He joined them on the bed, lying down in a flush of strange feelings. This was not real; these people did not exist. He felt the woman's hands opening his shirt, taking off his pants. He heard the man's even breathing. He felt the woman's lips on his body, kissing and caressing him into a state of aroused, mystifying desire. Fantastically this woman was kneading and fondling him, his muscles, his buttocks, all his fibers. He felt her mouth close around his penis, her hot tongue darting up and over the tightening bulb. He thought he would surely erupt inside her mouth, but then he felt her climbing his body, sitting on his crotch, guiding the heavy tool up inside her mysterious love place. She rode him that way, as he lay passively, until he felt the blood gushing hotly through all his veins. He began to erupt, to pump his fluid up into her riding loins. And when she was through, she rolled off him and lay between the two spent men, her arms about her own man's gently heaving body.
Late in the night he felt himself being shaken away from the pleasant dream he was having. Lucas shook him again and he snapped awake, at first startled by his presence in the bed with the other two.
CHAPTER 1
"I mean, does it really feel different being a black?" the elegant lady asked him again. She was the essence of whiteness herself, stylish in her evening gown of pink satin, revealing her mature, pale breasts. Hans just smiled for her, even feigning a bit of an old-time Negroid grin. How many times had these goody-goody "beautiful people" asked him that insipid question, he mused. And yet he understood them, knew what motivated them.
Mrs. McAdams reached out and touched his arm; she let her slender fingers pause on his hard muscle. "I do want to be friends with you, Hans. May I call you Hans?"
"Any friend of the General's," he smiled again.
"Ah, yes, the General," she nodded, looking across the grandeur of the ballroom to where her husband and the General were talking seriously. Only a few other people had come into the spacious ballroom as yet; tonight would be a different sort of affair-not the usual brawl that the General was famous for-because McAdams was supposedly a Victorian. Yes, Hans said to himself, tonight they would play it super-cool for the famous Mr. McAdams.
"Tell me, Hans," Mrs. McAdams leaned over and said directly to his face, "do you listen to any of my husband's broadcasts?"
"I really don't know how one could miss them," he laughed. "Your husband gets a great deal of exposure, doesn't he?"
"Thanks to the generosity of the General," she nodded. "Yes, Mack is on three times daily, plus the television show every Sunday night. And he moves around so much. ... Tomorrow we'll be in Utah, for instance. It's a very hectic life, but a rewarding one. Do you agree with my husband's philosophy, Hans?"
"Yes and no. To me, he seems more interested in the status quo than he is in seeing minority groups get..."
"Oh, but you're wrong," she laughed good-naturedly. "Mack is a champion of the downtrodden, the weak, the oppressed...."
"Right now, Mrs. McAdams," he. checked her, pointing to her husband and the General, "he seems more interested in getting into the General's stockpile of millions."
"Ah, naughty naughty," she teased a finger against his chest. "Money is only a means to an end with Mack. I really think, in time, young people like you will come to see that Mack is actually a saviour. He is determined not to let those who would destroy this great nation get..."
Hans looked up to see the General and the illustrious Mr. McAdams standing up, apparently finished with their talk of finances. They were coming over just as the musicians were assembling on the stage at the far end of the hall. Time for the gala affair to begin, Hans knew; he smiled broadly for Mrs. McAdams, secretly glad to be through humoring her.
"Darling," she cooed at her stately husband. McAdams was a man of perhaps fifty, thin and balding, with the demeanor of a hawk about to pounce on its prey. He was in stock contrast to the looming figure of the General-a man of sixty, stout, over-tall, and completely resolute in his gaze at all those in his domain.
"Hans, son," the General spoke gently in his gruff voice. "Have you looked after Mrs. McAdams?"
"He's a charming boy," she smiled and then brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh, excuse me, Hans. ... I don't know what made me say boy. I know you people hate to be called that . ... "
"Not at all," the General said. "He's my boy-and a finer boy you won't see."
They went toward the dais at the end of the hall, and even though the General was a big man, Hans overshadowed him by several inches. Hans Brock six-four, two hundred pounds of bronze whipcord. He laughed to himself, musing about the strange scene they must be making: there he was, a black kid, moving about in the select company of the General as though he were a son. In fact, he was to all intents the General's son, and from the time that he could remember he had known no other family but the General. As they strolled through the gathering crowd, the General placed his arm about Hans' shoulder and walked on proudly in his old military fashion. The General was a bitter, ruthless man, Hans realized, about all things past. For the General would never achieve his one ambition-to be accorded the full military recognition he had long coveted. Once upon a time, during the good old days of the World War, the General had been part of the military top brass, a leader of armies during the occupation. But then the scandal hit the whole country-something that the General would not tolerate talk about now-and the General had been accused of gross crimes, had been the subject of Congressional investigations, and had finally been drummed out of the service, a beaten man.
Hans could see all that in his patron's eyes as they seated themselves. The General had never forgotten those who had attacked him twenty years ago; one by one he had gotten back at them ... by launching vicious smear campaigns against certain Senators, by rigging certain elections with his money. Money, Hans sighed! At least the General had kept the one tool that could exercise power. Where all the money came from not even Hans knew; for years there had been rumors of the millions the General made in the black markets, rumors about government payoffs, of underworld rackets. Oh, the General was rich, just how rich nobody but the General knew.
"He's the finest boy in the world," the General kept on. "I don't mind you knowing that. And did you know, McAdams, that Hans is a love child? A mixture of two opposites? Yes, that's right. He's the best part of two worlds. His mother was a beautiful German girl, quite white, and very beautiful. I knew her well before her death. Beautiful woman! God how I wish she had survived. She'd be by my side now. But all I've got left of her is Hans."
"And the father?" Mrs. McAdams asked cuttingly. The General shot a frown her way and looked at Hans protectively.
"He was an American soldier. Black, as you can tell. We don't talk about that, Mrs. McAdams."
"But isn't he still...? "
"Shut her up, Mack!" the General barked.
The lady was literally shaken back in her seat; her husband bent sideways and whispered something, frowning, then looked back at the General apologetically. Hans knew the story, of course. His white German mother had been raped by the black soldier, and the General had had the soldier executed. But the girl had been killed later by a friend of the executed man-or so the story went. From the time he was a little boy, growing up in a new country under the General's care, he had heard the story. He thought about his parents during times of solitude, but the General had never let him forget what a barbarian his real father had been. And his mother, the beautiful German girl ... Hans had only the picture that the General kept framed on his desk.
Hans watched the General and could see that a tear blurred the big man's eye. That one touch of humanity in the old tyrant. But now the ballroom was full of the dignified guests come to pay homage to McAdams. The General looked toward the bandstand, gave a signal, and the orchestra struck up the national anthem. All of them rose and began to sing, the General leading, looking a bit like De Gaulle hymning out the song of his heritage. When the anthem ended, the orchestra rang into a series of military marches, the kettledrums pounding and pounding. And then the General was up and introducing the guest speaker.
"I have the privilege of giving to you, ladies and gentlemen, the voice of freedom in this troubled land ... the one man who brings the word of freedom to the people...."
As the General drove his words into the mike, Hans felt a leg stir against his under the table. He looked sideways at Mrs. McAdams-the knee pressure became firmer-but she was staring in rapt admiration at her husband as he prepared to get up. He frowned at the white lady but her eyes wouldn't meet his. He tried to move his leg away, but her other knee locked it tight.
"It's good to be among people who truly understand the greatness of such a man as the General," McAdams said first. A huge wave of applause filled the ballroom. Hans felt the woman's hand fall on his knee then, but still she kept her loving gaze on her husband. "And it's gratifying to know that people like you still hold to the propositions of honest labor and decency . ... "
Now her hand was stroking his inner thigh, tickling along the hard muscle and pausing to pat fondly on the taut flesh. He felt his whole body ' flush, and tried to look past her toward the figure of her speaking husband. But her eyes caught his for a second and she gave him a taunting look. Suddenly, one of her prickly fingers jabbed into his crotch, coiled around his rising cock, and tried to squeeze.
"Stop it, Mrs. McAdams!" he whispered.
"You're so cute, Hans," she cooed as she stroked the length of his tool under the table-while just a few feet away her noted husband began pounding home his message to the throng. McAdams was running down the freaks and misfits and lousy youth corps of the country.
On and on the harangue continued, and still the elegant lady continued to play her little game of nip and tuck. In spite of himself he could not keep his cock from rising to full mast; never had any woman, black or white, tantalized him so. It was too much! Her fingers kept coiling and patting and squeezing, forcing his hot blood to gorge into the very tip of his over-long instrument.
Finally her husband was about to conclude his address. From time to time the audience applauded and yelled encouragement. The tempo had picked up considerably, as though the whole patriotic place was of one mind. And Mrs. McAdams was getting carried away herself; as the frenzied emotions of the huge banquet hall rose, so did her ardor. Now she was actually stroking down his hard cock with expert fingers, jacking along the cloth of his pants where the ramming rod pulsated. He could feel her long fingernails trying to tear through the cloth, running the full length of the imbedded cock as though she were trying to measure the exact length. He shot a sideward glance and could see her eyes growing livid, almost glazed. He glared at her, exhaling heavily in disgust, but she was too far gone. He could only hope to untangle himself from this sibyl of a woman when the ordeal was concluded.
And then the huge crowd was giving McAdams a standing ovation. At last Hans managed to break away. The guest of honor's lady stood beside him then, her flaring hips mashing hard against him as she beat out a loud applause with the rest. Hans tried to move further away, but she clove to him, smiling broadly and calling out something to her husband.
"Isn't he wonderful?" she shouted in Hans' ear. "Right on!"
"Let go of me!" Hans replied vehemently, but the ardent lady would not. She clasped his arm and pulled him closer as the applause continued. Ten minutes later he was still stuck beside her as the General and McAdams made their way through the gaggle of admirers.
"Goddamn, but I'm proud of this man!" the General brayed. Now the General and McAdams had made their way across the dais to Hans and Mrs. McAdams. A large crowd of McAdams admirers pushed in, closing the scene tightly. Mrs. McAdams pressed against Hans, all the while smiling in rapt adoration at her husband. "By God," the General went on, "give me a few more real men like Mack and I'll take care of all the one-world, pussyfooting bastards that want to sell this country out!"
A monstrous roar of approval went up. Mrs. Mack pushed her firm breasts into Hans' side; he tried to back off but was stuck in the close-backed crowd. Then he felt her body all meshed against his again, and a lurching pressure against his hip. She was actually hunching him, right there in the crowd! He shot a quick glance at her and saw her wink spitefully. He felt a hot pressure against his hip again.
Soon the ballroom became a place of strutting wealth. A string orchestra came in and began playing sweet music, and several couples went out to dance under sparkling, mirrored crystal light. Hans finally removed himself from the weird woman's clutches to sit beside the General at the head table. But all the while Mrs. Mack kept shooting him suggestive glances from across the table while she cooed up to her husband.
"What's the matter, son?" the General asked Hans. "Party too dull for you?" He turned to his guests with a shrug. "Hans doesn't go in much for my parties. I can't say I blame him much. I don't have much stomach for all this belly rubbing...."
"But it's for a good cause," McAdams put in. "You'll be happy to know, General, that I've had twenty-five pledges for my Century Club already tonight."
"Hm, that means about twenty-five thousand," the General nodded. "Not too bad. And I guess you'll expect me to match that figure. Hardly worth having all these bureaucrats here tonight. Come on, Mack, let's go collect a few due bills. I just saw the ex-governor and he owes me a couple. Hans, you take care of Mrs. Mack, you hear?"
"Er ... General," Hans tried to counter. "You sure you don't want me to round up a few contributors?"
"Naw, son," the General smiled in his fatherly way. "Let us take care of business tonight. Just make sure none of these old lechers get out of hand."
With that, the General and the guest of honor went off into the moiling crowd, clearing a wide swath. Hans sat back and just stared ahead at the dance floor, fearing the imminent onslaught. After a while he looked across and saw the elegant lady studying him cunningly. She wasn't a bad-looking woman actually-and under other circumstances he might have been more receptive to her frank come on but he had been around the General long enough to know not to mix business and blood. He tried to smile at her but now she was not teasing with him at all. Her long blonde hair fell across her eyes and she stared at him furtively.
"Get you a cup of punch?" he asked.
"I need a drink-with something in it," she said flatly.
"What? You need liquor? I thought you said you didn't drink, Mrs. McAdams?"
"I don't drink ordinarily, at least not around my husband. But Hans, if you'd been to almost two dozen of these affairs in the last month, you'd want a drink too. God, they're all the same ... the same speech, the same crowd, the same dreary night of boredom . ... "
She turned her head at once and looked off through the maze of happy dancers. When she looked back, she saw his change of expression and smiled. He actually was smiling, and that made her feel better immediately. Hans had met her kind before-wives of the General's higher echelon, corporate execs from New York, London, Paris, young or old, bored and easy to make. But at least Mrs. McAdams was honest and open about her ongoing plight, and that spoke well in her favor.
"Let's both get a drink," he smiled, and immediately she was up and taking his arm.
"So this is the famous Olympian Garden," Mrs. Mack said as she wove in and around the maze in moonlight. They had come out of the mansion and down through the sunken gardens to the General's private sanctuary that he called Olympus. Mrs. Mack had put away five good stiff
ll bourhons and was now feeling no pain; Hans had finished off a couple of drinks himself but was not nearly as far gone as the depressed lady. She led him on away from the blaring music of the ballroom, laughing and swaying. He followed cautiously, thinking that he might be in for a rough time if she passed out on him.
"My God!" she cried as she came up to a row of bigger-than-life statues. On close inspection she saw that these were scenes of ancient world phallic rituals: one man, or god, held two naked women to him, the three conjoined in a prototype of daisy-chain perversion; another male lay backward with a large-breasted goddess spread-eagled on his half-sunk phallus; another showed a young goddess with a monstrous phallus half embedded in her mouth. On and on the totems loomed as she drifted down the Appian Way, as though mesmerized.
"My God, it's fantastic!" she cried out. "They look so ... so ... life-like...."
"The best that money can buy," Hans muttered behind her. "The General had them done by the world's greatest talent ... just for his private collection. ... Only a few select people have ever been in the Olympian Garden ... and you can understand why...."
"I can't believe it . ... Every perversion in the world is right here. ... My God!..."
"Shocking, isn't it?" he laughed. "And that's just half of it. If these statues could talk, they would tell stories far more fantastic than the Satyricon...."
"Tell me, Hans," she panted. "What stories. . . ? Have you taken part in orgies here, Hans? ... Have you? ... God, I could understand how you could get carried away...."
"It depends on what you call an orgy any more," he tried to dissuade her. "If you mean have I balled some chicks here-yes, you might say so. All in the line of duty....
"You're a strange young man," she said softly, pausing to look at him closely. She reached out and stroked his broad chest, and ran her fingers along the taut muscles of his arms. "You're black, but you seem different. ... Excuse me, Hans, I didn't mean to offend you ... but you do seem different somehow ... almost if you're European...."
"Two years at the Sorbonne," he nodded. "I studied art, poetry, philosophy. Also Harvard. The General wants me to finish my law degree next year...."
"An amazing young man," she said dreamily, stroking his chest again. She swooned a bit, laughed giddily, and fell against him, murmuring, "So strong ... and beautiful! ... You are absolutely beautiful ... and powerful . . .oohhh!. . . "
He tried to hold her steady and at a safe distance away. She tried to fight off his grip, all the while muttering to herself. Her fragile arms tried to entwine his hard, trim middle; he felt her fingernails scratching along his chest.
"I've never had ... I've never been made love to by a ... a..." she stuttered.
"By a Negro, you mean?" he said gruffly.
"What do you want, Mrs. McAdams? Just what do you want?"
"Do you have to ask?"
"Listen, lady, you're not a bad sort really. But I'm not messing around with you, see?"
"Why not?" she teased, mashing her firm boobs against his arms. "You afraid of my husband? ... Or the General? Doesn't the General permit you to make love to ... white girls?"
"The General doesn't tell me what to do," he snapped angrily as he pushed her away.
"You're the General's pet, aren't you?" she sang. "You're just his slave, you know. His own little pet slave. He says jump and you say how far. Come on, sweetheart, Mama won't bite you. Mama's not afraid of you. God, you're beautiful...."
"Stop it," and he pulled away again.
He walked on down the stone walk through the rows of obscene statues. From behind him came the drunken voice of the passionate lady...."Booful ... come back, booful...." It was not that she disgusted him; he just didn't want another stupid scene. On occasions before he had had to submit to the whims of some of the General's friends: there was a Naval Commander's wife who had literally attacked him in the shower ... and the daughter of a Congressman, who just "Loved" minority people. Hans had found them all better talkers than lovers, and each time it ended with vindictive stares and self-conscious guilt. In his entire life with the General he had had to fill a curiosity gap for people. And in a way, Mrs. McAdams had hit the truth; lately Hans had come to think of himself almost as a pet slave that the General brought out to show his so-called supporters.
"Come back or I'll scream...." Mrs. Mack called out. He turned and was taken aback by her form there in the moonlight. She had shed her evening gown and was standing in stockings, bra and panties only. She began laughing then and he retraced his steps to try and calm the desperate wench.
"Christ, get your clothes on, Mrs. McAdams," he asked her imploringly. "What if some of the guests came out? You'd cause your husband a lot of embarrassment he wouldn't like."
"Don't care! Won't do it! Wanna feel young, beautiful man. Wanna just feel young beautiful stud. Never in a long time felt some beautiful stud. Please, Hans, just give me a little attention, that's all. I'm so goddamn lonely. Please..."
With that, she reached around and unfastened her bra and let it fall on the pile of clothes at her feet. Her firm breasts glistened in the moonlight, pointing directly at him; they were bigger than they appeared in the confines of her clothing, and young-looking, like a girl's. She hooked her fingers down into her bikini panties and snaked them down over her well-rounded hips and thighs. Gently she stepped out of the last particle of covering and stood a few feet away from him, as though she were drinking in the moonlight. She took a deep breath, lifting the rosy-tipped tits, and exhaled with a heavy sigh. Her belly was flat and unmarked, and truly she had the body of a sensual woman. He swallowed hard and couldn't take his eyes off the sumptuous lines of her body, where the thick patch of reddish pubic hair throbbed incessantly.
"Be nice to me, Hans. Sweet young man, be sweet to me. I want it so bad, baby...."
And without thinking, he was upon her, wrapping his strong bronze arms around her tender white body. She swooned and clutched for him immediately; he felt her thin fingers pinching and groping at his groin. Her mouth bit at his neck, bringing blood, then came up to his chin and lips. He felt her hot tongue dart into his mouth and work furiously all around; he crushed his mouth on hers, eating away at her white skin. She was hunching at him already; he took the hard humping against his thigh, reached down, and ran his big finger into her hot pussy. God, she was dripping wet with love liquid, ready for a hard plunging deep to her core. Her ass began dancing in his big hands, the buttocks saucy and full-ripe and ready to bang.
"God, get that big thing out!" she demanded, pulling back into the shade of Priapus doing his thing with the goddess of lust. She sank away and he fell with full force upon her, jerking out his prolonged cock as he landed. The head of his tool nudged into the nest of hot hair, but she grasped with her hands and pulled the tool upward as she bent. For a moment she supped at his cock and fondled his heavy balls.
"My living God, what a dick!" she exclaimed. "It's too monstrous! Too much, too much!..."
"You asked for this, lady," he warned heatedly.
Shadows of the copulating gods danced across the forms of black on white, Priapus' large tool seemed to shimmer in some mystic reincarnation. The white lady shrank back, her whole body dancing in passionate expectancy. His man-rod had come to full staff against the lip of her love-hole there on the mossy earth of that erotic garden. How many times before, he thought oddly as he prepared to assault this new cavern, how many times before? He lost his identity here, always. He was no longer Hans Brock, the man without a father, the orphan, the pride of the obsessive General. All right then, he signaled himself. Get at it, black boy! And that's the truth.
"No," she begged, trying to lock her legs. "No, no ... you'll kill me. ... I didn't mean it. ... You're too big. ... I can't take it. ... Please, you'll tear me in two...."
"Come on, you white bitch!" he seethed. "You wanted a little black power so here it is!"
He rammed her down hard against the earth, felt her saucy ass mash hard into the dewy grass. Then her legs sprung apart like a pair of shears. Her furry box was all warm and hotly saturated with love sap. He steadied the bronze tip of his cock at the entrance, gripped her rippling thighs and plunged.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed as he instantly sank deep to the very bottom. Still, he had some of his pipe left, but he let her stay pinned thus for several seconds as she gasped for breath. Her eyes met his wildly and he could see that she was fighting the early pain. Then a satisfied smile broke on her pert lips. She began rolling her head from side to side.
"Full, God, I'm full all the way up!" she moaned.
Mrs. Mack was no fat-fair-and-forty variety; she was perhaps thirty-five, perhaps younger, but there was little difference in her form from that of the younger women Hans had worked over. And then there seemed to be some difference about this lady; he wasn't sure, but there was something in the way she revealed herself that spoke of a real quality of sadness in her. Surely she had married the fanatic McAdams for social position and security, and she made the best of things, but he could tell that she didn't swallow all that phony crap her husband put on. And Hans knew that her husband was no real man not for this vital, ripe babe.
