, uninteresting creature had done to deserve him; but once another woman snagged him-and they all knew who-they immediately closed ranks with Patricia, their hearts went out to her, they were determined somehow to make it up to her that she had lost the man they didn't think she was entitled to in the first place.
Patricia was astonished at the invitations that came pouring in. She was flattered they cared so much, and they seemed so sincerely anxious she should have far more of a social life than she ever had with Philip that she found herself dining at the Country Club almost every night. That she had little to say was not taken amiss: they felt it a duty to take the major burden of the conversation. All she regretted was that they considered mention of Philip and Gareth taboo, for quite frankly, she'd have liked to hear what they were doing, whom they were seeing.
In accepting the invitations, Patricia first feared that her well-meaning friends might tiy to pair her with unattached males, and she was relieved when this didn't happen, then dismayed when she realized why it wasn't happening: they didn't consider her attractive enough for any unattached male they knew.
One Saturday night in June, only two months after Philip had deserted her, Patricia drove her two-year-old Oldsmobile 88 to the country club for dinner with Mary and Gavin Street. Mary was a distant cousin; Gavin was a partner in a brokerage house that had been bested in a proxy duel with Philip, so he tended to feel especially protective towards Patricia. As with many old Bostonians, Patricia considered it vulgar to drive an expensive car, believing that only if one had a regular chauffeur was an expensive car justified but she could see that this point of view was becoming increasingly obsolete at the Waybury Country Club, for the parking lot seemed to be filled with enormous, vulgarly-glistening cars that all looked alike. As if to protect her own sensible car from contamination, she parked it at the far end of the lot, and enjoyed the long walk to the superb late-Georgian mansion, unspoiled in its conversion to a country club.
It was a relief when she joined the Streets to see that the smiles directed her way were mostly friendly in a neutral way. She had grown accustomed to pitying glances, which she tended to resent, since the several other divorcees seen regularly at the country club were not similarly condescended to.
Patricia and Mary discussed details of a coming benefit of the Boston Pops, so Gavin Street, who considered his duty to Patricia accomplished with the fact of the invitation was free to watch, hopefully, the sure, steady climb of a silk jersey sheath up the magnificent thighs of Geraldine Mortan, a stunning, faintly exotic widow apparently in her late twenties or early thirties, reputed to be worth upwards of twenty-five million. Her accent was Back Bay, her voice was so husky that few men under forty could discuss even the stock market with her without getting a hard-on. When she bought the old Fillmore estate on the hill above Waybury there was wide curiosity about her, why she would want to settle in so un-glamorous a town, but Mrs. Mortan seemed to feel no obligation to explain anything to anybody, and if anyone in Waybury knew who she was before she married the late Mr. Mortan, he wasn't talking. They didn't even know who the late Mr. Mortan was. There had been, lately, gossip that she entertained the country club's golf pro at her estate, but the club's more conventional matron's refused to see any significance in this, if it were true, for they knew the old Fillmore place had its own nine-hole golf course, and if Mrs. Mortan wanted to learn the game away from prying eyes, they saw no reason why she shouldn't. Mrs. Mortan always had a friendly but noncommittal smile for men and women alike, but as yet had made no effort to become acquainted more than casually with others at the club. She was, Patricia had privately decided, considerably more attractive than Gareth Bal-linger, and she couldn't help wondering if it would have made any difference if Mrs. Mortan had arrived upon the scene before Philip left her, instead of shortly afterwards.
After dinner they retired to the card room for bridge, Janet Foraker playing as Patricia's partner, but when Janet's husband arrived from a business dinner at eleven, Patricia persuaded him to sit in for her. She knew the Strees liked to play until well after midnight, and she didn't care that much about the game herself.
Leaving the club, Patricia could see in the faint moonlight that her car stood alone at the far end of the parking lot, next to a clump of white birches. As she approached it, she fancied she heard odd sounds like grunts and whispered shouts-if there was such a thing-but put it down to her imagination. She was putting her key in the car door when she heard what was unmistakably a cry of distress, quickly cut off. Her first instinct was one of self-preservation, to mind her own business and drive off, but her second was one of compassion for a being in distress, whatever the risk. Taking a deep breath, she walked around the car and saw what looked like a tangle of arms and legs in the clump of white birches. It was a moment before she could sort out the limbs into a clear pattern, and when she did, she let out a gasp of outrage. At that moment the persons in the clump belatedly saw her; two of them hastily got between her and the others, but she had already seen what they were doing. A person-a man, she assumed-was being held spread-eagled face down on the ground, and another person, clearly a boy, was committing sodomy upon him. She knew immediately what it was though if anyone had asked her, she would have admitted that she'd expected to go to her death, however far in the future that might be, without once seeing the Biblical act of sodomy, or of recognizing it if she saw it.
There was no time for reflection, only for the shock of recognition. One of the boys facing her now, obviously intent on shielding the dreadful scene, was Billy Parsons; she recognized the other as a boy she had seen from time to time, no doubt the son of people she was acquainted with. For a moment no one said anything, then there was a howl of anguish, quickly cut off, from the person being assaulted.
"Stop this at once!" Patricia commanded with a vigor that astonished her. The tableau seemed to freeze. "I know you, Billy Parsons," she went on. "And I know the others with you." Though in truth she did not.
"This doesn't concern you, Mrs. Steadman," said the boy standing beside Billy.
"This is an outrage!" Patricia said. "I shall report it."
They seemed to be at an impasse. Patricia could see that the next step was up to her. Firmly she pushed between Billy and the other boy. Three of them were still holding down their luckless victim, a fourth boy was atop him, not moving now, his face turned away from Patricia so she couldn't know who it was even if she might have recognized him, but like the person underneath, his pants were down around his ankles, his bare buttocks gleamed in the moonlight, and Patricia was certain that even at this moment his penis was very probably inserted into the rectum of the person underneath him. She gave a little cry of outrage, but the boys remained fixed in position, defiantly unmoving. If the boy on top starts moving his hips, she thought, I shall scream. Only when the person on the bottom gave a frantic squirm did they spring into action, and that was only to hold more firmly to the victim.
"Stop this at once, I say!" Patricia cried.
"It's all right," Billy said, trying to get between her and the dreadful scene. "This guy-likes it. He does it all the time. We're only having a little fun."
"Did he ask you to do it?" Patricia demanded.
There was silence for a moment. "Yes," said one of the boys, holding the victim down.
"Then why is he struggling?"
"Because it feels so good!" cried the boy on top of the victim, and he gave an ugly giggle. He raised his bare buttocks high, and gave a sharp thrust.
"Stop this at once!" Patricia cried.
"This is none of' your business, Mrs. Steadman," said Billy, more sure of himself.
"I shall go to my car," Patricia said. "I shall get in my car, and I shall blow the horn. I shall keep blowing it until someone comes from the country club to investigate."
She turned and walked briskly to the car. But even before she could put the key in the lock she could see the boys scrambling up and running in the opposite direction. Their victim lay still for a moment, then slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Curious and a little worried, Patricia walked over to him.
"Jerry!"
He looked up at her, then turned his head away.
"Jerry, are you all right?"
He turned his head slowly and looked at her. "I don't believe I know you," he said.
"I'm Mrs. Steadman," she said. "I'm a member. Aren't vou Jerry Calder?"
"Yes."
"Are you all right."
"I suppose so."
Jerry Calder was the country club's own hairdresser. He had been with the club several years, Patricia knew, and though she herself never used his services, many of the women believed there was no better in all of Boston. It was hard for her to guess his age, somewhere between twenty and thirty, but she had little doubt what kind of a fellow he was. She wasn't that innocent. He had a funny walk and tended to dress flamboyantly. One day she had been sitting with Philip on the terrace, and Jerry had minced by. There was no other way to describe it. "That little fairy!" Philip had snapped. Why Patricia marked it was because Philip rarely had anything unfavorable to say about anyone.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Patricia asked. To her amazement, Jerry burst into tears. Hardly giving it a thought, Patricia gathered him in her arms, pressed his head to her ample bosom and patted his back. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. When he had done crying, she released him. "All right now," she said firmly. "I'm taking you home with me. My car's right over there."
"I have a room at the country club," he said. "I'll be all right. But thank you."
"Do you have somebody?" she asked.
He gave her an odd look; she thought he was going to cry again. "No," he said.
"Now you do," she said. "I'm taking you home with me. I'm going to make sure you're all right. Those filthy boys-"
"I'm all right, I tell you," he said with an edge of testiness to his voice. He stood up to show her, but let out an involuntary gasp of pain.
"There!" she cried. "You're coming home with me. I mean it. And shouldn't we call the police?"
"No!" he cried with obvious distress.
"All right," she said. "If you will come home with me, I promise not to call the police."
"Or tell anyone?"
She hesitated. "Or tell anyone."
She took his arm and led him towards the car. Obviously it was an effort for him to walk. "How many of them...." she started, but couldn't complete it.
"Four had finished. The fifth was just starting."
"Oh!" She unlocked the car, and they got in. She started the car and drove off briskly. Patricia found herself shaking her head. "Why would they do a thing like that? They are supposed to be decent boys, from decent homes...."
"There's no such thing."
"Decent boys, or decent homes?"
"Either."
"But why did they pick on you."
"Because they think I'm ... because they know I'm...."
"And are you?" Yes.
"But what they were doing...! "
"It wasn't the first time I did it. But it was the first time in a long time I did it when I didn't want to."
"You mean ... under other circumstances ... you'd ... enjoy it?"
"Yes," he said defiantly. "Now take me back to the country club."
"But why? Why would you enjoy it."
"If I knew, I'd be rich and famous."
"Those boys ... are they ... like that."
"Like me? That what you mean."
"I'm only trying to understand."
"No, they're not like me. They're cowards. They wouldn't have the courage, just one of diem, to come up to me and say, 'Let me fuck you, huh?' No, they've got to do it in groups, because If they don't do it in groups, that makes them queer, see?"'
"No, I don't see."
"Or a guy that rapes a girl, if he does it alone, he's a creep, he's a dirty rapist. But if a gang get together and fuck a girl, whether she wants it or not that's a gang-bang, and that's all right."
"And one boy smashing a store window, that's vandalism. But if five boys do it, that's valid protest."
"By George, I think she's got it!"
"But why did they pick on you?"
"I think maybe someone gave them the idea. Anyway, I'm the resident queer. And by all fucking me at once, they purge themselves of their fears."
"Now you're way ahead of me."
"It doesn't matter. I was thinking of quitting anyhow. I'm fed up with Waybury Country Club."
"All the women I know say you're the best. They'd miss you."
"You never came to me."
She smiled. "What good would it have done?"
"Oh, you're one of those."
Patricia didn't dare ask what he meant, so they drove the rest of the way in silence.
What had been a sharp pain in Jerry's violated ass-hole had dwindled to a dull ache by the time they pulled into the Steadman driveway. For all his anguish, Jerry had noticed the modesty of Patricia's car, but when he saw the size of the Steadman house he realized the car was entirely a matter of choice, of reverse snobbism. The house was one of Stanford White's ascetic Georgian mansions, built at the turn of the century and carefully altered. Philip had bought it from the original owners, who had maintained it exactly as the famous architect had designed it. Patricia and Philip had been in full agreement that there should be no changes. The facade was subtly asymmetrical.
Patricia ordinarily put the car away herself, but tonight she left it in front of the house, and was glad she did when she saw that it pained Jerry to walk. It pleased her again that she had bought him home. The thought of anyone suffering alone was intolerable to her.
Jerry was surprised how much it hurt to walk. One evening his lover Guy, with his far bigger cock, had fucked Jerry eighteen times in succession before he'd let Jerry suck him off, the traditional conclusion to their ritual love-making, to show Jerry it wasn't an idle claim he could come any number of times, and even after those eighteen pounding times, though they used many different positions so Jerry's legs and back wouldn't get stiff, his ass-hole had not been the slightest bit sore, but it had felt wide open. But tonight five punks fucked him, and it felt like they'd fucked him with knives. For a moment he toyed with the thought that maybe one of them had sadistically stuck a knife in his ass-hole. Then he remembered the third guy, the one with the small cock, and from the back of his mind he summoned the knowledge someone had once told him to beware of small cocks.
When they entered the house Patricia was grateful she had told their live-in couple not to wait up. They were sound sleepers and wouldn't be apt to appear. She wouldn't know how to explain Jerry if they did, or rather, what words to use.
For all his pain, Jerry looked around the entrance hall with interest. It had a beautiful curved stairway, an upstairs hall with a railing on three sides, making most of the hall two stories high. A lamp was lighted in the drawing room. Jerry could see that the furniture was expensive. Even in his condition he felt an itching to make the subtle changes that would create a chic room. As now arranged, though, it looked exactly right for his Florence Nightingale here.
Once they got in the light, Patricia caught sight of a patch of blood on the seat of Jerry's cream-colored tight pants. She gasped. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"You're bleeding!"
"I never did that before," he said. "I'll get thrown out of the union."
"I had a full Red Cross course," she said. "I'm going to bathe you."
"I can do it myself."
"And if it seems bad enough, I'm going to call a doctor."
"No," he said. "You promised."
"But I insist on looking at it."
Jerry decided to allow her this. "Whatever turns you on," he said. He let her lead him upstairs, to a large, old-fashioned bathroom. For the first time he realized this was a genuinely old house, not a reproduction. Somehow it reassured him. He stripped off his clothes for Patricia. She had never seen a man stark naked in bright lights, for she and Philip had always been remarkably modest with each other. She blushed easily, and she half-expected to blush when Jerry was naked, hut somehow it was not at all shocking, despite his very full genitals, for his slim body was like a boy's. Patricia remembered the Greek statues of her sheltered girlhood and wondered if perhaps in the centuries since then men had actually changed. It seemed incongruous that a boyish-looking hairdresser should so greatly outshine legendary Greek heroes.
With no embarrassment she had him bend over the large marble washstand, and her confidence communicated itself to him. As he bent over, his billiard-ball buttocks stuck out at her, curiously vulnerable-looking, which brought to her a rush of tenderness. With gentle fingers she spread the round cheeks. His ass-hole was no longer bleeding, but she repressed an exclamation when she saw its rawness, the large dark bruised area all around the ass-hole. She filled the washbowl with warm water, dipped a soft washcloth in it, touched it with her finest Castile soap, and gently patted the raw, bruised ass-hole. He gasped.
"Sorry," she said.
"No," he said. "It didn't really hurt. It more ... startled me."
"I'm going to draw a bath," she said. "I'm going to put some Epsom salts in it. I want you to soak. It ought to draw out the soreness."
"Will you get in with me?" he asked, trying to make a joke.
"I'd better not," she smiled. "The mouse and the elephant."
"You could be very slim," he said. "You don't have large bones."
"What good would it do."
"He-likes you the way you are."
"There is no he to care one way or the other."
"Oh?"
"Aren't they talking about it? My husband left me."
"Why?"
"For another woman."
"Gareth Ballinger?"
"You did know. Then why did you ask me."
"I didn't connect it."
"Now you know me, you know why he left me."
"No, I don't."
"I don't think anyone would be interested in raping me."
"It's not what it's cracked up to be."
Patricia looked at him, and he managed a wan smile.
She busied herself drawing water into the huge marble tub. He felt curiously unselfconscious being naked with her. As the water poured in at a temperature she thought suitable, she turned to look at him. She let her eyes brush once more at his surprisingly full genitals. "I'll bet you're more man than any of them. Aren't you awfully large ... for someone so ... thin?"
"I'm not complaining. Was your husband...? "
"Would you believe it, I don't remember ever seeing him completely naked? Of course I saw his ... but I don't remember they were as large as yours...."
"Poor Gareth Ballinger."
For the first time since her desertion, Patricia found herself laughing at the situation. "But size isn't what makes the cookie crumble," Jerry went on.
Patricia tested the water, found it just right, got Epsom salts out of a closet and poured in a liberal amount. She had Jerry climb in. The hot water stung his ass-hole, but he forced himself not to wince. "What does make the cookie crumble?" Patricia asked.
"Two things," Jerry said. "Love and technique. They can work separately, one will work without the other, but together they're really sensational."
"I thought I had the love, but I never claimed to have the technique. I thought love was supposed to be enough. Was that wrong?"
"How about him?"
"I guess he did what he was supposed to do."
"And what was that?"
Patricia paused for a moment, not out of any reluctance, but rather to marvel that it was so easy to talk about sex with this bruised boy. She wanted to savor the moment. Here she had been feeling motherly, tender, but obviously he was the one with all the knowledge.
"What did he do? Oh, he stuck it in, pumped away, let out a groan or two, pulled it out, rolled over and went to sleep. Is that technique?"
"What did you feel?"
"It didn't hurt. Not after the first time. The part I liked best was when he rolled over and went to sleep."
"And you loved him."
"He's very handsome."
"Yes. And you married him for his looks."
"Why not? He married me for my money."
"This is all yours?"
"Oh, I didn't have that much money. But he knew what to do with what I did have."
"And when he was done, he didn't need you any more."
"It wasn't that brutal. Maybe he'd have stayed if Gareth hadn't come along. She was very fast, even when we were in school together. I'll bet she wasn't a virgin even then."
"Fast!"
"That's what we called it in those days, and we didn't approve of it. But maybe if I'd been a little faster, Philip wouldn't have gotten away."
"Probably more than a matter of speed."
"Yes. As a matter-of-fact, I got the impression from Philip it was something they did in bed, something that she did in bed that won him over. I tried to ask him what it was. I told him I thought my half a million-that's what he married me for-entitled me to the information. But he wouldn't tell me."
"I can guess."
'What?"
"You really want to know."
"Absolutely."
"To begin with, she probably sucked his cock."
"To begin with! I couldn't do that to end with, not even if my life depended on it!"
"You never loved Philip that much?"
"I loved him. I didn't want to commit perversions on him. I told him I was sure what they were doing was perverted, but he swore it wasn't."
"Perverted is a state of mind. I honestly believe if a woman loves a man, she will enjoy sucking his cock."
"I couldn't, I just couldn't!" She looked at him. "Could you?"
"I could, I did, and I'd do it again. Even without love. Just for the love of doing it. But that's what being queer is, you know."
"Whatever turns you on," she said fondly, and ruffled his black curly hair. "You have nice lips, you know it?"
"People always notice your lips when they know you suck cocks."
"I must remember to look at Gareth Ballinger's lips if ever I see her again."
Jerry took a good look at her. For the first time she blushed. "Mrs. Steadman...."
"Yes, Mr. Calder?"
"Everybody calls me Jerry."
"Everybody doesn't call me Patricia. In fact, I'm fussy who calls me Patricia. Will you call me Patricia?"
He smiled a twisted smile. "Okay. But at the country club, I'm not supposed to 'call any of the members by their first names."
"I'll bet they haven't seen you stark naked in a bathtub. Under other circumstances, I could dine out a month on this."
"But you won't...."
"Of course not. Still, I think we ought to do something about those terrible boys. Do they do this sort of thing all the time?"
"When I first came to Waybury, some of them tried it, but that time someone stopped them before they even got started."
"I wish I had come sooner."
"I'll be all right. Maybe it's you who should worry. Maybe they'll break your windows, or at least let the air out of your tires. If it's one thing boys don't like to be interrupted at, it's...."
"Sodomy?"
"Sex of any kind. Quite frankly, I have no objections to sodomy. It's only when I'm not consulted."
"You really meant it when you said it could give you pleasure?"
"Not for a few days, I'm afraid. But it used to, and it may again. Shocks you, doesn't it? Maybe even more than my sucking cocks."
She thought about it. "I'm working on it, but it just won't come out shock."
"Because I looked depraved to begin with?"
"I don't think it's that. It's hard to say exactly what it is, but somehow, I think if it gave you real pleasure, and no one was forcing anyone ... I don't see why you shouldn't do it."
"That's half the battle."
"How do you mean?"
"Tolerance."
"A deserted woman tends to be tolerant, I guess."
"I've been deserted, too. So don't brag."
"A woman?"
"By someone I love ... loved."
"Not a woman."
"By George-"
"I think I've got it!" she finished. "Was it another ... fellow? I mean, the one you lost ... him to...."
"A woman. What if you had lost Philip to a man?"
Patricia thought about this. "I think I'd almost rather."
"I guess I'd rather lose Guy to a woman than to a man, come to think of it."
"Guy?"
"I guess I shouldn't have said it."
"Guy Jenkins? Our golf pro."
"Uh huh."
"But I thought he was...."
"Devastating with women? That's right, he is. The best. And he loved his work. But this was something I could do for him that no other ... no woman could do for him, at least until this Mrs. Mortan came along."
"Mrs. Mortan? Oh, dear...."
"What do you mean?"
"When I look at her, I hate myself. I much prefer losing Philip to Gareth Ballinger than to her. But this thing no woman could do for your ... Guy...."
"Either she can do it for him, or he's decided it's no longer important, though I can't see how that's possible, knowing him...."
"Mrs. Mortan...." She shook her head sadly.
"She is beautiful," Jerry said." I almost feel I could...."
"You never have, with a woman?"
"I never wanted to. Now that she's taken Guy, I wouldn't want to with her, either."
"Why don't I become a lesbian and take her away from Guy?" Patricia asked. Jerry laughed. "I guess I'm not even attractive enough to be a lesbian," she said wryly.
"How would you like to be startlingly beautiful?"
"Are you my fairy godmother?" He winced; she put a hand to her mouth. "I wasn't thinking...."
"I guess tonight has made me sensitive. No. I've been looking at you. You have an excellent bone structure in your face. If you took off about thirty pounds, did something with your hair, used makeup properly...."
"Changed my name to 'Gareth'...."
"I'm serious. You could be extremely attractive."
"Then Philip would come racing back to me, stick his thing in me, pump away, groan a couple of times, roll over and go to sleep."
"That's not much incentive, is it?"
"So what good would being beautiful do me, assuming I can be beautiful?"
"Wouldn't you like to be beautiful for its own sake?"
"Not if it would mean lots of men would want to stick their things in me...."
"Roll over and go to sleep."
"Exactly. What would be the point?"
Jerry thought about it. "What if there should be a man who could make you terribly excited sexually?"
"I don't honestly think I'm capable of being excited sexually," she said quietly. "If I was, I might have wanted to look more attractive. Some women just aren't ... built for pleasure."
"Would you be willing to give it a try?"
"What do you mean?"
"I have a friend. He's rather special. I've seen women
... who never felt womanly before ... suddenly feel ... womanly when they're with him."
"Like your Guy Jenkins? I overheard some women once saying that when he touches them it's all they can do to keep from fainting. Well, he's touched me a lot, improving my golf game, and I didn't even quiver. I don't think he's nearly as handsome as Philip."
Jerry thought Guy was much handsomer than Philip, but he let it go by. "No, this is someone quite different," he said. "If I arrange it, will you go out with him, just once?"
"Would he expect me to...."
"I'll tell him he's not to lay a finger on you."
"You mean, if you don't tell him...? "
"He's no rapist. But he loves women ... special women ... and I think you're special ... I think he'll think you're special."
"I'd feel so funny. I feel self-conscious about him already."
"Do it for me."
"Why for you?"
"Because you ... rescued me. I want to rescue you."
"But I haven't been ... raped."
"Yes, you have. And far more cruelly than I have."
Jerry persisted until Patricia agreed to go out with his friend. But she insisted it be only for dinner at the country club, where she could feel at home and entirely safe. "What does your friend do?" Patricia asked.
"He's a truck driver."
"Oh," she said, trying to hide her dismay. Jerry suppressed a secret smile.
"Remember, now, you've promised."
"Yes, I've promised."
Actually, Jerry wasn't certain he could get Bill Casey to fall in with his plans. But he meant to use all his considerable persuasive powers. Though the hot bath made him very sleepy, Patricia insisted he take a nembutal, got him a pair of Phil's pajamas and tucked him in the guest room. She couldn't resist bending over and kissing him gently on the lips. "I love you," he whispered.
Tears came to her eyes. "I love you, too." She turned out the lights, and he was asleep almost before she left the room.
Next morning, he woke her up, scratching at her door. "I don't have a thing to wear," he told her. "Do you have something? Maybe basic black with a simple string of pearls?"
"All I have is what Philip didn't take when he fled," Patricia said. She was surprised to realize that saying his name didn't cause the slightest pang today.
"Let's see." Jerry peered into the closet that had been Philip's, and came up with clothes that were obviously too big, but somehow looked dashing on him. It was all rather like a sophisticated movie comedy of the Thirties, Patricia thought.
She decided the boldest approach was the best. She marched Jerry downstairs, into the breakfast room. Mrs. Brooks, her housekeeper, raised her eyebrows only slightly. "This is Jerry," Patricia announced. "He's a sailor I picked up at a waterfront bar last night."
"No, he isn't," Mrs. Brooks said. "He's the hairdresser at the country club. But if you did pick up a sailor and brought him home, I, for one, wouldn't say a word."
"Good for you!" said Jerry.
"I can't stand women who sit around and do nothing."
"Do nothing!" Patricia cried. "I have my Red Cross work, Retarded Children, the Community Center...."
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."
"You want me to be a hussy."
"I want you to be a woman."
"Bravo!" cried Jerry.
"What's your problem?" asked Mrs. Brooks, stabbing him with her hard brown eyes. "Never you mind," said Patricia.
Jerry had time for a hearty breakfast and could get back to the country club well in time for his first hairdressing appointment. He would willingly have slipped in a back door, but Patricia insisted on dropping him at the main entrance. Several members looked at them with open curiosity as Jerry got out of her car. "We must do this more often!" Patricia cried merrily as he darted into the club. She waved to everyone, and drove off in a cloud of gravel. She hadn't felt so young and daring in years. But as she drove home, she began to think about her promise to Jerry to have dinner with his truck driver friend. In the first place, what would they talk about? And in the second place, what would he say when he saw the dowdy housewife Jerry was trying to pair him with? She tried to look on the bright side. She would do her best, and if it was a dismal failure, Jerry could not say she didn't try.
Clearly he was just as much a lost soul as she. She had really enjoyed his company this morning. They discovered many things in common. He liked music, good books, art. And he could talk about them intelligently. It might be fun to go to concerts and plays and art exhibits with him. She was sure he wouldn't feel funny about letting her buy the tickets. She was rich, wasn't she? A millionairess, in fact. A multi-millionairess. She could imagine being genuinely fond of Jerry. There would never be sexual tensions. And if her friends, if people at the country club, thought it odd she should go out with a hairdresser, what business was it of theirs?
Cheered up, Patricia found herself almost looking forward to the failure of her date with the truck driver.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY LATE AFTERNOON Patricia was feeling sufficiently lonesome, and curious to know Jerry better, to phone him to ask if he would have dinner with her at the country club. "I can't," he said.
"Even if I promise not to bathe you?"
"I'm having dinner with a truck driver-your truck driver."
"To beg him to go out with a frump?"
"Frump is a state of mind."
"What will you tell him about me?"
"Whatever I think is necessary. Now get off the phone.
I'm right in the middle of doing a frump's hair."
Patricia was sure that if she ate by herself at home she'd spend all the time wondering what Jerry was telling the truck driver about her, so when Tilly Soames called her up to have dinner (were they taking turns?) she agreed at once. When she drove to the country club she parked her Olds in the middle of the parking lot.
Entering the door, she was startled to come face to face with Billy Parsons. He looked startled, then masked his face with an insolent smile. "Crummy queer!" Patricia snarled at him and she had the satisfaction of seeing him blush to the roots of his hair. He darted out. She found herself blushing. She couldn't imagine how such a terrible expression came to mind, but on second thought, she was glad it had. Usually exactly the right phrase came to her mind only long after the situation had passed.
Patricia quickly found that what had happened last night was not about to sink into oblivion. Obviously one of the boys had talked to someone, no doubt in strictest secrecy, and that one had passed it on, or perhaps they had only been overheard. All that Tilly Soames seemed to know was that Patricia had stumbled on some sort of mass sexual orgy last night, and if Tilly knew no more than that, clearly no one else did, save the actual participants.
"It's too ghastly to talk about," Patricia said, to gain time to decide what to tell her. Because of her friendship with Jerry she didn't want to mention him, and since Tilly also hadn't mentioned him, clearly his part in the rape wasn't known.
"Steel yourself to it, dear," Tilly urged with ill-concealed excitement.
"They come from such nice families," Patricia said, still wondering how to satisfy Tilly and do no damage that didn't deserve doing.
"Will it spoil my dinner?"
"Not yours," Patricia said with certainty.
"Then tell me!"
"I suppose it's the new permissiveness," Patricia said.
"They even have plays about it, so I suppose the boys think there's no harm in it."
"In what?" Tilly asked, getting the idea at once.
"Homosexuality!"
"Heavens! And at Waybury Country Club?"
"I heard the noises when I went to get my car. It was bright moonlight; I could see clearly. They were all doing things to each other. Sexual things. And not a girl in sight!"
"How terrible!" Tilly cried, her eyes sparkling. "How terrible for you!"
"Not really. There wasn't one of them that appealed to me."
"Patricia Steadman! You know very well that wasn't what I meant!"
"They seemed to be enjoying themselves. I suppose it was wicked of me to break it up."
"How did you break it up?"
"I threatened to blow my horn if they didn't stop...."
"If they didn't stop blowing each other?"
"What a ghastly expression!"
"Well, isn't that what they were doing?"
"Is that another name for sodomy?"
"Is that what they were doing?"
"What's blowing each other?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Why not?" asked Patricia. "As long as I've seen it, I might as well know what it's called."
"Maybe you know it by some other name."
"Maybe I do, but meanwhile, exactly what is it?"
Tilly looked furtively around. She picked up a large stalk of celery. "This," she said. She stuck it in her mouth, and pulled it out again.
"No, they didn't do that," Patricia said. "They were too busy with sex to eat anything."
"I didn't mean food," Tilly said. "You're being difficult. I meant, were they ... eating each other?"
"I don't understand you at all!"
"Oh, for heavens sake Patricia. Do I have to spell it out? Were they taking each other's ... penises in their mouths?"
"Oh, sucking cocks! Why didn't you say so? Of course."
"It's like pulling teeth."
"Is it?"
"Not that! I mean, getting information out of you."
"If you'd try to be a little more accurate in your expressions...."
"Was it a sort of ... daisy chain."
"Now you've lost me again."
"Suppose you tell me exactly what you saw. I understand Billy Parsons was one of them."
"I wouldn't want to say for sure," Patricia told her, though she didn't know why she should feel any need to protect Billy. "I wouldn't want to say for sure it was Billy on the bottom, with his pants pulled down, lying on his stomach while a boy I didn't recognize was pumping his penis in and out of Billy's behind. I'd never seen Billy's bare behind before."
"How ghastly!" Tilly cried, enthralled. "Was Billy ... protesting?"
"He seemed to be enjoying it. I really felt guilty about breaking it up before they had finished, but I was sure that if I had waited to put it to a vote of the full membership they'd have been long gone, and I was confident the board would have agreed the country club grounds shouldn't be used for such purposes without special authorization. And it wasn't as though I was breaking up any interesting experimentation. They looked as though they'd already had lots of practice."
"You know, come to think of it, Billy Parsons has kind of an odd way of walking. I mean, he rather walks on his toes, barely puts his heels to the ground. But, my goodness, I never dreamed...! "
"It may not have been Billy," Patricia said. "Do you think I was wrong to break it up?"
"Gracious no!" Tilly cried. "But I'd probably have watched a great deal longer. I mean, such a sight would have been entirely new to me, and I try to keep an open mind. Weren't you afraid they might attack you if you stopped them?"
"I watched long enough to see that attacking a woman would be the last thing they'd ever do."
"I didn't mean sexually! But I do think it's one of the most thrilling things I ever heard of!"
"Oh, come now!"
"I mean, when you think of it in context. When you think of it happening right here at Waybury Country Club. Why, it's almost Peyton Place come to life. Nothing like that ever happened in Brookline."
"Yes. We needn't feel inferior any more. We can hold up our heads with confidence."
