Not having a family doctor, because neither of us had ever been sick, my wife had merely gone down the alphabet in the telephone book until she found one who could give me an appointment. I didn't like the idea of going to one, but I had to agree with her that my problem was becoming a real problem. With increasing frequency, no matter what we tried together or what she tried on her own, I had been unable to get an erection. I could get it up halfway, but never fully enough to bring satisfactory results. It had been getting more and more frustrating for both of us.
The gold letters on the door read: P. H. Moulter, M.D. I went in like a man going to the gallows, ready to run, but the nurse looked up and didn't give me a chance. She was a redheaded, full-bosomed woman (I wasn't too sick to notice that), one who took command immediately. Within a matter of moments, she had literally shoved me into a small, almost sterile room, snapped out, "All right, take your clothes off," and closed the door behind her.
I took my clothes off, hanging them on a clothes tree in a corner, and sat naked on the foot of the paper covered examination table. To say that I was uncomfortable would be putting it mildly; I'm not particularly modest, but neither am I an exhibitionist!
I wasn't looking forward to having some doctor maul any parts of my body.
The door opened and I grabbed for my crotch, doing my best to hide what was there. But the blonde, attractive woman wearing a white lab coat over her street clothes merely laughed and said, "Relax, I'm Dr. Moulter."
"But...! But...?"
"And as a doctor," she went on, "there is nothing about the human body-male or female-that I don't know or that interests me in anything other than a professional way." She spoke professionally, but she was a damned attractive woman, and there was the faint odor of her perfume. The lab coat hid her figure, but enough showed to indicate that it would be a nice one-the coat couldn't completely obscure the outline of ample and shapely breasts.
"Now, then," she said, moving up to me, "what seems to be your problem?"
I gulped. Now, how the hell did you tell a woman, even if she was a doctor, that you couldn't get a hard-on? I mumbled, "I ... I've got a sore throat."
The good doctor laughed, showing white, even teeth. Her brown eyes twinkled. "That isn't what your wife told my nurse when she called. Now, move up on that table, would you please?"
"I ... I can't."
"Move up on the table," she said firmly, face hardening for a moment, and I moved up on the table. She moved up beside it and leaned over me. I was convinced later that it was just a game-a technique for getting me to relax-but she put the ends of the stethoscope to her ears and started moving the other end across my chest, pausing now and then to listen. She moved it down to my stomach, then raised up and smiled down at me. I was sporting the hard-on of the century. "It looks like rigor mortis has set in, doesn't it?" she half laughed.
"Spread your legs," she ordered. She put the end of the stethoscope between my legs, first on one side and then the other, her hands brushing against my balls as she did so. She moved it slowly and pausingly up the length of my cock, back down. "I want a specimen," she said, raising up. "Masturbate, would you please?"
"You're kidding!" I gasped out, my face still burning from the attention she had showed my equipment.
"Not at all. By the way, how old are you?"
"Twenty-four," I answered. "Your wife?"
"Twenty-three."
"How frequently do you copulate?" Seeing my frown, she rephrased it, "How frequently do you make out with her?"
"Oh. Well ... maybe ... before this happened ... maybe two or three times a week. Sometimes ... sometimes a little more often."
"How old were you when you got married?"
"I was eighteen, she was seventeen."
"I suppose you screwed before you got married?"
I gulped. "Well ... well, yes."
"How old were you when you started? Any method," she added, "masturbation, playing with the boys, any method."
My face was burning. "I can't remember. I ... I've done ... things as long as ... as long as I can remember."
"I guess so, with a tool like that," she said matter-of-f actly. "Well, get busy, I want that specimen."
"I ... I can't."
"Oh, god!" she almost groaned, then she reached out, circled my cock with her fingers and started stroking it. "It's as simple as that," she said brusquely, removing her hand. "Now, finish it off!"
It was an order, and whether I liked it or not (and I didn't), I obeyed. She was at least kind enough to turn away when I started getting results, when my breathing grew heavier, my legs stiffened and my lips started quivering. I dumped the specimen she wanted all over my stomach and crotch and she turned back.
"That's fine," she said, and taking a slide from a tray, scooped up a glob of it. Then she dampened a towel and threw it onto my belly.
"Wait here," she ordered. Taking the slide, she left the room, calling back over her shoulder, "and don't dress!"
Time seemed to have stopped. I knew it hadn't, but I had no way of knowing how much of it had slipped away-it seemed like an eternity had gone by. And it seemed as if I had just lived through a dream. This couldn't possibly have happened! But then the door opened and she was back, and I knew that it had happened.
"Well," she smiled, "things are looking extremely encouraging." She chuckled, "In case you were worried, I don't think that your well has run dry! It just needs a little repriming."
"Then, I ... can I dress?"
"No, not just yet. I want to check it further." She was standing at the foot of the examining table, looking up across my business, my chest, and into my face. There was no way of telling from the expression on her face what she was thinking or feeling, if she was feeling anything. "Right now," she said, "I want you to play with yourself a little. I want to see if it can get hard again."
"But ... I. But ... I"
"Oh, come now, must you be so difficult? I'm merely trying to get medical facts." When I still hesitated, she shook her head in something like disgust. "Well, if you're unwilling to cooperate, I'll just have to handle things myself."
She moved so quickly that I didn't realize what was happening. She had been standing there looking down at me, a moment later she had my balls in one hand, my cock in the other, and she had slid her lips over it. She ran her tongue around the head, tickling the slit on top; then she started moving her head up and down. I was taken totally by surprise, but it didn't keep my prick from stretching out, swelling and hardening. She gave a couple of extra thrusts, licked the head and then raised up. Looking down at it, a hint of a smile touched the comers of her lips. "Success, n'est-ce pas?" her eyes twinkled. "Two hard-ons in a short time when you haven't been able to get one in weeks!"
She reached down and stroked it again. "There's nothing physically wrong with this, Mr. Sheffield. You may dress now, then come to my office. I want to talk to you."
With that, leaving me with a hard dick, she turned and left the room. Perhaps it had been a purely professional gesture! I wasn't sure. It had certainly been the most impersonal cocksucking I'd ever had, brief as it had been.
Mumbling to myself, I got my clothes and started to dress. "P. H. Moulter, ED," I fumed. That P. H. stands for Prick-Hardener, goddamnit, and she's no doctor, she's a sex fiend!" But I wasn't convincing. Ridiculous, even embarrassing as the whole thing had been, I couldn't honestly say that she had done anything unprofessional. As a matter-of-fact, she hadn't seemed to enjoy it, to care one way or the other. It didn't occur to me at the time that that was the problem; she was a damned good-looking woman, and if a good-looking woman messes around with a man she ought to show pleasure!
Having gotten it (having her mouth it as she had!) I couldn't get rid of my erection. I did everything from begging it to go down to going to the wash basin and pouring cold water over it, but there it was and there it was going to stay. I finally just tucked it in, forced my fly closed, and left my shirttail hanging out. Carrying my jacket, I went back to the reception room.
"Dr. Moulter will see you in a few moments," Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits told me, and looking over the top of a magazine at her while I waited didn't help my condition. She, like the good doctor herself, was in her late twenties or early thirties; she had a smooth, attractive face, and the way her tits jiggled when she moved was almost maddening. I found myself thinking, as I had on other occasions, that a nature woman like that would probably really be something in bed. I found myself feeling guilty as I ad on other occasions; since our marriage six years fore, I had been totally faithful to my wife, as I new that she was to me. "Go away, you damn thing!" I grumbled silently to my hard-on, and it finally began to soften.
There was a sound, a buzzer. The nurse picked up' a telephone and answered it. She looked across at me. "Dr. Moulter will see you now, Mr. Sheffield."
The doctors office was across the hall from the examination room. She was sitting at her desk, her back to the window, as I entered; she looked up from the papers she was studying and smiled.
"Close the door, please, and be seated," she said, and I couldn't help now but notice the melodiousness of her voice. It was really quite nice.
Once I'd closed the door and lowered myself to the chair in front of her desk, she leaned back in her swivel chair, parted her lips slightly and stuck just the eraser end of a pencil in her mouth. She swung it back and forth, hitting upper and then lower teeth; she did that for several moments, then tossed it onto the desk. "Mr. Sheffield, I want you to understand that what I am going to ask you is purely professional. I couldn't care less, personally, about your sex life, your private life, but I need to know professionally."
Her voice was all business, but it would have been easier to believe-and to accept-had she been a man. As a matter-of-fact, I found myself wishing that female doctors had had to use their "other" titles so that I could have known, without asking, whether she were married or not. At any rate, she continued in her even, business-like voice. "Now, then, forget about all the trivia, the playing with yourself and all that most children grow through. Tell me ... think back until you find it and tell me about your first orgasm with another person."
I felt my face reddening again. I wanted to revolt and/or bolt! I wanted to say, "Look, you got the damned thing hard, that's what I came in here for, so let me go!"
The merest hint of a smile slid across her lips and through her eyes; and then, as if she had read my mind, she said, "Oh, I know, you feel confident that you've been cured, but let me tell you. I'd be willing to bet that if you went home now and had the wildest love scene ever, with your wife, you'd be unable to get an erection! Now, let's stop this foolishness of feeling embarrassed and answer my questions!"
It was silly. I was a grown man, I didn't owe her a thing, all I had to do was to get up and leave-but I couldn't. She seemed to have a strange, indefinable power over me. I had to obey her. So I thought back, and finally I told her about it.
I had been fourteen. I was tall for my age and hadn't filled out yet, but I wasn't actually skinny. In retrospect (and because of what had happened then and later) I knew that I was above average in the basket department. I must have been more aware of it-and possible consequences-than I even realized then, because I had worn tight trousers and no shorts. It pleased me that people stared, that they seemed compelled to lower their eyes to my crotch and then widen them in what had to be admiration. In gym class, especially in the showers, I was the envy of all my classmates. (Had Dr. Moulter not already labeled it as "trivia," I might have told her at that point how much of that led to masturbation-with all that concentration on my equipment, I frequently sneaked into the restroom during the day and almost nightly relieved my own tensions.)
I had done some diddling. Spending a night with buddies, we had messed around some; on dates with girls there had been quite a bit of mutual groping. One thirteen-year-old had even gone as far as to let me rub my stiffened meat up and down her just-getting-hairy mound, but she hadn't let me enter her (mostly, she insisted, from fear that anything that big would hurt her). Then Celia came along.
The new semester had only been about two weeks along when our regular teacher got sick. Celia Bentley came in as her substitute, fresh out of college and all aglow. She was about twenty-two, blonde and beautiful and really stacked. She created quite a stir, both among the boys and the male members of the faculty. "Oh, man!" the boys would say, "think what it would be like to get into those panties!" And the male teachers, young and old, said it with their eyes. It was rumored that most of them ran around half the time with hard-ons just from getting a glimpse of her; one of the boys said once that he had seen the principal in a stall in the boys' John, beating his meat after a brief talk with her. But Celia Bentley was all business, and part of her business was to shape up a debating team for school.
I wasn't particularly interested in debating, but I was interested in Celia ... in Miss Bentley, that is!
Many a night I saw visions of her after I'd gone to bed, created wonderful stories, and ended up having to relieve the tension. Just to be near her was reason enough to develop an interest in debating and that I did. I willingly-along with the others-spent afternoon after afternoon staying after school for special coaching. I sneaked flowers onto her desk in the morning before school. I almost went out of my mind with my first love; god, the pages of paper I wasted writing incomplete and futile poems! (And, I might add, I blackened a couple of eyes of other would-be poets, a couple who dared to come up with, "Oh, just look at that luscious Celia; baby, how I'd like to feel'ya!" and the like.)
My team won the school competition. We went on to win the regional, and finally we were heading for State competition in a town some three hundred miles away. There were three boys, two girls, and Miss Bentley. We got there the night before and checked into the hotel. The other two boys shared one room, the girls shared another, at one end of a hallway; Miss Bentley and I had single rooms at the other end. It didn't seem odd at the time-later I was to find out that Miss Bentley had made such arrangements deliberately.
Later ... I had just taken a shower and crawled into bed when there was a knock on the door. Thinking that it was one of the other boys (or maybe both), I went across the room and practically threw the door open. There I stood, stark naked, staring at a Miss Bentley, who was even more beautiful than she had ever been. She had fluffed her blonde hair out and put on a housecoat that was form-fitting. It showed her pear-shaped tits and her curved hips as if it wasn't even there. Her exposed throat was all creamy and smooth. She was holding a glass and seemed to be just a little tipsy. "Oh, my gosh!" I stammered, stumbling back.
She smiled. "Don't be embarrassed, Mark, don't be embarrassed at all," she said, and she moved into the room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it and smiled again, letting her eyes move up and down my body. "Heavens, no, with a body like that you shouldn't be embarrassed!"
I stumbled back and fell onto the bed, my legs hanging over the end of it. She took a long swig from the glass, looked away a moment, then looked back at me. She pushed herself straight, moved almost awkwardly toward me and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her free hand moved out and landed on my stomach, the skin almost searing my flesh. "I know I shouldn't do this, but I can't help myself," she almost whispered, and her hand moved lower. I couldn't help myself; when it got there a big hard-on was waiting for it. She wrapped her fingers around it. She stroked it gently. "We've both been wanting this for a long time, haven't we, Mark? This is going to be our secret, isn't it?"
I gulped.
She continued to stroke my hard prong gently, slowly. "Have you ever ... have you ever stuck this in a woman, Mark?"
"Na-na-no!"
She turned her head and smiled down at me. "You like to, wouldn't you?" Like to! God, how many times in the past weeks have I told myself stories about it-and the woman was her. "I ... I ... I guess so," I half mumbled.
She leaned over and kissed me full on the lips; her tits, through the material of her housecoat, brushed against my flat, hairless chest. Her hand squeezed my cock. I almost died. My face was burning.
Letting go of my cock, she got to her feet; for just a moment she wavered, enough that I could tell that she was a little tipsy; then she set her glass on the dresser and turned around. She looked straight into my eyes for a moment, smiling again; then a hand (went to her throat. She unzipped the housecoat, shrugging it off her shoulders. It fell in a puddle around her feet and she was standing there naked. My eyes almost bulged out; my cock did a sort of Saint Fitus dance. She was all peaches and cream, the most beautiful skin in the world. Her tits, like I said, were pear-shaped, standing firmly away from her body with the nipples already hard. She had a narrow waist, her hips flared out, and where her legs met her body there was a mass of blonde hair over a beautifully puffed out mound. It was the first time I had seen a female completely naked, and definitely the first time I had seen a mature female. She was so beautiful that my mouth fell open and my prick throbbed again.
She moved to the foot of the bed, between my legs. As she bent over her breasts fell forward a little, brushing against my legs, and they, like her hand on my stomach, almost seared my skin. Then I felt her hand on the inner side of my leg; it moved up and she had gathered my balls into it. She wrapped the fingers of her other hand around the base of my rod; then I felt her mouth on it. As she slid her tongue around the head I almost turned inside out; when she slid her lips down over it I almost died. She sucked on it, taking it all; I felt the head hit the back of her throat and then go deeper. She worked on it lustily, pulling her mouth back until just the head was between her lips, flicking her tongue around it, then sliding her lips back down over it. I fell back on the bed, almost going out of my mind. God, much more of that and I'd be dumping a load! But I didn't know how to stop her.
I didn't have to. She pulled her mouth up again until just the head was in it, sloshed her tongue around it, then pulled her mouth away. She kissed it right on the very top, kissed her way down it, kissed my balls and then took them into her mouth. Keerist! I pushed my buttocks clear off the bed, almost turning inside out again. She tongued my balls, driving me out of my mind. Finally she pulled away.
She was standing at the foot of the bed looking down at me, another smile on her lips. "That was nice," she said. "Young meat is so terribly, terribly nice. So tender and sweet. I'd love to taste your come, but I don't want to. Move up on the bed, Mark. Move up and get comfortable."
I made my way up onto the bed, afraid to really look at her; then I felt her coming up over me. Her tits scraped from my prick all the way up to my chest, squashed against it as I felt her lips come down on mine and her muff land on my hard-on. She kissed fervently, grinding her pussy down against me at the same time, and from that point on I couldn't help myself. I grasped her body, rubbing it while I kissed back, sending my tongue in and out of her mouth; I got hold of her tits and half mangled them, and I ground my cock against her. She ground back, and I could feel the warm lips of her cunt spread over my meat. Man, I was hot ... hotter than a firecracker!
She got her knees on the bed and pushed her lower body up; she groped down between us and I left her hand take hold of my prick, pushing it straight. She rubbed it up and down her cleft, burying the head a little, and it was maddening; our kisses grew more intense and I mauled her tits even more roughly. Then she pushed it straight up and held it there, and I felt her pussy lips opening up and accepting it as she lowered herself onto it. She groaned a little at first, right into my mouth, but she kept moving her hips a little and I felt it sinking into her inch by inch. Almost driving me wild as she rode up and down on it, she finally had it all.
"Roll us over, Mark," she whispered, pulling her mouth away from mine. "Roll me over and go to town, lover."
It didn't take a second invitation, and once I had rolled us over I got the answer to a question I had occasionally asked myself. When it came to screwing you didn't have to be taught; when you got in the right position nature took its course! I started kissing her hard again as I drove my wedge in and out of her, stroking so determinedly that as I buried it each time my balls crashed between her legs. I'd pull it out until just the head was still caught, then drive it in again, and after a few such strokes she began working with me. It was a tight fit, a warm, tight fit, warm and nice. We were perfectly synchronized, parting and joining, parting and joining; then we stepped up the tempo. We both began breathing heavily, panting into each others mouth. Then I drove it home while she lunged upward.
"Oh, Crist!" she cried out. "Oh, Chriissst, I'm coooming!"
I didn't cry out. I just drove it in and felt the juices spurting out, my buttocks quivering with each spurt It felt like the top of my head was going to blow off; then I folded. I fell forward, on top of her, and our bodies heaved together. Finally I went soft in her.
When I tried to roll away she threw her arms around my back and her legs around mine.
"No," she cried out softly, "don't move. Just lie here like this a little while. Oh, I love the feel of it up in me.
A few minutes later she brushed my cheek with her lips. "Will it get hard again, Mark?"
"Probably," I answered.
"Did it?" Dr. Mouter asked, bringing me back to the moment.
I looked into her brown eyes. "Yes," I finally answered, "it did."
"And that was the beginning," she said-a statement, not a question. "After that you started chasing girls."
"Well ... well, the truth is, for the rest of that semester I went up to Celia's apartment fairly regularly."
"Oh? Tell me about that."
"Well ... well, there isn't much to tell. When she got home from school she always stripped down. She was always naked when I got there. I'd strip down and ... and one thing would lead to another."
"I see." Then she looked up and smiled. "By the way, how did your debate team do?"
I laughed. "We won."
"And this ... this affair. How did it end?"
Wham! A fake and then a jab to the gut! It was a memory that I would rather have left forgotten, but the doctor gently but firmly persisted. I closed my eyes....
It had been a nice evening. When I first got there. I always had a drink with her, but I quit after one and she kept sipping throughout the evening. She had put a couple of records on the stereo and we had danced; holding her that way, feeling her beautiful body in my arms, against my own body, I always got a hard-on. The first record hadn't finished before we had adjourned to the bedroom. It was just as good then as it had been that first night, the only difference being that I had become the aggressor. More often than not it was I who got her down onto the bed, burying my face in her crotch for a few minutes of fun there-fun that caused her to clasp my head in her hands and writhe, that warmed her up until she was hot and juicy and literally begging to be screwed. That night, feeling playful, I had flopped her over onto her stomach and moved up between her legs; I had grabbed her by the hips and pulled her up off the bed, sliding my throbbing pecker down her ass to the warmth of her inner legs, found the target and started putting it to her. Once it was in, once I could give it the thrill giving, slip-slide motion, I bent over her and got a pear-shaped tit in each hand, fondling them with rough lovingness. I banged my bell against her buttocks with each thrust, balls swinging forward to bang against the upper reaches of her well-filled pussy. Slow and easy, pouring it to her and taking it away, pouring it to her again, slow and easy, the feeling growing, increasing the speed, and finally both of us gasping and groaning and her crying out as I gave a final shove and buried it deep in her, the thick come flooding her innards, my face crushed into the smoothness of her back. I rode her to the bed, gave a couple of final jerks, then fell.
"Ummmm," she fairly purred, contracting her muscles lovingly around my softening rod, "you've become a real cocksman, Mark! You really know how to use that thing!"
Back in the living room she mixed herself another drink. We were both too contented-and two exhausted-to dance, so we just sat there on the sofa and listened to the records. I had my arm around her, my fingers against her tit, and she had her hand resting sleepily in my crotch, fingers curled over my wilted tool. Her head rested against my chest, her other tit against mine, and I could bury my face in her clean-smelling, soft blonde hair when I wanted to. I daydreamed, as I often did, about how nice it would be if this could be forever-if I wouldn't have to eventually get up, get dressed and go home. We had yet to spend an entire night together. For me that would have been the epitome. One time she had half-humorously, half-seriously asked me how many times I could do it without stopping; I would have liked to give it a try, to find out for myself.
The music stopped but we didn't move. A few minutes later her fingers started getting active, playing with my tool. They drew it to half-mast; then she suddenly slid out of my hold and was on the floor between my legs. Taking my balls in one hand, as she always did, she leaned over and took my dick into her mouth; in a matter of moments she had it standing hard again. I leaned back, letting myself thoroughly enjoy it-and with her educated mouth it was enjoyable. She had the best way of taking it to the root, sliding her mouth up and giving the head a quick working over, then sliding back down on it. A beautiful, thrill giving motion. Her mouth wasn't as tight as her pussy, but it could give and get the same results. After a few minutes of that I was moving my hips with her, giving it to her when she moved down for it, pulling away as she did, giving it to her again. My hands moved of their own volition to her head, grasping it gently but firmly. As she had herself said, it wasn't so much her giving me a blow job as me screwing her in the mouth.
But I didn't get to climax. Just moments before it was to happened the door swung open, and there was my dad framed in the doorway. There was no surprise on his face; he had obviously expected something like what he was seeing. Nor did he get angry. In a controlled voice he told me to get dressed, to go down to the car and wait for him. Scared silly, I obeyed. Later, after I had had time to think about it, I would have bet my last dollar that he had screwed her before he left her (he was in there long enough), but all I could do that night was to sit in the car and wait for him.
"You're grounded, you know that," he said as he drove toward home, and that was all that he said. The next day Celia Bentley was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
The telephone rang. A momentary look of irritation crossed Dr. Moulter's face as she reached for it.
"Yes?" she demanded. She listened a moment, her face telling nothing. "All right," she finally spoke again, "I'll be right there."
She hung up, then reached for a pen and scribbled on a pad sitting in front of her. "Here you are, Mr. Sheffield. This is a prescription that I want you to get filled. And," she added, looking up, in full command "I must ask you not to have anything to do with your wife tonight. Absolutely nothing. I would suggest that you don't even sleep in the same bed." She pushed herself to her feet and started for the door. "I want to see you again tomorrow at four."
She was gone. She hadn't asked, she had told me. I started to get mad. Just who in the hell did she think she was...? She'd already said there was nothing physically wrong with my goddamned dick...! Then I started getting mad at my wife. It was her fault for insisting that I go to a doctor, her fault for picking this one out of all the goddamned doctors in town! I crumpled up the prescription blank, crammed it into my pocket and practically stormed out of the office. I didn't even look at or say goodbye to Miss-Redhead-with-the-big-tits!
"Don't have anything to do with your wife tonight!" Hah! I'd show that bitch!
I didn't go back to work. I drove around a little. As a matter-of-fact, I drove by the old high school, then by the building where Celia Bentley had had her apartment. I stopped across from it, the motor still idling, and stared at it. I wondered again if my old man had screwed her that night, and then I decided that, seeing what we had been doing, he had probably made her blow him. The bastard!
I remembered another night, maybe six months or a year after that. I'd been to a show and stayed out a little later than I was supposed to, so when I got back to the house I tiptoed in. There was a light on in the living room and I heard their voices the minute I eased open the door; I knew instantly that it was one of their drinking nights. Then I heard my mother giggle and say, "Quit that, silly! You know I won't let you put that thing in my mouth!"
I slid up to the doorway and peaked in. My mother was sprawled in a chair, drink in hand. My dad had a knee on either side of her, and his big dick-bigger, even, than mine-was sticking out of his fly. The shiny head was aimed right at her, but she had turned her head away and when he rammed it forward it hit her cheek. She reached up and grabbed it, giggled again. "I warn you, Frank Sheffield. If I put my mouth over this thing I'm going to bite it!"
"Ah, come on," my dad begged, "just suck on it a little. Jesus, you have no idea how that feels!"
Remembering that, I groaned as I had that night. The bastard had made Celia blow him, I'd lay dimes to doughnuts.
But that was all passed. Celia was part of the past. It didn't do me any good to sit there thinking about both my first real love and my first piece of ass (my first orgasm with another person, as Dr. Moulter had called it). I put the car in gear and eased it away from the curb.
"I must ask you not to have anything to do with your wife tonight. Absolutely nothing."
Anger again, and then, Tuck you, sister!"
I pressed down on the accelerator, heading for home.
Laurie was in the kitchen. Wearing a shift, her chocolate-brown hair tied into a ponytail, she was standing at the drain board peeling potatoes. I looked at her for several minutes, remembering. At seventeen she had been a wholesome, well-developed girl, a real beaut! Looking at her as a young male, I had seen all the suggestions-the luscious tits trapped inside her blouses or sweaters, the beautifully curved ass, the shapely legs that held what would have to be a fantastic hot box between them in their upper reaches. She hadn't been as much a person to me as she had been a potentially excellent screw! For the first couple of weeks after she had transferred into the school I had run around with an almost perpetual hard-on.
Vital, friendly at school, she had still refused to accept a date with anyone. That didn't deter me; old hot-dicked Mark was like a retriever once he got on the scent, and I was on the scent! I smelled that pussy and I wouldn't stop until I'd gotten it. Finally, when I had trapped her in the hallway for about the thousandth time, fully aware of that fantastic body and looking into her youthful, beautiful face. She had closed her eyes and said, "Look, Mark, I ... I've heard all the stories about you. I ... even if I went out with you...."
Her cheeks had reddened. I had laughed. "You're a virgin and going to stay that way, is that it?"
She had swallowed, her whole head moving with the motion. "That's ... that's it, at least until I get married."
I laughed again. "Honey, I promise you if you'll go out with me I'll keep it in my pants!"
"I ... I can't"
But a week later she did. I imagine that she had decided to prove her point, her willpower, and get me off her back. Little did she know that I was more determined than ever to get her on her back! Just knowing that she was virgin made it all the more exciting, all the more challenging.
It was a perfect night. The air was mild, the moon shone down, throwing a silvery cast over everything. I drove us out to the lake and parked with the hood of the car facing the lake; we could look out and see all the beauty of it I didn't touch her while we talked softly about what were to me endless inanities, but when I knew that she was feeling safe I opened the car door. 'It's such a beautiful night I'm going for a swim, want to come along?"
She didn't but I hadn't expected her to. Standing beside the car, I stripped down, throwing my clothes onto the back seat. When I was totally naked I went down to the waters' edge, waded in and then swam out a ways. The water was cool and refreshing, it felt good, but I wasn't particularly interested in swim ming. I swam ashore again. I dried with a towel that I always carried along, then crawled back under the wheel.
"Mark, put ... put ... you promised me ... she half cried, trying to keep her face averted.
She was weakening. Ten minutes later I had her lying on a blanket under the trees; I took her in my arms, her fully clothed body pressed against my naked one. She was rigid, but as I gently stroked her breasts through her blouse, as I rubbed my hand up and down her leg, moving a little deeper under her skirt with each stroke, I felt it melting. Her mouth under mine couldn't resist; it opened wider and when my tongue went in to explore it was met by hers. I got a hand under her blouse, unloosened her bra and felt naked tit; I got my other hand up far enough where it could toy with her hairy cooze, the shape of it, the feel of it, not marred by silk panties. Finally I got the silk panties down, the skirt up, and my hard prick was pressed full length against her soft-haired, firm-lipped pussy. I moved my hips that way a little, shoving it up and down, and she was lost. She spread her legs. I straddled her. I took some spit and rubbed it over the pliant head, then slowly, gently began to pump it into her. She groaned a little as her tight lips were spread by its massiveness, but she didn't try to stop me. The head hit that fragile wall, teased it a little, then I drew back and quickly plunged it in. Loosing her maidenhead, she screamed, but I caught that scream in my mouth and kept working myself in and out of her. The pain drifted away and there was nothing but pleasure. Her hips started moving in unison with mine, and finally she cried out with the ecstasy of her first cock-induced orgasm. Old hot-dicked Mark had scored again!