Now she was moving her box a bit upon his steady tool. Her eyes looked up and he saw the deep expression of real satisfaction there. She was smiling beautifully. Her lips caught his and she kissed him urgently, all the while increasing the pressure of her full loins against his. Her tongue tangled with his, did many little pushing battles of wetness, just as her hot hole seemed to gush full of love liquid.
"All right," he said, and began to plunge deeply and draw out, in and out, slowly, with a matching rhythm. "How does that feel, white lady?"
"First time I've ever felt a black..."
"Gonna solve that old mystery, huh, white lady? Always heard about us black studs? How's that black cod feel?"
"Wonderful...." she heaved. "My God, it's unbelievable. ... I can't believe it's happening. ... I've always thought ... that it would kill me. ... It's so big ... but I want it ... more! ... Give me all of it. ... I want it all. Hans ... from the first moment I saw you, how beautiful you were ... I knew I had to have that big thing. ... God, I was made for this. ... I love it...."
He lifted her a bit off the ground, grasped her buttocks with his big hands, digging his fingers deep into the foaming flesh, and ground his hard tool all the way into her womb. He began plunging deeper than he had first dared, all the way, hard and fast like a dynamo at full cycle.
"Oh ... yes ... God, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!" she panted in unison with his strokes. She began bucking with all her might, gyrating her hips in his encompassing palms, pressing her whole body hard against his hard-bronzed frame. Her firm breasts pressed hard against his smooth chest, the nipples as hard as ball bearings. He cycled into a higher plane, the huge tool going evenly into the hot, wet box. And all the while she kept moaning and groaning as she matched his every blow.
"God! There! There!" she screamed. "You've got it, black beauty! You've hit the spot! I'm coming! God, I'm coming! I've never come like this before! Oh, my living black God! Fuck it, fuck it till I dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
He had meant to satisfy her deep frictional itch and be done with it without getting carried away himself. But no woman in a long time had made his cock burn so hot at the tip. As she started peaking one after another, her body seemed to quake and shudder, and he felt something snap inside him. In spite of himself he felt his vital flow beginning to erupt. His cock hitched into a higher realm, and then he was pumping his hot cream all down into her wild box. On and on it poured, coming like a great and deep river. When she felt the first spurts, she went wild with desire and began to come again, beating her box against him furiously.
"God, you're coming! Oh, I love it. ... It's filling me up . ... I'm full! ... God, it's hot and thick. ... I love it. ... I love ... give me all of it...."
It seemed to go on eternally, and they were like the figures of the statues, locked in a timeless labor of love. And when he was spent, she released her hold on him and they lay as they had finished, locked together, hardly moving in that afterglow of diminishing passion. The shadows of Priapus and Venus bathed them approvingly.
They must have slept. When Hans came back to his senses he felt a strangeness, like a foreboding. The hour was late, and the white lady still lay cradled in his powerful arms. He was startled to find that his semi-hard cock was still inside her warm pussy. Easily he withdrew, but the slight pressure served to wake her partially.
"Poor sweet Hans," she murmured, still dazed. "If you only knew what the General has done ... if you only knew that the General has tricked you. ... Too bad I can't tell you the truth about your real father...."
"What?" he asked heatedly.
But then she was fully awake. She looked up at him sweetly, reached for his body again. He bent over her and she began kissing his arms and chest and neck. But he pushed her down and looked intently into her face.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"What, darling?" she smiled. "Please, fuck me again, Hans. I loved it. I've never felt that way before...."
"No," he put her off. "What did you say just now?"
"I didn't say anything. ... You're just imagining..."
"Come on!" he barked. "Now, you tell me! You said that I'd been tricked . ... You said something about my real father and I want to know!"
"Don't be silly," she tried to cover. "How should I know anything about your father, Hans? Please, let me alone now. I've got to get back."
She rolled away from him, grabbed up her clothing, and ran back down through the forbidden garden. He sat under the statue looking after her angrily. For the first time in his life he began to ask himself the question that he had been denied. He sat immobile for a long time, perplexed and at a loss, his brain flushing with all manner of terrible thoughts.
CHAPTER 2
When hans came back into the mansion the ballroom was all but deserted; only a few late stayers were left in the cluttered hall, and they lay in drunken heaps about the clutter. Over in one corner Hans saw one of the musicians making out with the wife of one of the dignitaries. The General was still holding forth, then, Hans decided.
He had never crossed the General before, had never questioned his patron's decisions. Always before the General had treated him like a son, a protected protege. But now Hans wanted to know the truth. First he had been angry at the lady, angry because she seemed to know something that Hans himself had been denied. But what if it were only malicious gossip, a sexually repressed woman's way of getting back at the men who ruled her life?
The General was fond of telling about Hans' mother and of the fact that Hans was a love child, but never had he spoken of Hans' real father. And Hans had never questioned it, had never even thought much about it except at strange times of depression. Now the white lady's dreamy words shot through his brain like a hot wave. What had she meant and how had she known? Surely she was lying, he kept telling himself, but had she heard something, perhaps, through old McAdams? Perhaps she had heard more. He didn't know what to do.
He went up the long staircase and stood outside the General's conference room. Inside, he could hear the voice of the simpering McAdams, talking about money, money, money. The door opened then and the little group of men came out wearily. The General was still there, talking to McAdams. He looked up, saw Hans and smiled fatherly.
"Hans, the party go all right?" he called.
"Yes, General. It's about over now. Could I see you a moment?"
"No, not now, Hans. In the morning. Mack and I still have to..."
"I want to talk to you, General," Hans said in an unusually stern tone.
"Well, all right, my boy."
"Fine boy there," McAdams said, coming up to pat Hans on the shoulder. "If only some of these black radicals would take a lesson from Hans..."
"It will only take a minute, General," Hans insisted. The old warrior paused and looked at his ward queerly, then smiled somewhat nervously. He motioned Hans back into the study and waved the other men away. Hans went in quickly and turned on the General as the door snapped shut.
"What's got you stirred up, son?"
"General, I've got to ask you something. And I mean no disrespect, for you know I've always honored your wishes and have never challenged you. But tonight, General, while I was ... entertaining Mrs. McAdams..."
"Heh, heh," the General chortled. "The little lady had the hots for you, didn't she? God, these goddamn bitches, Hans! But we got to humor them, give them a little warming up so they can take it to bed with them...."
"It's not that, General. . . "
"You mean ... Shit! Was she that hot to trot? Goddamn that could get a little messy. Did you, I mean, how far...? "
"Yes, General."
The old soldier sat down and simply stared at the picture of Hans' mother on his desk. Absently Hans looked at it too and then back at the resigned face of his patron. The General looked up then and smiled knowingly.
"What the hell, son! What's wrong with a little poontang, heh? I'm sure the bitch has better sense then to go blowing it off to Mack. Goddamn these bitches anyway...." He looked back at the picture of the lovely German fraulein on his desk and sighed as if remembering old times of faded rapture.
"General, that's not the problem," Hans advanced to the desk. He took a deep breath and continued. "Tonight, I went with Mrs. McAdams out into the gardens. And while ... while we were there ... she said something. General, she had been drinking...."
"Drinking? Mrs. Mack? Why, I can't imagine that!"
"Quite heavily," Hans nodded. "But that's not the point. It's what she said. General, I've never asked you about my mother ... or my father...."
"No, Hans!" the General barked suddenly. "I won't have that, you hear? Now, don't ask at all. It's no concern any longer. I've told you all you need to know."
"Mrs. McAdams said that you had tricked me, General," Hans went on hotly. "She said something about the real truth about my father...."
"Crazy bitch!" the General cursed. "Goddamn crazy, lying bitch! Are you going to believe some round-heeled cunt? Are you going to take the word of some pussy-puncher over mine? Can't you see she was just trying to get that prong of yours up her snatch?"
"No, General," Hans backed down a little. "I just don't know what to think. But I must know. And if you don't tell me, I'll have to find out for myself...."
But realizing that it was useless, Hans retreated. He paused at the door and looked back to see the General still staring down wistfully at the picture on his desk. And as he was going out, he heard the General clear his throat and call out, "Son, get it out of your head ... you hear? Let well enough alone!" And for the first time in his life, he felt that the General had issued a real command, something akin to a fierce warning.
His mind became a cauldron of boiling questions and doubt, so much so that he began to wander about the old mansion aimlessly. He went through the cluttered banquet hall, past the drunken sleepers, and on out onto the vast grounds of the General's estate. Here he used to play with the white children of the General's friends; here he first questioned his parentage-in vain. And as he wandered about, it was as if a lifelong quest had boiled to the top of his consciousness.
"I've been invisible too long," he resolved aloud. "I've got to find out!"
He went storming back into the mansion. The General's light was out, the old man had retired, and it would be useless to pursue that avenue. What to do, he pondered. Where to start. And then he heard the wanton woman's dreamy words again in his brain. He mounted the stairs and stood outside the McAdams' room on the second floor. Inside, he heard muffled voices-they were still awake. He bent against the door but could not make out what they were saying; there was the syrupy, siren-like voice of the woman and the gruff tones of the man. He thought of the balcony then, jutting off the guest room. There was no access to it otner than from the third floor, and he would have to climb down the column. Without thinking then, he sprinted silently up to the top floor of the mansion, went through the servant passage, and found himself standing adjacent to the top cupola. The light was still on in their room, and quickly he lowered himself to the narrow eave and let himself cling to the column. Slowly he slid down until he was only a couple of feet from the balcony. He stopped, looked into the dimly lit room, and hoisted himself onto the balcony.
Now, from within, the voices were more clear. He peered through the Austrian shades to see them lying coupled on the bed. Scornfully he stopped, thinking that they were just indulging in some late-night dirty play. The goddamn bitch, he steamed; she must be a real nympho.
He saw the shadowy outline of McAdams' bit body positioned over his naked wife; he saw the big buttocks lunging up and down furiously, and he saw her thin legs spring up and out and bang against the broad sides with each blow. He could hear her urging him on:
"Fuck me, big daddy, fuck me like you've always done! Ram that fat dick, daddy!"
Hans tried the door and found it unlocked. Silently he crept into the steamy room and stood in the shadows away from the light of the small lamp by the bedside. On and on the ardent couple pounded, as if they were bitter enemies fighting a duel. The woman who only a few hours before was begging Hans to fuck her eyes out was now wildly beating her expert loins against this bull of a white man.
"Do it, daddy! Do it! Fuck my pussy! Fuck all night! I can take it! God, I can't take all that fat prick!"
Her voice was different, guttural, licentious. The man, obviously out of shape, was huffing and puffing and trying to match her every blow. Hans stood in disgusted amazement as the two ground on toward their peaks. And then he heard McAdams wheezing out words, in a different tone. Hans took a step closer to the bed.
"Is this the way he did it to you, bitch? Is this the way that black buck fucked your white box? Am I doing it as good as that spade?"
"Yes, oh yes! Just the same. Oh, it was good, the way he fucked with that black stick! But it's great, great!"
"Tell me!" McAdams demanded as he settled his jabs into a steady pattern. "Tell me about it! Tell me about that black buck fucking you! I ought to kill you, you know that, bitch? But tell me how it felt to have a black dick all the way down in that hot pussy!"
"It was monstrous!" she screamed. "You can't believe how big and hard it was! It was the greatest dick in the world! So big I thought I was dying! And he fucked me forever!"
The dirty bitch, Hans exclaimed to himself, edging closer. And to think that he had felt sorry for her out there in the gardens. He should have known better; she was the kind to get fucked by some young stud and then run to tell her ballless old husband so he could get his kicks too. It was a dirty game those "elite" people played-anyway to get their rocks. But Hans didn't care about that; it was what the bitch had said that Hans had to find out about.
Now he was standing beside the bed. In their mounting lust the couple were oblivious to him. The husband had her legs splayed out wide and positioned high above his head, with her pussy suspended almost in mid-air. He was drawing back to ram his fat mini-cock deep in. Hans felt a boiling rage inside, welling up to the top of his being. Before he knew what he was doing, he jumped through the air, knocking the ardent old devil from atop the lady. His broad hands went for McAdams' throat, and he had the weaker man now at his mercy.
"What! What the ... My God! ... Don't kill me...." McAdams bellowed in fright. The woman screamed, screamed again, and then saw that it was the black man whom she had seduced in the garden. Hans tightened his strong hands about McAdams' throat.
"You, McAdams!" he barked. "Tell me the truth! I know you know! Tell me about my real father!"
"Hans, for God's sake!" she cried out, trying to pull him off. "Oh, my God! I didn't mean it, Hans. I was just making it up! The General didn't trick you...."
"Who is this? My God, don't kill me...."
McAdams pleaded.
"Tell me the truth about my father!" Hans demanded. "Tell me the truth or I will kill you!"
"My God, it's you, Brock! What are you talking about? Get off, get off, I say! I'll have you..."
"Too late, McAdams. Now, tell me!"
Hans began tightening his grip on the beleaguered man's fat neck until he began coughing and choking. Very soon he started gasping for air and his face began turning blue. With fierce pressure, that he had never exerted before, Hans tightened and tightened.
"Agggggg ... pleasssss! ... All right, all rightttt...! You're killinnnnnnng me. ... I'll tell you...."
Hans let up just a bit and felt McAdams' whole body vibrate in convulsions. "Speak! Tell me!"
"All I know ... the General has ... always kept it a ... secret. ... You're father ... your real father..."
"Go on, damn it!"
"He didn't die. He wasn't killed. ... He was brought back to this country. ... That's all I know. ... Please, my living God, don't kill me, Brock...."
"Is he still alive?" Hans demanded, tightening his grip once more. "You better speak!"
"I don't know ... honest to God I don't...."
The naked body of Mrs. McAdams now rolled and mashed all against Hans as he sprawled above the man, and it all took on the aura of some perverted phallic ritual. The older man was helpless under the strength of the younger man and he only wrenched about, gagging and begging. Hans increased his pressure on the throat.
"I'm strangling...." hissed McAdams.
"Tell me! How can I find my father?"
"All right, I'll tell you! Only, for God's sake, let me go...."
With that, Hans let go, though he held the man pinned hard against the bed. Tears ran from the pitiable man's eyes beneath him; Hans looked at him with contempt as he tried to free himself.
"Tell me!" Hans warned again.
"I was the General's driver. ... I had nothing to do with it. ... After the girl died, the General was crazy. ... He had the black soldier beat ... but..."
"What?"
"But he got the wrong man. ... That was the word. ... The real one got away-your father. And that's all I know ... honest to God!..."
"Where can I find him now?" Hans asked heatedly.
"I don't know. ... It's been over twenty years...."
"There's got to be someone who knows. ... Now, you tell me!"
"Bradner," McAdams whispered. "Major Bradner. The General's exec. He knew about it and helped the man escape. For God's sake, you mustn't tell the General this, Brock. He would kill you and me both."
"Where is this Bradner now!"
"I don't know...."
Hans grabbed for the frightened man's throat again, causing him to quake and utter several little sickening shrieks. "Oh, don't hurt me. ... I'll tell you. ... The last time I heard, Bradner was in San Francisco ... in law practice. ... That's all, Brock. ... That's all I know...."
Hans started with full hatred now at the foolish old fanatic. I could kill this mother-fucker, he told himself. But he withdrew with resignation and took his eyes off the miserable man. As he was about to get off the bed, he felt a soft pressure against his back. He turned and saw Mrs. McAdams, fully naked, pressing herself onto him.
"Hans," she whispered. "Stay! Honey, stay. ... Make love to me again. ... Show him how a real man does it . ... "
"Goddamn you worthless bitch," he snapped, and with one hand pushed her back over on the heap of writhing flesh that was her wretched husband.
CHAPTER 3
Bradner, he thought, he kept saying the name in his brain as he raced from the mansion and out into the countryside, running, getting away. Bradner! It was the only thing he had now, for he was leaving the General's world, leaving it the way he had come into it-with no identity.
He ran down the long winding driveway and got out onto the highway; he did not look back until he was headed toward the city. Sooner or later, he knew, the General would find out and come after him. Yes, the General would send his men after him. Hans knew now that he was doomed to a life of dodging and hiding, but he thought of nothing except the name he had wrenched out of that sickening man. He skipped off the major highway and took back routes into the city; he had one piece of business to take care of before he took off for good.
By morning he was miles away from the General. He found himself exhausted as he came around the dike road and he stopped to rest at a deserted grotto. The lights of New Orleans spread out across the water and he looked at them without any feeling. This was the place of his youth, his home, and now he felt nothing at all for it, save contempt.
A battered old pickup truck grunted around the corner and headed across the dike toward the bridge; the truck was filled with vegetables, obviously going into town to the market. Hans jumped onto the back and lodged himself against a stack of striped watermelons. It wasn't until he was almost into the city that he thought of where he was and what he was doing. And then he saw the watermelons, the old-time symbol of the niggardly life of his kind. He began to laugh, could not stop himself, and kept laughing all the way to his destination inside the sinful city.
He made his way through the sleeping Quarter, down to the very depths of it, and climbed the outside stairwell cautiously, lest he wake some of the people he '--.new there. He didn't knock at her door but took out his key and opened the door as quietly as he could. But she was awake as he crept inside.
"Hans?" Is that you, Hans?"
"It ain't the Lone Ranger," he said as usual, but she was fully awake already and startled at his appearance there so early. She sat up, letting the sheet fall from her naked tawny body, and he saw her erect and beautiful breasts. For a moment he forgot everything and just drank in the sheer splendor of her perfect brown body.
She smiled then and reached out for him. He came onto the bed, wrapped her in his arms, and felt the sweet fragrance of her warm body. Her long legs wrapped about him and her arms held him hard against her naked flesh. "Baby, baby," she murmured.
"Linda," he said simply in contentment. "Linda, you're the only true thing."
"What's wrong, Hans? What's the matter?"
"It's over baby. It's finally over. I just cut out, I mean. I just hooked off."
She began caressing him all over as he told her what had happened, including the bout with Mrs. McAdams. He left out nothing, for Linda understood. And at the end, when he told her he had split with the General, she was smiling with a look of relief.
"I'm glad," she said. "I'm so damn glad, baby." He just sighed and looked at her. He felt that a great weight had been lifted from him. For the moment it was enough just to lie with this good girl and feel no pain.
He had known Linda for more than a year now. He had met her one day at the Trade Building, one of the General's many enterprises, and had had a brief argument with her. She was waiting in line to be interviewed for a secretarial job. She had been waiting for hours, and one of the General's men had moved a blonde chick up in front of the rest. One thing led to another, with Hans actually being a bystander in the affair, and Linda had called the General's man a tight-assed honkie. She had turned to Hans and said, "You! You're a watermelon boy." At first it had infuriated him, having this tall black chick ridicule him, but he had followed her out of the building, had stopped her-and that had been the beginning. Hans had tried to get her a job with one of the General's firms, but she wouldn't have it. And for a year now she had been working as a waitress in a club down in the Quarter while she studied psychology at the University during the day. For a very long time they were friends; they did not discuss the General or anything about Hans' connection there. And then one night she had asked him calmly: "When are you going to ball me?"
He pulled back the cover and looked at her body. She was dark, darker than he; her face was clear and always bright, and her jet-black hair glistened and accented her penetrating eyes. And her body: the breasts were magnificent spheres of ebony, like two large, round wine glasses full of rich burgundy; her legs were long and willowy tapers of sensuality, her sumptuous belly was rock-hard and the navel was deeply recessed.
"Stay with me, baby," she said, kissing all over his body. He closed his eyes and sighed, lying back. Her fingers toyed at his growing cock, circled around the big bulb of it, and tickled in the coiling hair at the base of his crotch. She was a master at making him hot and aroused; no other woman could get him stirred up so quickly. For the moment then he just let his growing cock throb and did not think of the General or any of the mess back there, only a few hours away.
"Get out of those clothes," Linda teased. "Man, you can't do no good in that stuff." She was playing the game now, stirring him up, getting down to some good hot skinny. She began stripping off his pants, the shirt, and then the undershorts. He lay naked, his muscles taut, and just looked at her. She ran her eyes over his whole frame and licked her lips. As he gripped her firm boobs, she shuddered, laughed, and clutched his huge prick. The hair of her pussy wasn't profuse but rose up in curls and swirls to the slight swell of her abdomen. He put his mouth to the hair and tasted the natural sweet smell of woman. Goose bumps appeared all over her body and she laughed again and sang out.
"What're we gonna do, Hans?" she asked in a low voice.
"Work on some grooving, baby," he drawled and sank his mouth deep in her pussy. She moaned and swept over him, running her moist tongue over the tight cords of his blood-engorged glans. Her hands squeezed at the base of his shaft; the cock throbbed and throbbed.
"Now, baby?" he whispered.
"Hmmm ... now!..."
She was revolving her hips, thrusting at his head as he pulled his mouth away. Slowly, gently, he turned and slid up the length of her and grappled her hard tits again in his mouth, one after the other. Then he brought his crotch between her thighs, felt her open herself completely for him. First the hard, black legs gripped his sides, moved on up until they encircled his neck. He held the hard cock steady at the entrance of her love place, slid it in, her warm vaginal walls collapsing around his plunger, surrounding the tautness with a blinding hot steam of pussy.
"Uh huh...." she moaned as he went deep. "Ah! ... Uh huh ... gonna work on some good grooving. ... Ball it, ball it...."