Jerry phoned Patricia next day to say it was all set, that his friend Bill Casey would be picking her up Friday evening at seven, for dinner at the country club.
"And what else?" Patricia asked nervously.
"I don't know what else. That's up to you two, but I know what I hope will happen."
"What's that?" she croaked.
"I hope he's going to fuck the living daylights out of you."
"Jerry Calder!"
"Well, you had to ask...."
"You didn't seem to enjoy that happening to you."
"If it had been Bill Casey...." He ended with a sigh. "I solemnly promise that Bill Casey won't so much as lay a finger on you unless you ask for it."
"Well, then. That settles it."
"Don't be too sure. All I ask is that you keep an open mind."
"And open legs, apparently."
"Don't be vulgar. It isn't your bag. I'll be over at noon Friday to start working on you."
"What are you going to do?" she asked in alarm. "I wish I knew. But I'll try."
"I guess I'm pretty hopeless."
Next day, Tuesday, Patricia felt so restless she phoned Jerry at the country club to ask if he'd like to go with her to a Boston Symphony concert. She still had the tickets Philip had bought for the season. "I know what you have in mind," Jerry said. "I'm not going to let you use me as an emotional crutch, and I have no intention of using you as an emotional crutch, which I could very easily do. I am more than fond of you, and I enjoy being with you."
"You'll never go out with me?"
"I'll be very happy to come over to the house, but we just don't make a good couple. People seeing us would know right away that you didn't have a man, and neither did I, and they wouldn't be fooled for a minute."
"Jerry...."
"Now what?"
"I sort of thought ... if this date is a complete fiasco-not that I won't try hard to be agreeable-well, I really enjoy your company, and I wouldn't care what people thought, because I like being with you, and I don't like to go to concerts alone, or plays, any more than I like going with people who would be bored and boring."
"It isn't going to be a fiasco," he said. "Make up your mind."
"But if it is?"
"All right," he relented. "For you, I'll try to look like a man who has found a woman."
"And I'll try to look like a ... woman who has found a man."
"It's all so sick! Jerry cried. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't rescued me."
Jerry showed up at noon on Friday to try to make less of a sow's ear out of Patricia. As he'd secretly hoped, Mrs. Brooks had a fine lunch for him, far more elaborate than she'd ever cooked for Patricia. His knowledgeable remarks about the Eggs Benedict mystified Patricia, but Mrs. Brooks basked happily in his praise, and only seemed appreciative when he suggested an improvement in the zambaglione she made for dessert. "She flies into a rage if
I criticize anything," Patricia whispered to Jerry when Airs. Brooks had disappeared through the swinging door.
The door flew open instantly. "I heard that!"
"Well, it's true," Patricia protested. "You never cooked this imagine for me, ever. Not even on special occasions."
"One grows weary, cooking for peasants," Mrs. Brooks told Jerry grandly, and swept back through the door into the kitchen.
After lunch, Jerry made Patricia stay downstairs out of the way while he went up to her closet with Mrs. Brooks to see if there was anything decent to wear for the evening.
T happened to hear what you said on the phone the other day," Mrs. Brooks said. "About what you said you hoped that truck driver would do to Mrs. Steadman."
"People who listen in on extensions deserve to get their ears burned. I refuse to apologize."
"That's exactly what I hope he does to her. The living daylights."
"You're a dirty old woman."
"What I could never understand was, Mr. Steadman always looked so sexy. The first day I came to work for them I felt so sexy just being around him that I kept my old man up all night."
"I take it you're happily married."
"He's no Adonis; actually I married him because he seemed pleasant enough, and it's easier for couples to get good positions than just a housekeeper alone, but what a surprise! He's a real tiger in bed. He knows how to put it. and when to put it, if you get what I mean, and oh, what he's got to put!"
"You are describing my friend Bill Casey."
"I hope so. I really hope so. I've always thought what this poor girl needs is a real man, not an Arrow Collar ad."
"What's an Arrow Collar ad?"
"Dates me, doesn't it? Well, it sort of means someone who looks good on the surface."
"But doesn't know how or when to put it in?"
"Exactly."
Jerry shook his head as he looked through Patricia's wardrobe. There were several basic blacks; it was hard to tell one from another. But finally he chose one that seemed to have just a fraction more style than the others. "I only hope she doesn't look too much like a potato sack tied in the middle," he told Mrs. Brooks.
"Don't worry. When she dresses up to go out she wears an iron-clad foundation."
"Too hard to get off," Jerry said.
"I see what you mean. I guess we'll have to settle for the potato sack look."
"But not for long," Jerry said. "This is the last day of the old Patricia Steadman. If all goes well, there'll be a new woman tonight. Can you believe it?"
"As only a woman who loves a good man can believe it. I had one of those overnight transformations myself. I was sore, but oh, how good it felt!"
"Now. A lot of this is going to have to be up to you."
"Me?" she asked in astonishment.
"You. Starting tomorrow, Mrs. Steadman is going on a rigid diet. Before she is through, she'll make Twiggy look like ... well, she'll be a slender dream."
"Wonderful! I can fix imagine insubstantial things she'd never let me cook and tell her it's your orders."
"I don't care how imagine it is as, long as it isn't fattening. I'm going to like this. I could stand to lose a few pounds myself."
Jerry looked her over. "Oh, I don't know," he said, though he did know. "You don't want to give Mr. Brooks too bony a ride, do you?"
"Oh, you're terrible!" she cried in delight. "He'd love you for that."
Jerry spent three hours on Patricia's hair. When he was done, she looked at herself in the mirror dreading to see what sort of a creation he might have inflicted on her. "Why, it doesn't look a bit different!" she cried.
"Oh, yes, it does!" Mrs. Brooks said, and Jerry smiled at her gratefully. Actually, Patricia's hair was on the short side, so all he had tried to do was shape it better, soften the lines, make it glow. In the future he would make her wear it longer and more youthfully, but not until she had the figure to go with it.
With Mrs. Brooks as a chaperone, Jerry supervised the dressing. Patricia was amazed that she didn't feel even a little self-conscious with her clothes off in front of Jerry, even less self-conscious than with her own family doctor. Jerry wasn't flattered, because he knew it was due to his opposite-sexlessness, but he was used to it. He permitted Patricia a fairly stiff girdle, to hide her tummy, but he absolutely forbad her to wear a bra. Actually, he had glowed with delight when he saw what her bra had concealed. "You're mad!" she cried. "Look at me!" She threw her shoulders back, and the motion flung out her breasts spectacularly. They were, Jerry could see with objective satisfaction, thirty-eight or thirty-nine inches. The beauty part was that Bill Casey was a dedicated tit man.
"Well, they're all right for now," Jerry said. "We'll see if we can't build them up a little in the future." Mrs. Brooks giggled.
"If you think I'm going to let anyone see me without a bra...."
Jerry went to a drawer, pulled out Patricia's entire collection of bras, and handed them to Mrs. Brooks. "Get rid of these," he ordered. He winked behind Patricia's back.
"Yes, sir," she said with alacrity, and started out. "Wait!" Patricia wailed.
"Just for tonight" Jerry temporized. "Go without a bra tonight. Tomorrow you can wear a dozen." Over Bill Casey's dead body, he added silently to himself. "I'll feel terribly self-conscious."
"Well?" Implacably.
"Oh ... all right." Jerry retrieved the offending bras from Mrs. Brooks, who was smiling triumphantly, and put them back in the drawer.
Patricia slipped into her basic black. She peered at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. "I look like a floozie," she complained.
"Let's hope you behave like one," Mrs. Brooks said. Patricia glared at her, and she scooted back downstairs to her kitchen.
Jerry absolutely vetoed Patricia's modest string of pearls, however real they were, and was all for her wearing no jewelry at all, but he could see the thought upset Patricia so much that they compromised on a simple diamond pendant he found deep in her jewelry box.
"If I don't wear something," Patricia explained, "everyone will merely think I forgot, or lost it."
Jerry was glad she had insisted, for he could see that the diamond pendant pointed like an arrow to her spectacular cleavage.
When she was all dressed, Patricia looked at herself again in the mirror. She tried squinting her eyes, to look at herself through an imaginary scrim, but it didn't seem to help. "I know you've tried your best," she told Jerry, "but no matter what you do, the real me comes through. I'd honestly feel more comfortable in a bra. At least I could relax. The way it is, I guarantee I'm going to spend the whole evening humped over, and I'll walk like a stick to keep from jiggling."
"No bra," Jerry said mercilessly. "Trust me." He began packing his things.
"You're not going to leave me now!"
"Baby, you're on your own. I'll check with you tomorrow."
"Oh, Jerry!"
"Tata," he said, and he darted downstairs. He left in a moment, but not before whispering something to Mrs. Brooks.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Brooks came upstairs to find Patricia sitting disconsolately in a chair, staring at herself in a mirror. She seemed near tears. Mrs. Brooks handed her a full glass.
"What's this?"
"A stinger. Doctor's orders."
"I'd rather it was hemlock." But she drank it. "One other thing," Mrs. Brooks said. "Jerry said that you are to answer the door, not me."
"What a nerve!"
"If you feel strongly about it ... "
"No," she sighed. "It's his show. But don't watch, will you?"
"Oh," Mrs. Brooks said. She was clearly disappointed. "Well, all right."
"What's the problem?" Patricia asked bitterly. "You and Jerry are so certain the evening will be a smash, and that with my better mousetrap he'll come back and back and back."
"I believe it!" Mrs. Brooks cried, with the air of a saint desperately fighting off apostasy. And she fled.
The doorbell rang exactly, on the dot, at seven. Patricia, sitting disconsolately in the drawing-room, cursed her inability to suffer instantly a fatal heart attack. She struggled to her feet and went to the door, remembering to slump over and to hold herself like a stick. She opened the door to find herself looking at the unmistakable face of a truck driver. But the rest was something else again. Patricia straightened up in astonishment, for standing be-for her was one of the most elegant-looking gentlemen she had ever encountered, and she had encountered many, though not so directly. The hair above the Irish truck-driver face was stylishly long, exquisitely barbered, and the clothes he was wearing looked as though they had been sewn on him, or even woven on him, so perfect was the fit. And behind him, parked in her driveway, was a convertible that looked violently expensive and foreign. She suddenly realized her mouth was open, that she must look like a complete fool, but as she glanced into his sky-blue eyes she discovered he wasn't looking at her face at all, that his eyes seemed glued on her overstuffed, belligerent yet defenseless breasts. She belatedly remembered to slump. With this his eyes came up to her face, and a delighted smile blossomed. "Ah, yes," he said quietly. She didn't dare ask what he meant.
"Won't you come in?" she whispered, and for a moment she had an absurd image of fainting dead away, and her gentleman caller having to step over her body to get into the house. Curiosity got the better of her. "That car," she said. "I don't recognize it. What is it?"
"A Bentley Continental," he said with modest pride.
"Oh!" she said. She knew enough about expensive cars to realize it might well be the only one in the Boston area.
"Jerry Calder said you were a truck driver." She thought it would amuse him.
"I am," he said simply.
"Oh!" She looked at him directly, but it was clear he was serious. "Well, I guess we'd better be going." She could see that his eyes had returned to her bulging breasts, and that she'd forgotten again to slump over. He looked again into her eyes, his smile broader than ever. She had a funny feeling unlike anything she'd ever felt before in her life, and it took a moment for her to analyze it. She felt, it came to her suddenly, like a love object. And, to her own astonishment, she smiled right back at this unlikely person, the truck driver who had borrowed someone else's clothes, someone else's body, and obviously someone else's car. She let him lead her to the fabulous car. He seated her as though he feared she might break (or maybe, she thought with sudden alarm, he was afraid if she moved too much her breasts would pop out), then got in the other side and started the car.
He drove with such assurance she was certain it must be his own.
He graciously decided to take her off the hook. "I also own a few trucks," he admitted. She laughed gratefully. "Have you known Jerry long?" she asked. "All my life, I guess," he said.
"I've only known him a week," she said. "But I think I love him."
"So do I," he said, and he turned to smile at her.
Jerry had had a good reason for not being at the house when Bill Casey got there. He wanted to be at the country club when Bill and Patricia arrived together. But he was careful to station himself where they wouldn't see him. When the superb Bentley arrived, it stopped at the front entrance to the clubhouse where an attendant was on duty, but Bill refused to turn the car over to him. "I'm the only one who drives it," he explained to Patricia, who quite understood. He had the attendant get in back to show where to park it. Patricia felt a curious satisfaction how awed the attendant was, and his awe earned him a five-dollar tip from Bill.
Jerry observed them walking back from the parking lot and nodded with satisfaction to see that Patricia, an arm firmly through Bill's, had completely forgotten to slump over or to hold herself like a stick. Her breasts were jiggling most commendably, and Jerry hugged himself to see that Bill kept darting quick glances down to reassure himself they were really there.
It was relatively early but the dining-room was already well filled. As the pair entered, male and female eyes automatically turned to see who it was, saw it was the dowdy Mrs. Steadman with a stranger; the women looked with wide eyes at the flagrantly virile and elegant stranger and forgot to look away, while the men took in the elegant stranger, realized something was amiss with the dowdy image, and flicked their eyes back to discover that Patricia Steadman was sporting a pair of knockers that revealed unmistakably where the slang expression came from. All eyes followed the couple as they were led to their reserved table. A few of the more expert female eyes, especially those of Mrs. Mortan, took in the expensiveness of the rugged young man's clothes and measured with approval the discreet but unmistakable bulge at the crotch, over which an enamored Boston tailor had labored with love and dedication.
With something of an effort the women tried to return their attention to their own tables, to their husbands or escorts, only to discover they hadn't been missed. For as Patricia Steadman sat at her table, leaning on her elbows, her superb breasts were revealed even more gloriously, and all normal male eyes in the room, and even a few doubtful ones, kept returning furtively to the unexpected vision.
There were, Patricia realized with a pang, most of the club's beauties gathered here tonight. She'd have given anything if Mrs. Mortan had chosen to be elsewhere tonight, but here she was and with an older man. Actually it was Mr. Chilworth, her broker and longtime friend. She never ate here with Guy Jenkins, and would not have been here with Mr. Chilworth if Guy hadn't had to attend a sports dinner in Boston. She recognized from the moment Bill Casey walked in that he was something quite special, and as an expert she could tell he was a rare sexual animal. When he fucked, she guessed, it would really be something to feel. But of course he could never be the everlasting great battering-ram fountain that her Guy was. What astonished her was that she'd never happened to see him before. He could not possibly be from Boston, she decided; and by "Boston" she meant her Boston.
Fortunately the country club food was excellent; Mr. Chilworth always enjoyed good food, so she had plenty of time to watch the newcomer. She did not fail to notice Patricia's lack of bra, and felt a pang of regret that her own similar lack did not make nearly so spectacular a display. The man with her may have thought his glances were subtle, but Mrs. Mortan spotted them, read their meaning, and knew he was a tit man. She was glad Guy wasn't a tit man, for she could imagine that if Patricia met up with a tireless fucker like Guy her plumpness would be worn down to something quite svelte, and she might emerge as serious competition to the club beauties. No, she didn't feel even a pang of apprehension, for she was certain Guy would never meet up with a cunt as tireless and responsive as her own very special cunt, or a mouth that could suck his cock so rewardingly.
But that didn't keep her from enjoying looking at this ravishingly sexy-looking, rugged newcomer. He was, clearly, one of the rare ones....
Patricia was acutely aware of the female glances focusing like so many spotlights on Bill Casey. Here was the handsomest man in the dining-room-by far-sitting with perhaps the plainest woman-let's face it, she thought, a trump-so what was he doing? He was smiling at her, talking with her, devoting all attention to her, as though she was the most beautiful, the most desirable woman in the room. The one thing he seemed unable to control was frequent glances at her breasts. She did, when they first sat down, do her best to hold still, so the damned things wouldn't jiggle, but once she got the stinger down that Bill had ordered without consulting her, she found it nearly impossible to keep still, and after the second stinger she didn't give a damn. Let 'em shake! Let 'em quiver!
She glanced around furtively to see if any of the people in the room were noticing her shamelessness. At the very next table she caught the eye of good old Gavin Street, who had never tried to mask his boredom with her, who obviously had put up with her only for the sake of his wife. When she caught his eye he pursed his lips into an "O" and winked like an old lecher. She turned abruptly away, which made her breasts jiggle more than ever. She looked back at Bill to find him shaking his head in wonder. She began to feel wanton. Was it the stingers? Bill Casey reached out a hand and took one of hers. A shudder went through her, a shudder-she realized with a shock of recognition-of desire. The mere touch of his hand was the most sexual experience she'd ever had in her life. What was happening to her? I must withdraw my hand, she thought, she commanded. So she reached out and placed her other hand over his.
The waiter, unwelcome intruder, appeared. "Are you readv for dessert?" he asked.
"Oh, yes!" Bill said, looking directly into her eyes.
"And what will it be?" asked the waiter.
"I think we'll have it somewhere else," Bill said, still looking directly into Patricia's glazed eyes.
Feeling distinctly faint, Patricia excused herself to go to the powder room. "I'll be guarding every exit," Bill told her. He rose as she did, but carefully held his napkin in front of him. And Patricia, nice, respectable, decent Patricia knew exactly why he had to hold his napkin in front of him, and was shocked at herself for knowing. But then, every woman in that dining-room also knew. Patricia fled to the powder room.
Jerry intercepted her outside the door. He blocked her progress. The unexpected confrontation seemed to fluster her. "Oh, what are you doing here?" she asked.
"How's it going?"
"I'll never rescue you again as long as I live!" she hissed. "Why?"
"You didn't tell me...."
"Tell you what?"
"That he's so ... so...." She was at a loss for words. "Yes, isn't he?" Jerry said happily. "It's out of the question, and you know it, Jerry Calder. He's your friend. You go tell him I was suddenly taken
"What's out of the question?"
"I'm completely unnerved. And this!" She looked down at her quivering bosom. "People stared at me."
"People?" ;;Men!"
"Anyone in particular?"
"Yes. He couldn't keep his eyes off ... it was so embarrassing." ;Was it?"
"I'm all confused. If this goes on, I don't know what could happen."
"And you don't want to find out."
"I was getting along fine until you had to go and get raped. Do you have to wiggle your ass like that? It's as bad as ... as bad as these tits."
"I did it for you."
"Next time, do it for somebody else. Don't try to stop me. I am going to the powder room, I am going to compose myself, and then I am going to take a taxi home and live happily ever after. You can take your Mr. Bill Casey and you can ... and you can ... stick him u-p your ass!"
"If only I could, worse luck," Jerry said.
"Will you kindly step aside!" Patricia demanded, though in truth it would have been the easiest thing in the world to get by Jerry.
Jerry whipped out a small bottle of pills and held it out to her. "What's this?" she asked.
"Nembutal," he said. "I give you your chance. Go home with Bill Casey and learn what a woman was made for, or go home with these pills and take them all. I'll see to it you are not disturbed, ever."
"Now who's being ridiculous. Why should I want to kill myself? I have a pretty good life. I don't see what business it is of yours if I don't choose to be ... ravished by a ... sex maniac."
"What have you got to lose?"
"So! He is a sex maniac!"
"Of course he is! Didn't you see the way all those women were looking at him? They know. And they wish he'd sex maniac them, each and every one of them. They looked as though they were ready to scratch your eyes out. It's probably safe to go back now. I imagine one of them's already got him. Maybe Mrs. Mortan. He's not the kind that can be left alone for long."
"That's a lie! He's a gentleman. Why, he didn't give one of them even the tiniest look."
"Naturally he's a gentleman. He wouldn't while you were there. But now you're gone...."
"Would he?" she asked weakly.
"Go see," he urged. She turned and started back for the dining-room. "I thought you needed to pee!" he called after her.
"Don't be vulgar," she said grandly, and swept back to the dining-room, breasts bouncing.
He stood the moment she entered. His eyes were glued to her breasts, a happy smile on his face, like a miser counting and recounting his treasure. There were, in fact, happy smiles on the faces of most of the men in the dining-room, who resolved to see to it their wives were kind to the poor old grass widow and invited her over for drinks very soon.
"I didn't have to go after all," she said unnecessarily. "Are you ready?"
"I've been ready all evening," he said.
They hurried out to the car, but as they were driving back to her house, the cool summer night air sobered Patricia into caution. As the car swung around past the clump of white birches that had triggered the whole business she felt a chill. Before they were halfway home she saw it would be impossible to do anything more than shake the hand of this magnificent stranger and thank him for a pleasant evening. Does the lion mate with the mouse? Perhaps it was, after all, only a joke. Perhaps Jerry had known all along she'd never have the courage to go through with it, and had only persuaded his friend to have dinner with her by promising absolutely it would never go beyond that. They would shake hands, Bill Casey would drive right back to the country club, where Mrs. Mortan would be waiting for him on the steps, she would leap into his car, into his arms, press her lithe but voluptuous body against his incredible virility....
Already they reached her house. "Do you have room in your garage?" he asked. "I don't want to leave my car out."
"I hardly know you," she said. "That's easily remedied."
"Do you really want to."
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Why?"
"Because I don't believe you're real. Don't you want to?;;
"I don't know." ;You don't?"
"Yes, I do. But it doesn't seem quite proper."
"I promise solemnly we shall do nothing you don't want to do."
"But the problem is, I may want to do the things I shouldn't want to do."
"While we're making up our minds, may I touch your breasts?"
"Here?" They were still parked in front of the house. "Do you really want to."
"All evening."
"All right. But I ought to warn you, it means nothing to me. I usually keep them covered, but Jerry...."
"Bless Jerry." He put an arm around her shoulder, drew her lightly to him, and with his other hand he reached gently and cupped a breast. She gasped. It was as if an electric shock had gone through her. "I want you so much," he whispered. She found herself going all over funny. Had he put something in her drink?
"I'm no good in bed," she said hoarsely. She thought it only honest to tell him.
"How do you know?"
"My husband left me for another woman. They say she sucks his ... " Her voice faltered.
He took her hand and gently placed it on his ragingly erect cock, its condition clearly apparent even through the fabric. "This?" he asked.
"I could never do such a thing," she said, but left her hand where he had placed it.
"It's elective," he said."
"Has a woman ever done it for you?"
"A gentleman never tells."
"You ought to know in advance not to expect it." And to verify this she reluctantly removed her hand from the delightfully warm bulge.
"It's not what I'm here for," he said.
She didn't dare ask what he was here for. "You don't think she did it just to win him?" She asked, to change the subject.
"It wouldn't be the first time," he said. "But give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she enjoys it."
"It doesn't seem ... right," she said. "But that's water under the bridge. He left me, and he's living with her."
"He must have been a nut."
"He just put his thing in me, pumped away, grunted a couple of times, rolled over and went to sleep."
"How much did he charge for all this?" Patricia giggled. "He did it free?" Bill asked, pretending to be astonished. He boldly reached a hand in, seized a voluptuous breast, and extracted it from her basic black. Patricia gasped but before she could protest, Bill had seized the nipple in his mouth. With a cry she grabbed his head and pressed it hard against her breast. She had a strange feeling in her crotch, as though moisture was gathering.
"Oh, stop, stop!" she cried. He did. He looked up at her. "Do you have to do everything I say?" she asked. He popped her other breast out of her basic black, and with one hand massaging the first, he went to work on the nipple of the other with his eager, expert mouth. When it was fully erected he plunged his head between her breasts and pressed them happily against his cheeks. His obvious joy in her breasts amazed her.
"This is what I've been wanting to do all evening," he confessed.
"I feel utterly wanton," she said.
"Can't we go into the house?"
"You may have to carry me. I never felt so close to fainting in my life."
Bill leaped out of the car on his side, whipped open her door, and boldly lifted her up. "I didn't really mean it," she said, but she made no effort to get down. She wondered how he'd manage the door without putting her down, but as he approached it, the door swung open as if by magic. Yet when they went through, there was no sign of anyone. Patricia was certain Mrs. Brooks or her husband had opened it, then had rushed to disappear. She was suddenly aware that her breasts were flopping out of her dress and was filled with horror. She made a move to tuck them back in but Bill prevented it by firmly burrowing his head between them. As he stood holding her he sucked first one, then the other nipple into his mouth. Patricia was sure that Mrs. Brooks or her husband was watching, probably both, but she was beyond caring. All she wanted now was to be safe in bed with this magnificent creature. Safe! Funny that was the word that came to mind when she thought of being in bed with Bill.
He reluctantly surrendered her breasts and turned to the task of carrying her up the stairs. Despite what she considered her imposing bulk he seemed to have no trouble at all. She wondered if passion had strengthened him, or if his truck-driving career had included piano moving, and suppressed a giggle. He seemed to know where her room was and carried her straight in. The light was on, the covers were turned back on only one of the twin beds-ironically not the one she usually slept in, but the one Philip had deserted. He laid her gently on the bed. Before she had a chance to catch her breath he had her dress off, and once more plowed his head into her breasts with a moan of desire and delight. Then, with an ease and deftness that amazed her, he pulled off her stockings (she'd kicked off her shoes on the stairs) then removed her girdle. She blessed Jerry for not letting her wear one of her iron maidens. With a sudden shock of surprise she realized she was stark naked. Now, at last, he would be disenchanted, she was certain. He could see how fat she was, her protruding belly, her fat thighs. "Turn the light off, please," she pleaded.
"Seeing you is half the joy," he said, and he plunged his head once more between her breasts like a drowning man coming up for air. His hands moved to her hips, kneaded the full flesh, moved on to her belly, then down, down, and as she held her breath they moved almost to her crotch, then skipped over it, to grab and knead her thighs. She was just letting out her breath in relief when she realized his hands were moving irrevocably up her thighs, until his fingers were tangling in her pubic hair, and finally stroking her cunt. She was too shocked to cry out. Never before had anyone's hands except necessarily her own, touched her there. Her mind was outraged, but her body betrayed her sensibilities completely, for it seemed as though her cunt was rising all on its own to meet his hands, to push against them. She was spreading her legs like some abandoned wanton, moaning, her hands clutching at his head, pressing it harder against her breasts.
Suddenly he pulled away from her. Was he disgusted with the wantonness she had revealed? She forced herself to look up at him, to lacerate herself with the disgust his eyes would surely show. His eyes were bright, his lips half-open, on his face was only desire.
"I don't know what's come over me," she murmured. She looked down at her ample nakedness. She didn't know whether she should put her hands over her breasts or over her crotch. In the end she just kept them by her side, and didn't even pull her legs together.
"I want to see you," she was dismayed to hear herself saying.
"Of course," he said. He smiled and he began to remove his clothes. Despites the heat of the occasion, she was pleased to see he was careful of his clothes as he removed them. She was interested to see he was wearing silk boxer shorts. On Philip, she reflected, they would have looked effeminate, but on Bill they seemed only to accent his virility. He had a magnificent body; she had not been so sheltered that she couldn't recognize the ultimate in male beauty when she saw it, but the sight made her feel suddenly ugly. She pulled her legs together, crossed her arms over her breasts. And when she saw his cock she was filled with misgivings. It was rock-hard and rampant, was perhaps no longer but looked much broader than she remembered Philip's, but she knew that since she had come this far she couldn't very well ask him not to put it in her. She knew it was going to feel uncomfortable when he put it in her, might even hurt, but she would not try to stop him. She owed him that much. Perhaps he would be thoughtful enough to ask if she had vaseline, and perhaps his orgasm would not be a long-drawn-out affair.
He came close and pushed her legs apart. She managed a wan smile. He knelt between her legs. She braced herself to feel his enormous cock forcing its unwelcome way into her tight cunt, without benefit of vaseline, to say nothing of clergy. She closed her eyes. "I am an adultress," she announced to herself.
Instead of the great ramrod she was braced for she felt the most exquisite tickling. She opened her eyes to see his head between her legs and realized it was his tongue that was tickling her cunt. She gasped in astonishment. He smiled up at her, then dove his head hard into her crotch. This time his tongue went at her cunt with dedicated fury. His fingers pulled at the sides of her cunt and she could feel the outer lips parting, could feel his tongue roughly assaulting her inner lips, then pushing past them. With a cry she spread her legs as far apart as they could go, drew up her knees, and slammed her crotch into his face. He seemed as excited as she. His hands reached up to grab firm hold of her breasts. She clamped her thighs on his head and cried out again and again. The pleasure was too much for her. She grabbed his long hair, tore his mouth away from her cunt and hauled it to her own mouth, not even allowing him a detour to her breasts. She fastened her lips to his. He opened his mouth against hers, forced his tongue inside and pulled at hers, swallowing it into his mouth. Her hips ground her crotch against his, writhing and pushing and seeking, until suddenly, with an effortlessness that she could hardly believe, she felt his enormous cock entering her cunt, up and up until she realized it was all the way up, and that what was no pushing so pleasantly against her ass were his great balls. She clamped her plump thighs about his back and slammed her crotch against his hard as she could. He began fucking his cock into her cunt. She tried to hold still to receive it but the excitement was too much, every time his cock started back up her cunt, her hips, by their own volition, slammed up to meet his hips until the two of them were fucking like a pair of wild animals, as though their lives depended on it. Patricia couldn't understand what was driving her, what madness had seized her body, but there was nothing she could do about it. They were both sweating, their bodies were as wet as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on them, and they pounded on. Patricia could feel Bill tensing, groaning, and she knew he was driving towards an orgasm. What she didn't understand was what was driving her, but she knew her body was expressing a need it had never expressed before.
"Oh God, oh God, I'm coming!" Bill moaned. "I can't hold off!"
At this moment, Patricia realized that something very strange was happening to her body. The pounding of her hips to receive Bill's beautiful cock as completely as possible was producing the most fantastic culmination of feelings. "Oh, ooh, oooooooohhh!" she sobbed. Suddenly she felt a scream welling up in her. She clenched her legs about his back in a frantic, furious grab, wrapped her arms about his neck in a stranglehold, and felt her body explode. Then it was over. Slowly, Patricia unwound her arms about his neck, undamped her legs from his back. Her breath was coming in great sobbing gasps. His cock still embedded deep inside her, he raised up on his arms and looked down at her.
"What happened?" she gasped.
He seemed a little breathless himself. T put my thing in you, pumped away, grunted a couple of times, and now I'll roll over and go to sleep. Ten cents, please."
"You put something in my drink," she accused.
"You put something in my drink!"
"What happened, then? Wasn't it what you expected?"
"Not a bit."
"What did you expect?" He flexed his cock in her cunt. She looked down at their united crotches and giggled. "I can feel that," she said.
"You promised me you were lousy in bed. Lousy at what?"
"Something went wrong, though, didn't it?" she asked. "Yes," he admitted. "I thought I was running the show, and suddenly you took over."
"Was it terrible for you, then?"
"Actually, it was fabulous."
She remembered. "I think something went wrong. I think I had some kind of a fit. Could it have been epilepsy? There's never been any in our family before.
Bill looked down at her, saw she was serious, and began, to laugh. His laughter rocked his cock in her cunt. The motion excited her; she grabbed hold of his slim but powerful buttocks and began moving his cock in and out of her cunt. It had not fully deflated, and now grew gratifyingly stiff again. "Oh, that's wonderful!" she cried as she felt it stretch her cunt. Bill, lost again, grabbed great handfuls of her plump ass and, with no subtlety, slammed his cock in and out of her thoroughly-aroused cunt. This time her eyes were open wide in delight. He looked down and feasted his own eyes on the fantastic jiggling of her fabulous breasts. "It's no use!" he cried. T just can't hold back. You've destroyed me completely!" He pounded with renewed fury, bringing his cock almost all the way out of her cunt with each stroke, bruising his balls against her ass.
"It's happening again!" she cried in alarm. As he shot another load up her cunt she let out a wailing scream. He buried his head in her heaving breasts. "It happened again," she said. T had another fit."
He raised his head to look at her. "That wasn't a fit," he said. "Didn't you ever have a climax before?"
"A climax?"
