She has a house full of big handsome full-grown sons, and Marge Bevins refuses to discuss the subject of incest on a personal level. Yet that is the major theme of Brother and Sisters, her first novel for Surrey House, Inc.
Seated in the living room of her comfortable lakeside villa, deep in the interior of the Mexican tropics, a refreshing Margarita in hand and the polished onyx floors sparkling underfoot. . . she went into much detail of Valerie's and big brother Billy's deep sexual relationship. Much like their older sister arrangement with her brother before them.
It wasn't so much that Valerie was frigid as she was frightened about all the aspects of sex, and afraid of being hurt. Who but a loving, understanding big brother could be expected to teach her carefully, painstakingly, all the more subtle facets of health though incestuous heterosexuality?
Billy had certainly had ample experience, seducing his older sister, why not apply these learnings to seducing the younger, more voluptuous sister? Only a short step away from contemplating having both of them, together, at the same time.
On the other side of town there was the dentist who, when his patients would be asleep under gas, would take the most depraved liberties with their bodies ... especially their mouths. Yet they all kept coming back to him, time and again, to have another cavity drilled and filled as only he could do it.
Marge Bevins, in a masterful manner usually found only in writers of long standing, took all these elements and blended them skillfully into one roaring, raging lustfest that she has called Brother and Sisters.
Surrey House, Inc. is extra proud to bring it to you for the Surrey Collectors Series of outstanding adult fiction from all over the world.
Fresh, sparkling new titles in the Surrey Collectors Series reach your favorite news dealer or adult book store at the same time every month. We will be there waiting for you, along with the Surrey Collectors Series companions, the Rated X books and the HIS 69 gay titles. Serious collectors of strictly adult reading will want them all, side by side on their private book shelves for definite re-reading and ready reference.
We want to make all Surrey House, Inc. books the perfect reflection of your reading and sexual desires and invite your comments at all times, so we can better serve you. We urge you to write us with exact details of what kind of books you would like to read, and any other sexual matters you are concerned about, IN ABSOLUTE, STRICT
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Only you can do it. We here at Surrey House, Inc. only exist to serve you in these matters of great concern.
All especially significant letters will be answered directly, and all story suggestions will be turned over to our staff of writers all over the world.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
What a glorious day! Clear blue above, you can see into it forever! And the wind in the fresh green elm leaves. Robins on the emerald expanses of lawn, their heads jerking mechanically; hop, hop, hop; peck, peck, peck. Irises, tulips, glads all sorts of flowers.
Valerie Wright was happy enough to burst.
"The score is that of a genius, Valerie!" The words echoed in her mind, and her heart was light, filled with happy helium. The principal. Mr. Swanson, the principal, had said them. And he shook her hand. Two years in a row now, and she had scored over one hundred forty in the Sanford-Benet Intelligence test.
Her Wechsler-Bellvue had also indicated that she was a genius.
And the MMPI, the Minnesota Multi-phasic Personality Inventory, had given her a clean bill of mental health.
All these factors, together with the beautiful day, combined to orchestrate a lyrical fugue in Valerie Wright's lyrical and pure heart.
And then up drove Craig Greguson, the village idiot. His car was low and sleek in front, high and clumsy in back. Loud. Big fat tires. A silly car, Valerie thought. A silly car for a silly little boy. She heard the burbling and rumbling and, when he hit the accelerator pedal, it sounded like fresh canvas ripping over a hundred watt amplifier.
Naturally she ignored him. She knew what he wanted. Always the same thing. "Val, wanna go to McDonald's and then screw?"
She would naturally as usual ignore him.
"Val, wanna go to McDonald's and then screw?"
She ignored him, naturally, and continued walking.
It was a game, and an unpleasant one for Valerie. Books cradled securely in the crook of her freckled arm, she would always continue walking, just as though she hadn't heard him. A game. The same inane, foolish game that he played all the time. Filthy talk. And showing off.
Juvenile exhibitionism. Male chauvinism on the acne scale. With loud pipes. So she walked on down the sidewalk.
And, as usual, his raucous laugh would signal his departure.
The laugh, and then the ear-splitting roar of his silly car, its little front wheels off the ground, the clumsy fat rear ones burning and smoking, filling the clear air with unpleasant fumes. And the blue roadster would be gone for another day.
Valerie detested Craig. She detested him for disturbing her dream. Mom was smiling to her in her thoughts, telling her what a good girl she was. And then Craig, and that silly, rote game. And the noise. The sight of those epidermal volcanoes erupting on his fat red face.
Valerie knew that he ... masturbated. It was certain; all children boys who masturbated had acne. A known fact. She wondered how often he did it to be as crazy as he was. Perhaps many times a day. Her hand brushed her blemish-free complexion. Probably had hair growing in the palm of his hand, too, unless he's old enough to shave there ... .
"Screw?" She thought about it. Ugly. Animals, copulating. Golly, like dogs. I wonder if Duke screws? No, he's a nice dog. Dukie wouldn't screw. Ish!
She thrust the very idea out of her mind, nauseated.
Yet, she remembered and could still see couples walking around, smiling, happy, holding hands. So happy. Touching. Together. Together for a long time, smiling and holding hands. Do they screw? The question crept back into her mind like fog into a low-lying valley at night. Do they screw? Is that why they're happy, holding hands, together? How can such an ugly activity produce such apparent happiness? Are they happy, these couples? Or are they insane?
Her thoughts wandered to the situation of her older sister, Caroline. Happily married. Caroline comes to the house with Dan once in a while. They sit together, laugh together, hold hands. Smile and kiss. Smile. And kiss. They seem to be in love.
Is that it? Love? John Donne? Elizabeth Barrett Browning? Kahlil Gibran? Love? Of course they're in love. Do they screw? Do ... they ... screw? Well, probably not. Not like Craig means it! That would make it dirty. Maybe they make love. Sure! They're in love, so they make love! Good for them, too!
Here comes old Mrs. Grimsrud, better wait to cross the street. Better wave too; she's a nice lady. Wonder how her husband's doing in the hospi-Hi, Mrs. Grimsrud! Ah, she saw me. Okay, can go now. No other cars. She's a nice lady. Beer cans in the gutter.
I wonder what I'm going to get for my birthday. Fifteen. Day after tomorrow! Another milestone. Twenty-one, thirty, and forty. Will I ever get to be forty? I want to be a mother, I think. But. . . not a wife. Oooh, nuts!
Caroline's going to get me that nice black blouse; Debbie told me. Wendy? I don't know. Wonder how she and Willie are doing? Boy, if Caroline is happy with Dan, Wendy and Willie sure aren't getting along. But I know why! Wendy is well she's nothing but a whore! My own sister! Screwing. Ish. She screws all kinds of men. I'll never tell mom, though. That night I babysat. This big black man came. Oooh, was I scared! Wendy here? NO! I just about wet my pants. Scarey! He pushed his way in and drooled at me! Big eyes, hands on his hips. Yum, yum, yum! Who you? I'm her sister, and if you don't leave I'm going to And he laughed at me! Just laughed. I was scared. What could I do? He was a football player. A professional football player! I only weigh mmm well, about one hundred and twelve and a half, without my shoes. Hey, Billy's car is there! Good! He's home from work early.
Valerie hadn't see her brother for three days. She liked him, she liked Caroline. But she didn't like Wendy terribly. She had a well-founded idea that her oldest, and prettiest, sister was a ... whore. But she was glad to see that Billy was home.
Her mother would be gone, at the garden club. That meant that she and Billy would get to talk for a while before she had to make supper. Lots of time for supper.
As she walked toward the house she thought about Billy. He was her model of a nice guy. Strange, she thought, most brothers and sisters don't get along. She saw that he had put racing stripes on his white Mustang. Blue ones. A wide blue one in the middle, and two thin ones next to them. Stupid. Waste of money. Have to talk to him about no. . . It's his car. If he wants to do childish things like ... .
Duke, the gray-brown German shepherd, saw her, barked happily, and bounded out of the yard toward her. He was obviously glad to see her.
She was also glad, and bent, put her books on the sidewalk, and braced herself for his inevitable leap. Kid dog, she thought, just like a demented little boy! But I love him so! He-likes to see me! Always the same. Rain or shine! Ooof!
"Hi, Dukie! HI!" she said.
She patted him, roughed up the hair on the back of his neck, hugged him.
He ran in circles around her, mock-snapped at her ankles, and then made a wide swoop, stopping at her feet, his long pink tongue lolling out of his black and gray covered mouth. His alert brown eyes sparkled. Always the algebra book. She handed it to him, he leaned forward and took it between his teeth, and together they walked up the flagstone path to the house, Duke at heel.
Everything was perfect for Valerie. The only surprise was pleasant. Valerie didn't care for surprises, and tried to control all the variables in her life. She realized that she could not run the world, but she tried to run that part of it that pertained to her. Surprises to her represented variables that is, factors she hadn't counted on. She made decisions based on all the data available to her; variables were therefore problems, and Valerie felt that she should avoid all problems, because those that she had quite by accident were enough to solve. Energy.. She equated problems with a (psychic) energy loss.
Just as she approached the house and thought about Billy, Billy sat in the kitchen thinking about her. He nursed a cold beer and chuckled to himself, about Valerie. Earlier he had talked to his girl on the phone, and she had told him about Valerie receiving the class honors. Valerie, the valedictorian. Missed graduating from high school at fourteen by some five days. And still running off with all the academic marbles. With no marbles at all.
He wondered why Valerie was so straight, so solemn, so moral, so humorless, so pragmatic, dogmatic, so Puritanical, pedantic, self-righteous, so sure that her own shit didn't stink when, with just a little effort, she would not only be able to be smart, like she was, but she would also be desirable.
Because she is good looking, Billy, still drinking, mused. Damned hot looking. With one hell of a shape! If I weren't her brother I'd try to get a taste of that! Yes indeed, I would.
The sound of the front door opening startled him. He realized that it was Valerie, home from school, and he blushed. Thinking bad thoughts about her.
Billy was a sophomore at the University, studying psychology. He had, through his readings and as a result of curiosity incited by his various scoffing professors, cultivated a keen interest in so-called parapsychology, or extra-sensory perception. He worked in his spare time with Zener cards, and kept copious and very codified notes on his work and experiments.
One thing about this ESP that truly intrigued him was a sort of mental manipulation. A spiritual levitation. Sitting in the student union he would concentrate very hard on the back of some girl's head.
"I want to fuck you!" he would say, without using his voice. He would concentrate very pointedly, removing everything else from his mind. And he would repeat the phrase.
The results of this rather unorthodox experiment fascinated him. Almost invariably the girl would turn, flustered and blushing, obviously agitated and often panting. He would smile benignly and perhaps walk the fifteen to twenty-five feet to join them.
"Odd you should have turned," he would often say. "Just thinking about you." Yes, he was thinking about them.
This taught Billy two things: One, thoughts can be intercepted, snatched out of thin air by a receptive or sensitive neighbor, and, two, a given amount of mental control can be exerted on an unsuspecting person, or victim.
Now despite the fact that he was going steady with Charlene Kimberly, a class-mate of Valerie's, he was exhilarated about having scored with a very sharp little redhead at the university. His experiment with her, in the library, had been an astounding success. When she had turned around she was breathless, flushed red, and almost panicky. After the follow-up, the benign smile, he had diverted his gaze back down to his book, playing innocent.
As soon as she turned back to her work, he doubled his effort, staring at her and almost shouting from his mind, beaming the sex-heavy message right at the back of her neck.
The girl whirled and ran at him, angry. "Are you shooting hairpins or paperclips at me?" she demanded, raising quite a stir.
Billy handled that like a master. No binders, no paperclips, no hairpins, nothing. A rather studious type girl, looking rather like a human owl with horn-rimmed glasses, happened to be sitting right beside Billy. She verified that Billy hadn't been shooting a thing. Just sitting there, his hands folded on the table.
The girl felt terrible, and apologized.
Billy accepted and invited her to the union, where they had a coke and talked. Became acquainted. But all the while he was beaming his message to her, and she was obviously bothered by it. His mind-games had planted a heavy sexual message in the depths of her mind; she hadn't been able to understand at all.