"All right?" he huffed.
"Hm, all right!..."
She began mashing her crotch against his plunging blows-a steady flowing of love blows he rained down into her hot, clutching pussy. And he felt, as always, that he was doing it for the first time. The old tricks would not work with this good woman. She made a tramp like McAdams' wife seem like a blur of amateurish masturbation. And though Linda did not know how the supposed wanton women of the world made love, she was the epitome of human desire for him.
"Uh huh," she kept saying each time his prick hit the low core of her love-well. She lifted her legs and tightened her pussy on his shaft so she could take his all. He lunged further into her, watching her hard breasts jiggle as he banged them both in a revving rhythm. Immediately she picked up his new rhythm, matching him. Again he felt the mounting feeling of full exhilaration. He felt himself growing crazy from the matchless look in her black eyes. And then her eyes were closing, her peak arriving, and instantly he felt his whole body seem to erupt and gush down deep inside her hot pussy.
"Uh! hum....Uh hum! ... Hard! ... Fuck it hard ... baby, baby, it's so good-ddddddddd...."
His world turned upside down. He was floating away, climbing away from the world. He felt only the deepest pleasure that bordered on pain. She was singing a hot soul song with her whole body. He pumped on and on until she was full of his sperm. It seemed to last forever, and she held his shaft inside long after they were fully spent.
Too soon, too soon. As he lay calming, his brain was plagued with the dilemma. He turned to the sleeping girl, thinking that it would be best to get up and creep away quickly. In his mind he was already planning what he knew he had to do now. With regret he would have to leave Linda. Perhaps he would never see her again. One thing he knew, he never wanted to come back here again. Better not to think beyond this moment, he told himself as he dressed silently. He would seek out the answer to the question that had too long remained submerged. He looked at the girl on the bed. She lay in a trouble-less sleep, beautiful and innocent. But he couldn't allow himself to think of her any more, not until he had found out what had actually happened many years ago.
He stopped at the dresser as he was going out, thinking that he would leave a note. But he could think of nothing to write, no way to tell her. She would understand, he knew; she was his woman and she would know what he had to do now.
CHAPTER 4
He had brought no money and had only the clothes on his back, and he must have cut quite a figure walking down the highway dressed in evening clothes. He was careful to avoid the major highways going out of Parrish country. He hitched a ride with a Cajun family headed for the bayous, and by the end of his first day on the road he was out of the General's territory.
He pulled off the dinner jacket and gave it to the Cajun man in exchange for a yellow shirt. They were good people and fed him his first meal in two days, a shrimp gumbo with rice. He left them at nightfall and started walking along the coastal road that led to Texas. His immediate plan was to ass across the Southwest and make it to the West Coast as quickly as he could. He spent his second night in a field outside Port Arthur.
He slept fitfully and had a bad dream that he couldn't clearly remember, and then the events of the dream came back to him. He was running, running down a long white road while hounds and white men pursued him; at the end of the dream he saw the face of a beautiful white woman, his mother, and she was crying and holding the head of a dead man in her arms. The man looked exactly like Hans.
"You ever chopped cotton before?" the foreman asked him.
"Has a cat got an ass?" Hans mugged, learning to play the new role. He had come into the Texas cotton country and decided to make a little money. He had gone three days with no food while bumming across Texas, and he knew he would never make it at that rate.
"All right then, boy, git in back of that truck. You jist be damn shore you don't chop down all the cotton. We jist thinnin' out, you hear?"
"Yas, sir," Hans nodded.
It was the hardest work of his life. Though he had never chopped cotton before he got the hang of it in about an hour and found himself able to keep up with the row boss. There were about fifty others in the big field, mostly black, but some white families worked there too. At the end of the day he got his wages-dollar and a quarter an hour less the cut to the foreman. He decided he would try it a few more days, and he went with the others back into the little town to look for a place to stay the night.
"You goin' kill yourself, nigger," a big, easy-going black man came up to him and said as they were getting back into the truck.
"What you talking about?" Hans tried to swagger.
"Shit, man, you ain't putting no smoke on us. You ain't no fieldhand. Come on with me...."
During the ride back to town Hans noticed the man looking his way in big smiles, shaking his head as if to say, man, I know you. Hans tried to walk away from him when the truck let them off, but the man was there waiting for him.
"Hell, man, you got to put the head down. Come on with me. I got a good place."
He led Hans through a back street and along a row of newly built apartment houses. It was dark by then and Hans smelled meat frying and the pungent odor of cornbread baking. The man turned once and said, "My name's Lucas. What's yours?"
"Jones."
"That's a good traveling name," Lucas laughed.
They went into an apartment and Hans saw a tall thin woman in the kitchen, the color of coffee with thick cream. She looked up seriously and said, "Uh huh, Luke." And put an extra plate at the table. Hans felt embarrassed at being the intruder but pleased by instinct. These were good people, good people that he should have known before. More and more he was beginning to know what a waste his life had been. These people shamed him in their honest simplicity. He sat down at the table and ate cornbread and pinto beans with hamhocks and coleslaw. It was the best food he had ever tasted.
Afterward, Lucas and Hans sat in the kitchen looking at the fine, beautiful woman working in the kitchen. She was thin and almost flat-chested, but she had a real sensuality about her, the way she worked in an easy rhythm at the dishes.
"You live here permanently?" Hans asked. "Couldn't take the big places. We just got back this month. Too big a pull on a body. She was working in a truck factory and I was pulling in money, man, with the union. So one day the sweet mama says, Luke, we got to live till we die. This ain't no good shit, honey."
"But you're chopping cotton now," Hans shook his head. Lucas laughed at that, the woman did the same, and they just looked at Hans as if he needed to learn a lot before he would really understand.
"Man," Lucas grinned. "Noboby chops cotton no more. This is a fluke, see? I was lucky to find me some cotton to chop. We've got it done now...."
"I don't understand," Hans muttered. "You got to live till you die," Lucas said again. "Listen, man, I went to college. I got a Ph.D. even. I was a teacher in one of those black colleges in Mississippi for ten years. Had me a wife and five kids. Then I got the itch. Had to get back to my blood, I kept hearing this thing say inside me. So we've been splitting now for two, three years."
The strange black man went on talking for several hours, and later, as Hans lay sleeping on their couch, he began to think that he had passed his whole life knowing nothing. It was a strange feeling, good yet confusing, just being in this strange place with these perplexing people. He heard Lucas and his woman beginning to make love in the bedroom. He heard the music of their bodies, mixed with the woman's good voice, now saying the same thing, "Uh huh, Lucas," in a different rhythm. Hans stood and went to the opened door, and looked in to see them coupled in a perfect position of love. Out of curiosity he watched them complete the cycle of physical fulfillment. There was no dirty dame there, he sensed, but only two people of mutual feelings completing the need of the other. like everything else here, it was simple and honest.
"You do it good, big man," the woman moaned, unfastening her body from his in exhaustion.
"Come on, strange man," Lucas called, as if he had known all along that Hans was there. "Come on here. This is a good place too."
Hans turned but Lucas called him again, musically. He went quietly to the bed and looked down at the woman's wonderfully thin and glistening body. She was smiling up at him too.
"What do you want me to do?" Hans asked.
"Aw, come on, man," Lucas said. "You either take us or you don't. You can't go on being white and black all your life. You got a lot to learn."
He joined them on the bed, lying down in a flush of strange feelings. This was not real; these people did not exist. He felt the woman's hands opening his shirt, taking off his pants. He heard the man's even breathing. He felt the woman's lips on his body, kissing and caressing him into a state of aroused, mystifying desire. Fantastically this woman was kneading and fondling him, his muscles, his buttocks, all his fibers. He felt her mouth close around his penis, her hot tongue darting up and over the tightening bulb. He thought he would surely erupt inside her mouth, but then he felt her climbing his body, sitting on his crotch, guiding the heavy tool up inside her mysterious love place. She rode him that way, as he lay passively, until he felt the blood gushing hotly through all his veins. He began to erupt, to pump his fluid up into her riding loins. And when she was through, she rolled off him and lay between the two spent men, her arms about her own man's gently heaving body.
Late in the night he felt himself being shaken away from the pleasant dream he was having. Lucas shook him again and he snapped awake, at first startled by his presence in the bed with the other two.
"Wake up now," Lucas said again calmly. "Time for you to heel it out."
"What?" Hans muttered.
"Jones, or whatever you call yourself, you got to take off now. I didn't want to tell you before, but the foreman was suspicious of you from the first. Ain't no telling how many people he's got to about you. Shit, man, he'll do anything for a dollar."
"You mean ... is someone coming."
"I don't know. But you better go on. I don't know who you're running from and that's not my business. But I sure know you're in some kind of mess. Some kind of mess, man, it's written all over you. And whoever's coming after you is gonna be mean, I can tell."
Hans dressed quickly and went into the living room where Lucas waited by the door. He had been outside and had come back, after checking to see if anything was stirring. Hans just stood a minute, trying to think of something to say.
"Get gone," Lucas said. "But ... I don't know how to thank you...."
"No time for that. And listen, if you ever need somebody, Lucas will be around, you hear?"
"But why did you go to all this trouble? ... Why did you let me...? "
"Go on now," Lucas smiled. "Sad young man, ain't it a shame ... because you had to have us, don't you see?"
CHAPTER 5
He knew he had gotten in the wrong car as soon as the driver stepped on the gas again. He sat in the back seat and looked at the two white men in front. All day he had stayed off the highway, fearing just what had happened. He had come up on the road at dusk, hoping to catch a ride with some farmer, and the car had whizzed by, stopped, and backed up.
"Going far?" the driver asked him.
"Into Wichita Falls," Hans said, saying the first thing that came into his head. And before the driver opened the back door for him he knew that they were the General's men. But he had to get in then or give himself away. He sat thinking now that maybe he might bluff his way out.
"You from around her?" the other man asked him.
"I'm a student at the University," he said, maybe a little too quickly. "I was just going back to school."
"Funny you don't have a suitcase. You going off to college without even a suitcase, boy? You don't look like a college student to me."
Hans knew he was trapped. They were definitely the General's henchmen. He sat wondering just how many men the General had out looking for him. And he put it all together as they flew across the Texas plain; McAdams had had to tell the General what had happened, and now the General realized that Hans knew the secret. How much did McAdams told the General, Hans wondered. Did the General know that Hans knew about Bradner?
"You ever been in New Orleans, boy?" the driver asked.
"No," Hans answered staunchly.
"Well, get ready, 'cause you're going back again."
"How'd you find me?" Hans snapped, suddenly changing his tack.
"The General's got lots of friends," the other man said easily. "Some hayseed looking for a reward called the sheriff, and the sheriff notified the state police and..."
"Shut up!" the driver cut at the other man. "It don't make any difference. We got our boy now."
It was hopeless, Hans knew. The more he let this happen the sooner he would be back there. He felt an inner strength welling up inside; he was not going back to face the General. He had only one goal now. He braced himself, clinched his fists, and made a lunge for the driver. like an expert he had a wrestler's grip on the driver's neck and was pulling back with all his strength. The driver let go the wheel and the car swerved out of control. The man screamed and gagged. Holding his fists on the man's throat, Hans, felt the car wavering and careening. Then the car went into the ditch and landed on its side. He opened the door as the car tipped over.
"Get the son of a bitch!" the driver yelled.
Already Hans was out of the car and running for the thicket across the field. The men were still trying to get the car doors open, and he had a good fifty-yard lead. They were coming, running and cursing.
"Don't kill him! Get him, get him!"
But they were no match for him. He ran through the thicket and along a canebrake and back up onto the highway a hundred yards down the road, circling around them. He could hear the two men rustling about down in the thicket.
He was under cover of darkness then. The car's headlights pointed off across the Texas plain. He ran faster than he had ever moved before, putting hundreds of yards between himself and the pursuers. When he was completely out of breath he fell into a bed of tall weeds alongside the road and lay panting furiously. He lay still.
"It's no goddamn use," he heard one of the men say. "We can't find him in this. C'mon, let's get the fucking car."
"What'll we tell them?" the other asked.
"Shit, we found him. We get the money, anyway. It won't take long now, if we can get the goddamn car going, and call."
From way down the highway he could hear the two thugs working on the car, trying to roll it off its side with two poles that they had pulled off a roadside fence. Finally they got the car righted and sped down the highway toward the city. He watched as the car went past him, and he lay for a long time afterward to be safe.
He moved along the dark highway cautiously taking to the brush each time an approaching pair of headlights lit up the pavement. He had to think of what to do next, but he kept going on toward the city in the distance. If he could make it to the city, he told himself, he could lose himself in the crowds. There would be a way to elude the General's bloodhounds.
Daylight. Now he was visible to passing vehicles. He speculated that he was still some ten miles from Wichita. Should he hide somewhere and wait for darkness again? That would give the goons a chance to come back and search him out. No, he decided to walk openly. He began to thumb for rides. The sun was out now and he felt as though he were walking naked through a crowded city street.
He walked almost five miles before any car stopped. A red sports car zoomed past him and he noticed a pretty girl driving it; the car went on out of sight, but a minute later he saw it coming back. Suspiciously, he waited to see what was up. He noticed the license plate showed the car to be from Iowa; he didn't think this was any trickery and he knew he could handle a girl.
"Where are you going?" she sang out as she pulled the car around in the middle of the highway beside him. She was indeed a very pretty girl of about twenty; she had long, long honey-blonde hair and a sweet, almost angelic face. Her voice was soft like that of a little girl.
"California," he said.
"Oh, wow! I bet you got stranded all right. Come on."
He got in and her eyes were on him. Up close, she was even prettier. She wore a very short skirt that rode up to her thighs as she kicked the clutch and peeled the car out. He liked the way she drove with power. She glanced at him as she geared it, smiled sweetly, and hit sixty.
"I'm only going into town, but you can get a ride much easier there." The sunlight made her long hair even more of a strawberry hue. She wore a tight top with no bra and her boobs stood out there like golden delicious apples.
"You don't look like a hiker," she said.
"Oh? How does a hiker look?" he asked easily.
"Well, they're usually wearing Levis and carrying a pack. I did that last summer with some friends. We went hiking all over-out West, up in Big Sur, to Canada. ... I lived on a commune for two weeks. Right now I am finishing my degree in English at the University. My name is Janice...."
"Thanks for picking me up, Janice."
"I can't pass any hiker. What's your name?"
"Hank," he lied, thinking it best that no one know his real name.
"Hank ... Oh, wow!. . . "
They were coming into the metropolitan area of Wichita now; she took the expressway for about a mile and then cut off it and came to a big intersection. She pulled over and looked across at him. "Are you going through Amarillo?"
"I suppose so."
"Hank, you really don't know which way you're going, do you? Why don't you stop a while."
"Where?"
"Come meet some of my friends. I live in a big old house with about fifteen people. Good heads. You need to rest and get something to eat...."
"I wouldn't want to put you out any."
"No, please. Come on."
He was thinking quickly. By now the General had been informed; no doubt there were many other goons around here watching the major highways. He thought that what he needed to do was hide out for a few days. For the first time since his break, he began to feel lucky.
Janice had a tiny apartment in an old three-story house near the campus. She was just coming back after a summer in Europe and she had driven all night from her home in Cedar Rapids, but she showed no fatigue. Once in her place again with all her kinky friends, she went about screaming hellos and laughing in her singing voice. Hans followed her from room to room meeting people-young vibrant people such as he hadn't associated with for a long while. Already they were planning a party to celebrate the beginning of a new year.
"I know you're worn out, Hank," she said. "Why don't you sack out a while? I've got to check in at the English office. Meet me for coffee at the Union later . ... " And she was off with the others.
He didn't know just how exhausted he was. He lay down on the couch in the little sitting room, and the next thing he knew he was waking to the sound of raucous laughter in the big house. He looked at the clock and saw that he had slept most of the day. Out in the kitchen Janice was tinkering around.
"Oh, good, you're awake," she sang. "Now we can turn on the record player. You like Jethro Tull?"
"Crazy about it," he sat up, feeling refreshed.
"Get a shower-now," she smiled.
Hot water. It was the greatest stimulator. He stood in the stall for half an hour just letting the hot spray soak him through. When he was about finished, Janice called to him, "I put some clothes there for you." He found a pair of jeans and a denim shirt on the table; they fit him too tightly but he got them on.
When he went into the kitchen she looked at him and sighed, "Oh, wow!..."
"These aren't your clothes, are they?"
"No, they belong to my boy friend. Golly, you're a lot bigger ... but it's nice...."
She came over and squeezed his arm and handed him a beer. Such a nice, sweet girl, he thought. He watched her trim little ass in the pair of hot pants she now wore. She wasn't tall, about five four, but she had thin legs and nicely shaped hips, and one of the firmest looking rears he had seen.
"Where's your boy friend, Janice?" he asked casually.
"You'll meet him at the party tonight."
"Listen, if I'm going to be a problem..."
"Oh, wow," she sighed. "No problem, Hank. You'll like Dale. He stays here some, but he has his own place. Listen, we don't have any hang-ups."
Hans looked at her and wasn't so sure about that. In the back of his mind he couldn't help thinking that she was trying to hide something about herself. It wasn't that she was too sweet and open-but there was something in the way she talked that didn't quite jive with the way she acted. He put it from his mind and told himself to stay out of it.
"Do you think Ophelia was pregnant?" she asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Do you think Hamlet had Ophelia pregnant?"
The party was going strong by midnight. Hans sat in a corner with a spade named Carter and dug the scene. Surprisingly no one was heavy on dope; there were some good weed blowing around, but mostly they drank wine or PGA mixed with coke.
"You say you're moving?" Carter, a fat cat with a happy voice asked again.
"All the way," Hans said.
"Crazy!"
Janice came by with a good-looking young man, and Hans knew that this was Dale. The young man couldn't have been more than twenty, and his blonde curls fell all over his face. He looked at Hans keenly and put out a hand to give the soul shake.
"Thanks for the clothes," Hans said.
"All right, man."
Dale was holding onto Janice tightly, rubbing his hands up and down her hip casually. Janice looked down and winked at Hans and sort of shrugged. She was some sweet chick. She rubbed her knee against Hans' leg and winked again and bent over to whisper something. "You look so nice, new friend," she said and licked her tongue into his ear. Dale pulled her away then, pretending to clown around, but Hans could tell that the boy friend was a bit miffed at her overt attention to this spade.
"Cool spade," Carter sang out. He leaned closer to Hans and said, "Man, you playing with acid with that white chick."
"How so?"
"Man, don't you know better than to be messing around some kind of white leg like that?
She the number one melon and she never been plugged. Dig?"
"What in hell you saying?" Hans mugged.
"I'm meaning, man, that she's all show-no win or place. There's black babes and white babes, and then there's that kind. Muthfuckin' scared of it, I mean. Pet, pet, that's all...."
"Virgin?" Hans smiled.
"You ain't wrong," Carter grinned. "And something special. Go easy, go real easy."
"What about the boy friend?"
"Some come, some go. He ain't the first trying that."
"She's fine then," Hans nodded.
"What I mean," Carter sang. "Clean as a dime."
Hans took another look at her. She and Dale were dancing some on the carpet with a few other heads; she moved really well, all the body, but with some style, and she made horny guys feel it when they looked at her. Ah, it was true, Hans decided as he watched her tight fanny bouncing before his eyes; she was a little girl playing a big role and hoping that people were really nicer than they could be. Carter was right-you had to go slow and easy with this chick because she hurt easy. How many Dales could there be before she relented, gave herself, and found it wasn't what it should be? Hans had to admit that she turned him on; he was too human not to be, but he told himself to keep it on a straight line with her.
The party rolled into high gear. Sweet, sweet smoke saturated the air in the place and many of the heads settled down to a dreamy pace. All about the room they were sitting now, talking in low tones, laughing that cloudy laughter of smoke. Hans took a drag from a hash pipe and settled back to dig the scene. It was just all right; he felt safe in good company. For a while this would hold him.
Past midnight many had gone, leaving a select group of hazy heads sitting dreamily about the pad. Across from him, Hans witnessed a pretty redhead rubbing her fellow's crotch. He was busy himself nibbling her hard tits through the cloth of her blouse. Soon the couple grew more amorous; the guy took the left boob out and fondled it, sucking occasionally at the rosy nipple. The girl began kissing him furiously, never closing her mouth. About that time another girl, a tiny thing with beautifully shaped legs in a leather outfit, crawled into the thrall of the young couple and-without missing a lick-proceeded to fondle and kiss the young man while he kept his mouth busy on the redhead. No one else in the place noticed or gave a rat's ass, so the happy triad continued. Soon the two girls were bare to the waist and rubbing their tits all over the guy: both were kissing him, fighting over his mouth while their hands jointly tried to shred, it seemed, the very cloth off his bulging crotch. A chorus of drunken laughter rose up from their entanglement. Soon his good-sized cock came snaking out of the open fly and two hungry mouths went for it.
"One at a time, damn it!" the fellow shouted gleefully.
The hash high made Hans a little too heady. He saw the triangle of flesh swirling all about, and when he looked again, the three of them were gone off somewhere to finish their business. Only two or three couples were left in the place. He crawled down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom, thinking he would just sleep in a corner. He passed the guy and the two ardent girls; they were just in the process of divesting themselves of the last of their garments. Hans noticed that the little chick had a tremendous patch of pussy hair; she was using it to hunch at the distended prick while the other girl was pushing them all into the bathtub. Hans went on by.