"A woman is supposed to come just like a man comes. A woman is supposed to get as much pleasure out of it as a man. Didn't you know that?"
"All these years. ... Oh, that beastly Philip!"
"I don't understand it. I've never known a woman to have a climax as fast as you've had, two in a row, and you claim you never had one before!"
"You put something in my drink."
"Are we back to that?"
"You said it wasn't the way you planned it. How had you planned it?"
'You really want to know?"
"Of course."
"To begin with, I wasn't expecting anyone as sexy-looking as you. That bastard Jerry, when he asked me to do him a favor, led me to expect you were something-of a dog...."
CHAPTER FIVE
"BILL, I'VE GOT a big Favor to ask of you."
"Okay, Jerry, shoot."
"You're the one that will have to do the shooting."
They were having dinner together-Jerry cooked it-in Bill's luxurious apartment that adjoined his garage in South Boston, only a few blocks from where they had been raised. Jerry had tried to persuade Bill to move to a more fashionable address once the trucking company was an undeniable success, and though Bill agreed with most of Jerry's suggestions, which were usually sound, he had balked at this one, for he loved his trucks more than any woman he'd yet met, and he wanted to be where he could reach them in seconds, night or day. Bill had allowed Jerry a complete free hand in decorating the apartment, though in trepidation, but Jerry had justified his trust by making it utterly masculine, as ruggedly handsome as Bill was. The only feature Bill balked at was a huge mirror in the ceiling directly over the bed in the bedroom. Jerry asked him to try it for a week, promising to remove it with no questions asked if Bill still disliked it then. As he figured, Bill never let another peep out of him. In addition to the sheer joy of the unexpected views it gave Bill of his energetic fucking, he found the mere presence of a mirror over the bed tended to resolve all ambiguities when a girl was persuaded to come this far. Seeing the mirror and remaining, she could hardly claim she'd thought she was here for anything but fucking.
"I have a woman who needs awakening," Jerry had announced.
"How old?"
"About thirty."
"How ugly?"
"She's basically attractive. A little plump, maybe."
"What's her problem?"
"Her husband left her. She needs confidence.' '
"Why did he leave her?"
"Another woman."
"Beautiful?"
"Beautiful."
"Then why," said Bill, "don't I just take the beautiful woman awav from the husband, and send him back to his wife?"
"Because she's too good for him. One night, Bill. Is that too much to ask? Go down on her. Get her all excited. Screw her. Show her sex can be fun. Then I take over."
"You going straight?"
"No! I'm going to slim her down, fix her up, then try to find some guy of her own set who can appreciate a good screw, and they'll live happily ever after."
"What did she ever do for you?"
"She's nice. I like her. I hate to see anyone unhappy. You know that."
"Guy never fucked her?"
"You promised you'd never mention him."
"Just asking."
"No, he didn't."
"I thought he fucked anything and everything at that country club."
"She didn't go for him." 'Aha!';
"That's not why I like her. She's a nice person. Besides, I see it as a challenge. I think I can make her look gorgeous, but that's partly a state of mind, and if you can make her see that sex can be fun, then I think she'd be eager to let me slim her down and make her look good enough to attract the flies."
"How about her tits?"
"Hard to tell. Average, I guess. The way she binds herself up, could be anything."
"Falsies, maybe?"
"No. She wouldn't be interested enough in looking good to wear falsies."
"Well, as long as there's enough to nibble on."
"You'll do it, then?"
"Hell, why not? A cunt's a cunt, and if it will make you happy, I guess it won't hurt me any."
"Go on! You know I've got you all excited. You just can't wait to be some woman's first good fuck."
"Thanks for your confidence in me."
"Ever fail yet?"
"Not yet," Bill admitted modestly. "Think there's a chance I might with this one?"
"A chance," Jerry said, knowing he was piquing Bill's pride just that much more. "I don't guarantee she'll go through with it. She even insists it be just dinner at the country club, then you see her home."
"You're really anxious for her to get fucked so she'll like it?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll give it the old try. I promise you that."
Jerry knew Bill would be as good as his word. He'd known Bill most of his life, and he knew Bill never made promises lightly.
They were raised in the same tenement building in South Boston. Bill was a crucial year older than Jerry, which meant they'd never be playmates even if they'd been at all alike. Bill's father died only months after Bill was born, his mother had to get a job, and Jerry's mother became almost a second mother to Bill; he was devoted to her. She never inflicted Jerry on him, and though-they necessarily saw a lot of each other with Bill spending much of his time in Jerry's flat, to Bill's relief Jerry was a loner, happy playing with his dolls, making clothes for them, and he never seemed to need anyone else to amuse him. Bill got so used to seeing Jerry playing with his dolls he never thought much of it, but one day, when Jerry was five, Bill made a crucial choice that was to shape both their lives. He was out on the stoop tossing pennies with other boys his age when Jerry emerged with his mother, to go shopping. He was carrying one of his dolls. The boy who up to then had been Bill's best friend saw the doll, pointed to Jerry, and hooted with laughter. Bill saw the hurt look on the face of Jerry's mother, the puzzlement on Jerry's face. Hardly pausing to think, he punched his erstwhile friend in the mouth, knocking out two teeth. It ended the friendship then and there, but more important, it let the other boys see that Terry wasn't to be made fun of, and he had no more trouble.
That night, when Bill came in to have supper with Jerry and his mother, Jerry smiled shyly at him. "You're too old to play with dolls," Bill said harshly. He immediately regretted it when he saw the hurt look on Jerry's face, but a second later Jerry's face became a mask. The brief look haunted Bill. Next day he took the money he'd been saving to buy himself a good jackknife and bought Jerry a new boy-doll. Jerry gave him a strange look when it handed it over.
"I don't want to play with dolls any more," Jerry said.
"They're not dolls to you," Bill said with rare understanding. "They're people."
"Yes," Jerry said. He took the doll Bill had bought him and looked at it a long time. "Can I call him 'Bill'? " he asked.
"Sure," Bill said. "I don't mind." He felt curiously pleased.
After Jerry started school, he gave all his dolls away to a little girl who lived in the next building, all but the one Bill gave him. It was a doll he would keep the rest of his life. It remained, in a way, his version of the security blanket.
By then Jerry had developed a terrible crush on Bill, without really understanding what it was. In school and out of it he made a strenuous effort to be manly, to be like Bill, with the result that he was never much of anything. His inclination was to be with girls, to play with them, but he noticed that Bill ignored them, so he ignored them too and remained a loner. Since there was not much else for him to do, he was good in school. He skipped a grade when he was ten, when Bill was eleven, so they were in the same grade. Sometimes Bill asked Jerry's help in school homework, but only occasionally, for despite his sports and other activities Bill was also good in school and didn't often need help. By then Bill's mother felt he was old enough to take care of himself, and he went to his own flat after school instead of to Jerry's.
Jerry was passionately homosexual from his earliest years, except that he didn't know what it was, and he was curiously blind to the homosexuality around him. He knew no homosexual terms, and when they were mentioned in his hearing, he did not understand and made no efforts to find out, for the terms were clearly disparaging. But his terrible crush on Bill persisted.
When Jerry was thirteen his longings began to take more specific form. This was the year he began formal gym classes, which he hated, but after the gym classes came the showers, and in the showers, however briefly, he could see all the rest of his classmates, including Bill, naked. Bill and most of the others were fourteen, but one of the boys, Frank Murphy was fifteen, having been kept back a year. He was more sexually developed than even that single year would indicate. He had by far the biggest cock of any of the boys, the biggest balls, and Jerry was fascinated by them. He had long ago discovered the relief of masturbation, and once he spotted Frank Murphy, he summoned up the image of his heavy-hanging cock and swinging balls for his masturbation fantasies.
In addition to possessing the equipment, Frank Murphy was also immensely sensual. He was proud of his genitals, often stared at them in a mirror at home, and it piqued him that none of the other younger boys in the class even made jokes about them. It didn't take his alert eyes long to discover that Jerry Calder watched him furtively in the shower, and that Jerry never left until he did. Frank tested this a couple of times by lingering in the shower, and he noticed that Jerry always lingered too.
One day Frank managed to be late getting to the shower, and he lingered until after all the others but Jerry had gone. Jerry stood under the shower endlessly while Frank kept soaping his cock and his balls, and washing them off, then soaping them again. He smiled at Jerry, but Jerry only looked away. Finally Jerry left the shower and went to dress. Frank, disappointed, shrugged and went to his own locker. But as he was dressing the conviction grew in him that Jerry could be used, and when he was clothed, he went over to where Jerry was slowly dressing. No one else was in the locker room.
"Do you want me?" Frank asked.
"What?" Jerry asked, genuinely puzzled. "For what?"
"Do you like me?" Frank asked.
"Oh, sure," Jerry said, still puzzled.
"Do you want it?"
"Want what?"
"Let's not kid around; I seen the way you stared at it."
"Stared at what?" Jerry said, knowing exactly what. "Come on," Frank said. He headed for a small room where the towels were kept. When he saw Jerry wasn't following, he beckoned imperiously with his head. Jerry came after him.
In the towel room, Frank stood before Jerry ,hands on hips. "Go ahead," he said. "Touch it."
"Touch what?
"My prick, you dumb shit! That's what you want, isn't it?"
"No," Jerry said, scared now.
Frank decided to try another tack. "I was only kidding," he said. "Look, I'll touch yours." He reached out a hand and touched Jerry's flat crotch lightly. "Go ahead. Now touch mine."
Jerry reached out slowly, touched the prominent bulge at Frank's crotch, and let his fingers linger on it. Frank saw his reluctance to withdraw his hand and made up his mind. After a quick look around to make sure they were still alone in the place, he pulled open his fly, took out his cock, and his balls for good measure. Jerry stared fascinated. Somehow they seemed larger, bulging from his fly like that. Frank looked down at his genitals in admiration, then at Jerry, and gave a twisted smile. "Okay," he said. "Go down on it."
"What?"
"Suck it, for Christ's sake!"
Jerry backed away, until the wall stopped him. "Why?" he said feebly.
"Because I said to."
"No."
"We'll see about that," Frank said. With a quick, deft movement he grabbed Jerry's right arm and bent it down behind him painfully. He forced Jerry to his knees. He shoved his bulging genitals full against Jerry's face. Jerry tried to turn his face aside. Frank let go of his arm, grabbed him hard by both ears, forced his face to the front, then rubbed his genitals back and forth against Jerry's face. "Suck it, suck it, suck it," he chanted. With a giant effort Jerry reached up with his hands and pushed Frank away. Free, he backed into a corner. He held up his hands protectively in front of him.
Frank could see he'd have to beat this kid up if he wanted to get his cock sucked, and decided it wasn't worth all that effort. He hadn't even gotten a hard-on rubbing his cock into the kid's pretty face. He tucked his genitals away and zipped up his fly. He looked at Jerry, still cowering in the corner. "Aw, I didn't mean it," he said. "I was just kidding. Wanted to see what your reaction was. Some guys wondered if you was a cocksucker. I can tell them you ain't. Shake on it?" He held out his right hand. Jerry, still afraid, looked at it uncertainly, still expecting a trick. "Honest to God!" Frank said, holding his left hand in oath. Jerry reached out his right hand, they shook. Frank put an arm around his shoulder and led him out of the towel room. "You're a good kid," he said. "Anybody give you any trouble, let me know. I'll take care of em."
"Gee, thanks," Jerry said. But he was glad Frank didn't insist on walking him home.
But even as he walked home, Jerry was already feeling mild regrets. By the time he got to bed that night, the regrets had become an ache. The agony, he knew now, had not been the indignity of having his arm bent around his back, his ears in Frank's powerful grip, that great cock shoved against his face; the agony had been the effort required to keep from opening his mouth to receive that cock. In his lonely bed he stripped off his pajamas, clutched his pillow to him and fucked his hard little cock against the sheet as he remembered the musky fragrance of that great cock, those massive balls enveloping his face. What madness had kept him from accepting what he had wanted so desperately?
Next day, Jerry lingered in the gym, taking his time. At first he thought that Frank would have only a brief shower, for he went in with the rest, but Frank noticed Jerry lingering, and stayed in the shower after the others had left. Jerry came in and stood next to him to take a shower. He stared openly as Frank lathered his cock over and over. "Soap my back, and I'll soap yours," Frank ordered. Jerry looked quickly around, satisfied himself no one was still in the locker room, and lathered Frank's back. When he was done, Frank lathered Jerry's back. He did his back quickly, then lathered up his buttocks, and let his fingers dip in and quickly stroke Jerry's tight ass-hole. Jerry got a hard-on. Frank paid no attention to it. He let Jerry wash the soap off himself, then looked at him. "Wash my prick for me," he said. Jerry hesitated only a second, lathered his hands well with the soap, and boldly lathered Frank's cock. "My balls, too," Frank said. As Jerry complied, Frank's cock began erecting. Jerry's hand faltered. He froze with both hands cupping Frank's balls and watched the slow, enormous rise of Frank's cock. "Pretty big, eh?" Frank said.
"Yuh." He resumed soaping Frank's balls.
"Ever see one that big?" Jerry shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak.
"Do my prick again," Frank ordered. Jerry hesitated, began soaping the great shaft, the glistening, inviting head. Frank noticed with satisfaction that Jerry couldn't resist licking his lips. "That feels good," Frank said. Jerry kept lathering his cock. "Hey!" Frank said. "Don't make me shoot!" Jerry pulled his hands away. Frank laughed. "Boy, you got some hands!" He turned away and rinsed off all the soap. Jerry started out of the shower. Frank ran after him, cock swinging. "Hey, want to come over to my place? Nobody's there. Both my old man and my old lady work."
"What for? I mean, what would we do.. "
"Oh, just play around."
"Like what?"
"Play around. You know."
"I don't know."
"Nothing you didn't want to do. I mean, just say the word, and we'll stop whatever we're doing. I swear it."
"What would you want to do?"
"Oh, hell. Nothing. Just show you a few wrestling holds, maybe. I mean, you ought to know how to defend yourself, right?"
"Okay," Jerry said, his heart pounding.
"Listen," Frank said. "I got a couple errands. You know where I live. Come in thirty minutes, okay?"
Jerry suspected it was because Frank didn't want to be seen walking with him, and he was right, but he agreed anyhow.
Frank was stripped down to his jockey shorts when Jerry got there in exactly thirty minutes. "It's hot in here," he told Jerry. "They always give us too much heat. Why don't you take off your clothes?"
"Everything?"
"Sure, what the hell," Frank said, and stripped off his shorts. Somehow, seeing him naked here in the apartment was far more intimate than it had ever been in the locker room or shower. Jerry paused in his undressing to stare openly at the mature cock and balls. "Like that?" Frank asked.
"Sure big," Jerry said.
"Let's get comfortable," Frank said, and led him to his bedroom. It was little more than a cubicle, with a single cot. "Looks like I'll have to lay on top of you," Frank said. He threw himself on the bed, on his back, legs spread. His cock arched over one thigh, revealing his balls hanging heavy between his legs, reaching all the way to the bedclothes. He put his hands behind his head. "It was terrific the way you soaped my prick in the shower," Frank said. "Make like you're soaping it now. See if it'll go up like it did."
Jerry sat on the edge of the bed and shyly reached for Frank's cock. He picked it up off Frank's thigh and began rubbing it. "That feels good," Frank said. His cock began to erect. In less than fifteen seconds it was hard as a rock.
Jerry let go. "Now what?"
"I tell you what," Frank said. "Let's make like I'm the master and you're the slave, and you have to do everything I say."
T don't know," Jerry said. He had a good idea what Frank would order him to do, and he was torn between desire and inhibition. He knew instinctively that if he took Frank's cock in his mouth it would be a watershed from which there would be no turning back. He looked again at the rearing cock, the massive balls.
"I won't force you to do anything," Frank said, sensing the reluctance and its cause, but at the same time desperately eager to feel this kid's warm mouth on his cock. "I'll order you, and if you refuse to do it, then you're not my slave any more. I mean, the game's over, and you've lost."
"Okay," Jerry said. It sounded reasonable, stated that way.
Frank leaped up from the cot, cock swinging. "Lay down, slave!" he ordered.
"Yes, master," Jerry said. And he lay down. "Do I have to say that every time?"
"No, it isn't necessary. Just obey. I think it's better if you don't speak. I mean, I'm the master and you don't dare speak. Get it?"
"Okay."
Frank straddled Jerry, cock dangling over his chest. "Touch my balls," he ordered. Jerry reached out a hand and complied. "Both hands!" Jerry did, cupping the big balls, one in each palm. Frank lifted himself up. "Touch my ass-hole with your right forefinger. Your right forefinger, stupid slave!" Actually, Jerry had reached with his right hand, but he could see Frank had got them reversed and obediently switched to his left hand. Very gently, he probed until his finger was touching Frank's tight ass-hole. "Wet your finger and stick it in just a little, slave." Jerry hesitated. "It's okay, I just washed it good, for Christ's sake!" Jerry quickly wet his left forefinger in his mouth, and applied it firmly to Frank's ass-hole. Nothing happened. "See?" Frank said. "You can't get it in because I'm holding it shut. Now try again." Jerry did as he was ordered, wet his finger once more. The ass-hole seemed as tight as before, then suddenly relaxed and his finger slipped in easily. "Hey, watch it!" Frank called out. "Just a little way." He took hold of Jerry's arm and pulled. "Just wanted to show you it was okay. Now roll over on your stomach." He lifted up so Jerry could flip over between his legs. "I'm going to stick my finger up your ass-hole." He backed away so he could get a good look at Jerry's ass. "Hey, you got a real nice plump ass for a little guy, you know it?" He put his hands down and pulled the cheeks apart. "You got a real deep ass-hole. I can hardly see it. Lift up your ass." Jerry complied, raising his ass up. "Now I see it. I'm going to stick my finger up it, but you try to stop me. Use your muscle; you know, the one you use when you gotta take a leak but there's no place, and you gotta hold back." Jerry knew the one he meant, and clamped down. Frank wet his middle finger in his mouth and pushed at Jerry's tight little dot of an ass-hole. Despite Jerry's efforts to clench his sphincter muscle, Frank twisted with his finger and managed to push in. Jerry let out a gasp, for Frank pushed his finger in as far as it would go. "Christ, but you got a fuckable ass," Frank said. He pulled his finger out and wiped it on the bedclothes.
"Roll over again, slave," Frank ordered. Jerry complied. He could see that Frank's cock had gone down. Frank looked undecided for a moment and Jerry began to fear he'd call a halt to the game before it got crucial.
"I await your orders, master," Jerry prompted.
Frank spotted the green light immediately. "Okay," he said. "Stick out your tongue, slave." Jerry did, but his eyes widened as he saw Prank slowly lowering himself, to touch the end of his cock to Jerry's tongue. Jerry saw it as the moment of truth; at that moment he faced what he was, and he did not falter. He stretched his tongue out still further, but he did not reach it up. He waited patiently as Frank slowly, slowly lowered his big limp cock. For all the expectation it was still a shock when he felt the cock at last touching his tongue. Frank let it touch only briefly, then pulled up. "Good slave," he said, his voice husky. It was, for him, in a way, also a moment of truth; though it was not on the scale of Jerry's, nevertheless it was a sober moment for any boy the first time a strange tongue touched his cock.
"I await your orders, master," Jerry said implacably.
Frank thought for a moment, lifted his cock with one hand, and slowly lowered himself over Jerry's face. "Slave, touch each of my balls with your tongue." As he held his balls suspended in position, Jerry reached up ceremoniously and touched each in turn. Frank withdrew, and looked down uncertainly at Jerry. "What did my cock taste like?"
"I don't know," Jerry admitted. "I only just touched it."
"Taste it, then. I command you to taste it, slave!" He dangled his cock over Jerry's mouth. Jerry slowly reached his tongue out and touched the head. He reached again, more firmly, and let his tongue push at the head, moving it slightly.
"Do you want to take it in your mouth."
"I am yours to command, O master."
"Take it in your mouth, slave."
"Take what?"
"Take my prick in your mouth, slave."
"Take what?"
"Take my big, fat, hot prick in your mouth, slave."
"I am yours to command, O master!" Jerry opened his mouth wide, raised his head, and swallowed the head of Frank's cock.
"Oh, Jesus!" Frank cried, for in truth it was a fabulous feeling, the warm, grasping wet mouth into which his cock had disappeared. It was so unexpected, the sight of Jerry's full lips stretched about the shaft just below the head, the sight coupled with this incredible, this most sensual feeling of his young life. Jerry was the only other person who had ever touched his cock since it attained its adolescent glory. And the mouth, he could see at once, was a million times better than his own fist could ever be, however slick with spit he made it. His cock nearly exploded into an erection. Jerry, startled, pulled his mouth away. But he didn't abandon the great shaft. He grabbed it with both hands and held on, gazing at it. His eyes glazed; he flicked the head fervently with his tongue, much as if it had been an ice cream cone in immediate danger of melting. But it did not melt; if anything, its substance solidified. He paused and looked up at Frank.
Frank was already feeling abashed at his cock's violent reaction to Jerry's mouth. He looked down uncertainly at his cock in Jerry's hands. It was as if Jerry had taken command, as if Jerry's mouth had ravished his cock, had unmanned him.
Jerry immediately sensed his uncertainty. "I am yours to command, O master," he whispered, his hands now clutching the shaft, holding the enormous cock like a bouquet of flowers.
"Let me fuck my cock into your mouth."
"Wouldn't it choke me?"
"You think it's pretty big?"
"Wow!"
"Try it, anyhow."
Jerry opened his mouth wide. Frank bent his cock down and pushed the pulsing great head through Jerry's full lips. Jerry choked. He pulled his cock out again. "I can't breathe," Jerry explained.
"There's gotta be a way," Frank said. "Guys do it all the time."
"Guys do it to you?"
"Sure. Alia time."
"Okay, then. Try it again."
Frank put only the head of his cock inside Jerry's mouth. "Run your tongue around it and kind of suck on it," he ordered. Jerry complied. "Can you breathe now?" Jerry, reluctant to surrender the dear lollipop, merely nodded his head. "Let me try fucking it. Maybe put your hands around it so it doesn't go in any farther than you can take."
Jerry put one hand on Frank's big cock; with the other he cupped the hard balls. Instinct guided his middle finger to Frank's ass-hole. The moment Frank felt the gentle probe he relaxed his ass-hole, and Jerry's finger entered. Frank reached his powerful hands to grab Jerry's head on either side, but in a remarkably tender grasp. Slowly, with great care, he began to fuck his cock into
Jerry's mouth. As exciting as anything was to look clown and see the convincing cunt that Jerry's lips made about the shaft of his cock, compressing as he pushed in, expanding as he pulled out. At first, Jerry held the cock in such a way that he could fuck only a couple of inches in and out, but slowly he relaxed his hold so that he allowed more and more of the long shaft into his mouth, adjusting the tilt of his head to allow it passage, until he was taking nearly five inches in his relatively small mouth. Frank, for all his growing excitement, forced himself not to fuck hard, not to push his cock beyond the limit set by Jerry's hand, but the new, fantastic sensation was so exciting he knew it would not be the long, frantic process jerking off usually was unless he was looking at some really dirty pictures. Yet he did not try to prolong it, as he sometimes did with those pictures. "I'm going to come in your fucking mouth, slave," he gasped. "Take my come in your mouth, slave," he gasped. "Take my come in your mouth, slave; I'm fucking you in your mouth, slave, and you're going to get a big load of my come in your mouth, slave. I'm going to shoot a load from my big, fat, hot, prick in your mouth, slave." It became something of a chant, more supplication than command now. Jerry's eyes were shut in ecstasy, he heard the command to receive the come in his mouth and welcomed it, though he wondered if he would be able to taste it. It was only recently that he could produce any come at all when he jerked off, a few drops that he sometimes had to squeeze out so he could taste it. It was a pleasant, bittersweet flavor; he always swallowed his own come, what there was of it, so he had no hesitation about swallowing Frank's.
"Oh, Christ! Oh, Christ, Oh Christ!" Frank sobbed with the last three powerful thrusts, and the third thrust filled the surprised Jerry's mouth with a great fountain of thick, rich cream. Thrilled, he sucked with his mouth, lapped with his tongue. The great cock seemed to explode in spasms. Frank clenched the boy's head in an iron grip. "Don't move!" he sobbed. "Don't touch it with your tongue!"
Sensing his agony even if he didn't understand it, Jerry forced his mouth, his tongue to be absolutely still. Frank relaxed his iron grip on Jerry's head, looked down and slowly, carefully pulled his fainting cock out of Jerry's mouth. Jerry spotted a glob of semen emerging from the slit and impulsively reached out his tongue to lap it up, but Frank pushed his head away.
"I await your commands, O master," Jerry whispered.
"Shit," said Frank. He leaped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Jerry, still on the bed, could hear him taking a leak, then washing.
Washing his sore, spent cock, Frank was filled with dismaying contempt for this shitty queer who had just sucked him off. He wondered if manliness required he beat the little fairy up before letting him go, but as he returned to the bedroom, some primitive instinct for self-preservation he didn't understand made him hide his feelings. Jerry looked at him uncertainly, sensing the change of atmosphere. Frank forced a smile. "Christ, that was wild!" he said.
"It was okay?"
"Right!"
"We gonna do it again?"
"We'll see," Frank said, unable to carry the lie that far. "You won't tell anyone."
"Tell anyone?"
"I mean, it's just you and me, isn't it?"
"Oh, sure," Frank said. T won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."
"I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else. I mean, it was only because we're friends. There isn't anyone else I'd want to do it with." This was a lie, Jerry recognized at once, for even as he had been sucking Frank's cock it struck him how wonderful it would be to suck Bill Casey's cock. But only Bill's.
"I guess you better be going now," Frank said. "I got things to do."
"Oh, sure," Jerry said. "I got things to do, too." He dressed hastily, not bothering to tie his tie.
"You better tie your tie," Frank ordered. He didn't want anyone who might see the little queer coming from his place suspecting anything. Jerry complied.
"So long," Jerry said.
"Yeah."
CHAPTER SIX
AFTER JERRY HAD gone, Frank got a beer out of the refrigerator. As he sat drinking it, listening half-heartedly to a disk jockey's chatter and fragments of records on the radio, he tried to analyze his feelings, for he was not entirely without sensitivity. He shuddered at the thought he'd let a fairy blow him, blow the manly prick that any girl in her right mind would cream at the thought of having rammed into her cunt; then he congratulated himself that he'd proved his essential masculinity by having this reaction, for never in a million years would he ever let another cocksucker touch his prick. It troubled him that before it happened he'd masturbated imagining Jerry sucking his prick, but that was water under the bridge. From no on he wouldn't even take his prick out unless there was a woman handy to stick it into.
He spent the evening at a nearby pool hall with some of the guys who used to be in his class, who were also fifteen. They did not hold it against him that he'd been held back a year. In fact, when one of the guys, taken in by some of Frank's wild fuck stories, had commented at the time that he'd probably fucked himself out of a promotion, Frank was pleased to see the others nodding in agreement. It was no secret he was hung better than any of them. Walking home that night, Frank half hoped he'd run into a queer he could beat up, but he didn't even spot a fuckable girl.
He thought maybe with all that had happened today, however distasteful, he wouldn't have to jerk off to get to sleep, but the habit had become so ingrained he guessed he'd better not risk it. It wasn't only the sensuality and the exploding relief; he knew he wasn't good at too many things, so it soothed his fragile ego to feel his prick engorge so spectacularly at the slight coaxing of his hand even before beginning the localized sensuality of the rhythmic pumping of his spit-slick hand.
When he got in bed he lay back, Kleenex in hand to catch the manly flow, got his prick rock-hard with almost no manipulation, and cleared his mind so he could fantasize fucking his prick into a beautiful, eager, demanding cunt. The cunt image refused to come. Instead, despite all his efforts, the image that forced its way to his inner eye was of Jerry's full lips clamped around his prick, and both hands pumping away at the shaft became his hands on either side of Jerry's head as he fucked his prick hard into Jerry's sweet mouth.
Frank didn't linger in the gym shower next afternoon. Nor did Jerry. When he finished dressing, Frank went over to the locker where Jerry was dressing. "Slave, be at my place in thirty minutes," he ordered in a whisper.
"Yes, master."
Frank had only his jockey shorts on when Jerry arrived. He stripped them off at once and headed for the bedroom. He threw himself onto the bed, on his back. "I'm tired, slave. You figure out how to make me come the best way."
"Yes, master."
Jerry was thrilled with the opportunity to experiment. He meant to take his time, to erect Frank's beautiful, immense cock slowly, tenderly; last night he had imagined it responding only to his mouth, refusing to let anything else arouse it, but with all inhibition gone the excitement was too much; he found himself licking and swallowing furiously, jerking away at the big cock with his hands as he swallowed the heavy balls, back to the cock, which shot up quickly, irrevocably. In no time at all Frank was moaning, his heavy thighs spreading and retracting, his hips pushing up, his hands digging into his knees. Jerry abandoned all hope of subtlety and brought him to a quick orgasm, let the great fountain spew into his glad mouth, then lay rigidly still, not moving his mouth or tongue, knowing how sensitive his lover was at this crucial moment.
Frank felt the familiar distaste, but at the same time he recognized its transitory nature. He pushed back and thrust Jerry down on the bed. "Open your mouth, slave," he ordered, and to Jerry's delight, he squeezed the last few drops into Jerry's mouth, though without letting his lips touch the spent cock. And this time he didn't rush into the bathroom to take a leak and wash. "You better go now," he told Jerry. "I got work to do."
"Okay," Jerry said. "Tomorrow?" It was a plea.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
That evening, as he was jerking himself off before going to sleep, Frank found a new image coming to his inner eye, the image of Jerry's plump little ass, tight little ass-hole....
"Slave, I'm gonna fuck you up the ass," Frank announced when they were stripped and ready in his bedroom next afternoon after school.
"Yes, master," Jerry whispered, but Frank could see the fear in his eyes. It gave Frank pause. He'd heard dirty jokes about Greek athletes pronging boys in the old days, of monks fucking each other (Episcopal monks, of course, not Roman Catholic), but now he could see that maybe a guy who'd never been fucked before-and he was certain Jerry had never been fucked before-might not like it the first time, just as he'd heard that sometimes a virgin hurt the first time she took a prick into her cunt. Anxious though he was to carry out last night's jerking-off fantasy, he didn't want to ruin a good little cocksucker. He wasn't the most brilliant guy in the world, he recognized dispassionately, but he was smart enough not to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs.
"Tell you what," Frank said, glancing down at Jerry's small cock, which was in erection, something not as immediately apparent as with his own glorious cock. "I command you to stick your cock up my ass." He had no hesitation about it, for his slave's cock wasn't that much bigger than his fingers.
"Yes, master?"
"Wait a minute," Frank said. Fie darted into the bathroom and returned with a jar of vaseline. "Let's do it the right way. Stick your cock up my ass, but don't fuck me. Slaves don't fuck their masters. Their mistresses, maybe, but never their masters."
"Yes, master."
Not wanting to touch Jerry's cock, Frank handed him the vaseline to put on himself. "Plenty, now," he ordered. Then he had Jerry put another gob on his ass-hole. This done, Frank got up on his knees, ass facing outward, and he held his cheeks apart with his hands. "Can you see it?" he asked. He suddenly remembered he'd been in this position once before, when he'd been having an examination at the doctor's office. "Cough," the doctor had said. He coughed now for Jerry. "Can you see it?"
"Sure!"
"Okay, stick it in. But take it easy."
"Yes, master."
Jerry's excitement was immense as he aimed his small, hard cock at his master's ass-hole. When he touched it, Frank involuntarily clamped his ass-hole muscle, but by an act of will he relaxed it. Jerry pushed, and his cock slipped in all the way. "Hey!" Frank cried. "Take it easy!"
"That hurt?"
"Not a bit," Frank said, though there had been a sharp but brief pain at the moment of entry. "Just didn't think it would go in so fast."
"Shall I take it out and do it over, more slowly?"