Now Billy recovered from his chagrin, took a quick sip, and smiled. He thought that Valerie would be some kind of ultimate subject for his mind-game. As she came in he greeted her in a more than usually friendly manner.
"Hi, Val! Hey, Charlene told me the good news!" I want to fuck you-
"Hi, Billy, isn't it wonderful?" and as she went on, so did Billy:
right now! Take that high-necked blouse off and suck on those ripe breasts of yours. Put my tongue into your sweet little butter-box and-
As she spoke, a sudden breathlessness came over her, pressing in on her like a giant invisible hand. Suddenly she began to think that she was being trivial, silly. That she was talking too much about herself. She put her books on the table, still chatting about the day in school, the convocation and award ceremony, and she unconsciously adjusted her collar, even though she knew it was perfect.
Her blood seemed to thicken, to pound in her temples and pulses. The thunder of her heart rang so loudly in her ears that she was certain Billy could hear it. She felt dizzy, as though she were about to faint. She sat down, stopped talking abruptly, in mid-sentence, and raised an eyebrow at her brother.
"Something weird is happening to me, Billy. Maybe I'm getting a cold, because I certainly feel strange all of a sudden ... . "
"What's wrong, Val? Describe how you feel." He pushed the beer can aside and leaned forward on his chair, spreading his elbows and hands out on the table. He looked right at her, thinking harder than ever. Only with a supreme effort could he keep from smiling. And he didn't back off a bit, despite a mild headache.
Valerie was certain that she was sick. She told him what she felt, but not everything. There were strange sensations in the pit of her stomach. She knew what the feelings were: sex. This realization stunned her. When it struck her she gasped, blinked, and then buried her face in her hands, embarrassed.
"I can't go on!" she cried from behind the cover of her shielding hands.
Billy stopped. He had succeeded. He knew this, and decided to press on. Despite the fact that she was his sister he had an erection. He had visualized undressing her, caressing her firm young breasts, fondling her supple body, eating her untouched little pussy, and then fucking her. He had seen this as he thought to her, and had conveyed the message, which she received loud and clear. And now she was nothing but a quivering little mass of human jelly.
"I know what's wrong with you, Val. I could hear it! Relax, now. You want me to tell you what I think?" he asked.
The aftermath of her thundering excitement didn't leave her body quickly. But she pulled herself together, sat back, and stared at the table and at his hands, very troubled. "Sure."
"You think that you've wasted a good part of your life."
"I most certainly do not!" She glared at him because she did happen to think something rather like that, and he had exposed it.
"All your success in school, you believe, was bought at a very high price! The price of fun, of being a kid, of going roller-skating, to the movies, of having a boy-friend "
"No, Billy. No, no, no! I was not thinking that!" And she knew that she was thinking something, for a brief second, just about exactly like that. So she protested a bit loudly.
"And suddenly you felt sexy." He said this in a calm, professional way, not implying more than he said.
"I did not, Billy! How dare you?! " And, at this, she frowned at him, angry because once again he had scored a bull's-eye. Sexy was the word for it.
"All right, Val. We'll let it go," he said.
There was an uncomfortable silence between them, an elastic silence that stretched. As it stretched it became tighter and tighter, until it was about to snap and shower them both with hot sparks. Valerie gave in, every joint in her body cracking under the pressure of the silence.
"Billy--? "
"Yeah?"
"You were right, of course..." she said, slowly.
"About what, Val?" Aha, he thought, now I got her. All I want to do is make her say it!
"About all of it, just about. I feel like crying."
"Nuts, Val. Want a beer?" he asked.
She lowered her head and turned it, looking at him as though he should know better.
He shrugged and went for another for himself. "A coke?"
"All right. Billy--? " she started to ask him-
"Yeah?" He opened the coke and popped his beer. Then he brought her the coke and sat down again, waiting for her to continue.
"In school, you know? Well, I took biology and had to take sex education..." Smut, she was thinking. Top grades in both classes, one hundred in every test. But the material was detestable.
"So ? "
"Well, I didn't like either. Oooh, biology was interesting at times. Mitosis was, anyway."
"Mitosis? You mean cell-division?" he said.
"Yes, you know about it, then?" she asked.
"Sure! Ever think of mitosis and then look at paramecia under the microscope?"
Valerie blushed her answer. He heard her.
"Well, conjugation. I see you know. A Paramecium is a very sexy little devil, almost like a cell in the human body. Mind of its own, and all that. It sort of screws itself, and splits into two, just like a body cell. Epithelial or muscular, that is. Nerve cells don't regenerate. Conjugation. That's what it's called but perhaps, since you're so proper about that sort of thing, you'd rather think of conjugating verbs, eh?"
"Billy, please! Don't be mean to me."
"Well, you are rather priggish, you know. What's the matter, Val? Are you afraid to face the fact that sex makes the world go 'round? Why do you so consistently deny the strongest of man's biological drives; The sex drive overrides all others since it is the conductor of the body's orchestra, you know."
"No, I don't know. That's merely a theory, along with all that other nonsense of Freud's. There's no proof; those theories are not scientific laws, you know. Just theories." Valerie could recite the drives, and had read quite a bit about Freud's theories of underlying sexuality as a major motivator of human activity. But some of it was distasteful to her.
Problems. So she dealt with them in an academically responsible way. She determined that they were, in fact, theories. Not scientific laws. This way she could discredit them in her own mind and they ceased to be problems. She dealt with them like a priest exorcising evil spirits, and they, the problematic theories, disappeared like those banished spirits.
Billy knew that she had won that small part of the argument, but the evidence for the validity of the theories was great. "I know the difference between laws and theories," he said. "If you want to be a scholastic ostrich about it, if you want to continue to be a prig, waste your life, and end up an old spinster-" Ah, what a word, spinster! "that's your affair. I'm just trying to be sensible with you because I like you. And you're a tremendously attractive girl, until you open your mouth " That cuts!
Valerie was about to rebut and, when she heard the last comment, she snapped her mouth shut. She was suddenly on the defensive because he had become cuttingly personal. He had hurt her, and a red embarrassment suffused her, covering the last traces of the thundering sexuality that had shaken her a few minutes earlier.
Since there seemed to be little she could say or wanted to say after that, she got up from the table abruptly, leaving her coke untouched. And she walked out of the room without even looking at Billy.
He shrugged. Screw it, he said to himself, she may as well know the truth. She'll end up being known as old aunt Val, with a houseful of stinking cats and a flower garden. She will, unless she finds out where it's at. Guess I was pretty hard on her. Mmmmmm. Perhaps I should go apologize. Hurt her feelings. She is only fourteen. Well, almost fifteen. Mature, too, in some ways. About like a child in others. A little kid. Frightened. Damn it.
He nursed his beer and brooded. His experiment had been a resounding success, as he thought it might. It had also precipitated a fight. Well, a tiff. Billy blamed himself. What a shit-head I am! God, I'm four years older than she is, about. I should know that she's sensitive. A genius. Skittish, just like a thoroughbred racehorse. Can't mess her up like that. Shit, have to say I'm sorry to her. Oh, well....
He heard her upstairs and looked at the ceiling. Probably studying. God, what a freak for studying! Such a smart girl. Why Christ! She could get Phi Beta Kappa without cracking a book; why does she study? She's so goddamned good looking, too. If I were Mr., I'd have a boy friend. Anyway, I'd get it on with someone. Not keep the facts of life locked out of my head....
He finished his beer and pushed himself away from the table. Noises still fell from the ceiling. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was early. Three-thirty. Time for two or three more beers before the old folks come home. About two hours. He trundled up the stairs in his stocking feet.
Valerie's bedroom was across from his. The door was ajar, and suddenly he became giddy. He wanted to frighten her, as he had done long ago, when they were little kids. Creep up on her and yell "BOO!" She would jump and cry, but not hard. And then they would laugh, after she threatened to tell mom.
The giddiness of this planned tactic filled Billy, and he crept to the door, silent as a cat. Then he peered around the jamb. His heart stopped.
He looked at the dressing table. Above it was a mirror. In it he saw Valerie, across the room and hidden from direct view. She stood in front of the full-length closet door mirror, stark naked. His plan to startle her vanished. Suddenly he throbbed with frighteningly powerful arousal. His cock jumped up and he supported himself against the hall wall.
As he watched his mind reeled. Valerie stood before the mirror and was cupping her breasts and turning from one side to another, examining herself. Her breasts were much larger than Billy had expected them to be. She had brushed her hair out of its swirled bun, and it hung like a golden waterfall right down to the small of her back. Those two quarter-sized dimples. And the golden triangle at the base of her belly, right where her legs meet her torso. Small. Modest. Alluring. Delicious. Nice hips, nice thighs, nice calves. Small waist.
But God, those tits! Are they nice! Beat Charlene's all to hell! Pale pink nipples. And the haloes around them are the size of silver dollars. Ahhh, now she's taking her hands away. My God, do they stand right out there! She has to be a thirty-four C. Small back, but righteous tits! God, look at the way she stands there! Tits right out! Man, is she beautiful! Look at the way she thrusts 'em out! What's she doing?! Is she mirror-fighting? Is she sexy after all?
Valerie was not sexy. She was confused. As she examined herself in the mirror she frowned. This is my body, she was thinking. It walks me around. It carries my brain from place to place, and does my bidding. I control it. Breasts bah! Ugh! They flop up and down in gym, and they hurt sometimes, when I'm menstruating. And those idiotic nipples hurt when they chafe on material, when I don't wear a brassiere. Ish! Such absurd hair down there! Wonder what purpose it serves? How grotesque! Look at it! Terrible! I would shave it off, but that would be a morbid preoccupation with sex, I think. Mmmmmm, my legs aren't too fat. Why do boys think that I'm so pretty? I'm not! I'm just a girl. Plain looking. Not at all like Sarah Wells or Ginny Sparks. Just plain. Oh, so what? Wonder if I'll ever use these? Wonder if I ever do have children I'll nurse them. From what I read, even my milk is contaminated. Bringing kids into the world might be a crime, but I do want to be a mother. At least I think I do. I don't know.
Sexual arousal was strangling Billy and he was suddenly feeling the effects of a lot of beer and not much gratification. It had been over a week since he had screwed Charlene. His cock was bursting. He lusted for his sister. His eyes burned as he watched, himself unseen. Having her became the most important thing in his life, and he quickly regrouped his mental resources.
Thoughts of lurid sex shot out of his mind, beamed through the door, directly at the place he calculated she was standing. God, Val, let me touch you, let me kiss you, let me take you onto the bed! I will be nice, Val. Gentle. I'll pop your cherry for you, but I won't hurt you! I promise! Let me, Val. Turn around, now! NOW!
Valerie was suddenly terrified, and she wheeled around.
All she saw was the door, open a couple of inches. That same feeling was overpowering her and her heart thundered. Her pussy burned, bubbled, itched, screamed at her for attention. A dizzying force impelled her to the bed, where she fell on her back. Her legs went wide and her knees jerked up. As though driven by some guiding faculty, her hand slipped down to her crotch.
She struggled against all of it, lost in a whirl of confusion. But something in her pussy called to her. It was necessary that her hand go there, just as iron is attracted to a powerful magnet, to the irresistible call of a magnet.
Valerie hated sex. Her mind was set against it and therefore, when the urge came to her, she thought of the urge and its satisfaction as hateful and depraved. But the touch of her hand on the soft slit of her pussy and on the burning mound above it somehow filled her with a contradictory pair of feelings. One was a sensation of gratification, the other a screaming demand to continue.
Billy was watching this, dumb-struck. His cock was out like a flesh-colored railroad spike, red-tipped and alive. It burned to be surrounded by the inner walls of Valerie's wet vagina, by the heat of her untouched inner cunt.
He couldn't resist. When he heard her begin to moan he threw the door open and burst in.
CHAPTER TWO
Valerie's heart jumped up into her throat when she saw Billy fly toward her. "NO!" she screamed, paralyzed by embarrassment and terror.
A simple command couldn't stop him, though. His desire was beyond voluntary control. Seeing his fabulous sister from all angles and then watching her throw herself onto the bed and begin to masturbate had snapped his mind temporarily. It was necessary to taste her, to kiss her, to hold her and feel those beautiful tits, kiss them, suck them. And suck that wonderful pussy.