Feeling very dizzy then, he kept crawling until he reached Janice's bedroom. The place was dark and silent and seemingly empty. He sat back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to clear the blur in his head. It had been a longtime since he'd had hash and it was indeed a rich hit. When he opened his eyes again he saw something move on the bed. He froze, fearing he had intruded on Janice.
"Baby, baby," He heard a male voice. And then he saw a series of violent movements, bodies rolling and tumbling. In the dim light from the hall he was able to make out the girl's form. It was Janice, with Dale pressing her down firmly. They were kissing heatedly and rubbing legs and thighs all about. Hans saw her thrusting her hips hard against the hunching young man.
"Come on, Jan. ... Now, baby, now!"
"No ... please! ... I'm not going to ... please, Dale, love me...."
"Come on, damn it!" he huffed. "You're hot as hell! Your cunt's like a fire! It's now baby, I'm gonna give it to you!"
"No ... no...." she kept pleading, all the while unable to control her own pent-up desire. Dale was sitting on his haunches then and pulling at her pants, splaying her thin legs wide apart and then pulling them back together. He managed to get the garment off and then the brief panties. Soon he had his cock out and was making her feel and squeeze it.
"You like it, baby, you know you do," he coaxed. "Feel that! Yeah. ... It's gonna be good, baby. ... It won't hurt ... I promise you. ... Come on now...."
"Oh, God," she cried. "Oh, God. please. No, Dale, don't do it. ... It's not right yet . ... Soon, darling ... but not now . ... "
"Damn you!" he barked. "It's gonna be now! I've waited too fucking long already! You want it, you just ache for it ... don't say you don't! You want it so bad you're shaking all over. ... Goddman it, I'm gonna do it!"
He pulled her violently until he had her legs pranged far up into the air; he surged forward with his tool and hit her squeezing pussy. She kicked violently and tried to turn, but he pulled her back again and tried once more. Again she foiled him, and by then whatever horniness that she might have felt was gone and she was fighting him angrily. His cock went limp. He held her down, cursed directly into her face.
"Goddamn prick-teasing bitch! No-good tight-assed little cunt! Go to hell! And take your precious gold-lined cunt with you and that fucked up, hung-up, hairy-dry, motherfucking, punchless cherry with it!"
He jumped, raging from the bed, and stormed down the hall, not bothering to replace his unused tool. The girl lay weeping uncontrollably on the bed. For a long time Hans just sat in a stupor, not knowing what to do. She was shaking all over. He crawled slowly over to the bed and raised his head up to look at her. She was naked from the waist down, her creamy legs sprawled apart as though she had been attacked. He stood up and looked down at her sympathetically, and then she saw his dim outline.
"No, Dale, please...."
"It's not Dale, Janice. It's me...."
"Oh, Hank, my God!. . . " She began weeping again. He sat down on the edge of the bed and she crawled to him, put her arms around his middle, and cried like a small child. He folded her in his arms and rocked her gently. "I'm so rotten," she cried. "Why can't I? Why?"
"It's all right," he comforted.. "It's just not that important. If you can't feel it free, you can't do it, that's all."
"But what's wrong with me? Am I one of those freaks who can't make it?"
"You're the sweetest girl I ever knew," he calmed her.
"Oh, please, hold me."
He held her close for the time it took her real senses to return. She was spent, worn out by the ordeal. "Sleep with me, Hank," she asked. "Like this ... just like this..." And they lay back together, held together in a simple and undemanding way, and slept the sleep of contentment.
CHAPTER 6
Calming daylight. Janice had gotten up early to go to her classes, and when Hans finally awoke he found it was past midday. He wandered about the cluttered apartment looking at the wake of the party. The least he could do would be clean up her pad a little. By the time she came home again at noon the place was neat as a nun.
He was at the tiny kitchen stove making her an omelet when she came in. She was surprised and very pleased; her eyes had the sparkle of old and a big smile broke on her little-girl face. "You're just too good, Hank," she sang and tiptoed up to kiss him on the cheek.
But he could tell the ordeal with Dale had taken a big toll on her nerves. It was as if she had come to the first major crisis of her life. She stared out the window as she ate, trying to hide her inner thoughts.
"I guess it's time I should be moving on," he said softly.
She looked at him quickly and swallowed hard, a frown ruining her perfect face. "Oh, Hank, please stay with me ... just a little while. You're the nicest person I've ever known." And she began crying again. He got up and walked around the table to her and she put her head against his side and clutched his body to her.
"I'll stay a little while then," he nodded.
"I know I shouldn't ask you that. If you have to go, I shouldn't make you stay...."
"It's all right," he comforted "Another day or two won't matter that much."
"Know what I'd like to do?" she perked up. "I'd like to go on a picnic!"
"Hey," he grinned. "I haven't been on a picnic in years. When can we do it?"
"How about right now?"
She was joyous again. She stood up, put her arms around him happily, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Hm, you taste so good," she murmured.
She had a bottle of wine saved for such an event, and they took along cheese and fruit. They drove out into the countryside in her sports car, far out away from the city and the press of people. A nip was in the air but she put the top back and they let the pouring wind beat their faces cleanly. She cut off the highway and went up a winding country road and down through a little valley, finally stopping by an irrigation lake. By now the girl was in the best of spirits. She took his hand and they walked through the little valley and up to the top of the crest. They stood arm in arm and let the cool
Fall wind invigorate them. For the first time he kissed her, softly at first, and then with prolonged tenderness. Her pert little tongue darted into his mouth and pressed against his own.
"You are the nicest person," she added dreamily. "Let's go eat now. ... You make me hungry."
Within an hour they had drunk most of the wine. It turned out that Janice was not much of a drinker, nor an indulger in the turn-on things. She was beautifully giddy; she lay against him and sang silly songs and tried to pronounce words and giggled when they came out all wrong."
"It's jus' wonderball," she said. "I'm so freeeeee....."
She bent her face to his and kissed him deeply, singing under her breath as she played a battle with his tongue. Her hands crept down his sides and pinched at his hard muscles. Once her fingers landed on his hard cock; she let the hand stay there a long while, patting and rubbing it gently as it continued to grow, "Careful there," he warned in a laugh. "You're playing with fire."
"Oh, let me play with fire," she sang. "Jannie wanna play with the pretty man's fire . ... "
He tried to shift away from her probing hands but she continued to hold the cock through his pants. It was a wonderful feeling; he yielded to the temptation. Now she was surging her fine little box against his hands too. But suddenly she stopped, jerked away, and sat up straight.
"I guess not," he nodded.
She looked at him, her face full of seriousness, and then smiled. Again she was back into her wine-drunk mood. She fell against him, took his mouth with hers, and probed deep in a long, searching kiss. Her hands went back to his crotch, felt his rod and the taut sac, massaged up and down and around to his firm buttocks.
"Do you want to see my body?" she asked.
"Do you think we should?"
"I want to see your body, Hank. You're beautiful . ... Everything's all right. ... I'm not afraid with you."
She lay back, took the sweater by the hem, and pulled it up over her head. She was wearing no bra and her milk-white breasts breathed free air. They were much bigger than he had imagined, warm to the touch, and rich with perspiration. He bent and nibbled at the tiny pink nipples until they were firm as marble.
She skinned off her shorts and the bikini panties at the same time and lay back with her legs slightly together, revealing the perfect triangle of blonde pubic hair. "Now, you," she sighed, rubbing his chest and looking at his perplexed expression. "Oh, I want to see your beautiful body, Hank...."
She reached out and started unbuttoning his shirt, the shirt that she had given him. Soon he was sitting bare to the waist and letting her kiss and nuzzle into the granite-hard muscles of his arms and abdomen. She was tugging at his belt, pulling the pants open and down. He lay back and shucked off the pants and shorts, and then she came on top of him and they wrapped arms and legs about one another. She kissed him urgently now, pouring her whole soul into it. Her hands dug into his crotch and got hold of the huge tool. She rolled on her side and looked down at the massive thing.
"My God, it's big, isn't it? But it's beautiful! ... It's what those ancient Greeks carved into classic art . ... It feels like a God's penis. ... Oh, so warm, it is ... I'm going to kiss it. ... I'm going to taste it...."
"Janice? Are you sure about this now?"
"I've done it before. But never like this. ... It's just so beautiful...."
He grabbed her big mounds of breast flesh and sucked hard, thinking that if she hesitated just a second he would know what she really might do. But she kept sliding on down his naked body, rubbing her hot blonde pussy against him as she went. He kneaded the breasts and sucked on and on, causing her to groan in building desire. Her mouth was buried in the coils of his pubic hair now, working wetly down. And then she reached the top of the shaft; her fingerscurled around his balls and squeezed, causing the tool to jump violently. And then she was mouthing the big ebony bulb of the cock. Wetly she drank from the hot spout.
"Do me," she panted. "Oh, do me!..."
She was scissoring her legs wildly; slowly he kissed a wet path down from her boobs to her navel, paused to probe his tongue deep into the recess, and then crept on down to her pussy region. Her vagina was hot and wet and delicious; he kissed it softly, parted the beautiful blonde fur, and probed tentatively with his big tongue.
It was topside sixty-nine. He lay upon her with his head buried in the muuff .of her crotch. Her arms went around his thighs and pulled him harder against her pussy; all the while she pranged her mouth down over his huge tool, not able at all to get the major portion of it in her mouth, but working furiously with the first inches below the bulb. He licked into her cunt and found the tiny, hard clitoris, massaged it with the flat of his tongue, and then probed deep into her pussy. She gave another scream and began to hunch hard against his fucking tongue.
"It's good, it's so good," she panted as she took her mouth away momentarily. Her working mouth was hotly wet and tight upon his tool. He felt her head banging against his balls. He hitched into a higher gear and ground his tongue against the inflamed clit until she was groaning and sucking at the same time.
Her hips beat him harder and harder. She was having a first orgasm, he could tell. He glued to the clit and made it fairly sing. All the while she was sucking and scraping his cock with all her might, until he felt himself beginning to come. He felt the first wave of love cream go into her mouth; but she was wanting it, more and more, as she cycled into yet another orgasm. Peak after peak, it seemed, and still on she drove.
Finally he felt her cycling back; he had shot all his seed into her and she had taken it. She collapsed suddenly then and put her head on his thighs, spilling some of the rich liquid on his crotch.
Under the maturing of the harvest sun, they sought warmth in the afterglow.
While she was away at school he occupied himself reading some of her books. He re-read some of Shakespeare, including Hamlet, and then went on to other works, things like Candide and Machiavelli's The Prince. This last book disturbed Hans, all the political corruption and cut-throat tactics, how to succeed by climbing over your opposition, how to cheat and blackmail your way to success. But it was true, he knew it; it was the kind of life he had known and taken for granted under the General's patronage. No more, no more!
Janice came home at six and they fixed Chinese food that he liked; he taught her how to cook-in the Oriental style-a dish called Moo Shu Pork, and she delighted in the unique taste. Afterward they sat in silence, reading, and when it was growing late again she said, "Hank, sleep with me. Please? like you did before?"
"All right," he nodded.
They lay in each other's arms for a long time, talking, but saying little of importance. She went drifting off dreamily and he just looked at her peacefulness of this confused and beautiful young girl. In her sleep she must have begun to dream, for she clutched at him, rammed her naked thighs against his, and woke up kissing him passionately. She came awake, stopped, and looked at him penetratingly.
"Hank, you're thinking that you have to leave tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Oh..."
She rolled into his arms, kissed him tenderly, and he felt tears dropping on his nakedness. "It's all right," she murmured, kissing. "You came to me when I needed someone desperately ... and you were wonderful in everything you did for me . ... I think I love you. ... Is that possible? ... I know you must leave ... but I still can love you. ... You're the most wonderful person I've ever known...."
"You must live each day," he said to himself. It made him feel good hearing this pretty girl say this. He was learning many things, but he was also coming to know himself for the first time.
"Hank, before you go ... I want you to make love to me. ... I want you to be the one, darling . ... It must be you . ... "
And he could tell that for the first time in her life she was ready to do it. No more hang-ups, no more fears. He turned her gently, spread her legs, and positioned himself above her. She was moaning softly and rubbing his body with her sprung legs, ready now, eager with anticipation and desire. He held his hard rod above her beautiful love spot, parted the lips, and sank it just a bit. She groaned but made no move to pull away. He pushed the cock a bit more and let it feel the inner ways of the warm nest. Now she was groaning in a different way, pleading for it. He pushed it as far in as he dared and felt her whole inner soul of desire coming up to meet him.
"Does it hurt?" he asked timidly.
"No ... not at all . ... It feels so good . ... Love me with it . ... Don't hold it back. ... This is my time and I want it all!"
She started up a staccato rhythm with her hips and thighs, hunching her tight box against his imbedded cock. She was doing it well, he knew, better than she had ever hoped-with no fear and no reservations. He pushed his cock up and down a little to steady her, and then they were matching each other.
"Good, good, so good! ... I love it . ... I knew I could. ... You're beautiful ... so beautiful. ... I love you...."
He let it fly for her then. Great girl, he kept thinking, this fine young girl. Her legs wrapped around his middle and rode out the storm. Expertly she caught the rhythm as it must change, all the pent-up desire of her life pouring into this one stolen moment of bliss.
"Deep, deep, deep," she chanted. "All the way in me, beautiful, beautiful! ... There, ah, there! I'm coming! Oh, my living God, I'm coming for the first time! Come in me, please! Ah, God, come in me too! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
Her peak erupted and continued for such a prolonged time that he was at his peak immediately. The madness of the moment spun out of the world and stopped time for them. "There, you're coming!" she shouted deliriously. "You're coming in me too!"
Long into the night they did not sleep. She would not let him talk for a while in words of comfort. It was as if she had come through an ordeal of a lifetime and found it a blessing. She lay in his arms, savoring the last precious moments. And when morning came she was refreshed, revitalized, and changed. She was extremely calm, he noticed-a long-time dread forever gone from her face.
"And you're leaving now," she nodded. "Can't I do something for you? Money? I've got a little money. Let me buy you a ticket on the bus. I insist, darling. And when will I ever see you again?"
"No money, no ticket," he shook his head. "I've got to go like I came. And I'll see you again. We will see each other again, and someday I'll explain what I've had to do...."
"No, you don't have to," she said, kissing him. "I understand already. You've got something you must do. I love you, I love you."
On the road again, he felt changed and transformed himself. The experience with Janice had served them both. As he walked along the road he felt a new wave of self-confidence sweep over him. Bradner, he said to himself. There was a man he was going to find-to seek out the truth. And then some day he would be free.
CHAPTER 7
Moving, cutting out, going on down the big skinny. He felt at times like he wanted nothing but that any more. One time in Europe he had packed across the mountains of Italy and Spain with a group of young students; he remembered it now as the greatest time in his life. They had slept in fields or barns, were taken in by good country people at times and fed great meals with wine, wine, wine.
Now as he moved along westward he thought of Linda back in the sinful city and wondered what she was doing, and even thought of calling her, but put it from his mind each time. Better that she not know where he was and what he was after-for the time being. He thought of sweet little Janice now and then as he saw sports cars whirring down the open road. Rarely did he think of his mission; it did no good to think about it, for he would get there soon enough.
Hans Brock, six-four, two-hundred pounds of bronze whipcord, son of a beautiful German girl and a black American soldier. Illegitimate! That's all he had-that and a fanatical three-star sugar daddy who liked to own everybody. He wondered what the old General was up to.
Along came Carter, just like that. The beat-up old Ford steamed up to him and he recognized the driver right away-the funny soul brother at Janice's party from the other night. The car died and Carter swore at it a little like it was a balky mule.
"Hey, man," Carter said. "Man, you been moving on-I been trying to catch you for two days!"
Before Hans could speak, Carter was out of the car and giving him the soul greeting. There they were, way out in the middle of the wastes, not far from Santa Fe. He didn't know what the hell Carter was doing there, but he was glad to see him. It gets a little lonely for a black man on the stretching plains of Navajo country.
"What're you doing out here, man?" Hans asked.
"Aw, hell, man, I just cut out. Janice told me you split, so I thought, shit, I'll just catch that cat and see what all the panic's about. You a hard man to find."
"You dropping out of college?"
"Ah, hell, man. I never was in. That scene back there wasn't doing it for me any time. Where we going, anyway?"
It happened then that this good-natured brother had elected to travel with him. It was good, Hans thought, and if trouble came along, an extra head would be a good weapon to throw off the General's goons. Carter was a young man of about twenty, slightly built and quite dark, with a twinkle in his eyes. He had mother blood, Hans decided, he was wise.
"So, we are set to move?" Hans laughed.
"This here car has got 119,000 miles on it," Carter shook his head. "If we can ever get the mutherhunch started, we're good for another five hours. Shit, it's just full of gas."
Miraculously the old chariot started up after fifteen minutes of grinding. They set off at a merry pace of thirty miles an hour, with Carter dodging frogs and jacks along the lonely highway, swerving way over on the dirt shoulders and talking to the creatures harshly but sympathetically.
Late in the afternoon they decided to stop at a honky-tonk in the canyon country of Nevada. They had only eaten cheese and crackers all day and had drunk up all of Carter's beer that he carried in the cooler that sat where the rear seat used to be.. The tonk was off the dusty path in a little Indian settlement. Hans thought that he would never have ventured into the place by himself.
Two pool tables were occupied by two burly Indian men, and at the bar a white bartender slumped lazily next to a pregnant Indian lady. Carter walked into the place as though he knew about that shit; he ordered two beers and some hard-boiled eggs. The bartender just looked at him blandly and asked if he had any money.
"Man, don't argue with me," Carter challenged. "I'm a mean spade. Where I step a weed dies. Now you get me some eggs...."
"Let me see some money," the tender asked again.
"Listen to him talk about money," Carter winked at Hans. "Why, he ought to be giving me eggs free. After all, man, I done saved your life just the other night."
"What?" the bartender asked.
"Shit, yes, man," Carter teased, staring the white man right in the eye. "I saved your life the other night."
"How in hell do you think you done that?"
"Why, hell, man, it was easy. I killed a shit-eating dog."
The red men at the pool table, eavesdropping, laughed uproariously. The bartender had been taken in and had to laugh, though he didn't like this spade at all. The men playing pool came over then, good-naturedly, and offered to buy the two black men a beer. Within an hour Carter was roaring drunk with them. Hans drank three beers, kept his cool, and decided that if they were to get on the road again soon, at least one of them had to stay sober.
Arm in arm, the group of red and black men went out of the tavern at nightfall, headed God-knows-where. Hans walked behind steadily, wondering what Carter would get him into next. It turned out that Carter had sold his car to one of the red men for fifty dollars, and they were all going now to help push it up a two-mile branch road to the Indian's house. Drunkenly they pushed and sang.
Halfway up a gorge the car sputtered and began to back up on them. The two Indian men just had time to dodge the reverse motion before the vehicle picked up steam and headed for a deep ravine. Helplessly the Indians watched the car chug on down the hill. It sputtered and coughed and then lunged out over a small cliff of rocks and went through the air about fifty feet, landing on big boulders below. Such a crunching erupted that Carter held his hands over his ears.
"No fifty dollars," the Indian shook his head with a grin.
"Chiefs," Carter sighed, "You all got any mules?"
"Chiefs," Carter drawled. "Did I tell you how I saved this sweet lady's life the other night? Well, I did. I pulled a nine-inch dick out of her...."
They were sitting in a lodge eating beans and hardtack. One of the red men had gone to get another gallon of cheap wine, the group having drunk the first gallon already. Hans could tell that Carter really dug this tribe. A radio was going full blast with hard-rock music, and the big lodge was filling up with people, old men with funny-looking hats on, young men dressed in denims. The people were dark and stout and they all smiled.
"Get high, get high," some of the young people began to sing. The wine came and the older men bombed themselves out as the hours drifted. Hans could smell a telltale smoke about the place, and he noticed the young boys and girls passing around the thin little cigarettes. One of the girls, the one they called Tania, got up and dragged Carter to the center of the lodge and began doing a gyrating dance to the electrified music. It became a very dirty dance immediately, and the others encouraged it by yelling and clapping. Tania was a tall girl of about seventeen; her jet-black hair fell down to her waist as she bumped and ground her slender body. She wore hiphuggers, and her brown and sensuous belly was bare down to the cut of her crotch. She was deadly serious with her dancing, but after it was over, she grabbed Carter and hugged him against her fine, protruding breasts.
The hours clicked off. Now the place was left to the young heads. Hans smoked a little grass and sat watching his new buddy. Carter had a way of getting inside people and becoming a full part. The music cooled down and it was cool rock now, the songs of the Moody Blues.
"Sing, Tania," somebody called out. One of the young men took a guitar from the corner and began playing softly in a strangely melodic rhythm. Others called for Tania to sing, and she got up and went to the guitar player. The rhythm changed slightly, came on up, and there was pain in it.
The girl looked at no one as she began her song; her voice was extremely clear and not at all high or sopranic as Hans had imagined. She sang straight at him, her eyes fixed above his gaze, and it was a hurtfully beautiful song in minor chords.
