Thomas "Tom" Harris at twenty-four was office boy at the Yat Sun-Ng Importers Oriental Company. He had started as that and he would retire as that because that was the limit of his capabilities.
He followed orders excellently but he could not take the initiative himself. Having quit school at sixteen, which he found too hard and boring, he went out into the world to 'do something' and ended up at Yat Sun-Ng as office boy. He was making a career of his job.
He was friendly with all the staff, and they treated him kindly. Physically a man, he had the mentality and maturity of a teenager. Tom was satisfied with his job and his surroundings. He had things easy-easy for him in that he did not have to think.
There were times when he vaguely wished he was like some of the others in the office. He would have liked to give orders, too. But he had no inferiors. As the lowest rung on the office ladder, he also had the lowest salary and least responsibility.
When he was not busy, Tom could be found staring out any convenient window, exactly where Mrs. Sinclair found him.
"Tom, would you please come here?"
Nodding, he walked toward her. Although she treated him like a child, she felt compassion for him. He was so good-looking that he should be more than a mere office boy. He leaned his hands on the desk, waiting silently for her orders.
"Get me a stack of envelopes, please. I must get these letters finished before lunch."
He turned and walked away. Always taking orders, he thought. He quickly returned with the requested folders and handed them to her. Accepting them with gracious and grateful thanks, she immediately slipped one into the typewriter and began putting an address on it.
Poor Tom, she thought, I wish I could help him. He's not stupid, at least I don't think so. He's just very lazy and afraid to make decisions alone. He's afraid of failing, so he doesn't try. And in not trying, he's a worse failure than if he tried and failed.
She sighed and continued typing for a few moments, finishing the addressing. As she stamped them, she called to him.
"Tom, can you mail these letters for me? He came back and took them from her. As he walked away, she continued, "Tom, would you like to go shopping with me this afternoon?"
"Sure," Tom said happily. "I'd love to."
He often went shopping with her during their lunch hour. He liked helping her because she enjoyed being with him, he thought. He liked her because she was extra nice to him.
As a widow of over four years with a fourteen-year-old daughter, she worked to support herself and daughter. Sometimes, when they went shopping-she and Tom-she would tell him about her problems. He was proud of this relationship and of her confidence in him-enough to confide in him.
Often she said that she was afraid her daughter would fall into bad company. Although he could not offer any assistance, he was her confessor. He felt sorry for her and whenever she wanted him, he was eager to go. Carrying her packages was the least he could do, he felt. Listening to her helped, he thought.
Back in the office after lunch, the shopping and a talk, one of the other secretaries asked him to sharpen some pencils. He resigned himself to doing it because he had been told to do it. She was perfectly capable of doing it herself. Putting the pencil into the mouth of the mechanical sharpener, he saw another thing.
The pencil became a stiff cock and the sharpener the pussy receiving it. One day, he told himself, I'm gonna put my prick into some girl's twat and I know I'll love it!
Sexually, he was a flop. At twenty-four he had never slept with a girl. In fact, he had never made it to first base with any chick. Because he treated them like animals and began immediately when he got them alone to undress them, they became indignant and angry. They objected violently, escaped him and never dated him again.
His clothes were his one saving grace. Every week Tom spent most of his slim salary on clothes. He might be the most ignorant in the office, but he was certainly the best dressed. His clothes enhanced his natural good looks, which was why most girls accepted his first invitation.
But by now, he spent most of his time on weekends in a series of bars, so he did not have as many dates as formerly. He was becoming frustrated by his lack of female companionship. But he knew there was little he could do about it.
He finished with the pencils and put them back into the box. Walking to the secretary's desk, he held them over it about a foot up and dropped the box down. It fell in front of her, scaring her and she jumped back as the pencils bounced out onto the desk.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
"You wanted your pencils sharpened. Well, I sharpened them."
"That's not how you give something to someone. Pick them up and put them back in the box."
Quickly, he replaced the pencils in the box. He wanted to argue with her, but he knew it could cost him his job or at least it would mean an argument. In either case, he would lose. For the rest of the day he did all the little things everybody else was too lazy or too busy to do. He ran errands, sharpened pencils, licked stamps, mailed letters and got supplies.
After work he went home, as usual. His mother had dinner prepared and on the table. "How was work today, Tommie?" she asked him. His mother was over-protective and still treated him like a child.
"The same as usual," he said, sitting down and picking up his fork.
"Wait for your father," she said. He dropped the fork and leaned his elbows on the table, waiting for his other parent. His mother went into the next room to call him. Shortly, his father appeared, wearing a dirty tee shirt and carrying the evening paper.
"How was work today, son?" His father glanced at the food and grunted his approval as he sat down.
"As usual, Pop," he replied. His parents had asked the same questions for the past eight years. And he had given the same answers for the last eight years. It was a habit-habits were the only things Tom could handle.
Glancing around the table, Tom saw there were only three places set. "Where's Dig?"
"He's eating at his girlfriend's house," his father said, pausing at his first forkful. He then put it into his mouth and began chewing.
Dig-short for Digby-was Tom's twenty-year-old brother. Although not nearly as nice-looking, he had much more brain power than Tom. He attracted them with his mind because he always knew what to say and do with them. He knew how to be gentle and when to be aggressive. Tom could only grab at a girl.
At eighteen, Dig had already experienced the full gamut of sexual involvement. He had done everything there was to be done with a large number of different girls. Just after he turned eighteen, he decided to settle down with one girl. So, for the last two years he had sex with one girl, only straying occasionally from her. He was satisfied with her and did not need to play the field any longer.
"Where are you going tonight?" his father asked around a mouthful of half-chewed food.
"I dunno. Same as usual, I guess."
"Why don't you find yourself a nice girl," his mother said.
"Yeah. I've been trying long enough. I just don't seem to have any luck with them."
"Your Aunt Judith has a cousin," his mother continued, "who has a friend whose sister-in-law knows a nice girl. I understand she's just the kind you would like."
After four years of marriage-making on the part of his parents, Tom was sick of the whole thing. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone. He wanted to tell them he could find his own girl. But he knew he was not forceful enough and that he could not do that. So he said, "Tell Aunt Judith to bring her around. I'll take her out."
"Good!" His mother beamed. "I'll tell her. I understand she's a very nice girl. Just right for you."
"Sure, Mom. We'll see."
"You ought to save your money for the day you do get married. You know that, Tom," his father said.
"Yeah, Pop. I know." They finished dinner. His father went back to the living room. Tom helped his mother clear the table. It was his job to help her clear the table and clean the dishes when he ate at home, which was most of the time.
He accepted it as natural and did not question. It was another habit, easily comprehensible to him. Furthermore, it did not occur to him to ask why his brother did not help. By virtue of his brains, Dig had always been able to talk himself out of doing these things. His mother listened to him each time, then turned to Tom for help. His parents usually watched television after dinner, and he usually went out.
At Sam's, Tom sat at the same table with the unvarying circle of friends. They discussed the same things while Tom listened, as usual. He always drank beer and the same amount, five mugs.
He always felt pleasantly high and heroic. Unless he actually had something he had to do, he felt as though he could do anything. At eleven, he returned home and took a shower.
And every night it was the same thing in the shower.
His prick was longer and slenderer than most men's at his age. It stood away from his groin at a slight upward angle and curved gently up. The rounded distended bulb was well proportioned for the shaft on which it rested.
There was no hint of flatness or clublike structure. It was smooth and taut, colored a fine and delicate rose that melted into a paler pink on the reverse side and lapping foreskin and shaded into a light brown on the slender smooth stem.
Under the nightly manipulation of his hands, the whole shaft quivered. He stopped massaging his balls and stroked the full erection gently. Sensations spread from the tiny slit down his shaft to his groin and proceeded on down his handsomely muscled legs.
It really felt good ... he couldn't get enough of it!
Pressing his wide shoulders against the tile, he spread his legs and watched as the warm water beat down on his throbbing pecker. His hands moved faster as he built into orgasm. And he thrust his hips forward in time with the stroking until he was gyrating frantically. He felt the scum gathering at the base of his cock and prepared himself.
Uncontrollably, his hips and legs tightened as he thrust his body forward, forming an arch against the wall. With this final thrust, he closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the small area of his burning groin.
In his mind his hands became a pussy. He felt the sperm rushing through his balls and into his prick to burst through his head. His cock throbbed and jerked six or seven times as the warm milky gism spurted out and into the air, mingling with the fine spray. His muscles still quivered after orgasm as they forced every last drop out.
Sagging weakly back against the wall, he sighed deeply. Tiny drops of sweat and spray dripped down his brow and slid across his face. He opened his eyes. Focusing on the opposite wall, he saw that the scum, as usual, had penetrated the spray to splash on the tiles across from him.
The long stream of white fluid slipped down the wall, sliding over itself as it went and beginning to mingle with the shiny wetness formed on the cold walls from the warm water and spray. Now on his semi-erect cock the last thick drop formed. He flicked it away with his thumb.
Stepping under the water, he washed the salty sweat from his skin and then aimed the water at the wall to eradicate the presence of the scum. Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower.
In the light from the fluorescent bulb he was an bulk of a man. At five-feet-eleven inches he weighed in at just over one hundred and seventy pounds. His brown hair, longish and quite curly, pressed against his forehead and down his neck.
As the individual strands dried, they began curling up over his head, revealing his high forehead, even hairline, and small well-shaped flat ears. His light blue eyes twinkled with his contentment of himself at this moment. He reached for a towel with a slender but well-developed muscular arm, wrapping it firmly about his slender hips. Walking to his bedroom, he closed the door and removed the towel. Dropping it over a chair to dry, he slipped naked between the sheets. He slept within seconds, dreamlessly.
CHAPTER TWO
THE OTHER BROTHER
After eating dinner at his girlfriend's home, Dig and Gayle went for a drive, which like most of the others ended in the park. He pulled his second-hand car into the darkest part which was usually theirs alone.
It was extremely secluded and actually not too easy to find with only a car. Dig had hunted for such a spot for just such a purpose, so he and whatever girl he was with could be alone-safely and completely alone.
Gayle pressed close to him as they drove, and she played with the tight cloth of his pants. Her long thin fingers caressed the outline of his cock which was pressed against his belly. She rubbed the head until he started squirming behind the wheel.
"Cut it out, Gayle." He took one hand from the wheel and took her hand from his prick.
"What's the matter?" Her hand climbed slowly up his thigh as she tried to reach his prick o.
"If you don't stop, I'll run right off the road."
"Or you'll shoot right in your fucking pants, love.
"Yeah, right. But which would be worse? Ma would know either way."
"Well, certainly we can't let your mother think she's got a hot kid. Nor my mom, either." She giggled at the thought of how they could deceive their parents so easily.
"We'll just have to wait until we get there."
As he turned into the park, Dig doused the lights. They traveled slowly in the blackness. He did not want anyone finding his 'spot' nor did he want the cops to know.
They might cause some trouble, like asking embarrassing questions. As he concentrated on avoiding the ruts and stones and bushes, she kept watch for the marking foliage leading into their place.
"There!" Dig turned into the darker shade and they drove cautiously along the track until they came to the little clearing where there was just enough room for one or two cars to maneuver. The clearing was isolated and had a small pond fed from an underground stream. The water was pleasant and the pond was often good for a quick dip. The grass was soft and springy. The trees and bushes hid all.
Dig pulled the emergency brake, set the seat back and turned off the ignition. As soon as the motor died, he threw his arms around Gayle and sought her lips with his.
She accepted them as his tongue tried to force its way into her mouth between her teeth. His tongue brushed the tip of her tongue. She felt her excitement growing. Between her legs began the familiar itching and twitching. She started sucking on his tongue which was clasped between her teeth, gently.
He found her tits and began massaging them through the material of her dress. Slowly, his hand moved down her body and pressed softly, palm inward, on her belly. His eye caught the dashboard clock. Nine o'clock, he thought. I have two hours to fuck.
Gayle pulled away from Dig and pressed her back into the seat, allowing him more room to maneuver as he ran his hand down onto her leg. She raised her dress, pulling it out from under her ass and above her hips.
Free to act, he pressed his hand between her legs and began massaging her cunt through the thin nylon of her panties. She spread her legs apart as his hand pushed into her pussy and bush. His bony fingers scratched at the cloth until she was squirming with pleasure.
"Raise your hips," he whispered.
She twisted her body so that her hips were an inch or two above the seat. With one hand and her assistance, he easily slid her panties down to her knees. She kicked off her shoes, easing them onto the floor and he took her panties all the way off.
As his fingers found her pussy and the folds of skin which were hidden beneath the masses of her bush, he began tickling and pinching. She groaned lightly and whispered, "Put your finger in there."
His finger was pressing against her twat, the soft moist skin at the entrance to her deep cavern. Her lubricating juices which wet his finger excited him even more. His cock started throbbing.
She began panting as his finger scratched against the inner walls, attempting to force itself even farther into her by wiggling and twisting. For several minutes his finger moved in and out slowly, but with an occasional vicious thrust.
Each time he put more than the usual weight behind it, she groaned and he knew she was drawing nearer to orgasm. She forced her legs further apart and whispered to him to use two fingers.
Immediately, he brought another one into play and it slipped into her twat, forcing the sensitive skin and flesh to retreat. His right arm was around her shoulder, the hand massaging her breast.
Now forefinger and second finger, united with the sticky cunt juice, slid in and out together. She groaned as the muscles of her twat clamped and closed around his imitation pecker. For a few seconds she ceased breathing, then sighing deeply as her whole body began to relax.
His hand, now coated with her fluid, withdrew from her spent twat. He wiped the wet fingers on his underpants as he gave her breast a gentle last squeeze.
"Okay. You blow me now."
She nodded. "Wait a few minutes, though, until I catch my breath."
Immediately, he began to unbuckle his pants and remove them. He pulled them down to his knees. His taut cock sprang erect, waving free in the open air. Her hand came out and she began stroking it through the loose cloth of his jockey shorts.
She rubbed the head with her thumb and pushed the whole muscle from side to side. She let go and pulled the elastic of his pants down. Now, entirely free, the cock leaped away from the last confinement and pointed itself at the steering wheel.
Holding the cock in her hand, she slowly caressed it along its entire length. He shuddered as her fingers excited the sensitive head. The glans throbbed as her thumb teasingly passed across the tip and his slit, spreading the single droplet of sticky fluid around on the tip of his head.
"Move away from the wheel."
He dipped out from the steering wheel and moved his shorts down to his knees.
Her right hand fondled his balls as he formed a square with his legs. Her left hand reached out to caress the stem and head again. His cock now pointed at the center of the windshield.
"Come on, Gayle. It's twenty after nine. I have to get you home by eleven. We got lots to do before this night is up."
Obediently, she brought her head down to just above his cock, and there it dangled. He felt her breath hitting against his head and it jerked faster. He waited for her mouth to close down and begin caressing the organ in her warm moist oral depths. With a sigh, she opened her mouth and pushed out her tongue.
It brushed lightly against the head, which again throbbed. His whole pecker tingled from the initial shock of contact with her rasping tongue. He waited for her mouth to engulf his member.
Wetting her lips, she held the organ in her hand. Lowering her head until it pressed against her closed lips, she paused. The sweet milky smell of his cock excited her as she let the head slip through her lips and between her teeth.
The eye of the glans bumped along her teeth and entered the warm gulf of her mouth.
He sighed with pleasure as her hot tongue lashed around his head, sending his spine rigid with thrilling tingles. Then she slowly forced the rest of his organ into her mouth until three-quarters of it was inside.
Her tongue lashed around, hitting him at random, and sending further chills along his spine and down into his legs via his groin which was burning with heat and desire.
She felt the veins in the back of his cock tense with his impending orgasm. Her right hand caressed his hip and she felt it quivering with passion. She quit washing his stem and went back to exciting his glans into a frenzy. He would come within seconds.
Through her hand, she sensed the tightening and his ass shrank as he tightened his peaches. His groin muscles throbbed violently as his hips shoved his cock deeper into her mouth.
She accepted the thrust and moved her tongue away, letting the entire orgasm slide into her mouth until she felt like choking. With a final thrust, the cock stiffened to its most stiff position as Dig held his entire body rigid with the onset of orgasm. Great quantities of white sticky fluid pumped from his head into her throat, beating against her soft palate. She gasped and managed to swallow it all as she pulled the now depleted cock from the back of her mouth and sucked on the remaining two inches.
She squeezed the long tube on the other side of his prick, shoving the last of his gism into her mouth. Then she licked the entire organ clean.
He took deep controlled breaths to calm the wild beating of his heart. Temporarily satisfied, he waited expectantly for the time when excitement would return to him. It would be only a few minutes.
She let the cock fall from her mouth. It was much shorter and completely flaccid. It slapped against his thigh wetly and lay there, still.
He wiped the wet cock with his hand and then began massaging his groin. Meanwhile, she sat up to wipe the mixture of saliva and scum from around her mouth.
She enjoyed sucking his cock because it was long and thin. Also, she liked it because, each time he shot, great quantities of scum came shooting out of his cock. She really loved that.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was just about ten o'clock. He pulled his pants up and closed the belt, suggesting that she put her dress down.
"Aren't you gonna fuck me?"
"I'm too tired to do anything. It's better to be prepared just in case the cops ever come sneaking around."
She nodded and brought her wrinkled dress down to her knees, wiggling and turning to get it down and under her properly.
He wanted to relax. He turned on the radio and lit two cigarettes. She accepted one and they sat in the car for the next ten minutes enjoying the coldness of the mid-fall air.
Leaning over, he turned the indicator until he found the station he wanted. He sat with her snuggled closely against his shoulder, listening to the blasting rock and roll of their generation.
As it boomed on their ears, Dig turned to another station which was broadcasting a soft and dreamy type of music, much more conducive to their mutual moods.
After another cigarette, they agreed to pick up where they'd left off. He pressed the burning coals into the ashtray with his left hand and his right hand found Gayle's leg.
Slowly, he worked up her thigh, his sensitive organ awakening.
Snuggling closer, she whispered about the lateness.
"My cock's still soft."
"I'll take care of that." Her long thin fingers fumbled with the buckle, and he assisted her so that within seconds his pants were again wrapped around his knees.
Immediately, her fingers found his limp damp cock and she began stroking it. Under her manipulations, it stiffened in her hand in seconds.
As she teased his prick into erectness, his fingers found her wet warm cunt and played with the soft folds of skin. He rubbed the palm of his hand occasionally against her bush, providing added sensations to her pussy.
When fully erect, she, with his fingers deeply imbedded in her twat, quickly pulled her dress above her waist. Withdrawing his fingers, she maneuvered around on the seat until she was able to lie flat on her back with both legs in the air.
He moved forward, allowing her left leg to slide behind his back. With his hand he slowly eased her right leg onto the floor and shifted his body around until he was kneeling between her legs.
His stiff throbbing cock jumped with excitement and he found her opening, pressing his head against the folds. Slowly and easily, he slipped into her, the glans slipping in until it was hidden.
She sighed expectantly as she waited for the remainder of his cock to slide into her. She was wet and provided an excellent lubricant for his cock as it slowly pressed into her cunt.
Dig's cock, impassioned by her warmth and wetness, slid in and out. She wrapped her legs around his back, avoiding collision with the dashboard as she brought her dangling leg up.
Each time he pushed into her, her heels applied more pressure to his back, forcing him in even further. Minutes passed as the sensations increased. His speed increased, too. Finally, he was lunging in and out of her at a furious rate. Her hips twitched excitedly as she reached orgasm. As usual, she was a couple of minutes ahead of him. Sensing orgasm, his cock stiffened and Dig went into a frenzy. With one supreme thrust, going all the way into her violently, he came.
Long powerful streams of sperm blasted from his groin up his prick and smashed into her uterus. Finally, the flow stopped and he felt completely empty.
But he lay still while she took over, pumping on his slowly shrinking prick, milking the very last drop from him. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, the pressure of her twat only a vague sensation in the background of his mind.
"Okay," she whispered. "Off."
"I like it here," he said. It was the reluctant game they usually went through every time.
"I know you like it. So do I, when I can breathe. Please, Dig."
He laughed, kissed her quickly and eased himself back. Crawling on the seat until he was able to twist around, he got back into a sitting position.
From the pocket of his pants, now lying down around his ankles, he extracted a handkerchief. He began wiping his wet and dripping sticky cock. Satisfied of his relative cleanliness, he turned to her, who still lay on her back in a fucking position with her legs spread.
Meticulously, he wiped the entire area of her pussy. Wrapping the damp sticky cloth around his index finger, he stuck it into her twat, and wiped vigorously around, giving her the added thrill of a post-climatic urge.
She groaned with the new sensation she experienced. And she wanted for him to continue. But he quickly withdrew when he felt she was successfully and completely cleaned out.
As she continued to lie there, he pulled his shorts and pants up, shielding his cock from further excitement. He waited until she sighed and pulled herself erect, and then she pulled her skirt down.
Pressing forward, she retrieved her panties and began putting them on. She arched up and slid them up over her thighs, cunt and ass. He sneaked his hand under her cheeks, and pinched as she came down on his waiting fingers.
"Ow!" She whirled her head around at him. Smiling, she stuck her tongue out. "Fresh!"
As soon as she went back to her shoes, he turned the key in the ignition and the motor leaped into action.