His body slammed onto hers and his lips smashed against hers, burning onto them like a red-hot branding iron. He grasped her ripe breasts and thrust his cock against her already wet crotch, himself gratified and still craving tremendously.
Valerie bit him, drew blood. She bit through his lip, and his blood spurted into her mouth, mingling like salt with her fresh saliva. She realized it, and cried out. Her immediate reaction was one of apology, of being sorry, of trying to show him that she was sorry. Her arms went around him and she cried out.
The nip thrilled Billy. He knew what she had done, and it thrilled him, making him feel that he had paid too much, and had paid it in advance. Certainly Valerie's sense of fair play would show, and as she cried out and held him, he knew that it had. But he didn't accept the hug in an altogether brotherly fashion.
Instead, he used it. Grasped her in a hot embrace and once again branded her lips with his. His tongue dived into her mouth. Supreme achievement.
Valerie struggled, was stifled and burning with an unknown thrill. No tongue had ever been in her mouth. The cold yet hot tongue was only against hers, but she could feel it against the inside of her breasts, burning the nipples from behind. It shot down, through messengers in her body, to the very depths of her belly. Down and down, like lightning, jolting, burning, making her twitch, down to her toes and out to her toes. Burned the tips of her toes, left quivering legs in its wake.
A burning pussy. And again, and the pussy's fire was quenched and, at the same time, it burst into new flame, becoming a raging inferno, a roaring blaze crashing through virgin forestlands. The fire fed on itself, fanned by the thrilling but forbidden tongue of her brother.
As he kissed her, Billy smeared his cut lips onto her and then worked his face on the blood, consciously setting the stage for deep recriminations on her part. He knew the kiss would end; when she saw what she had done she would willingly submit to anything. And he knew it. So he covered the lower half of his face with a deep crimson mask, all the while trying to find the magical slit with his probing prick.
He was on the verge of orgasm all this while. His nuts were happy, laughing, bubbling, throbbing, timed for an intense nuclear explosion. His cock was doing their bidding, trying for all its worth to slither into that slight hole and bury itself up in the buttery depths of her receptive vagina.
But Valerie's vagina wasn't as receptive as Billy's cock was thinking it was. Valerie felt the probing and jabbing, the hot thrusts of that thing she knew to be an erect penis. She fought it vigorously, trying to cross her legs. She also fought the hot demand of her body, the cry of "YIELD" and take him in.
The struggle within her was riotous, confused, all-consuming. Touch-and-go, for either side. Her mind screamed out in righteous indignation, her body screamed out just as loudly, demanding fast satisfaction of its burning desire. The struggle ripped Valerie, and her body turned traitor, causing blood to rush to places that swelled and made breathing difficult. It made her hips begin to pump and surge, it made her legs obey its command to part.
But her mind hadn't lost, not completely. She tore her face away from Billy's. When she saw his face, red with fresh blood, she cried out. "OHHH! NO!"
He pulled away from her, wriggling his body over hers during the stunned pause. His cock touched that hot wetness. Then he paused. "Val, you're so very beautiful!"
"Ooooh, Billy! I'm sorry! But Billy ! "
"We can, Val, we have to!" he said, positively.
"I CANT! No, Billy, I just can't!" she said.
"But why?! " He pushed up a bit and felt pay-dirt. The knob of his cock wedged its way into her slit and the deliciously hot moisture of her cunt pressed it tightly. He pressed up harder, and his cock slipped in a bit more. All the while he stared at her intently, as though hypnotizing her. "We have to," he whispered. The fact is, they were.
"Please, Billy, no! Don't do this to me! Please don't!"
Billy's heart was thumping and his breath was coming in very jagged gasps. He couldn't stop and he knew it. He had already fucked his sister. His cock was into her, and that was that. No turning back now. He couldn't have, until-
"Billy, please. I'll do anything else for you please!"
He paused, his cock about an inch into her quivering cunt. Looking down at her, he was filled with desire. She was the most beautiful girl he could imagine his own sister.
".Anything?" he asked.
"Anything, Billy, I promise," she said.
"Anything." He made no move, but his eyes locked onto hers.
"I promise."
"You will do anything I say," he said. "Anything, Billy. But not this. Please." "Anything." "Billy, please ... . "
"All right, Val. I take you at your word." His arousal subsided and his mind began to race. Reluctantly, he pulled his broad cock out and very slowly. He watched her eyes until she closed them and sighed.
Rolling over and off her, he sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. Then he glanced at her and smiled. Her face was also covered with blood. His blood. But the lip didn't hurt. Not any more. He knew that there would be a scar, but it would be a scar won with his boots on, a dueling scar. So what?
He got up, tucked his now limp prick into his pants, and walked out of the room and into the bathroom, where he wet the pink washcloth with cold water. Then he went back into Valerie's room, only to discover that she had thrown her housecoat around her and huddled like some trapped animal in the corner.
He smiled at that. "Oh, Val! I'm not going to hurt you." He walked toward her and washed the blood from her face. He held the back of her head and washed her with tenderness that's usually reserved for lovers. He felt that they were. He loved her, and loved her romantically, even though she was his sister. And it was his score, his first score with her.
J actually got it into her, he thought. But then, he thought about her mulish refusal to be fucked. Was it incest? he wondered. No. No, it's because she doesn't want to be fucked. In a way I can see it, from her point of view. But then, anything, as she said. Anything. He brushed the last smudges of almost brown blood from her chin and then put his finger to it, under it, raising it.
Her eyes held an expression of pain. He kissed her lips lightly and then pulled away, still looking at her. Then he went out, back to the bathroom, and washed his own face. The gash wasn't bad at all.
"Wow," he said, coming back in, "You're a real tiger! You really bit me!" For some reason he couldn't bring himself to call her Val or Valerie. She had to become depersonalized as his sister. Otherwise it was just too difficult to face. The heat of passion had melted his innate morality, but as that passion cooled his morality crystallized. It loomed before him, invincible, like a mountain of granite. Instead of looking at it as a mountain, he looked at it as a challenge. Something to climb and conquer.
Valerie didn't reply. She felt bad about biting him, drawing blood like that, but she felt justified too. Attempted rape, by my own brother, my one friend in life. My closest friend. And he tried to rape me. Gosh, I didn't want to bite him. I really didn't. But I had to. He's such a nice looking guy. I love him; why did he have to do all this and ruin everything? And what will I have to do now? It won't be as bad as ... that! Screwing. Ooooh, it was awful! Animal! We were like two animals! Nothing but animals!
The sight of Valerie, covered by the housecoat, incited a new well of surging lust in Billy. He walked slowly toward her, his eyes fastened to hers.
"Come," is all he said, and held his hand out to her.
She huddled even harder into the corner. "What are you going to do, Billy? Be nice now."
"Sure I'll be nice," he assured her as he took her hand. He led her to the bed and put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her down. He sat close to her as she sat.
"You said that you would do anything, you remember?"
She pouted and looked down at her hands. "Billy, please ? "
"Anything. And I said that I was going to take you at your word. Your word Val. Your word, my precious little sister."
"Oooh, Billy "
"Anything, sis?"
"Please, Billy, noooo..." she said, moaning. "You're going back on your word then?" he asked.
"Billy, you're being unreasonable. Be good, please."
"Stop shaking like that. I'm not going to hurt you!"
She looked at him and took his hand. "Don't be unkind to me, Billy. Don't you know how much faith I have in you? I trust you; I love you ! "
He saw her lower lip quiver and then looked up a bit and saw that tears were forming once again in the corners of her beautiful green eyes. At that moment it didn't make any difference at all to him that she was his sister. He loved her with an all-consuming love, and his passion to blend with her was limitless, burning, powerful. He ached to hold her, kiss her, throw her down on the bed again and love her; he would have married her in a second if he could have, if it would be legally permitted and was willing to spend his life trying to make her enjoy sex.
"God, Val, I love you too!" he said. "But I love you with my guts as well as my hell my heart. Don't you know? I'm not trying to fuck you, kid! I want to love you. All these years."
She began to sob and looked at him through tear-blurry eyes. "Oooh, Billy, is that true? Really? Is it true?" My God, she cried to herself, I've loved him too! But oooh what can I do? What can I do?
He put his hand on her shoulder. He was on her left, and she held his right hand. It was his left hand that he put on her shoulder her right shoulder. He pulled her around a bit, so she faced him.
H
"True, Val. God, I hate it that I'm your brother. I want to be your lover. God, how I want to love you like a man loves his wife...."
She cried louder and shook her head. Never. It can't be!
He looked down at the tempting bulges her breasts pushed out against the terry cloth material of her housecoat. Soft flesh under there, breasts high and firm. Rosy nipples, ready to suck. Nice, full tits, so wonderful to feel, to fondle, to caress and kiss, to nuzzle and sleep on. Mmmmmm, my bedroom, right across from hers. I have to do this right. If I do, well then--. '
Patience, Billy cautioned himself. Patience and perseverance made a bishop of his reverence. Play it cool, now. But God, is she wonderful! Shit! Why isn't she the girl next door?? ? Why does she have to be my sister, for Christ's sake?
But then, he continued, so what if she is my sister? That could make it even better! We could possibly share more. At least we start out sharing, if only parents and an address. A break. At least I know my in-laws pretty well. And, in case of a wedding, the bride's parents share honors with the groom's. Both share the costs. But shit, would they wig out if I ever brought it up! Maybe we could move to Utah, or some funky state like that, where a guy can marry his sister. God, such full lips she has. Ripe. Not pink, but darker. How beautifully they're shaped. Such a nice small chin, and such large eyes. That strand of hair, hanging down over her right eyebrow. Tan, already, and it's only early
May. Highlights on the upper parts of her cheeks. Her face relaxes into a smile. Her lips are pillows that call me, pillows filled with soft love. God, satisfying love. Warmth and promise. Clean teeth, white. That one, on the left, broken off just a bit when she fell off her bike. Just a bit. Lends a lot; she's too perfect, or would be, without that chipped tooth. God, I can imagine waking up to look at her face. Kiss it when I wake up. While she's asleep. Kiss her beautiful lips, kiss her eyes, her cheeks. Let my hands wander over her beautiful breasts.
"Val," he said.
"What, Billy."
"I want to tell you something. Can you listen to me? Can you?"
"I'll try, Billy." She squeezed his hand and sighed as she felt his other hand move down toward her breast.
"Do you know what love is?" he asked.
"I don't think so."
"I don't know that I do, either. But I think I love you like that. Do you know, honey?" His hand squeezed hers now and his other hand slipped down and covered her breast.
Her eyes pleaded with him, but not to stop.
Both knew it.
"I simply love you ... Val," Billy said.
"It's wrong." The words came easily but she didn't accept them.
"I know." Neither did Billy. He thought that it was right. Her breast was full and soft under his hand, and her nipple seemed to be a white-hot ball-bearing, a steelie, burning into his palm. Her eyes were warm, fresh pools in some springtime meadow, calling to him, the hot dry swimmer. Her lips were still those full warm pillows, parted and waiting.
"I want to kiss you, Val. May I?" he asked. "Oooo, Bill."
His hand grasped her breast harder and he sighed. "Let me kiss your mouth, my love."
"Bill, what are you doing to me?" She said the words and began to cry again. He's not my Billy anymore, no; He's Bill. Oh, nuts! My whole life is changed! She felt herself being lowered to the bed and she couldn't resist. She didn't want to resist. She called up strength, but not strength to fend him off, no; strength to match his ardor, his love, his soft attack. She watched as his face closed on her, came closer. Her eyes closed. She held him and cried from dark parts unused regions of her body.
She inhaled his breath and savored it, welcomed it, pulled in more. And then his lips were on hers, softly. Gently. Affection was no longer that Sunday morning smile to a neighbor, driving to the second service. It was this, mixed in a tremendously powerful but slow grinder of sibling cement. The tongue.
Ooooh, yes! Let me have your tongue, Billy. God, my pussy is stretching forward for you, itching and burning to have you!
She let him open her robe and put the sides of it wide apart. It was the plate on which she, the meal, lay waiting to be devoured. I am open to him, my brother my love. God, Bill, be gentle. Please be gentle, I'm so frightened!