A bird, a bird, this white bird Racing against the fire What is the color of desire? Little white bird, fly like pain Come to die on this red plain.
She stopped suddenly, looked around the room angrily, and signaled the guitar player to stop. It was evident that she was angry at herself and the others for letting their nice party turn morose. Hans did not understand the song, yet he imagined the real hurt in it. These were people like himself-or like he should have been. And now in times of merriment, they wanted no shitty martyrdom.
"Hey, bring the peyote," Tania sang out. "It's time."
"All right!" they shouted.
One of the young men went outside and came back a few minutes later carrying a cellophane bag. They were gathering around now, forming a tight little circle, embracing as it were, and looking at the young Indian in the middle as he placed some of the small buttons in each outstretched hand. All around the ritualistic circle the hands went up to mouths. Hans saw Carter there in the middle of them; strangely now, his black brother seemed to take on a serious demeanor. Amber light in the shadowy chamber, and silence all about them. The music had stopped, and they were kneeling now, sitting back, facing inward. Hans felt at a loss.
"Come here," the beautiful Indian girl called to him. He found himself powerless to move. He just stared fixedly at the tight circle of kneeling figures. Some were beginning to mutter something, not in unison, but it came across to Hans like an ancient chant, like a silent drum of sad history.
"Here, come with me," she said. He looked up to see the beautiful black hair of the girl, the hair twined downward about her slim waist. She was smiling at him. "You have to chew these too," she urged.
He took two of the little brown buttons, turned them over in his big hand, and felt the downy, caterpillar-like centers. He had never seen them before but he knew what they were.
"What do you call it?" he asked.
"Nahautl, it used to be," she nodded. "Get you very high, my friend."
"Show me how."
"Come on then."
He joined the circle with her. All around him were stranger faces now, the mouths moving slightly, the expressions void of emotion. One by one the young people were lying back on the woven rug. In all these were about ten young men and women left in the place. Voices whispered, muffled laughter issued up from the close formation. One well-built young man rolled over onto a diminutive Indian girl and began fondling her pert little breasts. He opened her leather vest and began sucking at the berry-brown breast. The girl all the while fondled his bulging crotch and whispered to him. Next to this couple Carter lay between two amorous, stout young women. Hans could hear Carter's measured, laughing breath as the girls tickled at his glossy-black skin.
Hans lay back and began to feel the first hint of the peyote's effect. The room became a multi-faceted cylinder, with each object pronounced vividly in his view. Each object-the moiling bodies about him, the discarded clothing, the shape and hue of each timber in the ceiling-became so distinct that he felt them without touching.
"Nahautl, good damn stuff," the chick named Tania whispered in his ear. "Why are you so lonesome, black beauty?"
"You sing beautiful songs," he breathed heavily.
"Sing? Sing to my body, now...."
Suddenly she rolled upon him and he felt her smooth brown skin. He had not seen her take off the thin halter she wore, and now the brown breasts, full and rigidly fixed, pushed into his face, the nipples hard against his mouth, one and then the other.
"How old are you, daughter?" he asked.
"A thousand years old," she sang.
He propped himself on an elbow and watched the scene unfold about him. Just scant inches away bodies of young men and beautiful Indian maidens stretched and began to move toward a ritual of coupling. No talk, no embarrassed laughter, no need for asking or pleading. And there amongst it all, like a burnished limb on some gigantic and magnificent redwood, Carter conjoined with those limbs about him, meshed, became one with them. "What are they going to do?" Hans asked.
"No dirt," she whispered. "No bad scene. ... This is the way it really is...."
"Are you going to get there?"
"Yes . ... come on . ... "
But he hesitated and held back from her as she rose and began stripping off the tight pants. Hans looked at the mass of tangled bodies. He saw it so clearly that he thought he would pierce through them. One young man clasped the ripe brown thighs of a full-bodied maiden, his head buried deep in the rich fur of her loving place. Another girl moved to engage her cunt with his pronging rod, caught it and sunk deep upon him, while yet another pair of thighs lurched up to ensnare a loose aching cock. And Carter, the center of the ritual, sprawled on his back and accepted the hard hunching cunt of another girl.
"Come on . .it is now. . . " Tania beckoned to Hans. But still he could not move. She looked at him pointedly, on the verge or perhaps of anger at his denial, but then she smiled dreamily and backed away. He couldn't understand why he couldn't move to join them-there just seemed too much of it, a maze with a focus. He watched, spellbound.
Tania moved, her naked buttocks glistening in the amber light. She was the most perfectly formed creature that he had ever seen, like some Aztec goddess. She knelt, moved into the entanglement. And it was Carter that grasped her first, or rather she who found Carter's unattended cock. Rhythmically she eased herself into the fray of blended bodies. She spread her legs, inched down upon Carter's large cock, let it slip measuredly, until he was at full mast inside her.
Now came cries, chant-like utterances, from the pinching and tossing mount of flesh. Hans watched it all; his eyes could not focus on any single aspect of the ongoing ritual-bodies heaved, gyrated, battled one another with an abandonment he had never witnessed before. The girl Tania seemed to have triggered a higher plain of striving when she entered the ritual, and now as the whole melee tossed, it seemed, in one maddening purpose, she was still the core of highest passion. She worked upon the black tool frantically now, just at the pitch near orgasmic fury.
Voices bellowing now, demanding, urging! The whole wild entanglement seemed to move in unison under his drugged gaze. Then it all began to dim, and it seemed that he felt them all, went into each body, experienced the fullest, most extended climax inside his own loins. The whole shadowy chamber vibrated, shook loose from its earthly pinion, and wafted aloft.
Much later, as the scene cooled, he stared at the beautiful Indian maiden, immobile in the thrall of bodies. Even in that distorted pose she was absolutely beautiful, like a creature from some dark myth. Tomorrow he and Carter would be on their way, and perhaps they would never see these mystical figures again. Yes, he said to himself, it would be as though the deepest dividing of dreams had happened.
CHAPTER 8
Camping out on the great salt lake. for two days they hitched cow-trail rides of twenty and thirty miles each, making no dent in the vast Western plain. Finally they got a ride with a motorcycle crew, a gang of road freaks shooting across the painted desert. There the two soul brothers were, ambling along Route 66, when the roar came from over the horizon.
"Jesus, here come the cycle fuzzies," Carter had yelped, taking to the ditch. As the gang of about ten roared up, some of the bikers saw the two black guys dodging into the brush. The leader circled his bike and came back slowly.
"Come on out, 'fraid spades," he called out. Slowly, Carter and Hans dragged themselves out of the ditch and stood looking about at the idlers.
"You want we should give you a ride?" one of them grinned. "Or you want to make a buzz?"
"Hey, now," Carter said carefully, edging away a bit. "We just two pore black peace brothers. I'm as peaceable as Red Rider . ... "
The gang laughed; the leader, a stocky fellow dressed in a yellow turtleneck and leather pants, signaled for them to climb aboard the first two bikes, and soon they were roaring at a hundred down the old Okie trail. Hans road behind the leader himself; occasionally his bike host would half-turn and say something into the roaring wind that Hans couldn't understand. Finally the cycle freak reached down and pulled something out of the saddlebag. He brought out a black cloth and let the wind unwind it. He handed to Hans and shouted into the wind, "Shoot me up kid!"
"What?" Hans called.
"Shit, shoot it!"
Hans took the hypo-gun while the freak held the cycle bar by one hand. The guy tightened his arm and bent a little backward, slowing the bike to around ninety while Hans poked the end of the needle into a vein. It took about five minutes, and Hans figured they were the most anxious years of his life. Pretty soon the biker settled his pace at about a hundred and ten, letting the dope get to his system good. Hans could hear the freak crooning into the wind. The guy's long flowing hair hit Hans in the face, and he kept thinking that he should get off that crazy bike or he would wind up strewn halfway across Arizona.
Somehow, all of them made it the next seventy-five miles. One thing about the road freaks, they did observe the stop lights-and outside of a little burg they all idled to a stop. One quick glance around told Hans that all the bike freaks were high; he signaled to Carter, who was hanging on for all he was worth.
"Say, we better get off here," Hans said.
"Aw, naw, man, gonna ride this baby right on it to L.A. Make it by dark-easy! Ooooh, ride it all the way, baby."
"No, thanks," Hans said good-naturedly. "We're heading up north. Thanks for the great ride just the same...."
"No fucking doing," the leader grimaced. "You get on my bike, you stay on till I say get ass off."
"Well," Carter grinned, "if that's the way you feel, you can just keep your old cycle. You're not a very nice road freak."
"What?" the dopey one exclaimed. "I am too a nice road freak. I'm the king of all road freaks...."
"Then let a brother off then," Carter said, '"cause if you don't, you gonna have to clean up shit all off your wheels. I mean it, man, I gotta shit soon if I stay on this mother."
So they left them off right there. One thing about a bike freak; he takes pride in the cleanliness of his chopper.
Pushing past Bakersfield. Mostly walking and complaining-Carter did, about the freaky California drivers. Very late at night they were just about to look for a mossy place to sleep along the roadside when they heard a car whiz past and start braking. It was a VW, a sort of beat-up one, and it came grinding back in reverse. A very pretty black-haired girl stuck her head out the window.
"You all want a ride, huh?"
Carter did a little dance, smiled goofily for the girl, and tried to jerk the door open. "Wait a fraeking minute!" the other girl said from the driver's side. "Not so fast. We gotta check you out first."
"Nice soul sister like you?" Carter started in with his spiel. "I tell you I couldn't rape you if I wanted to I'm so wiped out by this concrete. Please, purty please, let us in...."
Carter had such a way with him that the two girls relented almost immediately. The car jumped off again with them in the crowded back seat. Carter lay back immediately and relaxed, and as he did he sang out a little song about "tired bones" that made them both giggle.
Their names, they informed the pair were Candy Cooper and Susie Dale, and they were on their way to Berkeley to a big party with about fifty of their friends. Susie drove and Hans couldn't tell much about her-except that she had auburn hair and a trim figure. Candy had long, long black hair and a smile that was as big as a kid's first birthday party. She leaned over the edge of her seat and looked back at them as she talked incessantly.
"You just wouldn't believe how dumb all those tourists are. ... We were working as guides at Yellowstone ... and some big honkie and his wife and a dozen kids would just swoon over Old Faithful. ... One little old lady asked me when it was going to have it's next erection...."
She was perhaps nineteen and was almost thin, it appeared. The other girl was built better, with big knockers, and she kept glancing back in the backseat nervously. But Candy Cooper was right at home with them. She told then how she and Susie had almost been raped a couple of nights back when they had had a flat. It seemed a couple of rednecks had stopped to help-and then .wanted a reward.
"I told the fat bastard, 'You mother-fucker, you'll have to kill me first,' and he finally just said 'fuck you both with a cucumber,' and went on. God, we were scared to death."
Hans told them about the motorcycle freaks and Candy was knocked out about the scene of shooting up while going a hundred miles an hour. They went rolling along through the redwood forest, becoming better friends and talking a mile a minute. By and by Susie got tired and Hans offered to drive some, and pretty soon Carter revived himself and became the funny talker. Susie laughed at everything he said, though she was surely the more serious of the group.
"Where are you from, Carter?" Susie asked.
"Jesus H!" he exclaimed in his mock drawl. "I'm from back there and I'm gonna go over here ... and ain't nobody gonna stop old Carter...."
"You think you're a stud or something?" Susie teased.
"Aw, hell yes. I'm a mean motherfuck. I'm full of poison as a drugstore. When I step a weed dies...."
Susie giggled and pinched his chest and he shivered and mugged for her. "Baby, you better don't do that. 'Cause you might have to take something serious that I might just poke at you in fun."
The hour grew late by the time they were nearing the Bay Area. Hans had not thought of the fact that he was coming to End of his journey, and for these few pleasant hours he had not even thought of the General or a man named Bradner that he had to find in San Francisco. He watched Candy drive, and listened to Susie and Carter talk merrily in the back seat. It was good to be coming into his point of destiny-in great company at least, he told himself.
"Oh, wow!" Candy said. "We coming to Mount Diablo in a little while. We went up there once, a whole pack of us, and camped out on the cliff. You can see the whole Bay Area from up there. Wanta go up?"
"I don't know," Susie said. "We're gonna be late getting in as it is...."
"Who cares?" Candy sang. "Let's sleep out tonight in the old sleeping bags. ... We've got time to see everybody tomorrow . ... Come on, Susie, these soul brothers aren't the raping type...."
"That's not what I'm afraid of," the cute chick giggled.
The mountain was extremely high, about eleven thousand feet, and there was a long, steep road up to the top. The battered old VW crept around the sharp curves slowly, and they had to stop once when the little chariot simply wouldn't gear down. It was a particularly clear night and they sat for a few minutes looking far out to the splendor of kaleidoscopic lights that seemed to be another galaxy. Finally, Candy was able to get the car going again.
There was an old castle at the very top of the mountain, and the four of them scouted around it and found a lookout, where they looked far off across the rolling, spreckled mountain range. "You can see all the way to Yosemite," Candy said, pointing. "And up that way is Big Sur. Oh, wow! One time we packed way up into Big Sur. Remember, Suze?"
"Yeah," the other girl said, and laughed. "That's where it happened the first time...."
"What?" Hans asked.
"Oh, it's where I lost my virginity," Candy shook her head nonchalantly. "We stayed for a week, and there were these real groovy guys with us . ... and we ran around all day-everybody-without any clothes on. And, I mean, it was hard not letting yourself get carried away. That's where I met Matt. Oh, wow! Anyway, I thought, what the fuck, might as well do it first in Big Sur; at least I can always remember where and how the first time was."
"You mean all you younguns ran around up there in the woods without no clothes on?" Carter kidded. "You mean, really and absolutely nekkid? Shit, you putting me on."
"No, no, we're not," Susie said seriously.
"Why, I can't believe that," Carter kept up the ruse. "You just too young and innocent-looking. I bet you never ever let a boy see you without no clothes on...."
"Get him," Candy said with a laugh. "He's just trying to get us skinny, that's all."
"Do you like to go skinny?" Hans joined in.
"Oh, wow!" Candy sighed. "I do! I mean, I really do. It's the greatest feeling in the world. Listen, would you like to? I mean, run around all skinny and free?..."
"Well, I don't think so," Carter mugged. "I'm the modest type. My old mama told me never to trust a white chick, I mean, girl. My old mama said that all a white girl wants is to get my cherry...."
Candy laughed and dug her hands playfully into his crotch; when he reached for her, she ran off down a trail into a grove of redwoods. Susie called after her, yelled again, then went after her.
"Come on, man," Carter said to Hans. "We got to treat these sweet little babes right!"
Carter sprinted after them, growling like a bear, and soon disappeared around a bend. Hans stood for a moment, just looking out at the wide expanse; he didn't actually want to get involved in a black-and-white swap-fest, because the girls seemed too nice and innocent to fool around with. He couldn't help but be infected with their free spirit and enthusiasm. He looked down around the exotic area that was San Francisco, shrugged, and went off down the trail.
"Hey, you watch that now, you wild chick!" Carter yelled out somewhere deeper in the grove. Hans went toward the voices, feeling along in the darkness. He came through a little thicket and saw the lights of the city again. There, on an open terrace just at the edge of a sharp drop-off, he saw the trio. The two girls were giggling and pinching and pulling at Carter's clothing. Candy already had jerked off her sweater and was bent over Carter.
"Help me, Hank," Carter screamed in mock terror. "These wild mama's gonna ball my ass!"
Susie was busy gouging at Carter's crotch. The three of them lost their balance and tumbled onto the mossy earth, rolling over and over. Hans strolled up and stood above them, looking down and tsk-tsking good-humoredly. And then Carter's big palm got hold of Susie's good-sized boobs; he squeezed until she squealed deliciously, and then he skinned the sweater up and over her trim body with ease, and held the firm mounds of flesh.
"Oh, baby, what a nice set," Carter muttered, caressing and fondling them; she then quit squirming about and just let him feel her. Meanwhile, Candy rolled away from them and skinned off her jeans, revealing thin but shapely legs and a large nest of jet-black fur about her pussy. She got up quickly and began laughing and frolicking about. She looked taller naked, and her small, hard boobs didn't jiggle a bit as she danced around the sprawling couple.
"Come on, everybody," she sang out. "Let's run. ... Let's just run till we drop!. . Wheeeeeee!..."
Susie busied herself getting Carter out of his clothes; Candy danced near Hans, smiling beautifully, no hang-ups. Come on, she seemed to say, get out of your shell. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed for her slight figure, topped off with the darkest and hardest nipple tips he had ever seen. Her long black hair flowed almost to her waist.
"I won't bite you, Hank," she smiled. "Come on, don't be so tight....."
What the hell, he said to himself, and began pulling off his shirt and pants. He hopped about on one foot until he had everything off, and he saw Candy looking at his semi-hard cock.
"My God, it sure is a nice one," she giggled, dancing up and tickling at it with her fingers. "What a lovely cock ... so nice and long ... and bronze. ... Man, you could do some damage with that tool...."
"Is that what you want, Candy?" he asked, feeling his blood stirring a bit, deep down in his crotch. "Do you want to ball?"
She thought a minute, as if the idea had just occurred to her, and then shook her head with a laugh. "No ... I just want to be naked and run around and feel the cool air and smell the trees . ... " She dashed off and away, down into the thicket again. Hans looked across and saw Carter and Susie still fumbling and laughing and rolling about, both completely naked, their arms and legs wound tight like a tangled mess of black and white yarn. Hans walked past them and went into the thicket. He saw Candy darting from tree to tree, playing some woodland nymph game. He moved quicker now, and found himself running. The cold wind piping into his lungs invigorated him, and he began to understand what the tall black-haired girl meant by being free and loose.
"Years since I played chase," he said, coming up to her, feeling her for the first time. Her pert little ass stuck out from behind the tree as she hugged the trunk. Inadvertently his stiff cock came to rest a moment against the rolls of her ass; she lunged backward and he felt the bulb of his cock bury into her juicy box.
"Oh, wow!" she murmured, holding it a moment. "It's so nice and hard, Hank. It's hard not to think about balling, you know?"
"Let's play chase then," he said, and took off. Immediately she was in pursuit; he looked back as he darted around trees to see her coming on; she ran measuredly and was no match for him. He got way ahead and turned to watch her coming, the long seaweed hair flowing out behind like that of the finest of thoroughbreds.
And then she was upon him, shouting, "Caught you!" She pushed over him and they went down in a heap. He caught her in his arms and held her above him slightly, and then her mouth went to his chest and she began biting his bronze skin gently.
"Hm, taste so good," she murmured. Her long legs twined around his and she mashed herself down on him, barely covering his strong frame. "Feel so good-clean, clean...."
He ran his big hands all over her slender body, down along the valley of her legs to the hairy mat of hair at her pussy. The hair there was soft like downy fur; he splayed his fingers into her vagina and probed an inch or two. He heard her sigh, then open her legs more.
"You're making me horny, you know that?" she sighed in a laughing tone. "Damn, you're so nice to feel...."
He pushed his finger deeper into her cunt, felt the hot thick juices there, and rotated the finger gently. She let out an anxious moan and hunched her pussy hard against his hand, forcing the digit deeper.
"I like that," she cooed. "I really like that. I like that best of all, you know...."
He drew the finger up and probed until he found her hard little clitoris. Instantly, her whole body jerked and she tried to pull herself away from him. She looked down at him strangely and frowned. He reached for her lovely hole again, but she pushed her thighs together.
"What did you do?" she asked, gasping.
"I just touched you, that's all? Would you rather not do this?"
"No," she shook her head, meaning that it was all right but that she felt funny. "You touched it, didn't you?"
"Touched what?"
"My clitoris."
"Must have," he nodded. "Was it wrong to do that?"
"No. I mean ... I don't know. I've never messed with it much before."
"You mean you've never had a guy massage your clitoris?"
"Look, Hank. I might look like a punch, but actually I've not done that much. Only with two or three guys, that's all. And to tell the truth, it was a little disappointing...."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with touching the clitoris. Here, let me do it for you...."
"You really think you should?"
"Haven't you ever had a clitoral orgasm before?" he asked softly. "It won't hurt you...."
"I just haven't thought about it much, that's all. Why don't you go ahead? I think I'd like for you to-now."
Slowly she spread her legs again and he felt for her pussy. His fingers spread the outer lips and she moaned again, letting him, urging him to find her best spot. Her smooth white skin inside the thighs glistened with wetness. He rubbed the tiny button until it was as taut as a ball bearing. Her legs wound around his naked middle and tightened fiercely.
"God, it's strange ... so strange! ... I like that ... yes, I like that very much. ... God, I've never felt this before!"
He could tell that she was about to come. Quickly he bent down and ran his tongue along the lips of her love-hole, darting it inside, and finding the hard clit immediately. He sucked it and flicked it wildly with his tongue, making a loud, wet noise that drove her crazy.
"Oh, my living Jesus, I'm coming!" she shouted, banging her pussy hard against his head. He ate her cunt then with all his might, sucking the whole hole, scraping hard with the flat of his tongue against her throbbing pussy and the hard clit.
"Coming! It's great! Great! Fantastic! Ohhhhh, there it goes again! Eat it, baby, eat it up!"