"Take it out. Now I'll put my prick up your ass. Just wanted to show you it don't hurt."
"Okay," Jerry said. He was certain it would hurt, but under the circumstances he was prepared to sustain any amount of pain for his love-master.
With Jerry on his knees, ass well-greased, his own cock greased up, Frank could see this was an entirely different matter from Jerry sticking his finger of a prick up Frank's ass. He didn't for a second wish his cock was a fraction of an inch smaller, but he did want to fuck Jerry in such a way he'd want to be fucked again, even though Frank knew that when he was finished he'd feel that old distaste for a couple of hours anyway.
After pushing his cock tentatively against Jerry's ass-hole, Frank decided a new approach was called for. "I'm tired, slave," he said. "I'll lay on my back, and you sit on my cock, taking it up your ass."
"Yes, master!" Jerry said eagerly.
Frank got on his back and held his big greased prick perpendicular as Jerry maneuvered his ass-hole over it. Frank took hold of the slim waist, but only to steady him, not to force. Though the head of Frank's cock felt immense against his ass-hole, Jerry made himself relax, pushed hard, pulling the cheeks of his ass apart to try to make his tiny ass-hole stretch, but it seemed useless. "Push, slave, push!" Frank groaned. Determined to take Frank's cock up his ass come hell or high water, Jerry lifted off slightly and came down with all his might. He felt searing pain as his anus parted to accept the huge head, and he cried out involuntarily. But he kept the head inside him.
"You all right?" Frank whispered in concern. "Yeah. It just kind of ... surprised me."
"Feels sensational!"
"Me too," Jerry lied. Frank surprised them both by reaching up with his hands, pulling Jerry's face down to his own and placing a brief, fervent kiss on the full lips.
Jerry knew he couldn't be poised like that forever, with Frank's cock only a little way up his ass. The sharp pain had been succeeded by a kind of numbness. He resolutely bore down and took two inches of shaft. It caused another sharp pain.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Frank said, catching the shadow of pain that crossed Jerry's face. "I guess I must be too big for you." He didn't want to lay the golden goose ... or goose the golden lay ... or whatever, though his prick egged him on. He pushed up on the boy's slim waist and lifted him bodily off the engorged great cock. He and Jerry looked at it and were relieved to see no blood. But for all the pain, Jerry's ass felt curiously empty without his master's cock up it.
"Let me try again," Jerry begged.
"It's up to you," Frank said.
"Command me."
"Take my prick up your ass, slave!" But his voice was soft, pleading.
He held his cock perpendicular once more. Jerry applied his anus to the head. He pushed, and to his surprise, the head went right in, with only slight pain. He pushed harder. The shaft went in a couple of inches and hardly pained at all. Elated, he bore down, and slowly the great cock slipped into his ass. Frank, seeing it was working, grew excited. He took firm hold of Jerry's slim waist and pushed hard, until Jerry was sitting solidly on his hard balls.
"Wow!" Jerry said, ecstatic.
"Wow!" Frank echoed. "It feels okay."
"It feels great. Imagine my getting that big thing all the way up my ass."
"Aw, it's not so big."
"I bet it's the biggest one in school. I bet there isn't a teacher with a bigger one. Even the gym teacher."
"You seen his?"
"No, but it couldn't be as big as yours."
"Aw...."
"Except maybe Miss O'Leary. She's sure the biggest prick around." Jerry laughed.
"I don't think we're gonna get nowhere fucking this way," Frank said. "How'll we do it?"
"I am yours to command, O master."
"Okay, slave. Get your fucking ass-hole off my big fucking prick and we'll see how we ought to fuck."
"Miss O'Leary would call that statement an ambiguity."
"It ain't Miss O'Leary that's sitting on my cock," Frank said.
"I bet it would be too big for her cunt," Jerry said proudly. He slowly, deliciously, removed his ass from Frank's cock. When it was all the way out he stared at Frank's gleaming cock with awe. "Jesus, I really did have that whole big thing all the way inside me!"
"Yeah! What about that? You got a great little ass-hole, kid."
Frank commanded Jerry to lie on his stomach and get fucked. As he addressed his throbbing cock to the boy's ass-hole, Jerry felt so eager for it he raised his ass up and pushed to help the great head get inside him as quickly as possible. "Jesus, you really want that prick, don't you, kid?" he said in wonder.
"Feels terrific."
"What does it feel like?"
"I don't know. Maybe part of it's the thought of having the biggest cock in the school up my ass. And the best."
"You sure know how to hurt a guy." Jerry had his legs spread wide now, his ass pushed up. He tried to angle his ass so he could feel his master's balls pressing hard against him when the great cock was all the way in. Frank began moving his cock in and out. "Feels so tight, I don't see why it don't hurt."
"Must be the way you fuck," Jerry said, his voice husky with pleasure. "I guess you've fucked a lot of girls and know how to do it right."
"Correct," Frank said, flattered.
"You can tell," Jerry said confidently. "But I guess you fuck a girl the other way round."
"Most of the time," Frank said professionally.
"Let's try it that way," Jerry said. "If that's the way you're used to."
"Don't even think it would work."
"I think it would work with a cock as big as yours," Jerry said. "No harm trying, anyway." Frank slowly, reluctantly, voluptuously pulled his cock out of Jerry's ass-hole. He watched it coming out, watched Jerry's ass-hole, obviously enlarged now, take a moment to close completely after it was out. At the last moment, as his glans pulled against the anus for exit, the rim had bulged almost like lips. Frank couldn't resist trying the newly-fucked ass-hole with his fingers. He found he could fit three of them in with ease. Jerry squirmed deliciously at the feel of his lover's fingers.
"I guess you're really getting a taste for this ass-hole stuff," Frank said in wonder.
"Shut up and fuck me," Jerry said. He rolled over on his back. "How do girls do it?"
"You ever want to be a girl?"
"Naw."
"But you sure like prick."
"Yours," Jerry admitted.
"I think you're supposed to put your legs over my shoulders," Frank said. He realized at once he had betrayed uncertainty. "I mean, a girl would put her legs over my shoulders, and if you want to do it like a girl, that's what you should do." He squatted down so that Jerry could place his ankles on his shoulders, then slowly moved up. The motion bent Jerry back, lifting his ass-hole up into clear view. "Yeah!" Frank said fervently, seeing the ass-hole reappear so invitingly. He aimed his cock with his right hand dead center to the slick ass-hole, his cock slid right in, all the way. Jerry gave a long, luxurious sigh as he felt the hard balls pressing against his ass. "Anything like fucking a girl?"
"Sort of," Frank guessed, looking down at the slim frame bent to his pleasure. "Of course, you don't have no tits to play with."
"You have time for that?"
"Oh sure, once you know the score. Sometimes you do it first to get them hot. You sure don't need no getting hot."
Jerry hoped Frank would lie atop him to fuck so he could feel the whole of the strong, muscular body and be able to clamp his arms around it. He even hoped, more fleetingly, that Frank would kiss him again, but the sight of his cock fucking into that tight little ass was so fascinating that Frank held himself up by his arms to watch. At first, out of concern for the smallness of Jerry's ass, which looked stretched precariously about his great shaft, he fucked slowly and gently, but when Jerry reached around to grab his balls, to pull them with each stroke he became more firm, until after seven or eight strokes he was pounding his cock hard into the trim little ass, almost hurting his balls with the violence of his thrust.
"Anything like fucking a girl?" Jerry asked hopefully.
"Sensational!" Frank groaned. He'd thought getting his prick sucked was the very end, but this was even greater. What he regretted almost at once was that the friction was so fantastic there wouldn't be any way he could prolong coming except by stopping entirely. He quickly realized he didn't have the strength of character to stop and cool down, so he just kept pounding away. When he felt himself coming he grabbed the thrilled Jerry hard around the chest and pounded with renewed frenzy. "Shoot it hard in me!" Jerry sobbed.
"Take it, take it, take it, TAKE IT!" Frank shouted, and his whole cock seemed to explode in the tight ass-hole.
"EEEOOOWWWWW!" Jerry screamed, for he'd come at the same time.
Frank, panting atop the boy, waited for the familiar feeling of disgust, but it failed to come. Though Jerry had never come before in such circumstances he felt no depletion, merely a feeling of release from what had seemed intolerable tension. And with the release came a quiet but intense enjoyment of feeling Frank locked in his arms, Frank's cock, limp but still magnificent, fully inside him. He couldn't resist clamping his ass-hole muscle on the dear cock. "Hey," Frank murmured sleepily, but he made no effort to pull his cock out. Instead he seemed to settle more closely, his arms closed completely around the boy. He sank his head beside Jerry's. For a moment Jerry thought he'd fallen asleep, then felt Frank's tongue digging into his ear.
"Hey," Jerry said fondly. He tweaked his ass-hole muscle again.
With this, Frank pushed himself up on his arms and looked down with mock menace at the boy. "All right, slave," he growled. "For that a thousand lashes." He began jiggling his hips and Jerry could feel the big cock quicken. Jerry began bearing down on his ass-hole muscle and, as he hoped, Frank's cock slowly erected inside him. When it was fully erect, Frank, a grin of triumph on his face-for he saw this as a triumph of virility-began fucking again. I'll show you no mercy," he growled, and he began thrusting his cock hard into Jerry's ass.
"Mercy, master, mercy!" Jerry cried, and he shoved his ass back at Frank. Frank had nearly overestimated his staying power. They both sweated copiously, and concentrated fiercely on the relentless pounding of cock into ass-hole, slap, slap, slap, slap. Jerry, fearful of failure, was relieved when Frank began moaning, when the pace even quickened, and at the end he held his ass tilted up, reached around with his hands to pull his cheeks apart for the maximum penetration, to feel the hard balls grinding into his ass. For this second fuck, Frank's cock wasn't the solid ramrod it had been before, his scrotum was loose, his heavy balls hung low so that with each thrust they swung wildly, slapping against the boy's ass before Frank's powerful thighs sandwiched them against the slight body. With an exhausted shout of triumph Frank jetted his unprecedented second load into Jerry's eager young ass and collapsed atop him. His heart was pounding so fiercely that Jerry worried for him. But finally Frank caught his breath, pushed himself up on his hands, and looking down at the conjunction of cock and ass-hole, slowly withdrew his exhausted cock from Jerry's pliant anus. It seemed to remain open even with the cock out. Peering down at it, Frank summoned a large glob of spit in his mouth and let it drop exactly into the center of the hole, to let it mingle with the semen that was slowly oozing out. Jerry felt it, giggled, and closed his ass-hole abruptly.
Frank reached down a hand and stroked Jerry's hair. "You're a good slave," he murmured. "You're the best," Jerry whispered.
Jerry came to Frank's every afternoon now. They tried new fucking positions, but most of all Frank seemed to like to have Jerry suck him off, and Jerry learned all the special nuances that could bring Frank's big cock to a quick boil, or prolong the pleasure exquisitely. One of Frank's pool hall pals claimed that he'd met a whore who insisted on rimming him, so Frank asked Jerry to rim him. But it was some time before Jerry could bring himself to put his tongue into Frank's ass-hole.
Finally it happened quite naturally. Frank, a master now at displaying his cock to its best advantage, had discovered in a mirror that if he lay on his stomach, cock pushed straight down, legs slightly spread, even if he didn't have a hard-on, his cock showed mightily between his legs, and the compression squeezed his balls so that they straddled the shaft of his cock. Next day he threw himself into this position on the bed while Jerry was still tearing off his clothes. As he figured, the sight excited his slave so much that as soon as he was stripped Jerry threw himself on Frank's ass and ecstatically licked the squeezed, incredibly inviting cock and balls. While the boy was about this, Frank reached carefully to his buttocks, and with a palm on each quietly separated them, revealing, as his mirror had told him it would, his well-scrubbed, freshly shaved ass-hole. Jerry was soulfully licking the underside of Frank's gleaming glans when his eye spotted the new treasure. He dragged his tongue up the shaft, up the stretched valley of pouch between the balls, and straight to the sculptured dimple that only his fingers had touched before. His tongue faltered for an instant as his mind remembered what this hole was, but the strength and smoothness seduced his tongue, he pushed in, and as the tentative exploration brought a moan of pleasure from his master he pushed more boldly through the relaxed but quivering anus, as far as his tongue could reach. The die was cast.
He discovered that rimming got Frank so excited he invariably rolled Jerry over and fucked him hard up the ass, so any time Jerry wanted Frank to fuck him, which was often, he had only to rim his lover. They got so that Jerry could make Frank come twice in an afternoon, and one remarkable afternoon, in only an hour and a half, Jerry made Frank come four times-twice in his mouth, twice up his ass. So who was the slave, and who was the master?
Unfortunately, Jerry was more tireless than Frank. He grew more demanding of Frank, confident of his hold over the older boy. One afternoon, four months after that difficult day of discovery, Jerry arrived at Frank's eager to try something new: he had figured out that he could stick his own cock up Frank's ass and still reach the head of his lover's cock, to suck him off. He was sure Frank would enjoy it. But Frank wasn't in. Surprised, a little worried, Jerry left the tenement where his lover's flat was and walked down the street. Passing the pool hall he peered in and saw Frank playing pool with some of his old cronies. Thinking only that Frank must have lost track of time, Jerry walked boldly in. He went over to Frank, who was bent over the pool table, aiming for a shot.
"Hey, you weren't up at your place, and it's time."
Everything stopped dead. One of the guys snickered. A funny look came over Frank's face. "Beat it," he snapped, and turned back to the shot he'd been about to make. He missed. Jerry belatedly realized that he'd embarrassed his lover. He scooted out, cheeks flaming, and went straight home.
"What's the matter, Frankie, baby?" said Bucky Lacey, a plump boy with acne. "Giving your lady love the boot."
"Aw, cut the crap, Bucky."
"Did you see that ass?" said Cal Larsen, a short stocky boy.
"Now we know where Frank's been sticking his prick," Bucky said.
"That's your sticking chicken?" asked Paul Curran. "You really know that queer."
"Any port in a storm," said Cal.
Frank decided the best defense was a good offense. "Don't knock it till you've tried it."
"He any good at sucking pricks?" asked Bucky.
"Think I'm his pimp?" asked Frank.
"Aw, come on," Cal said. "We're your pals. How about fixin' us up?"
"I bet he'd cream in his pants, if he got all of us at once," Bucky said. "A queer's dream."
"I think Frankie-boy wants the little fairy all to himself," said Paul.
"Okay, okay," Frank said with an impatient wave of his hand. "You asked for it."
Next day Jerry looked anxiously for signs that Frank was mad at him, but Frank seemed to have forgotten the pool hall episode already. Just when Jerry was getting dressed from gym, Frank came over and said he'd see him at the usual time.
Heart light, for he had feared he'd really spoiled things, Jerry went to Frank's on winged feet. When he knocked on the door Frank opened it right away, but unlike the other times, he had all his clothes on. Only when Jerry got into the room did he see the others. "Oh, I didn't know," he said lamely. He turned to go. Bucky Lacey stepped in front of the door to block it.
"I'm here to get blown," he said. "So are the other guys. The sooner you blow us, the quicker you can get out of here."
"No!" Jerry cried. He looked around frantically. Frank refused to meet his eyes, stood with an odd smile on his face. "Frank?"
"Fucking queer," Frank said.
"I'm not going to do it," Jerry said, but his voice sounded high to him, when he'd meant it to sound deep and convincing.
Cal Larsen pulled off his belt. He snapped it like a whip. "You're gonna blow us all," he said.
"No," Jerry said, but with less assurance. Bucky took off his belt and held it in his hand, so did Paul Curran. They closed into a menacing circle around him. Jerry turned to Frank, terrified appeal in his eyes.
Paul saw this. "Tell your sweetheart he's got to blow us," he said to Frank.
"Go ahead," Frank said. "I told them you wouldn't mind sucking their pricks. I told them you suck mine all the time."
"But that's only...." Frank moved in quickly and slapped Jerry across the face. He grabbed Jerry's right arm and bent it painfully behind his back. It seemed like old times.
"Okay, you guys." He's ready. Get your fucking pricks out."
"You sure don't have to tell me twice," Paul said. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. Frank forced Jerry to his knees and Paul approached him. When Jerry tried to turn his head to avoid the dangling cock Frank twisted his arm hard till he cried out in pain, then slapped him. Jerry fell to the floor. Bucky and Cal moved in with their belts, Bucky already swinging his. "I think he's ready now," Frank said. He looked down at Jerry, who was too stunned to cry.
"Okay," Jerry whispered hoarsely. He knew it was useless to fight.
"That's more like it," Paul said. He moved in and Jerry took his cock in his mouth and began working on it. It erected quickly.
"Look at him go!" said Cal.
"This kid knows his stuff," said Paul.
Cal moved behind Jerry, bent down and pulled him up by the hips. Jerry disgorged Paul's cock and looked around.
"Hey!" Paul said indignantly.
"Keep sucking," Cal said. Jerry returned to his task. Cal reached around, undid Jerry's belt, and pulled down his pants, then his shorts. "Hey, look at that neat ass!" he said.
"Shame to let it go to waste," said Bucky. Frank disappeared in the bathroom and returned with the jar of vaseline. He handed it to Cal. "I like a well-equipped whore house," Cal said. He rubbed some on his cock, then applied more to Jerry's ass. Jerry didn't pause in sucking Paul's cock as Cal's cock entered and went all the way up his ass.
"I don't think the little fucker even felt it!" Bucky said.
"I bet he feels this!" Cal said, and began fucking hard. He fucked so hard he jarred Paul's cock out of Jerry's mouth.
"Watch it, you stupid shit!" Paul growled.
"Put him on the bed," Frank ordered. Cal pulled his cock out of Jerry's ass, lifted the boy easily in his arms, and carried him into the bedroom.
"Ain't that sweet!" Bucky said. "Just like a fuckin' bride!"
"I hope when you get married, we all get to fuck your bride," Cal said.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Bucky said. "Especially if it's your sister."
Frank and Cal silently stripped the rest of the clothes off the boy. Frank had Paul sit at the head of the bed. put Jerry frill length on the bed, stomach down, with his head buried in Paul's crotch. He pushed Jerry's legs apart; Cal got between his legs and deftly thrust his cock up the pliant ass-hole. "You must have fucked him plenty, Frankie-boy. It practically fell in."
"That looks good," Paul said. "Don't make me come," he instructed Jerry. "Just keep me hot and ready. I want to fuck you up the ass when Larsen's done."
"I want him to suck on me a little before I come," Cal said. "I paid the madam and I want the whole works."
"Then take it easy," Frank said.
Cal fucked away at Jerry's ass for a time, then pulled his cock out. He watched for a moment as the boy sucked away at Paul's cock, head moving in and out. "Christ, this is a hot little whore. This kid's got a real future. How come you been hidin' him?"
"I better fuck him right now," Paul said. "I don't think I can hold out much longer."
"Okay," said Bucky. "My turn to get my hot prick sucked." He stripped off his pants and shorts and took Paul's place at the head of the bed. Without a moment's hesitation Jerry took his already hard cock into his mouth and began sucking away. "Easy there, sweetheart," Bucky said. "I want this to last." Jerry obediently slowed down. "Jesus, this kid really enjoys his work!" Paul got on his knees between Jerry's legs, pulled his cheeks apart to get a good look at the well-fucked ass-hole, then slid his cock in.
"Don't you need vaseline?" Frank asked.
"Went right in," Paul said. He watched Jerry sucking on Bucky's cock as he slowly fucked his cock in and out of Jerry's ass. It was all too exciting for his staying power. "Oh shit, I'm shooting already," he moaned. With a loud grunt he shot his load and pulled his cock out.
"Me next," said Bucky, puling his cock out of Jerry's mouth. Cal replaced him at once, and Jerry began sucking on his cock without hesitation. Bucky knelt between the spread legs, reached a hand down and felt Jerry's ass-hole. "Wow! This kid is all ass-hole! It's as big as a fucking cunt!" He lowered himself and stuck his cock hard up Jerry's anus. Huskier than the other boys, his pounding jarred Jerry's slight body more than the other's had, so Cal had to reach to brace Jerry's shoulders. Bucky shot his load in a very short time. He yanked his cock out and got up.
"I guess it's my turn to fuck him," Cal said. "You already fucked him," Frank said. "Yeah, but I didn't shoot. Will it cost me extra."
"Oh, shit, go ahead," Frank said.
Cal quickly knelt between Jerry's legs and put his cock deftly into Jerry's ass-hole. "I think you guys made it bigger!" he complained.
"He hasn't got no cock to suck on!" Bucky said.
"Okay, Frankie baby, let's see the cock that only a cocksucker could love," Cal said, pausing in his fucking.
Frank hesitated. "I think he's modest!" Paul said.
"Shit!" said Frank. He pulled off his pants, his shorts, even his shirt. He was proud of his body, and it stung him to be called modest. He already had a raging hard-on.
"Christ, look at that!" Bucky said in unabashed admiration. "A queer's dream!"
Frank climbed onto the head of the bed and Jerry immediately took the familiar cock into his mouth. The others gathered around to watch, and Cal didn't even begin fucking. "Yessir, a cocksucker's dream," Bucky said. "Look at him go! He can sure handle it!"
The others gazed in awe, and their awe increased Frank's pleasure that much. Jerry's mouth was opened wider than they'd thought possible and his head moved from his neck like a machine, sliding the great fat shaft in and out of his painfully-stretched lips. Cal began fucking his cock up Jerry's ass, trying to match his rhythm with the steady bobbing of the boy's head. Oblivious of the circumstances now, Jerry was cupping Frank's big balls with one hand, his middle ringer stretched out and into Frank's ass-hole. Frank was tilted in such a way the others could see this. It was all Frank could do to keep from clutching Jerry's head.
Cal shot his load and pulled his cock out of Jerry's ass. "Let's see you fuck him now," Bucky told Frank.
"Hell, no one but a girl could take a cock that big," Cal said.
"Christ, it would be some sight!" Paul said.
"Okay," Frank said. "I'll show you amateurs how it ought to be done. It's not size that counts, it's technique." He pulled his cock out of Jerry's mouth, got off the bed, and rolled Jerry over. "Wait a minute," he said. "Want to see him lick my ass-hole?"
"No kidding!" said Bucky in awe. Jerry looked stricken. Frank pushed him off the bed, climbed on it himself, on his knees, ass high. "I think the bastard wants us to fuck him!" Bucky said.
"Just try it!" Frank threatened. "Come on, kid," he told Jerry. "Lick my ass-hole. You done it before." Jerry had thought he had reached rock bottom, but saw he was wrong. It was only one little step farther down, he consoled himself. Trying to put everything else out of his mind, trying to pretend there was only himself and Frank here, that nothing had changed, he sat on the bed and applied his tongue to Frank's inviting ass-hole. There was nothing more to lose, he did a good job of it.
"Christ, he's really doin' it!" Cal said in awe.
"Jesus!" Bucky said. "Sticking his tongue up an ass-hole!"
"Way up!" said Paul. "Look at him go."
"I bet he even eats shit!" Cal said.
"We should have made him drink our piss," said Bucky.
Frank figured it had gone on long enough. He whipped around, threw Jerry down on the bed, on his back, lifted the boy's legs over his shoulders, and roughly plunged his big cock into Jerry's ass-hole. Jerry gave a cry of pain, realized how tender his anus had become, but Frank didn't pause. He fucked with dedicated fury, jarring Jerry's slight body hard with every thrust.
"Shit, look at that fucker go!" Paul cried.
"Makes me feel like a fuckin' amateur!" Cal said.
Frank exploded his orgasm up Jerry's ass-hole in the shortest possible time and yanked his cock out. He got up from the bed. "All right, kid, get dressed and clear out of here."
"That any way to treat a lady?" Bucky asked. The others snickered, jerry was obviously stiff as he struggled into his clothes. "I don't think the little cocksucker is going to be sitting down for a week," Bucky said.
"Aw, leave him alone," Cal said. "We had our fun."
"Don't tell me he didn't enjoy it," Paul said. "Probably the highlight of his life."
"I think I'm ready again," Bucky said.
Jerry fled out of the door.
That night, shortly after ten, Jerry's mother came bursting into the Casey flat. "Something's wrong with Jerry!" she cried. "He won't wake up! He won't answer me!"
Bill and his mother raced for the Calder flat, Bill heading the way. He discovered that Jerry had taken a full bottle of aspirin. Not knowing what else to do, he threw Jerry over his shoulder, leaped down the stairs to the street, and ran three blocks until he was able to flag down a taxi. He got Jerry to the hospital, where his stomach was pumped out in short order.
The doctor gave Jerry's mother a powerful sedative; Bill's mother took her home and saw that she got to bed. Bill insisted on remaining in the hospital with Jerry, and didn't leave his side. He took hold of Jerry's cold hand, trying to warm it with his own.
Jerry opened his eyes about four in the morning. He saw Bill sitting by the bed, holding his hand. "Am I in heaven?"
"No," Bill said coldly. "How could you be."
"I guess not. But I wanted to be dead."
"Why?"
"None of your business."
"Soon as you're well enough to leave the hospital, I'm going to beat the shit out of you, so you'd better tell me now."
"I'd rather be dead than tell ... you."
"Maybe I know already."
"Say something, so I can tell."
"You don't like girls."
Jerry sighed. "If you know that, I guess you might as well know the rest." So he told everything, leaving out no detail. Bill said nothing, merely nodded solemnly from time to time. "Now do you know why I want to be dead?"
"I know why you might want to kill somebody."
"Being what I am, wouldn't I be better off dead."
"Before what happened this afternoon, didn't you enjoy it?"
Jerry hesitated. Bill looked him straight in the eye. "Yes," Jerry murmured. "So live and enjoy it."
"It doesn't disgust you?"
"I wouldn't want to do it. But I bet I do some things that might disgust you."
"I bet you don't."
"What if I told you I took off a girl's pants, and I licked her cunt with my tongue, and I made her come just licking her cunt, putting my tongue way up inside her cunt?"
"I wouldn't want to do that."
"I wouldn't want to suck cocks."
"What if somebody made you lick a cunt when you didn't want to?"
"That's hard to imagine. It was pretty rotten what happened to you, Jerry. If you're careful, you can see that it never happens again."
"Could you ever have respect for me?"
"Is it important?"
"Yes."
"I can't have any respect for you if you go around trying to kill yourself, scaring your poor mother and mine half to death. But if you find some nice guy you really like, some guy that-likes what you like and isn't a crummy shit, I'm all for it."
"I'm a fairy."
"No, you're not."
"Would you be seen with me?"
"Sure. Any time."
"You never did."
"You never asked me," Bill said. "Maybe if I'd thought of you like a girl, like you seem to think, I'd have asked you."
"Okay. So go with me to a basketball game next Saturday."
"Okay."
"You mean it?"
"I'll get the tickets tomorrow." Tears came to Jerry's eyes. "If you cry, I'll punch you right in the mouth," Bill said.
"The cocksucking mouth," Jerry said.
"Except maybe you'd punch me right back in my cunt-sucking mouth," Bill added. Jerry blinked the tears back and smiled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JERRY WAS WELL enough to go home next day, and to return to school the day after. Prompted by Bill, neither Jerry's mother nor his said a word about the abortive suicide. The doctor told Bill that the aspirin might not have killed Jerry even if they hadn't found him and pumped his stomach out, but Bill decided to let Jerry have his moment of drama and didn't tell him.
What Jerry dreaded most of all about returning to schol was facing Frank Murphy, seeing the contempt on his face. When he saw Frank he could hardly believe his eyes. Frank had two shiners, a broken nose, and three of his front teeth were missing. He looked pitiful. He saw Jerry staring at him and turned away angrily. It could only have been Bill, he thought, yet Bill didn't have a mark on him. Then he noticed that Bill seemed to be very tender with his right hand. At that moment his love for Bill Casey reached a peak from which it would never recede. Occasionally he saw Frank's friends from the pool hall, but they always gave him a wide berth. They were sore at Frank. "You might have told us that madman Bill Casey was practically his brother," Bucky Lacey said. To their relief Bill didn't seem disposed to do anything to them for their part in raping the kid, but they never played pool with Frank Murphy again. They didn't want to be associated with him.
It had genuinely shocked Jerry when Bill said what he liked to do to girls, but he believed Bill when he said it, and later he discovered that, like his own devotion to cock, the fourteen-year-old Bill's devotion to the cunt was a commitment that became a way of life. Oddly enough, Bill's awakening had come the very same week as Jerry's, else Bill might have been more aware of what was happening to his foster brother, for that was really how he tended to think of Jerry.
Even before puberty, Bill Casey had figured he must be some sort of sex fiend, the way he kept thinking about girls, undressing them in his mind, kissing them all over, even getting a thrill seeing women's panties in a store window. Being the athletic sort, he took lots of biting cold showers, sometimes he thought they were all that kept him from throwing girls down on the sidewalk and ripping off their pants.
Bill took part in many school activities, the kind most likely to throw him in with pretty girls. He even joined the heavily female French Club, and quickly picked up a fair command of conversational French if it didn't give him access to anything else. Girls tended to be timid with him, which he mistook for lack of interest due to his not being handsome. Already at fourteen he had the Irish truck-driver face that would see him through life. In his innocence he didn't suspect that his rampant sexuality, intuitively sensed by even the most inexperienced girls, was what created the awe he mistook for indifference.
Bill was co-chairman of the dance committee with Mildred Thompson, one of the prettiest and most popular girls at the school. Mildred invited him to her house to discuss details of the dance. When he arrived he found her parents weren't at home, but they had a chaperone in her best friend, Ingrid Sigholm. Ingrid was a lovely blonde whose panties Bill had ripped to shreds (in his mind) almost as often as Mildred's. "Are there three co-chairmen?" Bill asked. He didn't know whether to be pleased or displeased. The thought of being alone with Mildred had both thrilled and alarmed him; he wasn't sure if they were alone he could resist tearing off her panties, but on the other hand, having two pretty girls to himself was a joy all its own.
Mildred and Ingrid exchanged glances. "I asked Ingrid to come by because ... well, I knew my folks wouldn't be here, and I was afraid to be alone with you."
'"Afraid?"
"With your reputation and all," Ingrid said. "What reputation?" He was mystified. "They say you can make a girl do ... anything," Mildred said.
"Whether she wants to or not," Ingrid added. "What?" It came out a shout.
"You are the sexiest boy in the class," Ingrid said. "We figured, with the two of us, you'd behave yourself."
Bill looked at them in wide-eyed disbelief. "Why, I've never even...." He stopped dead. But the girls knew what he'd been about to say.
"Not even once?" Mildred asked in disbelief.
"I've never even seen a girl!" Bill cried, outraged at the crowning injustice of it all.
Mildred and Ingrid laughed and clung to each other. Bill wished they'd cling to him. Oh, God, what he'd like to do! "How come this got started," Bill said. "This business about me being ... you know ... a sex fiend."
"It's the way you look at a girl," Mildred said. "No matter what I'm wearing, I always feel stark naked the way you look at me."
"I do like girls," Bill said.
"Stark naked?" Ingrid giggled.
Bill hastily thrust his hands into his pockets. "Stark naked" was the magic phrase, and now he was sporting a raging erection.
"Excuse us," Mildred said, and she led Ingrid off to another room. This gave Bill a chance to do a little dance that rearranged his erection in a more comfortable, less noticeable position. What if they returned stark naked? He did another little dance.
They returned, but not stark naked. "Did you mean it when you said you'd never even seen a girl?" Mildred asked.
"Honest and truly?" Ingrid added. "You know where we mean," Mildred said unnecessarily.
"Not even a picture," Bill said. It wasn't that he couldn't have gotten hold of some if he'd wanted, but he loved his mother too much ever to foul their home with such stuff, and he had long ago decided it had to be the real thing or nothing.
"Do you want to play doctor?" Ingrid asked.
"Oh, Ingrid, really!" Mildred said. "We must be adult about this." She turned to Bill. "We'll let you look at us, if you promise not to touch us."
"As a public service," Ingrid added.