I should have known that any girl who was seventeen years old and still a virgin might not be too wise, but it didn't even occur to me. It just hit me square between the eyes when, two months later, she weepingly told me that she was pregnant. I consoled myself, saying that I'd have gotten married some day, anyway, and at least now I'd have a steady piece of ass. I did all I could do; we sneaked across the state line, lied about our ages and were married. No one knew that Laurie was carrying my child as we graduated.
It was a strange trick of fate, because it proved unnecessary. When she was four months along Laurie miscarried. By that time we had revealed our secret, we were living in a dumpy little apartment, and I was enjoying the steady diet of sex. I enjoyed teaching her new ways, and she was an apt, avid learner. If anything, with the healthy sexual appetite I have, I was thankful that she would be unable to get pregnant again.
I thought about all of that as I stood in the doorway watching her at work. She didn't know I was there; she had apparently been deep in thought herself. I could look at her now mature body, remember the pleasures I had derived from it, and think, too, of the pleasures I had given her. We were completely compatible physically, completely satisfying to each other, and the willingness to add variety only added spice. I didn't know that I loved her, but I was completely comfortable with her.
I sneaked up behind her, slid my arms around her waist and pressed my lips to her bared neck She cried out, then laughed. "You damn near got your finger cut off, you know that?"
I laughed back. "Just so it's only my finger you cut off." I found her pussy and squeezed it for good measure.
She pressed her buttocks back against me, against the mold in my pants. "What did the doctor say, Mark? Did he say you were all right?"
I nuzzled my face against her neck, and in that moment I knew that for some reason I wasn't going to tell her what had happened. I wasn't even going to tell her that P. H. Moulter, M.D., had been an attractive, well-stacked, and strange-acting female! "He told me that I should come home, take the potato peeler out of your hand, carry you into the bedroom and seduce you!" I murmured convinced now that there would be no problem.
She wiggled against me. "Fat chance you'd have seducing me!" she laughed. "I'll bet I can get undressed and ready before you can!"
She dropped the potato peeler, pulled free of my grasp and was halfway across the room before I realized that she was that serious. By the time I reached the bedroom door she was sliding her shift over her head, exposing her youthful, perfectly curved body. I got a glimpse of her curvaceous buttocks; then she turned and I saw her rounded belly, plus the V of dark brown hair over her well-used mound. Her tits came into view, heavy-hanging globes of flesh that splayed out over her chest, the nipples like pink rosettes on each tip. She was a golden brown, for she had learned to enjoying lying naked on the beach or in the backyard with me.
Laughing again, she fairly leaped onto the bed, rolled over and spread her legs. She had them pulled up, and as she reached down and rubbed between them I could see that she was really hungry for cock and sure now that her hunger would be filled after several weeks of starvation. She rubbed her cunt, spreading it open, desire showing in her eyes. Her hips pressed up off the bed a little, a preview of coming attractions.
I undressed slowly, for some reason not so sure now. I crossed over and laid down between her, taking her into my arms. Our lips met and I crushed her tits against me and pressed my cock where her fingers had been. I kissed her deep, and ground my tool against her. I prayed, but there was nothing. Our hands searched each others body hungrily, but still there was nothing. Maybe the slightest hint of hardening, but not enough to feel any elation over.
Groaning I rolled over onto my back. Laurie knew; she didn't say anything, but she knew that her hopes (and my hopes, my hopes encouraging hers) had been premature. But she was game. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, leaned over. Her tits fell against my chest as she kissed my face; then, moving again, she got up on her knees and continued kissing me. Her mouth moved down my throat, her tongue teased my nipples, per hungry lips brushed in circles around my belly. She kissed into the shrubbery and found my dong, kissing her way down the soft length of it. She lifted it, took it into her mouth and gave it the best working over that she could. It remained half flaccid.
Still she didn't say anything. She straddled me, back straight, knees on either side of me, and as I looked through slitted eyes I saw her big tits. I saw her take my cock and begin running it up and down her cunt. She pressed it in, but even with the warm, still tight lips around it, it was limp, worthless piece of meat. She contracted her muscles, but even that did no good.
"God," I groaned. Then I said, Tie down, honey. Just because I'm a mess, that's no reason you shouldn't get some kicks."
"No," she cried out almost desperately, "no, I'm going to get it hard It will, Mark, it will!"
I shook my head. Too late I realized that I could have used Dr. Moulter's words as an escape from this futility; I could have told her that the doctor had told me to leave her alone tonight. I reached up and took a breast in each hand, massaged them gently, tweaking the nipples to hardness. I pulled her down and put my mouth over one, giving it a working over, then transferred to the other. I rolled her over and, burying my face in them, I almost cried. Then I reached down and began to finger her pussy. I toyed with it until she spread her legs, sliding my finger inside and moving it around in a circle, I fucked her with it. Adding a second finger, I started to move my head down but she grabbed it. "No, Mark, I don't want to do that any more. If you can't fuck me, I ... I don't want that."
A moment later she pulled away and got to her feet She stood there looking down at me, then smiled feebly. "Maybe later," she half whispered, voice quavering. "Maybe it'll get hard later."
"Christ," I spit out. "How long have we been saying that? What in the hell is wrong with me?"
"You're probably just tired," she answered unconvincingly. "Maybe we were doing it too often, maybe that's what's wrong."
I shook my head. For as long as I could remember I could go two, three, four times a day. No, it wasn't ,that. And besides that, Dr. Moulter had said that my well hadn't gone dry, that it just needed priming again. I remembered the prescription blank crumpled up in my pocket. I almost leaped to my feet, dressed hurriedly, and went out in search of a drugstore.
After dinner we sat in the living room. Neither of us wore clothes (shades of Celia Bentley), but this evening we didn't get close enough together to even touch each other. There seemed to be a strain in the air. Laurie was looking through a magazine, but I could tell that she wasn't really seeing it. Finally, I said, "Look, I know you have needs. Why don't you go out and find yourself a guy tonight, get a good fuck?"
She looked up, her eyes barely focusing. "I'd use my finger first," she answered honestly. "You're the only man who's ever done it to me, you're the only man who ever will." A tentative smile flickered at the corner of her lips. "Maybe that prescription will work."
"Not for awhile," I answered sullenly. And then, "Seriously, Laurie, I don't think you should have to suffer because I ... because I can't get a goddamned hard-on. If you don't want to go out yourself, how about if I went out and found a guy, brought him back here? We could even ... well, I could kiss you and all while he was screwing you, you could pretend it was me."
She gasped. "You're not serious! Honest to god, Mark Sheffield, that's the stupidest suggestion I've ever heard!"
"I don't think so," I grumbled, and I didn't. As a matter-of-fact, for some stupid reason the more I thought about it the more the idea appealed to me. I remembered....
It had been only a few months before Laurie had come to town. By that time (during the almost four years since Celia's departure), I had become quite a Casanova. If anyone in the town had been able to keep records of guys laying gals, I probably would have held the record. One of my buddies had jokingly said that if we could lay all my hard-ons end to end it would circle the globe, and I couldn't honestly argue with him; the number of loads I'd probably shot, he said, would make an ocean. Maybe so. And that same buddy admittedly, enviously, that he had yet to get his first piece; he spouted off around the fellows, bragged a lot, but when he got near a girl he went tongue-tied. He could have broken the record for meat beating.
I've forgotten whose idea it was, but we decided to remedy the situation. One Friday night when his folks went out of town we set our plan to action. I left him in his bedroom, naked and with a hard-on, and went out on the prowl. I found a girl, one of the girls from school who I'd laid before, and set about warming her up. It didn't take a lot; a few good feels, a few good feels in return and her pussy was throbbing like a persimmon, ready to suck cock into it.
When he heard us entering the house he headed for the closet. I got her into the bedroom and made a little more wild love, feeling her up a little more. She was a wild one, a fairly well-stacked blonde, and she knew what she wanted. As I got my hand under her skirt and grabbed a handful of pussy, she opened my fly and hauled out the object of her affection (or at least her attention). Man, it was going to be hard to give up, but a promise was a promise; I got her undressed and sprawled on the bed, and while I looked down at those beautiful cans and that cock hungry pussy, I slowly undressed. I leaned over, gave it a couple of good healthy licks with my tongue, then moved up to kiss her tits. She grabbed my prong and pulled at it, flopping my balls around at the same time, raising her hips up to tell me where she wanted me to put it. I pulled away and headed for the light switch; the room plunged into darkness. I headed for the closet, swung open the door-and I'll be damned if I still didn't have to grab hold of him and practically drag him to the bed. It was like trying to move a stubborn mule. "Hey," the broad yelled out, "what's goin' one? What're you doin'?"
I had to laugh; then I told her. "Poor George has never had himself a piece of ass," I told her. "He's scared shitless of girls. So I got you all hot and ready; then he was supposed to take my place but now he's still too damned scared."
She giggled. "Hell, you couldn't have fooled me, anyway, Mark. I can tell your big whang from anybody's!"
"Well, it was worth a try."
I turned on the light and George-hard-on sticking out like a big sausage-ran for the closet. I chased him, got hold of him, and dragged him back. The broad was beginning to think it was fun. When I got him near the bed, my arms under him from the rear, she reached out and took hold of his cock. She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around it, sticking a hand between his legs to grab onto mine. I let her do that a bit, then yelled at her, "Get at him! Show him what it's like, that'll do the trick! Give him a little pussy, baby, he'll be ready for more of it!"
Giggling, she got to her feet. She took George's ramrod and rubbed it up and down her slit; then she moved in on it. I could tell what was happening; I could almost feel her pussy lips sliding over his swollen head, her warm channel taking him in. Then she started moving up and down on it. It had me so damned hot that he almost got it from the ass end.
It did the trick. He was ready for play. The girl laid down on the bed and smiled up at us. "Who's gonna do what?" she asked, smiling as she played with herself.
"Go on, George, climb on!"
"But ... But...."
"Goddamn it, climb on. Just climb on, shove that cock of yours up her and go to town!"
He climbed on, swinging a leg over her, but he was still too inexperienced and clumsy. She finally reached down between them, got his dick in the right place and he started sending it in. That did it; once the head had slid past those hungry gates nature took over and he was pouring it to her.
I was tempted again. His ass was up in the air and it looked like a pretty good pussy substitute, especially the way it moved as he drove his whang in and out of her, but the girl had other ideas. Obviously convinced that George wouldn't panic and run, that he had found out what a hard-on was for she laughingly put her hands on his buttocks and pulled him to a stop. "Honey, you're doin' great, but we can't leave poor Mark out in the cold! Get off me a minute!"
She gave the orders and we willingly agreed. I sprawled on the bed with my back and shoulders against the headboard; she came up between my legs, tits hanging like a cow udders, and took my balls in one hand, my cock in the other. "Okay," she said to George, "come on from the rear, honey!"
She lowered her mouth to my cock as George got behind her, legs outside of hers, and moved in. She gave me a couple of slurps, then raised up giggling! "Not there, silly! Run it down between my legs, get it in the right hole!"
She went back down on me, and it was apparent that George had finally caught on. A couple of seconds later she was moving her mouth up and down my dong in the same rhythm that he was using on her. I reached out and got hold of her tits, started playing with them. Finally George's strokes started getting faster, and with my hips moving I moved my hands from her tits to her head. He let out a yell and poured it to her, ramming it home, as I thrust off the bed and shot a load down her gulping throat. She was getting it from both ends, and she was obviously adding her own love juices to the ones that George was spurting into her.
"Holy Christ!" George finally gasped out, and he rolled off her and onto the floor.
We waited awhile, recuperating; then we switched positions. That time I took her doggie-fashion while she treated George to his first blow job.
I looked across at Laurie again, frowning a little. Just remembering that had caused a stirring; my whang was at half-mast. I wondered ... could it be that if another guy was there, if we were playing those kind of games, I might be able to get a complete hard-on?
But remembering her words and seeing the expression on her face, I knew that I didn't even dare suggest it again. Poor Laurie was still old-fashioned in many ways. She had been a virgin when I took her, saving herself for the man she was going to marry, and while that might not have worked out, fate had seen that it did. In the first few months she had been rather frigid; when we had had sex it had to be in the acceptable man-on-top position. Only after the miscarriage had she started opening up, perhaps because of the knowledge that she could never bear. Only then had she become a willing student in the art of sexual variations. But there was obviously, at least at this time, limitations to how far she would go in that.
My dick lost what starch it had gained; it curled down over my balls again, the position that Laurie usually called (after we had had sex) its "Sleeping Beauty" position.
She threw the magazine aside and pushed herself to her feet. For a moment she stretched, and it was lovely to see-at other times a stretch like that would have sent my whang rigid! Going up on her toes, arms up over her head, her big tits seemed to spread more but lift away from her body, the nipples asking to be mouthed. Her hips grew longer and her pussy was ready for the taking. Tonight there wasn't even a stirring in my crotch. She moved gracefully across and lowered herself to her knees, between my legs. She leaned forward, her cheek against my apparatus, the rounded side of one tit against my leg. She didn't say anything, but I thought that I knew what she was thinking. She had learned to like her cock; she missed it. I moved my foot so that I could play with her pussy with my big toe.
I whispered soundlessly. "I'm sorry, Laurie! I'm sorry as hell I can't take care of you."
She raised her head, turned her face to me, and her eyes were filled with tears. "Mark, I know ... I know how you were before we got married. I know you tried after we got married, but ... but....Mark, have you ... have you been with ... with other women? Is that the trouble?"
Anger flooded through me like hot lava in my veins. "For Christ's sake, no!" I blasted out. "I haven't fucked another woman since we got married! Goddamn it, where'd you get a stupid idea like that?" I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away, leaping to my feet. I was so damned mad I could have eaten nails, then I looked down at her and I had to fight back. I'm just all fucked out, can't you see? I was the world's greatest fucker, but goddamn, it takes more than the world's greatest fucker to keep you satisfied! Christ, can you be satisfied with a royal screwing? No, you've got to have that and then suck me off ... how many nights have you sucked me off two or three times?"
Her face had turned pale. She cringed against the chair, both from my anger and because she knew that I was right. Oh, I had liked it, I won't deny that, but she had turned into something like a nymphomaniac once I'd taken her damned cherry. She had gotten a royal screwing and then sucked me off two or three times during a night, sometimes night after night And that, I told myself now, could be the problem-it might after all be her fault. I looked down at her, trying to control myself. "Look, I lied about what the doctor said. The doctor said I wasn't supposed to touch you tonight. I wasn't supposed to have anything to do with you. Well, that's the way it's going to be. I'm sleeping out here on the divan."
It was the first night since our marriage that we had slept apart. It wasn't easy. And worse yet, during the night I woke up with a hard-on. I was grasping it in my own hand, and I looked up into the darkness and tried to remember what dream I had had that would give me one. I tried to figure it out-how could I rub her body, play with it and have her rub and play with my body without getting a hard-on, and then get one from a dream?
I groaned.
I wanted to go into the bedroom. I wanted to crawl into bed with her, take her into my arms. I wanted to kiss her luscious mouth, feel her beautiful tits, slide my whang up through those tight, hairy lips. I wanted to grasp her firm buttocks while I sent myself in and out of her, the motion carrying us both up that beautiful, nerve tingling path to the point of orgasm.
But how could I? What would I do if I got in there and the damned thing wilted again?
And it would. I somehow knew that it would.
I rolled over on my stomach. The sheet had shifted, leaving the material of the divan exposed. As I rolled over my prick went between the cushions; it was caught between them. It was a strange feeling. Then I remembered hearing, during my teens, that some Oriental women had cunts that ran sideways. I moved my hips tentatively. The material was tough, but there was still a good feeling to it. I moved my hips again; then I was moving them in earnest. I couldn't help myself, and finally I gasped and quivered as I dumped a load between the cushions.
A few minutes later I was on my back again. I looked up into the darkness and whispered, "Jesus-how fucked up can you get!"
CHAPTER THREE
I argued with myself all day, but at three o'clock I checked out and headed for home. You get pretty dirty working on the loading docks the way I do; I wanted to take a shower and change clothes before reporting in at the doctor's office. The doctor! Christ, she was more like a WAC officer, at least from what I had heard of them, a cold potato who was all business and expected to be obeyed.
When I reached the door to our apartment I heard voices inside. I leaned my ear against the door, and sure enough, they came from inside. It surprised me, then I realized that I had neglected to tell Laurie that I had an appointment and so would be home early. But then, I told myself, perhaps it was just as well; with someone there we wouldn't be able to talk about anything personal. I eased the door open. I stopped dead in my tracks. Laurie, stark naked, was sitting in an overstuffed chair; she had her legs drawn up, her feet on the edge of the chair. One of the neighbor women, a sort of nondescript redhead who had a tendency to drink too much, was just as naked and sitting on her knees in front of Laurie. I couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but she was obviously shoving something in and out of Laurie's cunt. Then I heard her say, "Now, just relax and enjoy it, honey.
That's what dildos are for; when a husband can't take care of his wife and she doesn't want another man, these little creatures come in mighty handy!"
"Oooooh," Laurie groaned, her eyes closed, "I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so good!"
The other woman giggled. "Tell me, honey, does Mark have a tool anywhere near as big as this one?"
"Oh, yes! Yes!" Laurie groaned. "Mark has a beautiful one. And lovely balls. They ought to put balls on these things."
Another giggle. "That's a good idea! Maybe I'll write to the manufacturer. How does it feel, honey? Is it getting you good? Is it clicking your clit?"
"Oh, yes, yes! God, it's going clear up inside me the way he does when he's at his best."
The woman kept working it in and out; she reached down between her own legs, and after a couple of seconds I knew that she was giving herself a first class fingerfuclang. "I wish my husband had one like that," she said almost wistfully. "If he did, I wouldn't ever use a dildo!"
Laurie was obviously up on a cloud. She started moving her hips around; she grasped her own breasts in her own hands and fondled them roughly, flopping them around. She started pumping her hips up off the cushion, sticking her legs out and letting them go over the other woman's shoulders. Her face was different than I had ever seen it-but then, I guess that I had never really seen it during the height of sex. I always had my mouth busy one place or another. But now I saw it, a look of pure animal lust, of animal fucking. I didn't want to see any more. I closed the door softly, turned and retraced my steps.
In the car I just sat, the vision of what I had seen refusing to leave me, God, my wife as much as fucking another woman! Only then did I really see the woman; upstairs I had seen only Laurie, spread legged with the thing up her cooze, playing with her big tits with that look of pure lust on her face. But now I saw the woman, her pale hips spread on the floor at Laurie's feet, her big tits hanging down under one arm as she fingered herself with one hand and "fucked" Laurie with the other (with the dildo in it). "Now, just relax and enjoy it, honey!" she had cooed. "That's what dildoes are for; when a husband can't take care of his wife and she doesn't want another man, these little creatures come in mighty handy!"
Little creatures! Laurie had told her that my tool was as big as it...."Oooooh, I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so good!"
When a husband can't take care of his wife....
Anger coursed through me. That fuckin' Laurie had told her that I couldn't get a hard-on! Just because I couldn't satisfy her lust, she was going to tell the world about it!
"How does it feel, honey? Is it getting you good? Is it clicking your clit?"
"Oh, yes, yes! God, it's going clear up inside me the way he does when he's at his best."
Shit! I switched the ignition on, backed out recklessly, and started away. I drove around, deep in thought, and finally I was in the parking lot outside Dr. Moulter's office. I stared at the building, arguing with myself. Finally I shoved the door open and started in.
Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits looked up and smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sheffield, you're right on time!"
I followed her down the short hallway, only half interested in her rounded buttocks, her swaying hips, and the ankles whose shapeliness weren't hidden by the white stockings she was wearing. She pushed the door to the examination room open and stepped back.
"Doctor will be with you shortly," she said. From her manner I told myself that Dr. Moulter, whatever else she was, wasn't like my wife; she didn't blab. She hadn't even told her nurse what my problem was.
Couldn't you hear it? "I've got a health young patient, more than adequately hung, who can't get an erection with his equally young wife!"
For some stupid reason I remembered a buddy of mine who had worked in a hospital telling me about a case they had gotten one night. "You wouldn't believe it!" he had said. "They hauled this stretcher in, but there wasn't one patient on it, there were two. This guy had been fucking his best friends wife and she panicked or something. Her goddamned pussy just clamped down on him, he was hung up in her and couldn't get loose."
Well, at least it would be just as embarrassing!
The door opened and the good doctor was coming toward me, blonde, beautiful-and efficient! Her smile disappeared almost immediately, though, a look of irritation sliding across her face. "You shouldn't waste my time, Mr. Sheffield! You should be stripped when I get here."
"Well, I ... the nurse didn't tell me...."
"Strip!" she snapped out, planting her feet a short distance apart and crossing her arms over her breasts. I noticed in that moment that her face looked more tired than it had the day before, there were slightly dark shadows under her eyes. She apparently hadn't slept well the night before and was struggling against being totally irritable now.
I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to clean up," I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head, unbuckling my pants, opening my fly and sliding them off. "I had to come right from work."
She was watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. "Is there some reason why you don't wear shorts?"
"Well, I ... I've just never liked them, that's all."
"Like to hang free, is that it?"
I felt my face reddening a little as I crawled up onto the table. "Yeah, I guess that's it." Yes, as a boy I had liked to "hang free." I had liked for people to get a pretty good idea of what I had in my pants; it frequently paid off. Older and married, I had seen no reason to change the pattern.
She stuck the ends of the stethoscope in her ears again as she moved up alongside the table. She started moving it around my chest, stopping here and there to listen. She almost deliberately brushed it across each nipple, and if anyone thinks that a man's nipples can't be as sensitive as a woman's they're all wrong. My recalcitrant member started reacting, swelling a little and lifting up off my balls. As she moved it down over my belly she demanded, "Did you obey my instructions last night?"
"Well ... well the truth is, I did last night. But...."
"But what?" she moved it to the base of my continually hardening cock.
"Well, when I first got home ... I was a little pissed off at you, so I ... I gave it a go."
"And?" She was running it up one side and down the other of my now thoroughly hardened cock.
"It didn't work."
There was no response. She moved the end of the stethoscope back down my took sending it up and down the lines between legs and body. She took a sounding from my balls. She shoved it under and got it at the spot where my scrotum hooked onto my body, a gesture that sent me several inches off the table. But despite all that, I wasn't as embarrassed as I had been the day before-maybe I was just being fatalistic, accepting what had to be (or what seemed to have to be).
"All right," she raised up again, "I'd like another specimen."
"You mean...?"
"That is exactly what I mean!"
I shrugged my shoulders, then reached down, grasped my tool and started working it.
"Why did you get ... as you called it ... 'pissed off at me?"
"Well," I answered, still stroking gently, "it didn't make sense. I mean ... my being able to get a hard-on here but not when I was trying to make out with my wife."
For the first time a hint of a smile crossed her lips, her eyes seemed to twinkle briefly. And, as if it were inadvertent, this time she hadn't turned away. She just stood there with an almost expressionless face watching me slowly beat my meat. This time it didn't bother me. I could only wonder if she had any feelings at all. What woman with feelings could stand there emotionlessly and watch a guy beating on a man-sized whang? I decided that she was either a dyke or had a husband who kept her very well satisfied.
"Do you enjoy doing what you're doing?" she asked.
"Well," I answered honestly, "it feels good physically, but I can tell you for sure this isn't my cup of teal Hell, I quit doing this when I found out about girls I"
"After your affair with the teacher, is that it?"
I nodded. Yes, after Celia had showed me the art of fucking I had willingly given up a meat beating. Then she took me by surprise. "Would it be more enjoyable for you if I did it for you? You know," she smiled, "there's no reason why the necessary shouldn't be pleasurable if it can."
It threw me for a second, then I thought: What the hell! I pulled my hand away. She leaned over and wrapped one of hers around it, her flesh warm and smooth, and went to work. And she had meant it when she said pleasure could be added; she didn't just hang on and jerk it off, she hand loved it off. She'd stroke it a couple of times, then her hand would slide up over the head and play with it before sliding back down to the full shaft. She kept that up, flopping it around a little in the process, and the feelings started getting better and better. I couldn't help myself; my midsection started squirming around, my legs stiffened; then my breathing started coming hard and finally I felt my come shooting out. It lit in gobs on my belly and legs, and I knew that she had a supply of it running down over her hand. But she didn't quit; she milked it dry, releasing it only when it went limp in her hand.
"Well!" she half-chuckled, reaching for a towel. "I'll say one thing for you. When I want a specimen I get a healthy one!"
She washed her hands, then took a slide and gathered up another glob from my belly. Throwing a dampened towel onto my stomach, she said, "Come directly to my office this time," and left the room.
For just a moment I wondered if she actually did anything with those "specimens" she took. What, I asked myself, could a glob of come tell her? But still ... well, it did seem professional even if the methodology seemed a little strange at times. I knew nothing about the medical sciences. I did know that a friend of mine, a young fellow who worked on the loading docks with me, had had his balls cut (a vasectomy, he had called it) so that he could screw without knocking anyone up. He'd told us how the doctor (who happened to be a male in that case) had had him do the same thing. "After screwing eight or ten times I had to go into the office and beat off a load for him so he could be sure the operation had worked!" Maybe what P. H. Moulter, M.D., was doing was professional! Probably if she had been a male I wouldn't have thought anything about it.
She was sitting at her desk when I reached her office. She was bent over some papers, but I could see a change. Her white lab coat was unbuttoned, hanging loosely, and I got a glimpse of a real set of knockers pressuring the material of an almost flimsy blouse. Her bra held them up firm and pear-shaped, nicely tipped, but I had the feeling that if that bra were taken off they'd take on their own shape, becoming two ripe melons ripe for the tasting. I lowered my eyes, but there was no more to see; the desk cut off any possible view of what was at that juncture of torso and legs. Left to the imagination ... well, I could only run my tongue across my upper lip, because she was an attractive woman and for the first time real femininity had been displayed. I contented myself with stealing glimpses of those lovely knockers while she continued to study the papers in front of her. Finally she raised her big brown eyes.
A mixture of humor and accusation crossed her face. "I thought that you told me it didn't work with your wife yesterday." , "It ... it didn't," I half sputtered.
"Well, then, who did it work with?"
"What ... what do you mean?"
She let another smile cross her lips. "My friend, you can fool a lot of people, but you can't fool your doctor. I know that you ejaculated last night."
"You ... you do?" I stuttered, dumbfounded.
She nodded perfunctorily. "I compared the number of sperm between your orgasm of yesterday and the one today. I know that you ... in a language you no doubt understand ... dumped a load between the two."
I felt my face reddening, then I decided that I had better tell all. I told her about my failure with Laurie, how I had ended up sleeping on the couch; I told her how I had awakened during the night with a hard-on, rolled over and found it caught between the cushions. "I didn't mean to, but ... well, it felt good, so I...."
She chuckled. "So you seduced that poor, innocent couch!" She shook her head, but it was not in disapproval. "You do like your sex, don't you?"
Not waiting for an answer, she leaned back in her chair. She stuck the pencil end between her teeth again, clicking it back and forth. It obviously was a habit she had for allowing concentration. Finally she pulled it away, and said, "All right, you and your teacher friend, Celia, began your tryst when you were fourteen. For the better part of year you met at least three times a week, and in one form or another you ejaculated at least twice each time you met Is that right?"
"Well ... yes, that's right"
"What did you like the most? Which activity, which position?"
I tried to remember. I remembered Celia lying on the bed on her back, beautiful and luscious. I remembered climbing up over her, fondling her lovely tits and rubbing my hard cock against her soft downed pussy as we French kissed. I remembered getting the head caught between those wonderful pussy lips and then slowly pumping it into her, pumping until we reached orgasm.
I remembered sprawling in a chair, legs spread, and Celia between my legs playing with my balls as she sucked on my prong, her hard-nippled tits brushing against my legs. I remembered the beautiful feeling of erupting into her mouth.
I remembered her sometimes playfully rolling over onto her back and saying, "Take me like a dog, Mark, honey. Take me like a bitch," and my taking her that way, bent over her so that I could play with her tits while I sent my tool up and down that tight moist channel at that tissue-tickling angle. Biting her on the shoulders as my load spurted and throbbed out.