Easing the car back, he halted when he felt the wheels rising over the hump of the log placed there by him for a guide. He turned the wheel completely over to the left, switched gears and eased forward, hunting in the darkness for the exact entrance.
He kept the lights off. Seeing the absolute dead black of the 'almost tunnel' through the trees, he aimed for it and they went gliding bumpily along the entrance path toward the park's soft graveled road.
As he drove, she sat quietly until he could turn on the lights again. Then she corrected the damages his ravishment made on her face and hair. She pulled out her comb, compact, and lipstick in that order and used them, putting each item away before extracting another.
Gayle was aware that her mother suspected something. She knew her parent well enough to know what her mother thought they might be doing. She smiled at the thought of her mother hearing the absolute truth.
Each time she returned home from a date with Dig, her mother often looked at her carefully and even asked roundabout questions, hoping to discover something concrete. But after two years of failure of proof, she had almost given up trying.
Now only her eyes tried to probe, not her tongue.
His hand nestled between her legs as she was putting her lipstick on. She paused.
"Stop trying to stick your finger in. I don't want to come just as we get in the door."
He laughed and pulled his fingers back. He wrapped his hand around her shoulder instead. She put on her lipstick, smeared it with her lips by rubbing them together.
Then she snuggled closer to him. He was able to drop his hand down onto her breast, and began to massage it.
Within ten minutes, they were at her house. Stopping in front of her door, he pulled her into his arms and began kissing her passionately. Slowly, he pulled her to one side so that they were more hidden from both the street and the house.
He moved his hand up and down, more down than up with each stroke, and pressed between her legs when he was able to climb up under her skirt. He pressed through the material of her panties again.
She sighed and pressed her lips harder against his, bringing her hands up and around his neck, with her fingers playing with his ear and his hair.
His fingers moved cautiously upward toward her waist. She pulled back quickly, making his hand come out.
"No! Not here. I won't risk being seen."
"Fuck the bastards!"
"Tomorrow. We can go back to the park and play again. How does that sound?"
"Okay," he nodded. "But I'd still like another screw."
"You'll live for twenty-four hours."
"I'm afraid I'll have to jerk off when I get home."
She laughed and began fumbling within her purse for her keys. They got out and walked up the driveway an; onto the walkway, arm in arm, shoulders touching.
Inside, they were greeted by her parents. Gayle's mother grunted at them and eyed them suspiciously for an instant. Then she returned to the television.
He left her in the living room, deliberately kissing her in front of her mother, and went out to his car. He arrived home in half an hour, and found that everyone was asleep.
He tip-toed into the house up to his room and stripped. Originally he had intended to take a shower. But now, he found that he was too tired and decided to postpone it until the morning.
Naked, he climbed into bed, set and wound his clock and snapped out the light. Pressing the cool smooth sheets around his hot sweaty body, he fell immediately asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
SOME BROTHERLY ADVICE
The next day, Tom went to work as usual. His jobs were the usual ones. He sharpened pencils, got paper for the typists, mailed letters, delivered letters, and generally spent his time 'wiping other people's asses.' Tom had almost belted his brother in the mouth when he said that, but was able to restrain himself. Besides, even if it were true -lord knew it was-it was not worth fighting over.
He did wipe their asses at work. All day long. And he got a salary for it. After eight years of the same thing at the same rate, he knew he was jealous of Digby because he got ahead so much faster.
As a sophomore at the local college, Digby was doing pretty well as a student. He had a part-time job working as a bookkeeper in a small supermarket and was getting a decent wage for a college student.
What Tom made for fifteen hours work, Digby made in five. This, too, was a bone ot tension between them, but mostly on Tom's side.
But the major cause was Digby's ability to coerce girls to sleep with him. He was constantly relating stories about his many, varied and numerous episodes with females in bed, in cars, on beaches, on the ground. He remembered when he was nineteen and Digby was fifteen, and Digby first had sexual intercourse.
On a singular Saturday night, at about two a.m. early in July, Digby came home almost crazy with excitement. Tom had asked him what had happened. He had been reluctant to tell his older brother, for fear he would turn around and spout off to the parents.
But after many minutes of constant pleading from Tom, and having extracted a solemn promise never to reveal to anyone what had happened, Digby told his older brother.
Very quietly, almost inaudibly, he said, "I got laid tonight!"
Tom's immediate reaction was disbelief. His fifteen-year-old brother could not get laid. Especially if he was nineteen and had not gotten it before.
"You're full of shit!"
"It's true! I met this girl at the church dance and I screwed her."
"All you did was go there and meet a girl and she said she wanted to fuck you?"
"No, stupid! After the dance I walked her home. I was holding her hand. Then I put my arm around her shoulders. Then I put my hand on her breast. When we passed the park where all the kids go, I asked her if she wanted to sit down for a while.
"So we were sitting on this bench for maybe twenty minutes just kissing. When I put my hand back on her tit, she didn't try to stop me again like the first time. Finally, I took the chance and put my hand up under her dress. She still didn't stop me, so I went up to her pussy.
"She still didn't do anything. So I put my finger into her twat. Man, I almost dropped dead when I put my finger in! I thought I was going to shoot right in my fucking pants. I had my finger in her hole for a couple of minutes when she started making funny noises.
"Right away I pulled out. I thought I was hurting her or something. But she tells me to keep going and to keep going even faster. I do like she says, and a minute later, she's pouring all over the damned place.
"This funny smelling stuff is all over my hand and on her legs and, well, everywhere. In the dark I couldn't see if maybe I'd busted her and she was bleeding to death. But she was having her orgasm. Anyway, she had it and then she says she wants to play with my pecker.
"I said no. I mean, it was like she had the syph or something like that. And I was scared to get it. Or maybe she was nuts and would cut off my piece. But she kept asking and begging. Her hands were rubbing the outside of my pants. I had a hard-on like you wouldn't believe.
"Then she started pulling my zipper down. I told her I couldn't just whip it out on the spot and in plain sight. I mean, what if somebody had come by?
"So, you know what she tells me?" Tom was so enthralled by the story, that he did not recognize the question. It took him an instant to recover and ask, "What?"
"Well, do you know what she says?" It was an unnecessary repetition.
"No."
"She tells me that, if we go to her place, there's this little room in the cellar near the washer that nobody ever uses, and she says that it's safe. I asked her what for and she says that nobody will ever bother us there, no matter what we do.
"She starts smiling and almost laughs. Anyway, I go with her to the house and we sneak down to the cellar. It was like real fucking dark. I couldn't see a damned thing, but she knows where she's going and leads me by the hand.
"Finally we come to this door. She opens it and tells me to come in with her. She flicks the switch when she's sure I shut the door to see if there's anybody there. It's empty, so she turns the light off. She's leading me through the dark, with the only light coming from the window. It took me a couple of minutes to adjust and then things were only shadows.
"Soon as we get into the room, she grabs my cock and tries to get it out of my pants. So I put my pants down and she starts playing with my soft cock. As soon as she touches it, it starts getting hard.
"And soon it's as hard as a rock and she starts jerking it off. I was so shitting excited that I fucked off all over the place. All over her hand, the floor, everywhere.
"Then she tells me that I gotta fuck her! Right after I shot. I said my cock was too sensitive and that she'd have to wait a little. She tells me if I don't do it then, she's going to leave. Right away she pulls her dress over her hips and pulls her panties down. She lays down on a bench and tells me to put it into her.
"I walk over to her and get between her legs. Finally, I put my cock in and start to hump. My cock hurt for a while, but it started fucking really good. Next thing, she wraps her legs around me and starts making those noises again.
"I tell her to shut up or else somebody will hear us. And we'll be caught. I mean, I was scared stiff. But I wanted to fuck her, too. So it didn't make all that much difference.
"I kept pounding into her until after ten or so minutes. Then I shot my load. I thought I was going to bust with all the scum that came pumping out of me. But I didn't. After I shot, I tried to get out of her cunt. But she told me that she hadn't come yet and that I had to keep going in until she did. And as she still had her shitty legs still wrapped around me, there wasn't fucking much I could do except do like she said.
"By this time my fucker was killing me. But I kept going in and out until she came and flooded the place again. Then I told her to give me her phone number. She said no and said if I wanted to I could meet her some place next week. I told her that I'd meet her at the next church dance and she said it was okay. And that was that!"
Tom's interest in his younger brother's tale had made his cock stiff. His erection advanced and he wanted to run into the bathroom to relieve himself.
"Well, Tom, do you believe me now?"
Tom nodded. "How old is the girl?"
"She's fifteen, I think. Oh, I don't know. Who gives a damn?"
"Well, my little brother finally grew up."
He tried to conceal his jealousy, but Dig knew. To him, anything about his older brother was obvious. He knew, but he decided to tease.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"How was it with you on your first time?" Tom, shocked and unprepared, thought quickly of how to lie to his brother. "You got laid, didn't you?" "Sure!"
"Then, how was it?"
"I got it when I was fourteen ..."
"Yeah? Fourteen?"
"I was going with this chick for a few months. We were in high school. Or rather, I was. She was in junior high. One night, we went to her house. There was nobody home. I started playing with her tits and her cunt.
"When I tried to put my cock in, she didn't even murmur. I fucked her. And that was that."
"Did you ever screw her again?" Tom was silent for a short time. "Yes," he answered finally.
"How many times?"
Tom's lies were getting away with him. "After then, I guess a couple of times a week."
"Wow!" Dig was really impressed."
Tom became excited and interested in his own tale. So he decided to embroider it a little more. "I went with this girl for about a year. Once I heard she was knocked up. I got real scared."
"Was she really?"
"No. But by then, I was getting bored with her and her goofy friends. Some of her friends would come by and I'd fuck them, too. They used to blow me and I'd eat them out."
Dig sat on the bed, waiting for the details.
"After her, I found another girl. She was sixteen. I was fifteen, but she didn't mind. She said I had a bigger cock than any other fellow. And she screwed lots of eighteen and nineteen-year-olds. I guess I fucked with her a dozen times or more a week. I mean, most always when I saw her, I'd fuck her.
"She loved it. I went with her for more than two and a half years. I just stopped seeing her about three months ago. Since then, I ain't had nobody."
"How come you have stopped with her?"
"She said she had something wrong with her cunt. I don't know what it was. But she got put in a hospital so she could get rid of it. When I found she was sick, I cut out quick."
"And you haven't heard from her since or had it?"
"No."
"Ever find out what was wrong with her?" "No, but I guess I did not get it. I'm okay."
"Gee!" His brother looked at him and smiled. "Good night." That was it.
That night had been the first time Digby had fucked anyone, and it was the first time Tom had had to lie to his brother. And since that night, he had had to go on making up stories. Each just a little more fantastic than the last. These were for his brother, and later, his friends.
He told his story so often, and in his dim-wittedness, it changed slightly each time. He actually came to believe in it himself. Almost, that is, until he went home alone time. He actually came to believe in it himself. Almost, that is, until he went home alone tensions at the same time.
CHAPTER FOUR
TOM GETS PITY
That Friday at noon, Mrs. Sinclair asked Tom if he would like to go with her to the luncheonette.
"Are you going shopping again?" he asked as he recalled the previous day's lunch hour.
"No, I'm just going to get some lunch. I thought you might like to come along."
Tom accepted and, when she was ready, they left. Most of the others went to the same place which was directly across from the office.
And on that Friday. Tom and two other girls from the office, sat with her in the luncheonette while she spent the majority of the time retelling her problems. She noticed that the only one truly interested was Tom. He was listening intently.
As he ate, he felt sorry for her. At first he thought his lunch was disagreeing with him, but soon he realized that he always felt this when Mrs. Sinclair talked about her problems.
He also noticed that, now, she was talking directly to him, instead of swinging her head to include the two others.
Upon leaving to return to the office, the two secretaries walked together, leaving Tom and Mrs. Sinclair alone.
"Tom," she said pathetically, "I'm always so lonely."
"Gee, ma'am, I wish I could help you."
"No one can help me." She pulled a handkerchief from her purse as her eyes grew moist.
"Don't cry."
"I'm sorry. I'm always burdening you with my problems. It's just that I have no one else to turn to."
"What about your daughter?"
"She's much too young to understand."
"Haven't you ever considered remarrying?"
"Oh, Tom, who wants to marry a thirty-nine-year old widow with a grown daughter? Besides, I'm not as pretty as I once was."
"I think you're very pretty."
"You're just saying that so I'll feel better."
"No, ma'am! I really mean it. If you weren't older than me, I'd ask you out."
"You would?" she said. "You really would?"
"Yes." He sensed vaguely that he was getting himself into something beyond him at the present.
They were walking slowly. She reached up and tucked her arm through his arm.
"Would you like to take me out?"
"Well... I mean,... It's just that..."
"I thought so. You were trying to comfort an old lady."
"Stop calling yourself that! You look as young as any of these girls in the office. And prettier than all the ones I ever went out with."
"Thank you." She sounded sarcastic.
"No! I really meant that! And just to prove it to you, I will take you out!"
"What?"
"I mean, ma'am, I want you to go out with me tonight. That is, provided you can."
"Why ... of course I can! I'd love to!"
"Good. Then give me your address so I can pick you up. What time?"
"Oh, but I have a problem." She began to cry again.
"What's that?" He hoped it would be a major one, forcing her to stay at home that night.
"My daughter. If I go out that means I'll have to leave her home alone. And if I know her, she'll be out of the house just as soon as I leave. And she never gets back until after two in the morning."
"Well, what can you do?"
She was silent as they walked along, still arm in arm. At the corner to the office door, she stopped. Her face beamed.
"I know! I'll make dinner for you at my house tonight! Then we can sit and listen to records or talk or play cards. Just so long as I can keep an eye on her."
Tom nodded in agreement. She gave him directions to find her house. And they agreed upon eight o'clock.
Returning to the building, Mrs. Sinclair was elated that she would now be having a guest after so many lonely years. And, although she realized that it was just Tom, she also understood that he was better than nothing.
The rest of the afternoon Tom spent pondering over the invitation. He expected to be bored stiff and, most likely, nothing at all would come of it, except hearing another three hours of her problems-not that they were boring, but he had heard all of them before. Well, he thought, I'll dress real sharp for her. And I'll show her that, although I'm dumb, I'm still good-looking.
At five o'clock she waited for him, cornered him and reminded him about the date. He promised not to be late. And they went in their separate directions.
At home, his mother had dinner prepared for him and on the table. He told her to forget about it.
"You're not going to eat out tonight?" "No, ma. I got a date with a girl and I'm going over to eat her place."
"What's the matter? My food ain't good enough for you anymore? And you got to go eat at some girlfriend's house?"
Tom looked at his mother. Every time he wanted to eat out, he got the same argument. But not Dig! She continued, "You know what that means, don't you? I have to throw away all that good food."
"Save it for Dig."
"Digby is going to the movies with Gayle."
"It figures." He turned his back on his mother and walked into his room. Another thing to simmer down inside of him. Now he was having trouble getting out to eat. But not that bastard Dig! Oh, no, he thought. Not darling Dig! But he said nothing.
By the time he was ready, he was mad inside and had a headache. So he gulped two aspirins with water and told his mother on the way out he would not be back until late. Tom had made tentative plans for the evening, already.
He thought he would go to her place, eat and be pleasant. He decided to leave at the first opportunity and go to Sam's. He was going to get plowed tonight!
Driving back into the city, Tom felt foolish because the way he was dressed irritated him. When he was near to her place, he almost turned back to change. His hip-hugging bell-bottom trousers and white Edwardian jacket didn't seem to fit the occasion of dinner with a middle-aged widow.
But it was too late to turn back. Besides who was there to care what he looked like. She usually saw him dressed as he was, so he could not impress her. The only other person to be impressed was her daughter, and he did not care what any fourteen-year-old thought.
He saw the light turn yellow, and stepped on the gas to beat it before it turned red. Making it, he was satisfied with his control of the vehicle. In fact, handling the car was a pleasure for him. He knew exactly how to get that extra ounce of speed out of her, and he would occasionally race other cars on the streets. He usually won, too.
The apartment building was one of a cluster of high-rise apartment houses located on Manhattan's lower east side. Each one was like the one before, except that the street numbers were different.
But they were usually hidden from view, in the time-honored tradition of confusing all but the natives as to a particular building's specific location. So, he wasted precious time locating her building.
Pulling to the curb, he asked a pedestrian for number fourteen and the man said it was around the bend and off the road. Tom thanked him and drove around the corner. Turning the corner, he saw three apartment buildings set back and off by themselves.
He knew that one of the three was the one, but he would have to investigate all three before finding the correct one. He parked the car and, locking it, went toward the first one.
The number was above the entrance, but not readable as there was no lighting directed at it to illuminate it.
He was lucky, though. On entering the first building and checking the mailbox listings, he found one marked with her name. It was her number, too. He noticed the lobby smelled of old and decaying garbage-similar to where he lived.
He supposed that all apartment buildings must smell alike. The furnishings were shabby and worn, like the wallpaper and the general appearance was one of shoddiness. He saw that the fake flowers grew out of synthetic dirt, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts and ashes.
He went to the elevator and passed the parcel post room, seeing row upon row of labeled tin boxes sunk into the walls. He pressed the button and the elevator door opened immediately. It smells, too. People, he knew, who lived in these places, like his parents, were more interested in the lower rates than in special services. Hence, the smells, the dinginess and lack of care.
With nothing else to do until the ancient slow machine reached the ninth floor, he surveyed the four walls surrounding him. He noticed the gouges in the walls, made by pranksters and hasty movers. The control panel was so dirty, that he had to count the buttons to be sure of punching nine. There was no working ventilation, so he snubbed out the cigarette before he smothered himself.
When the door finally opened, he held the elevator and looked around to see if he had the correct floor. He found no evidence that he was on a particular floor, so he took a chance. Getting out, he proceeded along to locate Apartment 'G.' As the numbers seemed to be haphazardly placed, he had to read each door as he passed, some of which had no letters or numbers at all.
Pressing the bell in the door he found to be marked 'G,' he waited for the little slit to open. The lever went down and he was being viewed from the other side of the flimsy wooden panel. Then the door swung open and Mrs. Sinclair stood there.
"Hello, Tom."
He nodded and walked in. She stepped aside and closed the door behind him. He walked into the living room, which was the living room in apartments such as these were. There were other doors, presumably leading to kitchen, bathroom and at least one bedroom or maybe a closet.
"How've you been, Tom?" You'd think she had not seen me for months, he thought to himself.
"Fine, thank you," he replied.
She turned and followed him in. "Velma! Velma! Come in here, please."
And from the bedroom walked a petite young redhead. She must have just topped five feet in her heels. And she could not possibly weigh more than ninety pounds. Fourteen, he wondered, was that what she had said?
"Tom, this is my daughter," Mrs. Sinclair said.
"Hi, Velma."
"Hi," Velma said, putting her hand out.
He took her tiny delicate hand in his, being careful not to squeeze it. He was afraid he would hurt her, and his shake was like a dead fish grip.
"Why don't you and Velma get acquainted while I finish dressing?" So for a few minutes, Tom and Velma talked of trivia. She was vivacious and outgoing, while Tom asked and probed, using only the necessary amount of words. He was asked the usual questions by her and asked them in return.
His answers were short, hers turned into well-constructed monologues. He noted the dining room table set for three.
Finally, she appeared with half melons filled with whipped cream. "Let's get started." She placed the food on the table.
When Velma and Tom rose, it could be seen that, as far as height went, they were unsuited. She was just five feet, while he was just lacking six feet.
After the melon, they had lamb chops and a salad with a Russian dressing. This was followed by eclairs and coffee. Velma, all through the meal, glanced at the clock constantly until her mother noticed, too.
"What's the matter?"
"Mickey's picking me up. We're going to the movies."
"I thought you said you would stay home tonight with me."
"I was. But he called me up today and asked me out. I said okay. Okay?"
"All right. I don't mind you going out with Mickey. But I want you home by midnight. Understand?"
Velma nodded. All through dinner, whenever Tom talked to Mrs. Sinclair, he addressed her formally because he didn't know her first name.
At eight-thirty the bell rang. Velma jumped up, excused herself, grabbed a coat and ran out the door.
"Good night!"
"Quite a little girl I have there, don't you think?"
"Yes. She's very pretty for such a young girl. I'll just bet she grows up to be just as pretty and as nice as her mother."
Mrs. Sinclair blushed.
"Well, ma'am," he said, standing up, "thank you for dinner. It was really good."
She panicked. "Where are you going?"
"I figure I better be going, ma'am."
"Tom, please don't call me Mrs. Sinclair. Call me Alicia. That's my name. What's this business of your wanting to go? I thought you'd stay at least for a while." She looked directly at him, pleading. "Please stay."
"Well, okay."
"What's your favorite music?"
"I like anything, really." He rose as she did. "May I help you with the dishes?"
Smiling, she rose and picked up some of the dishes, too. Following her into the kitchen, he went back and forth with dishes and silverware and glasses while she got ready to wash. She washed and he dried. They did not talk much, but there were exchanged many smiles, looks and the like.
When they were done, and everything put away, he followed her into the living room again.
"I bet you like rock and roll best," she said over her shoulder.
"Yes."
"Unfortunately, I don't have any. Would just music do?" "Fine."