"Can't I take your pants down for you?" he asked. "I promise not to tear them."
"No!" Ingrid and Mildred cried as one.
"Will you want to see me?" he asked.
"Oh, yes!" said Ingrid.
"No!" snapped Mildred.
"Why not?" asked Ingrid.
"We can't take any chances," Mildred told her. "Oh, all right," she said, clearly disgruntled.
"I don't mind," Bill said generously.
"Our way, or not at all," Mildred said.
"Miss Priss," Ingrid mumbled.
"Okay," Bill said. "Whatever you say."
"Better go upstairs," Mildred said. She led the way.
"Do you want to see all of us, or just between our legs?" Ingrid asked, smiling at him over her shoulder.
"All of you, if that's okay," Bill said. Actually, he'd seen girl's breasts in pictures and things, and he thought they were nice to look at, but it would be a few years before a pair of large, resilient tits would excite him nearly as much as a cunt.
Mildred led the way to her bedroom. She had Bill sit on a chair on the far side of her bed, and she and Ingrid disappeared in the adjoining bathroom. Having had experience waiting for girls to dress, Bill was amazed how little time it took for this pair to undress. He'd thought the wait would be interminable, that by the time they appeared he'd have the biggest nut-ache of all time. Already he could feel the moisture and knew that his cock, rock-hard against his belly, was seeping steadily.
"We're ready!" Mildred called out to his relief.
"Don't get out of the chair," Ingrid said.
"Do you think we ought to tie him in it?" Mildred asked.
"That'd mean getting dressed again, Ingrid reminded her.
"I won't touch you!" Bill shouted in agony.
Ingrid appeared first, the blonde, then Mildred, the redhead. As Bill gazed in awe, tears came to his eyes. It seemed to him the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen in his life. It was almost a religious experience. He wasn't sure he could keep from crying. "Beautiful!" he whispered. "Beautiful!" Pragmatically speaking, they were not masterpieces of female creation, but they were both quite lovely, lithe, slim. Already at fourteen their hips had taken on womanly configuration; they still looked boyish in clothes-not so when stark naked. Their breasts were more than mere buds and gave vivid promise of the succulent fruit they would he in only another year. To Bill, the real magic was the soft, engrossing bushes of pubic hair, one blonde, the other red. It was a modest growth, sufficiently light that the slit that was the stuff of his dreams could be easily discerned; not the mere flat slit he'd pictured, but rather a lovely, soft swelling, vibrantly three-dimensional, snug between the firm young thighs, a holy grail of whose quest he wanted urgently to be worthy.
It was clear from the look on Bill's face that he'd never seen a girl naked before, but Mildred wanted to savor the triumph of being with Ingrid, his first. "You've never honestly seen a girl before?" she asked. He couldn't find his voice. He merely shook his head.
Ingrid looked down at herself, then at Mildred. "Doesn't look like much," she said practically. "A boy has a lot more to show."
"How would you know?" Mildred asked.
"Statues," Ingrid said mysteriously.
"A girl's is complicated, too," Mildred said, defending her sex. "Only it isn't all on the surface."
"You can see it if you pull it apart a little," Ingrid said. "Let's show him."
"Should we?" Mildred asked, looking uncertainly at Bill.
"Please!" he gasped. So much already, and yet so much more he wanted.
"You still promise not to touch?" Mildred asked.
"I'll just show him mine, if you're so afraid," Ingrid said. She walked briskly around the bed, sat down on it, spread her legs and placed her fingers of both hands on either side of the slit. "Now look," she said unnecessarily. As Bill stared, fascinated, her cunt blossomed like a flower. The slit opened to reveal beneath a lovely deep pink blush of tender flesh, topped by the soft-looking canopy that treasured her clitoris. Her deft pulling parted not only the firm outer lips, but even held the tight inner lips slightly ajar and showed Bill almost the full articulation of her cunt.
"Beautiful!" he gasped, and he nearly came.
"Would you like to kiss it?" Ingrid whispered.
He tore his eyes away from the beauty to look into her eyes. "Yess," he whispered, and never had assent been more passionate.
Ingrid had meant it almost as a joke. She turned to look uncertainly at Mildred, her friend shrugged. "Go ahead," she said. "It's your hole."
Still holding the slit open, Ingrid turned back to Bill. "Go ahead, if you want," she said.
Bill, slowly, like a sleep-walker, moved his lips towards that final goal of all his young dreams. Ingrid gasped when she felt the warm, full young lips touch her cunt. Bill had meant it to be a light worshipful kiss but his mouth betrayed his mind's good intentions. As he pressed his lips firmly to the dear slit his tongue pushed out and entered it.. "Oh!" Ingrid cried in surprise, and she grabbed his head. Bill reached his hands out to seize the lovely young thighs, his fingers moved to the soft bush to pull the lips apart more so his tongue and mouth could delve in. Ingrid began moaning softly.
"Hey!" Mildred cried. "You were only supposed to kiss it!"
"Ooooohhhhh!" Ingrid moaned. They paid Mildred no heed. So she came around to the other side of the bed for a closer look at this most passionate of all kisses. Bill was on his knees, frantically eating the sweet young cunt. But he was not so wrapped up in his work, his lifetime goal, that he failed to notice that another young cunt had arrived. His mouth did not pause for a second in its devotion to the blonde-rimmed haven, but one hand strayed surely to the titian bush, and with an intuitive expertise his powerful fingers tenderly probed this second lovely slit. Mildred shocked for a moment at the unexpected touch, found herself rubbing his hand, then pulling apart the lips of her cunt to let the fingers probe deeper. She sat on the bed beside Ingrid, spread her legs, and Bill swiftly moved his mouth to the new delight but kept a hand poised in Ingrid's cunt. He was still too new at the game to know his geography, but he was a quick learner, and despite his mouth's hungry assault on Mildred's untried cunt his ringers recognized a treasure when Ingrid guided them to her clitoris. He seized the nub, already erected, and rubbed it hard. His tongue sought out its twin at the crown of Mildred's cunt and quickly erected it. If he could have died at this moment, Bill thought fleetingly, it would be with the thought of a life well climaxed.
Mildred suddenly pushed Bill's head away from her cunt. He looked anxiously up at her. 'Take off your clothes," she ordered.
"No!" Ingrid cried. "I don't think I could bear it!"
"Will you promise not to try to put it in us?" Mildred asked.
"You'll have to help me," he said, completely honest.
"I'm afraid!" Ingrid moaned. "If I lost my virginity, Daddy would kill me!"
But Bill was already tearing off his clothes. When he was stripped the girls looked with unabashed admiration at his firm, muscular young body. Had they seen his cock limp (the only way Jerry had ever seen it) they would not have been impressed, for soft it looked nearly as innocuous as the harmless cocks on Greek statues in the Museum of Fine Arts. Not until he was sixteen would it attain to nearly the glory he would carry around in his pants for the rest of his life, but in erection it was already an auger of the future, a good, powerful six inches that would eventually enter lucky cunts as a broad column of eight inches.
"It's so big!" Ingrid cooed, and Mildred resisted the temptation to ask how she'd become an expert on relative sizes. When she decided to have Bill take off his clothes she had wondered if the sight of him naked would make her lose her resolve to save her virginity for her lucky husband, but on seeing the size of his cock she was certain taking it up her cunt would be a painful effort, and she decided that fortunate circumstance would save her virginity, if nothing else. The girls stood before Bill as he sat on the edge of the bed, hard cock gleaming up at them. He reached out a hand to slip now-expert fingers into each cunt as they stared down at his cock in awe.
"I don't see why it doesn't show when you walk," Mildred said.
"It isn't always up like that," Ingrid informed her. "It is a lot smaller, usually. I read about it in Dr. Marie Stopes. I remember exactly what she said: 'The male penis is usually small, soft and drooping.' I wish she could see this one."
"Do those other things get smaller?" Mildred asked, gazing at his already impressive balls.
"No," he admitted, and she felt curiously relieved. She reached out a hand and fleetingly touched them.
Ingrid also reached out and gently touched the head of his cock with the end of her fingers, then withdrew. "It's beautiful," she said. "I never thought a boy's would be beautiful."
"Do you want to kiss it?" Mildred asked, a curious smile on her face.
Ingrid looked at her. "I will if you will."
"You first," said Mildred.
"All right." Ingrid bent clown to place a quick but firm kiss on the head of Bill's cock. It was fleeting, but all the same Bill found it so exciting he marveled that he didn't shoot his load. But he nearly did. Some semen seeped out.
"What's that?" Mildred asked. "You're not peeing, are you?"
"It's what makes babies," Ingrid told her. She reached down with a finger, took up a small sample, and tasted it.
"What's it taste like?" Mildred asked. "Help yourself."
Mildred did, but instead of reaching down merely a finger she bent her head to the task, took the engorged head into her mouth and lapped up the flow. Bill closed his eyes in an ecstasy that was almost pain.
"Hey, save some for me!" Ingrid cried. She pulled Mildred up, knelt at Bill's feet and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. She pulled away in disappointment. "It's all gone," she complained. She turned accusingly to her friend. "You took it all!"
"There'll be a lot more in a few seconds, if you keep that up," Bill moaned. There was a brief argument who deserved the gusher, which was settled when Bill promised (and he knew he could deliver) that he'd summon up one for each. But he insisted that for each ejaculation he be allowed to bring a tender young pussy to climax.
Mildred, as hostess, properly went first. She lay flat on the bed, Bill got into the classic overhead sixty-nine position as though he'd been doing it all his life, and dove his eager mouth into the lovely Titian bush. He warned Mildred that he might shoot his load in a hurry, to take it easy with her mouth until she felt herself coming, then she could cut loose and suck away all she wanted.
Mildred took Bill at his word and did little more than hold the big young cock in her mouth, tenderly rubbing her tongue over it. Ingrid had intended merely to watch, but the sight of Bill's beautiful round balls bulging out as he bent over was too much; she put herself where she could suck them and lick them. This added attraction made Bill seriously doubt he could hold off till he made Mildred come, but fortunately the newness and the excitement of all this, along with Bill's expert and frantic tongue-assault of her virgin clit, brought her to a quick climax. As she felt it coming she sucked hard on Bill's cock and was rewarded with a rich explosion of creamy come, a liberal treasure whose amount astonished but enchanted her.
The impatient Ingrid pushed Mildred off the bed, quickly got under Bill, for all the world like a young calf at the udder of its dam, and sucked his cock into her mouth. "Do I have to take it easy?" she asked, remembering his instructions to Mildred.
It took a moment for him to decipher her words, he-cause of the impediment of his cock. "No, I don't shoot my second load quite as quick," he said modestly. "Do it as hard as you want."
Without further ado he sank his head into the blonde crotch and relished all the sensitivities he'd been learning so rapidly. Seeing him in action, a sexologist would have declared the boy must have been doing it for years, so sensitive he seemed to every nuance of the female physiology, but the simple explanation was that Bill Casey was a genius, and had cunts been available to him even as early as six or eight, he could have been as expert and dedicated. And what happy young cunts there might have been! In future years he would learn more subtleties, discover solutions to special problems, but even at this moment, at his tender but virile fourteen, it was doubtful if in all Boston there was a more enthusiastic or more skilled cuntsman.
Mildred also yielded to the temptation of the bulging balls, to Bill's added pleasure, and since she herself had enjoyed them, Ingrid did not begrudge them to her friend, though it meant she had to be less frantic sucking Bill's cock than she would have been without the second head to consider.
And as though he'd been lapping cunts since in imagine, Bill sensed exactly the pace to bring this virgin cunt to a climax at the moment he would shoot his second load into her ecstatic mouth. If he had any mild regret-and it was one he'd have all his life-his one criticism of the Creator's craft-it was that women could not provide in climax a generous gush of semen for him to savor, but the pleasure that was provided was so ample to his needs that he recognized his mild criticism for the ungrateful carping it was.
The violence of his second coming was sufficient to whip his balls out as he had skillfully planned, Ingrid had her climax at that moment, so far greater than climaxes coaxed by her expert masturbation that she was amazed. When it was over the three young, naked lovelies stared at each other in wonder that together their bodies were capable of such ecstasy. It had been very nearly ethereal. Ingrid pulled herself around, Mildred climbed into bed on the other side, and they cuddled their bodies against Bill's. He felt in seventh heaven, and so did they.
They fell asleep. Mildred woke up about thirty minutes later and woke the other two. "We forgot about the dance," she reminded them.
"So we did," Bill said, Ingrid already had his cock in her mouth, and so they had another whole round of sixty-nine. There was, admittedly, a slightly smaller gusher for each girl, but this was more than compensated for by two other benefits: his cock, in its slight depletion, seemed more flexible for manipulation, their tongues could dip deeper into the cleft from which the fountain would spurt; and his balls, which seemed larger than ever with the exercise, were looser in their velvet pouches, so the girls, in turn, could suck them more readily into their mouths and keep them there despite the violence of the cock-sucking.
When they were done it was too late to discuss the dance, so they agreed to put it off till tomorrow. Next day, after only one round of sixty-nine, they summoned the strength of character to settle the dance details and were so pleased with themselves they had another round of sixty-nine to reward their virtue.
With all this going for him, it was hardly surprising that Bill wasn't aware what Jerry Calder was going through, until brought up short by the suicide attempt. Bill had beaten up Frank Murphy with savage dedication, his fury sufficiently contained so he could do it methodically. Curiously, his passion for the cunt made him sensitive to Jerry's needs, and if he could have brought himself to do it, he'd have let Jerry suck his cock. But it went against his nature, and he was grateful that Jerry realized this without being told.
What was most unusual about the whole business was that for all his expertise at sucking cunts, Bill still hadn't fucked a girl. He knew by now both Mildred and Ingrid were so vulnerable that he could have fucked either one, but he respected their wish to remain virgins (though it did not sound logical to him) and promised himself he would respect it. Jerry might have been surprised to know that Bill toyed with the idea of asking to fuck him up the ass, merely to experience the tactile sensation, for he'd heard obliquely that the sensation was much like fucking up a cunt, but finally he decided he wasn't that curious, that it would be immoral to "use" Jerry without love. How Jerry would have suffered if he'd known the idea had been contemplated, then rejected! For he'd have believed that in the receiving there would have been more than enough love for the two of them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MILDRED'S TRUST OF Bill was so complete, and rightfully so, that she confided in him the problem of her brother Francis. He was two years older than she, but at sixteen he looked barely more than fourteen, a slim, almost pretty boy, painfully withdrawn. He kept to himself so much that Bill didn't even know Mildred had a brother until she mentioned him. She told Bill she loved her brother dearly, but that he seemed to have problems she didn't understand, and she was afraid if someone didn't do something about it, he' end up in a nut-house. Bill asked why she thought he could help. "I think his problem may be sexual," she said.
"And I'm the expert?" he asked with a smile.
"You are a good person and an understanding person," she said. Bill guessed she knew something about Jerry, and that she approved.
So Bill met Fran, as they called him, for the first time. Though not exactly a fairy, the boy seemed to Bill distinctly on the effeminate side, an analysis Bill made pragmatically, not pejoratively, for he found himself truly liking the boy. Though two years younger than Fran, he felt at least a decade older. He was able to put the boy at ease, and surprised him by talking about music and books.
It was Jerry who had interested Bill in books and music and even art, for since the suicide attempt, Bill had seen to it that he and Jerry were together a lot. At least once a week they went to a concert or a museum, out of pity at first, then because Bill found he could like Jerry very much as a person, and that through Jerry's sensitivity he could discover and appreciate things he might have remained blind to all his life. They had gone to that basketball game, but Bill realized Jerry's pleasure came from the association, not the game, so they didn't try it again. Bill was aware of Jerry's crush on him. Sometimes he wished he was even a little bisexual to ease the ache, but gradually he realized that being with him was, in a way, a sexual pleasure for Jerry, so he felt less guilty about his rampant hetero-sexuality. Though being with Jerry was never and could never be a sexual pleasure, it was a pleasure in almost every other way, and he was sufficiently enlightened to let Jerry see this. When they went to museums, as they stood looking at paintings and Jerry explained what they meant to him, Bill always listened with interest, a hand gently on Jerry's shoulder, head cocked to one side. This touch of Bill's hand on his shoulder was a more complete sensual-spiritual experience to Jerry than the most succulent cock discharging its honey into his mouth.
It was through knowing Jerry and his problems that
Bill came to the quick conclusion that what Fran needed desperately was another boy, to let him know he wasn't alone in the world. He was all for it; the problem, he thought, was whether Mildred would approve of the solution. She was a sensible girl, but she was a sincere Catholic (though she didn't think sucking Bill's cock or having him suck her cunt any of the priest's business, so long as she kept her hymen intact), and he wondered if the idea of homosexuality would appall her, if she would resent his suggesting that was her brother's problem.
"Fran needs someone," Bill told Mildred after the little talk.
"You know who?" she asked, looking quickly into his eyes, then down at the ground. "I think so."
"A boy."
"Yes."
"You don't think it's so terrible?" she asked. He laughed. "Well?" she demanded.
"I wanted to make the suggestion, but I was afraid I'd shock you." Mildred laughed with him.
"How would we go about finding someone for him?" she asked.
"I know someone," he said.
"Someone ... all right?"
"My best friend," he said loyally.
She guessed he meant Jerry, and she was pleased. "He'd be willing?" He'd know what needed to be done?"
"He's been through a rough time himself. Now he knows what he wants and what he needs. He'd do it just right."
"Or you'll punch him in the nose," Mildred added. Bill laughed. "I guess you know Jerry," he said. "Jerry Calder."
"I know him," she said. "I was hoping he was the one you meant. I think of him as a person. And so do you."
"Yes," he said, and he kissed her gently.
'"Are you kidding?" Jerry asked, when Bill explained the problem to him.
"Well, then, if you won't, I guess I'll have to," Bill said.
Jerry glared at him. "All right, I'll do it," he said.
They met, by contrived accident, at the Museum of Fine Arts on a Saturday afternoon. The only one not in on the secret was Fran. He was delighted to see Bill again, but eyed Jerry suspiciously.
"He's not my type," Jerry hissed to Bill when they had a moment alone.
"Into every life, a little rain must fall," Bill hissed back.
Both Bill and Mildred were afraid it wasn't going to work out, for the pair behaved like rival prima donnas maintaining a dignified silence. Then Jerry made a didactic remark about a famous painting, Fran countered with an even more didactic comment, and by the time the fierce argument was over the boys were good friends, and Mildred and Bill, to their delight, began to feel de trop.
Mildred's parents were, fortuitously, away for the weekend. Without any prompting, Fran invited Jerry to come by for the evening to listen to records. He did not seem disappointed when Bill said he already had concert tickets for him and Mildred.
They returned from the concert to find Fran alone in the house. They couldn't tell anything by looking at him. Mildred signalled Bill with her eyes; he kissed her a quick goodbye, didn't even manage a pat on her dear cunt, and left.
Bill arrived home to find the door to Jerry's apartment open, and slipped in. He found Jerry sitting up in bed, reading. "Dr. Schweitzer, I presume?" Bill said.
"Boy, was that guy dumb!" Jerry said.
"Is he still dumb?" Bill asked anxiously.
"He thinks Tchaikovsky is a great composer!"
"That isn't what I'm wondering about."
"You have a dirty mind, Casey. If it's any of your business, the kid's great in bed."
;;you did it!"
"He nearly raped me while we were listening to Tchaikovsky's Sixth."
"He all straightened out now?"
"Yeah. Boy, beware of late bloomers! I sure feel fucked out."
"What did you do?"
"Suck, suck, suck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The works. I showed him everything I know, and once he got started ... Christ, Casey, I may not come again for a year!"
"Think maybe it could work out ... you know, the two of you?"
"Don't be a dreamer, Casey. We both want the same thing. It'd be like two lesbians. No, I like the guy, and we'll probably fuck a lot more, now that he knows what everything's for, just to give him confidence and technique, but we both need a man, if you'll excuse the expression."
"I guess it's even more complicated being ... homosexual than liking to suck cunts."
Jerry, suddenly serious, looked up at his foster brother. "Bill, you're a great guy, you know it?" Suddenly embarrassed, Bill bent his head down, kissed Jerry gently on the lips, and left. Jerry put his fingers to his bruised lips and held them there for several minutes.
As Jerry had recognized immediately, as Fran came to realize a few weeks later-though he kept Jerry pretty well exhausted during those weeks-they were not sexually suited to each other, and they came to use each other, with exquisite understanding only as safety valves. Fran blossomed wonderfully during the year, gaining in confidence and self-assurance, until he was a truly strikingly beautiful boy at seventeen, was discovered at a ballet performance by a rich, virile Boston sportsman who happened to like supple boys, and was established in a handsome little house on Beacon Hill.
Jerry was profoundly shocked to learn that Bill, for all his cuntsmanship, had still not fucked a girl, and he set out to correct that. It had to be, he knew, a very special girl, for he loved Bill so much he couldn't tolerate the thought of a girl unworthy of him. He approved of Mildred and Ingrid, though he thought them absolutely mad for not permitting Bill's divine cock up their snatches. He found exactly the right girl in Gladys Lattimer, a deceptively plain-looking girl whom he correctly diagnosed as having hidden fires waiting for the right stoker. Thanks to his devotion to Bill, Jerry was looking at women more intensively than he'd ever have done for his own sake, and he developed a propensity for spotting hidden beauty, which would eventually blossom into a talent for helping achieve that beauty.
Gladys was, actually, his first discovery. He might not have noticed her at all except that one day, in school, he spotted her, a girl he had pegged as not interested in boys, casting longing glances at Bill. He looked at her more closely and decided that she had potential. The tricky part would be contriving a meeting. He did this easily by borrowing one of Gladys' books, then asking Bill to return it. Bill was astonished to see Gladys blushing wildly when he handed her the book, which was quite sufficient to arouse his curiosity, to make him take side glances at her the rest of the day, until, as Jerry had hoped, he began to see the potential himself.
Two days later he walked home from school, she invited him in, nature relentlessly took its course, and the moment Bill's hand touched her virgin cunt Gladys exploded with passion. She gave Bill a kiss so deep, so consuming that it was long moments before he realized that his cock was firmly imbedded in her cunt, that he was at last fucking a girl. She had, smart girl, deflowered herself with a frankfurter a whole year before, so was well prepared.
Unfortunately Gladys fell madly in love with Bill, which he hadn't counted on, something Jerry could easily sympathize with, for he thought any girl would have to be stupid not to love Bill. So for all the joy he took in fucking her, Bill had to give her up, breaking her heart and aching his cock, but he knew it was the only honest thing to do.
But the dam had burst. As he reached sixteen Bill had almost an embarrassment of riches, cunts to suck and fuck aplenty, and he could pick and choose and avoid those who might try to possess more than his transient cock. He made the fascinating and seemingly contradictory discovery that the girls who fell in love with him didn't fuck nearly as expertly as those who did it only for the joy of fucking. Jerry became Bill's infallible guide about girls, tipping him off about those who were available, warning him away from girls who might want to entangle him. He made the interesting discovery that too often the prettiest girls were the lousiest fucks, that sometimes a plain face hid a body of gold, a cunt so suckable that he'd sometimes come home from sucking and fucking it and have to jerk off just at the memory of the delight. Some cunts were best for the sucking, some were best for the fucking, and he was glad this was so, for it gave his tongue and his cock, equal partners in his search for sexual happiness, sufficient opportunity to avoid disappointment of either. They remained friendly rivals.
It had disappointed Bill that Fran Thompson hadn't proved a lasting lover for Jerry, because while he found his own rampant promiscuity a natural thing he was inclined to be prissy about Jerry's going out and sucking strange cocks. So he began a talent search for a manly fellow (which he knew Jerry required) who could keep Jerry happy and out of men's toilets. He took Jerry's word for it there were seemingly masculine men who liked boys, not girls, but as he looked about him he began to wonder if Jerry was speaking from hopeful fantasy and not fact.
Then one day, in the locker room, he came upon one of the high-school football players in tears in a corner.
The fellow had thought he was alone, and on seeing Bill, hastily diied his tears. He was Arnold Logan, tall and handsome and husky, as close to a star as the football team (it was a bad year) had. "Oh, shit!" Arnold said, and he banged a fist into the locker.
Bill mistook the cause of his agony. "You're only a junior," he said consolingly. "Some good guys are coming up. Next year we'll have a championship team."
"Fuck the team," Arnold said, and he banged his fist again into the locker door.
"I don't think they'd go for that," Bill said, trying to cheer Arnold up with a joke. Arnold looked up at him sharply.
"What made you say that?"
"I don't know. Trying to cheer you up, maybe."
"Shit!" Arnold said, smacking the locker door again. "Anything I can do?" Bill asked, genuinely worried now.
"Nothing you'd know anything about, Casey," Arnold said. "Not that you're not a good guy."
"Try me."
"Okay. What would you do if you had a nice piece of pussy staring you in the face and couldn't get a hard-on?"
"I'd tell my prick to take a running jump, and I'd eat that pussy so fast the girl wouldn't know what hit her."
"So what if you don't like to eat pussy? It's not queer not to like to eat pussy, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Bill said insincerely.
"She laughed at me. 'Big football man, can't even get a little hard-on', she said."
"There are girls like that," Bill said consolingly. "Ball-busters. I stay away from them. They've got problems of their own. Want me to introduce you to some nice girls?"
Arnold looked sharply up at Bill. Then he looked down at the floor. "It wouldn't work. It's happened before. I can't get a hard-on for a girl. Ever happen to you?"
Bill make a quick, shrewd guess, and jumped in with both feet. "Sure."
Arnold looked up in surprise. "What did you do?" He shook his head. "Yeah, I know. You only had to wait for the next one."
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this. I never told anyone."
"Hell, you can tell me!"
"This girl, when we got our clothes off, I couldn't get a hard-on. Even when I sucked her pussy I couldn't get a hard-on. She laughed at me. She said all I was good for was sucking pussy, that I couldn't fuck a girl the way a man should. Boy, that really made me mad. All I could do to keep from hitting her."
"Yeah!"
"I can fuck anything that's half worth fucking,' I told her. And I went storming out of there. To make a long story short, I was walking along, my nuts aching, when this kid came up to me. 'Can I suck your cock?' he asked. Just like that. 'Beat it,' I said. 'Or I'll stick it up your ass.' T like that too,' he said. So I thought, what the hell, I'd show that girl it was only because she was a lousy fuck I couldn't get a hard on. This kid took me up to his room, it was only around the corner, and he pulled his pants down. I'll be damned if I didn't get a hard-on right away. He bent over, I stuck my cock up his ass, and I don't mind telling you it was a hell of a better fuck than I'd ever have gotten from that screwed-up dame. I mean, he really appreciated it."
"How old was he?"
"I don't know. Maybe fifteen, sixteen. Maybe a little younger. Hard to tell. Kind of small. But oh, that ass."
"He really seemed to enjoy it."
"You better believe it."
"You ever fuck him again?"
"Never saw him again. But you know, I'm so horny right now, that if he showed up, I bet I could fuck him up the ass right in front of you."
"I mean, you didn't feel funny fucking a guy?"
"Some guys think only queers fuck each other, but I say, it's your own business, and if you get a kick out of a little variety once in a while, why not?"
"What if the guy took down his pants, bent over, and I couldn't get a hard-on?"
"You got a hard-on right now," Bill pointed out.
"Yeah. But what if I couldn't get one on then?"
"Big deal. Maybe he sucks you off. Anything wrong with that?"
"Guess not," Arnold said. "You know, if that kid was here right now, with his pants down, and I saw you fucking him up the ass, I'd climb on soon as you were done." He rubbed a hand hard over his erected cock, through the fabric of his pants. "What place was that you ran into the kid?"
"Maybe I know somebody."
"You wouldn't tell?"
"This is a good friend of mine. I mean, you'd have to treat him right. And if you couldn't get a hard-on, it wouldn't prove anything."
"Would it prove anything if I could get a hard-on?"
"It would prove you can get a hard-on. Nothing else."
"A friend of yours?"
"That's right."
"Somebody who would ... understand."
"That's right."
Arnold seemed to be considering something, afraid to speak out. Bill looked at him questioningly. "Go ahead."
"Calder?" Arnold whispered. "Jerry Calder?"
"Maybe-"
"Christ, he's got a beautiful ass," Arnold said huskily.
"Want to try?"
"Think it might work?"
"It's worth a try, okay?"
"Okay."
Terry was incredulous when Bill told him the big football hero wanted to try fucking him up the ass, but Bill didn't have to suggest it twice. He arranged for Jerry to go to Arnold's place one afternoon after school, when no one else would be there. Jerry got home only in time for supper. "Christ, I may never sit down again!" Jerry said when Bill got him alone.
"What happened? He able to get a hard-on?"
"A hard-on! I have yet to see it soft! Christ, Casey, that guy's a real stud!"
"Was it okay?" Bill asked, looking at him closely.
Jerry met his eyes, then looked at the floor. "Yeah."
"More than okay?"
"This may be the one," Jerry said, still looking at the floor.
"I hope so," Bill said. "He needs it, and I think it would do you good to have someone regular."
"Again," Jerry added.
"No, this one is different," Bill said. "You can count on that."
"You don't think he's too good for me."
"Only thing worries me, is he good enough for you. You're a great guy, Calder."
"I hope so. I guess I'm committed already."
"How?"
"I told him I loved him. I never told Frank Murphy that."
"What did he say."
"He...."
"He cried."
"Yeah. How'd you know? Then he said he loved me too."
"I think I'd cry if I fell in love," Bill said. "Ruin my whole sex life."
"That reminds me. I understand you pick up boys on street corners and fuck them up the ass."
"Nobody's perfect."
"It was a beautiful lie, Bill. Thanks for telling it. But it better not be true. Ever."
Bill punched him on the bicep in a manly fashion.
It caused a few male raised eyebrows but, understandably, no comment when Jerry and the football hero openly became "buddies." Jerry even became a football enthusiast, though he suffered excruciatingly when Arnold was tackled, and after the game there was always a lot of kissing and making better. As Bill had speciously predicted, the high school did have a championship team Arnold's senior year, and Arnold was certain that not having to worry about his sexmanship was the key to success.
The affair lasted two years, after which Arnold entered a seminary and became a very good priest. He and Jerry remained friends, he never held it against Jerry, or himself, for what they'd been during those two crucial years.
Bill could see it was hard on Jerry when the affair ended; he worried about him, and was glad to see that Jerry had matured to the point that he would no longer haunt men's rooms regularly in search of transient love, but thanks to broader contacts, could get release with far greater safety in a series of "blind dates" arranged by sympathetic friends, sometimes even by Bill; but not until Jerry met Guy Jenkins did he have another profound love affair, though there was a near miss.
Seeing youths crumbling into marriage all about him, Bill could only marvel at his luck in staying single and uninvolved. He surprised himself by having a few pangs of conscience when he discovered that one of his favorite fucks was married, something she hadn't told him. But it didn't take him long to get over that scruple. He found that marriage tended to make women less possessive with their lovers.
Not until he was nineteen did he encounter his first parous cunt. Before this, he'd somehow gotten the impression that childbearing would stretch a cunt so irrevocably out of shape it would be spoiled for his tongue's delight, but he recognized the parous cunt with almost the first delving of his tongue, and it gave him a curious added excitement to realize that this more readily accessible cunt had extruded a child. It turned out to be one of his most exciting sexual experiences. At nineteen his cock was in its full glory, a stocky but satiny eight inches that at first blush didn't look more than normally long because it was so broad. But if the eye was momentarily deceived, mouth and cunt never were.
When Jerry, after realizing the stage or dress design were too far out of reach, decided to be a hairdresser, he hesitated long weeks before telling Bill, thinking Bill might find the ambition too unmanly; but Bill was all for it, said he thought it a much maligned art, and he was delighted when Jerry became a recognized star in the field and got the bid to go to the Waybury Country Club. He was glad when Jerry met Guy Jenkins, though personally he never cared much for the golf pro, mostly because Guy never wanted to be seen socially with Jerry. But even this had its compensations, for it meant that Jerry and Bill could often go to concerts, plays and exhibits together.