I remembered lying on my back, Celia straddling me with her back straight, reaching down and rubbing my cock up and down her sweet slit; finally leaning forward with her tits swaying to me, her pussy closing in over my prick, taking it inch by inch until our pubic hairs were merged, then our rolling over so I could give it to her in long, powerful strokes.
I remembered the sixty-nines we'd had, her sucking on my whang while I mouthed and tongued the beauty between her legs, sinking my tongue into her to tease her clitoris, to tongue-fuck her to wildness as she mouthed me up the same mountain.
I remembered times when she wouldn't let me fuck her, "danger periods" during her menstrual cycle, but she'd have me straddle her, run my dong up between her tits and fuck myself off that way while she held them tight and warm around it. Sometimes during those periods she would he beside me, her tits against my chest, and stroke me off; then she'd lean over and lick my cock and stomach. "Oh," she'd say, "I love your come. It's young and sweet as honey!"
"Jesus," I said from out of my memories, "I honest to God don't know! I liked it all."
P. H. Moulter, M.D., accepted that with a nod. "Well, then, tell me what happened after Celia left town."
"Well," I searched back into my memory again. "My dad grounded me. Grownups seem to think fucking only goes on at night, yTenow!" The word (the "fucking") came out easily; I was loosing all my reservations, my inhibitions. Why wouldn't I after what she had done and what I had had to tell her. Certainly if a "doctor" has sucked on your cock, beaten it, even if only for medical purposes ... and certainly if you'd told her all about your screwing, there's no reason for social niceties!
I told her what had happened. The anger, the hatred that I had felt toward my father for sending Celia away was almost like hot lava in my bloodstream. It brought resentment, and the determination to show him, by God! even if he didn't actually know. At least I would. I'd especially show him because he'd be self-satisfyingly thinking that he had cut off any and all sexual activities.
I found out in the morning that she was gone, and there was no doubting the reasons. During that morning I flirted around with a fifteen-year-old blonde in our class; she wasn't too bright, that's why she was in our group, but I wasn't after brains! She had a fairly good set of knockers, a nice ass, and while I had never had it, I'd heard that she had a well-used but also well-educated pussy. In the last exchange of notes before noon recess she agreed to meet me when the bell rang.
Just before the bell rang I played with myself enough to get a hard-on, sticking my hand under the desk and rubbing my cock. Covering it with my books, I met her in the hallway. Making sure that no one was looking, I moved the books and let her get a look-and then a feel-of it. That's all it took; we headed for the cloak room hi one of the now deserted classrooms. We dropped our books and went into a clinch; mouths meeting, I started giving her a good feeling up. Rubbed her sides so that I could get a little bit of tit in each hand, slid my hands down lower to massage her firm buttocks, all the while grinding my whang in against her pussy. She was nervous but hot, and for me the nervousness seemed to add excitement; I built on that heat, getting her to the point where she couldn't have quit if she had wanted to.
There was nothing to he on except hard floor, and not all the time in the world, so I just kept on loving her up while I got my fly open and my cock out She felt it and knew what to do; while we kept on kissing and I kept playing with her tits, she pulled her skirt up and her panties down. The head of my cock got caught between her cuntlips, I started thrusting it to her. She started cooperating immediately, matching her hip movements to mine, and away we wentl We were really jazzing if off, and when we started shooting it must have looked like a Saint Fitus dance. We were both trying to keep the fuck motion going, squirting out our juices, but the feeling was so fantastic that we had to fight against falling. If anything, that only heightened the sensation. I grabbed her warm buttocks in each hand and, battling for balance, unloaded into her.
"Gee whiz," she finally managed, "for a younger boy, you sure know how to do it!"
"You ain't so bad yourself," I answered, pulling my cock out and wiping it off with my handkerchief. I reached out and got her whole pussy in my hand, gave it a real good feel, then started putting myself away.
Later in the afternoon I got to thinking about it more. I mean, about my dad sending Celia away, taking the only thing that really meant something to me away. Thinking he was cutting off my nookie. I got mad all over again, wrote the blonde bomber a note and then asked to be excused. I sneaked down the hall into the girls' lavatory, into one of the booths. She came in a few minutes later and I was ready for her; sitting on one of the toilets, I had my pants down and a hard-on sticking up and waiting. She went to her knees, wrapped her lips around it and went to work. A few seconds later I grabbed her head, holding it tight, and drove my whang clear back into her mouth, pouring a load down her throat. She almost gagged, but she took it and practically begged for more. At least she begged me to meet her some evening so that we could get completely naked together and really have a ball.
There was a neighbor woman I sometimes did yard work for. She was about my mother's age, in her late thirties, real nice lady. She had always been kind to me, friendly, but I decided that she was going to be more than that. It wouldn't be bad, either, I knew; even though she was older she was a good looker and had a good figure. I used a real corny approach, but one that I thought was worth a try.
Always in the middle of my work she'd invite me into the kitchen for a soft drink. This particular afternoon, sitting at her kitchen table, I stretched my legs out in front of me and slouched down with my buttocks barely on the edge of the chair. Finally I said, "Mrs. Thurston, I got a real problem and I can't talk to my folks about it. Could I ... could I ask you to help me?"
She almost gurgled, overjoyed with the opportunity to help a "poor youngster." I guess not having kids of her own made her feel overly motherly. Anyway, looking down and acting nervous, I said, "Well, I ... I'm afraid there's something the matter with me. This...."I put my hand on my cock, "this thing swells up and gets hard. Sometimes ... sometimes it even drips a little, you know, a sticky-like stuff."
Her eyes widened and she swallowed. She seemed about to come apart at the seams for a couple of seconds, her face got flushed; but then she asked me if I knew the facts of life. We tossed it back and forth a little, she stayed nervous and seemed to be struggling with herself, but finally she said if I'd swear myself to secrecy she'd show me what it was all about so that I'd know that I didn't have to worry.
In the bedroom she told me to undress. I already had a hard-on, and with a combination of braille and verbal expression she explained my genitals to me. She lingered over my balls, stroked my cock a little, and then explained how the male organ was made that way and got hard that way so that it could enter the female to deposit a "seed" that would become a baby. The next step, of course, was for her to undress and show me the female organs, with a graphic description. Nothing would do, of course, the lesson wouldn't be complete if I didn't have a practical experience to couple with the theoretical. She laid on her back on the bed and I mounted her. I sucked her tits to see how a child got its milk, and (with her help, which I let her think was necessary) got my cock up her hot channel and started fucking. "You keep going like that you, see," she said, "and a fluid comes out holding the seed."
A few moments later, breathing hard, she gasped' out, "You'd better stop, Mark. I don't want you shooting off in me."
"I can't!" I cried out, fucking her with gusto. "God, it feels so good I can't stop."
Her own hips kept moving, her own breathing was hard, her tits heaving up and down, but she cried out, "All right, all right, keep fucking, but pull it out when it starts to shoot!"
I gave her a royal fucking, but I obeyed. When I felt it ready to pop I pulled out, shooting all over her pussy and between her legs; then I crumbled against her.
Two afternoons later, when we were having the soft drinks, she showed me a rubber and explained it to me. That afternoon, and in others that followed, I didn't have to pull out. But I didn't like the feel of the rubber, and especially shooting into it, so I didn't go over there as often as I might have.
There were other girls at school and some in the neighborhood. "What it all adds up to," I told Dr. Moulter, "is that he might have thought he'd stopped me, but he hadn't. I was screwing afternoons, three or four times a week."
"Just one ejaculation at a time?" she asked.
"Well, mostly, but every once in a while ... you know, like one afternoon...."
I had almost forgotten about it, but she had asked and reminded me. There was an eighteen-year-old girl in our neighborhood, a tall blonde who was lithe but all woman. She had small tits, but they were still nice, with big nipples that were easily excitable. She had narrow hips, much like a young boys, but the mound between her legs was really something! She was a junior college student who got home from classes in mid-afternoon, and her folks both worked so she had the house to herself. One afternoon, just being stupid, I had flirted around a little when I saw her walking down the block, and the next thing you know I was walking the rest of the way home with her.
Inside, the door closed behind us, she didn't beat around the bush. Throwing her books aside she said, "Okay, you were talking like you're a big man, let's see you live up to it!"
I had her in my arms in half a second; then we had flopped onto the divan with her on her back. I was French kissing her like crazy, rubbing her tits through the material of her sweater; then I ran my hand down and back up under her skirt. I got her pussy held good and gave it a couple of squeezes, and already I could feel her silk panties getting damp. And I knew! just knew!-that old as she was, she was cherry. I ran a finger between the two folds of flesh, pushing silk into it, and she damned near went out of her mind. I reached under and fingered her asshole, exciting her all the more. "You ready to get undressed?" I finally demanded.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly, her chest heaving. "If you want it," she finally whispered, "you have to undress me and take it!"
I undressed her, pulling her clothes off almost roughly because she cooperated not at all; and then she was lying there with her slim young body completely exposed. I could really see those tits now, the big nipples just waiting to get sucked on, and the blondish hair barely hiding her tight-lipped pussy. The hair was damp; she had already done a little self-lubricating from the fingering I'd given her. I stripped, noticing that her eyes had opened slightly, that she was watching me, and when I slid my pants down and my whang popped up a little gasp seemed to escape from between her lips. She unconsciously grabbed for her pussy with both hands, covering it. I just laughed. Then I straddled her, keeping my body up off hers. I leaned down and tongued her tits, mouthed the nipples, suckled. I nibble kissed my way down to her belly, around it, then back up. I gave those yummy little tits a little more attention, then moved my lips up her throat and finally to her mouth. As my tongue forced her lips apart and went in, her resistance melted. She raised her upper body a little, hard nipples scraping against mine, her hands slid up over my shoulders. I wiggled my ass a little, running my hot-headed cock all around, finally dragging it through pussy hair. Her legs spread. I moved mine so I was between hers; then I lowered my hips. I reached down and fingered her a little more, even sending a finger into her for a bit more lubricating; then I took hold of my cock and positioned it. "Get ready, baby, you're going to loose your cherry!" I told her, and I stabbed her with a long stroke that sent my entire length into her. She cried out, thrusting her hips up off the divan, and I knew that I'd been right I'd gotten another cherry! Oh, man, it was tight and nice in there, and I really gave it to her-and she really loved it. We belly banged with full enthusiasm, my nuts banging her on the ass with each plunge. I felt her fingernails digging into my back and her legs trying to climb me. I fucked harder and faster, wanting to come when she did. We did. We banged bellies and stayed glued together, her pussy throbbing, my cock throbbing, gasping into each others mouths. I could feel the sticky, hot come seeping out around my buried cock.
During the recuperation period she confessed that she had played around a little, necking and groping (but never skin; she had let guys feel her pussy through her panties and she had felt their cocks through their trousers, but no more). She had been mostly teasing this afternoon, not thinking that anyone as young as I would have had the experience or would go through with it. But the loving up and seeing my cock had pulled out all the stops; she couldn't have turned back then if she had wanted.
"Heavens!" she laughed, "Who'd believe that anyone as young as you would have all that and know what to do with it!"
But the dam broken-having once seen and felt male meat-a hunger had been admitted to. Almost blushingly, she told me that she had heard about and would like to try ... well would I think she was awful if ... When she couldn't get it out I merely put my hands on her head and pushed it down to my crotch. I felt her cheek against my limp meat; then she took it into her mouth; she tongued it and sucked it to hardness. Then she started working on it. I reached out, got hold of her hips and swung her around, burying my mouth in the blonde forest; I licked and kissed, then started tonguing. We both blew our wads a second time.
After that we met at least one afternoon a week, and we never climaxed less than twice.
CHAPTER FOUR
There was a knock on the door.
"Yes?" Dr. Moulter called out.
Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits opened the door a few inches. "I'm sorry to bother you, doctor, but Mrs. Jamieson is on the line and wants to know...."
As she looked at and listened to the nurse a semblance of a smile slithered across the doctor's mouth again. When she had given her reply and the nurse had closed the door again, she looked across at me and smiled more openly for a moment. "Seeing you sitting there between two women suggested another important question to me. You've mentioned experiences with one woman and another man, but what about with more than one woman? Ever tried anything like that?"
I looked down at my hands, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was because I was seriously doubting that her questions were necessary. Did she actually need to know all she was asking, or was she just getting some kind of vicarious kick out of hearing the facts about my sex life? I was strongly tempted to tell her that I'd had enough, but almost as if she had read my mind, she said, "It is important, you know? When a doctor is dealing with a patient he-or, as in this case, she-is not dealing only with the physical body.
The mind of the patient, what has happened to him or her, is equally important In this case I need to know as much as possible about your sexual life ... both activities and attitudes. Now, answer my question, please."
The firmness, the business-like attitude, had returned to both her voice and her mannerism. I swallowed.
"Well ... well, yeah, I tried something like that Hell, I tried anything I got a chance to try!"
"Tell me about it. The first time."
The first time had been when I was sixteen. It just happened to be with the girl I had just told her about the eighteen-year-old college student who had found out that fucking was fun and wanted more of it. It was a typical afternoon; we had gone straight to her bedroom once we got inside the house, stripped down and got together on the bed. I'm started loving her up, playing with all parts, and she had learned the art of body stimulation, too. I was sort of L-shaped, with my mouth on her tits and her hand fondling my prick when we heard someone say, "Well, this is a lovely little scene!"
I just looked up-things like that didn't really bother me-but she panicked. She shoved me away and reached for something, anything, ending up with part of the bedspread pulled up over her tits. It must have looked funny, all her confusion and embarrassment and her ending up there with her tits covered but her pussy hanging out for all to see!
The woman in the doorway was an older edition of her, a tall woman with a lithe body, tits that (once released from her bra) would probably be only a little larger than hers. Her dark hair was cut short; she had an extremely attractive face. A well-modeled nose, full lips, and large brown eyes that were quite expressive. Our eyes met for a moment; then she let hers move down over my body.
"Well, I'll say one thing, you know how to pick them! Young, strong, handsome, and well endowed!" She chuckled, "Darling, why didn't you tell me you've been having such marvelous times?"
The girl just made gurgling sounds, fright still in her eyes and the bedspread clutched at her throat. The woman laughed, then moved gracefully across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached across the girl, took my cock in her hand and petted more than stroked it.
"Oh, yes, you got yourself a fine hunk of man here!" She leaned over then and touched her lips lightly to the girls cheek. "Darling, mother isn't at all angry, if that's what's worrying you. Dear, no. If anything, I'm merely green with envy."
She looked at me and smiled. "Have you been enjoying my shy daughter? Is she a good lay?"
"Extremely good," I answered, smiling. And then, braggadocio as it may have sounded, "Of course, I had to teach her a few tricks of the trade."
"Oh," she laughed, I'll bet you did! With a weapon like that I can imagine the experiences you've had!" She still had hold of my whang. With her other hand, she reached out and gently massaged between her daughters legs. Seriously, she said, I'm glad that you got in there. Maria doesn't realize it, but I noticed the change. She's been so much happier." She laughed lightly again, "Oh, yes, I know how long you've been pronging her. I knew it the first day!"
Pulling her hands away, she leaned across, breasts against the girls legs, and planted a kiss on my cock. Raising up again, she looked into her daughter's eyes, a smile on her cherry-red lips. "Darling, we've shared so much, would you mind sharing this lovely creature with me?"
I thought that the girl was going to have a stroke, but either the mother understood a language I couldn't or decided to take things under her own control. At any rate, she pushed herself gracefully to her feet. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes, then pulled her skirt up, exposing a white and luscious leg, and loosened a garter. She slid that stocking off and repeated the process, this time getting her skirt up high enough that I saw silk panties with a definite dark spot between her legs. She slid the dress over her head and threw it aside, and there was her beautiful body-lithe, only slightly heavier than her daughters.
She reached behind her back and unsnapped the bra. It fell off, and two medium sized, perky tits seemed to leap up, the nipples overly large. She slid her silk panties off, threw them aside and stood up straight for a moment. Her pubic hair was as brown as her other hair, but it couldn't hide the full-sized pussy under it, the lips slightly parted. My old whang jerked a couple of times just from the sight of it! I think she was already hot, too, because it looked like a couple of little dew drops glimmering on the dark hair.
She moved around and crawled up on the bed on the other side.
"Come, dear," she said as she reached out for my cock, rubbing tits and pussy against me, "we're going to share this lovely creature." When the daughter hesitated, she reached across me, tugged the bedspread away and then pulled the girl over so that I had a pussy against each leg, a set of tits against each side of my chest. "You take his balls, dear, I'll take his weapon; then well switch off after awhile."
Maria had either recuperated or merely decided to go along with it. Either way, I felt a hand on my tool and another cupping my balls, playing with them. I reached down, pushing my hands along my own legs, and got a couple of handfuls of pussy. The mother groaned and rolled away a little, spreading her legs enough so that I could really start feeling her up. I tweaked the slightly parted lips, ran a finger up and down them, while I merely massaged Maria's. Finally I slid a finger in, feeling the moist and warm inner tissue; then I started sliding it around it circles. She groaned, squeezing my cock harder. I worked her more enthusiastically and got my other hand busier with the daughter, at the same time completely aware of the hard-nippled tits against my upper arms. , "Oh, god," the mother groaned, I've simply got to find out what that beautiful thing tastes like!"
She pulled away from me, got up onto her knees and bent over. Grasping my cock by the base with one hand, she lowered her head and I felt her lips slide over the head. I turned for Maria, got my mouth on hers, and while the mother drove me half wild with a well-educated mouth, I fingered Maria's pussy and Frenched her for all I was worth. A few minutes later the woman moved again; I didn't have to look up to know what she was doing. She had straddled me, she was rubbing my cock up and down her cunt The head was between the slightly parted lips, touching inner tissue; I felt her spreading herself wider with it, getting it in deeper while she still rubbed it up and down. She groaned in ecstasy.
I don't remember who made the next move, or how, but finally Maria was up towards the head of the bed, legs spread, and I had my head in her crotch. I was giving her a thorough licking, some excellent tonguing, and she was writhing from the pleasure of it while her mother rode up and down the full length of my ramrod. I put my hands on the insides of her legs and spread them even more so that I could get my face closer to her. I stiffened my tongue and pushed it between her tight lips, got it in as deep as possible, sloshed it around, then started moving my head up and down with the same rhythm her mother was using on my whang. We both increased our speed slowly, then faster, then faster yet. The woman had straightened out some, and now each time she took my cock she got it clear to the base, withdrew, took it again; her pussy was loose at the lips, but it was tight and nice and muscle-contracting deeper within. It was so nice that I couldn't help myself; I began fucking with her, rising up to meet her oncoming cunt, drawing away from it, rising up to meet it again. Maria was doing the same thing on my tongue, then all three of us were thrashing around and spending ourselves. We ended up in a panting, heaving pile, Maria dripping her juices onto the bedspread and the mother and I letting ours merge deep inside her.
Maria had collapsed, her pussy still quivering; the mother rolled away, letting my whang "slurp" out of her hot, juicy box. She fell over onto her back and let out a deep sigh. "Oh, that was lovely! Just lovely!" She finally pushed herself up. "You fired off such a load I'd better go douche!"
I chuckled, rubbing Maria's saturated cunt. "Your mother is a real swinger!"
"I never would have believed it," she said softly. "Oh, I know she has boyfriends and they probably ... but, I mean, to find us doing what we were doing and not only approve but get in on the act...."
And not only get in on that act, but want seconds. When she came back into the room, tits swaying and wiping her cooze with a towel, she smiled down at us. "Look, he-man, suppose I get rid of my husband Saturday afternoon, you come back over and the three of us'll have another little party?"
"That's fine by me," I answered, and it was.
And we did.
"And that was your only experience with two women?" Dr. Moulter asked.
"Oh, hell, no. That was just the first. Y'know, quite often you'd run into two girls out together, it'd work out where the three of us would go some place for fun and games. Hell, one night there were three."
"Heavens, how did you manage that?"
"Well ... well, it was pretty wild during the warm up period, you know. I mean, a guy could almost go out of his mind with three snatches and three sets of knockers, plus three sets of female hands and lips working him all over, but when we finally got down to business, well, it was something!"
It had been. They were all three fairly young, from sixteen to nineteen, and all three were fairly good-looking and nicely endowed. It was lucky for me that I didn't have to make a choice as to who was going to get what-as it happened they either decided for themselves or it just happened. Anyway, I ended up on my back with a gal between my legs; her knockers kept rubbing against my legs, and she really swung on my pole. Another one was sucking on my balls; I had a leg over her tits, and I was giving her a thorough fingerfucking. The third one was straddling me, her snatch in my face, and I was tonguing the bejesus out of her. We'd go along for awhile, then they'd shift. It was sort of like musical chairs. Then they each wanted a sampling in the screwing department, so I'd mount them one at a time and keep working on the other two with hand and mouth. There was no let up to it, and the smell of sex-of come-was heavy in the air. Believe me, when that session was over I was one worn out cocksman!
"How long did that go on?" Moulter asked.
"Oh, three or four hours, I guess."
"How many times did you ejaculate?"
I shook my head. "Man, at least four times. It finally got to the point where my poor tool couldn't even raise its head!"
"I should think not." And then, with what could have been a hint of a smile, "Do you think you could last through something like that now?"
I laughed. "I don't know." I almost added, "But I'd sure like to give it a try." Then I remembered. I was a married man; I had left all of that in the past. Even though I probably wouldn't have married Laurie if she hadn't gotten pregnant, I have been faithful to her from the day of our marriage. And then I remembered something else.
"You're frowning. What brought that on?"
I looked up, deep into her brown eyes. I didn't really mean to say it; it just sort of slipped out. I told her about the scene I'd come upon earlier, Laurie naked in the chair with the naked neighbor woman on the floor between her knees, screwing her with a dildo. I guess that my anger, my distaste, showed.
Moulter seemed to mull it over a few moments; then she said, "You realize, of course, that women have sexual appetites as well as men. As long as you are having this problem, wouldn't you rather your wife satisfy herself with a dildo than with an other man?"
"A dildo, maybe," I spit out, "but another woman ... no!"
"I'm sure that it was with a dildo, Mr. Sheffield," she answered almost patronizingly. "From what you've said of your wife, I'm sure that the other woman was in no way a sex symbol, but merely someone who introduced her to and gave her the courage to use the dildo."
I wasn't totally mollified, but I didn't pursue the subject. To start with, I told myself, it was none of Moulter's business; I shouldn't even have told her about it. She seemed to sense it. She leaned back in her swivel chair, and said, "Well, let's get on with our investigation. After all, if we can solve your problem, that problem will automatically be resolved. Isn't that right?" she smiled.
I merely bobbed my head. At least I thought it would be solved; if I could get back to satisfying Laurie she shouldn't need a dildo-but I wondered. She had become almost overly active sex wise. Maybe now that she had found out about dildos, maybe after I went to work mornings ... The other bitch had obviously been fiddling with herself days ... God, I could see them getting together once us men had gone to work, stripping down and working on each other with that rubber cock; it wasn't a particularly pleasing thought.
Dr. Moulter interrupted my thoughts, another hint of a smile at the corners of her lips and in her eyes.
"You still look concerned," she said, leaning forward slightly from the waist. "Let me tell you about a case I had some time back ... maybe it will compensate for you.
"One of my patients, an extremely attractive woman in her middle thirties, called me from her home one afternoon, quite distressed. I usually don't make house calls, especially during the day, but the poor dear seemed quite upset so I broke the rule. When I got there she was in bed, a sheet pulled up around her throat. When I got the sheet pulled down I found her beautiful body-at least her shoulders and breasts-covered with huge, deep scratches.
"She was not concerned with the pain, particularly, nor even with the possibility of infection. She was concerned that her husband would see the scratches. Can you imagine," she half chuckled, "she expected me to simply erase them! She expected me to have a miracle drug that would heal instantly.
"Well, I finally got the story from her. Her husband, another patient of mine, is quite a handsome man. He's well built, strong, keeps himself in excellent condition. But he had been working long hours during the weeks proceeding this incidence and he" had been simply too exhausted to care about let alone indulge in sexual activities. His wife, obviously like your wife, had a healthy sexual appetite and the absence of relations became almost unbearable. One afternoon she had been sitting in a chair in a housecoat; as she told it she hadn't meant to do anything, but her mind had drifted away and she began to fondle herself. The housecoat fell open, her legs were spread, and she was ... simply masturbating.
"They have a huge German Shepherd, a dog the man had bought to protect his wife when he wasn't home. Well, the woman felt something strange between her legs; it was the German Shepherd's nose, pushing her hand aside. The dog, if you please, took over. He excited her terribly-and eventually he put his legs on the chair beside her and with a slimy, distended penis tried to enter her. She was shocked at first, but hunger-sex hunger as well as any kind of hunger-can do things to people. She finally got out of the chair, removed her robe, and had relations with the dog.
"It became almost ritual. Every afternoon she disrobed and she and the dog had their little affair. On this particular afternoon, when she had called me, her husband had called in extreme good humor, telling her that he was leaving the office early and for her to be ready for an enjoyable afternoon and evening. His implication, of course, was that he was ready for a little catching up in mattress sports. She had been elated, of course, and disrobed preparatory to showering and making herself desirable for him. But the dog-you remember the Pavlovian theory, the teaching of an animal to respond to stimuli-saw her disrobing as a call to sex. Simply stated, when she tried to discourage him he raped her. As big as he was, as powerful, he had thrown himself on her; he had buried his organ in her, almost incensed by her struggle. Bluntly, he had given her a real screwing, the scratches coming when she tried to fight him off.
"So," the good doctor smiled, "don't you think a dildo is preferable to something like that? Wouldn't you rather your wife use a dildo than another man ... or a dog?"
I snorted. "Yeah, I guess so," I conceded. And then, "You mean a woman can really have sex with a dog?"
"Of course. As a matter-of-fact, she confessed to me that it had really been quite exciting. The dog, not unlike some men, would use his mouth on her, getting her extremely excited; then he'd raise himself up, putting his paws on her shoulders, and mount her. They have quite long ones, you know, that come out of those hairy sheaths-I had her manipulate him by hand to show me. Long and quite thick, and-excitingly for her-he had a sort of knot part way along it. They use the same motions, too. And," she chuckled, "they aren't too different from many men in liking variety; he took her from several different positions, including (at the risk of sounding like a bad pun) dog-fashion."
One day, when I was about seventeen, a buddy and I had gone for a ride out into the countryside We'd taken a side road that wandered through farmland, then cut off onto a rutted and obviously seldom used dirt road that was almost like a cow trail. At the end we had come to a stream, and it being quiet and peaceful-and isolated-we stripped down and went for a swim. It was a nice day, so when we'd finished swimming we stretched out on the bank, still naked, and started shooting the breeze. He was another cocksman, but the type who liked to brag about his conquests; he claimed that in reliving them he actually was just enjoying them all over again, but the rest of us had labeled it braggadocio. As a matter-of-fact, while we knew that he had been relatively successful, we weren't convinced that he scored as frequently as he said he did.
Anyway, he started telling me about his victory of the night before, giving every detail, and it was graphic enough that we both ended up with hard-ons. When he talked about feeling the gal up, finally getting her hot enough that she'd strip, then sucking on her tits while he fiddled with her pussy, both our cocks leaped up to attention. When he started describing how he'd rolled over onto her and the feeling of his big-headed cock sliding into her tight, grasping pussy, they both trembled! When he started yakking about sliding it in and out, we each grasped our own tools; man, we were hot to trot! We knew then that....
I merely shook my head. Jesus, if I caught Laurie screwing a dog I'd ... I'd . Then I shook my head, remembering. We should have brought girls along, but it was too late for that. I finally reached out for him, figuring that if I got him warmed up enough he'd roll over and be accommodating, but just at that moment there was a sound not far from us. We both sat up, then laughed. It was only a cow that had pushed its way through the brush and was looking at us with big, soulful eyes. Seeing a couple of big hard-ons didn't bother it at all; it just looked at us soulfully and chewed its cud.
"Hey," my buddy said, "Did you ever...? I heard once about a guy who fucked a horse. You think...?"
I usually was game for just about anything, and feeling a little hot, anyway, it seemed like it might be worth a try! We pushed ourselves up. The cow looked at us unsuspectingly-little did she know that she was about to get a couple of hard cocks rammed up her.