Billy pulled up and gazed down at her. He didn't have to ask if he could have anything any more. Her face glowed; it told him more than her words ever could. Words. He thought about what he had said down in the kitchen.
"Val?"
"Mmmmmm?"
"I didn't mean that, what I said back thereabout you being good until you opened your mouth."
Open wound, with salt. "Why did you say it then?"
"To hurt you, to help you," he said. "I understand, Bill. Bill--? " "Yes, honey?"
"Are we going to ... fuck ... now?" she asked.
CHAPTER THREE
Billy looked at her and the whole scene came into sharp focus. The incestual aspect bothered him once again; he questioned it. "Val," he began, "have you ever studied anything about incest?"
"I've read a bit, Billy. What do you want to know?" Her heart was still pounding; breathing came easier for her as he rolled over to her side and rested there for a minute. She had been ready to fuck, ready to give herself to him, and she was still very ready. As though motivated by some age-old force, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around the hot throbbing shaft of Billy's cock. The hand squeezed and then began to move slowly, up and down and up and down.
"Well, I've heard that incest is bad. I've also heard that a brother and sister who make it and have children have strange babies. Is that true?"
She frowned at him but her hand continued the irresistible pumping. "No matter how you look at it, Billy, we're all relatives. That is, we're all products of incest."
"What do you mean? How can we be?" he asked.
"Well, if we believe the Bible's account of initial geniture, that is, the production of the first people, we could say that we're products of Adam and Eve. But there's a problem about that; you see, there's an internal contradiction. If you'll recall your early Genesis you'll remember that Cain went to a different land, where he met different people. A problem. Theoretically, they were the only three people around.
"But let's assume that there were others, to answer your question. We have to separate these groups," Valerie expounded. "We look at one group. Two anthropoid apes sports copulate, and they come up with a genetic freak, paleoman. This is about twenty-seven thousand years ago, right toward the last of the Fourth Ice Age. Then this paleoman, the first Homo sapiens, copulates, probably with an ape, okay?"
Billy nodded. His sister amused him with all her wry knowledge. She rather reminded him of an academic version of a great meat-cutter who also happened to be a devout vegetarian. Dealing with something without ingesting it, tasting it, using it personally.
"Let's then say that another paleoman results, somewhere along the line. Now these two are different from the great apes. They look different, even. They get together. Call it father and daughter or mother and son, makes no difference. They copulate. The chances for genetic stability in this mating are great, of course. More ... children ... result.
"These children breed as soon as they reach their puberty. They breed among themselves. It had to be that way.
"Now, if you want to subscribe to the theory that man began in one place on earth, this holds true. If you take the alternative view, that is, that man sprang up simultaneously in that narrow band of inhabitable land between Lake Chad and north eastern Persia, you're forced to accept the same conclusion regarding the development of the human race. Only on a grander scale..."
"So what's your opinion about the adverse effects of sibling intercourse on the genes and chromosomes?"
Valerie pondered this and frowned. Her hand moved slowly on Billy's red-hot cock. "I've read a lot about that, of course, and I'm frankly somewhat disturbed by what I've read. In this scientific age, a vast fiction seems to be dogmatically preserved. You know, like what I'm doing now, for instance."
"What's that?" Billy asked, jerking a muscle in his prick.
She laughed. "I've read so much hocus pocus written by what should be reputable doctors. For instance, some actually seem to believe, even these days, that masturbation will cause insanity. Onanism. Well, I'm masturbating you, I guess. Who's going to go mad, me or you?"
Billy laughed and hugged her extra tightly.
"Wait now, you asked me a question. So I masturbate you like this--. Will hair grow in the palm of my hand because of it? Some people really think so.
"And there's recent paper out to the effect that the use of LSD results in chromosome damage. That report was a hoax, even though I personally don't know about the other effects of LSD or the other hard drugs. Even marijuana! Did you read that the man who's the new head of the AMA stated, publicly, that the use of marijuana results in birth defects? I mean, that is supposedly a well-trained if not intelligent man. It's obvious that he hasn't studied his recent history. The Indians of Mexico have been using marijuana for approximately four thousand years. Valid reports of its widespread use among the Maya have been uncovered."
"What do you know about that?! " he asked.
"Well, just what I read. This Russian has recently decoded the Mayan hieroglyphics pretty well, so we can learn more. But, to finish up, everybody seems certain that sibling intercourse will result in mutants if children are born. But, in all my reading, I haven't been able to find clinical proof of this. Nothing that's even vaguely convincing. So much hot air, I'm afraid..."
"Then you don't think we would have freaks if we were to be married and have children?"
"I'd say that our chances of having freaks are considerably less than those for some others. Substantially below average."
"And are there other problems? I mean, about us making it?"
"Bill, I'm only fourteen! Pregnancy for me, from you, is problem enough, wouldn't you say? And if you wouldn't, imagine what society would say? Why, we'd be stoned!"
"We would. Val, I think that I love you " he said.
She cut in. "Are you sure that your ego doesn't trip you? Are you certain that it's love?"
"Well, what is love? The ego certainly has a lot to do with it. But look, if you mean that I need you to bolster my sagging ego, consider this: A conquest like you're talking about is only good, valid, if it can be talked about. Who could I tell about us? About you and me? It isn't even the sort of thing I'd mention to a psychiatrist. No, I'll admit that I'm confused. But I look at you and really strange things happen to me."
She cut in again. "Not strange at all, Billy. Tumescence. You get sexy. Then the body does strange things, as you call it. But not strange at all. Your body prepares itself for sex, is all."
"Look, Val, you know about it, why do you fight it?"
She pondered this and her hand slowed almost to a stop. "Do? Why did I fight it seems more proper, wouldn't you say? Why?" She looked at him and wondered why she might have. "You say that I know about it, but fight it or fought it. Well, I know about rattlesnakes too. That doesn't mean that I have to like them. And, to tell you the truth, the boys at school have all been pretty gross. Asking me, right out, if I want to screw."
"But you never had any sort of boy friend, one who would hold your hand, kiss you, be gentle."
"True."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want him doing all those things and then asking me, one night, if I want to screw." Very matter-of-fact.
"And what about now?" Billy asked her.
She smiled at him. "I think that I love you. No ego-trip."
"Can you wait here for just a minute, Val? Be right back."
"Where are you going?" Disappointment covered her words.
"Just into my room for a minute. Be right back."
He pulled away from her, his pulses throbbing. As he got up Val looked at his cock. She had never seen a real prick, not even a limp one. This large penis both frightened and aroused her. She wondered how it would ever fit into her tiny little vagina. It seemed an impossibility. She wished that Billy would undress.
He came back with a small cylindrical can, shaking it. "We have to use this, Val. Vaginal foam. No problems about pregnancy. We don't need kids just now, do we?"
She laughed and took the can. Inside she was frightened and thought that she might well be going crazy. All this time she was very close to calling it off. Calling the whole insane thing off. First, she wasn't sure that she wanted to lose her virginity. Then she questioned doing it with her brother. A frown covered her face as she thought about how it had begun.
She had been hurt, and had come up to hide. Change clothes. Get into her jeans and sweat shirt. Then she had looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she was good looking, attractive, nicely shaped. She hadn't impressed herself at all. Breasts too large, and lots of freckles. And that ridiculous little triangle of useless pubic hair. It was a bother, that hair, because quite often it would become very sore at the follicles.
And suddenly, as she stood there, she had become overwhelmed by sexual arousal. Unexplainably. Electric currents of pure provocative arousal shot through her, made her blood thicken, run as slow as molasses. Her breathing had suddenly become fast and shallow. Her heart fluttered. And her pussy and thighs began to itch. This had all happened to her before, but never so suddenly, so unexplainably. And, contrary to anything she had ever done, she had thrown herself onto the bed and had begun to masturbate. No power on earth could have stopped it.
Now she wondered what had caused it. The sudden attack of arousal. Something that had happened at school? No! The talk with Billy? She thought that might have been part of it. She loved him, but had never loved him romantically. Just as a brother. There was no explanation that she could find. None.
That troubled her, and she argued with herself intensely for the seconds that it took for Billy to get the can of foam. And now "Children?"
"Hardly, Bill. We don't need children. What do I do, just squirt some up?" She hated to read instructions on cans and boxes. Her only laziness.
"Right. Give yourself a good shot. And, honey?" He was now undressing.
"Yes, Bill..." She didn't like the way he had said it, and braced herself for bad news.
"I told you, it may hurt, this first time. I promise that I'll be gentle, more gentle than anybody else could be."
She tried to imagine the pain he referred to. Pain is something that Valerie found it hard to imagine or remember. She could only recall incidents of pain and label them as such.
"Pain." A hurt. Toothache, stubbed toe, broken arm, bit by that dog. Pain. But I can't remember the actual pain. I can remember the dog. Yes, I can just about see him. A big black Lab. Brown leather collar. Yellow eyes, long white teeth. Tail as thick as a baseball bat. It didn't swing back and forth like most. Straight out. Yes, I can remember him, and can see him coming at me darn! But the pain? No, I can't remember it! Not at all.
Then a new group of thoughts covered those. Male and female couplers. The female is the one the male fits into. Electrical connections. And the violence. The violence of sex. Violence to the body. Shouldn't violence include pain? "Bill, this may sound stupid I don't know. You tell me."
He paused, his shirt unbuttoned and ready to come off. She saw the abundant golden hair that covered his well-muscled chest.
"What is it, honey?" Billy asked.
"You said that you would be gentle. Is that such a good thing in sex? I wouldn't know..."
He laughed and shook his head. "Why do you suppose I said it?"
"Well, how should I know? I mean, this is the first time."
"Believe me, gentleness is best," he said.
"I've read that some people are latent sadists, and others have a desire to be hurt. Call them masochists, even though that's a terrible word for their malfunction. Inverted Sadism would be better, I think."
"What have you got against Sade?" Billy asked.
"Nothing. But Freud and Steckel call it that."
"And you're telling me that you don't want me to be gentle?"
"I'm just saying that I don't know. I'll tell you, okay?"
"Okay." He threw his shirt onto her chair and began to unzip his fly. "Bill ? " "What."
"I'm afraid. Excited, but afraid," she said.
He looked at her. Her arms were still in the robe and she lay on the bed, looking like the most luscious piece of ready woman in the world. Her magic green eyes seemed to flash. Her full lips were pouted, soft pillows calling his. As he looked at her, ate her with his hot eyes, he slipped out of his pants and pulled his shorts down. Naked. He smiled.
"So am I," he said. "I'm scared and excited too. And sexy and in love, I think. God, how I've dreamed about this, Val. Valerie. God, my own sister and look at you. You're the prettiest woman on earth."
She blushed, laughed, and looked away. Her stomach fluttered. "I am not," she murmured.
He went to her and ran his hand through her hair, fanning it out. "Yes, honey; you are. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."
"Don't tell me those things, Bill. You don't have to."
"I know that! I tell you that because that's what I believe. You are stunning. And God, what a shape you have!"
"I don't like my shape at all," Val said.
He bent and kissed one of her firm, full breasts. "Mmmmm." Then he came up and looked closely at her. "The best you "
She wrinkled her nose. "Your breath smells like second-hand beer." Then she laughed, a low chuckle.
"Oh, shut up!" he said, and smashed his lips against hers. His body covered hers, and her peaked nipples burned into his chest. Her stomach, against his, felt wonderful, satisfying, demanding. His tongue found hers as she opened her mouth. Her arms went around him and her fingernails dug into the skin of his back.
My God, he thought, she is a tiger, all right! She might want it hard after all!! !
It was a long hot kiss, and their bodies responded to it by grinding sinuously. The electricity running through both of them seemed to flash through their skin where it touched. Delicious current that demanded more. More and more. Broader contact. The bodies writhed and, as they did, Bill's cock probed like a stiff but hungry snake, a beaver-hungry snake hunting at night. It moved around in the heat of her crotch while they kissed, while their bodies ground together.
Bill's hands worked down and grasped the sides of her breasts where they bulged out, squashed between their chests. His thumbs worked the nipples; that increased his already intense arousal and caused new rivers of liquid fire to flash through Valerie.