She walked over to the stereo and put a group of records in the machine and turned it on. Adjusting the bar and needle, she put the top down and turned to him.
"Would you like a drink?"
"Sure. Anything you have."
"Scotch, rye, brandy, vermouth? You name it, I have it."
Vaguely, it bothered him that a widow with a teenage daughter would or should have such a complete stock of liquor. He shrugged. People like all sorts of things, he mused.
"I'll have a scotch and water, please."
"Alicia," she reminded him.
"Alicia," he repeated. Going back to the kitchen, she returned shortly with two large glasses filled with scotch, water and ice. She handed one to him and sat down on the couch. He sat down too, on the other side of the couch.
"Do you like the apartment?"
He moved his head around, viewing the arrangement and furnishings. "Very nice."
Quickly, she gulped her drink down. Returning to the kitchen, she filled it again and, when she came back, Tom noticed that it was darker-all scotch with just the ice melting in it.
Within seconds, she had drunk most of that, and seemed to relax. She moved closer to him and whispered softly into his ear.
"You know, Tom, I've been alone. I've been without a man for six years. I think I'll go crazy sometimes if I can't get someone to love me again."
Tom pulled away from her, feeling uncomfortable in this new situation. He had never expected her to admit to him that she might be lonely for male company.
"Tom," she continued, "what I mean to say is that I've watched you over the years grow from a boy, unsure of himself, into a man, confident. After eight years in that office, I've often wondered what it would be like to go out with you."
She paused and looked at him. "Naturally, I couldn't expect you to ask me out. I'm much older than you. My god! I'm fifteen years older than you."
"Mrs. Sinclair..."
"Alicia."
"Alicia, listen. I'm much too young for you. Besides, it's getting late. I think that I had best be getting home."
Now, he knew. At least indirectly. She wanted him to be her lover. But she was a mother and a friend. He couldn't be her lover. He didn't see her that way.
As he stood up, she pulled on his jacket heavily. Caught off balance, he fell back onto the couch.
"Don't go! I'm tired of being alone all the time. I want you to stay at least a little while longer. Please, Tom, do a lonely woman a favor?"
Feeling sorry for her, he decided to stay for just a bit longer. But no more than an hour, he told himself decisively. "All right. I'll stay. But no fooling around."
"Fooling around?"
"Nothing." He could say no more, for it would only be getting himself into trouble by saying exactly the wrong thing.
"What did you think? That I was going to rape you or something?"
"No. I just meant that it's different and unusual for me to be with an older woman who is not my mother."
"Why? Is it because I'm ugly? Or because my tits aren't so firm as they used to be? Or is it because I've dried up into some sort of prune?"
"No," he repeated apologetically. "No!" he said again and again with positive emphasis. "You're a very nice-looking woman. As good as or better than most of the girls." He shook his head to emphasize.
"Thank you." The two drinks, taken in quick succession, were beginning to have their effect. She was not quite in control of her muscles. "Would you like another drink?"
Not having finished his first, he nodded no. Nonetheless, she took the glass from his hand and managed to spill a small amount of liquor on his pants. He jumped up and wiped the liquid from his pants. But he knew it was useless to wipe it away that way.
"Oh, damn. I'm sorry." She tried to brush it away with her hand.
He pushed her hand away. "Get a napkin or a towel."
She carried both glasses into the kitchen, returning quickly with a large dish towel and a small basin of water. She handed both to him. Taking them from her, he wiped the rest of the stain that he could get out.
While he cleaned up the spill, she leaned against the sink until she had regained her balance. Then she began fixing new drinks. She filled his glass with chips and poured pure scotch over them.
Pouring an ounce into her glass, she drank it down. She felt it burn as it went down, and she knew it would only increase her sensitivity. Then she filled her glass again, as she did his.
"Remarkable," she said aloud to herself. "Really remarkable how they make ice these days."
She realized that what she had just said was nonsense. "It's the scotch," she said aloud again.
She walked back into the swaying room with a drink held carefully in each shaking hand. She landed on the couch with a thud, but miraculously she did not spill a single drop.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for the flood. He was startled when she landed and left him and herself dry. He saw she could not navigate to the table, so he reached out and took one from her.
"No. No'tha' one. Thish one," she said in her drunken tone. And she handed him the other glass. So, he took the preferred one, wondering what the difference was. Tipping it to his lips, he stopped as the smell of straight scotch hit his nose.
He would be at least high if he finished this one, he knew. Tasting it, he found it to be strong. He put it down carefully but casually on the table.
"Come," she said and tapped the pillow next to her. "Come and talk to me." She looked at him. "Talk to me like a friend. We're not in the office and you're free to be an equal."
Equal? What the fucking hell made her think she was better than me, anyhow, he thought.
"You come and sit next to me!"
As he was sitting on the chair, now, he realized it was a stupid thing to request. Nonetheless, she, drink and all, rose and came over to sit on the arm of his chair. She forced her body to remain upright, even though gravity seemed to be winning in its attempt to pull her down onto the floor.
He pulled away from her so that she could straddle it sort of side saddle as he had asked her to come. He hoped that she would find it uncomfortable and would be forced to move back to the sofa.
Instead, she put her arm around his shoulders and was able to balance quite nicely. He froze with the touch of her hand on his left shoulder.
"Are you all right?" She swayed as she sat.
"Sure, I feel fine." Actually, she felt sick. She'd drunk too much liquor too fast; but she was determined to follow through.
"You sure as hell don't look too good. Frankly, you seem to be drunk. Maybe you should go lie down and sleep it off."
She giggled and then laughed aloud. "Will you come to bed with me?" Her words embarrassed him. For a few seconds he could not answer. Finally, he was able to mutter a muted 'no.' By this time she was rubbing the palm of her hand around the top of his left arm.
"I guess I had better leave," he said. Her forwardness scared him.
"I thought you were a man," she said, pulling away from him. "You're nothing but a boy! I want you to make love to me. Treat me like a woman, not your superior officer." She looked at him in disgust.
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Kiss me," she begged, bending forward and trying to force her lips onto his.
"Stop it! For crissake! You're acting like the little child, now."
She pulled away from him, but as she did, she swayed from side to side. He grabbed her around the waist and led her to the couch. Placing her gently on the cushions, he let her head fall gently against the back of the piece.
"Leave me alone!"
"Listen, Mrs. Sinclair, I don't know what it is you want from me. But we ain't got anything in common. I'd better go."
"No! Don't go!" She struggled into a semi-upright position.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whined.
"Won't you even give me a little kiss?" Sober, Tom realized that there was no harm in kissing her, except that it would be different kissing an older woman. But this one did want him to kiss her.
"I won't drink anymore." She folded her arms across her tits as though swearing on an oath.
"I'll make you some coffee." He left the couch for the kitchen. After several minutes of searching, he found her coffee pot and coffee. He filled the pot, poured in the coffee, fitted the thing together and thought about her.
He was shocked at the sudden change in her just because of a couple of drinks. She was always quiet and sedate in the office. She never bothered anybody and kept to herself. He was, actually, the only person with whom she confided in, he thought.
He returned to the living room, to wait for the coffee. She heard him and opened her eyes and stared at him. "I'm sorry. I made such a fool of myself," she moaned. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes shone with the glimmer of outpouring emotions and liquid.
"That's okay, ma'am . .. Alicia," he said gently. She went on crying and he wanted her to stop. He hated to see a woman cry. He had noticed that they cried for the strangest reasons and at the silliest things.
He. thrust his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his clean handkerchief.
"Here, wipe your eyes and stop crying," he said. Silently, she accepted the cloth and wiped the drops from her cheeks, asking him to forgive her.
Fuck, he thought to himself, all this just because I won't give her a little kiss. Angry with himself, he wondered why a woman would put so much value on a little thing like a kiss. Realizing that he would have to force himself to kiss her, he was satisfied that he could then go home. She would be happy. She could go to bed and sleep it off.
From the kitchen he heard the clunks and 'bumps' the coffeepot was making.
"Coffee is ready. I'll go get you a cup. You'll be all right. What do you want in it?"
"Thank you," she said, looking at him gratefully.
He was astonished. "For what?"
"For being so nice to me."
"Sure." He went into the kitchen and poured the hot coffee into a cup. "What do you want in it?" he called from the next room.
"Just black."
The cup tottered onto the saucer as he carried it into the living room. He warned her, as he passed it to her, that it was very hot. She sipped it, pulling her head quickly away.
"It's hot!" she exclaimed.
"I told you it was hot. Crissake's, don't you ever listen?"
"I'm sorry."
Angered now, he almost yelled at her. "And don't be so fucking sorry for everything!" "Don't go, Tom."
"I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry."
"Good!"
"Drink the coffee." She finished the coffee, excused herself and went into the bathroom. She walked steadier now that she had laid off the liquor and had had the black coffee. He waited impatiently for her to return, smoking two cigarettes.
Then she came out. Her hair was fixed, her dress was neater, and her face was freshly scrubbed of the dried tears.
"How do I look now?" she asked him, parading before him.
"Very nice."
She smiled, but her expression was still sad. Sinking to the couch beside Tom, she put his hard muscular hand between her two delicate ones. "I made a fool of myself."
"No, not really. You just had too much to drink. That's all."
"I'm sorry if I offended you in any way."
He was angry again. She was still apologizing and she was still telling him about it. Why, he asked, didn't she just forget it. "All you did was to get too much alcohol, which made you act sort of strange."
"Do you still like me?" You would think, he thought, I was a parent being asked to forgive a child.
"I still like you, yes. As a matter of fact, I like you better when you're sober. You look a hell of a lot prettier now than you did before." He knew he would have to kiss her, now, no matter how much he feared it. He put his arm around her shoulder to console her and pressed her left shoulder into his rib cage.
"Don't worry, Alicia." He bent down and moved his lips towards hers. Moistening them with saliva, he waited for her to push him away. But she did not do so. Instead, she waited for him when she saw him coming.
She, too, wetted her lips, expectantly. She closed her eyes as she felt the soft lips press wetly against hers. She opened her mouth slightly waiting for his tongue to enter her mouth. When it did not, she took the initiative and forced her tongue into his mouth.
He accepted the tongue greedily and for many seconds their tongues brushed against each other. The rasping feeling of his tongue on her, and the same of hers on his, excited them both.
The last time she remembered she had been kissed was more than seven or eight years ago, by her husband prior to his death.
Even when he was alive, kissing was just a simple thing between them. A peck on the lips. She recalled the number of times they had been in bed. Whenever he wanted to screw her, he would never indulge in any foreplay. He had always just grabbed her gown and said, "Spread your legs."
He had always aroused himself by turning to her. She had resented this approach greatly. She had wanted to participate. She had desired to rouse him as she thought a woman should, but he had never wanted to be bothered.
And now with Tom's tongue playing with the insides of her mouth-the tide having turned and he poked his tongue into her oral cavity, shoving her back-she pressed herself against him, wanting him to know how much she liked it. She rubbed his nipples through all the layers of cloth, covering him with her breasts.
She felt her nipples stiffen with desire. Pulling away from him, she whispered, "Make love to me."
Tom knew now what she wanted. In response, his hand pressed at the back of her dress. He was trying to find the zipper. He found it and with thumb and forefinger, he slowly pulled it down her back.
Excited to such a high degree, she pulled away from him and stood up. She pulled the dress from her shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor. Semi-naked, she stood before him and demanded that he strip her completely.
Excited, too, Tom reached up and placed both hands on her tits. She leaned into his hands as they plied the soft flesh.
"Let's go into the bedroom." He stood up, taking her by the hand. She followed obediently. Unassisted by him, she finished undressing, and stood proudly naked before him.
He went berserk. This was the first time he had ever had a woman-much less seen one-naked. Of course, he had seen plenty in magazines, but this was for real! His hands flew around her body. He clutched at her breasts, ass, cunt, bush, thighs. He was trying to touch and feel and sense and see everything all at once.
"Screw me," she whispered. His fingers found her twat and pressed against the warm folds of wet skin. A finger entered the cavity and she tightened her muscles around his single finger. Pleasurably, the finger slipped in and out until she groaned and clutched her legs together. She came.
Never having seen a female come, Tom was surprised at her reactions. But she seemed very happy about the whole thing, and now he wanted her to continue. Stillness lay about the apartment.
The only sounds were her breathing and the creaking of the bed as his hand moved up and down, up and down...
"Take off your clothes," she said suddenly. By now, Tom was feeling extremely excited. Covered with sweat, his erect cock hurt as it pressed against his tight pants. "I want to see your cock," she said. In a semi-daze, he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. He heard the clicking from the still living room.
"What's that?"
"Oh, my god! It must be midnight! My daughter is home!"
"What do we do now?" He was panicking.
"You go out there and put your jacket back on. Unlatch the door. I locked it from the inside so she won't be able to get in."
At that instant, the doorbell rang. "That's her. Now go out there and tell her I'm in the bathroom. Give me just enough time to get dressed. Throw my dress in from the living room, please, before you open the door."
Rebuttoning his shirt, Tom exited into the living room. He picked up her dress and tossed it back through the door to her. He noticed the coolness of the room compared, that was, to the bedroom. His back was covered with sweat.
He put on his jacket, ran his hands through his hair and went to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned for a last look at the room. He flipped on the lights and the room was flooded with light. He unlatched the chain and pulled the door open.
Velma and her boyfriend, whom Tom saw for the first time now, stood in the doorway.
"How come the door was locked?" she asked him, passing him into the living room.
"I didn't know it was locked. Your mother must have done it or something." The kid entered behind her, glancing up at him for an instant 'hi.' "Hello," Tom replied. Although he did not know it, this boy was actually an obnoxious little brat. He acted and spoke like one and he was dressed in the fifteen-year-old's style, wearing bell bottoms which hid his skinny legs and accentuated his unusually wide hips. His hair hung blackly down his shoulders in dirty strings, covering his ears completely.
"Who's your friend?" Tom asked.
"Where's my mother?" Velma queried back.
"She's in the toilet." His disdain for saying 'bathroom', which seemed dirty to him, had let him in for the more unlikely statement. But she ignored it.
"He's Gene, my boyfriend." She turned to Gene. "He's Tom. He worked in mother's office or something." Tom put out his hand. Realizing that Gene was no female, he gave him a handshake that tore through the boy's arm with pain.
"Holy shit! Whaddaya tryin' to do?" Gene yelled. "Rip off my arm or somethin'!"
"Sorry," Tom said, letting go of the boy's hand. Gene tore his jacket off and flung it onto a convenient chair. Sitting on the couch, he twiddled his thumbs until it began irritating Tom.
"Do you mind?"
"Mind what?"
"Your goddamned fingers!"
"What about them?"
"They move beautifully. Stop twisting them around!"
This guy's nuts, Gene thought to himself. Real nuts!
Meanwhile, Velma went into the kitchen to prepare sodas for Gene and herself. She came into the living room long enough to ask Tom if he would like one, too. He declined but asked if there was any coffee left. Checking, she called out that she was heating it.
Shortly, she returned to the living room carrying two glasses. She handed one of the supposedly 'only coke and ice cream' sodas to Gene. Thinking they were grown up, Velma had added a touch of rum. At least, to her thinking, it added to the usual soda.
Tom watched them as they sipped the drinks silently. She was a very good-looking girl and would have a terrific body, he thought. When she grows up.
Quietly, Mrs. Sinclair returned to the living room, acting as if nothing had happened. Still in a state of non-reality, Tom remembered finger-fucking her. But it seemed as though he had only dreamed it.
Ignoring Tom completely, she felt guilty that she had to undress before a man-undress herself, that is-even though it might be her own desire to do so. She wanted to enjoy sex with Tom, as she was determined it would eventually happen. She was lonely and starved.
"Hello, kids." She greeted them brightly. "How was the movie?"
"It was okay," her daughter answered.
"It stunk." Gene was being his usual obstinate self.
She went to Tom, ignoring their contradictory answers. "Are you all right?" He nodded and looked at her suspiciously. She's forgotten about it all, he thought bitterly. Meanwhile, the kids finished their sodas and went into the kitchen.
Looking into the living room, Gene saw Mrs. Sinclair and Tom sitting on the sofa.
Quickly, he turned to Velma, pulling her into his arms and kissing her wetly. She accepted his small immature tongue into her mouth graciously and sucked on the top of it for a few seconds.
Nervously, he pulled away from her and looked through the doorway into the living room again. They were still sitting on the couch, so he felt it was safe to continue for at least a few more minutes. Again and again, he kissed her, brushing his lips against hers. She began twisting her hips, grinding into his groin, trying to make him erect.
She continued grinding, harder and harder. But through the layers of clothing between them, she could not tell if he had an erection or not. So she became bolder and thrust her hand between his legs, feeling.
"Hey!" He jumped back from her probing. So she withdrew quickly and looped her arms around him so that she could kiss him again. His anger was only a flash and he readily returned to her lips and played with her tongue for a few minutes longer.
But as fear grew within him, he pulled himself away and told her they had best get out of the kitchen before her mother got suspicious.
She was sullen, but she accepted his argument, agreeing that he was right. They returned to the living room only to find Mrs.
Sinclair and Tom kissing. They stood in the doorway, fascinated by the sight of two adults kissing. They could feel the passion tingling in the air. Tom's arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders and both kept their mouths opened trying to force each other's tongues into each other's mouths.
Wanting to come in without letting them know that he and Velma had been watching, he looked around for a suitable diversion to warn them. He turned back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, slamming it hard. The sound echoed through the apartment.
Looking back in, he found they had disengaged themselves. They appeared to have been sitting, talking all along. He and Velma walked into the living room, acting ignorant of what they had just witnessed.
Tom wiped his hand across his face to clean away the saliva dripping from his chin. He was now excited to the point where he wished the two kids would disappear, leaving him alone with her. He wanted to make love to her, now. He wanted to fuck . . . fuck . .. fuck. He saw his cock sliding in and out... in and out. . .
"Tell the kids to go away," he whispered into her ear.
"How?" She could see no plausible explanation to use with the kids that would make them leave. But, it was late. Turning to them he said, "It's after midnight. I think it's too late for you two to be up."
Nodding, she agreed with Tom's suggestion. "Velma, it's time you went to bed. It's after twelve, you know."
"Yes, mother." Knowing he had to leave, Gene walked over and picked up his jacket. Putting it on, he went out the door with her walking a few steps behind. "Can I see him to his door?"
"No, you'd better not. It's late and I don't want you walking through the halls by yourself. He's old enough to see himself out."
Velma opened the door for him. As he walked through the door, she told him to call tomorrow afternoon. He said he would and went home.
Gene, or rather Ricardo del Montrono, lived within the same building. His parents lived in another wing and on another floor. He hated living in such cramped quarters, jammed in with so many total strangers. He swore that, when he grew up, he would get himself a house out in the country where there were fewer people. He was a very determined young man.
CHAPTER FIVE
TOM GETS IT IN
Velma went into the bathroom, carrying her gown and robe. Stepping into the shower, she turned on the spray and closed the door. Her pure white body glistened with warm moisture. She washed herself thoroughly while watching herself in a mirror set in the wall opposite the sprayer.
With her thin small fingers, she inspected her small, recently-blooming breasts. She was very proud of them. Of course, she knew, that they were not as big as some of the breasts of her friends at school. But she thought that, because they were small and firm, they were more appealing to males.
None but her mother had ever seen her breasts-and herself-which did not count. She wanted to show them to Gene or to some other boy and let him inspect them with his hands. She wanted the nipples to be squeezed until they hardened. She desired him-whomever he was-to lick them until the feelings drove her crazy.
Deep inside herself, she felt that 'he' would not be Gene. For one thing, he was too immature. He would not think of touching her there. It would be many years before he ever thought of trying. He got embarrassed when she made advances at him, like tonight. She grimaced at his delicacy.
No, she decided, I want an older man to love me. She had never experienced love with anyone. The closest she had ever been was kissing with Gene. And, after all, she thought, that's only kissing. It's getting boring. I want something more!
But what, she could not say, for she did not know. But she was old enough to know that something was missing. As she washed, she imagined the sight of a cock. Unfortunately, she had never seen a real one before. Once, when she had tried to get into one of those stores on Times Square where they sold books with pictures of naked men and women, she had almost made it. But the sharp-eyed proprietor had caught her and told her, as he shoved her out, to come back in ten years if she was still interested.
Her friend, Marijane, had showed her a book, once, in which was a story of two people making love. It was mostly descriptive. It had had the description of a man's cock. But she could not visualize the organ because there had been no pictures. All she could picture was a long thing coming out from between a man's legs, sort of a reversed-position tail. Only this tail would have no hair and would have a round head.
"One of these days," she said aloud to herself, "I'm going to get a good look at a man's cock. I might even let him put it into me." She stopped, listening to hear if her mother had heard her. Then she remembered the description of the cock in the book and got excited.
Unintentionally, her hand moved to her pussy, covered with little more than a light fuzz which was nothing like her mother's full-grown bush. Her mother was covered with a forest of long curly hairs, usually matted and looking something like underbrush in the forest.
Her fingers teased her clitoris and labia until she decided it was time for her to slip her finger into her tight little twat and let those mysterious juices flow. Slowly, her finger slipped in and out. Each time the finger slipped out, water from the shower washed it clean and provided new lubrication for her intruding finger.