He raised her tail and did his best, but he couldn't quite make it-she was a little too high for him. He got a fairly good sized rock and rolled it over, got up on it, raised her tail again, and a moment later he was saying, "Wow, y'know, this feels all right! Jesus, this's one hot pussy!"
"Hurry up, goddamnit it!" I growled. "I want my turn at it!" Just watching him I couldn't help myself; my hips moved, matching his movement-a dry fuck!
I never did get a chance to feel what it was like. He was screwing away, having himself a time of it-a look of sheer pleasure on his face-when all of a sudden the damned cow bolted. She moved so fast that neither of us expected it, neither of us could stop her. She just pulled away and took off, leaving him with a wet cock sticking up in midair. If you've ever seen a cow run you can imagine what it was like; her hind legs seemed to sort of fly up into the air, her four-titted udder sloshing around, and she galloped back through the brush and disappeared. And there stood my buddy like a statue of hard up manhood standing on the rock! "Goddamn!" he growled, "Why didn't you hang onto her? Goddamn, why'd you let her get away just when I was goin good?"
"Goddamn you!" I answered. "At least you got to feel what it was like!"
Dr. Moulter's voice brought me back to the moment. "You seem to be finding something rather amusing," she said. "Care to tell me about it?"
"Naw," I answered, "I was just thinkin' of something. Nothing important." But I was wishing again that I had had the chance to feel what it was like to screw that damn cow! The way my buddy had been riding her, it must have been something!
Moulter glanced at her watch and I realized that the office had gone quiet. She looked up and smiled, "It's quarter after five, I suppose we had better wind it up for today. I want you to follow the same instructions. Nothing doing with your wife tonight, take the prescription, and be back here again tomorrow at three."
"But I can't!" I blurted out. "I've got a job, I can't keep taking time off."
"Want me to write a note to your boss?" she asked, sounding like a teacher talking to her pupil.
"No," I grumbled, but again I wasn't sure that I was going to obey her.
She had pushed herself to her feet. Now she took the lab coat off, and for the first time I got a fairly decent view of her body. The blouse was even flimsier than I had thought; I could see the shape of her bra under it. It was a form-fitting one, or whatever they called it, but you just knew that once her tits were freed from it they'd be something. Her skirt was tight, showing nice buttocks, firm and nice upper legs, and a slight indention below the crotch. She wasn't a doctor; she was all woman! For the first time my whang stirred a little because of that-because she was all woman! Lovely, well-stacked, mature, with the mien of a woman who would really know what to do in bed.
She hung up her lab coat and took her street one from the hat tree. I somehow got to my feet, took it from her and held it, aware of her perfume now that I was that close and feeling as I was.
Thank you," she said simply.
I walked behind her down the hall and through the outer office, not wanting her to see the beginnings of a hard-on pressuring my pants. I wondered again if it were Miss or Mrs. and wished I had the guts to ask. For the moment Laurie and my years of faithfulness were forgotten. All I wanted was for this woman-this doctor-to get at me with an "unprofessional" touch!
Once we were outside the building she just smiled again, and said, "I'll see you at three tomorrow, Mr. Sheffield," and walked toward her car. It was a foreign job, an expensive sports car, low slung. I got a glimpse of nice thigh, then the door was closed. The engine roared; then she backed out and swung away. I watched her go, reaching down unconsciously and rubbing my half hard dong.
She's inhuman, I told myself, cold as an iceberg. Here she'd swung on my dick a little, jerked me off, yet she showed no interest at all ... god, hadn't she seen it? Hadn't she seen that I wanted to go with her, lay her?
She's sick, I told myself. She's getting her kicks making me tell her all my past sex experiences. She'll probably go home now and work on herself ... maybe she's got her own goddamned dogl Maybe she was really talking about herself!
Maybe she's a goddamned dyke!
"Well," I blurted out, "I know one thing for sure, I'm not coming back here tomorrow!"
I headed for my own car.
CHAPTER FIVE
I didn't want to go home. Not only was I still a little disturbed at (or by) Dr. Moulter-turned-woman, but the thought of facing Laurie while I remembered seeing her with the dildo giving her the business was anything but pleasant. I knew that I couldn't keep still; I'd blast off about her messing around with another woman, using the dildo, and generally proving herself to be some sort of a sex maniac, and she would tearfully retaliate that if I'd be a man and satisfy her she wouldn't be driven to such activities. Nothing good could come out of it, so I would just avoid it.
I left my car in the parking lot and headed for a bar down the block. It was a neighborhood bar, maybe twelve stools and three tables crammed up against the opposite wall. Apparently it was a stopping off place (a "spa" we sometimes called them) for men who worked in the neighborhood on their way home from work. They were widely mixed, from the business executive-type to others like myself, laborers. I pushed my way through, found a stool at the far end and crawled up onto it.
The juke box was going and the talk was loud, a lot of laughing, but I didn't mind; I just turned in on my own thinking and ignored it all. It wasn't a good scene. I kept remembering how Moulter had looked taking off the lab coat, her nice tits made obvious, her firm ass revealed, her shapely legs coming half into view. Nice stuff, and all the more disturbing because she was so damned machine-like! "You must get a hard-on," I silently mimicked, "so I'll just suck your cock a little to get it hard." Not a woman, just a machine leaning over and sucking on it, getting it hard. "I want a specimen, hut you might as well enjoy it so I'll do it for you!" I'd enjoy her heating me of, she wouldn't! Just a professional gesture. "Shit!"
"What'd you say?"
I looked up. The man sitting on the next stool was looking at me, a tall, blond fellow about my own age. From the expression on his face, in his eyes, I could only guess that I had spit something out "Sorry," I said, "I was mumbling to myself!"
"Well if you'd rather talk to another person instead of yourself," he said with a smile, "I'm available!"
We introduced ourselves-his name was Tim Handley and he was a window decorator at a nearby department store-and he bought me a drink. We went through the usual getting acquainted crap, the weather, who had the best chances at the World Series next year, the way the price of living was going up. I bought him a drink. He told me that he lived in an apartment not too far away, that he was a stereo bug, and that he went to Mexico or the Islands on his vacation every year. I didn't realize it but he had moved his stool over a little and his leg was against mine; I realized it when I felt his hand on my leg. I didn't want to make an issue of it, so I pushed myself up.
"Got to go take a leak," I said, and turned away.
I didn't realize it at first, but the three drinks I'd had had reached me. I wasn't drunk, but my mind felt a little fuzzy and while I was standing in front of the urinal I weaved a little. I blinked my eyes and tried to concentrate on the graffiti that seems inevitable in public restrooms. It was fairly standard, the crude, big-titted broad with a hairless, straight-lined pussy; the big cock with a set of tight, circular balls, globs of come shooting out; the (sexless) mouth with a cock stuck in it. The bragging. "I've got 8 1/2." The could-be-true-but-were-probably phony advertisements. "Gloria gives a good fuck. Call 444-7827."
"Good blow job. Call Hank. 782-5692." I felt like writing, "P. H. Moulter, M.D., plays with cock but is an iceberg!"
P. H. Moulter! Prick-Hardener Moulter! Bitch!I I wondered what she'd do if I looked her number up in the telephone book and gave her a call. "Dr. Moulter? This is your patient, Mark Sheffield. I'd like to come over and see if you're a woman, after all. I'd like to come over and give you a good fuck!" Shee-it!
I put myself away and went back to the bar. Tim had already reordered; there was a fresh drink waiting. There was also a friendly smile waiting on his lips. I decided I'd better level with him. "Look, you didn't ask, but I happen to be married."
He didn't bat an eye. "I figured as much," he said evenly, easily. Then a smile sneaked across his lips. "As a matter-of-fact, you wouldn't be interesting if you weren't a woman's man, if you didn't go for snatch."
"Then why the groping?" I asked.
He studied my face for a few moments, the smile still lingering around his full lips; then he said, "Why don't I just level with you? I like good-looking guys, but I don't want to have anything to do with them, I just like to watch them screwing some broad."
"So what's that got to do with me?"
"Well, you're good-looking, that's what got me started on it. I usually don't even think about it, but when I see a good-looking guy I do. I guess," he half chuckled, "I guess I'm really queer but don't want to admit it! So you might say that you turned me on."
I wasn't interested, but I found myself saying, "What'd be the next step?"
"I have an arrangement with a real swinger in the apartment across from me. Believe me, she's a real doll. And she happens to like my taste in men. So the next step would be to go to my apartment and I'd call her over."
"Then what would happen?"
"Well ... well, you'd screw her, of course, and I'd beat my meat while I watched you."
I shook my head. It didn't turn me off-I mean, I didn't think a thing about his being that way (hell, to each his own, I'd always said-but I didn't want to let myself get really interested. Even feeling my drinks a little, I could sense that if I let myself think about it I'd go along with it. I'd tell myself that my being faithful to Laurie for six years was a big farce when she ended up playing with the neighbor woman the minute my back was turned! I'd tell myself that if she could screw herself off with a dildo, then by god, I could get with another woman.
"Honest to god," Tim said, "she's really a beaut! She's ... oh, about five-seven, all peaches and cream and real curvey. Nice breasts, and from what the guys have said, she's got one hell of an educated pussy!"
I glanced down at his crotch, and he was obviously hot to trot. There was a big, tubular hard-on stretching along his leg. Mine had started up; that finished it off. It stretched out to its full, swollen length. Then I remembered old Moulter again! Goddamn, jerking me off and taking that "specimen," she'd known I dumped a load last night. I didn't dare do it again tonight. What a bird, when a doctor could analyze your goddamned gism and know if you'd shot or not!
But I wasn't going back there!
Tim's hand was on my cock. He rubbed it up and down gently. "What'd you say? Want some nice nookie?"
Laurie sitting in that chair with her legs spread apart, that damned dildo sliding in and out of her ...!
Moulter jerking me off with no feeling, just a goddamned, "professional" machine....
Nice breasts, and from what the guys have said, she's got one hell of an educated pussy!
I felt a little stickiness at the end of my cock. I wanted it, yes! Yes, goddamnit, I wanted some nice nookie! But if I went home I wouldn't get it, I'd either start a fight or try to forget all that and end up loosing my hard-on and not being able to get another one!
But what if I got with his beaut of a woman and still lost my hard-on?
We seemed to be caught in a vacuum. The crowd had thinned, men going home to dinner, but there were enough left that there was a slight buzz of conversation and over it the sound of the juke box. But for all intents and purposes, Tim and I were completely isolated; we sat at the end of the bar, his hand resting softly on my cock and his invitation hanging in the air between us. All I had to do was reach out and accept it.
Six years of faithfulness! After a life of variety, of fun and games, I hadn't experienced another woman in six years! All of those who had marched across my memory as I related my experiences to Dr. Moulter ... all that nice pussy, each one at least a little different from the others....
If you don't want to screw," Tim interrupted my thoughts softly, "she'll go down on you. She gives a good blow job, too!"
Jesus, he sounded like a pimp, except that he was pimping for himself. "I dunno...." I half mumbled.
"Tell you what, then. Why don't we go up to my place and have a drink. I'll invite her over for one, you can make up your mind then."
I guess that I was feeling the booze enough that I didn't realize that to go there would be taking the final step. It didn't seem like it then, I thought I was still arguing with myself and still had a chance of winning. But to his place we went! It was within walking distance, so I left my car in the parking lot; we went through a locked outer door and into a garden courtyard. The apartments, two layers of them, formed a square around the garden, with a swimming pool on the far end. We went into an apartment on the ground floor, halfway down the court, and it was really nice. I tried not to, but I found myself comparing it to the one Laurie and I lived in-comparing not only the apartment and the furnishings, but the ... well, I guess the only word is "personal." The personal aspects of it. I felt a sort of resentment. Tim, a man, had really done things to his; Laurie, a woman (and my wife) had left ours so that it was just an apartment, a place to live.
Tim mixed up a drink from a two-stooled bar against one wall, then he went to the telephone.
"Hi!" he said after a moment, "why don't you come over?"
He hung up, smiling. "She'll be over in about twenty minutes. Just got home from work."
I nodded, then (not realizing that I was admitting defeat) I remembered, and said, "Look, I didn't have a chance to clean up when I left work...."
He led the way into the bathroom, got a towel for me and turned on the shower. I stripped and got under it, lathered. It felt good, but at the same time it sobered me a little and I started to wonder again. Then I turned the water off, slid the glass door back and reached for the towel. Tim, stark naked and drink in hand, was leaning against the pullman with another smile ready on his lips. He had a well-formed, strong body, hairless except for a sparse forest on his chest and another starting at his stomach and thickening in his crotch. His big cock protruded from there, standing up against his stomach. He wasn't the least bit backward; he studied my body with open interest, and he obviously liked what he saw.
"Don't dress," he said after I'd dried and reached for my pants. "What the hell ... "
"But...."
But I didn't dress. Only half-hard now, I followed him back into the living room, and we had hardly settled before there was a knock on the door. A last, panicky thought went through my mind: Please let me get and keep a hard-on!
Even with her clothes on she was everything that he had said-and perhaps a little more. She was peaches and cream and curvy, with braless tits literally straining at the material of her blouse. She didn't wear make-up; she didn't need it. Her complexion was perfect, smooth and naturally colored skin over a perfectly formed face. Her blue eyes sparkled, her nose turned up ever so slightly, and beneath it were full, cherry-ripe lips. She looked at once like a wholesome, ail-American girl and a real sex item. For the moment my doubts were sent running; at the sight of her my whang rose to full stature.
"Join the party," Tim said casually, after he had introduced us and started for the bar to mix her a drink.
She didn't play coy. He had obviously been right; when his sexual appetite was aroused by something he found, she willingly went along with it. She pulled her blouse off and her lovely tits came into view, large but firm prominent nipples. She kicked her shoes off and slid her skirt down and off, and there were her beautiful legs, her well-curved hips, and a mouth-watering muff between her legs. I took it all in, unconsciously running my tongue across my upper hp. God, how long it had been since I had seen a beautiful, naked woman; how exciting it was to see something new! Not that Laurie wasn't all right, but she was just Laurie, the same body time after time. This was new, what thrills she held were yet to be seen. My prong seemed to harden even more, if that was possible.
Her name was Trudi, and it seemed to fit her. She was youthful, beautiful, and seemed ready for fun. She accepted the drink from Tim and sat in a chair across from me, not curling up and hiding things but sitting so that I could look up between her legs at the forest there, across the slightly rounded stomach and her luscious tits, and then to her refreshingly beautiful face. She and Tim chatted casually as he moved to a wall and slid a piece of paneling, exposing (as he had said; a fantastic stereo setup. He selected some records and put them on the turntable, turned some gadgets and closed the paneling. Music drifted out, softly, from hidden speakers all around the room. Tim moved gracefully to a chair and sprawled, his buttocks on the edge of the cushion, his huge hard-on up along his stomach.
"What do you think of my taste?" he asked, smiling. "Isn't Mark a nice hunk of male?"
"Very," Trudi answered easily, blessing me with a smile as her eyes focused on my rod. She seemed to chuckle, then she said, "Aren't I lucky that Tim is like he is? I hope he never changes! If he ever decided to go for cock himself, I'd be just crushed!"
I could only wonder how he could see her and not want to go for that! But then, maybe he had been right; maybe he was really queer but simply didn't want to admit to it Either way, up to this point his strange taste was being beneficial to all three of us. The rest of the world was forgotten to me.
In that brief moment when I had been thinking my own thoughts, something had been said. Now Trudi got to her feet, a graceful, fluid motion, and moved across the room. She lowered herself to her knees in front of me and leaned forward. Her big tits hit my legs, sending flashes of sensation through me; then I felt her hand at the base of my cock. She straightened it and I felt her tongue flick across the head, circle the ridge; then she tightened her lips and slid them down over it. I raised my buttocks off the cushion, immediately sensitized by the feeling of those hot tits against me and that lovely mouth riding my prong. As if she had merely wanted a taste of it, she pulled her mouth free and then leaned her cheek against it, pushing it back against my belly.
"Ummm," she murmured, "it is nice!"
I glanced across and saw that Tim already had his hand on his meat. He was playing with it more than he was stroking it, but it was obviously the preliminaries. Our eyes met and he said, 'Take her, Mark Get that cock of yours working right!"
Moving with her, I put my hands on her shoulders and gently shoved her back. We both were on the floor on our backs; I took her in my arms, crushing our bodies together full length, and found her mouth. Her arms went around me, her mouth opened for me, and as I sent my tongue into it she raised a leg and put it over my hip. My cock was crushed against her pussy, her tits were compressed against my chest
"Umm," she groaned again, grinding her pussy into me.
Tim was forgotten. I rolled her onto her back, raised up a little, leaned over and started mouthing those firm, juicy tits. My hand slid down her belly and went through pussy hair, fingers completely folded over the warm mound. I massaged it as I suckled first one and then the other nipple; I buried my face between those two luscious orbs and began fingering her. She gasped, spreading her legs, and reached for my whang. As I continued to finger her, working it in, she moved her hand up and down my cock; I started moving my finger up and down.
"Oh, god," she finally gasped out, "you've got me too hot too fast! Fuck me, Mark. Stick this beautiful thing where your finger is!"
It didn't take a second invitation. I pulled my finger out, raised my mouth to hers again, and swung my leg over her. I ran the head of my prick up and down her slit, forcing it in a little deeper each time; then it reached the right spot and I began the penetration. Slip-slide, slip-slide, burying it an inch or so more with each stroke; she spread her legs more, raising her hips to help. In a matter of moments we were fucking in a beautiful, rhythmic motion. I'd give it to her to the balls, retract it, give it to her again, and she willingly and fully accepted it each time. Gradually our speed increased, my prick sliding more easily because she had gotten pretty moist inside, but still held firmly by her warm cunt. It was almost maddening; when I'd get it driven completely in, her inner muscles would tighten over the head. As I pulled out the muscles held. Tim had been right, she had one hell of an educated pussy! And her hard nipples against my chest were equally exciting. This was one hell of a good fuck!
There was no stopping. We started going at it faster and faster, me pouring it to her, our bodies separating, our bellies clashing again. Our breathing grew heavier, more labored; then we were gasping into each others mouths. I sent my whang deep into her and left it, and I could feel her body quivering as my come spurted out in cock throbbing ejections. My buttocks trembled, and it felt as if she had almost turned me inside out. I collapsed-crushing her beneath me.
"Oh, baby," she finally managed, "that was a...."
I glanced up. Tim's eyes were closed, a look of exhaustion on his face. He had his limp cock in his hand, up towards his belly, and there were elongated pools of fluid halfway up his chest. He'd gotten his own rocks off, and obviously satisfyingly so. I nuzzled my cheek against hers, and in that moment I realized that I had done it! I had maintained a hard-on and done a masterful job of fucking! I was cured!
I rolled off her, knowing that my weight was heavy on her. Even that felt good; her pussy tried to hold, and as I pulled my limp whang out another fantastic sensation went through me. Yes, sir, she was a hot little number, a really educated pussy! I leaned over and kissed a tit, then sprawled out on my back. I was really all fucked out!
Only then-after I had that fantastic orgasm-did pangs of conscience begin to haunt me. Poor Laurie, driven to using a dildo because I couldn't keep a hard-on ... yet I had kept one with this beautiful creature and romped my way to a terrific load dumping! I really felt like a cad, so much so that it even took the edge off the pleasure I had just experienced. I shook my head, then pushed myself up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe a good shower would wash it all away; at least I gave it a go. Finished, dressed, I went back into the living room.
Tim had cleaned himself up. He and Trudi were sitting across from each other chatting as if they were fully dressed and had just met. You wouldn't have believed that but a few moments before he had used her-watching her fuck with a man he had enlisted so that he could enjoy jerking himself off! They were sipping from fresh drinks, and both looked up as I entered. Tim frowned for only a moment. "Dressed? Hell, I thought maybe we could rest awhile and go another round."
"Sorry, but I've got to get home."
Trudi held out a hand. "It was wonderful, honey, honest! You've got a lovely hunk of meat, and you really know how to use it!"
"Thanks," I answered without enthusiasm, and I couldn't even tell her that she had given me a good screwing. I just nodded and walked on out, not hearing their parting remarks.
It was dark and getting later, but I didn't give a damn. I stopped at the bar for another drink-I needed the fortification-then headed for home. On the way I stopped and bought a bottle, determined to get smashed out of my mind and thus avoid it all.
Sometime during the night I woke up. It took me a minute to realize where I was, to remember what had happened. It finally dawned on me that I was on the divan in my own living room, still pretty drunk, and someone was sucking on my cock. She was only a dark figure, silhouetted by the faint light that came from the bedroom, but I knew that it was Laurie. She was between my legs, on her knees, and it was working. She had me iron hard and she was sliding her mouth up and down it, playing with my balls with her other hand.
It was going good-maybe she could have finished it-but she couldn't be satisfied with that. I pretended that I was still sleeping, but I felt her shifting around. She was up on her knees now, her legs outside of mine, back straight, and while she played with her own tits she ran my cock up and down her pliant pussy. It felt good, I stayed hard, so she leaned over me, tits swaying down against my chest. I felt her rubbing my cock into her; she got the head caught in the right place, then she started moving her hips. She made three or four swipes, got maybe three inches of it, then the damn thing began to wilt.
"Oh, Mark!" she cried out in anguish, letting her body collapse onto mine. She kept me in her, soft, and her tits were squashed between us; her pussy kept trying, but there was nothing it could do. Finally she gave up and just laid there. A little while later she pulled off and went back into the bedroom; I could hear her settling onto the bed, and I really wanted to yell out that I was sorry, but I couldn't Jesus, it was a fine state of affairs when a guy could romp a stranger but couldn't even keep it hard for his wife!
In the morning I had a hangover and Laurie had dark circles under her eyes. But there was more than that. We usually didn't dress, but this morning she was wearing a housecoat; she looked at me occasionally, but she couldn't seem to get her eyes up to mine. She wasn't exactly pouting, but there was something there, something that had gotten in the way. I had an idea what it was, but with a head like mine I was in no mood to pursue it.
She put the plate of food in front of me and then sat across from me with a cup of coffee as I started to eat. She hadn't fixed anything for herself, another sign of something being wrong. But it was another clue that I chose to ignore.
The silence was heavy. It was the kind that was usually difficult, but this morning it would have been more difficult to break it. It was as if we each knew that we could say something, but at the same time knew what the other might say in return and were afraid to hear it.
If I had had the answer to one question it would have helped. If I could only know for sure whether what had happened during the night would have happened even if I hadn't gone home with Tim Handley, I would have been on surer ground. Had I not satisfied myself so lustily with the well-stacked, educated-pussied Trudi, could Laurie and I have finished things off during her "midnight raid"?
And, of course, there was the vision of spread-legged Laurie using the dildo on herself! Or, rather, letting the neighbor bitch use it on her!
But the question couldn't be answered, the vision was there, and I felt like I'd been hit by a steam roller. Leaving half my breakfast, I pushed myself up and headed for the bathroom.
Laurie was standing just inside the door when I stepped out of the shower. In a strained voice, she asked, "Mark, did you ... did you go to the doctor yesterday?"
Drying, not looking at her, I answered almost irritably (god, I could do without being reminded of that), "Yes, I went to the damned doctor's yesterday."
"Did ... did he say ... does he think ... P"
I wanted to tell her. Jesus, I wanted to tell her, but for some reason I couldn't. I wanted to say, "He's a she, and as far as I'm concerned she's just having herself a ball with me, getting her own kicks. Pretending to be professional so she can get her eyes full and do a little playing with my business and hear all about my sex life!"
When I didn't answer, almost desperately she said, "Mark, I've got to know. Is there ... is there any hope?"
Guilt and anger and the feeling of being pressured closed in on me. I struggled, but I couldn't win. Bitterly, hatefully, I spit out, "Any hope that I'll be able to get a hard-on so you can quit using that fuckin' dildo?"
Her mouth fell open, her eyes widened, and her face paled. She took a couple of steps backward, a hand flying to her throat I'd hit below the belt, knocking the wind out of her, and the minute it was over I knew that it hadn't been fair. But a man in the position I was in couldn't back up, nor could he apologize-he couldn't in the long run, admit his own guilt! And worse yet, Dr. Moulter's words came back to me, and they made sense; Laurie was a human being, a sexual being, with hungers that had to be satisfied. As a matter-of-fact, I could easily have felt guiltier from that; she had been a virgin when I had taken her, and she had later taken on my ways. Had she married someone else, she might still be contented with a weekly man-on-top session, but I had taught her the pleasures of sexual variety, the freedom of doing it (whatever it happened to be at a particular moment) whenever and wherever you felt like it! I remembered Moulter using the word "Pavolian." I had actually trained Laurie in the same way so that she responded to stimuli. Now, inadvertently, I was providing the stimuli but not the reward that came from response.
Pavlov had worked with dogs. I felt like a dog!
God, I groaned, why hadn't I been able to finish it off last night? She had at least gotten me hard, something we hadn't been able to accomplish in several weeks, why had the damned thing gone soft once she'd mounted me and taken it?
I knew that I was going to be late for work, but I had to try something. I had to know something. Hell, if I didn't get to work at all it wouldn't make any difference.
"Look," I said, trying to keep my voice gentle-trying to tell her without words that I was trying to be understanding. "I was awake last night I only pretended that I was asleep. Let's give it a go now, okay?"
She swallowed, then nodded her head. I threw the towel aside and walked past her, went into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed on my back. She followed me almost timidly, took off her robe and stood there.
"Just do what you did last night," I half whispered, looking at her naked body, at her nice tits and cock hungry cunt and trying to build up a feeling of lust.
She came up between my legs from the foot of the bed, tits swaying forward and brushing my legs. She took my balls in one hand, my limp cock in the other, and slid her mouth over the head. She tongued it, worked it, took the whole thing into her mouth. I reached down for her shoulders, gently massaged them, and silently begged, Get hard. Please get hard.
She worked on it, tonguing it more, sliding her tongue around the head, moving her lips up and down. It slipped out every once in awhile and she went right back at it.
"Turn around, Laurie," I half whispered. .
She turned around, lying beside me, without loosing hold. I buried my face in her crotch for a moment, then started tonguing her. Licked her all around, licked my tongue up and down between her pliant pussylips. I stiffened it and sent it in, sloshing it around the warm, moist inner flesh; I buried it as deep as I could and flicked it, then withdrew it and started sending it in and out It pleased her, obviously, but her mouth was working in vain. Finally I just grabbed her by the buttocks and rolled over onto my back again, pulling her with me. My face was buried in her crotch, my tongue up inside her, and my limp cock was in her mouth. We laid there like that in continued defeat I knew that she felt it as much as I.
CHAPTER SIX
Laurie moved her head. Her cheek rested against my limp prick.
"Mark, what's the matter?" she begged. "Why can't it happen any more?"
My face still in her crotch, I didn't answer.
"Mark," she started again in a weak voice, "about yesterday. I didn't want to do that, but when Sylvia showed me that rubber cock, when she told me how it felt ... Oh, Mark, I want you so much," she ground her cheek against my prick, "it hurts something awful."
I didn't taste cunt, I tasted defeat. Failure. And I didn't want to face it; I didn't want to have to think about it any more. I almost nipped her off me, leaped to my feet and started dressing. I didn't look at her and I didn't look back when I'd finished; I literally bolted from the room and then the apartment.
It should have been a beautiful morning. The weather was almost perfect, the sky clear and the sun blessing the earth with warmth but not heat It was the kind of day that some people call flawless, but it wasn't flawless for me. If anything, a first-class thunderstorm would have more perfectly matched my mood, and I took it out on the world. I cursed at anyone who even looked like they'd get in my way, blasted my horn at people who didn't start up fast enough to suit me at intersections, took chances I wouldn't otherwise have taken. Only sheer luck kept cops from being in the right place at the right time-or, for my sake, in the wrong place at the wrong time! The only thing I could look forward to was work; loading vans was hard work and you could get lost in it. You could work your butt off and it sort of chased everything else away.
I didn't get the chance. Being late, the boss had left word that he wanted to see me. Inside his office, he was kind enough about it, but he wasn't asking questions; he was making statements. Taking time off two days in the row to go to the doctors, being late this morning, it was obvious that I was in no condition to keep up my end of the load. He'd replaced me with a part-time man.
"When you get things straightened out, Mark, come back and go to work," he finalized it, telling me at the same time that he knew that it wasn't something totally physical. I didn't argue. I just nodded and left.