For his part, Bill had hesitated long weeks before telling Jerry of his decision to become a truck driver, hoping eventually to build up a fleet of his own, but Jerry told him he couldn't imagine anything where Bill could shine more, that he wasn't built for office politics and had to be his own man. Bill had dark moments when the opportunity came to buy a couple of trucks and he couldn't get any bank to advance him the money. He and Jerry had dinner together after the string of refusals, Jerry sensed all was not well and forced Bill to tell what was wrong. He exploded with rage when he found out Bill hadn't come to him, and next morning marched Bill down to his own bank, and co-signed the necessary note backed by his own considerable savings. When it was accomplished, the abashed Bill promised Jerry solemnly that he'd never, leave him out of his life again. They were, now and forever, brothers.
From this modest start Bill's trucking business mushroomed. Jerry watched from the sidelines till Bill's worth reached the half-million mark, then announced it was time Bill became a gentleman. Actually, Bill's sexual prowess in the cunt search had led him to some elegant beds, and some of the women seemed to want to see him socially as well as sexually, but he felt like a fish out of water, so he invariably refused.
Now he put himself in Jerry's hands, and Jerry did not betray him. Elegance came naturally to Jerry, and he was quick to perceive that real elegance was represented more in the breach than in the observance. First he taught Bill the proper way to do everything, from dining to cocktail manners, then taught him the proper way to break the rules. But even Jerry was amazed at his success. The truck-driver face, rather than contradicting the elegance of the clothes and manners, seemed to underline them. By the time he met Patricia Steadman, Bill Casey was so self-assured that had he chosen to eat his peas with a knife at the Way bury Country Club, every other diner in the room would have felt self-conscious using a fork.
What pleased Bill most about his elegance was the interesting correlation that it frightened away women who tended to be possessive, and rarely did he have to discard perfectly good cunt because its possessor thought she could trick him into marriage.
His old friend Mildred Thompson, to whom he would always be grateful for his superb initiation into cunt-lapping, had married a real stud of a college professor, whose cock was even a little bigger than Bill's, but to her disappointment he didn't hold with cunt-lapping, nor did he let her go down on him. Fortunately he had a gifted hand and could get her steamed up wonderfully before fucking her; he never failed to bring her to a climax, but she missed Bill's agile, dedicated tongue and lips, and after a couple of years of marriage, she began coming to Bill's apartment for that good old sixty-nine. Remembering the fanatic way she had guarded her virginity for her husband (who had been thunderstruck to receive it), Bill was careful not to fuck her, rightly sensing she would have thought of it as adultery, whereas merely sucking him off and having him bring her to a climax with his tongue and fingers was innocent diversion between old friends. He never tired of her cunt, enjoyed its subtle changes through bearing four children, and was always ready when she wanted to see him. She confessed to him that those first two years she used to think she'd go crazy if she couldn't take her husband's cock in her mouth just once, but having Bill's cock available again relieved all those tensions.
Exactly as the Virgin Mary remained the greatest of all symbols of womanhood for good Roman Catholics, Bill Casey remained the greatest of all symbols of radiant manhood for Jerry Calder. Bill was constantly aware of it, realized that Jerry's admiration for him went beyond the spiritual, and sincerely regretted he could not let Jerry suck his cock, or could not fuck Jerry up the ass, though this last was less unthinkable. Quite dispassionately, he could realize that Jerry's ass was a work of art, but the assessment remained entirely disinterested, though he was glad there were those who could enjoy the handiwork more than dispassionately. It was a comfort to him that Jerry seemed to understand the exact nature of his love without their having to discuss it. He was sure that with any other two persons so close it could not have worked out, that the Jerry of the pair would have persisted until he smashed the relationship by goading the Bill to hateful submission. He was relieved when Jerry found Guy Jerkins, for he felt that Guy kept Jerry so thoroughly occupied there was nothing left over even for vague longings.
After Jerry had been at the Waybury Country Club for three years, Bill was at a ski resort in Vermont, and during a brief respite from cunt-lapping was out on the slopes, had a nasty fall, and broke his right leg in two places. His trucking business was in too crucial a stage to be left to its own devices for even a week, so Bill phoned Jerry from the hospital in Vermont, and Jerry drove up and brought Bill back to Boston. Bill slept most of the way. The doctor gave Jerry orders Bill was to be kept under heavy sedation for the next couple of days. He feared that, despite the cast, any motion could delay the start of the healing process.
Jerry drove Bill to his apartment adjoining the garage. One of his drivers picked Bill up like a baby and carried him up to the bed. Jerry fed him, gave him the required sedative, and when Bill was asleep, crawled into a cot set up in the room, so he could be there if Bill needed him. Guy had been testy when Jerry phoned that he'd be spending the night in Boston, but Jerry assured him he had nothing to worry about, that Bill never wanted to fuck him anyhow, and certainly wasn't in a position to do so now. It secretly pleased him that Guy showed jealousy.
Jerry left a subdued light on in the room. Lying on the cot, he felt no inclination to go to sleep. He got up and went into the adjoining bathroom. He had designed it himself, it was his pride and joy. What had mystified Bill when he saw it was the bidet sitting proudly in a corner. "What the hell is that?" he had demanded.
"That's a bidet. They use them in France."
"What for?"
"Let me tell you a story. There was this schoolteacher from Iowa who was paying her first visit to Paris. At the hotel she spotted the bidet in the bathroom. 'What is that?' she asked the bellboy. 'Is it for washing babies in?' 'No, madame,' he said. 'It's for washing babies out.'"
Bill had laughed heartily, and agreed it was indeed a most important addition to any right-thinking bachelor's bathroom. Sometimes his women let him do the washing for them, though often the excitement of it led to a quick fuck, once right over the bidet itself, with both of them squatting.
Jerry now turned on the water of the bidet, pulled down his shorts (he had stripped to his underwear in the hot apartment) and squatted over it to let the warm jets of water wash his ass-hole. He wished he had a bidet at his country club quarters, and soon indeed would have one installed in his bathroom and in Guy's, the latter to the delight of most of the golf pro's lady callers.
Jerry might have been surprised to know Bill regularly washed his manly ass-hole at the bidet, for long ago he'd discovered that when he rimmed women in the process of loving up their cunts, the excitement tended to send them delving into his own ass-hole, a considerable pleasure that made him acutely conscious of it and its cleanliness. Once, after two days without a woman (from the pressures of trucking business) the warm jets washing his ass-hole had excited him into masturbating at the same time. For all his experience, Bill had yet to fuck a woman up the ass. Some had hinted they'd like to try it with him, but he always ignored the signals. He did not want to dilute his devotion to the cunt, that supreme, matchless aperture.
Now Jerry turned off the bidet, dried his ass, pulled up his shorts and returned to the bedroom. He didn't feel like crawling back into the cot so he put a chair by Bill's bedside and sat looking at the sleeping invalid. His heart filled with all that Bill had done for him, all that Bill meant to him. Tears came to his eyes; it was almost like attending a wake for Bill.
Bill murmured something in his sleep. Sweat stood out on his forehead. Jerry wiped his forehead with a towel, and realizing that Bill was too warm, pulled the sheet off him. The room was too hot, but he didn't know how to turn the heat down. Bill had only pajama tops on. Because of the bulky cast he had his legs spread apart. His cock twisted across his powerful left thigh, the intact one, his balls hung heavy between his legs. Jerry stared at them in objective admiration. They were, he knew, a work of art, and that he wasn't the only person who thought they were-maybe the only man.
As he watched, the flaccid but massive cock began to stir. Jerry watched in fascination. Slowly it engorged, and though it had seemed massive in relaxation, it swelled wonderfully. Jerry had never seen it in erection, had only seen it briefly flaccid, in fact. It was like a beautiful slow-motion movie. As the great cock rose, the balls seemed to retract in Bill's crotch, the heavy bag that contained them seemed to shrink and thrust them forward as though some invisible draw-string were being pulled. Then the cock stood at its maximum glory, straight up, nearly touching Bill's deep navel. Without conscious volition, Jerry bent his head down and kissed the hard, silken head. It became an open-mouthed kiss, the great head slipped into his mouth, His hands reached out with exquisite gentleness to rest on the great balls. He did not suck on the cock, rather he ran his tongue back and forth over the silkiness, his lips merely imprisoned the whole corona without moving. Only his tongue was active, maving around the head, finding the exquisite center of erogeny where the corona began its flare towards the cleft. As he rubbed his tongue back and forth at this point he could feel the quivering in the balls, and though Bill remained totally still, Jerry could feel the great cock responding spectacularly to his tongue. It took an effort of will to keep from seizing the broad shaft in both hands; he allowed himself no more than the tongue's hard probing, but it was all the great cock required. Jerry felt the final, fatal throb of the balls, their spasm; he laid a hand softly on the long shaft in time to feel the great spurts of sperm rocketing up it, to jet with amazing force into his impatient mouth. It was, as he had known it would be the nectar of the gods, and for a long time he let it lie in all its bulk in his mouth, before he slowly, bit by bit, swallowed it. The cock slowly diminished, but he would not let the glans out of his mouth until it was entirely diminished. He sat gazing at it in wonder and worship for long minutes, pulled the sheet up over the beauty, then went slowly over to the narrow cot, climbed onto it, and quickly fell asleep.
He was up and showered in the morning before Bill awoke. "Hey!" Bill said, opening his eyes.
"Hey!" Jerry said.
"Hey," Bill said. "I had the wildest dream."
"Oh?"
"Did you ever have a dream where you did something you'd never want to do if you were awake, and yet you enjoyed it?"
"Can't say I have," Jerry said, averting his eyes.
"Kiss me once," Bill said. Jerry bent down and quickly brushed Bill's lips with his own. "Now let's get the show on the road," Bill said, struggling to get up. Jerry was relieved that he said no more about the dream.
Jerry feared that having this fabulous taste of the fruit of Bill's loins might awaken a painful desire for more, but to his relief it seemed to work the other way; he loved Bill no less, but he realized the sexual urge had been as much curiosity as anything, and that having once satisfied it, having assured himself that Bill Casey was indeed the fabulous sexual animal Jerry had thought he must be, he no longer felt even a little frustrated when he was with Bill. If he hadn't had Guy, of course, it might have been a different matter. Bill didn't need him, but Guy certainly did. Jerry almost believed in fate, going out to Waybury Country Club to work and then meeting Guy, whose sexual hang-up was that no matter how many cunts he fucked, how many times he came in each cunt, he still never achieved that final release, and could feel it only when Jerry sucked his cock. Only the orgasm that Jerry's mouth induced could relieve and diminish-though not for long-that beautiful great cock, but in addition, even after a day and evening of fucking several delighted clubwomen, Guy would still enjoy the subtle, appreciative difference of Jerry's beautiful ass, and liked to fuck him at least twice before he'd let Jerry suck him off for that needed sexual culmination. So after seven years of showing undiminished pleasure in Jerry's ass and his mouth and it was understandable he'd think Guy was his forever....
CHAPTER NINE
"HOW MANY DOGS has Jerry hooked you up with?" Patricia demanded, as they lay stretched out, invitingly naked, side by side in her bed.
"The word is 'coupled,'" Bill said. "You're the first, actually."
"Why did he do it?"
"He has a missionary complex. You complaining."
"I don't know. I think in the last few minutes I've found out more about myself than I really care to know."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm a dog. I don't mean in looks. That part of it doesn't bother me. But to have my body respond like a bitch in heat ... "
"Did it embarrass you when you did it with your husband?"
"What was embarrassing about it? It was so sedate, I don't think I'd have minded my mother watching."
"It was a hell of a waste."
"Why do you say that? Just now you got finished saying it didn't go at all the way you planned it. I was a flop, right?"
"You were a flop, wrong. You were absolutely sensational."
"But if it went wrong...? "
"It didn't go wrong. It simply didn't go according to my calculations."
"All right, then. What are your calculations?"
"I calculated that you were only superficially a frigid woman, that with intensive stimulation, you could be brought around to enjoy the sexual act."
"And...? "
"And, I barely touched you, and you exploded. You practically raped me, you hussy, and I don't remember ever being raped before."
"Think I'd make a good whore?"
"Yes. Whores are a dime a dozen, but a good whore is a rare thing."
"If I were a lady, I'd slap your face." He kissed her gently.
"If you'll show me what you expected," she offered, "I'll do my best to act like a lady this time."
"Okay," he said. "We'll try it once more. Let me explain it in words, first. I'm going to suck your cunt, to get you all excited, then...."
"You did that before, and I got all excited before...."
"You are supposed to get excited only gradually," he said patiently. "When you are all hot and bothered, I stick my cock in you, we fuck like little ladies and gentlemen...."
"Then roll over and go to sleep."
"Shut up," he said. He roughly pushed her legs apart and dove his head down onto her succulent cunt. The moment his tongue touched her clit she began thrashing wildly. He reached up with his hands to try to hold her still, but it was no use. He reluctantly surrendered her cunt and looked up at her."
"I'm sorry," she said abjectly. "But when you do that ... it's like you're exploding a bomb in me."
"I'll try once more," he said.
"It's good of you to keep trying."
"Lady, you have a fabulous cunt, and I'd like to enjoy it if only you can behave yourself."
"In what way is it fabulous?"
"I can't put it in words. Anyhow, it gets me all excited." He bent down to his task. His hands reached for her large breasts, and as his tongue delved into her cunt, he could feel the violent quivering as she fought for control. He knew all he had to do was merely flick her clit with his tongue and there would go the ball game, but he couldn't resist, he flicked her clit with his tongue, and she nearly knocked him out slamming her crotch into his face.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said in her best Back Bay accent. "This must be a terrible trial for you."
"Would you believe I'm having the time of my life?"
"No."
"Well, I am." He started to lower his head back to her cunt. "Wait."
"Now what?"
"Is it lady-like to take a man's ... thing into your mouth."
"No."
"Would you enjoy it if I did?"
"Yes." He swung his hips around so that his hard cock was within easy range of her mouth. He watched her as she stared at it in fascination. She looked down to see him watching.
"Don't watch," she snapped. "Get on with your work."
"I'll watch if I want. It's my cock."
"All right, watch!" she said. She reached out and took it in her hands. "It's so warm. And so smooth."
"You never touched one before?"
"Certainly not!" she said indignantly, bent down and took the whole head into her mouth. She let her mouth savor it a few moments. She took it out and looked at him. "I like that," she said.
"So do I."
"Now that your vulgar curiosity's satisfied, get on with your work."
"I don't know. I'm afraid if I touch your clit again, you'll bite my cock off."
"My what."
"Your clitoris."
"Maybe if you rubbed it with your fingers before you touched it with your tongue, I could hang on."
"Okay. We'll try it your way." Bill bent down to her cunt, and as he luxuriously licked the outer lips, then the inner lips, he slowly, gently reached for her clit with his fingers. She had taken his cock back into her mouth as soon as he began, and her hands were fondling his balls. When he touched her clit he felt her pause for a breathless fraction of a second; then she resumed sucking his cock. He rubbed her cunt more and more forcefully with his tongue, at the same time he gradually increased the pressure on her clit. Finally he could put it off no longer, he reached up and grabbed her clit in his mouth, stuck his tongue out and rubbed it hard. She gasped, but she did not lose control. He grabbed her thighs hard, dove his head in more fully, and with total confidence he worked towards her climax, It was a measure of his success that she could steady herself enough to suck rhythmically on his cock, faltering only slightly from time to time as his tongue discovered a new, untouched spot. Finally he felt her climax approaching. In his excitement he began moving his hips to fuck his cock faster in her mouth; she caught the new excitement, clamped her hands and mouth about his cock to increase the friction; he pumped his mouth and his cock with equal fury, and as he hoped he shot a full load into her mouth at exactly the moment she shuddered in a full climax.
She was a long time surrendering his cock. While she still held it in her mouth he gently massaged her cunt with his tongue, as reluctant to surrender it as she was to surrender his cock. She did not let go till his cock was fully limp. She looked down at him. "You are absolutely delicious," she said.
"So are you."
"I mean, your semen. I didn't know it was supposed to taste good."
"Thank you," he said modestly. He did not tell her how often he'd heard this before.
"Did that make up for the uncivilized way I behaved when you first started?" she asked.
"Oh, yes indeed!"
"Do you think there's any hope for me."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't mean as a raving beauty. I don't care much about that. I mean, will I ever be good in bed?" T thought you didn't care."
"People once thought the world was flat."
"You care now."
"Yes."
"You're absolutely sensational. Not next year, not next week, but right now, tonight."
"Oh!" she said, pleased. "And all in one lesson!"
"Well," he said, "while you were quite good, I think it might be a mistake to assume there couldn't be improvement. To make sure, I think I ought to come a couple more times."
"Tonight?"
"Come to the house, I mean," he said, laughing.
"I'd appreciate it," she said. "Are you sure it wouldn't be putting you out?"
"Oh, no," he said. "And I think it would please Jerry."
"Yes, I know it would please Jerry," she said, eagerly seizing upon this.
Bill had not expected to spend the night, but since Patricia didn't suggest he leave he didn't mention it. Exhausted from the fucking, they soon fell asleep, locked in each other's arms. Bill snuggled down to cushion his head in Patricia's voluptuous breasts, and her hand soon consoled itself with his cock. After an hour they woke up and Bill dove on Patricia's cunt. By an act of will she was able to keep herself relatively still until he was ready to mount her, but once he began fucking she couldn't control it any longer and answered his every thrust with a powerful push of her hips. They slept the rest of the night after this, and in the morning, by bright sunlight, they brought each other to a magnificent climax by another sixty-nine. Patricia was amazed and delighted that, despite his efforts of the previous night, Bill still had an enormous gush of semen for her mouth. "I don't think I'll want any more breakfast," she said fondly. "Nothing else could possibly taste so good."
Bill wanted to dress to go down to breakfast, but Patricia said that, for the good of her housekeeper's morale, he'd have to go down in a dressing gown. She wouldn't even let him put on his underwear. She thought he looked magnificently naked with only Philip's old dressing gown on.
Bill felt embarrassed sitting at the formal breakfast table stark naked except for the dressing gown, but Mrs. Brooks didn't raise an eyebrow as she brought breakfast in.
"This is my new hairdresser," Patricia told Mrs. Brooks.
"I can see it's not the hair on your head that he's done," Mrs. Brooks snapped, and banged through the door into the kitchen.
"Is she mad?" Bill asked.
"She's enchanted," Patricia said. "Wait and see." Mrs. Brooks returned a moment later with croissants, but didn't seem disposed to say any more.
"Well, haven't I finally done something to please you?" Patricia asked.
Mrs. Brooks ignored her to turn to Bill. "I hope you know how lucky you are, mister," she said.
He blushed. "Yes, I know." She gave a triumphant laugh and went out again.
"Well," said Patricia. "I don't know what to make of her."
Mrs. Brooks pushed her head back in the swinging door. "He's sexy as all getout. Is that what you wanted to hear me say?" She disappeared without waiting for an answer.
"I do think I have finally surprised her," Patricia said in wonder.
'You surprised me, too," Bill said.
"Jerry thinks he can make me beautiful. For the first time, I almost hope he's right."
"You misunderstood. He knows you're beautiful. So do I. What he wants to do is reveal it so everyone else can see it. I'm not so sure now I want him to."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. And I'm not sure I want to know."
Mrs. Brooks reappeared. "I think Jerry Calder overdid it, that's what I think. I don't see how any lasting good can come out of it, but I suppose there's no harm trying."
"You're wrong there, Mrs. Brooks," Patricia said. "Lasting good has already come out of it. Leda had only once with the swan. I'm going to have another go at it."
"If it's any business of yours," Bill told Mrs. Brooks, "Mrs. Steadman is the sexiest woman I ever met, and I've met plenty. But I expect to keep my head, and I expect her to keep hers."
"That's all I ask, buster," Mrs. Brooks said. "Just keep that in mind. I'd ask you to keep an eye out for someone permanent for her, but I think Jerry would be far better at it than you."
"I agree with you a hundred percent," Bill said. "Are you as sexy as you look?"
"You can say that again!" cried Mr. Brooks sticking his head through the door. Bill threw his hands in the air.
Bill had lunch with Jerry at the country club, which caused nearly as much a flurry as his appearance at dinner the night before. Jerry had to take only one look at Bill to see something remarkable had gone on. The ladies of the club, of course, merely assumed he looked even sexier by daylight than by the subdued night lighting of the dining-room.
"Was it necessary to undersell her quite so drastically?" Bill asked Jerry.
"Honestly, Bill, I didn't have any idea what she had underneath till I had her take off the bra, and that was long after I talked with you."
"Was her husband queer?"
"That shit? You'll give queers a bad name."
"He must have been doing something wrong. That dame is a human volcano."
"She knows now what makes the cookie crumble?"
"She sure as hell crumbled my cookie in a hurry."
"Good. Then maybe we won't need a second session. Maybe I can get started right away on slimming her down."
"I didn't say that. Besides, I've already promised to be back tonight."
"She asked you to come back."
"Listen, buster, this was your idea."
"Okay. Just asking."
"But I don't see that it has to interfere with your work. She seems to like you. She told me she guesses she might as well do what you say. But if you take one fraction of an inch off those tits...."
"Okay, okay!"
Of course, Jerry was equally eager to get Patricia's reaction, but he didn't want to seem nosy. After finishing lunch with Bill he headed back for his salon, absently whistling One Night of Love en route, wondering how he'd go about pumping Patricia. The phone was ringing when he opened the door, he knew it had to be her.
"I sucked his cock!" she whispered in awe.
"What number are you calling?" he asked, pitching his voice low.
"Jerry?" she wailed.
"Yes," he relented.
T sucked his cock, and it was fabulous," she breathed. "I can imagine," he said. "Oh, Jerry, you were so right."
"Don't fall in love with him now."
"Oh, Jerry! That's understood!"
"Okay, then. You've had your fun. Now the work begins."
With the enthusiastic cooperation of Mrs. Brooks, Jerry put Patricia on a starvation diet that had her screaming for mercy. He also put her on rigid exercises, and he practically forbade her to leave the house. When Bill arrived for the evening, Patricia told him she felt too weak to hold up her head, but the minute she felt his searing tongue on her cunt she exploded with passion. Bill saw that he'd never be able to approach her clit with his tongue without careful preliminaries, and it struck him that this was, after all, a wonderful state of affairs. Patricia's devotion to his cock remained constant, and she found a combination of tongue on the sensitive underside of his glans, hand on his balls, and finger up his ass that was nearly as explosive with him as his tongue was on her clit. She was the first partner over whom he felt he didn't have full control, and their sex bouts became real duels, duels with no loser.
The next day, Jerry was overjoyed to find that Patricia had lost seven pounds, and patted himself on the back. Patricia thought most of the credit was due to her strenuous sexercises with Bill, but let Jerry have his moment of glory. If there were enough Bills to go around, she thought, there wouldn't be a fat woman in the land.
The third night, she had hidden her disappointment when Bill told her he had a date he couldn't break, so wouldn't be there, but he phoned her at five in the afternoon to say there had been a change of plans, could he come over? Of course she told him. There had been, of course, no other date to begin with. It was merely an excuse to make sure he didn't become habit-forming with Patricia. All morning and all afternoon he had argued with himself that she seemed so unconcerned about his missing a night that there could be no harm in not missing it.
All the same, next morning, Bill phoned Jerry at the country club to tell him not to come over till the afternoon, that he wanted to have a serious talk with Patricia before things got out of hand.
"I know everything's fine now," Bill told Patricia, "but I think we ought to make a few things clear, before anyone gets hurt."
"Of course," she said. "I know it's wrong of me to take up so much of your time."
"I've been coming here because I want to come" Bill said. "I guess by now I'm as interested as Jerry is in the transformation."
"I'm really sincere about it," Patricia said. "I try to do everything he says."
"That isn't what I wanted to talk about. I want to make sure you understand the difference between lust and love."
"Does anyone?"
"What I mean is, I really enjoy sex with you, above and beyond the call of duty; and selfishly, I wouldn't want anything to spoil it."
"What would spoil it?"
"Some women seem to think that lust is the same thing as love. I mean, if they have a sensational time fucking with a man, they think they must be in love with that man, when actually it's just a matter of one body enjoying another body."
"I don't think I'll make that mistake, Bill. I was in love with Philip, desperately, I thought, when I married him, but I certainly didn't lust after him, or anyone, until I met you. Quite frankly, I lust after you. I know it's not lady-like...."
"You lust after my body," he corrected, "exactly as I lust after yours. I like you as a person, and I hope you like me as a person...."
"I do...."
"...but it is my body that wants your body and enjoys your body so much...."
"...and makes my body enjoy yours." "Yes"
"I suppose you've had lots of women who fall in love with you, and want you to be in love with them."
"Not so much lately. I choose pretty carefully now."
"Jerry chose me for you."
"Jerry's a good boy. He wouldn't have started this if he hadn't been sure neither of us would get hurt."
"I suppose you lust after a lot of women's bodies."
"That's right."
"Yours is the only man's body I ever lusted for."
"You've hardly been out of the house since ... since...."
"Since you awakened me."
"That's right."
"And when I see other men. ... "
"I don't lust after every woman I see."
"But you think it could be like this for me with other men?"
"Certainly. Within reason. I don't think you ought to be the country club whore. I hope eventually you can find one man who will be all you need, but I think you ought to shop around so when you do find a man it will be because he turns you on more than anyone else could."
"You're certain you're not spoiling me for other men?"
"Now you're piquing my pride, but for your peace of mind, let me say that I've never yet spoiled a woman for other men; not that it wouldn't be good for my ego. I've had a lot of women tell me I wasn't their best," he ended untruthfully.
"They must have been real nuts," Patricia said.
"I think we're good together," Bill said, "but I know I'll find other women as good as you, and you'll find other men at least as good as me...."
"That's hard to believe...."
"Jerry will help find one for you. Maybe we can find one you can lust after, and love, too. It's happened."
"You think it's important to me?"
"No matter what you say, we live in a double-standard world, and a woman needs love more than a man. A woman can live without lust, I think, but not without love. But I'm sure we can find you both."
"I love your body, Bill, and I love you, but I'm not in love with you, if that's what's worrying you."
"And I love your body, and I love you. I love you the way I love Jerry, plus the lust, of course, but without the sick possessiveness. I don't think I've ever loved a woman that much before."
"Love me safely, and I'll love you, safely."
"I think you ought to be delivering this lecture, honey, not me. Now let's get upstairs for a quick fuck, because you've got me so hot just talking with you that I know I'll never be able to get back to work without it."
In two weeks, Patricia had lost twenty pounds, but to Bill's relief-and he kept daily check with a tape measure-she lost not a fraction of an inch from her voluptuous breasts, nor did they lose an iota of their magnificent resilience. They had become his pride and joy, and Jerry could see Bill wouldn't allow Patricia to wear any dress that might slight them.
Jerry was having Patricia let her hair grow longer, for a new hairdo to emphasize her slimmer face. He was so delighted with the results of only two weeks that he told
Bill it was time to start looking around for a new lover for Patricia. "For Christ's sake, don't rush the poor woman," Bill protested. "You'd think she was some floozie who couldn't get enough of it. She's young. There's plenty of time. You just tend to your knitting, and we can worry about a man for her when you're finished."
"It doesn't seem fair to you, taking up so much of your time."
"When a woman has been so many years without real sex you just can't push a button and that's it. I want to make sure she's really ready."
"Okay, okay!" Jerry said. "Jesus, what a grouch!"
Jerry was guarding the new Patricia like a Paris couturier guarding his new collection before the opening. He would not even allow 'her to go out shopping. Bill used this close guarding as an excuse to spend every night with her, saying he was afraid she'd go stir-crazy if he didn't, though she never complained either of staying in, or of Bill's nightly visits. Bill would think he was getting the hang of Patricia's remarkably sensitive cunt, that he had full control, when suddenly he'd try something a little different and it would be a whole new ball game. She seemed as sensitive to changes in his moods as he was to hers, and some nights, when he was tired after a frustrating day with his trucks, she would minister to him with a tenderness and wisdom that let him assert his masculinity even while being nearly passive.
At the end of two months, Jerry figured Patricia was just about ready to emerge from her cocoon and try her wings. Her weight was not down to his original intention, but strenuous exercises (and incessant fucking) had slimmed her figure visually to a point that seemed ideal. Jerry experimentally increased her food intake to what was actually a generous amount, for which Patricia was grateful, since it gave her that much more stamina in fucking with Bill. It did not seem to increase her weight even by an ounce, so Jerry pronounced the reducing at an end.
Jerry's original plan was to smuggle Patricia down to New York for a complete new wardrobe, but Bill said he'd like to go with them for the picking, so Jerry agreed to do it all in Boston. Except for insistently rejecting all gowns he felt slighted her breasts, Bill proved quite flexible. Between them they chose a far more chic wardrobe than Jerry had snobbishly thought possible in Boston.
Patricia was up in her room brushing her hair the way Jerry ordered when Phil dropped by the house. He had papers for Patricia to sign, papers finalizing the separation and laying the groundwork for the divorce, which his lawyers could very well have brought, but he was so happy with Gareth that he felt guilty about Patricia (someone had told him, through Gareth, that she wasn't even going out any more) that he thought he'd like to take a look for himself, to see if she was wasting away.
Mrs. Brooks answered his ring at the door. "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"
"I'd like to speak with Mrs. Steadman, if I may."
"I'll see if she's in." She grudgingly led Phil into the drawing-room and went upstairs to Patricia.
'It's him!"
"Him who?"
"Mr. Steadman. Your ex."
"What's he here for."
"Didn't tell me."
"How does he look?"
"Same as always. Water in his veins. No lead in his pencil."
"Do I have to see him?"
"It's up to you. Want me to tell him to beat it."
"Why shouldn't I see him? What difference would it make?"
It was twenty minutes before Philip heard her coming down the stairs. He went out in the hall to meet her.
"Patricia?" He couldn't believe his eyes. She had wasted away to one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever seen. "It is you isn't it?"
"Of course it's me. What do you want?"
"What's happened to you?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"I think I have a right to know. I'm still your husband."
"You aren't going to like it."
"Don't talk nonsense."
"Very well. You asked for it. After all these years, I'm finally getting fucked properly."
"Patricia!"
"If you want to divorce me on grounds of adultery, I'll be happy to shout it to the housetops that last I've found a man who really knows how to fuck, and we've fucked so many times, and in so many ways, I've lost count."
"How can you be so ... vulgar?"
"What do you and Gareth do ... hold hands?"
"We ... we...."
"Fuck?"
"More or less."
"Well, I certainly hope you do better by her than you eve did by me."
"Do you intend to marry this ... man? I take it there's only one."
"So far. No, we don't intend getting married. You don't need a marriage license to fuck, as you and Gareth evidently discovered."
"What will become of you?"
"I intend to make up for lost time."
"He refuses to marry you?"
"I've had enough of marriage. Look what it got me."
He stared at her, not knowing what to make of her. He decided to pretend it hadn't happened. T have some papers here for you. I think you'll find they are in order. I'd suggest you have your lawyers put things in a trust for you, so no man can get any substantial amounts away from you. Five million dollars is a lot of money."
"Yes, I realize that, Philip. I'll be careful. I won't squander it. I know you worked hard for it."
"I wish things could have worked out better."
"I'll be all right."
"There isn't any one man? I mean, you intend having many lovers?"
"That's right. For the time being, anyhow."
Philip turned to leave. He was almost to the door when he turned back. "You're really quite lovely, Patricia. Couldn't you have fixed yourself up for me?"
"You didn't seem interested enough for me to bother."
"Yes, I guess that's true. I'm sorry.'
"We were probably wrong for each other from the be ginning. I didn't know any better, but you should have."
"I was a virgin, too," he said.
"You'd never had a sexual experience?"
"I'd never had a woman. Perhaps if I'd had an experienced woman before we married, I might have known more...."