His hands grasped her firm buttocks and held on, mashing the wet mounds of flesh. She bumped and hunched lightning-fast blows against his head, getting it all, every bit of explosion that was pent up in her.
And after what seemed hours she finally subsided, slowed her blows against his head to a shudder, and collapsed against his body, panting for breath. "Was it all right, baby?" he asked.
"My God, it was tremendous," she stuttered. "I can't believe it . ... I really can't believe it."
"You're really sweet," he smiled. "Really a sweet little girl. You got to take care of what you got going, sweetheart."
She climbed down along his body, wrapped her arms around him and pressed her mouth wetly to his. Her sweet tongue darted through his open lips and met his; they kissed long and breathlessly and she wound her arms and legs about him. He could feel her hot pussy throbbing against his thighs.
"Baby, baby," she sighed. "That was wonderful. Really, it was so good. The only thing ... it makes me want to do it. It makes me want to ball you now."
"Do you think we should?" he panted, stroking her body.
She thought a minute, melted against him in a long, searching kiss, and whispered, "Why not?"
Slowly then he drew her over and placed himself gently above her. Her legs moved out again and he propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her pretty, smiling face. "Hm..." she sang, feeling for his hard rod. "It's so hard, baby. Will it fit? It's so fucking big!"
"Let's see," he suggested. Her pussy opened wide for him and he placed the tip of his cock at the entrance. She gave a little surge with her hips and locked her hot box on the bulb. He held it there and just looked at her; her eyes were half open and her whole face took on the glow, in moonlight, of a maiden sensually enthralled.
"Are you sure now?" he hesitated, holding his rigid prong an inch inside her.
"Yes, ah, yes. It fits....It's so hot. ... I want it! ... I want it to go up and down in there. ... I want to ball...."
Slowly he pushed down and down until his shaft was imbedded in her tight cunt. She was juicy there, overflowing with love cream, and hot as a dram of motor oil. He held his prick deep inside her, letting her pussy get used to its bigness, and then he slowly drew it out a little. A low moan escaped from her dainty lips, but she wanted it bad then.
"It's going good," she cried. "I'll be good for it, I know I will. I've never had such a big cock before. I feel all funny, like I was turned inside out. ... Ball it, please, ball it now!"
And he began! Her nice, ripe rear bounced her box up to meet his plunges. Her legs were sprung out wide and flopped against his sides as he drove another steady stroke home. The very tip of his prod was touching bottom, hitting that soft and hot spot each time and making her crazy.
"It's full up, it's all the way," she panted, taking it blow for blow. "You're balling me. ... Oh, ball it, ball it!..."
She was most energetic, matching him blow for ever-increasing blow. He felt his cock ache with boiling blood. He no longer worried about her; he drove home shaft after shaft of blows. And then he felt his whole crotch catch fire; he was beginning to come. He felt it. First the welling up of fire in his loins, then the monstrous throbbing of his whole cock-and finally the first eruption. When the first wave of cream hit her core she cried out in a frenzied voice and beat madly with her whole crotch. The second wave sent her flying into her own climactic cycle. Her pussy was peaking with each gush of his juices; her body shuddered violently as she clasped her legs fast about him, holding furiously, as though they were sexual magnets.
"I did it!" she shrieked. "You're full....
Oh, my God! You're full! I'm making you ... fill me up. ... God, I'm dying, dying...."
They lay for a long while-cooling, entwined, savoring the afterglow of a monumental release. Her thin white body covered his and she clove to him for warmth. "I really understand now," she murmured. "I really felt it ... for the first time. ... I can't believe how wonderful it was." She kissed him tenderly, lovingly, and he folded her in his arms. They lay looking out over the spangled horizon and felt almost as if they were a suspended part of it.
CHAPTER 9
The pretty girl named candy had fallen asleep.
He drifted off himself, and woke to find her body shivering, even in sleep. He got to his knees and picked her up, carrying her back up the trail. They had been gone for at least a couple of hours, and now he wondered what Crazy Carter was up to.
"Hey, man," he heard Carter say as he approached the grove of trees. "Come on down where it's warm."
Candy hugged close to him dreamily. He looked down to see Carter and the other chick all wrapped up in a sleeping bag. Hans slid down and laid Candy gently alongside the other girl, who smiled knowingly and stroked at Carter's half-exposed naked form. Hans lay down with them, and they looked up at the spendid California sky. Evidently Carter and Susie had had some real down-home, gone-to-hell lusting, because they looked worn to the nub. Really, Carter looked all drained out, and it must have been that this Susie chick really knew how to throw a hot fuck. Hans lay back and felt the auburn-haired beauty stirring next to him. Could it be that the voracious Crazy Carter hadn't been able to twiddle down her hot twat? Far out!
"Too fucking much," Carter drawled, trying to turn away from Susie. "Man, you shoulda seen this white chick ball! Shit, I ain't gonna ever believe that shit about Negro anatomy no more! She got the hottest little love-hole I ever dug!"
Susie blushed. Even in the moonlight Hans could see her face turn to scarlet. Still sleeping peacefully, Candy Cooper turned over and buried her face in Carter's broad chest, hugging close to him for warmth. All the while, Susie was trying to cuddle up to all of them at the same time, and they were tight as ticks under the loose bedrolls.
"What's the matter, mama?" Carter asked Susie, feeling her hands roaming around under the covers. "You really serious about that hand on my poor old soldier?"
"I love it," she sighed, blushing again.
"Well, baby, why don't you try out old Hank stud there? He looks like he could go another round or two."
Shyly, Susie turned over and faced Hans; she blinked her big blue eyes in a girlish way. He smiled back and stroked her beautiful reddish hair. From just over the heap of flesh, Candy uttered something. "Please do me again . ... Then she folded herself deeper into Carter's embrace. Carter just laughed that easy laugh of his and started fondling the pretty girl lovingly, and pretty soon a mutual stimulation began to engulf the little huddle of bodies.
"Looks like old Carter is in for it again," he drawled. "What you think, Hank? Are they trying to make us prove our manhood or something?"
"I'm just horny as hell," Susie sighed, rubbing her breasts against Hans' bare leg and tickling at his balls with deft fingers. "Do you think I'm just a tramp?" she asked timidly. "I mean, if we've got this far, we might as well. . . "
"Why not?" Hans laughed, feeling good all over-as if the crisp mountaintop air had revitalized him. And indeed it was the same for all of them. The late-night hours drifted into a nether world of wanton abandonment.
"Aren't you going to fuck me?" Susie asked Hans teasingly. "It would be exciting to ball while somebody watched." She turned over, saw that Candy was inching her way down to Carter's suddenly stiff tool, and said, "Listen, you two, Hans is going to give me a balling ... and you can look if you want to. ... Please, you can look at me getting it if you want to. ... Hans, come on, let's do it right here ... right next to them. ... Oh, I'm burning up again. ... I want to be fucked right in front of their eyes ... right next to them ... on top of them...."
He felt her body as she climbed atop him. Now her big boobs mashing into his face; he took first one firm mound and then the other in his mouth and sucked hard until she moaned in extreme pleasure. He coated the hard knockers down with his mouth and then squeezed them until she begged to be fucked. Next to them, Carter was supporting Candy's slight body on top of him; already his dagger had stabbed deep into her pussy and she was sitting atop him, riding him like a bronc buster. Hans pulled Susie down until his huge prick was at the lips of her cunt, but she giggled and pulled away.
"I want to do it the other way ... please . ... I want you to ball me from behind . ... "
With that, she crawled off him, turned a bit, and he found he was facing the same way she was, both of them just inches away from the couple, madly pounding away in a furious rhythm. Candy's face was right up against Susie's, the two of them gazing intently at each other's intense, growing desire. Candy gave a sharp groan each time Carter's huge prod penetrated her love-hole; she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and took the next plunge, opening her eyes quickly then.
"Oh, wow!" Susie said. "God, Candy, you're really getting it . ... Look at her. ... She's absolutely wild. ... I can almost feel his dick myself . ... "
Hans stroked Susie's tight ass, ran a finger down the furry divide, and felt the hot wetness of her pussy. He left his fingers there at the lips of that trembling lake of love and brought his cock down to it. Her pussy seemed to gobble it immediately. Before he knew it, she had sucked the cock into her with the aid of her hands and pussy. She lunged backward, and he felt the cock push deeper into the womb.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!...." she shrieked. Now her head was pressed against her friend's forehead. Hans reached around and took hold of her large mounds, squeezing them tight. He plunged straight in, drew back, and plunged again. Another exotic scream from the girl. Her ass was dancing against his crotch, hunching expertly in a rearward rhythm. It was unbelievably hot there; again his prick ached to shoot all its load.
"Together!" Susie demanded. "All together. ... Make it all together. ... Get ready, get ready. ... Oh, fuck my ass, fuck my ass...."
"I gotta go! I'm coming, baby!" Carter signalled his mount. "It'll last. ... It's there! Here it comes!"
All that Hans could hear was the deep leather-like pounding of flesh against flesh. The girl he was banging groped for the other girl, their faces were mashed together in a searching kiss. And then they broke apart, vibrating violently, both reaching the inevitable peak simultaneously.
"Pump it, pump it, pump it!" Susie demanded. "Oh, God, I'm bailing out of the world!"
Carter's blows bucked Candy higher and higher in the air; she rode him out, teeth gritted in determination, her whole face distorted in an erotic expression of orgiastic madness. Hans reared back and gave Susie his hardest; already she had cycled into a third or fourth level of climaxes, and now the big one was coming. He began pumping all his wad, rapid-fire, into her gyrating pussy.
"All ... God, I'm fucked full!" she said in a voice past reason. And still she couldn't stop.
The pad in Berkeley was actually two big apartments of a duplex. The four of them arrived in the middle of the morning, and already some of the heads were turning on. The party had commenced, they were told, the night before, and was not going to get a full steam up until a contingent of good freaks came in that afternoon from the East Coast.
Hot acid-rock music filled the spacious rooms. All were unstrung and full of peace. Perhaps as many as fifty people were already there, turning on, welcoming everybody with the same boisterous good humor. Carter was right at home.
"You can crash here as long as you want to," Candy told them. "Smitty owns the place and it's his party. We do this every year. ... Wait till you meet sweet Smitty...."
Smitty turned out to be a professor of philosophy at Berkeley, and these were mostly his friends and students; it was the University's only swinging kind of homecoming, and kids were coming from all over the country.
Candy and Susie knew most of the heads there; they danced from one room to the next, dragging Carter and Hans along to meet their old friends. Someone stuck a hashish pipe in Carter's hands, and the good-natured brother took two good-sized hits and fell to the floor, feigning stonesville.
After a while Smitty came in; he was mobbed at the door, and spent half an hour making his way across the room. He was a man of about thirty-five, about medium height, and a little stout. His face was clean-shaven, except for a Zapata mustache. He smiled almost as much as Candy did, and when he saw her, he reached out, took her in his arms and gave her a big wet whisker kiss. He felt her small boobs and rubbed his hands all over her tight little ass.
"Goddamn, you're just what I've been waiting for, Candy Cooper. I need a nice bony piece of ass."
"I've been running laps just to keep in shape," she put him on, hugging him delightedly. "Anyway, I never did pay you back for the A you gave me in criticism class."
"Shit, you'll have to go down on me for that gift," he laughed. "Who're these studs?"
He looked at Hans and Carter in a mock stern expression as if to say, "I know you've been balling these little cuties, and don't you forget it."
"Oh, Smitty, you should see the lights up on Mount Diablo," Candy Cooper said, grinning big. "Really a lot of sparkles . ... " She nudged Susie and both girls laughed uproariously.
"Naughty naughty girls," the professor tsk-tsked. "Don't you know that's sinful?"
"What's sinful?" Susie chortled. "All we did was run around naked on top of a mountain."
"Uh huh! That all you did?"
"Well, we fucked a little," she giggled.
The professor put back his head and laughed. "The right orgasm in the right place-that's morality for you."
Hans carefully avoided any turn-ons. After the first night, his buddy Carter was a full-fledged member of this revelry; Candy and Susie were busy with old buddies, doing God knows what, and Hans was left to his own devices. He drank a little beer, avoided the hash pipes, and ate the soul food that was abundant in the place.
But now that he was here, he began to think about the bag of dung his life had been. He couldn't get the General out of his head any more; and time and again he kept coming back to what he had overheard from the bigoted McAdams. His father-alive perhaps somewhere. He even wondered why he should give a big rat's ass. If he did manage to trace down his "natural" father, he told himself, he would probably find some hoodlum or pusher or worse. He told himself that that was what he expected to find. His thoughts drifted back to the night of his first leave-taking, to the strangely kind black man who had befriended him-who had even shared his good woman. To have a father like that, he pondered, a perplexing soul who somehow had found contentment in a gross world.
It was a Thursday night. Secretly Hans made plans; he would hang about the party, get his head straight, and take his leave in the morning. Somewhere in San Francisco, just across the bay, there was a man named Bradner, a man who held the key to Hans' lifelong riddle. He would begin looking soon.
The party boiled and grew in fervor, as the night passed. It wasn't a love-in because the spirit of the place was too serious for that; these good freaks had come to see each other, to get their shit together. Whatever sexual games might be played would be played casually and outside the rigors of the homecoming game.
Later in the night a big roar went up from the other room. Hans was sitting in a corner with a bombed-out black chick who was trying to get him to go down on her, playing a game of you-kiss-mine-and-I'll-kiss-yours. He was toying with her because it was a pleasant pastime, but he knew he wouldn't have to perform any miracles for her because she was so stoned on mescaline. The roar went up again and they both bent over to look through the doorway. Someone of importance had come in.
"Hey, wow, everybody," Smitty was shouting, "VonZuck has arrived!" Wild roars swept through the party The assemblage about ninety strong now, pushed toward the front part of the duplex. Hans asked the black chick who VonZuck was, and she just frowned, as if to say that if he didn't know who VonZuck was he just wasn't with it at all.
"He's just the best fucking-A poet and writer in the country," she said. "Come on and see him...."
He was dragged along with the crowd.
Standing at the entrance with the professor was a man of about thirty, dressed in an Eastern garb complete with long flowing beard. He looked a little like Jesus and a little like Herbert Hoover. It turned out that he was one of Smitty's best products at the University; he had dropped out without a degree, gone to India, performed a thousand abortions on un-pilled or un-coiled Indian ladies, and had written a book of poetry about it. A big New York publisher had brought the book out, and VonZuck had made close to a quarter of a million dollars in two years. He wasn't letting success go to his head; he intended to write a book on humility next, with a setting in Arkansas, where he said a number of hill girls had never heard of the vagina.
"Come on, Vonny," several cried out. "Read us one of your poems."
"No, my friends," VonZuck said ponderously. "We should all chant first. Chant and ye shall receive. Please, children, chant with me." The holy-looking guru backed away and cast his eyes upward in a rapturous manner, then began to chant strange, mystic, occult words: "Nam myo ho ... Renge Kyo..."
Soon the whole chamber resounded with the strangely soothing sounds, meaningless to Hans, who stood fixedly and looked at the weird man. VonZuck spread his arms wide, as if invoking some supernatural wonder, and began to recite some words as the whole gathering stood in rapt silence, listening.
"Come unto me, ye Baptist-Buddhists, Come O Africa, to my anus, awaiting Come to an egg on a string, hanging In a room full of sucks Come O suck string, O favorite coil
For in India I have deflowered The Holy Cow . ... Why wait? Come now!"
They cheered like crazy and called for more, laughing and laughing. The thing about VonZuck, the black chick said, was that he knew how to say so-fucking-what to everything. Right then Von Zuck passed near Hans, paused, and said, "So fucking what?" And laughed!
Four a.m. and VonZuck had passed out in a corner after trying to practice a particularly strenuous Kama Sutra position with the black chick that Hans had avoided going down on. Hans decided to go to the bathroom, slip in a shower if he could, and prepare to set out. He eased past a bedroom where a girl and two guys were balling the girl eating one of the guys while she got it from behind. He knocked at the bathroom door, and got no answer, and went on in. He flipped the light and saw a little Chinese fellow sitting on the floor puffing at an opium pipe.
"Mind if I go in the shower?" Hans asked.
"Okay, but lock the door," the Chinese said. "Us Chinese always blow opium in the bathroom with the door locked."
Hans opened the shower door and looked in to see Candy Cooper-naked with Smitty the teacher. She was blowing it, it appeared, but he couldn't tell for sure; when Hans had opened the door she must have taken the cock out of her mouth and hid her face behind Smitty's legs.
"Getting my reward for the A I gave her," Smitty smiled drunkenly and pulled her head back around to his erect prick. She just looked up at Hans and grinned childishly, then took the bulb of the cock back into her mouth and began sucking and scraping the tool earnestly, winking occasionally at Hans.
"Can I help you anyway?" Smitty asked Hans.
"Well, I kinda wanted to take a shower."
"That's all right. Wait a minute and we'll all take one together. Here, take off your clothes...."
And while the obliging girl worked frantically with the professional pecker, Hans awkwardly pulled off his shirt and pants. The professor even helped him keep his balance, then tightened his hands on the pretty girl's head and lunged his loins against her head.
"It takes so long to do it," Candy complained, taking her mouth off the tool a minute. "Shit, I'm gonna jerk it a little."
And she proceeded to jack his hard tool, alternately flipping her tongue across the purple bulb, until he was beginning to heave around in the shower stall dizzily.
"Look out!" he cautioned, and the crazy thing started erupting. She closed her mouth over it to catch most of the liquid, then finished jacking it down the drain. She laughed spritefully and hugged Hans against her nakedness. "Oh, wow! This is gonna be fun ... a shower with two great guys. ... Come on, turn it on ... all the way. ... I'll show you how I used to masturbate in the water."
She turned the water on full blast and adjusted the spray until it was a hard pouring cone. They sprayed themselves playfully, before she turned the cone downward on herself. She spread her thin legs wide apart and let the hard pouring water hit her pussy.
"Ah, God, that feels so fucking good!" she exclaimed. "I shouldn't talk that way, should I?" she giggled, but held the snake-like cone hard against her clitoris. Hans stood in amazement watching the girl getting herself off, almost sublimely, it seemed. This was probably the wackiest cunt he had ever met.
"Here, let me do it for you, darling," Smitty said, bending down. The shaft of water hit his head as he sunk his mouth over her gaping pussy. The water was now spraying all over everybody, and inside the shower stall were sounds of wet flesh flapping.
"Oh, God! Good, good, good!. . . " Candy cried, coming almost immediately. Hans stood holding her as she went limp, her crotch collapsed against the professor's bent frame. They were laughing; Candy was fondling Hans' cock and balls and kissing him wetly all over. It was the goddamnedest way of getting a bath.
CHAPTER 10
Friday morning-and the hustle of the beautiful city that is San Francisco. Hans had taken a bus across the Bay Bridge and got off at the Market Street Station. Now he was faced with the task of finding one man in these teeming thousands.
All streets lead to Market in San Francisco. He stayed on that busy boulevard for many hours, just looking and sizing up his plan of action. What would he say to Bradner if he came face to face with him? What tack to use? "Look here, Bradner, I know you were the General's exec back in the war. ... I know you know about my father. ... Remember that beautiful German girl? Well, she was my mother...." It seemed hopeless, but he had to try.
He found a listing of several Bradners in the yellow pages. Which one? It confounded him. And then he remembered that Bradner was supposed to be a lawyer. He looked through the directory until he found Attorneys-at-Law and found a firm of "Bradner, Irby, and Gait." This was the monkey, all right, he nodded to himself, feeling his insides tighten. The office was in the business loop, several blocks away. As he walked, he began to construct a plan of attack.
He rode the elevator up to the tenth floor, checked the office number again, and finally came to the place. It was an extremely plush setup, he noticed, a large suite of offices with a secretarial pool in an exquisite, deep-carpeted outer office and waiting room. He saw several important-looking men sitting in the lobby, clutching briefcases upon their knees. This Bradner cat had it made, he speculated-but then, almost twenty-five years building a practice had probably made Bradner one of the more important corporate attorneys.
"I'd like to see Mr. Bradner, please," Hans told the pretty receptionist. She looked up at him with that false smile of all receptionists, then frowned at his odd appearance. He still wore the checked shirt and tight pants.
"I'm sorry," she said brusquely. "Mr. Bradner is in court this morning and he's not keeping any of his appointments. Let me take your name and I'll see if I can work you in next week...."
"I want to see him today," Hans insisted, moving in on her. "It's not a business matter. ... I'm an old friend of the family...."
"Oh, I see," she muttered, still eyeing him suspiciously, but I'm afraid you've come at a bad time. ... Mr. Bradner is in court this morning...."
"I'll wait till he gets back," Hans nodded casually. He sat down on a leather couch and sat facing her sternly. He did not look at magazines, he did not stir as people came and went in the big lobby; he merely kept his eye on the door marked "Richard Bradner, Attorney." The receptionist went about her busy-work chores; from time to time she got up and went to one of the other lawyers' offices with folders or documents; at first she smiled, but later she got annoyed and simply wouldn't look at him at all. A typical career girl in a big city-who acted shitty in the daytime and fucked the eyes out of studs every night.
By the middle of the afternoon he was exhausted-and still no show of the lawyer. Once, the receptionist came over and said, "Mr. Bradner won't be back at all today, sir." But he simply smiled and kept sitting.