Where to go! Jesus, I couldn't face going back to the apartment, getting involved in it again with Laurie. I didn't want to get drunk again. So where do you go when there's no place to go, no avenue of escape?
I went back to the neighborhood I had grown up in. I drove by the house that my folks still lived in, remembering things that had gone on there (remembering, because Moulter had pulled it to the front again, the night my dad had straddled my mother in the occasional chair and tried to get her to suck him off). Remembering Celia Bentley and the old man chasing her out of town. And wondering again if he had screwed her or made her go down on him, convinced again that-especially with my mother refusing to do it-it had been the latter. Imagining him dropping his pants, his whang flipping up, and forcing Celia to do itl "Suck me off, bitch, or I'll call the police on you!" I drove by the apartment building where she had lived, wondering who lived in that apartment now, if they had any idea of the fun and games that were played in it! If walls could talk...! And I found myself wondering what had happened to her after she had gone; had she gone to another town, another school, and found herself another virgin to so beautifully train?
Man, if I could only see her now! I could tell her about it and she would understand; maybe she would have the answers. I could say, "Celia, I've been married six years. My wife and I've had all the fun kind of sex that you and I used to have, but all of a sudden ... well, it wasn't all of a sudden, it sort of crept up, but the truth is, I can't get a hard-on with her any more. What's the matter?"
I saw her face, her beautiful smile. I remembered that first night, my seeing a female body in the nude for the first time. I remembered her getting me hot and then my taking her, nature taking over where she had left off. I felt my cock hot and hard against my leg.
Jesus! Now even a memory was getting me hard when Laurie couldn't Not only hard but hot! I reached down and rubbed my cock, groaning. I thought bitterly, "You want me to beat myself off for you now, Dr. Moulter? You want to measure how many sperms there are in a load of my come now? I fucked a woman last night, you know...!"
I fucked a woman last night. Jesus!
I relived that, too, from my meeting with Tim Handley to the moment of climax with free-swinging Trudi . .-. the peculiar three-way climax with Tim spending himself all over his own belly as we did our thing together. There was no doubt in my mind now, after the fizzled attempt with Laurie this morning; the session with Trudi hadn't interfered.
God, what was the matter with me!
I drove over to the high school, parked in front of and across the street from it. There were memories there, too. The girls I had made in cloakrooms, the times I'd sneaked into the women's restroom so that one could sneak in after me and give me a blowjob. The contacts I'd made there for off-campus screwing sessions. The joking around in the gym shower room, with me the envy of most of the boys there-and damned proud of it. My whang had been my badge of honor! "Man," boy after boy had said, "I almost wish I was queer, I'd sure go for a hunk of meat like that!"
"Man," boy after boy had said, "with a whang like that I bet you get all the nookie you want!"
"Come on, Sheffield, get it hard so we can see how big it is. Play with yourself a little!"
Big prick, big man, that was the way it had been in those days. Mark Sheffield had been a big man! At fifteen I'd done a lot more screwing than most of the senior boys. At seventeen I had seduced the virgin Laurie! Cherry picking time, but I had gotten caught that time.
... what would life have been like if Laurie hadn't gotten pregnant, if I hadn't felt honor bound to marry her-and then to stay married after the miscarriage? Would I have stayed single, a cocksman playing the field?
... but what good to speculate? I watched a young girl coming up the sidewalk, She couldn't have been much over sixteen, and she obviously knew what it was all about. Her blonde hair was long, framing her attractive face-attractive but slightly over made-up. Her tits were like cantaloupes, stretching the material of a low-cut, knit blouse. She was shaped like an hourglass, with narrow waist and flaring hips, a pelvic region that had to be Paradise on earth. She didn't walk, she undulated, appearance and motion silently singing the song, "Love for Sale." I'd met up with her kind in the hallways of this same school, but they had handed out the material and willingly rung up a "No Sale."
One foot in the past, one foot in the present, my thinking all mixed up, I suddenly felt almost reckless. As she drew alongside the car I suddenly felt the urge, the need, to try to leap back into that past. She helped; she studied my face, that part of my upper body that was showing, and when her eyes met mine there was, an open invitation in them. Her lips parted ever-so-slightly, a clear indication of interest and availability. Her whole mien said, "Sure, I fuck, what've you got to offer?"
I smiled-not a return invitation, but a smile at the thought of making her want it so bad she'd produce without expecting financial reward. Everything else, all of the troubles I'd been carrying with me, was forgotten. I was back there; I was Mark Sheffield, teenager on the prowl, and anticipation all the greater because one who usually got paid was going to beg for the chance of giving it for nothing!
"Where you headed?" I asked.
"Well, if I'm right it looks like I was headed for here," she answered easily.
"You were right. Hop in."
She wasn't careful getting in, and she didn't bother to make repairs. Her skirt had slid up around her upper legs, exposing acres of nice, firm young flesh, and she didn't bother to wiggle it down. Slightly spread, pussyland was just a hairbreadth under the hem.
"Cutting school?" I asked.
"Naw, I got kicked out. My old man doesn't know it, so I have to leave the house every morning." She giggled. "I'm just lucky, I guess, that not everyone thinks you should only do things at night." (Shades of my own self at that age, my own old man confining me to quarters and thinking he'd cut off my nookie! How blind grownups can be!)
I turned the key, starting the ignition, already thinking ahead. We'll drive out into the country, find a back road, park in some secluded spot and go into a clinch. A little mad lovemaking, the right kind of groping, and she'd be ready to have her panties pulled down! Oh, yes, a little feeling up of those big tits, sliding my hand up the needed inch under that skirt so that it could get at her pulsating pussy, while she was groping my still-hard dong, and we really would be making out like high-schoolers. Man, it had been years since I'd screwed a girl in the back seat of a car! I could feel it again, as if I were back in those days when each conquest had been so important; the anticipation was terrific!
As if she were reading my mind, her eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment
"Look," she said, "I figure it's always best to have an understanding ahead of time. I'm really a good girl, y'know, but ... well, my old man's a bastard, before he finds out I've gotten kicked out of school I've got to have enough so I ran take off. I only ... I only do things with boys ... with men ... because that's the only way I can get enough together fast enough."
I hadn't pulled away from the curb-as a matter-of-fact, I hadn't even gotten the car into gear. I looked across at her, studied her face that would have been even more attractive without the make-up, let my eyes move down over her big breasts and to her legs. I argued with myself-to let her think she was going to get paid or not to let her think so, that was the question! To pretend that I agreed until I could get her some place where I could get her hot enough to go for free, or to tell her now? No question of whether I might pay her-no, that was out of the question. Mark Sheffield never had paid for it, he wasn't about to start now!
"Look," I said, using her preface, "I understand that, of course, but ... well, the truth is...."
I reached out, took her hand in mine, holding it for the right moment.
"The truth is, I'm just hard up as hell," I went on, moving her hand and pressing it over my prick, "but I'm broke." I rubbed her hand up and down my cock, watching her face. Finally I lifted my own hand up, satisfied when she left hers with the fingers draped over my whang. "Why don't you take it out and then make up your mind?" I half whispered.
She swallowed, licked her tongue across her upper lip, then fiddled with my zipper until she'd gotten it down. She reached in and pulled my cock out, looking down at it. She swallowed again.
"Well?"
"Well...." she said faintly, "well, I guess ... I guess it wouldn't hurt. I mean, if you're ... if you're that hard up!"
I swallowed the laugh of triumph that struggled to gurgled up inside me, put the car in gear and eased away from the curb before she could change her mind. Not that I thought she would; she had moved over closer to me, her leg against mine and her hand still on my prick. And she helped to keep any difficult thoughts from filtering in by gently, almost admiringly stroking me, and by accepting my hand on the inner side of her leg once we had gotten out into-traffic and were moving. Finally I did chuckle. "Don't stroke that too much, sweetie, I don't want to waste a load in midair!"
She laughed in return, stopping the stroking but still holding onto it.
It was a beautiful morning, an almost flawless day. The sun was out and the sky was clear and fresh; I laughed at the foolish things that people did, beeped my horn in greetings to several-and headed for the outskirts of town. Her youthful, almost inane chatter was pleasing in itself.
"Yknow," she said, "I really like older men a lot better than the high school boys. They're so ... so mature." She pronounced it "machine." I could take that to mean, of course, that she was satisfied with the size of my cock and looking forward to getting a royal screwing from someone with experience. I had no intention of disappointing her!
We ended up on the end of a country lane, a dirt road that was an extension of a far from smooth secondary road. It was quiet and peaceful, the unbroken countryside spreading for as far as the eye could see. We had long since passed the last farmhouse. I backed the car around, cut off the engine, then took her in my arms. She was all soft and smooth and lovely, and as I sent my tongue into her mouth I ran my hand up under the low-cut, knit blouse and got a handful of untethered tit. It was a handful and I treated it lovingly, tweaking the nipple to hardness, sliding my hand over to give the other equal time. She was doing her best to give sophisticated French kisses in return, pulling on my cock almost jerkily. Finally I pulled my mouth away.
"Let's undress and get in the backseat."
She didn't hesitate, and in short order we were naked and in the backseat. I took her into my arms again, and this time I had her tits against my chest, her pussy pressing against my prick, and I could massage her back and buttocks as I sent my tongue around hers and then halfway down her throat I rubbed one hand down the cleavage between her buttocks, fingering her hole a little and then moving it on; it drove her a little wild and she ground her pussy against my prick. Finally I pulled my mouth away and whispered, "You want it now? You ready for it?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, pulling away. Then she stopped for a moment and looked into my face. She seemed to be arguing with herself, then she half tremblingly said, "Would you care ... it's so big, so nice ... would you care if I...."
I took a tit in each hand and tweaked the nipples. "Honey, you do anything your little heart desires!"
She went to her knees on the floor between my legs. She took my balls in one hand, my cock in the other, and lowered her head to it She obviously hadn't done much of it; there was none of the kissing, the tongue tickling. She simply took it into her mouth and started sucking, running her mouth up and down on it almost choking herself every once in awhile as she tried to take too much of it I put my hands on her shoulders and rubbed them, closing my eyes and enjoying it but it wasn't too long before I knew I'd have to stop her.
As side-by-side as we could get, sitting on the seat, we started kissing again. In that position I could feel her tits against my chest and play with her pussy while she fondled my cock. I knew she was loving it; as I felt it fondled it then sent a finger exploring, she groaned into my mouth and spread her legs a little. I added a second finger, moved them around in circles to tantalize the sensitive tissue, then drove them into the hot, moist inner sanctum. I knew when the time was right, when words weren't necessary. I rolled her over, got her onto the seat at an angle, and went up between her legs. The motion was a complete one; my cock slid between her legs to her cooze, slid up to the right spot and started in. It had barely spread the lips apart when she raised her hips, hot and ready for it; she took the head with her own upward thrust, then I sent the shaft following after it. She gasped as I sank it deep into her, my balls hanging down between her legs. Then I began the good old slip-slide motion. From the first stroke she joined me, raising her hips up off the seat to take it, sinking away, rising up to meet it again. It was good; she was tight enough so that I could feel pressure all the way around, and the head scraped against nice tissue with every inward thrust. I bent my head to suck on a tittie while I kept at it, but when the going got better I moved my mouth back up to hers; at the same time her legs started up over mine. They finally were over my back, crossed at the ankles but such that the movement of our bodies was unhampered. We fucked with full enthusiasm and several times I felt her body quiver, my cock saturated with her juices. I held off, building her up, building us both up; then, finally, I turned on the gas and built us up to a gasping, grunting climax. She let out a howl.
"Oh, fuck! Of sweet goddamn fuck! Oh, pour it to me honey, pour that big thing to me. Oh, Christ, I caaaaaaame!" She didn't have to tell me; I felt it, her juice added to mine, running out around my cock.
"Boy, what'd I tell you?" she asked a few moments later. "Didn't I tell you older men knew how to do it better?"
I looked down into her face and smiled. "You liked that, huh? That was a real good fuck?"
"Oh, yes! The best I've ever had!" She giggled. "If you left it in, would it get hard again?"
That was a good question, but the wrong one to ask Just the simple phrase, "would it get hard," was the wrong thing for her to have said. It brought me back to reality; it sent a sort of coldness through me. I pulled away, letting my cock slurp out of her sweet pussy. I looked down at her for a moment, at her young face, her big tits, the soft mound with its fleecy forest damp with gism, and I felt a sort of self loathing go through me. For the second day in a row, after six years of faithfulness, I had fucked a woman other than my wife. For the second day in a row I had gotten hard for someone else when I couldn't get hard for her-given them pleasure, when I couldn't satisfy her. Fucked them while she had to use a dildo. Jesus!
"What's the matter?" she asked, something like fright in her voice. "Didn't ... didn't you like it?"
"Yeah," I answered, "I liked it" Hell, I couldn't take it out on her. I reached down and rubbed her pussy. "It was real nice, sweetie, you give a good fuck! But I think we ought to get back to town."
On the way back to town, partially because I didn't want to think about my own problems, I asked her how she had gotten started on the route she was taking. She was, as I said, young and open faced, the kind who hid nothing once they felt at ease with you-or was it I was to ask myself later, mere stupidity, her being the "dumb blonde" type?
She told me that her mother had died when she was twelve, and her father had started drinking heavily. One night, during the next year, a slightly less drunk man had helped the drunken father home, dumped him into bed, and then forced himself on the thirteen-year-old girl. "I guess I was lucky he wasn't hung like you," she said, "his was a lot smaller and it scared me but it didn't hurt me. I got to thinking about it later ... y'know, I didn't dare tell anybody he'd done it ... but I got with a boy who lived next door, he was about fourteen, and I got him to do it to me. So that was the way it started and I liked it." Liking it, she had put out for any boy who so desired, and then one day a year before, an older man had invited her to his apartment, screwed the bejesus out of her, and gave her a ten dollar bill. "Gosh, when I found out men would pay to do it, well ... well, it was just perfect, y'know. I mean, I'm fed up with my old man drinkn' and being mean, so like I told you, I'm saving my money so I can run away."
In her simplicity-and, as she had admitted, because she enjoyed the activity!-she charged what the market would bear. Giggling a little, she said, "Y'know, I've been with little fourteen year old kids, they're a kick, some of 'em are screwin' for the first time and I get a bang out of that. Most of them only have maybe two-bits or a half dollar. The older boys, well, I don't let them do it for less than two dollars. Unless, of course, I happen to really like one, then he can for a dollar."
I could imagine the size of her bank account, her "running away fund," but the old saying of ten dimes makes a dollar no doubt held true. Averaging it out ... but I didn't bother. I merely asked, "How's your fund doing?"
"Oh, it's doin' good," she answered enthusiastically. "I got almost two hundred dollars saved up. Y'know, some days I get four or five boys!" Wow, and I thought I was sexually active! She giggled. "One night last week, for instance, a bunch of boys were having a sort of meeting, a party. There was eight of 'em there 'nd they chipped into a 'pot' I got fourteen dollars that night alone."
"You screwed all eight of them?"
She giggled again. "Well, I was going to, but you should of seen it. They was all naked, y'know, 'nd each one supposed to take his turn, but some of 'em got so excited watching me doin' it with the other boys that they couldn't wait. A couple of 'em ... what you call it? ... jacked off."
She looked out the window for a minute; then she said, "You know what I did to you back there, first?"
"Sucking on my cock, you mean?"
"Yeah. I'd never done it before, y'know, but at that party last week one of the bigger boys got so excited he couldn't wait his turn, while another one was doin' what we did he got up on my face and stuck his thing in my mouth. That's ... that's where I found out about it. The way he did it ... well, I liked the way I did it to you better. If you'd of stayed there and let me, I would of done it 'til you spit"
"Did that kid last week do that. Spit, I mean?"
"Oh, he sure did! It almost choked me, and when I pulled my mouth away it kept spitting all over my face!"
Her complete honesty, her inadvertent depiction of youthful sexual activities, had eased the pressure. I was feeling better again, even halfway enjoying half memories of when it had been me in those kinds of situations. As a matter-of-fact ff we had stayed out in the boondocks to talk like this I probably could have taken her again-or, as she obviously would probably have wanted, let her go down on me. But we hadn't stayed out there, and the school was in front of us. "You want out where I picked you up?" I asked.
"Yes, please. Some of the boys'll be comin' out pretty soon, y'know, for the lunch hour."
"You do it on the lunch hour?"
"Sometimes," she giggled. "There's a storeroom in the back of the rest'rant where the kids all go, we sneak in there and do it while somebody keeps guard."
Ah, for the joys of youth! What'd you have for lunch today, Joe? Oh, I had a nice little dish, a hunk of good nookie! Smiling, I pulled over to the curb. "It was great, doll," I said, and taking out my wallet I gave her a dollar bill ... not for the screwing, but just because I wanted to help with her "fund."
"You don't have to gimme this," she said.
"I know, but I want to."
"Well, gee, thanks! " 'Nd y'know," she looked up eagerly, "if you want to do it again, well, we could meet later. Not for money, I mean, but ... well, y'know, I like you 'nd ... 'nd ... well, you really do have a good one!"
"Maybe," I answered softly. Lying, I added, "If I can make it within the next couple of days, I'll come back here at the same time."
The sound of a bell split the silence and her head jerked up. "Oh, the boys'll be coming out!" she cried out, and forgetting to even say goodbye, she literally leaped out of the car. I watched her go, thinking that some lucky boy would be pouring the meat to her in the backroom very shortly. Lucky not only because of that, but because at that age he could still be without problems!
And with her gone, I was faced with my own again.
Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight;
Make me a child again just for tonight.
How I would like to be that teen-ager coming out of that school building-maybe' unsuspecting, not knowing that his desire were going to be awakened, maybe already with a hard-on from anticipation. How I would like to go through the preliminaries, ending up with her in the storeroom to feel those lush tits, that hot pussy, and finally bury my meat in her and dump a load with youthful abandonment, with nothing more important than getting my rocks off. Feeling the pleasure of it and the deeper pleasure ,of feeling like a real man, a real cocksman! I'd get her so hot and wanting it so bad, and then enjoying it so much, that she'd forget all about the money end of it.
But I wasn't him. I was a married man, impotent with his wife, but just having screwed the second stranger in two days. I was a man who'd been turned away from his job until he could get himself in shape enough to handle it. I was a man who didn't want to go home and didn't have anyplace else to go.
Leaving the apartment hurriedly as I had, I had forgotten my lunch. I went to a drive-in, not really hungry but knowing that I had to eat something. It was a diversion, too, a time consumer; I could look at the other customers and watch the car-hops moving busily about, their boobs bouncing, their asses swinging, and their legs showing from under their short skirts (so short that a person automatically thought about what was barely hidden). I could again remember other days, those days when I had flirted with them and on more than one occasion made dates for later. I remembered one night when a buddy and I had wised off about it so much that we'd gotten hotter than hell, and wanting to live daringly, we had taken our meat out and beat ourselves off right in the drive-in!
Oh, for the carefree days of youth!
... the dumb little blonde was probably having her own lunch at this very moment, either munching on a hot prick or letting the boy slip his hot dog up her warm bun!
... what was Laurie doing? Hotter than a firecracker, begging for it and me not able to give it to her, had she called Sylvia once I'd gone, inviting her and her goddamned dildo over? What did they do, those two women? Did they play with each other first, getting hotter yet so that their cooze's just had to have something in them, then take turns fucking each other off with that rubber cock?
Christ, that was the same as being Lesbians!
I remembered wondering if Dr. Moulter were a Lesbian.
I remembered Dr. Moulter!
"I want you to follow the same instructions-nothing to do with your wife tonight-and then be back here at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
In a pig's ass I would! Jesus, I'd dumped two healthy loads, the reading she'd get from my come would be fatal! "Ah-ah, Mr. Sheffield, you've been a naughty boy!" That sometimes elusive smile, "Did you rape that poor couch again last night, Mr. Sheffield?"
Yeah, I did, twice. The first time it had been a luscious little number named Trudi, the second time ... but let me tell you about that, Dr. Moulter, you've got such a goddamned hang-up on hearing about queer sex ideas. There was this fella, you see, a real good-looking guy, well-hung, but the only way he can get his kicks is to beat himself off while he's watching a good-looking couple going at it. What do you think of that, Dr. Moulter? Pretty wild, huh? He goes out and picks up a guy he likes; then he gets the girl for him; then he watches them fuck while he jerks off. All that ... what'd you call it, spermatazoa? ... shot off over his belly. Man, you could really get a sample there, doc, he really unloaded!
Pardon me, a "specimen." You'd of had to take one from his; I'd sent mine up that sweet, hot pussy!
I'd been lost in thought, but one of the car-hops dropped something and bent over to retrieve it. That brought me back to the moment! As she bent over I got an eyeful of the nicest little ass you could ask for, well-rounded, the flimsy silk of her panties stretched so tight you could see the shadow of the cleavage between her buttocks. You could imagine yourself putting your hand on it, rubbing it gently, then sliding your hand down between her legs, sliding a finger into the hungry pussy waiting there. Or you could imagine yourself rubbing the head of your cock up and down that cleavage, pretending you were going to send it through that puckered little opening but instead sliding it between her legs, pressuring it along her pussy, teasing it so that it hungered for it!
"Crap!" I spit out, and I knew in that moment that I was going to see Moulter, after all. If there was any chance-any chance-I had to take it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The waiting room was empty. Miss-Redhead-with-the-big-tits was sitting at her desk, a book opened in front of her. She looked up as I entered, blinked her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Sheffield. I tried to get you at home and at work, but you weren't either place. Doctor was called to the hospital and had to cancel all her afternoon appointments."
"Oh, great!" I said, no doubt sounding irritated. I guess I was. I hadn't really wanted to come; I had had to force myself. (Or was I actually disappointed, I had to ask myself later, not being given the opportunity to see if Moulter would have me strip and go through the jerking off routine?)
The nurse consulted a pad on the desk in front of her "We have you down for tomorrow at the same time. Meanwhile, Doctor wants you to follow the same instructions."
"Oh, Doctor does, does she!" I muttered to myself. "Well, tough tittie! Doctor doesn't have to worry. Goddamnit, if I could have something to do with my wife I wouldn't be here!" But I didn't take my irritation out on her; I merely nodded, turned around and left.
It was better, anyway, I told myself. I wouldn't have to explain my low sperm count! I wouldn't have to make up some lie.
But there I was in limbo again. No job to go back to, and not the slightest desire in the world to go home and face whatever would have to be faced there. Almost unthinkingly, I left the car in the parking lot and walked down the block to the neighborhood bar. It was almost deserted, only a couple of older men out for their afternoon beer, but I went directly to the stool at the back where I had sat the night before.
I hadn't really noticed the bartender the evening before; this afternoon I did. He was a medium-sized fellow, height-wise, with dark hair and a pleasant, friendly face. About thirty, thirty-two I judged. He had broad shoulders, a strong looking chest under a tightly-stretched T-shirt. He took my order with a smile, and as he turned and walked back down the bar I could see that he had tapered hips, then strong legs in tight-fitting trousers. I could imagine him working out every morning with bar-bells, doing push-ups, anything to keep his body in good condition. And as he turned I did something that I'd never been prone to do; I looked into his crotch. (Qualification: as a kid I had looked at everybody's crotch, comparing them with my own; as an adult I had given up the habit!) There was a definite mold in his, a slight roundness to one side that swayed as he j walked toward me. I'd lay dimes to doughnuts that he was really hung!
He made change, put it on the counter, then sat on a stool behind the bar and across from me. He looked at the old men at the other end of the bar, turned j back to me and smiled. "What'd you think of Trudi?" he asked conversationally.
I damn near fell off the bar stool!
"I guess you found it nice," he laughed, "to come back for seconds so soon!" I started to sputter and he laughed again. "Hell, buddy, don't apologize! There's nothin' the matter with being human, and a guy'd have to be at least half dead not to go for something like that."
Then, almost dreamily, he said, "I remember my first time. I'd only been here a couple of nights and Tim was being pretty friendly. When he kept staying later and later, 'til the bar emptied, I figured that he was on the make and I was trying to decide whether to go along with it or not. The bastard kept me in the dark, y'know?" He smiled a little, the word "bastard" merely an expression, not one of animosity.
"Well, I'm hot blooded, I'll have to admit that when nothing else is available I don't turn my nose up at a blow job if the guy's decent, so I went home with him, I don't know if he used the same routine with you or not, but the way he worked it that night, he said that it was pretty stuffy, why didn't we strip down and be comfortable with our drinks. Hell," he laughed again, "I was hard before I had my pants off, ready to go, but his was limp as a rag ... until he saw my hard-on. I sprawled out on the sofa, all ready for him, but he went to the phone instead. A couple of minutes later in comes Trudi, all smiles. The minute the door was closed, off went the housecoat she was wearing, and not a stitch under it! Um-um, if I hadn't already been hard, that would of done it! Have you ever seen a nicer set of knockers? Have you ever seen a more inviting pussy?" He shook his head in remembered admiration, reached down and rubbed between his legs. And he had me doing it, too; I was remembering all of her lusciousness, her uninhibited enjoyment of the human body and the sex act. And I was sporting another hard-onl
"Jesus!" he said. "She didn't even wait for an introduction, she just wiggle assed across the room and there she was, astraddle me on the sofa. Her hot tits burning my belly, her sweet mouth on my rod, and that hot box of hers right in my face! Let me tell you, in case you don't know, that baby knows how to suckl 'Nd she's sweet tastin', too!"
One of the old men yelled out, dragging him out of his revery.
"Okay, okay!" he yelled back, and pushed himself to his feet. He refilled the old man's glass. Coming back toward me, I could see his rod sticking out against his pants, and I had been right. It was a big one! Tim Handley obviously liked his men-and thus Trudi's men-heavy hung!
"Those guys," the bartender said, sitting on his stool again, "they could made a guy sad. You look at them and remember that poem about, 'what used to be my sex appeal is now my water spout!' Man, you look at them, getting old, 'nd you know you better do all the fuckin' you can while you still got the starch in it!"
Without realizing it, I was waiting for him to get back to Trudi-to continue his tale about what had happened on his visit to Tim's apartment. He didn't have a chance to. The front door swung open and two men came in, obviously the first of those who stopped by for a drink on their way home from work. He left me with the vision of Trudi lying on top of him, swinging on his dong as he worked her pussy over with his mouth. And he left me wondering if he had been right. Had I come back here hoping that Tim would come in and convince me to go back for a second helping?
I stared down into my drink. My dong was hot and hard against my leg-but then, that didn't have to mean anything. After all, any guy hearing someone talk as he had been talking would get a hard-on! It was ... well, like his last sentence, still hanging in the air. " ... you know you better do all the fuckin' you can while you still got the starch in it!"
But I was married, I had been getting all the fucking I wanted. Hell, all I had to do was put a hand on Laurie, rub my cock against her, and she was ready to flop on her back for me. Times when I wasn't even thinking about it, she did, she started it Night after night I woke up to find her swinging on my dong. Weekends we seldom dressed and they were often like honeymoons, the times between sex sessions merely resting periods so that we could start up again.
Maybe that was it. Maybe I was all fucked out! But that couldn't be! Hell, I'd had no real trouble gettin a hard-on for the dear Doctor, she'd gotten her "specimens"! Trudi had had no complaint last night, and the dumb little blonde this afternoon had been ecstatic, raving about the way I had poured it to her.
A feeling of coldness went through me. Maybe I was just tired of Laurie...! It wasn't a good thought; there was too much guilt in it. But it was there, and I was having a hell of a time trying to push it away.
The noise had grown. Other men had entered, the crowd grew thicker, and the juke box had been started. Now the babble of their voices and the music were one big noise, a hodge-podge of little sounds adding up to the one babbly one. The bartender, with a wink, refilled my glass as he went about his business. "On the house," his lips said, but I couldn't hear the words, then he was waiting on other customers. He had lost his hard-on; Trudi and all of that was forgotten. For him, not for me.
A thought started. Before it had really jelled I pushed myself to my feet and almost staggered to the phone booth in the corner. I opened the book, flipped through the pages, came to the M's, the Mo's. I ran my finger along until I came to it Moulter, P. H., MD, office ... Moulter, P. H., res. ... I put a dime in the slot and dialed.
The telephone rang several times, then it stopped and I heard an almost terse, "Yes?"
"Is this Dr. Moulter?"
"Yes, it is. Who's this, please?"