Below, Valerie was ecstatic. Is this sex? she asked herself. Is this greatness what sex is about? My own brother! His tongue! What it does to me.
My body has never felt so good! It itches and burns, but it's so good, so indescribably superb, fine, delicious! How can it all feel so good?! And his hands, his thumbs! Ooooh, I'm falling apart! I know that I'm going to die from pure pleasure! Billy, oh, Bill, Bill, Bill what are you doing to me? Let me suck your lip, Billy! Your poor lip that I bit. Let me bite your other lip, softer this time. And oooo! yes! Down there, Bill. Oooo, that feels divine! My bottom needs you, Bill it burns and itches for you. Ooo, put it into me, now! Now! Yes, I'll help you! I need you! Want you and need you!
Her lower body began to move sinuously, sensually. She arched up under him, her legs wide, grasping him between the burning flesh of her inner thighs. She tried to open her flower-petal-like cuntal mouth, to control the delicate flanges of her treasure so that his burning brand of full-size man flesh could slip in, slither in, ram in, slam in, slash in, crash in with fantastic force. She needed that cock, and everything that was behind her was behind her. A lifetime of morality and fear was being overcome by the burning itch, the crashing desire that filled her like lava.
As she arched up she released her grip on his back, broke the kiss, and reached down quickly to press that big broad cock-head into the perfect place.
"God, Bill, ram it in! I need it! Sock it to me! Fuck me--! " she pleaded.
The word shocked her and it shocked him.
Neither knew that she knew it. Neither thought that she would ever use it. And it was like a blast of oxygen against the banked fires of their arousal.
"Fuck me," Valerie repeated her forceful request.
"Yes, I'll fuck you, then!" Billy said.
She wants me to ram her. God, can I? She wants it! She wants it hard! Okay then! He felt her hand on his cock, nervous and unsteady. Impatient. The apricot shaped head was against her tight little girl wetness, pressed there by her hand. He had wanted to go slow, but her heat called him, deafened him with a roaring scream. He pressed the burning knob into the well-lubricated cuntal lips of her tight virgin pussy and pushed forward.
Valerie felt it. She cried out and her fingernails once again dug into his back. His enormous cock burned into her tight slickness like a soldering iron, some instrument of torture and pleasure. The sensation was insane, a terrible contradiction of ripping pain and supreme ecstasy. She felt the insides of her tiny child's cunt being stretched as the grand cock rammed in, and was crying and screaming, bucking to have more at the same time.
Is my sister nuts? he asked himself in a fleeting second of clarity. He was worried about the neighbors. It sounded like she was being butchered, mutilated, torn hmb-from-limb. But not really. There was a difference. Her screams were those, Billy knew, of a woman being fucked. No other sound like it in the world. A weird note, one of lust and command, colored her screams. She would have screamed in pure rage if he would have stopped. He began to throw away his fantasies of flitting into her bedroom during the wee hours, parents sound asleep in the next room, to rip off a piece each night. Christ, the old man's hair would stand on end!
He pressed the pulse-pounding cock in and raised himself to look down. What a scene! Tan on tan. Her beautiful little girl woman's body under his big tight, tense body. His broad-headed cock maybe an inch in. So tight! He pulled back out a bit, not leaving her. Then he jerked it in, thrust it in, sending the tip of his sex-hardened cock in about two very tight inches. She cried out and he looked into her eyes. They had opened wide. Her mouth worked now, but no sound came out. She looked terrified.
And she was. She had been speared. The thundering man's cock had stretched her child's hymen, causing intense pain. Incredible pain, pain that she knew she would never ever be able to forget. Everlasting pain, pain to follow her to the grave. Her legs burned from it, and she tried to tell him to stop, that she couldn't go through with it; her voice wouldn't work.
My God, I can't talk! I can't talk! This is some horrible dream! None of it is happening! It can't be! No, Billy, not again, please! God, no! It hurts too much! It hurts! Stop, Billy, stop! PLEEAASSSEEE! MY VOICE?!
Billy looked at her, saw the fear and terror, bent to kiss her, pulled way back, and then slammed forward with all his might. His enormous cock slashed in, burst her dam, and buried itself to the hilt. He fell forward against her, pulling his face away just as she tried to bite his tongue off. If there was horror in her eyes before, there was nothing now; her eyes rolled up and her mouth opened, emitting a dry, choked gasp.
And if the pain was fantastic before, it was burningly excruciating now. It jolted her, burned her arms and legs off as though they were stumps in a farmer's field. It tore at her, shook her, terrified her. And still her voice wouldn't work. She looked at Bill and saw a monster, a sex-crazed villain. A hated enemy, some vicious god from the underworld, perhaps Pan, maybe Charon. Charon, the dog-faced, there to ferry her to Hades. And the river Styx was aflame, a river of seething fire. Terrible pain.
Bill suspected as much, and he was sorry. But he knew a few other things, too. He pulled it almost all the way out and slowly poked in again, expanding his wide cock and fucking her in such a way that the top of his slithering shaft rubbed her clitoris.
Valerie found her voice immediately. Charon and his ferry dissolved into pink cotton candy spiked with ground glass, acid, and lightning.
"OH, GOD!" she said. The pain and pleasure were fighting or dancing, Valerie didn't know which. But she did know that there was some pleasure, and that first stab of his torturing cock produced it. The first one after the pain, the last one. It cut the pain, made her know that better things approached, loomed. She was so rigid that she thought she might break, shatter and crumble like a dropped China doll. Million brittle pieces, scattered on the floor.
But he thrust his ram in again, and the pleasure, the delicious new feeling, was intense. Too powerful. She began to cry. Her heart was breaking for Billy.
"Bill, kiss me, lover bruise my lips, bite me, fuck me, oooh, God, fuck me as hard as you can! But kiss me!" Valerie pleaded.
Everything was working for Valerie, and working perfectly. Only once had a boy kissed her. Ninth grade. She gave him a bloody nose. Now her lips burned to be kissed, her breasts burned to be grabbed, seized, mauled, sucked, bit. Her tiny torn cunt craved the heavy thrusts of Bill's thick slicing meat. She was suddenly a turned-on woman, at fourteen.
Her morals dissolved like ghosts at dawn in a Scottish graveyard. Flitted to who knows where. The void was filled immediately by the pain and pleasure. Valerie wanted both. She needed the pain; all the pleasure alone would have been blinding and undefined, like a white cow in a blizzard. The pain set the pleasure off, making it better; the pleasure made the pain more intense. like the Chinese water torture. Water and time. Pain and pleasure. The anticipation. The fantastic difference. Both so pure, both so cutting, both so necessary.
She accepted his mouth like a starving person accepts a morsel of delicious food. Her arms around his neck, she pulled his face against hers with all her strength, letting their lips grind together in a kiss that almost satisfied her. Her teeth pressed onto his through their lips, and she bit herself, drawing blood. She opened her mouth then, took his bit lip, and bit it again, just as hard. Her tongue thrust her blood into his mouth and made it mingle with his. She wouldn't let him go and he couldn't get away.
Instead, he jammed it into her, intent on killing her with his raging cock. Each thrust was stronger than the last, and his bruising balls slammed against her tiny ass with a dull, flopping sound that belied the force with which they hit. Her small cunt was like a tight fist, grasping his huge shaft mightily. He smiled even as he was bit; he knew that she was marrying him, a ceremony of traded blood. Gypsy. Hot. And she was silent.
Midnight excursions? Is this the start of something new? My God, what a foxy lady, my little sister! I have actually fucked my little sister, but she's no little sister at all, she's a crazy fox with a tight box, a tight treat for my lusty meat, a wild thing that makes my thing swing. She is the twentieth century fox, my little sister, and this is the start of something new!
He thought about Morrison's song. The Doors. "She's a Twentieth Century Fox, no less..."
His cock raged into her mercilessly, his hands grasped her tits, his blood mixed with hers in their mouths. His nuts obeyed him.
Valerie shook her head from side to side strongly, taking Bill's with her. Her lips rolled against him, and then she broke the kiss, covered his cheek and ear with more kisses, licked him, spread the blood. Her clutching pussy was singing like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Radiating from it were sheets of palpable and pure feeling, fantastically delicious.
The thrusts of his slip-slide cock were unbelievably fine, causing sensations in her that she had never dreamed possible. Her body had become a vessel, filled with cuttingly intense happiness. Blinding pleasure. She had forgotten all about definition as the pain subsided; she didn't miss it. Her pleasure was too keen.
In a flash she knew that she had loved Bill for a long time, and had wanted to save herself for him. Save her virginity for him, her only real friend. Her elbows and wrists ached from within, from the bone. They ached to rub him, touch him, maybe even hurt him, but not too much. Quite a bit, but not too much.
Violence. God, yes! This is violent! He's fucking into my body! His cock is hard and hot, and he's ramming it in so hard! God, it feels good. Forgive me, God, for using Your name in vain, but thank You, too. Thank You, God, for letting me know this, this wonderful thing! You made me, God, and You made me so that I can enjoy this! Don't be hard on Onan, God; he was an honorable man! And thank You! Thank You!
She looked at Bill as she prayed her thanks, and a new light filled her eyes. She pulled his lips down by pulling his head down, and once again she kissed him; this time her lips brushing his like the wings of a small tropical butterfly. A very soft little kiss.
"Bill, you're killing me," she murmured.
"No, Val. Not killing you-" Billy said.
"Not killing me, no. No. But in a way you have, you know?"
His cock was all the way into her and he flexed it. "Maybe what I killed in you needed killing." He smiled at her; her face was smeared with blood again. N
"This is sex, is it?" Valerie asked.
"You like it?"
"C'mon. Let's do it there's more, isn't there? There has to be!"
"There's more, all right. Yes, my little sweetie, there's more."
And with that he pulled his cock out a bit, thrust it in, and grasped her fanny, lifting her so that her tail was elevated. Then he began to plummet it into her, driving it in like a jack-hammer. All the while he looked right into her eyes. His hands were on her warm shoulders.
"God, yes! Bill, do it hard. Try to hurt me! Fuck me!"
"I'll fuck you, sis. But I'm making love to you." "But fuck me! Hurt me! Jam me real hard!" A new sexual thrill possessed him and he bent into the work at hand with renewed vigor. His cock was throbbing, and slithered into her slick, tight pussy deliciously. His nuts screamed to dump their load. He slammed it into her, watching the fleeting expression of pain flit across her face with each thrust. And then there would be a creamy expression of soft and sybaritic ecstasy. Each time. One and then the other.
His stomach was churning and his thighs thundered and itched. He had to make it now, and was hoping that she would make it. That's where the secret lay, having the girl make it. Each thrust was designed to bring her the maximum contact on her clitoris. His hands grasped her buttocks and pulled them up. He slammed it into her and when he saw her eyes close and her dry lips begin to move his nuts started to burn.
"Are you ready?" he asked, flexing his cock inside her again.
"God, I'm falling apart! Hard! Hard! Oooo, HARD!" This last came out in an explosion, from behind clenched teeth.
He knew that she was ready. He was certainly ready. His body was working like a well-oiled machine; pumping his prick into her tight hole was natural, fulfilling, demanding. He thrust and gritted his teeth. The feeling of her delicate pussy clasping his plummeting cock seized him, tore him, bent him and then made him whole.
His nuts exploded hotly just as she started to cry out with her own orgasm.
A word: Valerie was a very religious girl.
"Christ!" she screamed. "Oooh, Billy! GOD!"
She had had an idea that all the pleasure was building to something, but nothing like what she was experiencing had ever entered her mind. She knew, for a fact, that she was going to die. That her body was going to explode from the good feeling. Pure, excruciating pleasure shot through her, shook her, made her gasp and cry out and tremble and fuck back.
Her little girl cunt rippled and sucked on the spewing man's cock and a sudden torrent exploded from somewhere in her belly, meeting the splash of steaming hot come that burned into her in spurts from the broadening tip of his cock. She sensed the shot; her body felt it and told her that it was good and complete. She shivered and trembled, clung to him and gasped.
"God, Billy, oh, God, God, God!" Valerie mumbled.