Her twat, tight from a constant lack of use and virgin territory, accepted her finger eagerly until she began shuddering with the sensations which rocked throughout her tiny body. Her legs clutched together and the finger pushed in deep, trying to pound against her uterus.
Because of her age, she came quickly and she discharged copiously all over her hand. Breathing deeply for an instant, she began washing herself all over again. She turned off the water and stepped from the shower, drying quickly.
Dressing quickly, she opened the door and went into the living room, where Tom and her mother still sat, talking. As their backs were to her, they did not see her as she moved from the bathroom to the bedroom. With her hand on the doorknob, she watched as they kissed.
Although she was interested, she was more embarrassed for her mother's kissing a man. To her, it was a strange experience. It was something new and unusual, and to her little girl mind, mother's kissing revolted her.
Maybe it was because she had seemed to be above men. She had never been out with one since her father died. And for many years it seemed as if her mother was not even interested in men. At least, she had not been before now. But with this man she was taking interest, more than either daughter or man expected.
While Tom expected a simple night of eating, talking and screwing-only lately, had he thought of the screwing-he did not expect more. He thought she had expected a night of companionship with maybe a kiss or two thrown in, nothing more.
But Velma, interested in what was going on outside her room, refused to sleep, even though she was sleepy and tired. She lay silently, waiting for her ears to catch any unusual noises that might come from outside. She heard nothing.
For more than an hour, Tom and Mrs. Sinclair kissed each other fervently with occasional hands across her tits or peaches. But nothing more. Both had forgotten the bedroom incident of the finger-fucking. And by two o'clock Tom felt tired of kissing and playing.
He wanted more, but he was afraid of making anything that might even be called an advance.
"I've got to be going."
"Why? It's still early."
"Not really. It's after two and I'm beat." He stood up and stamped his feet to get his pants down his legs.
She stood and pushed her hair back with one hand as he pulled on his jacket. Walking him to the door, she pressed him for one final kiss. Readily, he consented and then told her he would see her on Monday, in the office.
"Thank you, Tom," she whispered as he walked down the hall to the elevator.
"Good night," he said, turning at the elevator door. "Get plenty of rest."
He returned home in a semi-stupor because the events of the preceding hours did not reach him as having happened. It seemed no more than a dream. For what had started out as a dinner date, had turned into a minor love affair between them.
As he was showering, he remembered her cunt and its shine with the liquid droplets on it from climax. He felt excited and embarrassed and ashamed as he masturbated in the shower.
But now when he ejaculated, at least, he had a real woman in his mind. And he was determined that he would eventually shoot into her cunt instead of against the shower wall. After his shower and getting into bed, he was suddenly filled with confusion.
When he saw her, he thought, how would he react to seeing her daily in the office? Would their relationship remain the same? Would she still be the secretary and he the office boy?
How could he face her without feeling embarrassed and excited? Surely, she couldn't treat him like she had before tonight?
It would, he knew, have to be entirely different. She would have to stop feeling pity for him and begin thinking of him as a man-not just a boy who was always around doing the dirty work.
Too, he would have to change his attitude toward her. He would have to stop treating her like a superior and begin treating her-or reacting to her-as an equal. Well, he thought to himself, we'll have to see what happens Monday. He slept.
CHAPTER SIX
LOOKING FOR A BANGING PLACE
Shortly after Tom fell asleep, Dig returned home with problems of his own. This was the first night he had not screwed Gayle in a long time. He did not enjoy it, although he realized that she was always ready for some type of sex. Her blow-job was nothing unusual.
She had sucked his cock dozens of times before, but it was the first time she had ever gone wild over his cock. So, he assumed she was' ready for anything.
He knew that his friend in New Jersey might be able to provide the right circumstances as well as the right place. The objective for the week would be to convince him to let them have it. He was sure he could do it.
What I'll do, he thought, is promise Gayle to George and deal with George's hippy myself. Two girls in one night appealed to him. It should appeal to George, he concluded.
Dig had taken Gayle to the movies. And afterward they went back to their hidden spot on the mall of the park to make love. To their consternation, they found that the park had been renovated. Their secluded spot was ruined. It seemed as though the park water pond was being enlarged and most of the trees and all of the brush were being, or had been, removed. It was no good anymore. They did not find another spot easily, but drove around the general area of the park, looking for likely spots to park for a while.
Digby was getting restless and hornier as they drove up and down the lonely roads seeking something promising. Keeping his right hand in her twat, he brought her to a climax twice in twenty minutes. Finally, he was getting bored with the simple wetting of his fingers. He wanted to wet his cock.
"This is a load of shit." They were traversing previously-traveled streets.
"What's the matter?" He pulled his hand from her twat.
"I'm not going to waste this whole fucking night fingering you."
"But I like it."
"And it makes my fucking fingers get too fucking tired!"
"Would you promise me to stop using that word as the adjective for every fucking noun," she said laughing.
"Fuck you!"
"That's what I'm waiting for."
"And just where the hell am I supposed to do it?" He glared at her. "In the middle of Main Street? Or in your parents' living room?"
"Let's just forget it for tonight."
"Oh, yeah. Right! I just go forget it for tonight and go home the horniest prick in the world. I'll probably start jerking off all over the place. Like all over the fucking walls, which I won't let happen."
"Well, if that's the problem, I do know of a place."
"Where?"
"Look." Turning his head sharply, he glanced at her and saw her mouth gaping open. He laughed loudly. "That looks like a good idea. Now, I just want you to tell me how."
"Like this, baby, just like this," she smiled. "Get it?" She moved in closer, teasing him with her body, with her legs and feet on the floor. "Get it?" She moved in closer to his groin and squeezed it.
"Beautiful, baby." He was happy.
Her hands played with his pants until she was able to pull the zipper down and reach into his shorts. Her fingers found the flaccid organ and pulled it out, the cock hairs coming too.
He yelped with the pain as she tugged at his clothes to move them back and move the prick out so she could get at it. Finally, he felt the cock released from its confinement and exposed to the cool night air.
Moving her head over the prick, his belly and the wheel created a valley she could not penetrate.
"Push the seat back."
Releasing the lever, he put his hand on the wheel and grabbed it, replacing it with his right hand which had been caressing her. He was able to give her five inches.
"Just right."
"Now you can go to it."
Without a word from her, she bent her head down and pulled the cock further from his shorts with her head, using her teeth. It was too soft, she proceeded to alleviate that condition.
Opening her mouth wide, she prepared to engulf the whole thing, which was the only time she could take it all in-when it was limp. The soft flesh entered easily.
She sucked on it. For those few seconds when it would be hardening, she was able to lick at his balls, too, exposed with the cock.
But after the cock was in her mouth for a few seconds, it began growing and she could no longer reach his nuts. It began throbbing, and grew with each successful throb. It grew harder and harder ... longer and longer ... stiffer and stiffer.
Within two minutes the original two inches were now a stiff six and a half inches. She decided that she liked it better when it was hard. At least, she thought, it's something to chew on.
Sensations, he felt, were not conducive to driving. For each time she brushed the sensitive head against her teeth, he swerved the car slightly. The best time was when the cock was forced into her mouth, which happened whenever they hit a bump or pothole and the car jumped.
It was rich! His cock would go up with her head, but her mouth always landed on his cock with a soundless thud, being shoved to the back of her throat. She would gasp and pull it away and start licking all over again.
"Chew on it!"
She chewed.
"I'm going to come!" That he was shouting made little difference as the windows were closed. But the sensations made him want to scream and yell.
Hearing the words, she pulled her head away quickly, releasing it. It stood alone, waving slightly. He was all wet and coming-soon, very soon.
"What the fuck are you doing?" "I want this to last. When you shoot I want you to shoot like you never shot before!" "You're sick!"
"I'm horny and a cock-sucker. The cocks I suck have got to fuck my mouth real good."
"How the fuck am I not supposed to shoot for the next two hours?"
"Don't worry about it. I know how to do it.
"How come you didn't want to do it the other times?"
"Because all those other times you used to screw me. Now you can't. Shut up and drive and leave the sucking business to me."
Her mouth returned to the cock which was beginning to soften. She sucked on it again. For nearly an hour, while he drove, she sucked on it until just before it was ready to explode. Then, stopping, she rested both it and herself. She seemed to know just when to stop and just when to leave it alone.
For the entire time it throbbed. It begged for release but it never came.
Dig knew that it was ready to shoot for at least the tenth time, and this time he knew, too, that it would not be the same. This time he would shoot! And just when he knew the scum had gathered at the base of his rod, he removed his right hand from the small of her back and pressed her head so she could not move. That, too, told her that this time he would shoot for sure!
Forcefully pushing her head down as far as possible, his cock pounded against the back of her throat. Gasping for air, she bit the stem. In spite of the pain, he refused to release her.
Finally, he shot into her mouth. Sensations, which he had been holding for the last hour or more, were at last relieved. Scum burst forth in mounting spurts, choking the gasping girl. Each time she gasped, more slid down until he was empty.
Upon releasing her head, she stayed for the last few drops. He sighed as her tongue rasped across his softening organ, cleaning it.
"I want you to shoot again," was her first remark after she raised her head.
He turned and looked at her. "I don't think I could do it again."
"Don't worry. Let me handle the job." He was assured by her tone. She swallowed his cock again, sucking on it until the pain was almost unbearable for Dig.
At this point he was not sure if it was pain or pleasure. Obviously, he thought, he was experiencing something, but what that something was, he did not know. But she continued on him anyway.
Twisting around in the seat, he felt the new orgasm coming. It would be a beaut, he felt. So he prepared himself for it, clutching the wheel until his knuckles turned white.
With the car jerking from side to side on the road, Dig lifted his foot from the gas pedal and let the bucking auto roll to a stop. He knew if he had hit the brake, they both would have gone flying-perhaps through the windshield.
His hands ached and he felt the scum boiling in his balls. The tingling in his cock was unbearable as she sucked in the scum and licked the head.
"That's it!"
She continued sucking.
"Get it out! You're really killing me, stop!" Desperately, he yanked her off him by her hair.
"What's the matter?"
He quivered with unusual feeling. He told her it hurt too much. Of course, as soon as she let go, he shrank and within seconds his cock had disappeared into his bush. "I can't take it anymore." He massaged his burning-with pain, not desire-prick, controlling the almost stationary car with his left hand.
She was depressed that her fun for the night was over. They had no place to go so they could fuck in privacy, so they were condemned to drive around and try to find a place, or doing something to each other as they roamed.
"Finger me off again."
"Okay, but you'll have to straighten up."
She obeyed immediately, assuming the upright position beside him. His fingers slipped into her twat easily. But because of the excitement she had experienced while blowing him, she had come once already. Within minutes after inserting his fingers, she came again, sighing heavily.
She pressed her lips to his cheek and wearily gave him a kiss of thanks. It was late. Deciding to try the other spot he knew, which might be deserted by now, he made a U-turn on the street and headed back the way they'd come.
"Where are we going?"
"There's a place I know where we might be able to get in because it's so late." He glanced at his watch. It was after two o'clock. When they arrived at the knoll, he found it deserted.
"There's something wrong," he said, wrinkling his brow. Turning his lights off, he edged into the blank area and tried to see any reason why there was no one there at all.
"Over there! That's a car in the corner!"
Straining his eyes in the deep darkness, he thought he saw a silhouette of the red flasher above the roof.
"It's a cop car, I think." He circled until he was close enough to see well. Yes, dammit, he thought, there's the red bubble!
"Now what?"
"Now, I'm taking you home."
"So soon?"
"What else are we going to do? I don't know of any place where we can go that's nice and quiet."
"Don't you know someone-a friend? Someone who has an apartment?"
He thought for a minute. "Yeah. I have this friend-he has an apartment. He lives in Jersey, unfortunately, for us. It would be almost an hour there and back-two hours traveling. I don't know if he's home and I don't have keys to his place. Besides, he might want to use it himself occasionally. So, forget about it."
"Okay, for now," she replied. "But why don't you call him up sometime. Ask him if we can use the place a couple of times."
"Sure. Next week."
Dropping her off on her porch, and with a good night kiss, he promised her again that he would call his friend and ask about a double date. Driving home, he decided that the damned girl he was with was a nympho or something. At any rate, she was sure over-sexed.
So long as somebody somewhere sometime had an orgasm somewhere sometime and she was solely responsible for it, she was happy.
He turned to his friend. George, at twenty-four, lived with a hippy. They were not married, as far as he knew, and he supplied her with pot, bed and food in return for sex.
The girl was only seventeen and a runaway.
His friend had picked her up in the Village during the past summer. Bringing her to his place, he had clothed, washed and fed her. But he could not get rid of her.
As a permanent fixture in his place, both of them enjoyed, to mutual advantage, sex and shelter. And, who knows, he thought jealously, maybe even pot! He, George, wanted a constant sex outlet.
She wanted a constant sex inlet. Mutual satisfaction. Physically, he remembered, she was tiny and of average good looks. But, according to George, what she might obviously lack in physical appearance, she more than made up for in sexual output.
George's girl knew how it was for a man when he needed sex and when he's looking for something different.
Dig had never met George's girl-that is, to talk to her or have sex with her-most of what he knew of her he gleaned from George. His problem was that he saw George only on infrequent occasions, and always he saw him in the Village.
It was funny, he thought as it struck him, George never brought his girl to any of these parties or to the Village. But then, of course, he mused, she was much too young and not really the type. She did her thing whenever he didn't want sex from her.
Yes, Dig thought, I'll call George soon-some day this next week -- and ask if Gayle and I can come over for a visit some night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FORCED TO SWALLOW
Seeing Mrs. Sinclair seated so calmly behind her desk, Tom was more unsure of himself than ever before. He wondered how he should act toward her. Should I, he thought, make believe the whole thing was no more than a bad dream? Yes, he thought, that's the best approach.
Unbeknownst to Tom, she, too was a psychological wreck. She felt shame, guilt at what she'd done the last Friday night. She felt sorry for Tom, still. But his presence was a constant reminder.
She had realized that Tom was psychologically unprepared for making love to older and often more experienced women. Her only course of action, so as not to scare him to death, was to wait.
She hoped not only to appease him, but to alleviate his fears concerning making love to her. He would have to make the next advance.
They avoided each other for the entire day. She did not even ask him out for lunch, and he did not ask to go. It was the same Tuesday and Wednesday. Now, she thought, she was sure she had erred in the handling of Tom.
On the other hand, Tom was certain that she was offended that he had not made love to her that first night. He thought she was angry with him for his reluctance. Perhaps, he thought too, she's disappointed with my prowess as a lover.
By Thursday, they were both on edge. She more than he. Frustrated by the eternal waiting, she again took the initiative and asked him over for dinner again. She asked him to lunch with her again on Thursday. Half-heartedly, he agreed and went with her.
Once at the luncheonette, they sat silently for many minutes. Finally, she could wait no longer. "Tom, why not come over to my house for dinner Saturday night?"
Saturday night? Why Saturday night, he asked himself.
"My daughter," she said answering his silent question, "is going to a slumber party that night. There won't be anyone around to interfere."
He understood by implication what she meant. Also, he realized, why she wanted him to come over for the dinner on Saturday night. Alone and without any interference, they would be free to do anything they wished.
"Sounds fine."
"Can you get there at eight o'clock?" "Why so late?"
"I have to Velma off before then. I know shell be late in leaving, like she usually is."
"Okay. Eight it is."
"That'll be just fine."
"Say! Instead of you making dinner for us, why not let me take you out to dinner? From there we can go back to your apartment. How's that?"
She nodded. For the rest of the hour, they spoke of small matters, disregarding their date and sexual matters altogether. He decided that it would be better if he paid to take her out, treating her as he would any other date.
After all, it didn't seem right, to his way of thinking, that he should go to her place, have dinner and try to give her an enjoyable sex playtime, too.
Saturday evening Tom was overly excited about taking her out to dinner. He was dressed and already on his way to her apartment by seven o'clock. At seven-thirty he rang her bell.
She came to the door and opened it. She had curlers in her hair and a house robe covered her body. She stood, staring at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I thought you might be early."
"Well, obviously, I'm not."
"Anyway, may I come in and wait for you?"
"Of course." He saw the beginnings of a smile on her half-averted face. Was she laughing at his eagerness, he wondered?
He looked around. "Where's Velma?"
"I've already gotten her off to her party."
"How long will you be?"
"Another twenty minutes, at least." She started pulling the rollers from her hair. "Why don't you make yourself a drink?"
"Shall I make you one? And where's the scotch?"
"Yes, thank you. It's under that damned sink." Looking under the sink, he found the bottle of scotch standing along with several assorted bottles of household items.
He poured himself a drink and made one for her, too. Returning to the living room, he put his down, left it, and went to her door. Knocking, he waited for her to come and get it. The door opened slightly and she reached out.
"Thanks. Won't be but a minute."
Turning on the television, he found most everything was news, except for one movie. He decided to watch part of the movie. Just as the hero and heroine disappeared into the blazingly beautiful sunset, forever united in love and understanding, she walked through the door. She was ready.
"Just a second. I want to see if they're going to make it," he said.
She wanted to impress upon him the fact that it was getting late, but changed her mind. He is taking me out to dinner, she told herself, and I shouldn't make special demands on him. Anyhow, what's a few seconds?
In a few minutes the show ended. He rose, and snapped off the set.
"Ready?" He grinned. "It's silly of me. But I've sat through that particular movie at least six times, but never got to see the end of it. Something always happened at the last minute. Suddenly, there is the end, just like I had been sitting here all the time." He smiled sheepishly at her.
She laughed, shaking her head. "We're all prone to do little things like that."
He took the coat from her arm and held it for her. Then he followed her through the door. At least, she thought, he has manners and a sense of humor.
Tom's driving scared her; he was a fast driver. But she restrained herself from saying anything. Fast he might be, she thought, but he's good.
She began relaxing. The restaurant, not too far from her home, was nice, quiet and pleasant. It was nothing fancy. But it was nice. And he made her evening glitter with his superb manners and good looks.
He opened the doors, guided her gently through the passages and halls, between tables. He held her chair, took care of her wrap, and made sure everything was under control. He displayed all the little services that a woman appreciates so much.
Of course, she realized, he was going out of his way to be nice to her because of what she could provide for him. But, she thought, both parties were benefiting. She was impressed, at any rate, which was what he wanted.
In the past, whenever Tom had taken a date out to dinner, they had ended up at a local diner. This time, he knew, she would expect a restaurant-the real thing.
After a couple of hours, Tom grew restless. He asked her if she would like to go home. She nodded, happy because she did want to get home and get down to business. All through the meal, she had thought of what had happened the previous week. She wanted it to continue.
As they walked into the apartment and the door was closed, Tom threw his arms around her. She returned the compliment, kissing him.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening. May I return the favor?"
"How?"
"Oh, come now, Tom. Don't act like a child. You know what I mean." She nodded toward the bedroom door and pulled on his hand.
"In there?"
She smiled. Returning the smile, he let himself be pulled into the bedroom. As they entered, he flipped on the lights.
"Turn them off."
"Why?"
"It's much more interesting in the dark."
He gulped and turned them off. She closed the door, plunging the room in almost total darkness. The few glimmers of light sneaked in from the street and the next building. In the darkness, he felt bold. He could do anything, he felt.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered.
"Take them off for me."
"No. Go ahead and do it yourself. I'm taking mine off." She felt her anger boiling at him, but she complied with his demands. Within minutes she was as naked as he.
"Get into bed," he commanded her.
She did and he climbed in next to her, pulling up the soft, cool sheets. Having been excited before stripping, he now had an erection.
The sheets felt good on his hot flesh. She, too, was excited. She waited for the correct moment to do something to him. Having nothing particular in mind, she was prepared to do anything as quickly as possible.
Not knowing what to do next, he waited for her. When she did nothing, he decided to take action and kiss her. In the dark he found her lips and they exchanged saliva for a few minutes. She felt the softness of his wet smooth lips against hers.
She heard the momentary clicking of teeth on teeth and then the mobile fullness of their tongues meeting. His tongue rasped across hers as he investigated her mouth.
She could feel his tongue searching out the positions of her teeth, probing between her lips and teeth, under her tongue. With each movement he made her grow hotter.
Every so often he would brush against her as he changed positions for a better kissing angle, and she could feel his prick against her momentarily. She grew hotter and hotter, more and more excited with each pass.
Now it was time. She pulled her mouth away from him, pressing her body and his against the bed. She pulled off the sheets and crawled around, kneeling across his upper legs.
She caressed his legs and thighs with her hands. Slowly, her fingers pushed into his pubic mat. She felt him shudder. His cock throbbed with the excitement he knew was soon coming. Then her fingers closed around his cock. It throbbed as her hand made contact and she thought he might shoot.
His stiff ramrod fitted well in the hollow of her curved hand. She felt the heat of it. As she stroked it, he forgot for a while, in the pleasure, that it was in her hand. Each time she stroked it the cock became progressively harder. They both knew he would shoot soon.
"Oh, heavens!"
"What's the matter?" He had fears that she might have inadvertantly dug him with her nails. "I'm going to come!"
This made her more excited than she had ever been before. She knew she would finally bring a man to orgasm. She pumped harder until he grabbed her hand, forcing her to discontinue action.