This's Mark Sheffield, doc, and I want to know just one thing. You been playin' with my dick for two days now, taking that goddamned test. I just wanna know, can a guy get tired of his wife and not be able to get a hard-on?"
There was a strange, momentary sound. I couldn't tell whether it was a gasp or a suppressed laugh Then I heard her say, "Mr. Sheffield, you sound like you're obviously disturbed, and rightfully so, but I don't think that this is the sort of thing to talk about over the telephone."
"I can't wait till tomorrow...." I started, but she interrupted me.
"I just got home from the hospital a little while ago. I was freshening up. But why don't you come over here and we'll talk about it. I'll be ready by the time you get here."
Very business-like. Very "professional." I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, to just give me a simple answer and forget it, but something wouldn't let me. "Okay," I answered, and hung up. I wrote down the address and left the booth.
"Hey," the bartender yelled out, "aren't you going to wait for Tim to get here?"
'I'll see him later," I answered, and continued on to the door and out. Maybe I would see him later; at that point I wasn't at all sure!
Moulter, P. H., lived in a new high-rise apartment building in a good part of town. It reeked of wealth, but at the same time going into the foyer was almost like walking into a mausoleum. The walls were all shiny marble, the ceiling high. There was a water fountain in the center, very formal, and velvet-covered benches against the walls. A uniformed man stood near the elevators. "Your name, please?" he said. "And who you wish to visit?"
I told him and he picked up a telephone. Glancing around again, I saw the carefully pruned (carefully "shaped") shrubs in huge marble containers on short, squatty legs. The place was really too much! "You may go up," the man said, pressing a button so that the elevator door slid open. I thought almost bitterly, Boy, the rich sure have their privacy protected!
The elevator moved soundlessly and with no feeling of motion; I wouldn't have known it had stopped if the doors had not slid open again. The walls here were marble halfway up, an embossed wallpaper the rest of the way; the rugs were so thick you felt like you were walking on wet ground. Plush! I found my way to 8-C and pressed the button beside the door.
I wasn't prepared for the view when the door opened-I hadn't even thought about it. But it opened, and there was P. H. Moulter, and I must have let my mouth drop open. She was wearing a formfitting robe of some rich, shiny material; it showed her body to be even more shapely than I had thought Her smooth neck was exposed, her breast in a V that barely covered their lush slopes and gave just a hint of the dark valley between them. Her blonde hair had been brushed loosely away from her face, there was only a trace of make-up. She looked at once healthy and wholesome and like a temptress.
"Ah, Mr. Sheffield," she literally cried out, showing her perfectly shaped white teeth, "you didn't have any trouble finding the place. Come in, come in."
I stepped into a small hallway, waited until she had closed the door and then followed her into the living room. It, too, was an eye widener. It was a large room with one solid wall of glass; the whole world seemed to be just outside the window. It was ... well, it was strange, that's all I can say. The furniture was all low and comfortable looking, there were all sorts of strange nic nacs and carvings, but it seemed to be more a feeling than a physical place. It was probably the color; two walls and the ceiling were charcoal grey, the fourth wall was copper colored. The furniture, including toss pillows and other accessories were all in earth colors. It was, she was to tell me later, "primitive." It was supposed to give a person a subconscious feeling of returning to nature (or to the womb), and perhaps it did.
In somewhat of a daze, I found myself sitting in a low, comfortable chair, watching the good doctor at a portable bar mixing us drinks. I watched her move gracefully toward me, accepted the drink, then she was sitting on a divan across from me, one leg pulled up under her and a shapely ankle showing on the other. "Now, then, shall we enjoy the drink first, or shall we get right down to business?"
Oh, brother, under different circumstances those words would have been music to my ears. I found myself saying, "I ... I guess I ought to apologize for the way I talked to you on the phone."
"Not at all! You were disturbed, it was right that you called and let me know how you were feeling. You know, yours is an exceptional case...."
"Is it?" I interrupted. I had to ask her. "Tell me, doc, honestly. Do you ... do you really have to do all those things you've been doing?"
I thought I noticed a slight flush on her face and throat, but I couldn't be sure. She lowered her eyes, long lashes almost casting shadows on the skin below. Then she surprised me. She raised her eyes and said, "No, Mr. Sheffield, I did not have to do all those things. I did them because I wanted to, just as I asked you up here because I wanted to."
Even though I had asked the question, her frank, honest answer not only surprised me, it threw me for a loop. I had suspected it, of course-I mean, I had suspected her-but I don't think I ever once thought she would have admitted it even if I had been right And here she had admitted it!
She said, almost sadly, "You may not believe it, but I'm really rather shy around men. I worked so hard in the early days of my life, through medical school and all, that I had absolutely no social life. Since then ... well, I've found it difficult to break old habits. When you came in with your story, I was pretty sure from the beginning what the problem was. I struggled, I'll be frank to admit, but I gave in to human impulses that I generally defeat. I enjoyed your body, I enjoyed the stories of your sexual conquests."
A faint smile-not exactly the "same faint smile that she had sometimes used in her office-slid across her lips. "You asked on the telephone if a man can get tired of his wife and thus be unable to get an erection with or for her. I was convinced from the beginning that that was your problem; as you told me your stories I was more sure of it. I knew, then, that I should have sent you to a psychologist, a psychiatrist or a marriage counselor ... and I would have eventually, but I selfishly enjoyed you for that little while!"
I shook my head, then a thought formed, became words, and slipped out of my mouth before I knew it was happening. "You mean ... you mean you've never been fucked?"
She chuckled. "I love your crude phraseology. I've loved it from the start. It's so ... so almost animalistic, No, Mr. Sheffield, I have never been fucked."
"Well, I'll be damned!"
She smiled almost as if it were from a pleasant memory and said, "When I did that with my mouth
... that was the first time I'd done that, too. I just couldn't resist the temptation!"
I shook my head, and then the shock began to wear off and I was thinking more clearly. I looked across at her and thought, Jesus, there's a ripe, mature woman who's still got her cherry! Ye gods, what a roll in the hay she'd probably be! But I had to back up first. "Just lemmie get this clear, will you? You think that Laurie and I ... that we've just done it so much I'm tired of it ... of her ... and can't get a hard-on, is that right?"
"With your history, yes, I think that's right. I think that you tried to assume your responsibility and five accordingly, but that underneath you're still craving sexual excitement. Not only variety in sexual activity, but variety in sexual partners. This ... this inability to get an erection is merely your subconscious rebelling. It's telling you to ... to...."
"To go out and fuck whoever I want!" I filled in without thinking.
She laughed softly. "Yes, to go out and fuck whoever you want."
I bobbed my head, reached down and rubbed my cock. "Good! Why don't I begin right here?"
She looked directly into my eyes, a sort of pained expression in hers. Finally she almost whispered, "I'm afraid that if that were to happen it would take a much more subtle technique!"
I digested that, studying her; then I said, "Okay, look. I feel a little mangy, so how about letting me take a shower, then I'll show you I can use a subtle technique!" (What I meant, of course, was that I wanted to wash the little blonde off me so that I could start fresh!)
"I won't promise anything," she said, getting to her feet, "but come along."
She led me through a bedroom that looked as if it had come out of a movie and into a bathroom that was a real lulu. There were rugs on the floor so thick you almost disappeared into them, tile on the walls that looked almost like velvet. There was a pullman so big that she even had aquariums on it with tropical fish gurgling around. She took a huge, fluffy looking towel from the pullman, set it aside for me, then nodded and left the room. I stripped down and got into the shower.
I walked back into the living room naked, moving quietly not purposely but because the rugs were so thick. She was standing at the window, drink in hand, looking out. I moved up behind her, slid my arms around her waist and pressed my cock gently against her buttocks. I kissed her on the side of the
"Ummmm," she murmured, "you smell good."
I moved a hand up and found a breast, squeezed it gently. It was all that I had thought, a warm, firm mass of flesh that really felt good. The nipple responded immediately I could feel it through the material of her gown. Moving my hand a little, I slid it under the material and had her tit the way a man should have it. It was my turn to say, "Ummmmmm," against her neck, my cock saying it merely by getting hard and pressing against her firm buttocks. "Is this subtle enough for you?"
"I ... I'm not sure. Just ... just don't go too fast, Mark," she said softly, calling me by my first name for the first time.
I turned her around slowly, taking her into my arms. I found her lips with mine, kissing gently as I pressed my body to hers. I increased it a little at a time, finally getting my tongue into her mouth, and her arms slid around my neck. I rubbed her back, her buttocks, letting her feel my hands as she felt her body pressed against my hard-on. I pulled my mouth away from hers, touched it lightly to her cheek and said, "Why don't you take your robe off and we'll he down?"
But this woman who had feasted her eyes on my cock, who had played with it to get it hard, sucked on it, stroked it to get her "specimen," was still finding it hard to accept what should have been completely natural and normal. There was obviously a stumbling block that she had to kick out of the way before she could go all the way.
"Not yet, Mark," she half whispered, "not yet. Just ... just love me up some more."
I loved her up some more. I kissed her, sending my tongue into her mouth, rubbing my chest against her tits and my cock against her pussy while I rubbed my hands up and down her back. Every once in awhile I grasped a firm buttock in each hand and pulled her harder against my stiff rod, grinding it into her; she didn't resist, she was doing her best and I couldn't really complain about it, but she still wasn't there.
Finally, in desperation, I pulled away from her, but before she could react I dropped to my knees. I spread her robe open and went for her; my nose pressed against her belly, I started lapping through her pussy hair, getting my tongue into the cleavage and running it up and down. She seemed helpless; she couldn't move. But as I got my tongue going into her, as I lapped my way in and then stiffened it and poked it deeper, she groaned and spread her legs a little more, bringing her hands to my head. She couldn't control herself now. Holding my head, she moved her hips, riding up and down my tongue. I let her do it a bit, then I eased my tongue out. I gave it a last lick; then I looked up at her, and said, "A hard prick'd feel a hell of a lot better than that, honey!"
"Oh, yes," she half gasped. "Oh, yes, take me, Mark. Take me. I want to feel that big prick of yours where it belongs!"
It didn't take a second invitation; I didn't want her to come out of it. Moving quickly, I got her robe off. I could only take a few moments to drink in the beauty of her naked body; then I lifted her in my arms and carried her to one of the low sofas. I laid her down and in the same motion straddled her. Moving my mouth to hers again, kissing her furiously, I started pronging. I made a couple of false stabs; then I had the head of my cock in her pussy lips. I slid it a little until I found the right spot, then I started the hip movement. Her legs spread and she groaned; the head slid in, her pussy lips folded over the ridge, and I knew I was secure, ready for blast-off! I started fucking it in, being nice about it, sending only a bit at a time; it was stretching her tight pussy and I knew it, but I knew that the pleasures her tissue was giving mine had to be repeated in herself. But I couldn't treat her like a teen-ager; when I hit the membrane I hesitated only a second, backed off, then sent my plunger the full length into her. She didn't scream, as some do; she just gasped. Her gasp said it all; it was the shock of knowing that she had finally lost her cherry; then she gave herself over to the full pleasure of having a hunk of hard meat up her snatch. I started fucking in earnest, and in a few seconds she had joined in with me.
I was hot. Jesus, I wanted to romp my way to a finish, to hit that terrific sensation of shooting off a load, but at the same time I wanted it to last. Maybe I knew even then that depression could follow and wanted to avoid it. Whatever, when I had her humping like a jack rabbit I began to ease off; she'd rise up for it, but I wouldn't give her the full length. I'd give her just enough to tease her, to keep her happy-and in her condition getting just the head was enough for that! Finally, controlling things myself, I sent every inch into her and at the same time pushed her buttocks back against the cushion of the sofa. I stayed buried in her. while I kissed her hungrily, moving my chest so that her tits were highly excited. Her hips humped under me, but they couldn't be effective; all they could do was to tell me that she had found the answer, she wanted to fuck to a finish.
I pulled my lips away from hers again, touching her cheek with them. "Wouldn't you like to do a little sucking?"
"I ... I ... I want to fuck, Mark! God, it feels so good. Fuck me, Mark, please!"
What could I do? Hiding a smile, I started fucking again. I scrounged around a little so that I could get a tit in each hand while I kept kissing her, and I drove my prong down to receive her uplifting pussy. We separated for a moment until just the head was in her, then I drove it in and she rose to receive it until our bellies banged together and my balls flopped down between her legs, touching the hot spot of her ass. We withdrew, clashed, withdrew, clashed; then we started running up to the point of no return. She started clawing my back and shoulders, gasping and thrusting, and I fucked with full gusto. At the last moment I shoved it into her, clear to the balls, and we both let go of the throbbingest, spurtingest climax in history!
When I tried to roll off she tightened her cunt muscles around my limp cock, holding it. "Don't take it out," she whispered with eyes closed. "Don't ever take it out!"
I laughed, looking down into her beautiful face. "Baby, you learn fast!"
"Oh, god," she groaned, "all the years I've wasted! Why didn't you come along a long time ago?"
I pushed down so that our pubic hairs merged even more than they were. "You like that, huh? You really like getting fucked after all!"
She didn't answer. She just put her arms around my neck and pulled me down against her, and with our bodies merged like that, my cock still buried up her hot channel, there was no need for an answer. The good doctor, with all her knowledge of the male anatomy, had found out for sure what a hard male cock was for!
I don't know how long we laid there. I might even have dozed off. But all of a sudden I felt her lips on my cheek, on my earlobe, and she was saying, "Why don't we get up and have a drink, then maybe ... maybe we might want to do something else."
"Anything you say, baby," I whispered back, and I rolled off of her.
She rubbed herself between the legs for a moment; then she swung them around and pushed herself gracefully to her feet. I had a chance then to see exactly how perfectly stacked she was-and she was perfectly stacked! She was all woman now, the professional doctor left behind. Her tits were full and firm, her hips beautifully curved, her still damp pussy a thing of beauty. Her face was just as beautiful as it had been, framed in her blonde hair, but there was something added-something that I chose to see (and think I was right) as the look of a woman who had finally been fulfilled. A woman who had been fucked and loved it!
She didn't need to be coached (perhaps she remembered my telling her that Laurie and I never wore clothes around the apartment). Naked as the day she was born, but so much lovelier, she moved gracefully to the bar and made us new drinks. I had sprawled on the floor, back against the divan, and she lowered herself to sit beside me. Our shoulders touched, our legs touched, and as she raised her drink to her lips her hand slid into my crotch and took hold of y limp cock. I returned the silent compliment, sliding my free hand into her crotch and letting my fingers rest over her full-mounded pussy.
"How do you feel?" she finally asked.
I snorted; then I said, "I feel like I've just fucked a very beautiful and a very fuckable woman!"
"Come now," she rubbed my cock, "be serious!"
"I am," I answered, and I was being both serious and honest. "No regrets?"
"No regrets. How about you?"
"My only regret," she said, stroking my limp cock, "is that this didn't happen a long time ago."
I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Maybe we can make up for lost time, what do you say, doc?" And then, because it suddenly occurred to me, "By the way, what does the P. H. stand for?"
"That's all, just P. H." With a note of near sadness in her voice, as if she felt something was involved in it, she added, "My father wanted a boy. The boy would have been named Patrick Henry Moulter. When I was a girl he wouldn't allow me the dignity of a name; he just gave me initials."
I chuckled. "Well, I gave you a name a couple of days ago, and it holds up tonight! That P. H. stood for 'Prick Hardner.'"
She laughed softly, squeezing my cock, then said, 'We are going to do it again, aren't we, Mark?"
I looked over at her. I studied her attractive face for a few moments, then lowered my gaze to her luscious tits. They were relaxed, but they still stood firm and nice, the nipples just waiting for attention. I didn't look any lower, my hand being in the way there. And I realized in that moment that there was none of the let down, the depression.
"Honey," I answered, giving her cunt a loving squeeze, "you've heard the song, 'I could have danced. all night'? Well, if you wanna, I could fuck all night!"
She giggled, then said, "Let's do!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
The moment I woke up I knew that I was in a strange place. It was a slow awakening of all the senses, and all the senses felt it. The bed was bigger and firmer than my own, the sheets smoother-and they were scented. There was silence, whereas in my own apartment there were always sounds both from within and without. I rolled over onto my back, and I remembered.
Man, what a night it had been! P. H. (christ, what a name, especially for a woman like her) had, indeed, tried to make up for lost time. After our initial screwing session on the divan we had had a drink and then moved to the bedroom. (After all, mattress sports are better on a mattress!) And once there she had seemed inexhaustible.
"I want you to do all the things to me that you told me about doing to other girls!" she had said, half seriously and half with anticipation, and far be it from me to disappoint a woman like her!
"All right, my love," I had said at one point, leaning over to lightly kiss her tits, "this is what's called doing it doggie-fashion!" Grabbing her hips, I had gently flipped her over, getting on my knees between her legs, and pulled her up to where her buttocks were against my belly and my dong embedded in her forest; a few moments later it was buried in her, and we both enjoyed the delights of that position.
"Teach me to suck, Mark," she had pleaded, and I had laughed.
"Honey, just go down there and start sucking, nature'll tell you what to do!"
She had learned fast, and in her enthusiasm given all the nice little touches. The tongue tickling of the head, licking all around the ridge and kissing the tip, trying to wriggle her tongue into the opening. The ball sucking. All of it until she'd gotten what she wanted, a load of sweet come down her gulping throat.
"Do it between my titties, Mark! I want to see what it feels like to have that beautiful hunk of meat of your working between them!"
And avid student. "Mark, your language ... I told you it sort of ... well, fascinates me. Tell me the words, Mark. What do you call that lovely thing between your legs ... all the names for it."
I laughed softly, rubbed what was between her legs. "Cunt, cooze, hot box, snatch, pussy...."
At one point she had said, "Mark did you ever read the book Come to Me. In it one of the characters-the main character if I remember rightly-used to do it in front of a big window. He said he liked to fuck with the whole world looking on!" She giggled a little. "Does that sound like fun?"
"Does it to you?"
"Yes. Oh, yes! I'd like for the whole world to know I've finally let a man fuck me!"
Like a couple of kids running for the Christmas tree on Christmas eve, we went into the living room and, in front of the window with the whole city spread out below, went into a lusty clinch. We loved and groped and loved and groped; then I slid my tool into her and we went into action. It was wild; when we started shooting we did a sort of St. Fitus dance, ending up on the floor with my whang half out of her and the results of our efforts dripping down our legs. She laughed with a sort of exultation, her tits almost alabaster white from the nightlight shining through. She was, indeed, like a kid who had just gotten a long coveted Christmas present!
We showered and, refreshed, went back to the bed to begin again. Finally, as the sky turned gray outside the window, we rested with our arms around each other-but the rest turned out to be the final count. So here I was, waking up in a strange bed, hearing the sounds (or soundlessness) of her apartment, smelling her smell. I stretched luxuriantly, then swung my legs over the side, pushed myself up and went naked into the other room. "Hey," I hollered out, "where are you?"
There were two notes placed on the coffee table so that I couldn't miss them. The first said, "Mark, dear, it was a wonderful night, a night to remember. Thank you, thank you! P.S. I kissed you goodbye, but you didn't stir-not your lips nor that other lovely part I kissed!"
The second note read, "Mr. Sheffield, please remember that you have an appointment at three p.m. P. H. Moulter, M.D."
I laughed, then turned around and headed for the bathroom. A night to remember....
Leaving her apartment meant returning to the world I had left behind some sixteen hours before. Going down in the elevator I was forced to remember that I had stayed out all night for the first time in six years of marriage-to say nothing of the fact that it had been a night of infidelity personified! There was only one problem; while I dreaded facing Laurie now, the guilt feelings, the depression from my other (minor in comparison) infidelities were missing. As a matter-of-fact, the night with Moulter (damn, why hadn't they given her a name?) had done to me what Geritol is supposed to do for older people, my blood seemed to flow hot and freely, I felt almost light-footed! At the ripe old age of twenty-four, I felt young again!
Maybe I was rationalizing, but it made sense to me. If my problem with Laurie stemmed from the fact that I was tired of her, sexually, then the solution would be to get untired. After all, I had been a real cocksman before our marriage, maybe I simply needed reassurance from time to time so that I could still, fill the role. Maybe I needed variety the way people needed vitamins-and the deficiency had caused the problem!
I remembered hearing once that a husband was like a dog on a leash. He had to have a certain amount of play, a limited area that he could run in. If the wife tried to pull the leash in, not giving him that room to play in, she could kill his spirit. Well, I told myself, if that was the case, "Arf! Arf!"
The apartment was quiet when I reached it. I held my breath, hand on the door knob, almost afraid of what I might find. If Laurie was using that damned dildo again ... well, I could understand it, maybe, but I didn't want to see it! I listened, but there was still no sound; I opened the door gently. Laurie, wearing only a bathrobe, nothing under it, was stretched out on the divan; she had obviously waited up for me, no doubt worrying, falling asleep only in the early hours of the morning (perhaps at the same time that P. H. and I had finally engulfed each other in our arms and drifted into the arms of Morpheus). I tiptoed through to the kitchen and turned the fire on under the left over coffee. Waiting for it to heat, I went through an imaginary conversation:
"Where were you last night?"
"I was at a friend's house."
'What were you doing?"
"I was conducting night school. I was teaching her the art of fucking!"
"Oh ... how could you!"
"It was easy. She was luscious, and a damned good student." N
"Oh, you cad! You beast!"
"No, doll, I'm not a cad or a beast. I just found out that I've got to have a little outside fucking. A little more of it and I'll come back and give you a first-class roll in the hay! Besides that, you're the one who wanted me to go to a doctor. You picked the doctor. In a way I was only obeying the doctor's orders!"
It was almost funny! Perhaps "ironic" would be a better word. But it was true. Laurie (or a trick of fate) had picked P. H. Moulter, M.D.
P. H. Moulter, M.D.
P. H. Moulter. Prick-Hardner Moulter!
Boy, was she! Just remembering, my cock started to swell, stretching out along my leg. "Tell me, Mark, tell me. What are we doing?"
'We're fuckin', baby! We're ballin' the jack!"
"Do it between my titties. I want to feel what it's like to get it up between them!"
"This's called 'tittie-fuckin', baby, you like it?"
"Oh, yes! Yes!"
"Press 'em in tighter, sweetie, make it nice and tight! ummmph ... ummmph ... ummmph!" And a load shot off between those two beautiful globes, up onto her throat, her chin.
"Oh, let's do it in front of the window. I want the whole world to know I've finally let a man fuck me!"
"At your service, madam!"
The coffee boiled. I filled a cup half full, added some water and sat down at the table with it. It was just a few minutes past twelve. In less than three hours I'd be in Moulter's office again ... in the examination room. Man, she wouldn't have to ask for a specimen this afternoon; she knew already what the results would be. Spermatazoa count: zero!
I found myself wondering about that. If every time you dumped a load it lessened the count of those cells that "made babies," then maybe that was why I had gotten away all those years without using rubbers or knocking anybody (except Laurie) up! Maybe that was the solution for any guy who didn't like to use rubbers (and I'd never heard of one who did). Just screw your heart out and keep that spermatazoa count down!! Dr. Sheffield's advice, free of charge, Christ, how foolish!
I heard noises, then Laurie stood in the doorway. The bathrobe was hanging loose, exposing part of her breasts and the dark forest between her legs. She had a hand to her forehead and looked dazed; her hair was rumbled and her eyes puffy. Certainly no bid for Miss America!-but at the same time there was something almost pathetic about her. For just a moment I felt pity for her and maybe even a little guilt. She looked used, and I had been the one who had used her.
"Where were you last night?" she started. "I waited up, worried to death...."
"Look," I interrupted her, deciding to nip it in the bud, "I didn't get home, just let it drop at that."
But some women can't let things drop, not even when everything would be better if they did. Laurie was one of those. She started in bawling about how I had seduced her, taken her virginity, used her for as long as I wanted and then suddenly decided to dump her! Oh, she knew, I couldn't fool her! She knew I hadn't been alone all night ... and on and on and on. I felt anger swelling up in me, and I could have met point by point; I could have told her what a dumb, stupid bitch she had been for not taking care of herself, for getting pregnant, how she had loused up my life by doing it. I could have reminded her that I hadn't had to marry her. I could have fought back, but I had neither the strength nor the desire to. I merely pushed myself to my feet, threw what little coffee was left in my cup into the sink, then turned around and walked past her and out of the apartment. In that moment I didn't care whether I ever saw her again or not; in that moment I realized that I had never really loved her. I had married her out of a sense of honor, taught her how to enjoy life until we had had a fairly reasonable relationship, but there hadn't been any real love in it. It had just been sex. I liked ass and she put but, it was as simple as that.
Sylvia Hawkins, the neighbor woman, was coming toward our apartment as I stepped out. She stopped and tried to retreat, but it was too late.
"Hey," I yelled at her, "you got your rubber cock with you?"
She spluttered and stammered and fell all over herself. "Go fuck yourself with it!" I spit out bitterly, and continued on down the hall and out of the building. Shit! She and Laurie had been going to have another session with it. Well, let them! Let them eat each other's pussies or whatever Lesbians did, I didn't give a damn!
Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits led me into the examination room. "You will disrobe, please," she said from the doorway. I started to tell her that game was over, that I didn't need to, but the door eased shut. I probably would have caught myself in time, anyway.
I wondered now how P. H. would act-would she be last nights' lover, or the professional doctor? And I remembered her crisp, business-like irritation the last time she had found me still dressed. Half-smiling, deciding to play it by ear, I slowly took my clothes off and then sat naked on the end of the table, legs spread slightly apart and equipment hanging. I relived the last visits to this office and the moments of irritation were all gone; the ends had justified the means! It was even amusing, the games that P. H. had gone through. Christ, all she would have had to do was to tell me that she wanted to play with my cock, hear my sex stories and I'd have laid back and let her! People were, indeed, complex!
Complex! I laughed. Look at old Tim Handley, rubbing his hand on my cock in a bar and saying quite openly that he liked to beat his meat while he watched a good-looking heterosexual pair going at it-and then putting it into action with the equally uninhibited Trudi! Look at the sweet, dumb blonde yesterday morning, doing it with the boys for quarters and fifty-cent pieces and with me simply because she liked a big cock and a more experienced fucking!
So ... either they were complex, complicated and complicating their own lives, or they were free swingers with no complications, just an acceptance of it and going at it. Or they were like me, caught somewhere in the middle!
The door opened and P. H. came in. She was wearing her lab coat over her street clothes as usual, but the moment she closed the door behind her I saw the difference. Her face was softer, the smile coming from way down deep; her eyes were literally aglow.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sheffield!" she said.
"Good afternoon, Doctor," I answered.
She crossed the room in long, graceful strides, literally throwing herself at me. I put my arms around her as she landed against my chest. "Qh, Mark!" she cried out against my shoulder, her own sweet fragrance drifting to my nostrils. Then she pulled away, straightened and looked down at me, into my eyes, down my chest to my equipment. Another smile traveled the distance of her lips, then she went to her knees between my legs. She leaned forward and kissed my prick, then pressed her cheek against it, her lips warm against my leg. I reached down and laid my hand on her soft hair.
"Last night was so perfect," she half whispered. "So perfect I almost thought it had been a dream until I saw you sitting here."
She turned her head again so that her lips were pressed against my shaft; her tongue came out and gently flicked it. It started stirring, swelling slightly and stretching out along my leg. When it was fully hard, she raised her head, letting it stick up and out from my crotch. She looked down at it and smiled, kissed the head again and got to her feet.
"Did you enjoy last night, Mark?"
Isn't that a silly question?"
"Tell me again what we did?"
I smiled ever so faintly, saying to myself, Let her have her hang-up!
"We fucked," I answered easily. "We balled the jack. We played house!"
She giggled, and there was no question. This was no doctor; this was a woman who had found out what that thing between her legs was for! She reached out and wrapped her hand around my hard dong, a smile still playing at her lips. "I checked in some medical books this morning, just to be sure, and do you realize that you are three inches over average?" She shook her head in something like admiration. "Not only over average, but so beautifully able to come to life time after time! I'll bet I could even get another 'specimen' now if I wanted it."
"You keep up what you're doing and you're going to get one whether you want it or not," I answered. She laughed. "Is that a promise? Or a threat?"
"A mere statement of fact."
She looked deep into my eyes, her face gone serious. "I do want one, Mark. Shall I lock the door?