He was arched onto her, pushing up stiffly. His cock was spitting its spurts of stringy come and, at the same time, it was being drenched by her torrent. He knew that she had made it, and made it well. Royally. She was gasping, licking her lips, her eyes rolling.
At that moment her beauty surpassed anything that Billy had ever seen. He was well and truly in love and, as he raised himself over her, propped on his elbows, he looked at her and felt like bawling.
He was drained, exhausted, happy, but suddenly thousands of problems loomed large before him. What have I just done? I've screwed my own sister! God, how could I have? It was wrong! It was a terrible thing to do! My God, what if someone finds out?
And Valerie opened her eyes, smiled up at him, and told him not to worry, as though she had picked his recriminations out of thin air.
"It's all right, Bill. We'll be all right. I love you," she said.
"Valerie, honey I love you too. But God, we'll have to be careful! Nobody'd ever understand. Val " and he bent down and kissed her. Their mouths were still bloody and their blood mixed once again. Their hearts pounded.
After a few minutes Billy pulled his limp cock free; they got up, took a bath together, and spent a lot of time smiling. Neither spoke; there wasn't much to say.
CHAPTER FOUR
Valerie was still a little child of fourteen when she went down into the kitchen with Billy, but she was an older fourteen. She was confused and troubled. Her values had been smashed, shattered, discarded. It was necessary for her, the way she was, to re-establish them. Even if they had to be changed.
Chaos was not the sort of condition to make Valerie happy. She could justify almost anything, academically. Accept it or reject it. She could juggle the facts, tailor them. Then they could suit her system. The facts were now a jumble of nonsense, like a pile of old clothes in a Goodwill box. Nothing matched. All were old, worn, ready to be discarded.
She realized this with some sadness. Her mind was uncomfortable, but her body was happy. A small pain lingered, where her cherry had been ripped apart, but she felt strangely fulfilled. Only her mind troubled her, and she frowned as she went about the task of making Wednesday afternoon's spaghetti. Spaghetti for supper on Wednesday night. Spaghetti with meat sauce. Her dad's favorite, and a meal that Valerie didn't mind preparing at all.
She normally went about the business briskly, and much earlier. First brown the ground beef in olive oil and minced garlic. Then add some finely chopped onions. Some tomato puree, oregano, basil, a bit of butter, and let it simmer. Then after about fifteen minutes, more tomatoes. Some salt and a bit of pepper, freshly ground. The juice from half a lemon. Fire down very low, for hours. Three and a half, about. Cheat a bit, add a half package of Good Seasons Italian Dressing Mix. About an hour before it's done, add half a fresh green pepper, diced. And then, mmmm, let it simmer.
But now she was preoccupied. "Bill?"
"Yes, Val. What is it?" Billy said.
"What we did. Pretty bad, right?" she asked.
He frowned and walked to the refrigerator for a beer. Although he was crazier about his sister than ever, he was somewhat afraid of her at the moment. Afraid that she might go around telling her friends, or the old folks. He popped the beer, sat down at his place at the table, and looked at her, still frowning.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Well, immoral and all," Valerie said. "So?"
"So, was it bad?"
"Did you like it?" Billy asked.
She herself was going to the refrigerator for the ingredients of the spaghetti sauce. She paused and looked at him. Sun-bleached hair, too long (or at least she thought it was, earlier), broad shoulders, a handsome face, tan and strong.
"No I mean yes!" she said. "Yes, I liked it. It hurt, you know. Wow! And then well it felt so wonderful..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes misted as she thought about it. Yes, it was wonderful. God, was it!
She ran to Bill, swooped down, threw her arms around him and kissed him. "Yes, Bill. Wonderful," she said.
He felt odd, and returned the kiss half-heartedly.
It was obvious to Valerie that he was uncomfortable, unwilling to accept his role as her lover. It hurt her to realize this, and she stood slowly, looking at him to try to see some trace of a clue. She raced inside herself, fighting the first horrible rejection she had known. His eyes appeared to be cold, glassy, reflective, not warm as they should be.
There was a moment of shock and panic for Valerie, who thought that maybe she had been made a fool of. Bill? Would he do it to me? But I see him now, the way he's looking at me I There's no love there! He's changed! He thinks that
I'm cheap. I've given myself to him, let him love me, and now oooh, God! What can I do?
Bill didn't know that his emotions were being misread by his sister; he saw the terror grow in her eyes, though, and attempted a quick recovery. He liked her and loved her, he wanted to sleep with her as often as he could, so: "Val, come back. I'm sorry! Just that, well, I feel bad about what we did, in a way even though it was fine. God, what a woman you are!"
Valerie didn't move. She stood, rooted to the spot, her lips trembling, her eyes filling with tears. She heard what he was saying. She heard it, but it didn't make much sense to her. Sure, you feel bad. You're sorry. But it was fine. I'm a woman. I'm a whore, that's what I am! Nothing but a whore.
"Val ? "
"No ! No, Bill. I understand." She went to the refrigerator, opened the door, pulled out the cello pack of ground beef, and bent for the vegetables, below in the crisper. As she bent she felt Bill's hands slip onto her, onto her hips, where they had never been before that day. She was still crying, silently. Her heart had been ripped out, torn away; it felt as though it were bleeding and dying. The touch of his hands was then alien to her, unwelcome. But, at the same time, that touch promised hope.
She didn't know quite what to do, so she merely took out the garlic and onions and green pepper. Is this what it would be like to be married? Would my husband reject me? Use me and then be cold?
God, how sick I feel, how sad and sick!
"Val ? " Billy wanted her to stop pouting and crying. If Caroline came home there would be hell to pay. But besides that, he wanted her to stop simply because it hurt him to see her so unhappy. Her tears made him sad. "Val, come on, now." And he reached up under her dress and caressed the backs of her legs and then her fanny. He felt her stiffen and hold still.
Incensed by the touch, he knelt, lifted the back of her dress all the way up, and kissed her legs. "Val, forgive me, honey. I told you, I just had a case of remorse, that's all nothing about you, sweetie, really "
She turned, brushing her dress down with the hand that held the package of ground beef. "That's all right, Bill. I said I understand. Now get up! Good Lord, what if somebody was standing there at the back door!"
That solved one problem for him. He smiled at her and stood. "Want a beer?"
She opened her mouth to reply and then stopped. She had been about to decline, as usual, but changed her mind. She had screwed, why shouldn't she drink? Try it, anyway. Just another step down the road to hell. "Sure. Sure. I'll have a beer. In fact, I'll have four beers. Hell, a hundred beers? Why not? I'll even have a cigarette! How's that?"
"Aw, come on, Val! Cut that out! No need to go crazy..."
"Who's going crazy? I mean, who are you to tell me not to go crazy? Either both of us or neither of us is crazy, at the same time! So all I want is that beer you offered me. And that cigarette you didn't offer me. What's crazy about that?"
"You don't smoke!" Billy said.
"I don't drink, either! And you wanted to know if I wanted a beer, I say sure, give me a beer! And a cigarette!"
"Shut up!"
"Don't shut me up! Dammit, give me that beer!"
"Since when do you swear?" he asked
"Since I fuck, that's since when! And after you seduce your fourteen-year-old sister, since when do you come off being so ... so damned holy?! I know what you want, fella! You want to get me drunk. Drunk, so you can seduce me again. All that garbage about love! PAH! You're a liar!" She spat the words out.
"And you're a dyed-in-the-wool moralist! You call me names and then you feel better!" His face was red and he was angry. Nevertheless he went to the refrigerator, got her a can of Hamm's, and thrust it at her, his jaw's thrust reflecting the action. It seemed vaguely incongruous to him that he should be angry; he had precipitated the outburst. Then he realized that it was a rather normal reaction since he had tried to explain and apologize.
Valerie broke as she took the beer. He looked so funny, his jaw out like that, his eyes almost popping out of his head. She exploded in gales of laughter and, like magic, the tension between them cleared. They flew into each other's arms, and just like that everything was fine.
Bill brushed her cheeks with his lips and his hands roved over the smooth full contours of her inviting breasts.
"Hi, Val glad to see you again!" Billy said.
"Hi, Bill! Nice to see you, too! You're feeling pretty good!"
He laughed harder and squeezed her breasts before releasing her. "Never felt better!"
"Glad to hear you say it! Glad we're pals again."
He went to the table and lit a pair of cigarettes. Then he offered her one and she took it, trying to look very sophisticated.
She held it between her index and middle finger and her little finger stuck out. She took a long drag and almost coughed her lungs out. It burned and choked her.
"Aargh! You like smoking these things?" The smoke had collected near her face, in the vicinity of her nose and eyes. She could hardly escape it. Burned her eyes and went into her nostrils. She coughed more and thrust it away.
Bill laughed and inhaled. "Some woman of the world," he observed, watching her with a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other. She looked very young just then certainly too young to drink and smoke. But not too young to enjoy between the sheets, no. Every time Bill looked at her a slow rush of hot desire would creep into him.
Not too young for bed, but how can I be sure that she won't scream out?
Valerie put the cigarette into the ash tray, took a long pull on the beer, and shook her head as it went down. It tasted strange. Strange but good. And it helped her burning throat. Another. As she sipped she looked at Bill.
"Val, it was good," he said. "This afternoon, just the thing between you and me. I guess you liked it, right?"
"I liked it. It hurt, and for sure. But then the pleasure was incredible! Is sex always that good?"
"I couldn't say for you, you know. It's never been better for me. Never. You know that Char and I make it "
"Never gave it a thought. But I suppose, now that I think about it, yes; you probably do." Is Char better than I was? I wonder if he-likes me more. If I was better. Can't ask something like that. I know what he said, but I wonder what he really thinks.
"We make it. But compared to you, making it with her is like going to the toilet." Well, it is! She's pretty good. Nasty enough, but she isn't wild. God, this beer stings against my lip! Little bitch really gets wound up! Some nice lay!
What he said made Valerie blush. For some strange reason she wanted to believe him. Perhaps it was because she wanted to be superior, even in bed. Her very first time. She thought about how good it felt. The pain was nothing but a rapidly fading memory, but contemplation of the thrill made her heart begin to pounds
"Thanks for saying that, Bill. When can we ... do ... it again ? " It was a hard question for her to ask. Made her feel rather like a whore. A whore, once again. Very quickly it hit her: What does a whore feel like, anyway? If whores get as much pleasure as that, and they are paid for screwing-being a whore should be a very tempting way of living! You sell it and you still have it! But nobody seems to like whores. Still, there are always whores, so their customers clients must like them! And it is one of the world's oldest. . . professions. Whores don't like to admit that they're whores, but they seem well dressed and happy, at least those I've seen downtown. I think they're whores; dark mesh stockings, spike heels, high tight dresses, shiny silk blouses cut down to their navel. I think so .
Bill contemplated her question. "When? I've been wondering about that myself." He frowned and looked at her. "We could do it at night almost every night. But you're rather-uh-vocal...."
"Vocal? What are you talking about? You think I'd ever tell?" She frowned at him as though he were crazy.
"Tell? Heck no! I don't mean that! I mean, you make a real racket when we uh when we did it. Really!" He smiled evilly. It was fine that she enjoyed her screwing so much, but it was also a pity.
"I didn't make any noise!" She strained her memory to try to recall if she had made any noise. Nothing. Obviously he was mistaken. "Nope, no noise. Sure you weren't hearing things?"
"I was hearing things, all right. Sounded like you were being murdered. Screaming, my little sweetie.
Screaming!" He pointed his finger at her and then laughed again, shaking his head.
"Surely you jest! Not a sound did I make. Surely you jest!" She was certain that she had been as quiet as a church mouse.
"Have it your way," he said good-naturedly. He knew that he would have to prove to her that she did cry out. Perhaps this very night. But certainly not in the house. Down by the lake, maybe. Or out at the Lover's Lane. That might be risky. He was smiling at her like the Cheshire cat as he made his plans.
All the while a vague feeling of guilt was tugging at him. He had to feel bad about seducing his own sister, and especially about the diabolical manner in which he did it. But he could deal with that. Perhaps it didn't work, he advised himself. Maybe it was all in my mind. I doubt it, but I can't be sure. And about me screwing my own sister, as long as she didn't get pregnant, or as and then a sudden rush of panic hit him. He gasped and glared at her. "GOD! VAL!"