But she fought him, won and continued pumping his cock until he grabbed the sides of the bed and held on tightly.
This was it! Hot scum boiled from his organ, shooting onto his belly. Some of it dripped onto her hand as it moved up and down his stiff member. She became more and more excited as he pumped out.
Without thinking or hesitating, she bent her head down and took js cock into her mouth. She did not mind that the head was covered with salty musky scum. She was too excited to care what his come tasted like.
The hot bulbous head slipped into her mouth easily. Immediately, she began sucking on it to bring him back to rigidity. Before that, though she had to clear his tubes by sucking, she was able to clear him out of the very last drop.
He felt the excitement being given his cock. Never before had he felt this way. In his opinion, her simple manipulations for ejaculating his cock via her hand was exciting, but her mouth was driving him nuts.
Pressing his hands down on the top of her head, he forced her to swallow his cock. As the long hard rod slipped further into her mouth, she bit on the stem. But he did not let up. For a few moments she sucked on it, licking the head and sticking her tongue into the eye.
Her entire head moved up and down in a fucking motion until she felt his gathering for a second climax. "Suck it!"
Her head moved faster.
"Suck it until it comes!"
The continuous bobbing up and down, up and down was straining the muscles of her neck, so unused to this exact type of work were they. He continued yelling that he was coming and, eventually, he did.
With a violent jerking motion, he raised his hips nearly a foot off the bed. Even though she moved with him, his cock was forced deeper into her throat, causing her mouth and neck to ache with the strain and the thickness of his cock.
Finally, scum came shooting through his tubes for the second time in one night in his entire life! He had come twice in under thirty minutes. His cock tingled as it went limp. The quantity had been much less, but there had been more feeling with the second time.
Feeling completely empty, he sighed and groaned as her mouth freed his cock so it could fall back slappingly against his belly.
Meanwhile, she had managed to come to climax twice while working on his cock, her second coming just prior to his second one. She felt weak, exhausted, but she continued working until she forced his ejaculation. And as soon as Tom shot into her mouth, she collapsed on the bed and lay there sighing for several minutes.
They lay with their arms wrapped around each other, breathing and gasping heavily. For almost an hour, there was little sound as they lay there regaining their strength. Finally, she felt her strength renewed. She climbed from the bed and snapped on the lights.
"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" He threw his arm across his face, shielding it from the unexpected glare.
"I wanted to see what you look like naked."
"Oh hell, you could have done that when we first got here!"
Not replying, she came around to his side of the bed. His arm still across his face, he did not see what she was doing.
But he felt the bed and mattress tilt as she sat down. He removed his arm, but kept his eyes shut to accustom them to the light.
Opening his eyes at last, he saw a pair of breasts inches from his face.
"What's up?"
"I want you to love me."
"How?" He was serious about the question. Never having made love before, he needed her to teach him.
"First, I want you to suck on my tits until the nipples get hard-real hard, rigid and stiff. Then, you eat me out. Then you fuck me."
"Sounds easy."
"It is really easy as long as you do as I tell you. You can have a good time. I, too, will enjoy it. Now, suck on my tits."
Lifting his head the few inches, he met her nipple, which she brought partway toward his rising face. The soft nipple brushed against his lips.
It was subconscious instinct that opened his mouth and let it enter. He noticed that there were funny zigzag white marks running down her breasts.
He wondered why she had them, but not all the nudes in the hundreds of girlie magazines he read were perfect. He remembered occasionally seeing a girl with exceptionally huge globes and dark skin-yes, he thought, the ones he desired always had dark skin.
But she was the first pale-skinned female he'd ever seen who had had these marks.
He returned his thoughts to the soft nipple brushing against his lips and teeth. Sucking it in, he began running his tongue around the soft spongy material.
"Lick it with your tongue."
He ran his tongue around and around the nipple. He felt the tiny nubbins grow until she seemed to have at least a dozen nipples. Then it grew stiffer, harder. Unconsciously, he was hard on it.
"Not so hard."
He was licking gently now, with his tongue barely touching the flesh. Apparently, she found this soft approach more exciting than his hard sell approach. After a few minutes, he knew it was hard. He was wondering about the other one, when ...
"Do the other one," she said, cutting in across his exact thoughts. As she pulled the stiffened flesh from his mouth, he released it willingly.
Having enjoyed that, he wanted to do it again on the other one. In an instant, he found his mouth filled with another bit of soft tissue, which he found was already slightly hard. It was already at the goosebump stage. Sucking on it, he found that it quickly hardened.
He felt himself getting harder and harder. Then his cock was stiffened and once again ready for action. After both nipples stiffened, he rolled her breasts across his face and neck, burying his chin deep into her cleft and using his tongue to lick and moisten the whole exposed area of her tits, and the area between her cleft.
She sighed with the pleasure as his fingers reached for her pussy. He started playing with it, his fingers pulling at the hairs and tickling the labia.
"Eat me out. Please."
So, he pushed her breasts away from him and told her to stand. Getting up, he asked her what to do next.
"Lick the whole thing out with your tongue," she said, spreading her legs and bending them at the knees.
"Then he down on the bed. Open your legs."
She obeyed immediately and, within an instant, she lay there with her legs spread wide. He knelt timidly between them.
"Lick the labia. Here." She motioned with her hand.
"The what?" Curious at this unusual name, he scrutinized the area indicated.
"The skin around the hole."
Finding the mentioned skin, he observed it closely for a minute. It was soft and pink. He licked at it with his hot tongue, spilling moisture all over his lips and hers. He did this until she squirmed.
"Now the clitoris." She sighed with the pleasure.
"Where is it?"
"Right above my hole."
He found it. It was covered with hair and he managed to get a long strand of hair caught between his teeth. As he picked his teeth to remove the hair, she demanded that he continue his licking.
"Just a moment. This hair ..."
She waited.
She felt the mounting excitement of his tongue. She accepted the pleasurable sensations which he gave to her.
"Lick the hole."
His tongue found her hole. He tried to force his tongue into it as he spread it apart. Finally, he had to bring his hands in to help spread it, for his tongue alone was not strong enough to force the firm flesh back.
Then he stuck the tip of his tongue into her twat. Slowly, he rotated it, feeling this newest of sensations. She jumped as his tastebuds rasped over her delicately-attuned nerve endings in the entrance.
Suddenly, he realized that his tongue, in this case, was an alternate prick, so he rammed it in as far as his aching jaw would allow. Unwittingly, he sank his teeth into her flesh, too.
But that only heightened her passion at this point. She squirmed and wiggled beneath him and moaned deep in her throat.
Then it happened! Arching herself into him, she flooded his mouth and face with her hot fluids. Coughing and sputtering, he continued licking.
As he did, he took her juices into his mouth and then was forced to swallow them. But, not being either experienced or expert, he got most of it all over his face. In fact, he helped to spread it around on her bush, her thighs and all over the bed, too.
He had pussy juice all over his face, stinging his eyes. It was in his ears and under his hairline. His nose was numbed by the strong scent, pleasing at first, but so strong that after a while he could not smell it anymore.
As she came, she groaned loudly and clamped her legs around his ears, forcing him to stay where he was with his tongue deep in her twat and his face burning with her discharge.
He was tired now and wet with perspiration. After she came, he opened her limp legs and crawled out from between her thighs.
"Where are you going?" She had noticed that he was off the bed.
"To take a shower. Where's the bathroom?"
She told him. Then rolling over, she came to her feet on the floor. "Wait for me. I'm coming too."
So, although bothered by her constant attention, he thought a shower with a woman-especially her-would be an interesting feat to accomplish.
Leading him to the bathroom, she began showing him where everything was. She went to the closet and took out towels and clothes.
"Turn on the water," she said.
Turning to the knobs, he fiddled with them until he had a warm stinging mixture flowing briskly out of the head. He helped her with his usual courtesy into the tub and they began washing each other.
She had gotten out a second bar of soap. Each spent great quantities of time washing out each other's genitals. Foam and more foam dripped and drifted down their legs and through the air as they soaped each other's bushes, heads and she washed his hairy chest, stomach and thighs.
"Turn around," she said. He did and she washed and rinsed his back.
She ran her hands and the bar of soap up and down, across and diagonally across his back, edging nearer and nearer to his ass with each succeeding stroke. She was teasing him.
He knew she was. He loved it. So did she. Slowly, closer and closer until his ass twitched with the tensions of patient waiting.
Suddenly, she ran the bar around and around between her palms. Dropping it on the floor, she stuck her soapy hands quickly into his crack, running them down and around to encompass his balls.
Gently, she fondled them from behind, soaping them tenderly. She rubbed the two nuts together. She shoved them up slightly and gathered the wrinkled folds of loose-hanging, hair-covered skin into her hands and between her fingers.
She felt his ass tighten on her arms. And his thighs pinched against her flattened hands, forcing them to bend horizontally the length of her hand. Her eyes focused on the twitching muscles of his cheeks as his ass contracted and relaxed, contracted and relaxed.
Then, she brought her hands out slowly. She moved them farther up toward his asshole.
Teasingly, she probed around the puckered rosebud of his anus.
She heard and felt him sigh as she tried to pry her finger into that tight opening. In her sexual haste, her long nail scratched against some of the extra-tender skin. He yelped.
Then, she brought her hands out slowly. She moved them farther up toward his asshole. Teasingly, she probed around the puckered rosebud of his anus. She heard and felt him sigh as she tried to pry her finger into that tight opening. In her sexual haste, her long nail scratched against some of the extra-tender skin. He yelped.
"Get the fuck out of there!" She withdrew, saying she was sorry.
"Aw, hell. Let's get the fuck out of here." He put his bar of soap on the dish in the wall and began rinsing his body free of soap. As soon as all the soap was gone, he asked her if she was rinsed. Getting her affirmative, he turned the taps off and stepped out of the tub.
He turned to her. "Are you coming?" He helped her as she stepped from the tub. He handed her a towel and took the other one. They began to dry off.
He dried her back, and she did his. Then he rubbed his head to remove excess water from his hair and she wrapped her head in the towel, to keep it from dripping on him or her.
"Let's go. I want to fuck you."
"That is -not a very nice way of putting it."
"I'm only worried about putting it some place. Preferably inside your twat."
With that, they returned into the bedroom. She switched off the lights. Spreading herself on the bed, she exposed her clean wet cunt for him.
His cock was hard with expectation and desire. He jumped between her spread legs and pressed it against her cunt, vaguely in the area where he thought her twat would be. Then he pressed gently.
Nothing happened except that it began bending slightly, sending shooting pains up his groin.
"What are you doing?" She waited for him to penetrate.
"I'm trying to find that damned hole."
Taking his cock in her hand, she guided it to the gaping twat. She felt the tip pressing against her cunt.
"Now push."
He did not have to be told that. For as soon as he felt the head pressing against what seemed to be a hollow in her conformation, he knew he was rightly located, and he shoved.
Getting half of himself into her on the first thrust, he paused, waiting for her to stop him. He was afraid of hurting her, as he was not sure of the depth of her hole. He pushed further in when she did not stop him.
At about three quarters of the way in, he felt something push against the head of his cock. He stopped, feeling that this was as far as he could go in safely.
When she felt his cock slide in the length of her, she wrapped her legs around his body and shoved him even deeper in. He resisted.
"Now! Hump!" When he did not respond immediately, she reiterated. "Go in and out. In and out!"
But without her instructions he had known what to do. He just did not want to hurt her. Ah, well, he thought, she's asking for it. Slowly and rhythmically, he moved his cock in and out of her cunt until he established a definite rhythm "Harder!" She felt an impending orgasm.
He forced his cock into her further, deeper as he moved faster within the confines of her imprisoning legs. Within minutes, he was bouncing up and down, carrying her with him on each succeeding withdrawal. He was sure he would burst through, but he did not care now.
She went into spasms of ecstasy as she came. He was fucking her like crazy-leaping up and down, pounding into her and suckingly withdrawing only to plunge again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Then she inched her legs higher around his hips and tightened her grip. He moved faster and faster, pulling her up and slamming her bodily down, so closely were they entwined.
She came! She felt herself loosening as she released her flood. He was swimming in fluids, sloshing in and out of her. He was moving so fast now, that the liquid splashed as he moved out, splattering on the sheets, their thighs and legs and bellies.
He felt the gism collecting at the base of his cock. He was ready to come. With one final, forceful thrust he landed on her, jamming it into her all the way.
He came! Great spurts jetted deep into her twat, bouncing back to stream down her canal wherever they could squeeze through. He collapsed atop her, lying there panting until he felt his cock falling back limp.
"Get off!" His weight, too much even for his elbows to support, was cutting off her breathing, crushing her to the bed.
Slowly with enormous effort, he eased his body off of hers and rolled over onto his back sighing. Glancing at the alarm clock on the night table next to his head, he saw that it was still early.
It was just before midnight. Thinking, lying there judging his bodily reactions, he decided that he would be good for another three hours. That was, provided she was willing. She was willing.
As he lay there, regaining his strength, she stroked his skin. Her hand ran down his chest, reversed and she pushed her fingers back up through his matted chest. Teasingly, she was playing with him. It felt good.
"You have any plans for tomorrow?" He turned his head to look at her as he spoke.
"No. Why?" She had a puzzled look on her face.
"Because I want to sleep over. I'm tired. But there are more things I want to do with you before I leave."
"Sure. I don't mind. But Velma will be coming back sometime tomorrow afternoon-when, I don't know-but when she does come home, we must be out of bed and dressed, at least."
"I won't be staying that long," he said, shaking his head. "Just overnight. Is that all right with you?"
"Anything you say."
Tired from the past exercises of the last couple of hours, she craved more and more. Pulling the rumpled sheets over their bodies, he fell asleep within minutes. Mrs. Sinclair, too, fell asleep. But, subconsciously, she was more excited than Tom.
Every few minutes, at every little sound or movement, she woke. She was tense and felt nervous. She kept hoping he might touch her and waken her in his sleep. But he slept soundly, the rest of the physically and emotionally exhausted healthy animal. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she began playing with his cock.
Of course, he woke up. It stiffened quickly as she played with it. He did not say anything, but let her continue to play and tease until his organ became excited.
"Cool it," he said finally.
"Why?" she asked. "What am I doing that's so wrong? Don't you like what I'm doing?"
"Sure, I like it. As a matter of fact, I like it too much. I should rest for a while longer. So should you. Later, we can play. Not now.
"Let me sleep for a few more hours. I'll be more receptive and responsive. You will be too."
He turned his head and hips away. Releasing his cock, she rolled onto her side away from him. She slept for a short while and then wakened again. She was terribly excited with his body lying next to hers.
He was asleep when she woke again. Afraid to touch it, she did not want to make him angry. He might leave and go home. She climbed out of bed and put on a robe. Going into the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee. She turned on the radio, listening to it while the coffee perked.
Drinking her coffee, she waited at the kitchen table, impatient until she had given him an hour to sleep. Finally, she went back into the bedroom to waken him. She pulled the sheet off.
He had rolled over onto his stomach. She rubbed his back and exposed thighs and ass lightly, teasing his downy flesh until it rippled into gooseflesh. She was hoping that this would awaken and excite him. Unfortunately, it had just the opposite effect.
Sensing something rubbing his back, ass and thighs, he relaxed even more and went back to sleep-even deeper this time. She stroked his spine, the small of his back.
Occasionally, she ran her fingers over the cheeks of his ass, watching it in particular as it quivered each time her fingers and nails touched its flesh.
On rare occasions she tried to pry into his asshole. But the flesh of his ass and thighs was too tightly crowded by his legs which were lying straight down the length of his body to the foot of the bed.
After a longish period of time, she stopped and realized that she was getting no where. So she tried a different approach. Disrobing, she climbed over Tom into the bed. She knelt with her legs spread, straddling him across his lower thighs.
Caressing the cheeks, she slowly spread them with her fingers to get to his asshole. Finally, she saw his puckered asshole peering back up at her invitingly. She bent her head and pressed her face against the crack.
But with his legs closed as they were, she found it very hard getting her mouth close enough to reach his hole, much less to get her tongue in. She tried spreading his firm cheeks further apart.
Jamming her face slowly into his ass, she stuck out her tongue. It pressed against the firm folds of his rounded, closed opening. Good tiling, she thought as her tongue slipped in a fraction of an inch, that I thought to wash his ass carefully.
Lapping lightly over the hole, she felt the soft skin brushing across her tongue. It felt like a cunt, she thought. That is, she amended, if she had some idea of what a cunt must feel like.
Because his legs were too close together and also because her tongue was short, she could not force her way in very far.
Sensing something amiss-something quite unusual and abnormal in his limited experiences-Tom awoke slowly, trying to figure out what she was trying to do to him.
First, he thought she was finger-fucking his ass-or trying to, he told himself wryly. Then he realized that the area of contact was much too large for a hand and fingers-too solid, too-it had to be her face. And it had to be her tongue!
He felt her struggling, and he realized that he would have to spread his legs for her to be able to enter. Opening his legs as far as possible, he was stopped by her more widely spread thighs.
When she felt his legs moving, she knew he was awake. She also knew that he was accepting what she was trying to do. So she tried to spread her legs even further, but then found that she could not.
She decided to kneel between his legs instead of across them. Climbing between his legs, she allowed him to spread his legs further apart-as far as they would go. She returned her mouth to his ass, licking as he sighed with pleasure.
With her mouth and tongue aching, she took a short breath. "Keep licking."
"I'm tired."
"But I want you to keep licking." He was giving orders, now. Reluctantly, she complied for she wanted to keep him happy for later things.
Returning her mouth to his ass again, she licked the soft hole until she thought her tongue would fall out of her mouth with exhaustion.
After half an hour of licking, he decided he wanted something more.
"Stop, please. I want to do something else."
She pulled away from him, greatly relieved. Her whole mouth ached. Besides, she wanted to do more than merely lick him all night.
"What do you want to do?" She climbed off him and fell tired on the bed beside him.
"I haven't decided yet." He turned to face her. "Can you think of anything unusual?"
"Do you know what a French Tickler is?"
"No."
"Do you know what a dildo is?"
"No." He turned and looked at her again. "French Tickler? Dildo? No, I don't know what they are. What are they for?"
"The French Tickler is something a fellow puts on his prick to give the girl more excitement. And the dildo is an artificial cock. Dykes use them-and frustrated women, too," she added hesitantly.
"Do you have one of each?"
"Yes. And ... "
"But I still don't know what they are, really."
"That's what I'm getting to. You put the tickler on the dildo, and ram it up my cunt. All these ticklers, like their name says, have things on them that intensify the feelings. They tickle. You want to sec them?"
"Sure. But I don't understand why you need this fake cock when I'm right here with a real one."
"Well," she said, "the real thing-yours-can do almost everything. But it can't rotate. I like to be tickled in a rotating motion. While you're doing me, I'll suck you off."
She got up off the bed and went to the closet. Standing on tiptoes, she reached way back behind boxes on the shelf. She grasped a special box in her hand and returned to the bed.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she placed the mysterious box between them. Slowly, she opened it. Inside was an object, faintly reminiscent of a cock, but without the man. Over it was stretched, or into it was imbedded-which he could not tell-was a thing of rubber or some such material, studded with tiny extensions all around.
Taking the thing, she handed it to him.
"What do I do with it?"
"Put it up me, stupid."
He inspected it. "But it's much too big. Surely, it'll tear you apart inside."
"I'll stretch. Don't worry."
Taking the box, she flung it to the floor. Then she lay down with her head to the foot of the bed. With his head up and hers down, they were now into the sixty-nine position.
"Come on," she said impatiently. She spread her legs wide, revealing her pink pussy and twat, a darker pink-almost red. Slowly, she edged over to his cock.
Suddenly, she refocused her attention on the fake cock.
"Did you wet it?"
"No. Why?"
"Goddamn!" It was the first curse word he had ever heard her use. "You really want to fuck me good. You'd kill me if you put that thing up me dry."
He spat into his hand and rubbed it on his new possession, thoroughly dampening it. The smooth rubber glistened even more fiercely in the dim lights than before.
"Fine."
He put the thing back down at the edge of her twat. She reached out and grabbed his erect prick with her free hand. She began stroking it. Lifting up on her elbows, she put her lips to the slit. Slowly, her mouth opened and his cock entered, her tongue busy on his head.
Meanwhile, he pressed against her twat. He was amazed to find just how strong those muscles resisted. Entrance via the usual method of cock in twat, he had not noticed the strength of her cunt.
He had to throw both shoulders into it. At least there was little friction because of the wetness. The little spiked things seemed to grip at her flesh, so that instead of sliding out when he eased pressure to begin again, the thing stayed where he had shoved it. He had time to adjust his position when and if he chose.
At her end, she was slowly engulfing his head and stem. For every inch he entered her, she engulfed him another inch. It was like a game, she thought.
Then turning back to her work, she licked the head and stuck her tongue into his tiny slit. Gripping the edge of the head-the lower edge-with her teeth gently, she was able to steady the cock. Finding the slit, she teased it with her tongue tip.
Then she went back to rasping the entire head, releasing the tooth-hold and then she engulfed another inch.
Finally, she had almost all of it into her mouth. It had clogged up the back of her throat, making breathing difficult. Her nose was buried in his tickling bush. At least, she thought, I can get occasional amounts of air. She began bobbing up and down on his prick.