I just nodded my head. She released me, turning in the same motion and moving gracefully to the door. Locking it, she turned and slid out of her lab coat. The physical transition from doctor to woman started; her body, clothed, gave every indication of what it would be unclothed-and I enjoyed watching as if I were seeing it for the first time. I licked my upper lip as she kicked off a shoe, raising her skirt to undo her garter, revealing a lovely expanse of flesh. She repeated the procedure, then undid her blouse. As she slid her bra off and her lovely tits fell loose my prick did a couple of twitches. Sliding down skirt and panties at the same time, her hips came into view, her beautiful thighs, and that scrumptious mound with it's forest of blonde hair. Now she was womam all woman, ripe and fuckable.
I pushed myself up onto the narrow examining table (this was going to be something, fucking on a surface that narrow), stretching out on my back. She pushed a stool in place, stepped up onto it, put a knee on the table and then swung over me. Tits flopped against my chest as pussy met my cock and pushed it back against my belly; her body came down on mine as I slid my arms around her, and our lips met. I sent my tongue into her mouth as I started rubbing my hands up and down her smooth, firm body, feeling the sides of her globular tits, the firmness of her buttocks. She met my tongue with hers, then sent hers into my mouth, grinding her pussy down against me; the lips spread full length around my prong. It was lovely, it was beautiful, and the flames rose quickly. I grasped her hips, pushing her midriff off me; and she was as ready for it as I. She reached down between us, grasped my prick and ran it up and down her cooze a couple of times, then straightened it and began screwing her pussy down over it. Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, how good it felt as she fucked her way down, taking something extra with each stroke. It probably felt even better because I wanted to roll her over and couldn't; it. was a feeling of suspended animation, the possibility of a fall, coupled with the feeling her warm, tight cunt was giving my swollen weapon.
She had learned quickly. Her knees placed just right, she could ride down until she had every inch into her, raise up until just the head was caught, ride down again. She not only could, she did, and I started working with her merely because I had to. We got it going good, perfectly synchronized motions; then we were gasping and groaning into each others mouths as our bellies clashed together and held, the juices squirting out of my cock in maddening gushes to be met by those flowing from her animated fountain of love.
"Oh, Mark! Mark!" she cried out into my mouth, "oh, what a lovely fuck!"
I grasped her buttocks and pulled her hard again, jerking the last of my gism into her; then I fell back. Wow!
The timing had been perfect, not only because we lad reached mutual orgasm but because as she sort of melted onto my body there was a knock on the door. "Dr. Moulter?" Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits called out.
P. H. raised her head. "Yes?"
"Doctor, we have a bit of an emergency, can you come?"
'Yes," she answered brusquely, "yes, I'll be right there."
Our eyes met and she shook her head.
"Damn!" she said, pushing her lower body up so that my cock slid out of her damp pussy. I reached out and let my fingers run the full length of her lovely tits as she raised her upper body up; then she got off the table. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, watched as she crossed to the wash basin and quickly washed her crotch. She dried it gently and began to dress.
"I won't ask you to wait ... I don't know how long it will take, but...." She looked deep into my eyes, almost pleadingly, "can you come by the apartment tonight?"
"I'll give you a call," I answered, because this visit actually hadn't solved any part of my "domestic" problem. Unless, of course, it could be called "therapy"!
Dressed, she moved to the side of the table, reached out for my cock with one hand and lowered her lips to mine. It was a brief, loving squeeze and an equally brief kiss, then the woman became doctor again and moved brusquely out of the room.
* * *
The old men were sitting at the bar with their afternoon beer. The juke box, its lights on, sat quietly against the wall, ready to open its mouth when the first coin was put in. The bartender was on his stool behind the bar; he looked up as I walked in, his face cracking into a smile. "Hi! The usual?" he asked, and I had the feeling that I had that quickly become a fixture, a regular-or at least accepted as such.
As he put the drink down in front of me he said, "I told Tim you'd been in. He was real disappointed that you didn't wait until he got here, or come back."
"Got busy," I answered.
"Well," he crawled back on his stool and rubbed his crotch, "your loss was my gain. Tim waited around, and when you didn't come back I went home with him. Wow, what a night!"
"She was just as good as you remembered, huh?" I asked, not knowing what else to say and at the same time feeling comfortable in casual banter.
"Are you kidding! She wasn't home." He chuckled. "I guess you can figure out what happened! Baby, I was hot to trot and Tim knew it, and he knew that I could blame him-so he had to produce." He laughed again. "Timmie sucked his first cock last night, and he found out he liked it! When that was over and we'd rested a little, I took his sweet little asshole cherry! Man, it was so tight, like a fifteen-year-old virgin, I'll bet he's walkin' stiff-legged today!"
"You really went for that, huh?"
"Like I said," he answered easily, "when there ain't no pussy around I'm not about to turn up my nose at a substitute-if it's decent." He grew serious. "Tim is decent, y'know. He's really a good guy. He's one fairy I don't mind having for a friend."
I remembered the well-built, blond-haired man, and I thought that I knew what he meant. Tim was a decent sort; you wouldn't know he was queer to look at or listen to him-not unless he wanted you to know. But as for going to bed with him ... no, I wasn't at all sure about that.
"It's going to be interesting," the bartender interrupted my thoughts. "I mean, it's going to be interesting to see now if Tim goes back to his old habits, or if he goes down the fairy trail now that he knows he likes it." He laughed. "Can't you see him and Trudi fighting over some guy, over who's gonna get at his meat?"
A moment later, as if he had given it deep consideration, he said seriously, "Of course, they could share. Y'know, Tim could find some guy who likes to eat pussy; then he could swing on the guy while the guy munched on Trudi. Hell," he chuckled again, "I could go for that, how about you?"
"Idunno," I answered honestly. "I've never let another guy swing on me."
"You don't know what you've missed," he answered, pushing himself to his feet because one of the old men was pounding his glass on the bar.
I had to admit to myself that I didn't know what I had missed, but I wasn't convinced that I wanted to find out. I'd had enough opportunities and always turned them down. Getting a satisfactory enough supply of poontang, I wasn't sure there was any reason to change that. Maybe if I were stranded on an island with only a guy ... well, that would be different. I'd gladly drop my pants for a male then, but ... It seemed simple enough; a woman "went down on you," that was natural, but if a guy did it he was a "cocksucker" and that was a dirty word!
It made sense even while it didn't. I decided not to pursue it. Instead I tried to decide whether I would go home or end up in P. H.'s apartment ... whether I'd risk another hassle with Laurie or go for fun and games with the awakened doctor! What positions, what activities had we overlooked last night ...? I started making a list in my own mind, checking off what we had done and making a mental note of what we hadn't. And then remembering her amusement over words, her interest in them, I put them into concrete form as if I were doing it for her.
"We didn't do the 'supported weight' position, dear doctor. That'd be with me on top of you, but us kissing while I keep my chest off you on stiffened arms, fucking away!
"We didn't do the 'fat woman' position, P. H. That'd be with you on the bed from the butt up, feet on a chair, and me standing between your legs for the fuckin'l
'We didn't do the 'sitting position.' You know, me sitting on a chair and you straddling me with my meat up that sweet, hot cooze of yours ... but then, that can be dangerous. One time when I was doing it with a hot little number, when we got to going full blast and I started shooting off, I fell flat on my ass off the chair!
"We didn't do the 'Pillow' position ... pillows under your hips so your pussy's really up in the air and when I pour it to you it goes at a real tissue tingling angle!
"We didn't..
Well, there was still a lot we could do, and it could he great not only because of her luscious body (which would be enjoyed all the more, all parts of it, from all those different angles), but because she so thoroughly threw herself into whatever we happened to be doing at the moment! God, yes, having gotten started, she was so hungry for it that she wanted to do everything at once! "Teach me, Mark, teach me the art of fucking. Teach me all about sex!"
"Oh, Mark! What a lovely fuck!" She really liked getting that ... what did she call it? ... three inches beyond average sized cock! Imagine her looking it up in a medical book, getting so interested in cock that she wanted to know all about it! Three inches beyond average....
The bartender was back, sliding up onto his stool. "Hey," I said, "do you know how long the average guy's tool is?"
He chuckled. "I'm an authority on pussy," he answered, "but when it comes to tools, I could only speak from experience. Except...." he dug under the counter, "I just happen to have a little book here!"
He pulled one out, thumbed through it, reading from here and there. "Ah, yeah, here we go. 'About six an a half inches is the average length of the erect penis, although of course larger and smaller members are not infrequent.'" He closed the book, smiling. "How about that! We're above average, all three of us!"
"Yeah, how about that!"
"I knew a hustler, once, he was, honest to god, the heaviest hung stud I'd ever seen. He had at least eleven inches once it was hard. He peddled it by the inch! Man, that was an engine! If he wanted to jerk off, he had to use both hands!" He put his thumb and index fingers together, looked at them, spread them so that there was about an inch gap. "That thing was at least that big around!"
"Christ!" I spit out, "what good did it do him? I mean, how the hell many pussies could he find that could take something like that?"
"Ah, you'd be surprised, man. There's lots of gals around who've fucked so much they got to have something that big to really get any kicks themselves! I knew one gal, she flat couldn't find a man who could satisfy her. She ended up havin' a special cock made up out of rubber...."
I didn't hear the end of his sentence. I was thinking of Laurie spread on the chair, feet up on it, and the naked Sylvia on her knees in front of her running that big rubber dong in and out of her. Sheeit! God, that'd be the same as me beating my meat. If she wanted a good fuck why didn't she just go out and get a man?!
And then I wondered. What would I do if she got with another man and I found out about it? I'd kill the bastard, I said to myself, and then several events from the last couple of days began to fit together. It was a little bit like the reels on a slot machine spinning around, clicking into position one at a time. There was me screwing Trudi, the dumb blonde and the doctor; there was Tim taking me home with him so that I could screw Trudi; and there was the awareness (even Moulter had mentioned it, defending Laurie) that Laurie probably needed to get her rocks off, too.
I smiled to myself. Laurie, baby, you need cock, I'll be a nice, understanding husband and help you with it. That I could allow-my picking out a guy for her, taking him home and getting things going. Maybe, like Tim, I could even keep a hard-on under those conditions, and if I could we could do what the bartender had suggested. Laurie could swing on my dong while the guy poured the meat to her.
At least it was worth a try-and it seemed like there might be a good possibility that it would work, because merely thinking about it had given me a full bodied hard-on.
I looked at the bartender, almost as if I were seeing him for the first time. I saw his well-developed body, from the broad shoulders down to the tapered hips, and I remembered how big his bulge had showed the day before when he'd talked himself into a hard-on, I looked into his pleasant face. "Hey, man, is there any chance of your getting off for a couple of hours?"
He smiled. "You thinkin' of a three-way between you 'nd Tim 'nd me?"
"Uh-uh," I shook my head. "I'm thinkin' of a threeway between you, my wife and me."
"You're kidding!" he said; but then he looked into my face and knew that I wasn't. "Goddamn," he said, disappointment dripping from his voice, "no, I can't. Can't you wait until I close the place up?"
"Sorry," I said, pushing myself off the stool. "Once I make up my mind, I got to move fast!" I started out.
CHAPTER NINE
I went to several bars, had a drink in each one while I surveyed the landscape-while I looked over the available men. In one there was a potential, but when I started a conversation with him it didn't take long to find out that he wouldn't fill the bill. He was engaged to be married, and he was one of those who had "saved himself for his wife-to-be." In another I was eyeing one, but before approaching him I went to the lavatory; while I was still there he came in and went to the urinal next to me. The way he had to work to find his peter, the way it was hidden by only a portion of his hand once he'd gotten it out, I knew that there couldn't be enough there to do much good. Not that it had to be "beyond average," but Laurie was used to being plugged. It would have to be a least average! (Maybe I wanted it, to be big, too; maybe I thought the whole scene could be better that way!)
Not letting myself think of anything else, determined to go through with it, I left the last bar and headed the few blocks to where the transients hung out. It wasn't far from the loading docks where I worked; I had seen some of them during the day, and as I remembered some had been fairly young and decent looking. Some of them even stayed sober, while the general run of the mill in the neighborhood were wineos and derelicts. I drove slowly up one block and down the next; and then I thought that I saw him.
He was on the periphery of a circle of wineos who were obviously passing a wine bottle around. Even from a distance I could see that he was young, and the khakis he was wearing were clean. I turned the corner, parked, got out and started back. I passed them, and he checked out. Young, good-looking without being handsome, and clean. I leaned against a building not far away and waited, and the old thing about making people look at you by staring at them worked. He looked up, our eyes met; a couple of seconds later he pulled away from the group and walked up to me.
"Hi!" he said, showing even, white teeth.
"Hi," I returned, nodding. And then, "What's up? Want to go have a drink?"
"I'd like that," he said, "but I can't go in the bars. I'm only twenty."
I was willing to gamble, at least enough to get it started, planning ahead. "Well, we could always go to my place. There's nothing says you can't drink in a private home, is there?"
His eyes clouded for a moment, the smile disappeared. Finally he said, "Look, I'll be honest with you. I just got out of County Jail, and after six months ... well, I planned on getting a little nookie t'night, you know? Maybe ... maybe if you come back down here tomorrow night...."
I almost laughed, but I didn't. I just said, "Hell, man, I'm not putting the make on you! I'm no fairy.
We can have a drink or two then I'll bring you back. It'll be later and your chances'll be better, anyway,"
"Well...." he hesitated. "Well, okay."
I led him in the opposite direction, and at the alley I said, "I got to step in here a minute and take a leak."
He did what I had hoped he would; he followed me in, opened his fly, and pulled his whang out. It wasn't monstrous, but even in the dull light I could see that there was enough there, a fine shaft of pinkish flesh capped with a good sized, well-ridged knob. Hard, it just might stretch at least a little "beyond average."
In the car, driving back through the city, I decided that I had better level with him. "Look," I said, "I been having a little trouble with my wife. I ... I just can't get a hard-on for her any more."
He whistled softly between his teeth, an expression that said, "Gee, that's rough!"
"What I thought ... Well, it's been driving her a little wild, y'know, not getting laid, so I thought maybe if I took a good-looking guy home and we played it right, maybe he could get at her and satisfy her a little."
"You mean...? You mean ... you want me to screw your wife?" he gasped.
"She's not bad," I said, "she's not bad at all."
"Hell, I didn't mean that. I meant ...! Well, hell's bells, I've been in some screwy positions before, but I've never had a guy ask me to screw his wife!"
"You've probably never met a guy in my position before, either. But going on, I thought maybe ... well, y'know, there's a possibility that if you got going with her I could keep a hard-on, then I'd get in on the fun."
"Like ... like how?" he asked suspiciously, and I laughed again. He obviously still had his doubts and probably figured that I was thinking about sending it up his brownie.
"Like letting her suck me off while you humped her."
"Oh."
"I don't even know if it'll work, but I hope you'll be wiling to give it a try. By the way, what's your name?"
"Lance," he said. "Lance Morrow."
"Mine's Mark. Mark Sheffield."
We shook hands almost solemnly, his grip a firm one, then rode on in silence. Finally, he said, "Jesus! Jesus, I just don't know!"
"Ah, relax. We're going to have a few drinks first, that'll make you feel better."
. I nosed the car into the stall, shut off the ignition and doused the lights. I reached over and squeezed his leg. "Come on, man let's go up and see what happens!" Walking up the steps I was hopeful; here was a young stud who hadn't had a piece for at least six months, and up there was my wife who was frustrated because I hadn't been able to satisfy her.
Laurie was sitting in an occasional chair, a magazine on her lap; she looked up, and I could see that she had been crying during the day. But there was still hope in her eyes-and I was glad to see that she had straightened herself up. Her hair was combed, her make-up just right, and she was wearing a neat housecoat. She started to say something, then saw Lance. I almost had to pull him in, making the intro auctions, then left him standing there while I went to mix the drinks.
"Hell, sit down, man, be comfortable!" I said, handing him his drink. I put Laurie's on the table beside her. They were strong, both of them! The drinks, that is! "Jesus," I said, "it's hot in here, let's take our shirts off."
I stripped mine off, throwing it aside. Lance looked at me with almost no expression; then he slowly followed suit. I was pleased to see that whde his shoulders weren't particularly broad, he had a strong smooth chest, and a hard, flat belly. Youth, and Laurie would have to like youth! "Might just as well get all the more comfortable," I said, and kicked off my shoes. Again he hesitated a moment and then followed suit. I was beginning to get a kick out of it; I was beginning to get a hard-on! Glancing over, I saw that Lance was following suit in that, too. He might be hesitant, but the seed had been planted and was beginning to grow, and I guess the ground was pretty fertile after six cuntless months!
"Why don't you get comfortable, honey?" I asked. And then, with a laugh and pushing myself up, "Hell, why don't we all get comfortable!" I undid my buckle and slid my pants off, my three-quarter hard-on popping up.
"Mark!" Laurie cried out, and her face was beet red.
"Come on, Lance, get comfortable!"
"I ... I ... I...."
"Come on, goddamnit!"
He swallowed, then pushed himself to his feet. His dick was iron hard now, pressing out against his pants.
Like me, he obviously didn't wear shorts. He swallowed a couple of times, looking down at the floor; then he unbuttoned his pants and slid them off. His whang bounced up against his belly, and I had prophesized right. It was slightly over average, and big around as a silver dollar. The shaft was hard, the knob pinkish.
"Come on, Laurie, don't be a killjoy. Hell, we're big people now, we don't have to play kids games."
"I ... I won't do it. Oh, Mark...."
I looked down at her, and I forced myself to think of Sylvia Hawkins naked between her legs, plunging the dildo in and out of her. "You'll do it, goddamnit," I said in a half growl, "you'll do everything I tell you to! You know why I brought Lance home? Because he's young 'nd well hung, 'nd because he hasn't had a piece of ass for six months, 'nd because you've been bawlin 'cause you're cock hungry! Well, you're gonna get some cock, sweetie! You're gonna get that cock of his right up that hot box of yours!"
She pushed herself back against the back of the chair, something, like fear in her eyes. "No!" she gasped.
"Yes," I said, and took a step toward her. My hard-on stayed intact; if anything, it got harder. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up; she struggled, but I got my arm around her from the back, and despite her clawing and kicking, I got her housecoat open down the front. She was crying, but I didn't give a damn; if anything, her crying made me all the more determined. By god, I told myself, if she could use a dildo, she could sure as hell take another man if I told her to. I finally got the housecoat off her and she seemed to fold. She wrapped her arms around her tits and squeezed her legs together, but Lance had seen enough to know that she was a good piece. "Now, you just relax, baby," I said gently. "You just sit down and have your drink, relax a little, and when you're feelin' better well get on with the business at hand."
"This ... this is ... unbelievable! Oh, I hate you! I hate you, Mark Sheffield!"
I laughed. "Wait 'til you get that rod goin' to town up your cooze, sweetie, you'll change your tune. You'll be thanking me. It's a helluva lot better than a hunk of rubber!"
Lance had been standing as if he were paralyzed (his cock was still paralyzed, hard against his belly). Finally, half-whispering, he said, "Maybe ... maybe I better go."
"Oh, for christ sake, don't you start in! Just relax, goddamnit, both of you. Drink your drinks, get feeling a little happy, then well have us a ball!"
And, as they say in the Bible, it came to pass. Laurie, trapped, chug-a-lugged her drink and I fixed another. She finally was tipsy enough that I led her into the bedroom, got her on the bed and loved her up. I sweet talked while I played with her titties, fingered her pussy, and got her hot enough that she groped for and finally got hold of my prick. "What you want, honey?" I cooed, "tell me what you want"
"Oh, I want you to fuck me, Mark! Please, please, fuck me!"
It was a temptation, believe me, but I didn't want to spoil things by crawling on and having it go soft I was afraid that jl it did it wouldn't get hard again. So, knowing that she was tipsy enough to get a little confused, I pushed myself away from her. "You lay right here, honey I'm gonna take a leak, then I'll come back and pour it to you!"
I turned the light out, but the light from the living room kept it from being totally dark. Back in the living room I smiled at Lance and pointed toward the bedroom. "Go get it, boy!" I whispered.
He swallowed again, grasping the arms of the chair; then he pushed himself up. Obviously afraid that if he stopped he couldn't get going again, he passed me and went into the bedroom. I moved to stand in the doorway.
He went directly to the bed and crawled on beside her, took her in his arms and moved his mouth to hers. It was the starter, the direct approach, and while their lips merged he ground his hard cock against her. They did that a bit; then he pulled away a little. His mouth still on hers, a hand went out and he started playing with her tits. Her hand groped for and found his cock, stroked it, and he moved his hand on down to her pussy. She loved it; she raised her hips a little, spread her legs, and he really went at it. He grasped it, giving it a good feel, then fingered it. He slid a finger in and began moving it around in circles. His mouth moved down to her tits, his tongue skillfully sloshing around. He found a nipple, I could tell, and was giving it a good tonguing. Laurie was writhing, not jerking him but sort of pulling on his whang as he sent sensations through her with hand and mouth, and he was obviously enjoying what he had been waiting six months for. And in that moment I thought that I understood Tim Handley a little better; it was really exciting, watching them go at it like two youngsters, who have just discovered the secret of the other sex. I had hold of my own pud and was tempted to pull it! Looking ahead to when he finally got his plunger into her, my own excitement grew more.
He pulled his finger out of her pussy, palmed it again for a couple of moments, then straddled her. I could see his ass, the cheeks together like the lips of a virgin cunt, and his balls hanging down between his legs-but his prick was still up along his belly. He lowered himself and I knew that he had it pressed against her muff; his hips moved and he was taking a dry run. Then he raised up and a hand went down-I couldn't tell whether it was his or heirs-his prick was pushed down, and I almost dumped a load from the excitement of it as I saw the head slide along that pliant crevice. His hips moved again, slowly, and the hand could leave; his prickhead was caught, now all he had to do was to start working it in. He did, using smooth, even strokes; then he had it buried in her and his balls were lying between her legs.
He started moving his hips again, and that was a clue for me-if it was going to happen, now was the time to get it started. I moved to the side of the bed, pushed his shoulder; he raised up, prick sunk in her, and looked at me almost as if he were dazed; then he remembered. His hands slid to my hips as I straddled her; I took hold of my cock and pressed it down against her. It hit her chin, her cheek; then she finally realized what it was hitting her. Her mouth opened and her lips went over the head, slid down the shaft, my balls hanging down over her chin. I almost held my breath; it felt great, her tonguing me, sliding her lips up and down my shaft, and the feeling of the bed moving while he was giving her a royal fucking had its own kind of excitement. I liked the warmth of her tits under my buttocks, the hard, prick-like nipples rough against my skin. I liked it all, but then it happened again. She was sucking her heart out, but the damn thing went limp. I couldn't believe it, but it had happened! Groaning, I rolled over, pulling free of them, and then watched as he straightened out, his mouth going to hers. He fucked on as if nothing had happened, pouring it to her with skill and enthusiasm, and she began to respond more fully. She receded from him as he drew away, rose up to meet him as he sent it plunging into her again; they belly banged and parted, belly banged and parted. Finally she struggled to get her legs outside his, then as he kept pouring it to her she moved her legs up over his, crossed her ankles over his back, and they were really going at it. At last he let out an "Oh, fuck!" and drove it into her, burying it clean to the hilt. I could tell from his twitching buttocks that he was spurting off one hell of a load, and it had done things to Laurie. She was thrashing around like a chicken with its head cut off. They crumpled onto the bed, a mass of satisfied flesh, and there I sat with a renewed hard-on. Keerist!
I reached over and felt his ass. It was warm and firm, the cheeks tight. I was tempted to try to pour it to him, to see if that would work-I remembered his saying that he wanted nookie tonight, but if I went back tomorrow night ... I was tempted, but I didn't. I stretched out on my back and looked up at the ceiling.
"Oh, Mark," I heard Laurie sigh, "honey, that was so good. I'm so glad you could do it again." There was movement, then she said, "Don't take it out, honey. Maybe if you leave it in it'll get hard again!"
Careful not to shake the boat, I eased myself off the bed and went into the living room. I found my glass and headed for the kitchen to refill it. I honest to god didn't know what I thought or felt at that moment-I didn't know whether to be glad that she had finally been satisfied, frustrated over my inability, or what! I took my drink and sprawled in a chair, looked down at my hard-on and shook my head.
The springs creaked a little, water ran in the bathroom, then Lance came into the living room. He shook his head. "Sorry it didn't work for you," he said, "but ... well, you sure did me a favor Jesus, that was ... that was great!"
I merely snorted.
He looked down at me. "Jesus, with a hunk of meat like that, I don't see how she could keep from telling us apart."
"She's drunk," I said, and I hoped that in the morning she wouldn't remember what had happened. And then, because it was true, "Besides that, you're not so badly hung, yourself."
He sprawled in a chair across from me, slouched down. A few seconds later, more as if he were talking to himself than to me, "It seems sort of funny....I mean, if some gal was sucking on my meat...."
"Forget it, will ya?" I demanded, more ferociously than I intended. "The whole truth is, I'm just tired of her. I've fucked her so many times, she's blown me so many times, that I'm just tired of it. When I take you back I'm goin' to keep on goin'. I'm goin' to find myself a nice little wench, and brother, if you were there you'd see some fucking!"
He shook his head, and I knew what he was thinking. He'd never get tired of something like that! Well, maybe he wouldn't, but I had. This had been the proof of the pudding.
Then he surprised me. "Look," he said, "if you want ... Well, you did me a favor, if you want I'd ... I'd jerk you off."
I laughed, then I pushed myself to my feet. "Come on, buddy, let's get dressed and go back downtown!"
Lance was staying in a cheap hotel on the lower end of town. I let him off in front of it, then headed for a service station not too far away where there was a telephone booth. I dialed Moulter's number, forming a smile-get ready, honey, get ready for action! Li'l o'l Mark is hot to trot!
Disappointment was like a bitter medicine when I got her answering service. "No," I answered almost angrily, "I don't want to leave a message!"
Sheeit! Of all times for her to have to go out on a call! Probably somebody with a phony ache or pain, anyway, and here' I was with a bad case of hot rocks that needed to be relieved!
I was hot. Sometimes I can get stirred up and then forget it, get busy doing something else, but this wasn't one of those times. Watching Lance at work, watching him slobber over Laurie's tits while he fingered her pussy, watching him building her fires and then getting his plunger in place and going to town . ... man that had fired me up! Nothing would satisfy me now until I'd popped off my wad. I was on the prowl, there were no two ways about it; I wanted pussy so bad I could taste it.
Jesus, I remembered the old days, before I had gotten married. I'd still been living at home, and when I got to feeling like this I'd he on my bed, look up at the ceding and think, Who do I want tonight? I'd go over the list in my mind, a mental list of available girls-girls who had let me know that when I wanted to screw all I had to do was give the word. It was a mental file that had them listed by geographical location, physical descriptions, and the kind of sex act they were best at. My mind would go like a Data Processing machine, a computer, and a card would plop out; I'd look at it and then go into action.
But that was a long time ago, I'd lost all contact, and here I was tonight, sitting in my car in the closed service station, wanting it bad. Well, I wasn't going to get it sitting on my duff! I started the engine.
Driving back uptown I remembered the dumb little blonde. Now, there had been a lay, and she had been eager for more! I wondered ... It was only a few minutes before nine, there was a good possibility. I headed for the old neighborhood.
The restaurant where the kids gathered for lunch was, as I had hoped, a gathering spot for them at night, too. The juke box was going full blast, the place was packed, and a jolly time seemed to be being had by all. They were clustered at tables, swarming around the counter, all those fresh young kids. For a few moments, as I looked in on it, I remembered how it had been when I was at that age, doing what they were doing! The girls looked so vitally alive, so ready to be plucked, the boys ran the gamut from those who were staying to themselves to those who were obviously working on something. All that meat ... the young tits pressing against sweaters and blouses, the nicely rounded butts, the nice young legsl Oh, yes, and the boys with their cocks, but my only concern where that was concerned was that I was going to take one's place tonight. Sorry, buster, " ut at your age it's permissible to go home and beat your meat when you've lost out!
I pushed through the door and started making my way through the crowd, not unaware of the pressure of young bodies as I looked around for her. (And, I might add, not failing to look at a lot of other nice young faces, heavy hanging tits, and making a mental note of any that were especially interesting!)
"Hey, man, you lookin' for somebody in particular?" a teen-ager asked me.