Five o'clock approached, and a rushing around in the waiting room, the preparation to take off for the weekend. The receptionist was getting her appointment book in order, straightening her desk. One or two other lawyers came through, kidded with the secretaries, and departed. And finally the receptionist came over to him.
"See, I told you. You'll have to leave now. We're closing." She smiled as if she had won in a waiting contest. He remained seated. Just then the door to the office lobby opened and in swung a cute little chick wearing a very tight jersey blouse that outlined very large boobs.
"Barbara, have you got it ready for me?" the girl sang out. She swung her hips as she whipped into the lobby; she had long brown hair and a tiny waist, and she couldn't have been more than seventeen.
"Oh, Jeannie," the receptionist said, changing her tone to a shit-eating syrupy whine. "Yes, I have the brief right here. Your father has already gone up to Carmel?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe the mess he had to do today. I watched him all day in court. He was beautiful . ... Beautiful! But he's worn out, and he took the Jag and went on early. Mother is already there . ... Are you coming to the party tonight?"
"Got a date," the receptionist said. "Oh, wow! The beach again? Listen, you've simply got to take me on one of these parties, Barb...."
Hans stood up then. The office had just about cleared out now and he was caught in the awkward position of listening in on a private conversation. He looked at the receptionist scornfully and started for the door. But the little chick named Jeannie had spied him. "Hello," she said sweetly as he went past. He nodded.
Outside in the corridor, he was at a loss. His first attempt had turned out to be a poor bluff. He walked off down the hallway dejectedly, telling himself that he would have to wait until next week. And what was worse now, he saw as he got on the elevator, was the feeling that he would get the brush-off from Bradner even if he did manage to see him.
The two girls entered the elevator behind him and the three of them rode down together. The receptionist did not look at him, but the cute little teeny-bopper named Jeannie looked his way a couple of times and smiled. She wore hip-huggers, like all rich kids, and she really looked nice, he noted offhandedly. She couldn't have been much more than five feet tall, but she looked like one of those delicious young packages folding out of Playboy.""
"Pardon me," she said to Hans. "I can't help asking. Are you all right?"
"What, Miss?"
"It's just that you look so despondent. You were in my father's office a minute ago. ... Did everything go all right?"
"Nothing went at all," he said blandly.
"Oh, he was waiting to see Mr. Bradner," the receptionist tried to explain. "I tried to tell you that he wouldn't be in the office."
"Did you want to see Daddy on business?" the girl asked.
Hans gave a start. What a surprise piece of luck for a change, he sensed. The elevator reached the first floor and they went out into the busy lobby. The receptionist stopped a moment and looked at Hans strangely. The little chick named Jeannie held back, and then the three of them split.
He wandered down Market Street, stiff wind from the bay chilled him. All about him, the hubbub of frantic people coursed wildly; everybody was cutting out, going home to begin the madness of the weekend. He walked aimlessly, not wanting to think of going back to the party at the professor's pad.
"Wait a minute." He heard a soft voice behind him. He turned to see the little chick coming up behind him. "I just couldn't let you go off," she said as she came alongside him. "Can I do anything to help you? My name is Jeannie Bradner. My father..."
He felt his nerves quicken. This would be his best chance, and it seemed as though some freakish change of fortune had come his way. He sized her up quickly-young but not too innocent, the daughter of a highly successful father who now indulged his sweet little daughter. She had sincerity written all over her.
"What was it you wanted to see my father about?" she asked.
But how could he tell her, when there was no way to make her understand. For the first time since the bad scene at the General's mansion, he thought of chucking the whole thing. But he knew he could not and would not; he had been trapped by deceit all his life, made to be a mere object without a real person inside. And he knew he would have to use the same weapons if he were to rid himself of this black curse.
"Your father and I have a mutual acquaintance," he began. "I'm on an errand for General J. L. Kearn...."
"Who?" her face brightened. "Not the General Kearn."
"Yes."
"And my father is supposed to know him? I thought this General Kearn was one of those underworld figures. ... I don't understand. ... Why, he's supposed to be...."
"Yes, I know," Hans nodded, seeing now that his ruse had convinced this innocent girl. He didn't like it at all, but he knew it had to be. He went on with it.
An hour later Hans was riding beside Jeannie Bradner in her imagine little sports car, heading down the coast from Frisco to Carmel-by-the-Sea to her family's estate. As they drove along, he embellished his story, giving her as much real truth as he dared. She seemed intrigued by all the "secrecy" and excited to be a part of it.
"I still don't understand how my father is connected to the General," Jeannie said with a puzzled look.
"He's not," Hans assured her. "It all goes way back to the war days, when your father was in the Army. Listen, Jeannie, I appreciate your doing this for me. The situation is a little delicate...."
"Then, how do you fit into it all?" she frowned.
"I'm trying to get out of it," he muttered.
She just shook her head and let the wind blow her long blonde hair back. She handled the souped-up car expertly around the high, winding curves of the coastal drive. Below them were the swirling beach and the ocean. In that silence, he looked out to see the gulls along the cliffs; down on the bleached sand some young people were running about.
"I love this drive," she said. "I mean, a person can really get his head together just driving along . ... "
Her youth and freshness made him all the more depressed. Such a pretty girl, he thought, and too innocent for her own good. Too trusting, she was, and ready to believe people. She began to talk in that exuberant way of young, free people. She was a cheerleader in her high school, a senior, and she was going to Europe next summer before going off to college. She wanted to study languages, she wanted to be a social worker, she wanted to get a law degree and work for equal rights, she wanted to live all the excitement of life.
"Prendre la lune avec la dents," he said.
"Pardon?"
"Just a little French saying," he smiled. "You speak French?"
"Yes. I lived in Paris for two years. I studied at the Sorbonne."
"Oh, wow! What did you study?"
"Oh, philosophy, literature, stuff."
"That's what I'm going to do!" she shrieked with excitement. "You've got to tell me all about it. I went to France a couple of years ago, but Mother was along, and it was a drag. Golly, I wish I could be there with someone like you . ... "
"Perhaps ... one day," he smiled.
So the short journey went. By the time they came through the fabulous Seventeen Mile Drive they were fast friends. She was so open and frank, but not at all ingenuous like so many spoiled brats of her class. He felt like a perfect bastard for deceiving her, and he resolved to himself that he would do nothing to really injure her.
"Listen, Jeannie, I really need to ask you for a favor," he said as they neared the family's estate.
"Just name it!"
"This situation is going to be a little delicate. Your father isn't expecting me, and what I've got to talk to him about may startle him a little. I know this is a lot to ask, but I need to pick my opportunity to talk to him. And that's all I want to do-just talk to him. I promise you that I won't say or do anything that could involve your father. .
"Why don't I just introduce you as a friend then?" she suggested happily. "After all, we are friends now. Good friends. I bring lots of friends home...."
"That would be great," he nodded with a smile, feeling that it would work out for the best. She reached over and patted his broad arm, winking beautifully. The wind beat against her pretty face; she sat erect as she steered the little car, and her proud young body seemed moulded there like Diana in the myth of the golden chariot.
"Such a nice person, you are," she laughed.
He looked at her blonde beauty; the large young-girl breasts surged against the flimsy jersey material and the nipples hardened up deliciously. She breathed deeply and let them jut out, looking over at Hans unashamedly.
Soon she turned into a long winding driveway and drove up to a magnificent dwelling built out over a cliff. It was night now, and there were several expensive automobiles parked in the courtyard. The Bradners were having a weekend party, imagine dress cocktails, booze and petit fours. Jeannie jumped out of the car, pulling him after her, and they entered the exquisite place. Jeannie called for her mother. Hans stood quietly, safe inside.
CHAPTER ll friends and colleagues of the Bradners milled about the big, Spanish-style house, drinking, talking, laughing; some of the younger set were out on the lighted patio dancing, and a few were swimming in the heated pool. It was possible, Hans found, to lose oneself among these "beautiful people". Jeannie had led him to her mother, a nice-looking lady of about forty-two, with a good figure-flatteringly revealed in a lounging outfit.
"So good to know you," Mrs. Bradner said, her eyes sparkling over his hard brownness. Hans could tell where Jeannie got her great looks. She gave Hans a little handshake and made him feel at home.
"Hans is going to spend the weekend," Jeannie said. "He's been to the Sorbonne, Mother. Isn't that great! He's going to tell me about that all weekend...."
Hans accepted a Scotch and water and drifted around the party. A beautiful chick-who probably was one of the secretaries in Bradner's office-came by Hans, stopped, and said, "My God, you're something. Want to dance with me?"
He went out on the patio with her and they began doing a fast number; she moved well-like a rubbery coil of flesh-and brushed up to him. They danced twice and then some slow music came on; she meshed her white body against his, and he felt her nibbling at his ear.
"Hey, stop that," giggled Jeannie. "I saw him first."
"Lucky girl," the chick said, coming unstuck from Hans' hard body. She bent over, kissed Hans lightly and said, "I'll see you a little later, darling."
"You're making quite a hit," Jeannie said, a bit jealously. "Do you like the place?"
"It's really something," he nodded, walking arm in arm with her back into the house. "Where's your father, Jeannie?"
"Oh, cooped up with some of his lawyer friends," she said and squeezed his hand. "They just use these parties to get off by themselves . ... Won't you forget that for a little while, Hans? You danced with her. Will you dance once with me?"
When she came into his arms he felt his crotch tingling. She smelled like fresh morning flowers, a scent of carnation all about her young body. She had changed into a loose-fitting dress that didn't do justice to her boobs, but now he felt them, unrestrained under the thin material, pressing into his chest. She put her head down on his chest, and she felt like a soft little bird in his big arms.
"You feel so good," she cooed. "Hm ... so nice!..."
Her little crotch pressed hard against his rising cock. He couldn't help it; there was something about this little cutie that stirred him up. She must have felt the full force of his cock, for she looked up, raised her eyebrows, then laughed in a golden voice.
"Be careful now," he warned, and held her off a bit.
"Why? It feels nice, Hans." She pushed her crotch back in place and held it there firmly as they danced, tightening her slender arms around him.
There was a stone walk down and around the beach. Later, when Bradner had not made an appearance, Hans grew restless. Same old drag, he sighed, thinking of the hundreds of similar parties he had attended. In a way this place reminded him of his old home, the General's mansion. He wanted to get away. He went out, across the patio, to the lookout point where the stone path began.
"Can I come?" he heard her ask from the terrace. He should have known that Jeannie would follow.
"Just getting some air," he said.
"Let's go down to the beach, okay?"
She took his arm and pointed down to where the roaring surf was lit up by the moonlight. He let her lead him down, around a cypress tree, down through rocks and big boulders. She squeezed his hand occasionally, then stopped to look intently into his face.
"My favorite place in the whole world," she said as she came onto the clean white sand. "If they let this get spoiled with some damn oil slick, I'll become an anarchist and blow up the White House. I mean it. Isn't this the most beautiful place in the world?"
"Yes," he nodded, drinking in the salt spray. "It's where it all started ... like, the whole game . ... "
"That's strange," she laughed. "I've thought that too, standing here. like some salamander that crawled up on the beach a billion years ago and started breathing air. And maybe someday we'll have to learn to breathe through gills again. Isn't it a shame? That's why there's so much that we have to live, before it's too late...."
"Those are mighty serious thoughts for such a young and pretty girl...."
"Do you really think I'm pretty, Hans? I mean, guys are always telling me that, but I don't believe them because I know what they want."
"You are beautiful because you have something inside your head that tells you to believe in all the good things, Jeannie."
"Oh, wow!" she sighed. "You give me chills. Hold me a little bit, will you?"
He wrapped his strong arms around her diminutive body and held her tight against him; they stood in silence listening to the sea-the mysterious sounds of some eternal peace being swept in on turbulent waters. Slowly she raised her face, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her soft lips against his. She kissed him warmly and tenderly and held it a long time, then sighed again.
"So nice," she murmured. "Kiss me, Hans, please...."
"Baby, baby, we shouldn't do this...."
But she kissed him sensuously this time, moving her mouth against his strong lips, pushing her sharp-tipped tongue into his mouth. He couldn't help it; he ran his hands all up and down her body, felt her silken hips as she pushed her hard belly against his crotch. He slipped his hands up under her dress and discovered she wore no underclothes. His fingers stopped at the mount of her soft little pussy, twirled in the abundant hair there, then ran on up her belly to the flatness there, dug into the navel. And on up to cup the hard breasts.
"My God, Hans, feel me, please...."
His hands smoothed and circled on her boobs, pulled at their tautness. He slipped the dress off her shoulders and bared her breasts. They were like two spheres of glazed snow made pure-white by the moon. He put his mouth over them, sucked until the nipples hardened, and then tried to draw away. Her hands had stolen into his pants and were squeezing his cock until he thought it was going to bust the seams.
"Oh, God, Hans, don't stop....Play with me...."
"Baby, baby, we better stop this now...."
"No! . . .Oh, no!..."
He tried to pull away but she had a fierce grip on his hot cock. She was trying to get it out but in its full erection it was much too big to fold up and out of the fly. She frantically tried to unsnap his pants. He knew this was fool's play-a chance encounter with a beautiful young girl on the beach. He turned around and stood facing the sea again.
"I'm sorry," she uttered, panting still. "I guess I got carried away. You really turned me on, Hans."
He smiled at her warmly, took her hand, and they went back to the party.
"Daddy, this is Hans Brock, a friend of mine," Jeannie said, finally getting her father's attention. The men had come from the study and were now laughing and mixing with the crowd.
"How do you do," Bradner nodded cordially. "Care for a fresh drink? And how do you like our little place here?"
Bradner was a pleasant enough appearing man; he wasn't very tall and he had a bit of middle-age robustness. But his eyes were keen and penetrating and had that sparkle about them that his daughter so beautifully reflected. He held his daughter proudly in his arms and surveyed the party scene patronizingly.
"I like your place very much," Hans nodded.
"It was originally a Wright creation, wasn't it?"
"Why, yes it was," Brander picked up. "But then all these cliff dwellings have that look now. How did you know it wasn't just the stereotyped fare?"
"The dimensions are too defined," Hans said.
"Hm, Jeannie, you have an interesting young friend here. Fix us another drink, will you, dear, while I see just what else Mr. Brock knows."
Jeannie winked at Hans and squeezed her father before prancing across the spacious room toward the bar. Hans watched her go, marveling at the original dimensions there also.
"A fine girl," Bradner said.
"Yes, very fine," Hans agreed.
"How long have you known her? ... Are you a student or what?"
Now was the time, Hans knew. The lawyer's steady and probing gaze seemed to anticipate everything. Bradner raised his drink, drained it and then sighed, as though he were a very tired man pretending to enjoy himself.
"Actually, Mr. Bradner, I haven't known Jeannie more than a few hours. I met her in your office this afternoon."
"Oh?" Bradner replied, becoming less the host now and more the cunning courtroom attorney.
"Yes, sir. I went to your office so that I could ask you about something important to me."
"What is it?" Bradner asked pointedly.
"It's about General J. L. Kearn, Mr. Bradner."
"Oh, I see," Bradner nodded calmly. "So you're the young man all the fuss is about."
"What fuss?"
"I've almost been expecting you, Hans Brock. In fact, you might say I've been expecting you for more than twenty years."
"I don't understand...."
"General Kearn has been in touch with me. Just a few days ago, two of his men were here, looking for you. Of course I couldn't help them-not that I would if I could."
Now it was going to happen. Hans sensed the whole truth about to take on new, clearing, proportions. Deep inside he felt a mounting sickness, like certain nightmares he had had all his life finally manifesting themselves in reality. Would it end here? And how could he believe this man who had been a part of that nightmare so many years before?
"Will you tell me then," Hans said, "about my real father?"
The dignified man simply sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and tried to turn away. Hans reached out, and then Bradner turned back to him abruptly, keen eyes penetrating. Hans asked his heated question again, and again Bradner shook his head.
"You're in with the General then," Hans snapped.
"No!" Bradner almost shouted. "I'm not in with anybody. There's simply nothing to tell."
"You're lying!"
Bradner smiled then. His daughter had returned with two drinks; she handed one to Bradner and held the other until Hans was ready to join her. Evidently Jeannie had not heard Hans' last words. In any case, the moment had passed, the right time had not arrived after all. Bradner took a big drink of Scotch and reached out to pat Hans' shoulder.
"Believe what you wish," he smiled. "You'll have to sooner or later. ... Ah, some of my guests are leaving. I hope I see you before you leave, Hans."
CHAPTER 12
He woke from a fitful sleep to voices somewhere in the spacious house. It was still night and he had been asleep for an hour or two in the guestroom over the garages; Jeannie had taken him to the room shortly after the confrontation with her father. Now he sat up, but could only hear the ocean.
Take off, he thought immediately. He was sure that Bradner was in league with the General; all the signs pointed to it, and why should such a man help him anyway? A man in Bradner's position would be a fool to cross the General. Take off, take off, he said to himself, and got up.
The door opened partially and he heard footsteps. He made up his mind then. He would not let them get him, he would fight them, he would get away. At least he wouldn't give the General the satisfaction of bringing him back liked a whipped slave. He crept into the shadows and waited for the intruder.
"Hans? Hans?..."
It was Jeannie. He exhaled in relief and reached out to turn on the light. The room flooded with brightness and she jumped in sudden fright. She wore a bikini pajama outfit, with no bra under the transparent pink nightie. She sighed deeply, relieved, and came against him.
"Oh, Hans, I just had to see you. I was worried about you and father. ... What is it, Hans? What's wrong?"
"Baby, baby, you shouldn't have come here. It'll only make things worse."
She was clutching him and clinging. Again he felt his body flush with excitement at her touch. He wore only the bottoms of a pair of pajamas-some he had found in the chest beside the bed. Now she pressed against his naked chest and stroked his hard-muscled sides.
"Hans, didn't father tell you what you wanted to know? Did you two have an argument?"
"No," he calmed her. "No argument. Everything's all right. I don't want you to worry about this, you hear?"
"But I want to. I want to help you. You're so nice, darling...."
"It's all right, Jeannie. But you must leave now. Will you go?"
"If that's what you want me to do," she murmured, still holding on to him. "Hans, hold me, please. Will you? Please, just for a few minutes...."
"Do you know how foolish this is?" he tried to put her off. "If your father saw you here..."
"It's not foolish, Hans. I'm grown-up, Hans. You'd be surprised. Just hold me...."
She stepped over and snapped off the light, and next he felt her folding into his arms warmly, pressing hard against him. Then she was pulling herself up to his face, kissing him all over, nipping at his hard chest with her dainty mouth, pressing her lips hard upon his, darting her tongue into his mouth.
"Baby, baby, we've got to quit...."
"No, Hans. Too late! We're here, alone, and nobody knows. Hans, I need you to feel me, to love me. ... God, I need this now...."
Her hands were inside his pajamas and already fondling his rising tool. Lord, he breathed, she was a little vixen when she wanted to be. He heard her rustling about in her nightie, and then he knew she was pulling off her skimpy clothes.
"Feel me, Hans. Feel me!"
A thin stream of moonlight cut into the room from the window, and with it came the fresh, invigorating scent of the sea. He looked at her there, outlined in the silhouette of some breathtaking sea nymph. She breathed deeply, raising her fine breasts; she half-turned to let him see her perfect form, her tight, rounded ass glistening, the fur of her pristine pussy seeming to stir by itself.
"Baby, I mustn't," he sighed.
"You must" she demanded.
She came to him then, pushing him back until they were on the bed; she fell upon him and began to tongue-kiss him wetly, erotically. She was working on his pajamas, skinning them down his hard body. She jerked his prod up and sat on his crotch as she began deftly fondling the tool. He was helpless to defy her now, nor did he want to.
Her young creamy limbs wrapped around him. He ran his hand over her tight young skin, into the mount of her blonde pubic hair and pushed a finger into her pussy, into the moistness that was hot and full and ready.
"God, yes!" she breathed. "Stick it all the way up in me. Your finger ... stick it all the way up in me!"
He jabbed the finger in as far as it would go. She might have been young in age, but she was no stranger to these hot sensations. Her dainty hands squeezed and fondled his rod, molded and remolded his balls until he was panting for breath.
He was finger-fucking her now, thinking that he would do that for her, not thinking it should go beyond that. She was hunching his whole hand with her firm little box, and he grasped her syrupy ass to get a tighter finger grip.
"That's it, that's it, aaaaaaah!..."
And he found that she was coming already. Such a marvelously sensual young vixen; it drove his cock mad. She beat her cunt harder and harder on his probing finger, trying to get it all the way to the bottom. She was coming, groaning, making a low moan of fulfillment. She slumped atop him finally and he felt her hot box vibrating; he held his finger deep in her young pussy and pinched in hard at her ripe little ass.
"Great! Wonderful!..." she panted. But still she was not gratified, and he found that she was only beginning. She began wildly kissing his body-down his chest, into his hard abdomen, down through the coils of his pubic hair, and onto his high-rising cock. Her mouth took the head of it; she licked it again and again and sucked gently, her hands busy all the while feeling and fondling his buttocks and balls. He simply lay and let her have her way with his wild cock.
"Do it to me now, Hans!" she demanded.
"No, we mustn't...."
"I want you to. I want you to fuck me, Hans. Don't worry ... I'm not all that innocent. But I want a real man now. ... I've been waiting for you a long time . ... I've wanted a real man to make love ... to ball me ... to fuck me...."