At the same time, she felt the dildo dressed with its fancy spikes and spangles, thump deep into her. With a sucking and ripping sound to it, he pulled it almost all the way out again.
Then he began jamming it into and pulling it out of her at a rhythmic pace, to which she began keeping time with her bobbing head.
Suddenly, she felt those wonderful electric-like shocks shooting through her as he began twirling it between his palms. With the pressure behind it of his shoulders and the force with which he rotated it, he nearly threw her off the bed. Faster and faster, more and more violently, she bobbed on him.
Now, to his astonishment, she began swinging her head from side to side, creating a similar motion with her head, as the one he was giving her. It was great, he thought. Just great! He pumped his shoulders with more force than before.
She was twirling and bobbing on him. He was shoving, pulling and whirling in her. Suddenly, he felt himself tensing into climax. And her legs clamped together over his wrists. But he was stronger and still able to maneuver.
He saw the small trickle of white fluid coming from her twat. Quickly, he pried her legs open and inserted his face, after removing the dildo. He lapped with his tongue and sucked with his mouth at her extended cunt-now a mammoth cavity.
He drank happily, all of her fluids. It was easier this time, and because of his limited practice earlier in the night, he got less on his face and her thighs, and more into his mouth. Consequently, he got it down his throat.
Meanwhile, she had felt his veins swell with that last sudden surge of stiffening. Bracing herself for the bombardment, she waited that fraction of a second for his first jets to spurt into her throat.
Then, the force with which he hit her, strained her already overworked muscles badly. She felt her neck creak violently as the flaming white liquid leaped against the back of her soft palate.
Quickly, she swallowed, relieving the pressure only to be met with another deadening spurt. Again, she swallowed. Again, he came. And again . . . again . . . again . . .
Then, it was over-for both of them. They each began to clean the other's private parts as cleanly as they could. He lapped at her cunt, rasping his raw, red tongue across her tender, swollen flesh.
Then he nosed into her sopping bush, sucking in tufts of hairs, and sucking and licking them clean. Lastly, he moved back to her ass and licked up the residue lingering there. As some of the juice had been smeared into her thighs, he licked those also.
She began licking at his stem, wiping what little residue had slipped down the shaft when she was swallowing. She managed to get her tongue on her lips and lick them clean so she could use them as receivers and investigators of the limits of the stickiness.
As she had been in the more receptive position, she had far less to clean up. Nonetheless, it was a full operation which she did as thoroughly as he did.
Swallowing the slowly falling cock was easier now. She was able to engulf his whole cock and add his balls, one at a time. These she sucked clean, massaging them between her loosely-clenched jaws.
Letting them free to dry, she went back up the stem, cleaning as she went. She licked all around, moving and twisting her head as she needed to. Finally, she reached under his head and carefully cleaned that out.
She rolled the foreskin around in her lower teeth before giving it back to her tongue. She proceeded to the head. Reaching out, she steadied the sinking stem with her available hand.
Then she carefully cleaned the tip, dipping her tongue into the slit to get at that last drop. She sucked on it lightly for a short while-a matter of seconds-to be absolutely sure she had gotten all the fluid out of his tubes.
As he had left his face against her twat, and was blowing softly into it, she did not fully release his cock. But she held it lightly onto it with her teeth and started chewing on it easily, playing with it. Her mind turned to other things.
She remembered when she had ordered that tickler and the dildo. It had been a 'mail-order' type of thing from one of those illegal-then illegal-places that dealt in such equipment. She had seen them advertised in the magazines she had found where her husband had thought he had so cleverly hidden it.
After she had copied down the serial numbers and other necessary data to order, she had put the book back where she had found it. He never knew! She had hoped to be able to use it some day. It was the exact circumstances she had not been able to envision . ..
"Do you hear me?" The voice cut across her memories like a knife cutting through soft cheese.
"Ohhh, Terry..." she groaned and stretched.
"What's the matter with you?" The voice was irritated, angry possibly.
"Ohhh . . . Oh . . . Tom ... That was beautiful!"
"Who's Terry?" "Who?"
"Terry?" He sounded mad.
"I'm sorry. Terry was my husband's name. I guess I was remembering things when ... well, never mind. It's all gone now-eight years ago."
She was exhausted. Contentedly, she lay there not even aware of the cock she was talking around. But she did notice, faintly, that his mouth had been replaced by a forefinger tracing the outlines of her pussy.
"Did you love him?" She listened for any malice or latent jealousy. But it was just a question. He was just curious.
"Yes, I suppose I did. I had Velma by him. Yes, I loved him."
"But," he finished for her, "you can't love a dead man."
"Well, that's not the way I'd have put it. But I guess it's all the same thing. I'm tired!" And with that, she heaved herself up and flopped down beside him, head on the pillow, feet toward the foot of the bed.
Both of them lay there breathing heavily but easily. Neither wanted or needed anything but rest and sleep now. Shortly, both slept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SWITCHIES
Dig called his Jersey-residing friend, George, to ask if they could use the apartment on the coming Friday night or even Saturday night. He said he could come out either night, but was not sure if he could have the apartment.
"Why do you need an apartment, anyway?"
Dig had not wanted to say outright, but muttered, "It would be a nice place to take my girl for a night."
George laughed. "I see. You're just coming up here for peace and quiet. Listen to records and things like that, right?"
"Sort of."
"Bullshit! You've got a chick and you want to screw around with her."
"Sort of."
"Then, why the hell didn't you just say so? That you needed a place to get laid?"
"Okay. I need a place to get laid."
"Good. But I can't let you have my apartment."
"Why not? You just said you might be out either night."
"True. But whenever someone uses my place to get laid, I want to see who it is first. I mean, I don't want you bringing any streetwalker around here. It might give me a bad name."
"Give you a bad name? What about that seventeen-year-old kid living with you?"
"Everybody thinks she's my kid sister."
"Incest is illegal," Dig said laughing. "Listen, I have an idea."
"Let's hear it."
"I'll come up Friday night with my girl. You be there. Don't worry about her, she's no prostitute. She's my girlfriend. I've been going out with her for the last two years. It's just that it's becoming impossible, a real hassle, fucking in the car all the time."
"Okay. I'll stay home Friday night. Just for you."
"Good. Well, I guess that's it."
"Sure. Besides," George mumbled, but loudly enough for Dig to hear, "I'll take her from you if she's all that good."
"Screw." Dig said it sarcastically.
"I hope so. And quite frequently."
Dig hung up, satisfied and happy. Friday night he would be able to fuck Gayle in complete privacy. And in New Jersey. George was happy, too. He felt that if the girl would screw for Dig, she would definitely screw for him.
Another fuck, he said to himself, sounds good at anytime. His clever story about having to see a girl before allowing his friends use the place was just to keep Dig on pins and needles. Besides, he thought, if he let most or all of his 'friends' use his apartment, he would be crowded out.
Only the cooperative ones-the ones who might either share their girls or the ones whose girls he could win in bed-were ever allowed to come to his apartment.
On Friday night, Digby had his own problems. He had a great conflict with George over Gayle. That night, just as he had promised George, he went to his apartment with her. George acted as as if he was inspecting the girl to see if she was sluttish or in some way undesirable. His opening remark was, "Nice girl."
Dig said thanks and entered.
"Hey!" George's sudden yell halted Dig. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I've got work to do."
"Yeah. But don't you want to meet Jessie?"
"Who's Jessie?"
"You know Jessie. She's my house guest."
"Okay. Where is she?" George nodded toward the bedroom-the room with its door closed. "Do I just go in?"
George just nodded. So Dig opened the door and entered. Jessie was lying on the bed with her legs opened, naked, and her cunt quite exposed and totally visible from any distance. Dig ran out of the room.
"Holy shit! She's naked!"
"So?"
"What am I supposed to do in there?"
"You were supposed to see her."
"I've met her." He led Gayle toward the bedroom door.
"Come on! What are you fooling around for?" George said.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying that you've got that girl in there if you want her." Dig began to panic. George was putting on the squeeze.
He was being forced into a corner. He was being forced into choosing between his own girl and Jessie. At any other time he would have chosen Jessie, but not with Gayle around.
"I can imagine." He was doing some quiet and quick thinking.
"Go ahead. Take your girl into the bedroom and have fun."
He took Gayle by the arm and led her into the bedroom. He spent a couple of seconds inspecting the place, and then stripped. She stripped, too. Within seconds, they had their clothes off, and were lying on the bed.
Gayle reached for his cock with her hand and played with it until it was very hard. Then he let her put it into her mouth. As she played with the head in her mouth, Dig was thinking about what he had seen in the next room.
He had seen Jessie, a young and tiny girl lying in bed with her legs spread wide, waiting for him to put his cock into her. He wanted to go into the other bedroom and see what was going on now.
He heard George speak to her. Then the bed creaked. Then he heard some very low sucking noises.
As Gayle sucked at his cock, she sensed that there was something on Dig's mind besides her. Letting the cock slip from her mouth, she crawled up the bed until she lay alongside him. "What's the matter with you?"
"I've been thinking."
She knew what about, too. "You've been thinking about going into that other bedroom and screwing with that other girl, right?"
"Good god, no!" He faked surprise that she could and ever would say such a thing.
"Bullshit! If you want to go in there, it's all right with me."
"Don't worry about it. I'm not going any place." To placate her and to prove that he still 'loved' her, he reached down and rubbed her cunt with his fingertips.
He inserted a finger into her hole and slowly slipped it in and out until she had orgasm. She was not angry after orgasm. But she did return to more important matters, like the state of his cock.
Crawling back down the bed, she put his cock back into her mouth and sucked on it until he shouted. Scum spurted into the back of her throat.
She swallowed all of it, knowing that when she did it, he enjoyed it more. She knew that she had to spend at least some time keeping him happy.
"Will you eat me out?"
He complied in a half-hearted fashion to her request as he shoved his face between her legs and licked the soft sensitive skin of her twat until she came again-this time into his mouth.
But he wanted to see what was going on in the other room. As soon as she came, he pushed her legs away and climbed out of bed.
"Where the fuck are you going?"
"Just to take a look."
She did not trust him. So she climbed out of bed and followed him. They knocked on the door. They were invited in.
Pushing open the door, they walked in. The lights were on. George lay on the bed with Jessie between his legs. She had his cock in her mouth. Her ass was in the air, wiggling invitingly.
"Want some?" George crooned.
"Some what?"
"Do you want her to blow you? Eat out your ass, maybe? Suck on your big toe, if you've got queer tastes? Anything and everything, she does. And she's so willing."
"Not now, thanks."
He tapped Jessie on the head and she moved away from his cock. George looked at Gayle and said, "How about you?"
"No, thank you." She ran from the room.
Just as Dig turned to leave, Jessie grabbed his hips and turned him around. She took his cock, which was semi-erect, and put it into her mouth. Her hands played with his balls as she sucked on his head.
He wanted her to stop because he felt that he was being unfaithful to Gayle. But her fingertips, stroking his whole groin, drove him wild with sensual pleasures.
Gayle, who had run away, waited for Dig to come back. When he did not return for many minutes, she was afraid to go back. She decided to wait for him there.
Dig realized that, if he did not return soon, she would be looking for him. He pushed Jessie's head away from his prick and slapped her hands from his balls.
"Later. Not now."
Jessie looked at the naked figure retreating. She shrugged. Climbing back on the bed she snuggled close to George. "Fuck me."
He nodded and told her to climb on top of him, straddling him. She sat on his cock. Taking his cock in her hand, she rubbed the tip against the moist linings of her twat until it stiffened. Then she pulled it straight up and sat on it, letting it slip into her completely.
He allowed her to do all the work as he fucked her for a time until he shot into her. After ejaculating, he lifted her off and told her to go to Digby.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"I don't know. You're the nympho. You should know. Go in there. Play with his cock. Lick his ass. Do something. I want you, in any case, to separate him from his girl."
"You bastard. You can't leave any girl alone." She got up and went to the door. "No matter who she belongs to. What's wrong with you?" She looked at him disgustedly. "What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing is wrong with you. It's just that I need a little change once in a while."
"Sure."
Dig and Gayle were locked together in the fucking position when Jessie entered the room without knocking. As soon as she walked in, Dig jumped from Gayle's cunt and pulled the sheets over them.
"What in hell's screw are you doing in here?"
Jessie knew that he would not come with her without a struggle from at least one of them, maybe both. She decided to work slowly.
"I just wanted to watch."
He looked at Gayle. "I don't see that it makes any difference, do you?"
She stared at him. She wanted to tell him that she did mind having this strange girl in the room watching them. But she did not want to anger him, either. Maybe, she thought, he wants to let her watch!
She conceded. "Okay. But all she does is watch. Nothing else!"
He turned to look at Jessie. From her expression, he knew she had accepted the terms. He pulled the sheet down and quickly climbed on top of Gayle. He began fucking almost where he had left off before Jessie's intrusion.
Jessie sat on the edge of a chair, watching as the two bodies jumped up and down on the bed. She heard Gayle groan from coming. She knew that within minutes he would ejaculate.
With one final slam against her body, he rammed his cock deeply inside of her and shot. Then he lay back, his prick still within her. He felt someone's fingers tickling him between the legs.
He jumped from her cunt and banged down on the bed. He saw Jessie, while not tickling him, was trying to poke her fingers into Gayle's cunt.
She played with the other girl's pussy, slipping her fingers in and out a few times. Gayle did not mind being played with and only spread her legs wider. Jessie bent her head down and started licking at the cunt as it oozed with his scum.
Licking the girl's cunt clean, she pressed her tongue into the tit until Gayle gasped and closed her legs around Jessie's head.
Even though Gayle came, Jessie continued licking until she came again. The second time was much more violent than the first and her kicking and rolling almost knocked them both off the bed.
He lay there, enjoying the whole show. He had never seen a girl eating out another girl before. He found it very interesting to watch. After her second orgasm with Jessie, Gayle was exhausted. She lay there on the bed, her legs spread, breathing heavily.
Seeing that she had Gayle on her side, Jessie returned to Digby. She pulled his flaccid cunt-wettened cock into her mouth. He let it harden in her mouth as she licked the mixture of semen and cunt juice from his instrument.
Meanwhile, George was watching from the doorway. Digby saw him standing there, but he said nothing. George walked into the apartment and sat on the bed alongside Gayle.
Bending over, he licked her nipples until they were hard. He licked her belly. Then, finding her cunt, he began licking it, too. He rolled over between her legs and pressed his stiff cock against her gaping twat, which was well moistened with her juices and Dig's sperm.
She accepted the cock easily. Within seconds she had her legs wrapped around him, pressing his cock deeper into herself.
As George and Gayle fucked, Jessie licked Dig's balls. She was trying to reach his asshole, as well.
"Turn over." He complied immediately. But when he rolled over, he found that there was not enough room on the bed for four people.
"Let's go into the other room." She climbed off the bed. To go with her, as he had to at this stage, he got off the bed and followed her into the other room. He jumped onto the bed, landing on his stomach.
He spread his legs wide to let her enter. She knelt between his legs and grabbed his cheeks with her hands, spreading them apart. Inspecting his crack that was covered with light brown hairs, she saw the opening.
He was clean. She pressed her head down and between his ass cheeks. Her tongue went into the hole. He jumped at this new sensation. Her tongue whipped around the entire area.
She stayed there for over twenty minutes between his legs with her face smashed into his ass. She licked his ass. Then she would reach for the soft underside of his sac, occasionally licking the sack itself.
Because her tongue was sore from the constant use she was putting it to, she wanted to get his cock. Slipping her hands under his belly, she slowly worked her way to his cock.
He lifted his body and let her fingers reach the cock. As soon as she brushed the head with her fingertips, she knew it was time to roll him over and get something else besides his ass.
"Watch out!" He knew, too. He crouched into a kneeling position and turned around.
"What will it be? Fuck or suck?"
He was startled by her frankness. But he wanted to find out more about her. "How old are you?"
He had previously noticed her full-grown, full-blown body. George had said that she was seventeen. Dig was not too sure about that. Here was this luscious voluptuous creature crouched with him on a bed.
Her full ripe melons sagged against the taut skin. Her positively huge nipples jutted up and out from them, most of the fullness falling below them in a well-rounded curve.
He noticed that she had wide shoulders for a woman, as well as an unusually large rib cage. As she had a melodious voice, he surmised that she might have had music lessons which could have helped develop that carriage.
At any rate it definitely accentuated her tiny-waist-extraordinarily small with such wide shoulders, but more so with those jutting plums hanging there. He reached out and took a handful.
While his hand clamped to her tit, she steadied herself against him with one hand. With the other she supported her weight as she shifted her legs into a cross-legged position.
She must have completely guessed his momentary wants. Then he realized that she still had not answered his question. Raising his eyes back to her, he opened his mouth.
"I'm almost seventeen," she said, forestalling him.
Sixteen! Inwardly, he rocked. This was a child. A runaway at that!
"Where are you from?"
"Wisconsin." He did not believe her. But anyway, he decided it was as good a place as any other. Perhaps his distrust showed on his face, for she began telling him about herself-about the friction between herself and her parents.
She told him how she had come to New York and settled in the Village. But she had found she could not make a living at a decent job. She turned to prostitution which paid poorly.
Most men were afraid to fool around with her. If they did, they would usually not pay properly-giving beggarly wages when they got away with it.
Finally, George had found her. For five dollars he got her. She had needed twenty-five for the night. But he had not been interested until he took her to his place. He did take advantage of her.
But he offered her room, board and all the drugs she might want or need for cleaning, cooking and sex. As it was a good deal, she accepted.
Dig's mind wandered back to her cunt, which was plainly revealed. She had wide hips which were further widened by the position she was in. He could see the light brown mat of curly hair fading into her pink cunt.
In darker shades of shadowed pink he made out her clitoris and then further down, her twat which was a dark, dark-almost black-pink. Around the edges the various shades of pink revealed her skin which was dusted with a light fuzzing of fine brown hairs.
Way back he saw where her cheeks closed together over her asshole. Her legs, even bent double, were smooth and shapely. She was a rare female, he noted in surprise. Her knees were not knobby, bent, or knocked together.
Her toes and feet, like her fingers and palms, were long and delicately shaped. He noticed that her little toes were short and that her second toes were not longer than her first toes.
"Sex is nothing new to me." As she said that, his attention came back to her face. "When I was twelve, I was playing with my brother and his friends." She rubbed his balls.
"Anyway, we were all the same age. One day I was playing and one of them touched my cunt through my panties. I liked what I felt, so I let him continue. I finally came." She laughed at the recollection.
"The sap got all shook up when I started twisting around. I told him I wanted to see his cock. He said no, so I grabbed it through his pants. I held on hard. After it got hard, he started getting excited and pulled off his pants.
So I jerked him off for that time.
"The next time, he finger-fucked me. The third time he fucked me. He told his friends. So I got it at least three times a week.
"When I turned fourteen, my dear sweet brother found out. I was afraid at first that he might tell my parents. But I jerked him off and shut his mouth. It made the idiot so happy! Later, I blew him. After that I screwed him, too." She paused. A fleeting unrecognizable emotion flitted across her face.
"Mom found us one day. We were in the cellar. I was screwing with him. He shot off just as she came down the stairs. She startled me so that I leaped clear. He shot practically in her face.
"Of course, she went wild. She beat us both. She told my father and we got into lots of trouble. They were scared, of course, that I was knocked up.
"But that's all they were worried about-whether or not I was knocked up! Anyway, they sent him to boarding school. And the last I heard, he'd turned queer and was making it with a crowd at that place." She laughed aloud again.
"My real dumb parents! They thought they would stop sin. They did, all right. And then they reaped a real whirlwind! Anyway, I didn't just quit because they sent my brother away.
There were all his friends left. Oh, she found out at last. So, no more dates. "Only girls and only if she knew exactly where we would be and could call anytime to check up on me." She looked at him cocking her head sideways.
"Then I discovered pot. She found out again. And about the girls I was going out with too. They were queers! So, one day I just decided that she and I had it. So, I ran away. And here I am," she concluded cheerfully.
Although he wanted to feel sorry for her, her own bubbling spirits and her attitude toward the hell she had been through, refused self-pity or any kind of pity from anyone. She seemed satisfied and happy. He supposed that she was.
"Well, fuck or suck?"
"Sucking."
Taking the soft organ into her oral cavity, she rolled it around until it stiffened. Within minutes he came into her mouth. She swallowed. Then she opened her mouth right on his face.
He was horrified when he saw the mixture of saliva and gism sticking to her teeth, gums and tongue. The same thing apparently did not bother Gayle. At least she had never stuck her open mouth at his face and forced him to look. It made him slightly ill.
"Eat me out."
"I don't care. But I think we ought to take showers. You can clean out your cunt and your mouth." Involuntarily, he shuddered.
"It made me sick the first time, too." She shut her mouth and smiled at him. "Then my drenched twat doesn't interest you now?" He looked at her, thoughtfully.
"Turn over, bitch." He shook his head at her. As she turned, he slapped her on the fanny, hard.
"Ouch! What's that for?" She squirmed about, trying to see her ass.
"For sticking your mouth in my face. Now shut up and prepare to enjoy."