I only looked at him, smiled faintly, and moved on, To say yes would mean to have to give a name, and I had foolishly not asked her name. I could hardly say (although it might have worked) that I was looking for a dumb blonde who gave a good fuck and had a drunken father!
I found her in the back. She was sitting in a booth with an older boy, a clean cut kid who was eighteen or nineteen. He had his arm around her and his fingers were fiddling with her tit, under her arm. (I could see the fingers and found myself wondering if what I had heard was true-if long fingers did automatically mean a big cock. If it did ... ) She was half-leaning against him, her other tit touching his chest, and her hand was at his crotch. Another couple sat across from them in pretty much the same position, and all four were oblivious to the raucous teenagers around them. I smiled to myself, remembering. If I were to walk away, in just a little while there would be a car parked in some lonely spot and on each seat a lush young girl would be getting it pounded to her! But I didn't intend to walk away.
The boy became aware of me first. He looked up, his eyes questioning and then hardening a little. "You want somethin', Mac?"
The girl turned, looked up. Her eyes widened, her mouth formed a surprised O! She put a hand on his chest and pushed herself straight. I looked her straight in the eyes, letting only a hint of a smile touch my mouth. "You coming with me?"
She stuttered and stammered and the guy put in his two cents worth-a rather heated two cents worth, I might add-but in the end she pulled free of his grasp and got to her feet, straightening her skirt at the same time. "Hones', Joe," she half cried, "this's important, but I'll be back. Hones', Joe!"
"About an hour," I said to him. I put my hand on the small of her back and half pushed, hah guided her through the crowd and out of the building. I felt then, foolish as it might have been, as Joe might have felt had he been in my place-like a teen-ager who had just made contact and knew that in a very few minutes he was going to be getting his jollies off!
I was very gallant, opening the door for her, and by the time I had gotten around and slid under the steering wheel she had moved over so that we were pressed together. Her hand went immediately to my crotch.
"Gee," she said, wrapping her fingers around my whang, "I sure was surprised to see you!"
"And pleased, I hope!" I half laughed, starting the engine.
"Oh, sure, gosh, yes! I told you I like mature men!" Then, with a little giggle, "You gonna let me do ... that ... tonight?"
"Suck me off, you mean?"
"Yeah. I even dreamed about it after we was together last time."
I put my hand on her leg, feeling the warm flesh. "If that's your wish, my sweet, that's what well do. But we'll do a little lovin' first, okay?"
She knew a place to go that was closer and, it being dark, acceptable. I didn't even try to imagine how many times she had been there! But once there, I took her into my arms, felt all her warm loveliness, and started kissing the hell out of her. I rubbed her legs, slid my hand up under her skirt and felt her pussy. Sliding a finger under the silk panties; she groaned a little and spread her legs, giving me freer access. I took advantage of it. It was going to be tough, ignoring that beautiful box, but for the moment I could enjoy playing with it. I tugged on the panties, got them pulled down, and really went at it. She, at the same time, had fussed until she'd gotten my zipper open; she pulled my hard whang out and wrapped her fingers around it, almost purring into my mouth. I got a finger in, a second one. With my other hand I worked at her blouse, getting it pulled up enough so that I could grasp a lush tit; I played with it, teased the nipple, and with fingers busy at both ends she writhed in pleasure.
She pulled her mouth away for a moment. "Sweetie, will you pull your pants down? I want to get at it real good."
I chuckled. "Honey, I'm not giving up my hold. I'll raise up and you take care of it!"
I raised up and she slid my pants down, clear down to my ankle, then she really went at it. She played with my balls, fondled my cock, stroked it, while I continued to play with a tit and feel around her hot, lovely box. Finally I whispered against her cheek, "Sweetie, how about if you suck on it awhile then I stick it up this beautiful cooze of yours?"
"Oh, but I want ... I want to feel you shooting!" she cried out like a disappointed child, and I almost had to laugh.
"Okay, okay!" I answered; then I pushed her away. I pulled her blouse up, went at her tits with my mouth. I gave each one of them a thorough working over (remembering Moulter wanting to get fucked between hers, because these were fuckable ones, too); then I scrounged around so that I could get my head between her legs. I lapped at her pussy, running my tongue up and down it, then I positioned my tongue and started working it in. She groaned again, spreading her legs, and my old tongue really went to work. Finally I stiffened it and started fucking her, and after a little while she gave out little squeals, jostled her hips, and I knew that she was loosing her cookies.
"Oh, sweet fuck," she cried out, "oh, wow, that feels soooooo good!"
Then it was her turn. I pulled one leg free of my pants and swung it up onto the seat. She went directly to my crotch, taking my balls in one hand and the base of my prick in the other. She kissed the head, wiping her tongue around it, then made her mouth into an O and slid it down over the shaft. She slid her mouth up and down, bravely taking as much as she could; every once in awhile I felt the head hit the back of her throat. She'd pull out, her lips catching on the ridge of my prickhead for a moment, traveling over it lightly and then moving back down. She may not have had much experience at it, but she was doing a mighty fine job. Then she slid her mouth off it, kissed her way down the stem and came to my balls. She licked the loose skin of the sac, then sucked an almond-shaped ball into her mouth; she tongued it, then let it go and went for the other. She tried, but she couldn't take them both at once; giving up, she kissed her way back up the shaft and slid her lips over the head again. This time she kept going-until I had to reach out for her head, and I held it while I started humping-her mouth became a receptacle that I was fucking. I felt it growing ... growing ... then I pushed up off the seat and sent of load of come shooting down her throat. She gagged, but she bravely swallowed, taking it all, and when I fell back against the seat she rode with it. She sucked it dry, then licked any that might have been left on the head off and raised up.
"Wow, you really shot a load!" . "Did you like it? Was it what you wanted?"
"I like it from you" she answered honestly, "but I don't think I'd suck other guys' cocks."
I chuckled and reached down to squeeze her tits. She was really something, so sweet and simple.
CHAPTER TEN
I stretched and rolled over onto my back, blinking my eyes open. I didn't want to wake up, but I didn't fight against it; I just lay there and let my brain slowly come awake. Finally, sensing something, I turned my head. I was sleeping on the divan these nights (doctors orders, you know); I saw Laurie sitting in a chair across from me. She was stark naked, which was not unusual, but her legs were spread out so that my first view was of her pussy. I raised my eyes up past her swaying tits to her face; and then I sat up quickly. She had an A printed on her forehead in red-in lipstick.
"Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
"Don't you remember The Scarlet Letter.' Any married woman who fucked another man was labeled an adultress and had a red 'A' painted on her forehead!" she said almost bitterly. Then she pushed herself to her feet and raised a hand to her forehead, smearing the A until it was unreadable. "But then, if a woman's husband brings that man home and makes her fuck him; then she isn't really an adultress, is she?
"Oh, Mark!" she cried out, "How could you do such a thing?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" I spit out, pushing myself up and swinging my legs off the divan. "I did you a favor, goddamnit! I gave you an honest-to-god hunk of cock to fuck instead of that goddamned dildo! You ought to thank me, not pull a stupid scene like this!"
"Thank you! My god, what kind of a man are you?"
I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to tell her that I was the kind of man who had simply gotten tired of his wife, who not only wanted but needed a little variety. I didn't want to tell her, if she didn't remember, that I had tried again last night, really tried, but that I had gone soft in her mouth. I took the line of least resistance; I pushed myself up and went into the bathroom. I showered, went into the bedroom and dressed, and then left the apartment without speaking to her again.
I drove down to the corner and into the service station, parked to the side and went into the telephone booth. Her home number I could remember, but I had to look up P. H. Moulter's office number. After a couple of rings I heard Miss-Redhead-with-the-big-tit's efficient voice. She was sorry, but Doctor was with a patient ... but when I identified myself her voice changed ever-so-slightly and after a moment's pause she assured me that Doctor could see me at two-fifteen. I looked at my watch; that gave me a little over two hours.
"Okay," I said, "I'll be there."
Stepping out of the booth, I saw someone standing by my car. It was Lance Morrow. "Hi!" he said cheer fully. "I was just on my way up to your place and saw your car."
By daylight he looked even younger than he had the night before. He had the fresh, clean look of a high-schooler just out of the showers, and to look into his face you wouldn't have thought that our dealings had been in sex. As a matter-of-fact, you wouldn't have thought about him and sex at all. You would have been more inclined to imagine him interested in football or something of that nature. You sure wouldn't have thought of him pronging another guy's wife while the guy looked on!
"Come on," I said, "I've got to get some coffee under my belt."
Driving along, he smiled and asked, 'You score last night?"
"Yeah," I answered, and looking over at him I realized that he would be interested in the details (or did I just want to tell him about it?). Anyway, I told him about it, giving him a graphic description, and it had its effect on him. His rod stuck up hard against his pants. I had to laugh; this was obviously a fucker after my own heart! "So you see," I concluded, "when I've got my prick in the right gals mouth, no strain!"
"Jesus," he half whispered, rubbing his shaft "Man, I'd like to get in on a scene like that!"
With him in his condition-and me not far from it-I drove into a drive-in rather than going to a restaurant. Besides that, I figured that he would enjoy the scenery, the young girls in their tittie tight blouses and ass long skirts. (Or should I say ass short skirts?) He did.
"Man," he said, "after six months of seeing nothing but men, of beating my own meat when it got too much for me, I just can't get enough! Just look at the knockers on that cutie over there!"
When a sharp little blonde came over, leaning down so that the upper part of her tits were almost in my face, I thought he was going to cream his jeans. I laughed and ordered our coffee, and while we waited for it I told him about Laurie's dramatic scene of the morning. He frowned. When I'd finished he said, "Well, I'll have to admit that I enjoyed screwin' her, but I'm sorry it developed into a hassle for you."
"No strain," I answered, and I meant it. I wasn't going to let it become a strain; if Laurie didn't like it, well, tough tittie! I looked down at his crotch again and thought again that she should have thanked me-after all, it isn't every husband who'd be kind enough to furnish his wife with a good-looking, clean, well-hung ldd like this!
"What'd you get sent up for?" I asked. "Or would you rather not tell me?"
He shrugged his shoulders and looked out through the windshield. "When I get low ... broke, y'know? ... I sometimes hustle. It ain't so bad. It's usually good for anywhere from five to twenty bucks, 'nd I just he there and tell myself it's a girl suckin' me off. Well, one night I hustled the wrong guy ... a cop."
As simple as that. No apologies. But he obviously didn't want to dwell on it, or maybe even think about it. He said, "Y'know, after you let me off last night I hit another stroke of luck. There was this broad checking into the hotel, she was thirty-five or forty but kind of nice. I helped her take her suitcase up to her room and she invited me in. I guess you know what happened!"
I looked across at him and laughed. "That's a lie, and you know it!"
He laughed back. "Yeah. I only wish it had happened! I still got me a lot of stored up loads to dump!" He rubbed his half limp cock. "This old thing's going to leap up every time it sees a broad until I get caught up!"
"And no guys in between?" I asked, thinking of Tim.
"Not on your life. Unless, of course, I can't find at least a part-time job before then. 'Matter of fact, that's what I was going to do this morning, look for a job, but...."
"But you thought you'd come back and see if there was a chance for seconds," I finished for him when he didn't.
Our eyes met for a moment, and he nodded. Yes, he had hoped for seconds, but little Laurie had ruled that out.
We had been riding around. Now I looked down at my watch. "I've got an appointment in a few minutes. You want to sit in the car and wait for me?"
"Might's well, if you don't care."
There were several people in the waiting room, which I took to be a bad sign. I was more convinced of it when the redheaded nurse led me down the hallway and into Moulter's office rather than the examination room. "Doctor will be with you shortly," she said, and closed the door behind her, and it was a final closing of the door to a "quickie" even!
I hadn't been there long when P. H. literally burst into the room, a radiant smile on her face, closing the door behind her. It seemed only natural to take her into my arms, and I did. Our lips met and she put her arms around me tightly, pulling me hard against her.
"Oh, Mark," she said, "it's such an awful day, but I'm so glad to see you!"
"I called last night...."
"I know. At least I figured it was you who wouldn't leave a message. Oh, darling, if you hadn't hung up so soon, if you had told the operator who you were, she had a message for you to meet me later."
"Fine time to tell me!" I laughed; then I pushed her gently away. "Look, if we aren't going to have time to do anything; then I want to talk to you about something."
"Be a good boy, be good to me, Mark, and let me mix it up. Okay?"
"Meaning?"
"Sit down, my love, and talk to me as you wish!"
I sat down, not knowing what to expect, but it didn't take long for me to find out what she had in mind. She went to her knees between my legs, reached out and rubbed me to a hard-on as she looked into my eyes with a smile. "Tell me what you wanted to talk about, my love," she said, opening my zipper and hauling my rigid whang out, leaning over to kiss the head as a sort of greeting. She wrapped her fingers around it and looked up at me, a smile of pure pleasure on her face, a glowing in her eyes.
I told her briefly what had happened the night before, the scene with Laurie and Lance. There wasn't time, nor did there seem to be the necessity to give her details as I had of earlier activities. "So forget about our screwing," I concluded, "Just tell me what you really think is wrong and what I should do!"
"I told you I'm no psychiatrist," she answered honestly and seriously, "but it seems pretty obvious to me. You tried to assume your obligation, to be a good husband, but you're simply not the one-woman land of man. And little wonder," she half laughed, squeezing my hot cock, stroking it fondly a couple of times. Then she was serious again. "Maybe you're right Maybe you never did love her, or maybe you've lost that love ... but at least you can get along with her. Why not just accept it, Mark? I'd be willing to bet that if you let yourself go, with no feelings of guilt, if you just ... well, flew high, I guess is a good enough expression ... maybe in a little while you could go back and complete the act with her. It's ... I think you have a psychological block. When you start to do it to her, your subconscious tells you that she's kept you from doing what you really want to do."
I nodded my head. It made sense. Then I looked down at her and smiled. "Is that the doctor's orders?"
She leaned over and pressed her cheek against my whang, pressing it hard against my leg. "Yes, that's doctor's orders, especially if you fly high up into a certain high-rise apartment!"
She turned her head and ran her lips up and down my shaft; she let it go free, then put her mouth over it and slid her lips down it. She moved them up and down a couple of times, then pulled them away and got to her feet
"Jesus," I spit out, "you're not going to leave me like this, are you?"
"Duty calls, my love. Can you wait, or do you want to meet me at the apartment as soon as I can get away?"
I shook my head. Man she was too much! Then the old slot machine reels seemed to work in my head again, clicked into place, and I said, I'll meet you at the apartment. But let me ask you. That fella I told you about, the one I took home last night, he's in the car. Want me to bring him along?"
Her eyes changed almost imperceptibly, widening for a moment, then she said, "That ... that could prove rather interesting! If you don't mind."
I laughed again. "Fun for all and all for fun, baby!"
"Good. Six-thirty?"
"We'll be there with balls on!"
She laughed and left the room.
Lance's eyes almost bugged out as we walked into the lobby of the high-rise; having been there before, I could walk with more self-assurance. I walked right up to the uniformed man near the elevators and nodded. "Dr. Moulter."
He didn't use the telephone. He merely nodded back and pressed the button, opening the door. Moulter had obviously given instructions on her way through-which meant, of course, that she had already gotten home. If he thought anything about two young men who weren't very fancily dressed, he didn't let on.
"See!" I said as the door to her apartment opened and she stood framed in it, "didn't I tell you she was beautiful?" She was. Again the doctor was all gone, there was nothing but lovely, beautiful woman, blonde hair fluffed out, bare throat showing above a light blue housecoat that showed every luscious line and curve of her body. "P. H.-that stands for "Prick Hardener'-this's Lance Morrow."
"Lance," she said in a sort of sultry voice, sticking out a hand for him. He gulped and took it, in too much of a state to even answer, then almost tripped over his own feet following us into the apartment. Seeing it, a low whistle escaped from between his lips. I'll fix us a drink," P. H. said.
"Good! While you're doing that, we'll just shuck off and get comfortable," I answered, sitting down and starting to take my shoes off. I looked up at Lance, saw his hard-on already starting, and winked. "Get with it, boy!"
When she came back with three glasses and a decanter on a tray she found two naked studs sprawled in comfortable chairs-and two hard cocks standing at attention. Her eyes brightened and her mouth formed into an admiring O; she almost missed the coffee table as she lowered the tray to it. "Join us, baby. You look awfully overdressed!"
She laughed softly, but she didn't hesitate. Untying the belt, undoing the zipper, she stepped out of and let the robe fall into a puddle at her feet. Lance looked at her with open-mouthed admiration, his cock quivering. I had told him that she was a little older and well built, but I hadn't gone into detail; now he could see for himself that she had a luscious set of tongue-lickin' good knockers, beautiful curves and mounds, and the piece de resistance between her legs as inviting as a guy could want.
"Oh, dear," she said, standing near the coffee table after she had handed us our drinks and taken hers, "what do I do?"
"You be good to old friends first," I answered, knowing full well what she meant. She laughed and came over to me. Lowering herself onto my lap, I felt her tit hot against my chest, her firm leg pushing my prick down. I squirmed a little and it raised up between her legs; she clasped them together around it, the shaft barely touching her sweet mound. "How do you like Lance's cock, P. H.? It's slightly over average, too, y'know!"
"Slightly over! It's lovely."
"Good balls, too, huh? Lance, stand up so she can get a better view of what's to come!"
Lance gulped again, but he pushed himself to his feet. His hard-on, good and thick, stuck up against his belly; his balls hung down like a bull's. His body was young, almost hairless and firm. "Lovely," P. H. said admiringly.
"Now, how you gonna choose between us?"
"Choose between you! I thought ... I thought...!"
I laughed and squeezed her. "Honey, you thought right. You're gonna get cock from all directions t'night!"
We finished our drinks and headed for the bedroom. She threw the spread and blankets back, leaving only the scented sheets, and crawled up on it. Lance and I crawled up on either side of her, and the ball game was on! We were feeling and groping, kissing (hell, I think we even kissed each other a couple of times), changing positions every once in awhile. P. H. was having the time of her life, squirming around, grabbing cock, taking whichever tongue happened to be working into her mouth, getting herself royally manhandled. It got pretty high pressure, and I knew there had to be an end to it-an end to it for the joy of it, then resting up to start all over again!
"Okay, Lance, boy, I'm gonna be nice to you. You get the first shot at that pussy, if you think you can handle it!"
I rolled over on my back, pulling P. H. with me, and she got the picture right away. (Maybe she was remembering some of the tales I'd told her, putting them into action!) She got on her knees between my legs, cupped my balls in one hand and grasped my prong in the other. Her hot lips touched the hot head of my cock, then slid over them. Lance, meanwhile, got between her legs; straight up, on his knees, he took his whang in his hand and started running it up and down her cooze, probably clear up to her puckered little asshole. Then he shifted a little, bending over her buttocks, and I could tell that he was starting entry. I could tell from the look on his face when he got it going good, when it was safely in; then as he started his rhythmic motion, I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the feeling of her fast-learning mouth on my whang. I felt like I was in heaven and I didn't want it to end-as nice as the little blonde had been the night before, this was better! Being naked, stretched out on a comfortable bed, with a truly sharp woman working on it was the greatest! And there was added enjoyment (or excitement) from knowing that at the same time she was getting a hunk of cock shoved at her from the other end.
She did a lot of playing, of mouth loving, working on my balls right along with my cock, but then I knew that things were happening down below because she took my cock back into her mouth and started working on it with full intensity. She was sliding her mouth up and down it for all she was worth, and I felt the feeling growing; my hips started moving, pushing my prong up to meet her on-coming mouth, pulling away, pushing up again. The intensity increased, then as I heard Lance gasp out his, "Oh, fuck!" I thrust up and felt the gism shooting out with head-splitting sensations. Lance was humping her like a jack rabbit. She was swallowing my load as it spurted out, her own body quivering. Then he fell forward, grabbed onto her and rolled over onto his side. He was a cocksman from way back; he quivered his thick meat into her until the last drop was obviously drained out, then sort of melted. She had hung on, too, and now, breathing hard but with softening meat still in her mouth, she lowered her cheek to my body. Round one was over and we were all down for the count! I was too spent to even fully appreciate the feel of her warm tits against my leg. It seemed like about an hour before I was finally able to say, "What about it, doc? You like these three-ways?"
She opened her mouth and flicked her tongue against the head of my cock. I took that to be an affirmative answer! I reached down and squeezed a tit
"What say we have a drink?"
Lance sprawled on the couch, his buttocks right on the edge, drink in hand. P. H. sat on the floor between his legs, turned slightly so that she could use hand or cheek on his cock, whichever she wanted at the moment. I was on my belly on the floor between her legs, up close enough so that when I wanted to I could lean down and nuzzle her pussy, tongue it if I wanted. It was a relaxing period, but none of us could completely relax. I guess it could more rightly have been called a period of half-suspended animation while the beautifully designed (and thank god for it) machinery inside our bodies built up another load. It was a good time, though; I think that we all were simmering from the feeling of orgasm, but at the same time thinking ahead to the next session. Maybe they were wondering what it would be, but I had already decided. After all, I was the teacher, P. H. my student, and Lance a buddy I'd brought along to share the pleasures!
When I felt enough life back in my body I set my glass aside. I slid a hand under each of P.H.'s legs and pushed them up, spreading them slightly. That way I could really go head first into pussyland, and I really got it. I opened my mouth completely over it, running my tongue around through her pubic hair, nibbled at it enough to tease, then started lapping. I ran my tongue from deep between her legs clear along that nice crevice, retreated and did it again; I straightened out my tongue and sent it into her. She wriggled, loving it, and that only gave me added incentive. I used my tongue like it's supposed to be used, and before long she was moving her entire midriff. But she hadn't been idle; she had apparently gotten busy on Lance's shaft, and now he turned around, swinging a leg over her as he got to his knees. She was sucking cock and getting eaten and liking it. Now, both of them stirred up again, I was ready to go!
She had liked the tittie fucking. Well, I was going to show her a new technique! I was going to show how I could fuck her, and in doing it make a cock between her tits come to a climax! The no strain, no energy wasted routine for them! I got Lance spread out on his back on the floor, got her up on him with his turgid cock between her tits (with her, of course, pulling them tight together as she had for me); then I got between her legs. I grabbed a hip in each hand and pulled up-not so she was clear up on her knees, but just up enough that I could slide my whang between her legs, get it buried between her lips and then drive it the rest of the way in. I felt her hot flesh fold over it, take it all-well, as much of it as she could before my belly hit her nice little ass!-then I started giving it to her. I took long, lusty thrusts, sending it as deep as I could get it, withdrawing until just the head was left in, thrusting it in again. I kept pumping, and each drive sent her upper body up a little over him, each withdrawal let her withdraw. It felt good for me and I was just about ready to ask Lance how it felt to him when his hands told me; they came down and landed on my shoulders, and with each of my thrusts his fingers dug into me. I knew that meant that her hot, firm, prick squeezing titties were giving him the kind of sensation I had anticipated; the kind of sensation that her lovely cunt was giving my tool. It enthused me, I fucked with more determination, and in a matter of moments we were all grunting and groaning; then Lance let out his usual just-before shooting, "Oh, fuck!" I drove my cock as deep in her as I could get, and her throbbing pussy gladly accepted it. I felt her shooting; and then I felt myself shooting, and the quivering under us left no doubt that Lance was shooting off from between her tits, splattering his own stomach with gobs of sticky come. The three of us shuddered with orgasm; then I fell against her, pressing her harder against him. It had been great. It really had been greatl We didn't unfold from that one for quite awhile!
Finally P. H., with the new-found freedom and sense of humor that was endearing her to me, said, "You know what's better than a nice hunk of meat? Two nice hunks of meat?"
Lance and I both chuckled, too tired to laugh outright. Well, not tired ... too contented. I'd have been willing to bet that the hottest number in town (if there were any hotter than P. H. at the moment) could have swung on either one of our whangs and not gotten it the least bit hard. A hundred luscious babes with big tits and pulsating pussies could have walked through and our peters would have stayed like they were-flopped down from total exhaustion. But we weren't dead; we were only recuperating again!
We ended up lying in a row, P.H. in the middle with Lance on one side and me on the other, our legs over hers, our limp cocks lying on her belly.
"To think," she said almost wistfully, "that I denied all this before. Oh, Mark, you have no idea how thankful I am that you came along!"
I reached down and rubbed her pussy. "Thank my goddamned temper mental cock, honey! If I could still screw my wife I never would have gotten there!"
She reached for my cock, squeezed it. "Thank you, tempera mental cock!" she said, and we all giggled.
"What're we goin' to do next, Lance?" I asked. "You got any good ideas?"
"Well, now, let's see! How about if...." He didn't get to finish it. The telephone rang. P. H. tensed a moment. It rang a second time. She seemed to be struggling with herself-you could feel it in her body-then she said, "Damn!" She pushed herself up, shaking her head. She pushed herself gracefully to her feet, walked across and picked up the phone. In that professional voice that I could remember well, she said, "Dr. Moulter." She listened, then showing no emotion in her voice, she said, "All right, I'll be there as soon as I can."
She hung up and looked down at us. Her face hardened for a moment. "Fuckin' goddamned bitch!" she suddenly spit out. "Why did she have to go into labor at a time like this?"
But she was a doctor first and a woman second. She went out of the room, and a few moments later we heard the shower going. Lance rolled toward me.
"Hell," he said, "it looks like the fun's over with."
"Yeah, it looks that way. At least here." I rolled over and pushed myself up. "Well, guess we might as well get dressed. Unless, of course, you might want to roll over on your belly."
He laughed, assuming that I was joking, and pushed himself up. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure whether I was joking or not; but when he started to dress, I did.
P. H. came out, dressed in a simple skirt and sweater, low-heeled shoes. I could imagine her slipping into a lab coat and becoming an efficient doctor again. Jesus, she was like a chameleon, changing so quickly you almost couldn't see the change. She took Lance's hand-didn't ask for it, but took it-and looked into his eyes. "It was nice, Lance. I hope that we meet again ... soon."
She dropped his hand and turned to me. Her eyes seemed deep, there was a hint of a smile at her hp corners. "Mark, you'll call me tomorrow, won't you? And in the interim....well, remember the doctor's orders!"
I took her in my arms, crushing my lips against hers as I pressed our bodies together, and I had the feeling that this might be the last time I'd be holding her. After all, when a man needed variety ...!
We went down in the elevator together, down to the lower level. The door slid open and she stepped out. She looked back for a moment, into each set of eyes, down to each crotch, then the doors closed between us. It seemed an appropriate ending, because in that last look there was a moment of promise ... and even if promises don't come true, they are based on what was and can lay a groundwork for what will be. I might never see P. H. Moulter again, but I had turned her from the living dead to the living; I had opened a door for her. And she had helped me. She had given me an understanding of myself. We might go fucking our way merrily along separately, but in a way there would always be part of her in me and vice versa.
"What did she mean about 'doctor's orders'?" Lance asked as the elevator moved back up to the main floor and the lobby.
I'll tell you later," I answered, because I didn't feel like going into a lengthy explanation just them.
As we walked down the sidewalk toward the car, Moulter's snazzy little sports car came zooming up out of the basement garage, hesitated a moment and then fairly lunged into traffic. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw her blow me a kiss as she turned the wheel to get into traffic.
I mentally blew one back to her.
"What now?" Lance asked.
I stood on the sidewalk and looked at the city, as much of it as I could see. For the last six years it had been just that, a city, but now I was seeing it as I had as a teen-ager. It was a jungle, and in that jungle there was an animal called "poontang," just waiting for the hunter to find it! For the last six years this hunter had been caught in a trap, but he was free again and ready to hunt.
I put my hand on Lance's arm. Tell you what I'm gonna do! I got to go home and tell my wife what the doctor said, what the doctor's orders were; then I'm going out and obey those orders."
He didn't know what I meant, but it didn't make any difference. The important thing was that I make Laurie understand. Not only understand but accept Heading back for the apartment I started forming the words. I'm not a dog on a leash, sweetie, you can't keep me pulled in. You've got to give me freedom. Do your own thing, but don't try to keep me from doing mine. But you know, maybe if you'd try...."
Maybe if she'd try, Laurie could learn how to swing, too, but if she didn't ... well, the doc had made me face the truth. I was a swinger. I had to be. Jesus, when a guy can't even get an erection he might just as well be dead!
I looked down the street in the direction the little sports car had gone. I smiled.
"Thanks, doc," I said silently. "Thanks for bringing me back to life!"