She whirled. "What is it?! " She heard the panic in his voice.
"That foam! You didn't ! "
"OMIGAWD!" and she dropped the can of beer and stared at him, her eyes wide, her heart pounding wildly up in her throat.
"Quick, for God's sake! Upstairs!" He ran ahead of her, found the small can, and turned just as she ran in. "Pants off and on the bed! Legs apart, knees up! Hurry!"
"Oh, Gosh, oh darn! What do we do now?! " Her terror was unmatched and she shook violently.
"I'll shoot it up! Might not be too late! Spread those legs!"
She had her panties off in nothing flat and threw herself onto the bed on her back. Legs apart, knees up. She eyed him with undisguised disbelief, and welcomed the cold intrusion of the plastic nozzle. There was a wet hiss and the cold foam shot up into her vagina, making her twitch and try to jump away. But she forced herself to submit and take the alien material it was too important. How could I have been so stupid? she asked herself, entirely too angry to cry. Instead she gritted her teeth. Her embarrassment and chagrin changed the panic to self-reproach, and she knew that Bill was blaming her for being stupid.
"Bill, if I do ... get pregnant, don't worry. I'll never say that it was you," she said.
He attempted a weak smile. "If you do get pregnant, who else could you say? If you're pregnant, well, we'll just work it out."
"Thanks, Bill." She got up and pulled her panties back on, still shaken and trembling. "We'll cross whatever bridges when we come to them."
Her hand went to his arm and they looked at each other. She hoped that they would never fall apart. The thought of screwing her brother intrigued her. There were only faint shadows of remorse, nothing that bothered her tremendously. Love, to her, was the important thing.
"Bill, do you love Charlene?" Val asked.
He glanced at her, guilt plain on his face. "I like her. Love? I don't know..."
"I think you do. You've talked about marrying her."
"You know how guys talk " Billy said.
"You're right; I do know how guys talk. That's why I'd like for us to be truthful."
"It's hard to be completely truthful, Val you know that."
"It is if you don't love someone," she said.
"It's harder sometimes if you do love someone!"
"How so, and stop being clever. Just tell me."
"You might hurt their feelings. like you, when we were down here earlier. Now wait!" He silenced her with his uplifted hand. "Just wait. I didn't mean that you had an ugly mouth I mean to say that you were a prude. That you preach. Guys don't like to have girls or women or wives preach at them. Moralize, all that. They want a soft woman to be just that a soft woman, someone to hold and love. I thought that you could be a nice woman, Val. And I hated to see you waste your life. Dry old books. What'll they do you? Look at some of those musty old teachers at school spinsters! Bitter, lonely old men-haters! You're not that kind I could see it! And besides "
"Besides what ? " She narrowed her eyes at him; her stomach churned because she liked what he was saying to her.
"Besides, I was sexy about you. Nuts about you."
"Was?"
"Was, and still am. Boy, do we have a rough row to hoe!"
"It seems to me that we can have a lot of fun, if we work it right if I don't forget to use that stuff again " Her hand squeezed his arm and she smiled.
It warmed him. "You're right. Hey, let's go down you've got to get supper going or they'll think that we've been fighting."
"Wonder what they'd do if they thought we'd been fucking ? "
He looked at her. Young, tender, radiant, and better looking than ever.
I hope they never find out, he said to himself, and brought the foam into his room, where he hid it in his junk drawer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Supper was, as usual, good. Everybody was cordial and calm. After supper, Valerie and Caroline cleaned up, their mother went out to her garden to prune the new roses, and Billy and their dad went in to watch television. No tension. Nobody seemed to suspect a thing. Until-
"Val?" Caroline was washing the dishes. Val was wiping.
"What ? " Very innocent, very fourteen-year-old.
"What happened between you and Billy this afternoon?"
Human earthquake, Valerie. She blanched and trembled, almost dropping the serving plate. "Wh why, nothing, why?"
"Oh, just wondering, is all. You two were pretty strange."
"Strange? In what way?" Val asked.
"Oh, I don't know. like you had a secret. I caught him looking at you now and then. And you looking at him. like there was a secret, or something. You fight?"
Valerie recovered her composure. "Well, it was nothing, really. He got on me about being prudish. A prig, he called me! Can you imagine that ? "
Caroline didn't hesitate. "Yes. But it isn't a nice thing to say."
"I cried. I don't want to be a prig. But we made up and you know what ? "
Caroline looked at her, too closely. "What ? "
"To show him that I wasn't a prig I had a cigarette but only one puff. Almost choked to death! And promise you won't tell mom and dad?"
"Promise what ? "
"I even drank a can of beer!" She smiled and her eyes danced, as though having a can of beer were the ultimate sin.
"Oh, Good Lord!" Caroline exclaimed in mock-horror. "A whole can of beer? You don't mean to say so!"
"I do mean to say so! And he said that I can drive his car tonight after choir practice!"
"Drive his car?! Shame on you! And only fourteen!"
"Almost fifteen!"
"And almost fifteen! But before you know it you'll be going out with boys, holding hands, kissing, and " But she stopped. She saw that she had embarrassed Valerie, who had turned away. She didn't know that Valerie was pretending to be embarrassed, only pretending, to hide any hint of guilt that might flash across her face. Too close, so Valerie turned away. Caroline misunderstood. "Sorry, Val. Just kidding."
It took Valerie a few seconds to recover her composure. When she replied she was calm and controlled. Almost cold. "That's all right. I just don't see much in boys, is all. They're barbarian savages. After only one thing."
Yeah, Caroline thought, isn't it a good thing?! How boring they'd be if they were only interested in cars and television, like poor dunce Billy. When will that kid grow up? Nineteen, and he still hasn't discovered motels. Bet anything on that! If he does it, he probably does it in the car! And poor Valerie here! Man, it must run in the family! Maybe I'm the black sheep. Before I met Dan I screwed just about every guy in high school, and a few who just happened to be walking by. Nobody ever found out.
Valerie wanted to change the subject, the ice was too thin. "Who's watching the kids, Caroline?"
"Oooh, got a baby-sitter. Dan had to go bowling, you know. Wednesday night. Every damned Wednesday night, bowling. That's his word for drinking. I ask you, how long does it take for a guy to bowl three lines? I mean, not until three, four in the morning. They bring him home in a bucket, the souse!"
"How does he get up to go to work?" she asked.
"Damned if I know. One of these days he'll come home fired."
"But he's getting along all right on the job, isn't he? I mean, you have that nice house, a new car, and all "
"Yeah. His boss is a boozer too. All painters are boozers!"
"They say it's pretty boring, being a house painter."
"The money's good, though," Caroline replied. "Scale is up to over seven dollars an hour. I know a dentist who doesn't make as much as Dan. But money isn't everything."
"You're right, I guess. But it's nice to have, isn't it? Better than if he didn't make much. Or didn't work."
Valerie wondered how Caroline and Dan were really doing. A lot of whispering had been going on about them. Divorce. Maybe a trial separation. And as she thought about it she felt uncomfortable; she liked Dan more than Caroline, an unfortunate situation. But she had her reasons. She had babysat for Caroline often enough to have picked up some clues. Phone ringing. Strange men asking for Caroline. One came to the door. Bad looking man. Pushy.
"Where's Caroline!" like he owned the place. "She's not here!" just like I owned the place. I didn't like him, I didn't like his looks, and I didn't like the way he leered at me! "Tell her Nick was here!" And I slammed the door on him without saying a thing. I didn't tell her that Nick had come I didn't want my sister to know a man like that. He was evil. I knew what he had on his mind.
And all the time Dan is such a nice guy. Not sexy, and he does drink a lot but what if he knows?' Then I could expect him to drink, to stay out, to stay away. To put in lots of overtime. Married three years, and already it looks like divorce. Wonder when Caroline started going out on him, when she started screwing in the first place. One thing for sure, I'm not going to ask her. "Why do you ask?" would be her first question. No, better just not mention anything at all about it.
But Caroline herself brought it up. "You know? Marriage is for the birds! If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't!"
"What about Sissie and Bub?" she asked.
"The kids? With an old man like that, better for them they weren't born!"
"How can you say that?! They're darling children!" This burned Valerie up, and it struck her that Caroline might be a bit worse than she thought. She hated to judge her own sister, especially after what she had done that very afternoon. But being a bad wife was one thing, being a bad mother something entirely different. And Valerie adored the children. Her nephew and niece. Poor little kids. Defenseless.
"I suppose you've heard," Caroline said, her voice dry and matter-of-fact, more than a bit laconical. She was finishing the last of the silverware, rinsing it and seeming to concentrate. "Heard what?"
"I filed for divorce. Court in a few days. Got this really good lawyer. Friend of a friend of mine."
The news emptied Valerie and she put the dish towel and bowl down. She couldn't see Caroline's face but somehow she knew that it would be expressionless and dry. No pain, no tears. "I didn't hear," is all she said, a slow rage building hot and red inside her.
She hurried with the rest of the drying and didn't say another word. Even though choir practice wasn't to be held for an hour, she went immediately into the living room and motioned to Bill to go. Then she walked over to her dad, planted a kiss on his bald pate, waved, and left. By the time she was at the car she was fit to be tied. She shook and almost cried.
"What's the matter with you?" Bill asked, once they were in the car.
"That sister of yours!" she exploded, glaring at him.
"Sister of mine? She's yours, not mine!" "You disown her too?! " Valerie asked. "I never owned her, you know," Billy said. It struck her that Bill might mean two things. "Meaning?"
"Not that I own you, silly! It's just that she's pretty bad news at times. Man, the things I could tell you about some of her escapades! Whew!
Something else, that one!"
"I don't want to know," she said.
"You being moral again?" he asked.
"Start the car, will you? And no! I'm not being moral again. It just hurts me. What do you think, Bill; who's the good one in that family, Caroline or Dan ? "
He started the car and drove a half block before answering. "It doesn't make any difference who the good one is, Val. Maybe they don't get along. Ever see it that way?"
"But what about the kids?" she asked.
"Bad air is bad for kids," he said.
"Couldn't Caroline at least try?" she asked.
"Sometimes trying is harder than doing. She's a big girl, Val. She has her own life to live. Maybe she'll mess it up maybe it's messed up already "
"But what about the kids?" she asked.
"What about them? Lots of kids have divorced parents. It's a fact of life these days. Maybe it's a pity--. "
"MAYBE?! Of course it is!" she said.
"Not of course. Which would you prefer, living with a mother and father who fight, or living with a mother or father in peace?"
"It isn't that easy. But I wouldn't prefer either. I'd rather live with a mother and father who love each other, like mom and dad."
"Mom and Dad? That's rich, you know that, Val? That's really a good one! Boy, how stupid can you be?! "
"What are you talking about, Bill?" she said.
"Mom and Dad? They made a deal just for us kids. They hate each other! You notice how she screws around with her stupid flowers all the time? And how he hardly ever opens his mouth anymore? Just sits there? Maybe you've spent too much time reading. I haven't. Besides, I remember the night they had their big fight. Wow, the Liston-Clay fight was nothing compared to that. They didn't hit each other, but whew! You should have heard the old lady tear into dad! And now they just sort of tolerate each other. An armed truce. No, Val, they don't get along at all. Or they don't much like each other."
Valerie was stunned. She hadn't discerned any trouble between her parents but now, looking back just a bit, she could pick out isolated instances of strife. Things that proved what Bill was saying. She felt cold and empty, dizzy. They're staying together in discord only for us? Now I can see it; that's a tragedy too! A sacrifice. Are both making that sacrifice, wasting their lives in an unhappy situation just for Bill and me?
"Is it true, Bill? Is what you're telling me really true?" she asked.
Slowly, he looked at her. Once again her eyes were misted over. Her lips trembled. She was shaking her head slowly, sadly. "Afraid so. Think about that. And then think about Dan and Caroline. That should answer your question."
He looked back at the road, thinking that it had been one hell of a day for poor little Valerie.
Shock after shock. Virginity, Caroline, and then the news that she certainly should have known.
As he drove he noticed that she was silent, brooding. He could feel her mind grinding. "Val, about you--. "
"What about me?" She was almost afraid to listen.