She forgot her stinging ass in the anticipation of getting her twat cleaned out. Lying down, she spread her shapely legs out and up. He climbed between her legs and bent his head to her twat.
Beginning at the top, he licked off her pubic hairs. As he was doing this, he felt stickiness against his cheeks. So he moved up and began again with her thighs.
Slowly, he worked back down her inner legs, building up the tension within her. As he moved down he felt her muscles jerk and twist beneath his rasping lapping tongue.
Back at her bush, he finished that. Stopping momentarily, he removed a couple of hairs from between his teeth. Then he continued on to her labia. As he leaped in and around under the crest of it, he felt her tensing even more.
She started moaning, too. She's getting hot again, he thought as he worked down the outer edges of her pussy lips, pulling the fine hairs this way and that as he lapped.
To clean her in all places and especially in the creases between her groin and her hips, he had to maneuver around.
On one of these skewering movements, he touched her twat with his head up-sidedown. The fluids which were beginning to be pushed out by newer secretions fell most easily into his mouth.
Also, he found swallowing was not difficult in this position. As she came in full blast, he stayed there, catching her juices neatly with his slightly bucked teeth. The juices were draining down his throat via his hard palate.
When she was almost done, he turned back around and went back to lapping at her cunt, finishing the job. As he went, he often backtracked to wipe away the dribble which continued to flow, even if ever so slightly.
By now, his tongue ached. His jaw screamed in his head and creaked with each new movement of his head, his tongue, or his teeth. But, as he was almost done, he persevered. Then he was through.
He sat up, sighed, and gave her a tired grin. "Come on. Let's go get that shower." They went into the bathroom.
Meanwhile, George and Gayle were in bed. He fucked her once. He ate her out next. Then she blew him. He was enjoying himself as he let her rub her breasts along his cock. He shot all over them, and then proceeded to lick them clean.
And even though both were tiring rapidly, neither would admit it. So while Digby and Jessie spent some of their time talking, George and Gayle went slightly mad with the sexual enjoyment. The four of them stayed so paired for the following three hours.
Then all changed partners for a further workout. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, they all fell asleep in the same bed.
CHAPTER NINE
LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER
On the second Monday after beginning with Mrs. Sinclair, Tom went to work completely exhausted. After the games, he stayed until four in the afternoon. They fucked almost the whole time.
But she came into the office looking refreshed and happy. Sated she was, now that she had a man again.
Tom was satisfied, too, that he had a 'woman.' He could depend on her. He could make love to her often-very often. For on Sunday as they had lain together, they had promised to see each other faithfully each weekend.
He had been slightly reluctant about making such a sweeping encompassing promise. After all, while he wanted to keep her for all-at least most-of his screwing, he surely did not want to live with her.
Besides, he told himself, she's got a fourteen-year-old kid. And the kid is always around. Especially, he added thoughtfully, when she's not wanted.
The week passed quietly-the usual routine. The next Friday evening he arrived at her house to take her out. Her daughter was there, with another boy.
The young man introduced himself as David. He winked at Tom when he found out from Velma that Tom was taking her mother to a movie.
Little bastard, Tom thought to himself, as he shook hands. Low-minded little cunt-fucker. The kids left at seven-thirty. As soon as they were out the door, Tom removed his jacket.
"What are you doin?" she asked.
"As long as the kids are away, we can fool around a bit."
Knowing what he wanted, she retreated at once to the bedroom and began stripping. Then she sucked on his cock until it stiffened. Finally, he penetrated her.
In about an hour, they were finished. They showered. She used a cap this time to preserve her hairdo. They dressed and left for the movies. But they only stayed for half an hour. The movie was boring and he wanted more sex.
Back at the apartment, she was surprised to see a light under Velma's door. She wanted to call into her daughter's room, but decided against it. Instead, she tiptoed over to the door.
Opening the door slightly, she saw her daughter with her panties down and David fingering her cunt. Although his cock was still in his pants, she saw the outline of it clearly.
Shocked, she managed to shriek, "Velma!"
Immediately the two of them jumped up and tried to hide. But she stood silently there, crimson of face, eyes blazing. When David tried to pass her, she grabbed him by the hair of his head, throwing him across the room. He landed back in the bedroom, his head thumped against the wooden post.
"Get out! You little bastard! Trying to molest my daughter. I'll call the police! I'll tell your parents! I'll send you to jail!" She ranted and raved hysterically as her daughter dressed herself.
"And you," she screamed, advancing on the shivering girl, "you cheap little whore. You tramp! You slut! I'll send you away where you can't flaunt your dirty little body before foul-minded little boys!"
She screamed accusations at them. Filled with the fears of condemnation and social disgrace and shame. Both of them cringed fearfully before her flailing tongue and ducked her sweeping arms.
Finally, worn out with emotional outbursts of fury and hate, she stomped out of the door. Going to Tom, she asked him to second her ravings. "Do you know what those children were doing in there?"
"I could take a guess." He knew. She went back to the door. He followed this time. Before, he had glanced in and had seen the innocent-for they were still children copying their elders-finger-fucking. Now he looked again. He was saddened to see two wizened little faces from which huge terrified eyes stared out. Now, he thought, they're not innocent anymore. Now they know the score.
Her anger, revitalized by the short respite, began again. While she raved, Tom withdrew again. He wondered about Velma. Hot little cunt, that one, he commented to himself.
He speculated on the possibilities of getting her alone and getting into her pants with his cock. He decided to try and convince her to let them stay together for a while longer.
But, he thought, she'd get wise. He knew, for all her self-pity and talk, she was no fool. At long last she grabbed David again. This time, when Velma interfered, Mrs. Sinclair threw her back and dragged the resisting boy to the front door. She threw him out and slammed the door in his face.
She re-crossed the room and went into her daughter's bedroom. She started to close the door, but Tom stopped her.
"Leave the kid alone. How can you expect her to ignore what we're doing. After all, she's fourteen now. I'll bet she's old enough to take care of herself."
"I'm sure she is," Mrs. Sinclair replied, glaring at him. "And when she's been married and widowed and she wants and needs sex, she'll have my blessings to get it in any way she can.
"But, until then, I'll strip her ass skinless if she tries any more of these stunts." With an emphatic slam, the door shut in his face. So he went back and sat down on the sofa.
Leaning forward, he turned on the television. But even the high voltage music and thundering hooves could not block out the sounds coming from Velma's room.
Tom knew the fourteen-year-old was getting the wailing of her life. Probably, he thought, with a two-inch belt. He remembered seeing something like that hanging from the wall as a decoration.
Well, he thought, maybe it was just as well. There could only be one of two outcomes. Either the kid would give up sex for a few years, or she would get extremely clever and not get caught again. Tom estimated that she would do the latter. He was proved to be correct.
Finally, the noise stopped. He thought he heard sobbing from behind the closed door. But he steadily kept his attention on the television, for he felt embarrassed at having intervened between mother and daughter.
The movie had just ended when he heard the soft rustle of the door opening across the pile carpeting. He turned. Mrs. Sinclair came out and closed the door behind her. She walked across to Tom.
"Well, I'm sure that that's taken care of."
He looked at her inquiringly.
"Tom," she said, sighing, "when you have a teenage daughter, you learn quickly that you must be firm at all times. Sometimes even violent. I'm sure that I don't want Velma making the same mistakes I have made.
"Fortunately, I was lucky. I found a man willing to marry me. She might not be so lucky. She could end up in the gutter!" Mrs. Sinclair closed her eyes for a long minute. Tom saw suppressed tears shining behind her lashes.
"Well, I guess I hadn't any right to cut in like that." He put his large hands on her shoulders. "Would you like to call it a night?" He could feel her shuddering with suppressed emotion.
Suddenly, she leaned forward and buried her head on his shoulder. Uncontrollable tears flooded her eyes and tiny sobs began deep within her throat, building into horrible wracking sobs-the only release of a desperate and lonely woman, trying to raise a teenage girl and keep both her daughter and herself fed, clothed, sheltered.
He held her in his arms until she had cried the hate, the fear, the self-pity out of her. At last, she stopped crying. Raising her head, she looked Tom straight in the eyes.
"Thank you, Tom. I guess I needed to do that. I haven't been able to cry for eight years. I haven't had a shoulder to cry on either."
As much as he wanted to screw her, he felt something else for his boss's secretary besides desire. He was beginning to genuinely like her. He did not-in fact, he could not-begin to analyze his feelings.
All he knew was that, although he wanted her desperately now, he did not want her this way.
He decided that he should try to get her to talk about the whole thing. "Come here, Alicia. Sit down. Start at the beginning." He helped her to the sofa. "That is," he added, "if you want to."
She did not say 'yes' or 'no.' She simply started talking.
Alicia del Gado, "Allie" to her new American girlfriends, was born Alicia Maria-Anna Tericia del Gandalano. Her family, of which she was one of ten children and many, many cousins, located both in Italy and immigrated to America, had always called her Maria-Anna.
Father Sebastian, her families' priest, had insisted on calling her Tericia, and all her teachers had 'Americanized' her first name to Alice. And then, when her father started teaching at the college, he had changed their last name to "del Gado" which was easier to pronounce and remember. He worked with Americans, anyway, and wanted to become 'American.' All through her childhood, she watched her father fight to become American. She watched him fail. Senora del Gandalano refused to learn English, in the first place. Alicia's mother had not wanted to leave Italy. But a good wife goes where her husband goes, so she came with him to America.
But she steadfastly remained Italian. She spoke only Italian to her husband and children, relatives and friends. All of her friends were Italians. She disapproved of any of her children making any friends who weren't Italian.
She actually pretended neither to hear nor to understand when her children or husband used English in her presence, although over the years she did come to understand the 'foreign' language.
She shopped exclusively at Italian stores with Italian speaking owners. She even changed churches three times because they had priests who were not Italian.
And although her husband was gone, working for most of the day, she was able to influence him enough to keep him Italian. She was less fortunate with her children. In fact, she failed completely and when Alicia was born at last, the last of her brood, Senora del Gato was too tired to try very hard.
Consequently, Alicia became Alice and liked it. She was proud of her heritage, but she was American. She thought, dressed and lived as an American girl, not as an Italian. Her morals were American, not Italian. And that was the beginning of Alicia's troubles.
Her mother was quite strict on one hand, but, on the other, she did not prepare her daughter for what she would find in the world. Alicia knew that letting boys touch her in certain places and in certain ways was sinful. But she did not know why or where the sin began.
When she was young-twelve or thirteen-she had feared her mother's tongue and strap enough to keep away from the 'evil boys' as her mother constantly described them.
But, in her fifteenth year, she began finding that boys were fascinating creatures. She learned from her girlfriends that boys were different from girls. They told her so, and they showed her why.
They also told her about the fun that they had in company with boys. Alicia's curiosity overcame her fears, and she agreed to a simple date with a boy she did not know.
Unfortunately, she could not tell her mother as she felt her mother would be most angry. So she arranged that she should be staying with her special friend, Marylou, who was also the one who had arranged the date.
Her mother approved of Marylou because, although she was 'American,' she was of Italian parents. And she realized that her daughter did need friends, so she compromised on the Italian background.
The night of this 'date,' Alicia and Marylou went to her house straight from school. Alicia called her mother on the phone, telling her that she had arrived safely. Her mother told her to be respectful to Marylou's parents and to help with the dishes.
Then she hung up for she was a busy woman whose children, although mostly grown and some married, came home to eat and sleep still. Each night of the week she had to cook and serve a dinner for at least twelve people.
And with all the washing, ironing and mending-not to mention the cleaning-she had little time to keep close tabs on this youngest daughter, the youngest by five years. So, she went on with the cooking and mending, never dreaming that Alicia was going out with one of those 'dirty boys.' The girls, close friends for several years, had few secrets from each other. Therefore, Marylou knew all about Alicia's mother's ideas on boyfriends and dates. She, herself, had been fortunate to have the kind of parents who were liberal, so she started dating early.
At thirteen, she had had her first sexual experience. Now she wanted to help Alicia learn about this wonderful thing. Hence, the secret date.
The girls ate dinner with Marylou's parents and then went quickly upstairs to dress for their dates. At seven o'clock, the two boys arrived. Marylou's boyfriend and his pal, Joey.
Mrs. Venusa, Marylou's mother, let the boys in and entertained them while the girls finished primping. Shortly, they came out and the four of them left with her blessings and admonitions of not being too late coming in.
"Well," Marylou said as they cleared the house, "that lets us off the hook for a few hours anyway. Where are we going tonight?" She turned to her boyfriend, Toby.
"Aw, I dunno. I guess we can go to the movies. There's a good one at the Dunhilt Drive-in. What you say, Joey?" he said turning to his friend, Joey Kluger man-also his second cousin.
"Yes," Joey replied, "I have heard that the movie is exceptional to the usual run of trash." Politely, he turned to Alicia, asking her opinion.
"Would you care to see it?"
"Oh, yes!" she breathed. Secretly, she had been dying to see the sensational movie. Some of her favorite stars were in it. "I'd love to!"
"Then it's settled," Toby said. "We'll drive you to your car, Joey."
Puzzled, Alicia did not say anything about the 'your car' statement. She was very shy with this strange, but polite, date she had. Besides, she thought Joey was Jewish. Her mother hated Jews.
Alicia and Joey got in the back of the car while Marylou and Toby got in front. The four drove off in silence. Going about four blocks and as many turns, they finally stopped beside a parked and vacant car.
Joey opened the door and helped Alicia out. "Even my mom," Marylou said, "wouldn't let me go out with just one boy alone. She always insists on a double date. So we solve our problems this way. See you back here at two o'clock?" Joey nodded.
It was not until they had driven off and Joey started the motor that Alicia realized he was nervous-as nervous as she was. He ground the gears, choked the motor at least twice. Then, finally, they moved. "Do you still want to go to the movies?" he asked her.
"Yes, please. I've wanted to see it for a long time. But my mother..." She stopped, embarrassed.
"But," he finished for her, "your mother doesn't want you to go because it's not innocent enough for you." He turned and looked at her. "Alicia, I have a confession. This is my first date with a girl. I really don't have any experience at all. If you want to go home or something, say so."
She smiled at him. He was making it easy. "It's my first date, too." Her hand crept across the seat to cover his. She squeezed slightly. He smiled.
"Friends?"
"Friends!"
They went to the movie. Sitting in the balcony area, they munched popcorn and drank cokes and commented on the acting ability and scenario effects of the various parts of the film.
Later, hand in hand, they went to an inexpensive restaurant and had a snack. Since there was still a couple of hours left, Joey proposed that they go driving. They did and saw some of the city at night. Both of them enjoyed themselves. And enjoyed being with each other.
At one-thirty, they were back at the rendezvous waiting for Marylou and Toby. They talked about trivia and he asked her for another date the next week. Alicia thought a while, biting her Hps. "I don't know if I can. Not that I don't want to," she added hastily.
"But my mother is very funny about boys. If he's not practically off the boat from Italy, then she finds something wrong with him. In fact, she doesn't seem to want me to date at all.
"She's often said that I would be a wonderful nun." She shuddered at the thought. "I can't see myself all wrapped up in long black cloth and such. I mean, she and I had such an argument about me taking my hems up last year.
"And now she's so glad that the clothes have gotten 'decent' as she says again. Personally, I hate that length. It's ugly."
He took her small clenched fist into his hand and gently opened the stiff fingers. "I have a similar problem. My mother-I'm Jewish-thinks the only girls I should date should be Jewish.
"At least once a month she has these visits from distant cousins bringing their marriageable daughters. It's like having cows to the fair. I'm supposed to look them over and choose one of them.
"We would go out together, get engaged and eventually married. I suppose that's how she and father did it. But I want the girl I choose, not the girl my parents choose."
He laughed. "It's funny, really. These girls, nice ones always, are uniformly ugly, uniformly talented. All of them learned to sew at their mother's knees, cook and entertain in the proper manner. All the necessary things. All the useful things.
"But I can't seem to make my mother understand that, while they're all fine girls, not one of them begins to turn me on. I haven't seen or talked to one of them that has had an original idea or said an original thing."
He squeezed her hand again. "That's what I want in a wife. A woman with a brain. A woman with a sense of humor. A living creature to whom I can turn, to whom I can talk to as a real person. Someone who is not just some cook-entertainer-childbearer-obedient showpiece doll. I want a real woman."
She looked at him shyly. "Am I real to you?"
"You certainly are. You've got a mind and you use it! Your comments about the movie were intelligent. You expressed your opinion as yours. You weren't trying to say what you thought I wanted to hear.
"You were polite, but firm. Your opinion was yours and that was that. I like that!" He stopped, nervously catching his breath. "So, can I see you again?"
"Yes, but we'll have to be careful. Both our mothers would kill us, it seems, if they knew." She laughed. "I guess I'll be spending lots of time with Marylou from now on. Maybe most Friday nights." They smiled at their mutual secret.
A pair of headlights crashed silently into their dark warmness of mutual liking, shattering the spell. "They're back," he said.
"Yes."
The car pulled over behind Joey's car and doused its lights. Something of their private mood returned. "Alicia, may I kiss you?"
Not answering, she put her face up to be kissed. He dabbed at her puckered lips with his own puckered ones. He did not attempt to put his arms around her or anything else. Just their lips met.
Then they got out of the car and went to the other one. Climbing into the back seat, they exchanged greetings. Marylou and Toby were fighting, as usual, and they carried the battle right to the front door.
Joey escorted Alicia to the door. He kissed her again and said good-night. She went inside, shortly followed by Marylou who was in a foul temper. She and Toby had parted fighting.
Once upstairs, Marylou began questioning Alicia. "Well, did you?"
"Did we what?"
"Did you do it?"
"Well, no. We went to the movie, went to dinner, and then we drove around a little. I like him and he wants to see me again."
"Oh, why didn't you do it?" She looked at Alicia and shook her head, sadly. "Here I set you up and you have to play kidstuff."
"Look, Marylou," she said, her anger showing, "we went out and we had fun. If he'd wanted to... " She stuttered over the new word, "fuck, well, we would have. But he didn't mention it. And we had a good time!"
She turned away defiantly and began undressing. Over her shoulder she added, "And if we ever want to fuck or suck or screw, we will. But we'll do it when we get around to it. Okay?"
Astonished, Marylou looked at her. Then going to her friend, she put her arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess Toby and I were fighting and I took it out on you. I really am sorry."
"That's okay, Marylou. I understand. Sometimes, mother and I fight like that about things. Sometimes it's bad and we're mad at each other for days and we don't even talk to each other." She turned around to face her friend. "You want to tell me why you and Toby fought?"
Marylou told her about Toby and that, although they were going steady, she had found out that he was cheating on her. They had fought about that. She said she loved him, but that he shouldn't fuck around on her.
She had threatened to return the favor. "That was what really got him mad. He thinks that it's okay for him, but not for me! The lousy bastard! And I love him so," she wailed. "Oh, how I love him. If I lost him, I'd kill myself."
Alicia took her friend in her arms and comforted her. This was something parents didn't understand. Often, she wondered why they couldn't understand love. Why, she thought, do they always call it 'infatuation' and 'puppy love' when it's love?
Just because they goofed, does that mean they want us to be miserable, too? And marry someone for his money or his background instead of because you loved him? She owned that she did not know the answers.
But she decided that she would see Joey again. She liked him, regardless of her mother's hates. She was going to see Joey again and again.
Later the girls fell asleep in each other's arms. They had discussed the whole thing until almost dawn. Exhausted, they slept until late.
For the rest of that year, and for the next two following, Alicia and Joey dated. They always talked and commented about things. Gradually, they fell in love. On her eighteenth birthday, he asked her to marry him. He was a year older and already had a year of college behind him. He had bought her a ring.
She accepted and told him she would tell her family soon. "I'm sure there's going to be a battle and a lot of screaming. Otherwise, I'd take you home right now. But first, I have to make them understand that I'm marrying you and not someone else."
"Well, will you come home with me then? I told mother when I got the ring. She yelled and screamed, too. But I was firm and said I'd leave home if she was nasty.
"She's given in. Not graciously, you understand. But she's going to accept you as a daughter. As much as I love her, I won't marry a stereotype of her."
So, they went to his parents' home. She was greeted well, if reservedly and cautiously, by his parents. But on the whole, it was a good visit.
They saw her as Joey saw her and not being strictly religious, had no serious objections to their son's engagement to his Italian-American girl. As his mother said to Alicia's face, "You aren't quite what I wanted, but you are nice. I like you. I know you'll make my son happy, and that's what I really want."
She had hugged her future mother-in-law, happy herself that it had gone so well. Happy for Joey and for his parents. Now, she thought, if only mine can be talked around.
Joey dropped her at her front door for the first time in their three years' of dating. She saw the curtains swinging back as she got out. She smiled. Momma's watching again, she thought. Standing erect, she blew him a kiss and turned resolutely to the door.
As she entered, closing the door against the spring chill, her mother assailed her in roiling Italian. "Where have you been? Who was that? What's happened to you? Where were you?"
She let her mother rave at her until she calmed down. Then she said, "Momma, if you'll sit and listen, I have something I want to tell you. Come into the living room where we can talk privately."
She ushered her mother into the little used room and they sat down facing each other across the sofas and the formal coffee table.
"Momma, promise me to be still until I finish?"