"Has Gareth taught you a lot?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to marry her."
"I suppose so."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic."
"She wants us to be absolutely sure. It's really up to her. I want to."
"Wise of her. But I think you need a wife, Philip. I don't believe you are the promiscuous kind."
"Are you?"
"Yes. Does that shock you?"
He looked at her. "Patricia, we're still married. I don't want to re-establish my rights, or anything, but what harm would there be in our going upstairs...."
She gave a strange smile. "Gareth wouldn't mind?"
"She wouldn't have to know."
"Were you faithful to me, except for Gareth?"
"Yes. Were you faithful to me, except for...."
"Except for no one, Philip Steadman! I was faithful to you till the day you walked out .And I wish to hell I hadn't been. Now get out of here, and don't ever come back. I never want to see your sick face again!"
Phil turned on his heel without a word and walked out. Hardly had he disappeared, slamming the door behind him, when Mrs. Brooks came charging into the hall, meat cleaver in hand. "If you had let him go upstairs with you, I'd have torn the house down! I never heard of such a thing!"
"What's the cleaver for? You going to de-nut him?"
"If he has any, which I doubt."
"I wasn't even a little tempted, Brooksie. But don't tell Bill Casey about it. He'd think me unsophisticated for not letting him do it. I think Jerry would have understood."
"I don't think you and that Bill Casey know your own minds."
"Oh, yes, we do!"
CHAPTER TEN
PATRICIA DIDN'T TELL Bill about Philip's visit, and Mrs. Brooks, respecting her wishes, didn't tell him either. She didn't even tell Jerry, though she knew it would have pleased him to hear about Philip's reaction to the new Patricia.
For all the fucking they did, Bill and Patricia also talked a lot, mostly between. From the beginning. Bill had been curious why Jerry might have taken such an interest in Patricia. He didn't accept Jerry's story that he'd felt sorry for the deserted woman when he saw her moping about the country club, because it didn't ring true. When he got to know Patricia he was certain something had happened that won her Jerry's love, but whenever he tried to bring the subject up, she easily changed it by grabbing his cock or some equally devastating and successful diversion.
One day he grew persistent. "Why don't you ask Jerry?" she said at last. "It's really his story."
"It's something that happened to him, isn't it?"
"In a way."
"It isn't vulgar curiosity, honey. I really love the kid, and what concerns him concerns me. He's my brother. I have to know."
"And I'm your sister?"
"Holy incest! Come on, now."
"It isn't a very nice story."
"I can take it."
So she told it all to him, leaving out nothing, and she was surprised how tears of anger came into her eyes as she described the scene, the arrogant Billy Parsons. He nodded his head in approval as she told how she broke it up by threatening to blow her car horn until people came running from the clubhouse.
"But I think I'm going to have to teach you how to defend yourself," he said gravely. "They might have attacked you."
"Two months ago, I could have knocked out any attacker just by sitting on him."
"I'll teach you a modified Judo," Bill said. "It's quite easy, and I think in the future you are going to have a lot more need to defend yourself than you ever had before. And it won't be entirely the fault of the men. You are even more beautiful than I thought Jerry would be able to make you. In fact, you are almost as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside."
"Do you think Jerry bears any permanent scars from what happened?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Coming as it does so soon after the business with the golf pro."
"I imagine the reason Jerry didn't want to tell you was because he was ashamed of it, he thought you'd think him less of a man for it."
"No, that wasn't the reason at all," Bill said with a strange smile. "He knows nothing can change the way I feel about him. He was afraid of what I might do to the boys that did it."
"Oh!" Patricia said, understanding at last. "You aren't going to ... do anything to them? Not that they don't deserve it." Bill remained silent. "Are you?"
"I won't lay a finger on them. Billy Parsons?"
"Billy Parsons. I shouldn't have told you. I guess he knew what he was doing. He made me promise never to tell anyone. I don't like the way you said you wouldn't lay a finger on Billy Parsons. You intend buggering him, don't you, like he did Jerry?"
"I won't touch him."
"I'm glad," she said, laying a fond hand on his temporarily-limp cock. This is far too good for him."
"I won't touch him," Bill repeated. "In any way."
And he was as good as his word. But he did tell one of his truck drivers about what happened to Jerry. The truck driver was Joe Verblonski, a strapping young Pole who was his best driver. He'd been with Bill from the beginning. They'd been frequent drinking partners together in the early days, but Joe never talked about himself, never bragged about women the way most of the others did.
One day Jerry came to the trucking office on an errand. As he was leaving, Bill caught Joe looking at Jerry's beautifully-articulated ass in a way he could only read as lustful. It struck him then and there that something might be worked out, and he dropped all the hints necessary to get Joe and Jerry into the same bed.
As Bill had figured, Joe found Jerry's ass to be all that his eyes had told him, and he fell in love with Jerry. For a couple of months it seemed to Bill that his driver was losing weight and sleep to say nothing of a couple of pounds of semen a night, but he was glad for them both, for Jerry appeared delighted with this wonderful hunk of virility.
But as far as minds went, it was clear from the beginning they had nothing in common except that Joe loved fucking Jerry and Jerry loved to be fucked by Joe, and they reluctantly realized that they had nothing to talk about when they weren't fucking. They both sincerely regretted that so complete a sexual compatibility wasn't nearly enough, and they remained good friends. Joe was genuinely glad when Jerry found Guy Jenkins, for he'd found himself a splendid boy, a highly fuckable young waiter in a beanery near the trucking office. He moved in with Joe, and the pair of them seemed permanently happy, as far as Bill could see. Pat, the waiter, fancied himself something of a cook, and once he got established, Joe felt such pride in his boy as a housekeeper he wanted to show him off to Jerry. Jerry had remained his ideal as an all-round person (in contrast to Bill Casey being his ideal as an all-round man) and far from feeling the slightest bitterness it hadn't worked out, he felt privileged that he'd had Jerry for a couple of months. Pat sensed it was important that Jerry approve of him, and was apprehensive. They routinely invited Guy Jenkins to come with Jerry, but Jerry knew that Guy wouldn't be caught dead in a homosexual menage and made excuses for him. He asked if Bill could come with him instead, and Bill told Joe he'd count it an honor to be invited for their first at-home.
Jerry could see for himself at once that Joe had gotten himself a treasure, and he took Joe aside to tell him so. He also took Pat aside to say he thought Pat was lucky to have Joe, but that Joe was just as lucky to have Pat, and he wished them every happiness. Pat cried a little, and so did Jerry. And in the living-room, Bill was shaking Joe's hand heartily, the other hand on his shoulder, and Joe was blushing and laughing.
So when Bill got to his office the morning after Patricia told him about Jerry's rape by the feisty teen-agers at the Waybury Country Club, he called in Joe right away, told him what happened, and that the gang leader had been a little crumb named Billy Parsons, that he went to Phillips-Andover. Joe nodded his head solemnly, and that was all.
Pat was as shocked as Joe at what had happened to their dear friend Jerry, a little hurt he hadn't confided in them, and agreed that something would have to be done before they could hold up their heads again. It wasn't only that they thought they owed it to Jerry, though that was part of it. When Jerry came every two weeks to trim Bill's hair, he did Joe's and Pat's too, rigorously refusing payment. Joe insisted his hair be worn as similar to Bill's as possible, which fortunately suited him, but Jerry could let himself go on Pat's curly ringlets, and the results were head-turning, male and female. He seemed a perfect Ganymede.
Pat was no intellectual, but he had a good imagination coupled with a mind for details. Joe let him do all the planning....
Gino's Discotheque was a lively joint on Route 28, halfway to Boston from Andover, a favorite with the older Phillips-Andover students who weren't aware it had the tacit support of their headmaster. Billy Parsons was one of the regulars, for as he told his admiring classmates, the dances kept him in shape for all the fucking he did. It was his closely guarded secret that the only fucking he'd ever done was up the fairy hairdresser's ass in the Waybury Country Club parking lot. It wasn't something anyone would brag about, even if it hadn't been interrupted by that crazy Mrs. Steadman. Afterwards, Billy had cheered up his disheartened fellow-rapists by telling them Mrs. Steadman's husband had run off with another woman, that it had made her so frustrated she couldn't stand to see anyone else getting it.
Billy was always a little hurt that his brash approach to girls didn't cause them to flop right over on their backs the way he told his friends it always did. He'd have been the most outraged boy at Phillips-Andover if he'd known that the shy classmate he could always make blush just by saying "fuck" was daily fucking the voluptuous young wife of one of the athletic coaches.
Billy could hardly believe his luck when one of the girls he danced with, a newcomer to the discotheque, seemed wide-eyed with passion when he tried his regular brash approach that usually gained him a big fat nothing. "I think you're terribly attractive," she breathed into his ear in a rare moment when the crush pushed them together. He began to regret painfully that these new dances that gave his hips such a workout didn't allow him to grind his cock against his partner's pelvis the way the dances of Daddy's day did. His knees suddenly felt weak, and he led her off to the tiny table being guarded by his roommate. A nod of his head sent his roommate scurrying to fuck his hips into thin air a safe distance from a pretty girl he'd never seen before and would never recognize if he ever saw again. "I'm glad all these are around," Billy's new girl breathed into his ear. "If we were alone, I don't know what would happen."
Your place or mine?" he asked, and for the first time since he began using the phrase it sounded nervous to his ears.
"Do you have a place?" she whispered back. "No," he groaned. "I do."
"What are we waiting for?" he said, the first time he'd ever been able to use the follow-up line, but he felt too weak to leap to his feet, as the line required. It was the girl who leaped to her feet, she grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet.
"Groovy," she said. "It's in South Boston."
"I have a car."
"I know," she said, and bit her lip. But he didn't seem to notice the slip.
It was an MGB, which his father thought must be safe because it was so small. They crowded into it, the two of them, and shot off for South Boston. It was not, to
Billy's relief, a bad section she had him drive to; other cars parked in the street seemed fairly new. "I can hardly wait," she whispered as she unbuckled her seat belt. She leaned over and darted her tongue into his ear. If his cock hadn't already been up it would have shot up. As was, he thought it was a miracle he didn't shoot his load then and there. In a flash he could see himself with his grandchildren. "And when you had your first girl, Grandpa, where did you shoot your first load."
"In my pants, when she tickled my ear with her tongue."
It was a three-story building; she led the way to the flat that occupied the back of the third floor. She led him straight into the bedroom, and told him to take off his clothes. "Where are you going?" he asked nervously, as she started out of the room.
"We don't want to make a baby, do we?" she asked.
"Oh," he said, satisfied. It gave him a thrill to be reminded of his potency. He hurried to strip off his clothes. He regretted there wasn't a full-length mirror to admire himself in. Wait till this lucky girl saw the real he-man she was getting!
"Come out, now," the girl called. Billy was puzzled why she wouldn't just come in to the bedroom, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and if she wanted to be fucked on the kitchen stove he wouldn't argue. He opened the door and, gloriously erect, stepped out into the living-room. At that moment the apartment door opened and in stepped a strapping truck-driver type. It was, of course, Joe Verblonski. Billy, stunned, resisted the strong temptation to do a "September Morn," to put one arm across his tits, a hand to fig-leaf his crotch.
"Hello, Billy Parsons," Joe said.
"Where's...? "
"My sister?"
"Oh...."
"I hear you believe in guys fucking other guys up the ass."
Billy began to see he'd been led into a trap. "Only fairies," he said weakly. "Not regular guys."
"You mean only fairies would fuck another guy up the ass?"
"Only a fairy would let another guy do it."
"You mean, a guy couldn't force another guy to take it up the ass unless that guy was a fairy."
"That's right."
"Are you a fairy?" Joe asked, his voice deadly.
"No. That's why...." He stopped dead.
"You were going to prove you weren't a fairy by coming here and fucking my sister, right?"
"I didn't know she was your sister."
"Then, if I fucked you up the ass, that would make you a fairy, right?"
"I don't want to be fucked up the ass. I'm not a fairy. Can't you tell by looking at me?"
"How do you know if you haven't tried it?"
"I know already. I mean, a guy would know before he was fucked up the ass whether he would like it or not. I'd never let another guy fuck me up the ass. I'm not built that way."
"I happen to disagree with you. I think sometimes a guy doesn't know whether he'd like to be fucked up the ass until he's tried it. To prove my point, I'm gonna fuck you up the ass." He began to strip off his clothes.
"If you do, I'll report you to the authorities," Billy said, and he recognized that his threat sounded prissy even to himself.
Joe paused with his undershirt halfway over his head. Then he pulled it off the rest of the way and stared at Billy. "So," he said, "either I've got to not fuck you up the ass, or if I fuck you up the ass I've got to kill you or you'll have me arrested, right?"
Billy had no answer to this, but his face drained completely of color.
"You know I'm going to fuck you, don't you?"
"No."
"Well, I am."
"Why should you want to do that? I can get you girls," he offered desperately, though he knew it was a lie.
"I don't like girls. I like to fuck boys up the ass. Can you get me boys."
"You're sick."
"Am I?" Joe finished stripping off his pants, then his shorts, and stood naked in front of Billy. "Do I look sick to you. Do I look like a fairy?"
Billy gulped. With his clothes off, Joe looked even more powerful than he did with them on. His triceps were so huge they held his arms out from his powerful chest. Billy noted with a small surge of satisfaction that this brute didn't have a hard-on; though completely limp his cock looked as big as Billy's in full erection. Billy's cock, of course, had long since fainted. The menace's balls looked for all the world like twin blackjacks. If they hit him on the head, Billy thought fleetingly, they'd probably knock him out.
"Like what you see?" Joe asked.
"No," Billy protested.
"Gonna let me fuck you up the ass like a nice boy."
"No."
"I gonna have to force you?"
"It's because of that fairy hairdresser, isn't it? He's paying you to do this. He told you to try to scare me."
"What fairy hairdresser?" Joe asked with quiet menace. Billy didn't answer him. "Don't you think it's just because of your pretty ass? Gonna let me fuck you?"
"No." Joe reached out with a lightning hand and slapped Billy hard. Billy stood stunned, put a disbelieving hand to his face. His cock erected suddenly, and as suddenly subsided. Billy didn't notice, but Joe did, and he smile inwardly. "No," Billy whimpered. Joe reached up with the other hand and slapped him even harder. Billy backed away till the wall stopped him, and fought back the tears.
"I'm gonna fuck you up the ass, good and hard," Joe said implacably. "The sooner you accept that, the better off you're gonna be."
"I'm not a fairy!"
"I'm gonna fuck you." He moved up to face Billy, who put his hands up to his face to ward off expected blows. "You got nice teeth," Joe said. "How many I gonna have to knock out before you ask me to fuck you?"
"No!" Billy whimpered.
'Not so bad," Joe said. "If you don't have your front teeth, you can suck cocks real good."
"I don't suck cocks!"
"Hey, I got a lot to teach you, don't I?" He reached out and shoved Billy hard against the wall.
This unfamiliar game was easy for Joe, much to his surprise. He'd thought, when Pat told him what must be done, that it would be hard to rough up a nice-looking kid, even though that nice-looking kid had led a gang-fuck of their friend Jerry, but he hated Billy the moment he saw him, he could see that fucking this kid up the ass-which he meant to do-would be grim satisfaction and not pleasure. He was ready, if necessary, to knock the kid's front teeth out. It wasn't an idle threat. He was almost hoping the kid would make it necessary. Pat's sister hadn't wanted to be a Judas Goat for the scheme, but she loved Pat so much, loved Joe for making Pat happy, she agreed to go against all principles to do it. As with Joe, the moment she saw Billy it became a pleasure to lead him to slaughter.
Joe reached out a hand. Billy ducked, but the hand was only to grab one of Billy's arms. Joe deftly bent it behind Billy's back, bending the kid back with the pain of it, then he pressed a kiss on Billy's surprised lips. "Like that?" he asked.
"No. Did you?"
"No. You got slimy lips." Joe put pressure on the arm and forced Jerry to his knees. "Before I fuck you, I gotta have a hard-on, right? So you gotta suck my cock and get it hard."
"No!"
Joe slapped Billy hard across the face with his free hand, once with his palm, and with the back of his hand on the return stroke. Billy was reaching up his free hand to ward off further damage when Joe's knee came up and clouted him on the side of the head, rocking him. Billy began to cry. ""All you got to do is suck my cock," Joe said.
"I'm not a cocksucker!"
"You ever make anyone suck your cock?"
Billy didn't say anything, but tears stopped.
"Did he have a choice?"
"He liked sucking cocks."
"Maybe you will. Open your mouth and stick your tongue out."
"No!" Joe put more pressure on the arm behind Billy's back and flexed his knee ominously. Billy let out a sob, then opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out partway.
"More!" Joe ordered, and clouted him on the side of the head once more with his knee, but not as hard as before. Billy stuck his tongue out as far as it would go. Joe squatted down slightly and accurately placed the head of his limp cock on Billy's outstretched tongue. Billy quickly withdrew his tongue at the hated touch, but a little added pressure on his arm sent it popping out again. Joe let his cock lie heavy on Billy's tongue. "Taste good?" he asked.
"Uhh-unh!" Billy said fervently, but without pulling his tongue back in.
"It's not getting hard," Joe said. "How'm I gonna fuck you up the ass if it isn't hard! I bet you got a tight ass-hole, and it takes a hard cock to get up a tight ass-hole, especially when it's as big as my cock. Don't you think my cock is big? I mean, compared to that little puny thing of yours?" Billy nodded his head, but without dislodging the cock that rested so heavily on his tongue. "Wait till you see it when I got a hard-on," Joe said. He took hold of his cock with his free hand and slid the head across the proffered tongue, up and down, and around. Billy's tongue faltered when Joe tried to insert the :ip of it up the ample cleft in his glans, but another little bit of pressure on the arm behind his back and Billy made a point of the end of his tongue so Joe could maneuver it into the cleft.
"Now you're gonna suck my cock," Joe ordered. Billy looked up at him but saw only implacability in the hard pale blue eyes. He didn't even bother shaking his head; he didn't require additional pressure on his painfully bent arm that was now nearly numb. He slowly opened his mouth wide and took the bulky head inside. Almost at once he began to choke and spit the head out.
"I can't," he sobbed. "I can't breathe with that thing in my mouth!"
"Breathe through your nose. Now try again."
Billy obediently gulped up the big head into his mouth. This time he didn't choke. Joe moved his hips forward and forced much of the bulk of his cock into Billy's mouth. Billy choked again, but didn't spit the cock out, and in a moment stopped choking. Joe pulled his cock back a bit. "Play with it with your tongue," he said. Billy knew what he meant, and ran his tongue over the sleek glans, darted the end of his tongue far into the big cleft. Joe began to get a hard-on at last. Billy had to open his mouth wider to accommodate the rapidly swelling head, until he thought his jaws would crack, but he didn't try to pull his mouth away. "If I let go your arm, will you behave this time?"
Billy looked up at him and nodded his head without disgorging the cock. Joe let go of his arm. Billy pulled it around and massaged it with his other hand, until feeling was restored, but he did not stop sucking on Joe's cock. "You do anything funny, it won't be your arm, it'll be your front teeth," Joe said. "Now play with my balls with your hands." Billy obediently reached up for the great twin blackjacks and fondled them. "I won't make vou lick my ass-hole," Joe said. "I'm fussy who I let do that." foe's cock was rigidly hard now. He pulled it out of Billy's mouth but Billy felt no relief, for he knew what was supposed to come next. "Now I'm gonna fuck you up the ass," Joe said unnecessarily.
"No!" Billy quailed. "You'd split me open! It might kill me!" .
"Why is your ass different than anyone else's? You shit little tiny pellets, maybe, like a rabbit?"
"I've never been fucked up the ass!"
"After today, you won't be able to say that any more, huh?"
"Please!" Billy begged. "I'll give you money! My dad is rich!"
"Well, ain't that nice! You gonna let me fuck you like a nice little fairy?"
"Okay!" Before Billy could do anything, Joe had seized his arm again, bent it around his back till he thought it would break, and slammed him hard across the side of the face with his ham of a hand.
"Oh, God, God!" Billy sobbed. "Don't do this to me!"
"Ain't nobody else, and I got a hard-on that needs a nice fat ass," Joe said. "I gotta hit you again? I ain't kiddin'! It's your front teeth this time."
"Please don't!
"That's not what I want to hear you say. Now say, 'Please fuck me up the ass. I want you to fuck me up the ass.'"
Billy looked up at Joe, the ice-cold eyes, the rearing great cock, the bulging muscles. "Please fuck me up the ass," he whispered.
"Now say, 'Thanks for letting me suck your big cock, now please fuck me up the ass,' and say it like you mean it."
Billy cleared his throat. "Thanks for letting me suck your ... big cock, now please fuck me up the ass."
"Don't know if I want to." Billy looked hopefully. "But since you're so eager, little fairy, I'll do it for you. Hate to have you go out of here disappointed." Billy closed his eyes. "Open your eyes and look at my cock." Billy obeyed. "Ever see one that big?" Billy shook his head. "Know where I'm gonna put it, all of it, right up to the balls?" Billy nodded his head.
Joe let go of his arm. Billy massaged it, but remained on his knees. "I can't fuck you that way," Joe said. "I'm no contortionist. Get up." Billy struggled wearily to his feet. "I'm gonna be real good to you," Joe said. "I'm gonna use vaseline. You always use vaseline when you fuck a guy?" Billy looked down at the ground. "Didn't think so. But I want a real good, smooth fuck, and I don't want to bruise my cock putting it in a tight ass like yours. You never been fucked before, right?" Billy nodded his head. Joe opened a drawer in a chest and took out a jar of vaseline. "Here," he said, handing it to Billy. "Grease up my cock so I can stick it all the way up your ass." Billy hesitated only a moment before accepting the jar. His hands were trembling so he couldn't unscrew the lid. Joe grabbed it from him and unscrewed the lid. He handed it back to Billy. "Put plenty on," he said. "The more greased-up my cock is, the less it will hurt you." Billy took a large gob of vaseline in his hand. "Kneel down to do it," Joe ordered. Billy complied. "Kiss it first." Billy did, without hesitation, then rubbed vaseline on the huge head and shaft. He even started rubbing vaseline on Joe's balls. "Not there, you stupid shit!"
Joe pulled Billy to his feet and had him lean over the back of a large upholstered chair. "I got to stuff a gag in your mouth?" Joe asked. Billy shook his head. Joe took the jar of vaseline from him, dipped out a gob, and rubbed it hard into Billy's ass-hole. His fingers pushed in and Billy let out a quick cry, then squelched it. "We ready now?" Joe asked. Billy nodded his head. "Say it!"
"We're ready now."
"No, the other thing!"
"I want you to fuck me up the ass."
"Good." Joe bent himself to the task. He expertly applied the head of his cock, still rock-hard, to Billy's ass-hole. The temptation was to give a powerful thrust and push it all the way in at once, and he still hated Billy enough to do this, but he was afraid such a savage assault would split the little cocksucker open and cause everyone a lot of trouble, so he reluctantly decided to take it easy. To Billy, of course, what he was doing couldn't be described as taking it easy. Still, he was too terrified to cry out when he felt the huge head pushing against his ass-hole.
Joe, with a skill built up from many years of fucking ass-holes, the first when he was twelve and was given a dollar to fuck a middle-aged stranger who stopped him in his own neighborhood playground, knew exactly the pressure to apply. At exactly the moment he knew it would, his cock parted the tight little anus to enter the rectum. Billy let out a gasp of shock, of pain, but no more. He bit down hard on his tongue, for he sensed his pain was what this brute was seeking, and he determined not to let him see it. Joe slowly pushed his cock in about halfway. He paused. He knew that if he withdrew now, gently massaged the opening with his fingers, the second entry would be an easy one, the boy could be fucked nearly painlessly, but it seemed to him that would be a betrayal of Jerry, to say nothing of Pat, who was watching the whole thing from the kitchen, so he kept going. His cock was so hard he knew he could come in a hurry up that tight passage if he wanted, but prolonging it would be painful to Billy, emotionally as well as physically, though not harmful. Pat would know the prolongation was for the punishment, not for his own pleasure, so he took firm hold of Billy's slim hips and began a methodical fucking that would shoot his load in about a hundred strokes, and not before. There was a mirror on the wall, positioned in such a way that Joe could see Billy's face. Billy's head was held up, his eyes closed tight. Joe knew pride was forcing Billy to clench his face this way to keep from crying out, but anyone who didn't know might have thought Billy's face was clenched in ecstasy.
Sweat was pouring from Billy's face. Joe did not spare him as he pounded his big cock into that tight ass-hole. He slammed his great balls against the boy's tight little ones with each pounding thrust. Billy had to take each and every inch of it, for his hips were hard against the chair, there was nowhere to move to spare his ass-hole even a little. If anything, the pressure seemed to increase. The grimace on Billy's face became a rictus, an open-mouthed mask of pain. If the hurt had lessened, Joe would have brought the fucking to a quick climax, but as it was, he kept going to the full hundred strokes, counting them to himself, then he shot his load with a last powerful thrust and a grunt. Billy, who had thought he'd reached a zenith of pain, let out a sobbing scream as the huge cock seemed to double in size in his ass-hole during the bulging passage of the immense jets of semen up its full length. When he was done, Joe removed his cock slowly from the battered ass-hole, not from any concern for Billy, but for the rug. Fortunately Billy's bowels had been nearly empty, or he still had good control over them, for his bruised ass-hole sent no gush of shit out after the departing cock, and merely exhibited its youthful resilience by snapping shut like a miser's purse when the great bulging head departed empty.
Billy felt so totally spent that he remained leaning over the chair. "Want more?" Joe asked. Billy answered him with a soulful groan. Joe walked over to the kitchen door. Billy was too lost in his own misery to see the hand that reached out to give Joe a wet washcloth and a towel. Joe wiped off his rapidly diminishing cock, then came over to Billy and roughly wiped his ass-hole. Billy winced with the pain. "What were we talking about before?" Joe said. "Didn't you say that only a fairy would let another guy fuck him?" Billy looked at him, his face dead, but didn't say anything. "Didn't you also say something about going to the authorities?" A look of fear came over Billy's face. He shook his head vigorously.
Joe reached for his clothes and started to put them on. "Better take temptation out of your path," he told Billy. He nodded towards the bedroom door. "You can get dressed, if you want." Billy darted into the bedroom, and he was quickly dressed. He didn't bother with tying his shoes, even. "You'll trip yourself up," Joe said. "Not that I give a shit." Billy bent down, his ass carefully pointed away from Joe, and tied his shoes. Joe laughed.
Billy seemed surprised when Joe didn't try to stop him from leaving, and darted out the door. Joe's laughter followed him all the way down the stairs. It surprised him he could run so fast, considering the stiffness of his legs, the soreness of his ass-hole with each step.
After a week, his ass-hole didn't feel even a little sore, and Billy began the long process of forgetting what had happened. Then, in the mail, came a plain manila envelope with no return address. Billy's roommate looked at in curiosity, but something told Billy it had to be opened in private, which he contrived to do.
It was a set of five-by-eight pictures, exquisitely clear. In the first one, he seemed to be placing a passionate kiss on the lips of a naked man with bulging muscles. You could tell it was Billy, but you couldn't tell who the man was. A couple showed Billy, unmistakably Billy, with a large limp cock on his tongue. There were' a couple of Billy with that same cock in his mouth, first limp, then fully erected. There was a picture Billy kissing the cock, one of Billy spreading vaseline on it, then several shots of Billy being fucked up the ass. Anyone seeing it would take the look on Billy's face for sheer ecstasy. Billy, heart pounding, looked through the pictures again. In nine of them did the face of his attacker show clearly em ugh to identify. They had been carefully chosen. There v.as a note with them. "Thought you might like to have some evidence to show the cops." No signature.
Billy knew the pictures had to be destroyed. Somehow he sensed they would not be used against him as long as he behaved himself. All he had to do was get rid of this batch. He didn't dare throw them away here, even torn up in little pieces, for he could imagine them being painstakingly put together again. He would save them for the weekend, take them home to Waybury, and burn them in a fireplace. It was the only safe way. He put them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, under his jock straps and tennis shorts. He was glad when his roommate returned and failed to ask about the manila envelope. He seemed to have forgotten about it.
Next afternoon, his roommate had basketball practice. Billy locked the door, took out the pictures to look at them again, to see if it was unmistakably him. It was. As he looked through them he found himself getting a hard-on. He opened his pants and took out his cock. As he looked through the pictures again and again, he accompanied the viewing with a slow, deliberate, feverish masturbating . ...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JERRY WAS READY for the big opening. Originally, he'd thought he'd be lucky if he could turn Patricia into the stunning creature he'd seen beneath the fat in six months, so he was exceptionally pleased with himself to be able to set her coming-out for exactly three months to the day from the time she had rescued him from the parking-lot rape.
It was not to be a party; Jerry was so confident of the impact of the "new" Patricia Steadman that he thought it would be quite spectacular enough if she merely appeared having dinner at the Waybury Country Club, exactly as she had that night she met Bill Casey, and it would be a return engagement of the same thing; dinner with Bill. But Bill and Patricia insisted on a variation he hadn't counted on. He thought of himself as the deus ex machina, and rightfully so, but Bill and Patricia thought of him as far more than that and insisted that he join them at dinner.
Jerry was persuaded to agree, but achieved the compromise that Patricia and Bill would arrive alone, he would join them when they got seated. At the last minute he changed his volatile mind and decided to be waiting at the table when they arrived. He wanted to see firsthand the effect she had on the crowd there.
But he spent the afternoon at her house getting her ready for the dinner. For reasons Patricia couldn't understand she felt nervous about coming to dinner at the country club. She was surprised to find Bill apprehensive, and recognizing this feeling in each other, they decided the best thing would be to fuck all afternoon, but Jerry vetoed this with a waspisliness that amazed them, and said Bill wasn't to show up till time to take Patricia to dinner. He instructed Mrs. Brooks that she was to use all means necessary-a shotgun if it came to thatto keep them from going upstairs together. Mrs. Brooks' confidence in Jerry's wisdom was so total that she could promise with complete assurance she'd lay down her life to keep the passionate pair from fucking this once.
Patricia was half expecting Jerry would trick her out in something beaded, for she had several of these and had gotten to love them, and that she would sparkle even more in the diamond necklace Bill had given her. The present had taken her breath away. "Makes me feel like a genuine courtesan," she told Bill.
"That's the idea," he told her.
"Have I been worth this?"
"Uh huh."
But Jerry had a surprise for her. He hauled out a basic black that looked much like the basic blacks she's worn for formal occasions since puberty, even if it was Givenchy, and he hauled out her old pearls to wear with it. "You're joking, aren't you?" she asked.
"Nope," he said. He had already spent most of the afternoon making her shoulder-length hair look as though he'd done nothing with it. When she was all dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror. "Is this what you want?" she asked Jerry.
"Yup."
Patricia was such a nervous wreck thirty minutes before Bill was due that Jerry relented, said she could come downstairs to wait for him, instead of making a grand entrance for him down the stairs, and she could have a drink. He called Mrs. Brooks on the intercom and ordered a stinger. "She need it?" Mrs. Brooks asked.
"That makes three," said Mrs. Brooks, and snapped the intercom off. Five minutes later Jerry led the dazed Patricia into the hall and aimed her down the stairs. Mrs. Brooks appeared below, carrying a tray with three stingers. She looked up at Patricia descending. There was an indescribable look on her face, then her face crumbled, she burst into tears, dropped the tray with the three stingers. Jerry raced down the stairs happily to start cleaning up the mess. He was absolutely delighted. Patricia stood stunned on the stairs. "What's the matter?" she asked plaintively.
Mrs. Brooks controlled herself with an effort. "You're...." And she burst into another torrent of tears.
"She thinks you don't look half bad," Jerry said, looking up at her with a big smile.