"Baby, baby," he tried again. "I can't do this....It's not right...."
"You're beautiful ... so beautiful ... the most beautiful man I've ever seen. ... Don't stop, Hans. ... Fuck me!..."
He knew he was going to do it then. All the pent-up feeling of fear and frustration met in this one scene. He might have told himself that he would get back at the General and his henchman Bradner through this sweet little chick, but it was not true; none of that seemed to matter any more, not at this moment. He knew he was going to fuck this pretty white chick because she was turned on to him the same way he was turned on to her.
"Okay," he sighed. "Okay then!"
He crushed himself upon her, rolled her over, and felt her willowy legs entwine about his body. Her pelvis was already hunching up against his, trying to couple, to that grand instrument. She was hot and juicy in the pussy and ready for him. He steadied his cock at her cunt and her fingers were there, ready to guide it home.
"Oooooh, God!" she moaned as he entered her vagina. Her tight pelvis surged up hard as he plunged deeper. Then her tempo increased, urging him on. "It feels so full. ... All the way ... full of you . ... Fuck me now, fuck me!"
It was the greatest fuck of his life. He felt nothing but extreme exhilaration. Expertly she banged her pussy against his thrusts; her firm little ass bounced him higher and higher and her tits jostled up and down as he fucked down, down, down.
"There I am!" she shrieked. "Again! ... You made me come again! Oh, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!"
He knew his heavy tool must be killing her, but she uttered no alarm save to warn him when she was at the peak of her climax. He felt himself jerk all the way through his core, and when he was just beginning to pump his heavy seed into her, he felt her peaking yet again.
"God, you're coming!" she moaned. "I feel it. ... It's great! ... Oh, my God, I'm going off again...."
Such a fierce barrage of pussy blows did she rain against his lightning rod that he felt the mutual explosion being extended, diffused, drawn out fully to match her cycles of orgasms.
"Darling," she sighed an hour later when she woke from a dreamy drifting. "It was wonderful. ... Thank you so much, Hans. ... It was absolutely beautiful...."
"And don't you think you ought to go now, Jeannie?" he asked, moving her off him.
"Soon ... yes . ... A little longer, darling. ... I know we'll never be together again ... but that's all right...."
"Who knows about those things?" he sighed, kissing her lightly.
"It doesn't matter, I guess. But it was meant to be. I think I knew that when I walked into the office and saw you there. ... It was lovely ... so, so lovely, darling...."
They lay for a little while longer, breathing cleanly, listening to the eternal calm of the sea. Not once did he regret what they had done. It was one of the few times when he felt truly honest.
CHAPTER 13
They walked on the beach on Saturday morning, bought hot-dogs at a stand, and played touch football with some kids. Jeannie's father had gone to play golf at Pebble Beach that morning, and Hans gave up even thinking about further attempts to get information from him. In fact, the whole idea of a search for his real father was getting to be like a bad trip. Perhaps it was the exposure to the elite way of life that had straightened his head-or perhaps it was this good scene with Jeannie. He told her that as they strolled the beach.
"I'm so glad, Hans," she smiled, and kissed him. "Now that you're out of that mess with the General, you should just stay out. ... You're too great a guy to let that boggle your good head...."
"You know," he laughed, "for such a young chick, you sure know a lot."
"Yeah," she said in a teasing tone. "I got all my shit together, man. And listen, do you remember last night?"
"You mean that dream I had where a young chick came into my room and seduced me?" he teased.
"Yes! But do you remember when I said that I thought we'd never make it together again?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I think I was wrong, darling. I think that I was all wrong. Do you see that little cove down there, by that cypress? It's all nice and cozy and sandy and private, down in there ... and ... the first big beautiful spade stud there gets to bang my box . ... "
And she started running like hell. He caught up to her just as she went behind the boulders. He was the first spade there-and he got to.
"Well, Mr. Brock, take care of yourself," Jeannie's father said, leaning over to look in at the two of them in the sports car. Jeannie was driving Hans back to the city that afternoon.
"I will," Hans nodded calmly. Jeannie put the car in gear and waved to her father, but he leaned in again, as she was about to pull out.
"Goddamn it, Brock," Bradner said. It was the first time the attorney had dropped his defenses. A look of futility crossed his face, and he stared at Hans a long minute. Then he spoke, really, for the first time.
"I'll tell you the damn truth," he began. "Whether you believe me is up to you. I don't ISO care. I despise the General and all he stands for. I always did. So this it it. Your father is still alive...."
"What?" Hans barked.
"And that's all I'll tell you. You'll have to find out at the source itself-from that crazy old General. But if you'll take my advice, you'll forget this business."
"If you know that my father's alive, you know more . ... " Hans stuttered.
"I can't tell you any more. I can't and I won't...."
They drove in stunned silence for many miles. He scarcely felt the buzzing little car. Occasionally Jeannie glanced his way sympathetically, but he just looked right through her. He was still silent when they hit the big bridge and entered the city.
"Where is it your friends are staying?" she asked softly.
"Oh, I forgot," he muttered. "Over in Berkeley. Listen, why don't you let me out anywhere?..."
"Oh, Hans," she cried. Tears ran down her face. "At least let me take you . ... I'm" sorry, darling. ... Please forgive me. ... Forgive my father. ... He was only trying to help you . ... "
"I know," he nodded. "It's not your father I'm thinking about. It's that crazy old man back there."
"The General?'
"Yes. The thought of just facing him again nauseates me-the thought of what he did years ago ... what he had done maybe ... the way he ruled people's lives ... the way he still rules people . ... "
They checked by Smitty's pad and were told by VonZuck-who was pretty freaked out that Carter and the two chicks had taken off with a couple of other guys; they had left a San Francisco address.
The place was halfway up Telegraph, a kind of freaky joint next to a weird library that housed books nobody read. Jeannie wanted to come with him; but he wanted her to leave him there-to make the break. She wouldn't hear it.
"Baby, I don't know where I'm even going to be tonight. Or tomorrow! I had just about talked myself out of this bag of dung, but I'm back in it now-because of what your father said. So it would be best...."
"You're going back to the General, aren't you, Hans?"
"That's about it," he nodded blandly.
"Let me go with you."
"No!"
"At least let me meet your friends in that place," she pleaded. She reached out to him.
He gave in reluctantly and they got out of the car and went down the dingy street, down a side street, and up to the address. Hans rang the buzzer and a voice called out. He rang it again, and the door opened.
"It's him," a gruff voice said.
"Get out, man!" Hans heard Carter yell.
But it was too late. The door opened wide and a bulky man pushed a pistol at him. Hans recognized the face then, did a double-take, but was caught. The two goons that had stalked him back there-somehow they had finally caught up with him.
"You black punk," the goon said, pulling him and Jeannie in. "Do you know what kind of goddamn shit you've pushed us through."
"Get your hands off me," Hans jerked away.
"Listen to him, Jake," the thug laughed. He pushed Hans further into the room. "It's just goddamn lucky for you that this ain't no contract job. Your ass would be scattered across half to Texas. You sure as fuck led us a chase, boy. But we got you now."
The other goon stood up, leering at the new girl. Hans looked around the room and saw Carter placidly sitting next to Candy Cooper and Susie Dale. The room was in a state of chaos, littered with newspapers and garbage; it looked as though the hoods had been staked out here for a long time. Hans speculated then; they must have known where he was headed, after he had eluded them down in the back country. They must have headed directly to the coast and started combing the city.
"Okay, Jake, go ahead and make the call. At least this time we won't get chewed out. Shit, man, we got him!"
Hans took Jeannie's hand and led her over to the three others. Candy Cooper was frightened; it showed all over her face. Hans sat down next to Carter and they watched the hood making the phone call while the other popped a beer, keeping his pistol pointed however.
"What happened?" Hans whispered to Carter.
"Shit, man, I don't know. These two torpedoes came busting into the party last night. They had this picture of you, see, showing it around. I guess they must have made every freak pad in the Bay Area. Anyway, this fucker VonZuck fingered you. That Jake guy went up to VonZuck and showed him the picture, and that crazy motherfuck said, 'Aw, yeah, man, I saw his ass here last night.' And then he fingers me, just as me and the two chicks was trying to cut out...."
"Hey, you!" the goon with the beer barked. "Shut up!"
"Eat it!" Carter barked back.
The guy came over, raging, and raised an arm. Hans stood up then, towering over the creep, and stared intently. The goon backed down.
"It's all set," the other one said, hanging up the phone. "Know what he said? 'Don't hurt him.' Ain't that something now? Why we would want to hurt pretty spade boy there, I wouldn't know."
"What the fuck are we supposed to do with him then?" the other asked while staring at the girls. He walked over to Jeannie and tried to pinch her rear.
"You touch her and I'll take off your ears," Hans said. "Get away!"
"You threatening me, boy?"
"And if you say boy one more lime, I'll take your nose off too. You hear?"
"Tough, ain't he?" the other laughed. But nobody moved.
"Listen to me," Hans said to them. "This game has gone on long enough. You did your job . ... You caught me. Now, we'll all take a trip back home. So let the others go. Right now!"
"Fuck that," the beer drinker swaggered. "We might as well have some fun. After all this shit we've been eating, living in this dump, looking for some spade stud . ... "
"I mean it," Hans said sternly.
"Okay, okay! The party is over," the other said. "We got orders to take you back. Now, are you going to go along nice and easy or are we gonna have to ship you back in a crate?"
"I told you I'd go with you. All I want is for you to let my friends go."
"What the shit do we care about your friends? They can walk out of here now, far as we're concerned, Shit, the man give the orders, he says not to hurt your ass, and that's what we do, see? He pays the bills, we do the job."
As they were going out later, Carter leaned over and whispered to Hans, "Man, we can take these whiteys without half trying. Let's jump 'em, man."
"No, Carter. I've got to do this, and I might as well get it done. Just see that Jeannie gets back to her folks, will you?"
"Anything you say, man. But I don't get all this cloak and dagger shit."
"I'll explain it to you someday soon," Hans tried to laugh. "I'm going back on my own. It'll just be a long airplane ride with those two. I want to thank you, man, for sticking with me all the way. I think I've been running away from something a long time, telling myself I was looking for the right answer to a wrong question, I couldn't have made it far without you, Carter."
"Hell, man, we had some good times. I don't know what it is you're looking for, but I hope you find it soon. You're too good a brother to be strung out like this...."
One of the hoods stayed with Hans while the other went to bring their car around. Hans almost laughed in the guy's face when he saw the car; it was dented badly where he had helped put it on its side way back there in a Texas cow pasture.
One by one the pretty girls came to Hans then; first Candy Cooper, who threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "We'll be up in Big Sur when you get back," she said.
Susie rubbed herself against him. "Thanks for getting us away from those rednecks," she said. "Are you sure you're okay? I thought the creep was really going to rape us...."
And last-Jeannie. In a way she reminded Hans of the pretty little girl in Wichita, but Jeannie was really tuned in more-with fewer hang-ups. It would be a long time before he came across another great one like Jeannie.
"Hans, are you ever coming back?" she asked, too calmly.
"I don't know . ... I really don't know ... but don't worry, I'll be back sometime. ... And you've got to quit thinking those things."
"What things?" she murmured, putting her arms around him.
"Things like you said the other night---
Remember the beach, behind the rocks? You've got to quit thinking that every time will be the last time . ... There's always a new time for everything ... and time to do it...."
"That's so very nice," she smiled beautifully. "You're okay, Mr. Brock. You're learning too. You're on your way."
CHAPTER 14
The general's two thugs, surprisingly, left hans alone during the flight to New Orleans. He sat during the journey without expression, seemingly without concern. He spoke only to the stewardess when she brought food and champagne; ne ate and drank nothing, and he paid no attention to his "guards" on either side of him.
In all, he had been gone only a few weeks, though to him it seemed years. He was tiding to put everything together in his head, to see what he actually believed, but all he could do was look out the window-at the haze that seemed to cover the world.
As he walked into the New Orleans airport, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the lobby window. He had to look again to believe it; he was changed, or perhaps it was the first time he had really looked at himself. He knew he was different now, and it wasn't just the clothes or the look of a particular kind of person. It amazed him that he looked even younger, less neatly groomed and perfect-but younger. No matter what happened next, he said to himself as he and the two men got into the waiting car, he had gained something on his journey.
He felt an inevitable sinking when he first saw the mansion looming up across the lake. It was still ten minutes around the lake, but the General's domain looked like a burning fortress. The two guards grew quiet also, as if they too feared the coming encounter. When the car entered the grounds, they saw a small band of the General's security force at the gate.
"That's far enough," the captain of the security called out. He came up to the car and looked in to identify Hans. "Get out of the car here . ... We'll take him on in. ;. . "
Hans got out and walked briskly with the captain and three other guards. He stopped at the big doors and looked back; the two goons were leaving, and all the lights around the grounds were going out. It was as though a bright vigil had just ended. He went in behind the captain, and he felt that another world-brighter-was being shut out.
He was a stranger in the place, an intruder in the place of his youth. He had no fond memories; he searched his past and could find nothing to remember. He simply waited to let this thing happen.
The captain took him up to his room, stopped outside the door to let Hans know he would be watched carefully. "The General is pleased you are back," the captain said without emotion. "He would like to see you in his study as soon as you are ready. You'll want to clean up and dress first, of course."
Hans went into the room; he heard the captain on the other side. That's the way it would be, he said to himself; someone would always be standing on the other side of the door. He found his room unchanged since he had taken off; there were his books, his clothes, all the gifts from the General. Nothing impressed him; he could not even remember using them. He went in and took a shower. The water was good, he thought, it was the best thing going. It washed you clean.
The General was waiting in his study; he stood by the desk just as he had many times when Hans had come in this way. He stood there in his grizzly old military pose, proud of this object he had adopted as a son.
"Come in, son," the General said softly. The way he used the word "son" almost made Hans laugh. He had it figured out already, he sensed the whole dirty deal, and he simply didn't cai;e any more. He stood apart from the General and did not offer his hand when the General reached out.
"Well, Hans, we've got a lot to talk about, haven't we?" the old man began earnestly.
"I don't think so, General," Hans replied blandly.
"I don't understand it, son," the old man shook his sad old head. "Why did you run off like that? Was it that crazy bitch of a wife of Mack's? Just what did she tell you anyway?"
"General, don't put me on, will you? I may have been a good little honkie for you all these years, but give me a little credit. You know all about it. I'm sure your bigot McAdams told you everything that happened---"
"Yes, I'll admit he did. I was disappointed in him, of course. Hans, he's just a weak-willed bastard that we have to tolerate if..."
"If what, General?"
"Never mind. What I want to know is, where in hell did you think you were going? And what were you hoping to find out?"
"Come on now, General Kearn, sir," Hans cut in. "I know all about the dirty business back there after the war. I know the story about my mother ... and my father . ... "
"You know I've never wanted that subject brought up," the General tried to put him off.
"It won't work, General. It was a pretty good job of acting there for a long time."
"You went to see Bradner, didn't you, Hans? Just what pack of lies did he tell you? He lied, Hans. He would do anything to get at me. That weak, fuzzy-minded radical. It's his kind that we're fighting, son. Surely you didn't believe his lies about your father . ... "
Hans just laughed in the General's face. The old man was taken aback and could not control his sudden wrath. He came up close to Hans, the way he had approached all his enemies through the years. Hans stared into his fierce eyes.
"The thing is, General, that Bradner didn't tell me anything. Not really!"
"He ... he told you ... nothing....."
"Nothing except one basic item. He did tell me what I should have realized all along."
"And what's that?" the General asked weakly.
"That my real so-called father is still alive."
"That's a lie!" the General screeched. "Come off it, old man!" Hans barked. "It won't work. Can't you see that I know? You, old man. You weak-willed, fuzzy-minded corrupt old fool! You're my real father! All the other stories were just garbage, and you know it. So come on, tell me with your own voice. Isn't it so?"
The old man was visibly shaken. This obviously was something that he was not prepared for. He fell back a step, dropped his head, peering into nothingness, the truth written all over his face. Slowly the old man turned his head and faced his desk, staring at the picture of the beautiful blonde German girl.
"That's not my mother," Hans spit out bitterly. "That's the most ironic part of all this madness, General. Just who is that anyway?"
"I don't know---the General stuttered.
"Just a picture, that's all---Hans, son, can't you see why I had to do all that I did? ... I couldn't
Jet the real truth be known....Can't you understand...."
"No, General. I can't understand at all. You're just a sick old man. I would like to know one thing--What happened to my real mother? ... She was black, wasn't she? That's the part you had to hide, wasn't it? You couldn't let the world see that you had a black mistress . ... "
"No, no, no," the General pleaded. "It wasn't like that at all. She understood what I had to do . ... "
"Quit kidding yourself, General," Hans scoffed. "I don't know, but I imagine she was just like everybody else you came in contact with . ... You either rule people's lives or break them."
"But how ... how did you find out? Bradner didn't even know all of it . ... "
"It's easy, General," Hans laughed. "I had to do a lot of thinking. Besides, I lived under your shell for all these years. It's just the sort of bigotry that you would go for."
The old military man slumped beside his chair, looking all around as though he were lost in a strange place. He took one step to the desk, picked up the picture of the white girl, then dropped it abruptly on the carpet.
"So much for that, huh?" Hans said. "Son, son, please listen to me . ... "
"Don't call me that!"
"You've got to listen. I did it all for you son. Nobody would have accepted you as my real son, so I made them accept you on another, better level. I had to do it. Please, I know you'll understand after a while. The important thing is that you're back. You don't know how many times I wanted to be your real father....And I was . ... "
"You were never anything but a robot, General," Hans laughed. "And you treated everybody the same-like puppets."
"You don't mean that. I know you don't, son. It'll be better now, I promise you. I can make it up to you. Why should I go to all this trouble to have you hunted down? Why would I bring you back? Listen, I know about your girl friend Linda even. I've found out everything about you since you left. I had to. I had to find you. I met the girl. Even if she is black, son, she's what you want and what you're going to have. Why, I've even moved her out of that 'lump in the Quarter, and she's part of our world now, son. Part of your world and mine . ... "
"I don't believe that," Hans scoffed. "You could never buy Linda off....She's not like the other people you own. ... she's . ... "
"You're wrong, son. She's waiting for you right now. Upstairs, in her own room. She's here, son. Now, doesn't that prove to you that I'm sincere?"
"Where is she?" Hans demanded angrily. "Linda here? What in hell have you done to her?"
He raced out of the room. The General laughed happily, mistaking Hans' meaning. "She's in the guestroom, son. She's waiting for you! Everything's gonna be all right now. I knew you'd understand, son . ... "
He raced up the spiral staircase, got his breath at the door of the guestroom, and opened the door quickly without knocking. It was true.
There she was, sitting on the chaise lounge, dressed in an expensive looking outfit that the General no doubt had bought her.
"Hans, baby," she cried excitedly as he went in. She jumped up and ran to him, threw her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him. Abruptly he pulled away and looked fiercely into her face.
"What are you doing here, Linda?" he demanded.
"Why, the General brought me here. Why, darling? Is anything wrong now? I've been so worried about you ... and the General has been frantic . ... He's had dozens of men out looking for you ... but now it's all right. You're back ... and we can be together again . ... It's going to be great, Hans . ... It's going to be wonderful . ... Come on, love me . ... God, I've been waiting for you to love me."
"You came here?" he stopped her. "Why, Linda? Why would you let the General buy you? Why?"
Suddenly, she changed her expression. She looked around the room, all the exquisite things in the world now at her fingertips. She looked more than beautiful in her expensive gown. She looked as if she belonged in it. That was the trouble, Hans knew immediately.
"Baby, I'm so damn tired of fighting it. I thought you would come back, that we would ... No! It's not even that. I'm just tired of eating shit. Sure, I want this. And so do you, baby! Don't tell me you haven't eaten shit all your life, just for this! Come on, Hans, admit it."
"So this is the ticket for you, baby? Even if I said I wasn't having any of it?"
"But you are having it," she smiled. "I know you are . ... That's why I'm here. ... Come on, darling, love me. Forget the rest of those honkies."
He pulled away from her and backed out into the hall. She stood there as if she had expected this, as if she thought he would come back later. He just shook his head sadly. She would fight this battle with herself one of these days soon. It was funny, grotesquely funny, but he could understand. He felt sorry for her, and one day soon he might be able to help her. But it wasn't possible now; too much was happening, too many hang-ups tangling around him.
He went back down the stairs. He walked calmly now. Across his mind flashed the faces of his true friends, all those he had lived with during his brief but most eventful sojourn. He saw Carter's smiling face, and Candy Cooper's, and the beautiful young girl named Jeannie. He saw the pristine beauty of the Big Sur, with all his friends running around in jubilant freedom. That, he said to himself, was the way it was going to be.
"What did I tell you?" the General beamed from the corridor. "Now, my son, my real son, we've got so much to talk about, so much to make up for. Come . ... "
"No, General," Hans shook his head. He paused a moment, and the General read his true feelings in his face.
"What ... ? No, Hans! No son...."
"Goodbye, General," Hans smiled.
"My son, my son, come here . ... "
Hans walked brusquely past his father, but said over his shoulder, "General, just fuck off, will you?"