"Promise! Promise what? What..."
"Momma!" she cut across her mother's rising voice. "Do you want to hear, or don't you?" She waited. Her mother closed her mouth and nodded.
"All right then. Momma," she said smiling, "there is a young man. I love him." She held up her left hand. "He's asked me to marry him. We've been dating for three years." She held up the other hand palm forward.
"I know, you didn't know. You never would let me tell you. I was forced to he to you because you would have forbidden me to see him.
"I want to bring him home to meet you and Poppa and the family. I've met his family tonight. May I have him over for dinner soon?"
Her mother looked at her daughter and did not recognize her. She saw a lovely young woman-American woman-sitting across from her. This woman was not speaking Italian, but English.
Good English, correct English, she thought sadly. My baby is American and I did not stop it. Now, she continued, she's going to get married and I don't even know his name.
In Italian she asked, "Is he a good church-going, hard-working native boy?" She already knew, but she had to ask. Both women-for her daughter was a woman now-knew she meant 'Italian Catholic boy' when she said 'native' and 'church-going.' "Yes, Momma. He's a good boy. He goes to synagogue each Friday. He's on a scholarship at college. He loves me." Alicia waited for the explosion she knew would occur.
"Jewish! Synagogue! Never! I forbid it!"
Here we go, Alicia thought grimly to herself.
"You slut! You dirty woman! Out! Get out of this god-fearing house before you lead any other good people astray!" And she came to her feet, throwing herself at her daughter. She grabbed her by the hair and began dragging her out the door.
In the hall her husband stopped her, having come to see what the shouting was all about. "Stop it, woman," he yelled at her in Italian. She stopped. Dropping her stunned daughter, she turned on her husband.
"Your daughter wants a damned sheeny. This slut has been living with him for three years under our noses. And then she has the brass to come to me for forgiveness."
He turned to his daughter. "Have you been dating a Jew?"
She turned white as she regained her balance. "Yes, Poppa. I. .. "
"And what is your exact relationship with him?" her father asked.
"I love him. I'm wearing his ring-engagement ring." She held up her left hand again. "We haven't exactly set the date, but we want to get married this summer. We've waited three years. I met him on a blind date and I want him to meet my family."
He shook his head sadly. "You were promised to God many years ago. You have no right accepting this material ring."
"Poppa!" She stared at him, incredulous of his words.
"Yes. When God blessed us again, and after all the trouble we had, we gave you to Him. I have just recently sent the letter to the Bishop, fulfilling my vow."
"I couldn't be a nun. I'm not... I don't believe that way. I want to love, not die slowly, smothered in black mourning."
"You bitch!" her mother screeched. "To talk of the holy things like that!" She raised her hand and slapped her daughter. "You lied, cheated! You slut. You're not my daughter. My children, all nine of them, respect God and Church. Get out of my house!" Her mother flung open the door. She looked at her father. He shook his head.
Bowing her head, she left, renouncing her family.
CHAPTER TEN
PITY WITH PASSION
Mrs. Sinclair stopped her narrative. She just sat for a few minutes looking out the window. Then she spoke again.
"Tom, I married him. And we had three wonderful months. Then," she stopped, choking back the tears, "he died. He was too young. It wasn't fair. We were driving home one night.
"It was a wet rainy night and I was driving. We'd been out in the country seeing some friends. Something flashed across my headlights. I hit the brakes.
"He went through the windshield, killed instantly. By the next month, I knew I was pregnant." She sighed.
"What did you do after that?" he asked.
"We were married in a synagogue. I had gotten a job and we lived in a tiny apartment near school. His parents didn't have much money, either. In fact, his father was ill and his mother worked to pay the bills.
"After Joey died, I moved in with them until the baby came. I worked for a while but not after I began showing. When Velma was just a couple of months old, I went back to work.
"I met a nice man there-my late husband-I married him. And he died eight years ago of cancer."
"Oh, god!" was all he could say. She had talked a lot at work and he had felt sorry for her then. But she had never mentioned these things before. He wanted to help. She needed help, but he did not know how or what to do.
"Have you ever told Velma about this?"
"No."
"Why not? She might understand better if you did."
"I don't want her to know because it's such a mess. Anyway, it's all so long ago. Joey's parents are both dead. And I haven't seen or heard from my family since that night. I wouldn't know how to contact them now."
He put his arm more tightly around her and hugged her closely to him. He reached down and lifted her chin with his hand. They kissed, long and coolingly. He knew only one way to help her-that was to fuck her.
He felt her body responding to his body. She was kissing him back now. Their tongues fought for possession of each other's mouths, with Tom winning, as usual. She always put up the struggle, and he always won.
She forgot all about her past experiences and relaxed, totally enjoying herself. She felt his hands roaming all over her body, and then carefully going up under her blouse, pulling it from her waistband. He unsnapped her bra and brought his hand all the way up to her neck unhindered.
He dropped his hand to her waistband and began unfastening her slacks, while she put her hand on his cock and began rubbing it. She felt it stiffen under her massaging fingers. He moaned excitedly.
Suddenly, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Once inside, he laid her on the bed and continued stripping her. He unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her breasts.
Pulling down her loosened bra, he exposed them fully. He grabbed two handfuls of tit flesh and squeezed hard. She moaned with the exotic pleasure as she went back to working on his cock.
He felt her hand pulling at his belt. Then she had it undone, and went on working with his pants, unzipping them. Finally, she pulled the elastic of his jockey shorts down, exposing his hardness which sprang erect and waved free in the air. She grasped it with her hand, working on it.
He stripped her naked and placed his right hand against her pussy. She spread her legs slightly. He bent down and sucked on her naked breast, leaving his other hand still gripping one tit. He pulled on the nipple with his teeth, biting it gently and sucking on it until it was hard.
Then he turned to the other one, repeating the same process. Slowly, he began to rub his hand up and down across her pussy, feeling the harshness of hair and the soft moistness of vulnerable cunt.
Then he poked his index finger into her twat. As it was unexpected, she jumped just a little, her grip tightening on his cock. He stiffened even more at that.
"Screw!" she whispered hoarsely.
He decided it was time. Releasing her tits and twat, he climbed up on the bed. She spread her legs and he started to move into her thighs. "Wait a minute," she said. "Let's try something new."
"What?"
"You lie down on your back and I'll straddle you."
He raised his eyebrows, but stretched out beside her. Sitting up, she swung her leg over his hips, bringing it down on the bed kneeling.
She took his prick in her hand and, raising herself up, she hung suspended over his pecker. The tip of his ramrod barely touched the opening of her twat. Suddenly, she relaxed her legs and impaled herself on his organ.
She screamed as she fell on him and then bounced back up, almost coming off him. Now she began riding him, rising and falling on his groin.
She kept up a slow steady pace, which he wanted to move faster and faster. So, he reached up and took hold of her tits again.
As he played with them, squeezing and flattening them, she began moving faster. She was pumping up and down on him furiously now. He could barely make out her face, but it seemed to him that she had a grim expression of joy on her features.
Finally, he released her tits, running his hands down her sides and across her thighs. She was so far gone that she did not notice, so he took them back and put them behind his head. Lying back, he let her do all the work. Slowly, he felt himself gathering for orgasm.
Suddenly, she screamed again. "Now! Now!" He realized that she was going into orgasm. Just as he felt the first of her flooding explosion, his cock burst within her with such force that he could not help but arch under it.
So they met somewhere just off the bed with a resounding wet slap of flesh on flesh. He felt cool liquid falling across his skin on its way to the sheets, so he knew she'd come as well as he. Again, he convulsed. And again. And for the fourth time, too.
Then she stopped jumping and he felt her inner muscles taking over as she squeezed on his pecker to remove the last tiny drops of scum. Tired, she put her arms before her and rested her palms on his nipples, rotating the flesh beneath. The sensations plus her pressure on his prick began to stiffen him again.
Yanking herself up off him, she supported herself against him with her ass in the air. "This time," she commented, "I'll take it in the ass."
Shifting slightly, making him grunt as the air was forced out of his lungs, she positioned herself over his once again stiff prick at the ass.
"I can't do it alone." She looked at him.
He took his hands from behind his head and gripped her under the armpits. He felt the tender skin in there. He gripped hard to hold her up while she spread her cheeks with her hands.
Then, she lowered her asshole until it touched his waving head. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and fell down on him.
This time, it was he who yelled as he let go of her. He stuck for a second in her ass and the dry flesh lubricated only after pulling the skin on the head enough to cause a slight irritation and pain.
But she and gravity were relentless. Slowly, as she forced herself down, she swallowed him into her ass. But it was an awkward position to begin with, for her feet were drawn up and she could not pump easily. She decided to change.
"I'm going to turn around on you. Hold still." He did and she did.
Slowly, she levered herself around on him, grinding herself in deeper. "Spread your legs." He spread them and she crouched down between them. Now she was able to get enough leverage to shove her ass up and down on his tool.
Reaching down, he put a hand, palm inward, on each side of her hips. Steadying her, he helped her to rock up and down on his prick. Mostly he just lay there enjoying the whole thing.
He felt himself gathering again. The scum got together in the base of his balls, for the passage up the tubes and out into her asshole. Slowly, it gathered steam as it roiled majestically up and into the head, where it burst forth in unsteady streams.
So tight was the ass muscle that none of it escaped. All went deep inside of her colon. As it burned him, so it burned the virgin flesh of her colon, sealing it forever with that memory of searing scum.
She screamed for the third time, and this one did not stop. It went on and on and on until Tom thought his ears would snap. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he grabbed her and cruelly pulled her backwards onto his chest. He brought his hand across her mouth, stopping the noise.
Unfortunately, he was too late. The door opened and Velma stood in the doorway. She snapped on the lights and saw them both-Tom fucking her mother's ass.
She just stood there staring at them. "The slut and her gigolo," she finally said. She spoke in a calm cold voice.
"Do as you say not as you do. Is that how it goes, dear cock-sucking mother? You-both of you stink!" She turned from the two astonished adults and walked out, closing the door behind her. Almost as fast as she left, they heard a door slam.
"Velma! Velma!" She leaped from the bed and the limping cock to throw herself against the door. Wrenching it open she raced naked to the front door.
But seeing the chain still across the door, she turned and went to her daughter's closed door. She turned the handle. It turned but would not open.
"Velma! Velma! Open this door. Darling, please. Let me explain! Velma!"
"Go back to your lover, mother. There's nothing you can say that makes any difference. You're a bitch who's always in heat and I've got to live with it.
"You have no morals and no honor. I'll get used to the parade after a while. But I want no more part of those mother-fucking bastards. You can have them all." She said no more.
Mrs. Sinclair screamed her daughter's name over and over. She pounded on the door. She pleaded. It was all in vain. She got no answer. There was nothing more to be said, like Velma said.
Sobbing, she collapsed against the door, slowly sliding down to the floor. She did not really feel the two hands that touched her, nor the arms that lifted her up, nor did she know how or when she reached her bed. But she woke as if from a horrible dream there the next morning. She was alone.
In fact, until she saw her daughter's frozen face, she did think she had dreamed it. Seeing that suddenly old fourteen-year-old face staring coldly at her, she knew that it all had happened.
"Do you want to talk about it, Velma?"
"I don't care."
"But I do. I want you to know the truth-all of the truth." Velma sat down at the table with a cup of coffee. Her mother went to pour herself one. Coming back to the table, she sat down across from her daughter. "In the first place, you're real last name is... " And when she finished, Velma sat thinking for a long time. "I think, that is, I would like to try to trace down our family. Surely, there must be some way. Do you think you might like to look for them?"
Alicia shook her head. "No," she sighed. "It's all so long ago. Of course, if you want-really truly want-to meet them, we'll see what can be done."
"Yes, I do." She smiled a little. "We needn't tell them all about us." She stretched her hand to her mother's hand lying across the table.
"What you do is your affair. And what I do is your affair until I come of age. Anyway, I sort of liked Tom. Mind you, I can't take back those things I said last night. I know you can't do that. What's said is said. But if you need Tom, then you need him."
Alicia looked at her daughter. She tried to comprehend this attitude in her fourteen-year-old. She was not sure whether her daughter was trying to apologize or whether she was saying she did not care what her mother did because she did not love her.
Alicia never did really find out, for her daughter never referred to it again and never treated her mother either ill or lovingly again. She always stayed rather indifferent to her-helpful if possible-but indifferent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRENZIED GALLOP
Digby and Gayle went back to George's apartment frequently after that first time. They made free use of George's spare room-for a price. It was on the fifth or sixth trip to Jersey, she could not remember which, that Gayle first noticed Digby's sullenness. He was particularly quiet and withdrawn on this evening.
"What's the matter, Dig?"
"Do you like George, Gayle?" He was brusque with her.
She shrugged. "I guess so. I really don't know."
"Well, I'm not quite sure. Especially after how you let him treat you last week and the week before ... and before. You went to bed with him and everything like that."
"True. But then, you were fooling around with Jessie. Did you like her?"
"That's not the same thing."
"Bullshit! You fucked her and let her blow you all night. And you did not mind in the least when you came inside her twat!"
"You sure as hell did not object too often when George came inside you!"
"I didn't have any choice," she lied. "He forced me to do it." She knew she had enjoyed it immensely, but she could not let Digby know that.
"Come on, Gayle. Nobody forced you to do anything you did not want to do."
She was silent, knowing he knew. She could not say anymore. Too much already-or not enough-had been said. They drove the rest of the way to George's in stony silence. Arriving at his place, they were quite cool toward each other.
George noticed their expressions and planned to take full advantage of each tonight.
Gayle resisted Dig's advances when they were finally alone in the bedroom. She argued when he tried to fuck her. Finally, he told her to go in to George.
"If you like him better than me, then it's just fine with me!" he yelled at her.
She ran straight into George's arms as she went into the other bedroom.
"What happened in there?"
"Nothing!" she snapped at him. Then her anger began leaving her. "Forget about it."
She put her arms around him, kissing him hard. Opening his mouth, he accepted her tongue as he thrust his hips into hers.
She reached between them, clutching at his prick through the material of his pants. She massaged it into stiffness.
"Let's go to bed," she said.
He nodded and led her to the bed. Jessie was sitting on the bed fully clothed. George nodded and she rose to leave, going into Digby's room.
Gayle and George stripped, and climbed into bed. "Suck me off." He was beginning to boss her around again. But she liked it in her own way. "I've go too much gathering in there for just a screw."
Eagerly, she crawled down and reversed herself so that while his prick was at her mouth, his mouth was not far from her pussy. He buried his face between her legs as she spread them for him to enter.
They orgasmed quickly. Then he was ready-as was she-for the real thing. He lay back, hands behind his head and stared at her. She climbed around on the bed, sat on his legs and slowly made her way to his cock.
With a quick jump she landed on it. It ripped into her vagina, shooting intense pleasure pains up her body. She thought for an instant that she would be split in two.
Then it passed as the ramrod clunked against her uterus, shoving it viciously into her diaphragm.
She gasped, recovered and began pumping her legs as she rode him up and down, coming almost totally off him only to sink back down onto him. Wide-eyed and panting, she rode him into a frenzied gallop and then . .. explosion!
That it happened this way each time, still did not surprise her any the less. One instant she was pumping on him violently and the next she leaped as the force of his ejaculation kicked her up in mid-stroke. Slowly, she sank down for the final lunge.
George had convulsed just once. When he came the force of his jetting scum had arched his back into her, sending her flying. He did not move his hands to steady her, but let her do all the work.
So he remained prone while she slid back down onto him and let her cunt work on his prick. Later, he thought sleepily, he might fuck her or something.
Meanwhile, Digby lay on the bed, his anger silently boiling as Jessie walked into him from the other room. "What's going on in there?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I'll kill the bastard," he yelled and jumped from the bed. As he started for the door on the run, she grabbed him.
"Forget about them." She kissed him on the lips. "Whatever they're doing, we can do better." Her hands roamed down to his ass and she stroked it through the jeans.
He cooled quickly as she kissed him. Throwing his arms around her, he pressed her breasts against his chest. "Let's do something," he whispered in her ear.
"Sure. What?"
"Whatever you want."
So she led him to the bed. Undressing him, she worked quickly at getting his clothes off. She touched him in various places as she worked, heightening his experiences.
Naked with his cock erect, he waited for her to strip. She attacked him and it with her mouth.
She rolled the head around inside her expert mouth as she played with the stem below and the balls, too. He groaned with the delight of it as her hot mouth gave his head tingling sensations that coursed through his veins.
He ejaculated quickly, letting her swallow his milky fluid as he pumped it from himself into her. "Eat it all up." Then he pushed her back onto the bed.
Crawling between her legs, he sank his face into her bush. He stuck his tongue into her twat, bypassing her clit as he knew she would begin coming almost immediately. She did.
He gurgled as the fluids poured into his open mouth, swallowing quickly to keep from choking. In the next three hours that he spent With her, he almost completely forgot Gayle and George.
When, finally he had come in her twat, he remembered. Wrapping the sex up, he leaped from the bed and went into the other room. He found Gayle and George locked together in intercourse.
She saw him first. "I'm sorry, Dig," she gasped as she fought for air.
He knew what she meant. He turned and walked out.
"Well, I've lost Gayle," he said snapping his fingers. Just like that, he thought. Poof and she's gone-for good. Ah well, there's still Jessie.
Jessie was still waiting for him. "Have you lost her?"
"Yep."
"Don't worry about it. I'm here any time you want me."
Digby took Jessie up on her invitation many many times. Every week, almost he and Gayle drove to Jersey to spend a night-sometimes two. It was on one of these occasions that the fateful call came.
"Okay, okay," Jessie's voice answered the sudden call.
Gayle and George were fucking when Jessie opened the door. "Hey. Get out of here," George yelled at her. He was beneath Gayle and could see the door.
But Jessie did not move. "Telephone for Gayle."
The words froze her on the spot. "Telephone? For me?" She climbed off George, puzzled. "Who is it?"
"I dunno. I don't care, either." She slouched against the door. "You better answer it. It's a woman and she sounds mad." Jessie's eyes were not quite focusing and her muscular movements were slightly uncoordinated.
"All right, Jessie," she said slowly. "Tell the woman I'll be right there."
"I ..." muttered Jessie.
"Do it," said George. She left to do it. "What's wrong?" He turned to Gayle.
She was searching in her handbag. Muttering under her breath, she finally dumped it out on the sheets. "Damn!" she said explosively as she pawed through the various items. "My address book is gone!"
"So?"
"Your address and phone number were in there. And that woman that sounds mad is my mother! Goddamn it all!" Gayle hurried to the phone.
Hesitantly, she picked it up. "Hello?"
"Gayle?"
"Yes, Mom."
"What are you doing in New Jersey?" she said. "You said you were going to Sharon's house." There was silence. "Well?"
"I'm presuming," said Gayle cooly, "that you've already talked to Sharon. I was planning to go to her house. Then Dig and I met an old friend of his in the city.
"We had dinner with him and his wife." She grimaced as she said 'wife.' "Then we came to his place in Jersey. We'll probably spend the night. It's late now. As a matter of fact, I was just going to phone Sharon."
"You lying slut! Bitch!" Her mother's temper broke loose. "You know very well you're sleeping with that no-good boy. And you also know our views on such things ..."
"Mother," she cut in, "I can assure you that I am not sleeping with Dig."
"It's worse than I thought. You're sleeping with his help. Is he sleeping around?"
"Come off it, Mother." She was angry enough to want to hurt her mother now. "You're just jealous because you couldn't get the man you wanted and had to settle for just anything."
There was a horrified gasp on the other end of the line before it went dead. She slammed the receiver back into its cradle. And that takes care of that, she thought. I suppose she'll kick me out tomorrow. Ah, well. ..
She went back in to George. "That was my mother. She got hold of my address book and put two and two together."
He shrugged. "That's the breaks, baby."
His indifference shocked her. He did not care at all.
She looked at him for a minute, wondering what she had seen in him. Then she began dressing.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
"What are you doing that for?"
She stared at him. "You make me sick. You want nothing but sex. That's all I am to you-a fucking machine. I'm new and different."
"Aw, come on. Just because the old bitch found out? That means curtains?"
"No. Because you couldn't care less what happened to me. That's why we're through." She turned away from him. "Digby!" she called. "Digby!"
She walked out on George and went into the next room. Opening the other bedroom door, she walked in on Dig and Jessie. He was eating her cunt out. She walked over and tapped him on the shoulder.
He looked up. "Yeah?"
"Let's go, Dig."
"What?"
"I said, let's go. Now."
"Why?" He sat back on his haunches. "Why do you want to go? Don't you just love George?"
"No," she replied. "I don't love him. I never loved him. Let's go-unless you're satisfied here."
"Who did you tell you came here?" "No one. Mother found my address book. That was her just now on the phone."
"So?"
"The police are probably on their way here right now."
"Police?" That was Jessie. She sounded scared. "No!"
"I'm sure she's called them by now. We've got to get out of here. Now."
"Just a fucking minute," George said. "Your mother called the police? Why in hell would she do something like that unless ... you lousy bitch! I'll bet that was your mother, all right! Who are you? A cop?"
Digby and Gayle looked puzzled at George. They did not follow his statements. "Of course she ain't a cop, George. She is my girlfriend."