"I've never been so happy in my life!" Mrs. Brooks sobbed. She fled back into the kitchen, and in a few minutes returned with four stingers on a tray, with Mr. Brooks in tow. Wordlessly she pointed to Patricia, who was standing in the hall looking lost. He did not burst into tears, but a slow smile spread over his face, until Jerry thought that his face would finally split.
"Yes, yes," he said.
Mrs. Brooks passed the stingers around. They drank them gratefuly, needfully.
The doorbell rang. Jerry hustled Mr. Brooks out to the kitchen and directed Patricia to remain standing in the hall, Mrs. Brooks to open the door. But Jerry peeked back through the kitchen door, and let Mr. Brooks peek with him.
Mrs. Brooks opened the door, but she wasn't surprised that Bill, looking his most elegant, saw only Patricia. She'd have kicked in the balls if he hadn't. Patricia stood with an uncertain smile on her face. Bill remained frozen in the doorway. Was this ethereal creature the same flaming female he'd bedded so passionately night after night for three months? Impossible! He'd never seen this angel before in his life.
"Good evening, Bill."
"Good evening, Patricia." He solemnly closed the distance between them and took the hands she held out to him. He did not kiss her. It would have been sacrilege.
Jerry raced out the back of the house and drove his new XKE back to the country club to arrive before the happy couple. His XKE was a twin in all but color to Patricia's. He couldn't persuade her to get rid of the mousy but faithful Olds, but he persuaded her to augment it with a blue XKE only when he agreed to accept from her its twin in silver.
He was at their table in the dining-room of the country club a good ten minutes before Bill arrived with Patricia, having driven her sedately in his Bentley Continental as though she was a crate of eggs any small bump might crack.
Bill had good sense, Jerry saw with relief, to let Patricia enter the dining-room several feet ahead of him, alone for a moment. Most of the regulars were there, for Friday night had become a good night for seeing friends without the bore of arranging a dinner party at home, but there were unexpected bonuses, one of which made Jerry's heart ache when he'd thought himself well over it. Geraldine Mortan was there, which was no surprise, but Guy Jenkins was there with her. Guy never looked more handsome, Geraldine never looked more lovely.
For a moment Jerry thought disloyally he'd rather Mrs. Mortan had taken her exotic beauty elsewhere tonight, so that Patricia could shine without competition. Geraldine was wearing a glittering off-white beaded dress and a spectacular diamond necklace, very much as Patricia had expected Jerry to dress her.
The other unexpected pair were Philip Steadman and Gareth Ballinger. Phil Steadman was indeed a handsome fellow, Jerry could reflect objectively, if you didn't know his balls were made of glass. Gareth was extremely attractive tonight, but unfortunately she was only two tables from Mrs. Mortan, whose beauty far outshone hers. Gareth was also wearing an off-white glittering beaded dress and a diamond necklace, which was also outshone by Mrs. Mortan's. It just wasn't Gareth's night. Jery wondered whatever possessed them to come to the country club tonight. Actually, it had been Philip's idea. He wanted people here to get used to seeing them together, for he wanted to move back to Waybury eventually, back into the country club set. He didn't need the contacts financially-fortunately he was way beyond that-but he needed these people emotionally. It was where he belonged, and Gareth loved him sufficiently to agree to the slow adjustment.
Many people had been coming in during the ten minutes Jerry sat at the table alone, but they caused no ripple, except among immediate friends. But when Patricia entered, there was a sudden hush. It was not his imagination, his hope, Jerry could see, but a physical, audible hush. It was not the hush that might greet a stranger, but a hush of awe, for they knew at once exactly who she was, though they had not seen her in three months. Even though he had seen her only a few minutes ago, even Jerry was awed by the ethereal sight of her. The basic black with the pearls was a stroke of genius. They announced that a woman so stunning needed no fashion crutch. Jerry found tears coming to his eyes. He wondered how he could for a moment have worried about competition from Mrs. Mortan, for while
Patricia could not outshine Mrs. Mortan feature by feature, there was a fragile vulnerability about her beauty that made men catch their breath. At the sight of her, Gareth reached out a frightened hand to touch Philip's. He smiled reassurance at her. Geraldine Mortan stared at Patricia, then turned her eyes to Guy. He was already waiting for her eyes. She reached a hand under the table and patted his ever-bulging crotch. "It would be like fucking the Mona Lisa," he whispered, and held her hand imprisoned on his crotch. "I've got me a real woman."
Patricia stood alone for a moment in the doorway, then turned to look for Bill, who now closed the distance between them. The look she gave Bill frightened Jerry, and he hoped Bill didn't read it as he read it. The look was not lust. The look was need, and a lot more. And that was not the name of the game.
Bill pointed to Jerry, and Patricia honored Jerry by waving to him at the table, calling attention to him, then Bill took her elbow and guided her to the table. Jerry stood as they approached. He raised his napkin to wipe away a fugitive tear that had escaped from its duct. "Damn smog," he muttered.
Their walk across half the dining-room to the table had changed the breathing habits of most of the men present. They had held their breaths at the ethereal fragility of her beauty, but as she walked, what caught their eye was the most engaging jouncing of her breasts, which looked even more spectacular than they had when she was thirty pounds heavier.
"You're a dirty old man!" Mary Street snapped at her husband Gavin.
"Yeah," he said, drawing it out. "And before my time, too."
"I could take off a little weight, too, if you didn't insist on all those fattening meals at home."
"Go to it, old girl," he said without a smidgin of conviction.
Three months ago, as they ate dinner, Bill's attention to Patricia, who had looked drab except for the spectacular unbound breasts, had been total; but tonight he tended to look around, not to steal glances at the attractive women, but to glare at the dirty old men who obviously wanted their lips and tongues to be where Bill's lips and tongue had so often, so fruitfully been. When Patricia excused herself to go to the powder room, Jerry was amazed at Bill's distress. "Why don't they keep their dirty eyes and dirty minds to themselves," he snapped to Jerry as he watched the men in the dining-room watching Patricia leave.
"We do want to get her a man," Jerry reminded him. "We should be glad she's making such a hit."
"It has to be the right man," Bill said fiercely. "Otherwise everything would be wasted."
"Wouldn't hurt her to play around a little first," Jerry said. "She's pretty level-headed. She can take care of herself. She won't get hurt."
"I'm not so sure," Bill said. "I'd hate to see all your good work wasted on some louse."
"Yours, too," Jerry reminded him.
Jerry was hardly surprised when Bill told Patricia that dessert was fattening, and rushed her home without even after-dinner coffee. He'd known that with after-dinner coffee would come the inevitable table-hopping, and he felt he couldn't face it.
Patricia herself was awed by the effect she seemed to be having on people. So she was quite ready to go home when Bill was. There was no question he would be spending the night. When they got their clothes off he attacked her with a passionate, possessive fury that amazed her. But the rest of the night was spent in the most tender love-making.
Jerry had planned Patricia's "coming-out" party cleverly, he thought, for he'd known Bill had to go to San Francisco on urgent trucking business, and thought the two weeks he'd be away would allow both of them the weaning period they obviously needed, whether they realized it or not. If Bill had been the settling-down type he'd have planned his strategy another way, but he was convinced that even at thirty Bill was so set in his free-love bachelor ways that it would shatter him to change them; and that as for Patricia, naturally she would have a sentimental attachment to the man who liberated her, and when the package was a Bill Casey, it would take a strong-minded woman indeed to keep from making a habit of him.
Bill had hinted maybe he could put off his business trip, but Jerry happened to know he couldn't without financial loss, and he persuaded Bill now was the time. He promised faithfully that he'd keep Patricia away from dirty old men (apparently every man at the country club that night fell into the category), and that he wouldn't even let Patricia go to bed with a man during those two weeks, until he could get back and give his okay. "Maybe you don't feel a full responsibility, but I do," he told Jerry. "It's like a sculptor finishing a statue. He's fussy where they display it."
Bill went off to San Francisco. He was miserable the first night, but the second night he met a spectacular redhead; she knew a good man when she saw one, and for the first time since he'd started his rehabilitation of Patricia, Bill found himself enjoying another woman. Her cunt wasn't nearly as responsive as Patricia's, her breasts were a good two inches less, but they were more than adequate, and it piqued Bill's pride till he discovered exactly what would turn this beauty on, and he employed his discoveries to the utmost. After a week he had to dump her in a hurry when she suggested she might kill herself if he didn't marry her, but two nights later he found a blonde who would enjoy the fucking without wanting an ironclad contract, so the rest of the time was spent without complications.
Jerry explained to Patricia that his co-professor in womanology had insisted that she not rush into bed with the first man who took her imagine, that being a sex fiend himself Bill wanted to okay possible applicants for her bed, and Patricia said she would be happy to do whatever they said, since so far things had turned out so well. "Don't you miss Bill?" Jerry asked. "Of course! Don't you?"
"Of course," he said, disappointed. For all his not wanting her to become dependent on Bill, he'd rather hoped his absence would have affected her more than it did him.
The Boston season was in full bloom. Jerry agreed to be Patricia's escort for the two weeks. They bought tickets for plays, concerts, operas, and planned museum trips. It was going to be an exhausting two weeks. For their first afternoon in Boston, Jerry called for Patricia with his hair trimmed shorter than he usually wore it, dressed in a conservative dark suit, white shirt, plain tie. Patricia stared at him in astonishment. "What on earth has happened to you?" she cried.
"Since I am to be your escort, I thought I'd try to look as ... straight as possible, so as not to embarrass you."
"Oh, Jerry!" she cried in dismay, and she took him in her arms. "I love you, Jerry, exactly as you are! And I'm proud to be seen with you."
"But people seeing us ... "
"I don't give a damn about the people seeing us. I am what I am, thanks to you; I like and respect what you are, I love the way you dress, the way you look, and that's the way I want you." She made him drive back to the country club and change hastily into what he'd have been wearing ordinarily. She went to his dressing room with him to make sure of this.
"Now I feel more like myself," he admitted.
"And I feel more like myself," she said.
Next night they went to a concert. With Patricia's encouragement, Jerry was dressed his most flamboyant, and at last he allowed her to wear an off-white beaded dress with her diamond necklace. During the intermission they were approached by a black-haired stud who obviously thought he was God's gift to all women. He looked at
Patricia with frank admiration, then at Jerry with contempt. "What's a beautiful piece like you doing with this fairy?" he asked.
Patricia could see that Jerry looked stricken, though obviously he'd taken a lot of this during his life. "You really like me?" she asked. She made her voice deep and husky.
"You know it, baby. Why don't we ditch this fairy and go somewhere?"
"Okay," she said. "You really go for female impersonators, eh?"
"What?"
"You mean this drag outfit fooled you?"
The stud pulled off and looked her up and down. "Fucking queers!" he snarled, and went off. Patricia maneuvered Jerry into a corner of the lobby, and they collapsed in each other's arms, rocking with laughter. People stared at them, but they didn't care.
At a cafe afterwards, Jerry grew reflective about the situation. "You know," he told Patricia, "if he'd been a real man, he'd never have believed your lie. He'd have known."
"The way he looked at me, it made me feel dirty."
"Do you miss Bill a little?"
"Yes, don't you?" She looked him in the eye.
The second night, after a play, they stopped in at a discotheque. Patricia was so fascinated that she persuaded Jerry to come by the house next day and teach her the dances. He was extraordinarily good at it, and she was an apt pupil. Patricia was so delighted with her progress that she insisted Mrs. Brooks watch them. Mrs. Brooks was impressed, but made a wry suggestion. "If you take her dancing," she told Jerry, "I think you better make her wear a bra."
"Why should I?" Patricia asked. She'd gotten used to the freedom of not wearing a bra.
"If he got too close, you could knock him out," said the practical Mrs. Brooks.
They achieved a compromise. Jerry found a bra for Patricia that didn't imprison her twin globes, but rather restrained them so they were still able to move in relative freedom, but without danger to passers-by on the dance floor.
Early in the second week of Bill's absence they attended the ballet. During intermission, Jerry noticed Patricia exchanging grave nods with someone across the lobby. He looked and saw an unusually handsome man slowly coming towards them. "Who's that?" he whispered.
"Haven't seen him in years," Patricia said. "He's the brother of a roommate I had in school. I can't remember his first name."
"Think fast. Here he comes."
"Patricia?" the fellow asked uncertainly.
"Yes," she said. "Hello, Mark. Good to see you. I'd like you to meet my dear friend, Jerry Calder. Mark Fletcher."
"How do you do," Mark said holding out a friendly hand. There was nothing in his warm smile, Jerry noted, but friendliness; no condescension, no distaste.
"Do I understand you used to be her roommate?" Jerry asked.
"My sister, worse luck," Mark said with a broad smile. "We lived in a deprived time."
"How is Agnes?" Patricia asked. "Haven't seen her in years."
"Still vivacious and beautiful," Mark said. "About one-sixteenth as beautiful as you are. What happened? Or do I disremember?"
"How do you recognize her?" Jerry asked.
"She always had a particularly fine face," Mark said. "There's no forgetting it. But the rest...."
"I've been terribly ill," Patricia said with a smile.
"In my experience, there's only one thing can transform a woman this way," Mark said.
"It was hard work," Patricia said hastily. "Wasn't it, Jerry? He's my Svengali," she explained to Mark.
"No," Jerry said. "It wasn't hard work. Not for anybody. A little dieting, a little right thinking...."
"You can always tell when it was done by hard work," Mark said.
"There's not a man, if that's what you're thinking," Patricia said.
"It's hard to believe, but I hope that's true," Mark said. Suddenly his face darkened. "A woman?"
Jerry burst out laughing, Patricia joined him a moment later. "Good," Mark said with a broad smile, then joined in the laughter.
Jerry thought he was beginning to like this Mark Fletcher, though there was a vulnerability about the eyes that troubled him. Mark had the unmistakable look of the Boston aristocrat; he wasn't more than thirty-five at the most, and though he wasn't as overtly sexual as Bill Casey-who was?-he looked good for the long haul, for underneath the sleek handsomeness was a powerful virility that bespoke not a love of masculinity for its own sake, not the Ernest Hemingway cult, but a virility that required a woman for its fullest expression, not an elephant gun. Jerry permitted his hopes to skyrocket, then his eye caught the plain gold band on the ring finger of Mark's left hand.
"How's your wife?" Patricia asked for Jerry.
"How's your husband?" Mark countered.
"I'm not married," Jerry said, and they both laughed.
"I guess you haven't heard," Mark said.
"I guess you haven't heard," Patricia said. "I'm a grass twidow. Philip and I are in the process of getting a divorce."
"Good. He was a Class A stuffed shirt. I always thought so."
"And you?"
"A Class B stuffed shirt."
"That isn't what I meant."
"Lillian died...." The warning buzzer sounded, and Jerry cursed it with all his heart, though the next ballet had Jacques de'Amboise.
"We're going for coffee after the ballet," Jerry said boldly. "I have a heart condition, dropsy, hoof-and-mouth disease, the vapors and Patricia might suddenly find herself with a dead man on her hands."
The warning buzzer became insultingly insistent. "See you right here after the ballet!" Mark called, and raced away.
"We didn't even ask if he had someone with him," Patricia said as they raced to their seats.
"If he does, I'll kill her," Jerry said. "But I imagine he'll take care of that little detail himself."
They had to crawl across a row of sharp, indignant knees to get to their seats as the curtain was rising. "I know what you're thinking," Patricia hissed at Jerry as they sank to their seats.
T only hope you're thinking the same thing," he hissed back. "He's gratifyingly sexy." And Jacques de'Amboise leaped out onto the stage.
When the ballet was over, they aroused even greater indignation forging a way down the row of seats as others were rising to give loud cheers to an overaged ballet dancer who hadn't stumbled once during a ridiculously easy fas de deux. They found Mark Fletcher already waiting for them and were able to grab a taxi immediately to a cozy spot where romance could flower if it was in the cards.
"Sorry to hear about Lillian," Patricia said sincerely. "I remember her as a lovely person."
"Yes," said Mark. "I married again, you know." Jerry's heart sank. "You didn't hear about it?"
"No."
"It was in all the papers."
"What was in all the papers?" Jerry asked.
"The divorce. I saw you when, I first arrived tonight, but I didn't know if you'd want to be seen with me. A lot of people don't."
"What are you talking about?" Patricia asked.
"Perhaps you didn't read about it," Mark said. "Perhaps I'm overly sensitive. From the way some old friends still cut me, I thought it was the scandal of the century."
"What happened?" Jerry asked, intrigued. "Worse than Profumo?"
"Jerry!" Patricia cried.
"Why not?" Mark said. "You'll get to thinking about it anyhow, and probably look it up. I'll save you the trouble. My second wife divorced me on the grounds of unnatural sexual practices."
"How terrible!" Patricia cried.
"What were the unnatural practices?" Jerry asked. "Jerry!"
"They were sufficient to convince the judge she deserved a divorce," Mark said with a wry smile. "I was found guilty of unnatural practices, so to speak." He stood up. "I'm sorry I intruded on you."
Patricia also stood up. "If you try to leave now, Mark Fletcher, I shall throw myself in front of the door and create a dreadful scene." Mark sank to his seat, and so did Patricia. "That's better," she said, much like a schoolteacher subduing an unruly child. "I don't give a damn what a judge ruled. I like you, Mark Fletcher, and that's that."
"Did you go down on her?" Jerry asked. Mark blushed beet red and remained silent.
"Was that the unnatural practice?" Patricia asked.
Mark looked down at the table. "Yes," he murmured.
"And she didn't like it?" Patricia asked in genuine astonishment.
"She took me to court." Jerry and Patricia remained silent. Mark rose again. "May I leave now?"
Patricia reached out her hand and took his. "I'll go with you," she said. "Your place or mine?"
"You pity me?" he asked with wry smile.
"For Christ's sake, she happens to appreciate a good man when she sees him!" Jerry barked. Mark sank to his seat.
Patricia kept hold of his hand. "I'm glad you're rid of her," she said. "Obviously she didn't deserve you. Quite frankly, I consider what Jerry calls 'going down on a woman' quite the nicest compliment a man can pay to a woman, to say nothing of the way it makes a woman feel."
"A real woman," Jerry amended. "Let me tell you something," he went on. "You know what a real heterosexual is? He's a man who enjoys going down on a woman. Anything less than that, he's not a true heterosexual. Not that I'm knocking the untrue ones, as long as they recognize what they are and don't try to pretend they're something else."
Mark smiled at him. "I see that I have fallen among friends," he said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY THE END OF the evening, Jerry had decided that Mark could very well be the man Patricia needed. In fact, he couldn't think of one single quality in which he failed to fill the bill. Clearly, the vulnerability Jerry had spotted in his eyes at first had been only because of the rough time his second wife and her lawyer-her prissy brother, it turned out-had given him, for it was completely gone now. If it hadn't been for the promise to Bill Casey, he'd have popped Patricia and Mark into bed that very night, but since Bill was due back in less than a week, he could see no harm in waiting, especially since Patricia didn't seem in any great hurry.
Jerry wouldn't have minded even a little bit if Patricia had opted out of their joint plans for the rest of the week, another concert, a play, and an opera, and he warmed even more to Mark Fletcher when the latter, sensing the strong bond between Patricia and Jerry, suggested getting his sister Agnes and making it a foursome some evening. Jerry saw the idea pleased Patricia and suggested they make it the opera, since it would be easy to get tickets. Mark agreed at once.
They met for dinner before the opera. Jerry could see that Agnes had been carefully primed to occupy him while Mark worked on Patricia. Agnes turned out to be a charming, vivacious woman, he enjoyed talking to her and he didn't mind a bit, though his fingers itched to do something about her hair, which was all wrong. During an intermission of the opera Agnes got Jerry alone for a moment. "I understand you know about Mark being a pervert," she said.
"He's the kind of pervert Patricia needs," Jerry said.
"The kind every woman needs," Agnes said. "I don't know what possessed him to marry that sick creature."
"What I don't understand is, why do so many old friends cut him now?"
"Because it became public property. It doesn't matter what you do as long as nobody finds out. As J. P. Morgan said, that's what doors are for."
"Did you know Philip Steadman?"
"Yes. I don't think he even ate the skin on grapes." Jerry laughed and brushed her cheek with a kiss.
Jerry didn't get back to his apartment at the country club till three that night. He was just sinking into a euphoric sleep when the phone rang. He testify lifted the receiver. "Yes?"
"Jerry! Where the hell have you been all evening?"
"For Christ's sake, Casey, do you know what time it is?;;
"I tried calling you at a decent hour. I don't care who you pick up, or how many, but can't you bring them to your place so I can reach you if necessary?"
"Everything all right?" Jerry asked, suddenly worrying.
"That's what I called to find out. Everything's fine here. I'll be so rich I can have three bidets in my bathroom."
"One for me, so I can watch."
"Everything fine there."
"Yes, everything's fine here."
"You all right? No problems?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Jerry said. He was puzzled, he didn't remember Bill ever being so concerned for him before. "You sure everything's all right?" he asked.
"Fine," Bill said. "You sure everything's all right with you?"
"Of course."
"Anything new?"
"Same old stuff."
"Okay," Bill said. Just wanted to make sure."
"I'd have let you know if something was wrong," Jerry said. "You know that. I have your hotel number right here. Everything's fine."
"Okay, goodbye."
"Oh, Bill ... "
"Yes?"
T think we've found us a man for Patricia."
"Oh?'
"He's a nice guy. I think you'll like him. But we won't take any drastic action till you get here."
"What's he look like?"
"All man. Very handsome. Back Bay. Very sexy. Apparently a dedicated cunt-lapper."
"You discussed it with him?"
"You wouldn't want her to settle for second best, would you?"
"Don't do anything till I get there!"
"Okay, okay," Jerry said. "We wouldn't have in any case."
"See that you don't!" Bill hung up without saying goodbye.
"Well, that's a crock of shit," Jerry said to himself. He rolled over in bed, was asleep in a moment, and smiled happily as Jacques d'Amboise did a grand jete into his dream.
Jerry found Mark's sister Agnes an ideal co-conspirator. She gave a small cocktail party the day after Bill got home, for only about twenty people, most of them quite pleasant. She was married to a corporation lawyer who was obviously devoted to her. She seemed such a sympathetic person Jerry feared she would invite a couple of swishes on the theory it would make him feel at home, when actually he couldn't stand them, but he found he was to shine alone, then discovered Agnes was even more subtle than he gave her credit for. One of the guests was a famous sportscaster, married and divorced three times, and the covert glances he kept giving Jerry's superb derriere explained why the marriages hadn't lasted. Jerry had sworn off one-night stands, but the sportscaster seemed in such urgent need that Jerry was persuaded to make an exception, and spent a very pleasant night with a very nice guy who knew what he wanted. Jerry returned home in the morning with a gratifying tender ass-hole and pleasant memories.
Jerry could see that Agnes was bowled over by Bill Casey. "Why doesn't she grab him?" she whispered to Jerry.
"He's strictly a one-night-stand man," Jerry whispered back.
"I guess you can't blame him," Agnes said with a sigh. "When you've got it in such quantity, I guess no woman ought to have an exclusive on him. I love my husband, but oh you...."
"Me, too," said Jerry.
Bill followed Mark Fletcher around like a shadow, listening in on all his conversations, asking seemingly obscure questions, but Mark took it all in good part and seemed to like Bill for all his pugnaciousness. When the evening was over, Bill reluctantly told Jerry he guessed Mark was all right that he could find no serious flaws in him.
There was no doubt that Mark was smitten with Patricia. Quite clearly he realized there was a ritual to be observed, rules Jerry and Bill had set up, and he was willing to observe them, to do whatever was required. Patricia invited him to Friday dinner at the Waybury Country Club, with the tacit understanding they would repair to her house afterwards to test their sexual compatibility. Mark knew his mind and body already, but he respected Patricia's wish to be more sure before she committed herself.
Bill had been such a nervous nellie at the cocktail party that Jerry was expecting more fireworks, but Bill seemed curiously calm now that the issue was resolved, and Jerry decided that it had been nothing more than a genuine objective concern that Patricia have exactly the right man for her.
Jerry was on hand Friday afternoon to comb out Patricia's hair and to advise her on what to wear, but he wasn't going to be around to see the arrival at the country club, for the famous sportscaster was going to take bride number four the next day and Jerry was to be the sole guest at his bachelor dinner-and the main course.
Nor would Bill Casey be on hand, for he, too, had already gone back to his own old life. He had neglected his friend Mildred Thompson shamefully during the three months he spent awakening Patricia, and tonight he was going to pick her up at her house (her husband was lecturing at the University of Chicago over the weekend) and take her to his apartment to delve once more into her familiar but always dear cunt, while her mouth worshipped his magnificent cock that had grown only more magnificent the fifteen years she had oralized it.
As they raced back towards Boston, Bill realized how much he'd missed Mildred these three months, and he had an erection during the whole drive, which Mildred kept warmed exactly right by the gentle pressure of only the weight of her hand on it. Yes, old friends were the best. Bill felt so exuberant that when they arrived at his apartment he insisted on carrying her up the stairs. They frantically stripped off their clothes, and he dove impatiently into her lovely cunt, which opened to his searching tongue and fingers to reveal its familiar but ever-lovely depths. He was so intent on this he did not realize she was trying to get his attention till she slapped him hard on the ass. "What's the matter?" he asked, puzzled. Had she picked up a belated taste for sadism during these three long months?
"Look!" she said. He looked. In her hand she was holding a very drooping cock. "I can't get it up," she said.
"I was so busy...."
"Is anything wrong?"
"It never happened before," he said, abashed. "I don't understand it."
"Is your mind on something else? I mean, has something been worrying you lately?"
"It was hard in the car," he reminded her. "But I guess it's bound to happen to you as you get older. Except I didn't think it would happen to me for another ten years."
"Another hundred years," Mildred said. "My husband is forty, and it hasn't happened to him yet."
"Men differ."
"Look at me," she commanded. He did. "I know what's wrong with you."
"What."
"You're in love."
"What?"
She roared with laughter. "It's finally happened to you! You're in love!"
"Give me that thing!" he snapped. He grabbed his cock and worked it hard with his hands, but nothing happened.
"You're in love!" Mildred jeered. "I never thought I'd live to see the day."
"You're crazy! There isn't anyone. There was a girl in San Francisco, she thought she was in love with me, so I dumped her."
"You're holding something back. What happened these three months? There's someone else!"
"No, there isn't. I swear there isn't. I was helping a ... friend with a very serious project. It's old age."
"Methinks he doth protest too much."
"Shut up and let me suck your cunt. I want to make you come."
"No you don't. I don't need it that much. Half the fun is making you come. I'd feel like a whore." She got off the bed and started to dress. "Take me home, and get in touch with me when you get this woman, whoever she is, out of your system."
"There isn't anyone else!"
"Ha!"
He was so mad he wouldn't speak to her all the way home. They were to have had a nice sixty-nine, gone out to dinner, then come back to his apartment for another sixty-nine before he took her home. Now she had ruined his whole evening, and he particularly wanted it to be a nice evening. He didn't relent till they got to her house. "I don't see why you have to make a whole production out of simple human frailty," he said, trying to make her feel ashamed of herself.
"You're in love!" she accused. "Face it!" And she darted to the house. Furious once more, Bill shot his Bentley Continental off in a hail of gravel. Mildred stood in her doorway, shaking her head, then went into the house.
A whole evening shot to hell, Bill thought. He toyed briefly with the idea Mildred was suffering precocious menopause. But at least others were enjoying themselves.
Jerry was probably lying contentedly on his belly right now, and the famous sportscaster was sticking his less famous cock up that fabulous ass.
And right now Patricia and Mark were probably having their dinner at the country club, all the dirty old men were probably staring at her and drooling,. Mark probably couldn't keep his eyes off those fabulous tits. Then the waiter would come and ask if they wanted any dessert, and Mark would look at Patricia and leer, and he would suggest they wait and have their dessert when they got to her house.
Bill looked at his watch. Christ, it was nine-thirty! They were probably at her house already. He had probably carried her upstairs, with Mrs. Brooks smirking from the kitchen, he probably had her clothes off already, he probably had his head buried in her cunt.
But he wouldn't know what she needed! He would thoughtlessly seize her beautiful clit with his tongue and she would scream and pull him around, and he would ram his lousy, insensitive cock into her gorgeous cunt and she would rock her hips with him, pounding her lovely as against him, clutching him, clamping her lovely legs about his back....
With a cry of rage Bill spun the Bentley Continental around and headed for Waybury. Lousy, dirty, crummy fucker! Shit! Shit! Shit! Christ, why couldn't he be queer and enjoy Jerry's ass forever and ever. Life could really be uncomplicated then.
He'd never driven the Bentley over seventy-five, but he pushed it up to a hundred and twenty without a moment's thought and burned up the road. When he reached Patricia's house he made a squealing turn into the driveway.
Then his heart sank. There was an ambulance in front of the house, just now he could see men in white emerging, carrying a stretcher. The house was ablaze with lights. Dear God, if he has hurt her in any way...!
Bill leaped out of his car and raced to the ambulance, prepared to throw himself in tears on the dear form on the stretcher. Then he stopped dead. There at the top of the stairs stood Patricia, and she seemed to be ringing her hands. Then who was on the stretcher?
"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry," he heard Patricia say. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I'll do anything you say."
"Why is it always me?" Mark said plaintively, his voice showing the pain. "Please don't say anything about it, that's all I ask. Let's just pretend it never happened."
"But I'll never forgive myself!" She seemed to cling to the stretcher as two men in white carried it down the steps to the ambulance. They put it in the ambulance and speeded away with siren screaming.
When it was gone, Patricia looked down and saw Bill standing at the foot of the stairs, open-mouthed. With a wail she threw herself down the stairs and upon him. "Oh Bill, Bill!" she cried. "I've failed! I've failed utterly as a woman!"
"Now, now," he said. He put his arm around her and led her gently back up the stairs, into the house. "Now tell me all about it," he said in his best fatherly voice.
"I'm such a failure," she said. "They don't come any nicer than Mark Fletcher. You saw that. And I've known him practically all my life. He's such a good and sweet man.
"What happened?"
"It started out so well. We enjoyed dinner at the country club, he was so charming, it was a pleasure to talk to him. When the waiter came around and asked if we wanted dessert, Mark said...."
"Yes, I know."
"You do? So we drove straight here."
"And he carried you up the stairs...."
"No, he didn't, as a matter-of-fact. When we got in the house he kissed me, and it was very pleasant. He has nice lips, and he has a nice, manly smell about him. It was my favorite man's cologne, the one you wear. I wonder how he knew?"
"I can guess. Go on."
"Then he put his arms around me, and we went up the stairs together. When we got up the top of toe stairs suddenly he seized me. He seemed terribly passionate. His hands were all over me. He took my breasts out of my dress and he started sucking on a nipple. Then it happened."
"What happened? What did he do?"
"It isn't what he did. Suddenly it seemed terribly wrong to have practically a perfect stranger doing that to me. I pulled away from him. 'I can't,' I cried. 'It isn't right!' 'I've got to have you,' he cried. 'It's too late!' And he grabbed hold of me. He plunged one hand between my legs. And before I knew what had happened, I grabbed his hand and I twisted it only a little-you know, the way you taught me-and suddenly he was bouncing down the stairs, and he fractured his leg. He was in terrible pain!"
Bill pushed her away from him, looked at her, then roared with laughter. He grew so weak he had to sink to a chair. Patricia stared at him, not knowing what to make of it. Finally he got control of himself. He went to her and picked her up.
"All right," he said. "Your days of rampant promiscuity are over."
"For just one little failure?" she demanded, indignant.
"No, for two reasons," he said.
"What reasons?"
"Well, the first is that you are an absolute fiasco as a loose woman. You failed tonight, you'd fail every night. And we can't have you going around and breaking men's legs. It's a pity, too. In spite of all Jerry and I have done for you, you'll never make the grade, never in a million years. Just forget about it."
"What's the second reason?"
"I love you."
And he carried her up the stairs.
At their vantage point behind the kitchen door, Clarence Brooks squeezed his wife. "Well, I'll be a shit-headed turd bird."