"All your studying, the choir, the church work, all your girl club activities. No boys. Don't you realize that you've been doing pretty much what the old folks and Caroline are doing? Escaping? Hiding, like an ostrich, in your activities?"
"Thank you, doctor," she said icily.
"Aw, come on. Face it. Hell, I'm not blaming you. Perhaps you could feel it all the time I think so! I really do. You're smart. But you're bristling with self-preservative mechanisms. You don't want to be uncomfortable, so when you see something that you don't like, something that you can't do anything about, you hide. And not consciously. It's a sort of sublimation."
"I know what sublimation is!" she said.
"And now you're getting mad. Blaming me! Hell's bells, I want you to be happy, can't you see that?"
She sighed and leaned against the door. She felt too troubled to see anything very clearly. She gave in. "All right. I guess I shouldn't be mad at you. But you remember what Benjamin Franklin said about the bearers of bad tidings..."
"Bad insurance risks?" Billy asked.
"Exactly. People confuse the pointing finger with what it points at, where emotion is involved."
"Quite often. I'm sorry, Val." He put his hand on her leg and squeezed it gently. He knew that she had been injured, hurt very deeply. Choir seemed to be a very bad idea. "Val ? "
"What? What, Bill?" she asked.
"Hey, to hell with choir tonight. What say we hang one on instead? You can't be in much of a mood to sing, can you?"
"To tell the truth, no. But they expect me."
"To hell with 'em! Your first allegiance is to yourself! And you've had a bad day."
Despite her turmoil she smiled, remembering something of the afternoon. "Let's say that it's been an ... eventful day."
"Whatever. What do you say? Want to go over to Meyer's cabin? Jack will be there, he told me. Plenty of booze, some nice records..."
"Jack Meyer!" She said it as though she-hadn't believed her ears. Jack Meyer was the dentist, and was about fifty years old.
"Sure! He's not a bad guy at all. Has a real nice place, and doesn't mind if people visit him." Bill smiled, neglecting to tell Valerie that Jack Meyer had a reputation for filling more cavities with his cock than he did with his dentist's tools and golf balls combined.
No strain there, he thought; old Meyer always has some very young girl. Rather a small-town Hugh Hefner. Except for the money and publicity.
Sitting there, Valerie thought about what he was suggesting. It had been a busy day, with too many hard knocks. Too many bitter pills. And old Mrs. Ferris would expect her to solo on the Handel oratorio. That settled it.
"Okay, the party it is. And I want you to look after me, Bill; I intend to get good and drunk, I think," she said.
The thought of letting all her defenses down frightened her, but she was confused and emotionally exhausted. And she kept thinking about the good feeling that Bill had given her, there between her legs. A smile crossed her face. She hadn't seen Dr. Meyer for almost a year. Nice and tall. Handsome, too...
CHAPTER SIX
The matter was settled. Bill smiled at Valerie, thinking that she was a real sport. He was, as Caroline had been thinking, a bit on the naive side. In fact, Bill was rather dumb, even though he was not an idiot, as people sometimes said. He was a great fan of what he chose to call "primary experience."
This means that he more or less looked out for the moment, feeling perhaps correctly that the next moment would look out for itself. His argument was that the next moment was always the next moment, certainly a hard one to crack using existing methods of scientific rhetoric such as logic.
That the future is the future and never the present, his main premise, was unassailable, being an identity clear as pie. But any bumpkin knows that the future has a more or less sneaky way of creeping up on a person, like nightfall during a snowy, murky day. Things change, even identities. Or the parts of the equation to which the identity refers change, upsetting the identity.
But Bill Wright was only nineteen, and could be expected to stumble when wrestling with a problem that has dumbfounded thinkers since the time of Zeno, some twenty-odd hundred years ago. No. And, like Valerie, he tailored his constructs of life to fit his requirements; he, too, liked to be comfortable.
Driving at this moment toward Jack Meyer's cabin overlooking Eagle Lake, he smiled. Bill liked to drive, was what one might call a driving enthusiast. Neither Mrs. Wright nor Caroline would dare enter the car with him, even to hear the radio while the car was stopped, and Mr. Wright only drove his own Rambler, alone. The police thought that Bill was crazy but, since it was a small town, their community, they merely spoke to him whenever they could corner him at a drive-in or stop-light.
Bill's two ambitions in life were money and a berth on the Porsche team. At nineteen, he was rapidly approaching old age for the latter, and perennially broke, he could only let his hope for the former grow more brightly.
This glowing hope was based on history observed, nothing more and nothing less. Throughout his two years at the university he had learned the lessons of history, cutting the fat of spurious compassion off with the skill of a Mayo Clinic neurosurgeon. He had, among other things, determined that poverty was a crime, perhaps the only crime. George Bernard Shaw's Major Barbara, a play to which he was addicted, played no small part in this assumption.
Money buys everything, including freedom, he often thought. To acquire money, one should not work hard, one should know how to handle people. Mingle with the rich, and interest them or else scare the shit out of them, and they will take you into their ranks if you are interesting or terrifying enough. Money. Wealth.
He could remember the bad times, the times he told Valerie about. His dad had been a successful builder, and they had lived in a situation of physical comfort, although it was hectic in the house, which was often a planning room, a board room, a battlefield, and once in a while failure's anteroom. The living room hadn't been much of a living room then, even though it was opulent, expensively furnished, and large.
Dinners were large, rich, and exotic then, prepared by Anna, the Swedish maid/cook, but they were not happy dinners. Either they were lonely or they were upsetting because of nagging arguments between Mr. and Mrs. Wright, whose attitudes toward children's digestive processes seemed of little importance.
Perfectly satisfied with the best of everything. On the face of it, the theory made sense. But there were' hidden snags that caught Mr. and Mrs. Wright in their furious rush down the Money Creek, swollen by the building boom of the early sixties.
Mr. Wright had been thirty-two then, and was extraordinarily handsome. Caroline was ten, Billy was nine, and Valerie only five. Mr. Wright worked hard and drank hard. He could show any of his carpenters a better, faster way to do something, and was almost a tyrant with the quailing, whining subcontractors and material suppliers. He was ruthless with the realtors. He stood like some man of stone, modeled by Michael Angelo in the image of the Almighty God.
At least, that's what Bill had thought at the time, after seeing a movie about it starring some giant of a man with long wavy hair and teeth the size of recipe cards.
Bill remembered the two Cadillacs, the cabin cruiser, the rolling fields of houses and apartments on the treeless red clay of the suburbs, and he remembered seeing photographs of his dad standing superimposed on similar barren hills covered with houses in various stages of completion. Pride had made his chest swell, and the teachers and kids at that school all made it very plain that he, Billy, was extraordinary. It was the money, because Billy didn't snag the grades and he didn't play football or do any of the other hero things. He got the girls, though, even in fifth grade.
Then, three years later, there was trouble.
Something about Mrs. Wright sleeping with a friend of her husband. She accused him openly, in front of the kids without a thought, of infidelity.
"Oh, go fuck your trollops in the apartments!" she had yelled, and threw the large tray of lobster at him, hitting him in the chest.
The kids had sat at the table stunned, nailed to their chairs in surprised horror.
They watched as the thermidor sauce Billy's favorite slowly crept down the front of his father's shirt; a yellow shirt with thin blue lines, button-down collar, long sleeves always rolled up Billy remembered it vividly. The sauce crept slowly down the front of his God's shirt, and his God sat there, his eyes narrowed slightly but showing no other symptom of anger.
"Mildred," he had said, his voice like vanilla pudding spiked with razor blades, "should we go into the other room for a chat while Anna tries her hand at something else for the children?"
And Billy's mom had replied: "YOU FUCKER!" and ran out of the house. She didn't come back.
A week later there was a phone call from a hospital on the east coast. And a week after that Bill's mom returned to the house, wearing sun-glasses to hide two swollen and purple shiners. Bill remembered. His dad had said nothing, but pointed down the hall to where the bathroom was their master bath, the carpeted one off their bedroom.
Bill heard the bath water running, and continued reading, not bothering his father in what he knew was a time of stress. Only thirteen, he knew. He also knew that Caroline had slept with a boy only one night after the fight at the table. The very night of the fight and his mother's precipitate flight Anna had stayed. Bill hated to remember that. Anna was sweat and fat, with pink skin and the smile of a drooling idiot.
Billy had finished his homework agitatedly, taken a shower, and had jumped into bed and was watching his small screen television set. Anna had knocked quietly, as she always did, and then her sweat-fat face peered in, her pink pig eyes twinkling with false merriment.
"I yoost come in to say goonight?" she said. Everything she said came out like a question. Bill had frowned. He couldn't stand the thought of some older woman coming in to say "goonight?" to him, especially fat ones with pig eyes and a sheen of sweat covering them like a coat of fresh varnish. So he only frowned, hoping that that had been it. But, of course, it hadn't. He sighed as she propelled her massive bulk into the room and hovering like a storm cloud over him, clucking like a chicken.
Everything after that had gone like some surrealistic flash. As she bent he silently screamed out and struggled. But the wet folds of flesh that were her face smothered him. He raged at her impudence, her presumptuousness, her mawkish pity. He didn't want-her pity, he didn't want her grotesque kiss, and most of all he didn't want to lay eyes on her.
She smelled, besides, of lavender, a scent that made him furious. But she outweighed him by some two hundred pounds, and fell onto him like a tree, tears of pity running from her already pink eyes now pinker because of the red rims. The tears drenched her already wet face, wet with perennial sweat. All of it, and her saliva wet mouth, drenched his. He was about to attack, kick out, scratch, bite, scream, but instead he thrust his hand into the opening at the front of her blouse and shot it right down to that place where he had seen a mammoth nipple tent and always starched material out. He seized it with his thumb and forefinger and pulled, astonished because she didn't seem to react.
He would swear to his dying day that he pulled it a good inch and a half, and that it was the size of large prune when he first took it. Her tit was like a small watermelon, flesh covered, inflated with cool fat. When he tried to grab all of the tit, incited by his reply to her affrontery, she pulled away, sweating and crying more than before.
"Yeee virsch," she said clankingly and shaking her folds of jowls, "vot a naughty ting you duue to pore Onna?"
Billy had wanted to swear at her, tell her to get the fuck out of his sight, but that touch had given him an immediate erection. His little cock had sprung right up like it did every twenty minutes when he was thirteen.
So instead of cursing and ordering her out, he jusi pulled the covers up to his neck and stared at her, wide-eyed and breathing shallow. It was the first time he had touched a tit that was so large. It was a flesh mountain. It had become real to him. Horrendous, awful, alive magnetic, a trophy to bag and brag about, a mountain to climb with his tongue and hands.
His little cock didn't even have to be touched to spurt its fresh little charge of young come; he was young and full of come. She sat on the bed. She looked at him and shook her head as though he were a fearful denizen of a swamp floor, spotty and unpleasant. He stared right back at her, wondering how such a tub of awful lard could make him shoot off. She was hideous. Obese. Gargantuan. A hairless gorilla with pink eyes, freshly varnished. And such preposterously alluring tits! The nipple boggled his mind and he felt that sucking on it was the only way he could live another minute.
Nobody was more astounded than Billy when he started to cry just then. He was so astonished that he became embarrassed, and cried even harder but not so hard that anyone but Anna would hear. It wouldn't be too smart to bring the whole family, minus mom, running into his room. His crying had the desired effect.
"Vy you crying, Billy?"
"I want my mommie!" Good God, he was thinking right after he said that, I haven't called the old lady "mommie" since I was in kindergarten! Whew! Rather glad she took off!
Maybe dad and I will have a little peace and quiet around here for a change. Poor dad no wonder he drinks! With a bitch like that for a wife my own mother! God, are all wives like she is? She's certainly consistent about her bitchiness. But I want another taste of that big tit. Wow, wait'll I tell the guys at school about this!
"You vant mamma, pore sveetie? Mamma not here nu? Maybe she comen home in a vile...? " Troubled pink eyes, staying focused on him as the weird pink uncased sausage face swung from one side to the other. Gray-streaked brown hair brought severely back, even over her ears, to a bun shot through with hairpins. Back and forth and back and forth. like she had a battery or key.
Stalemate. Bill played a bit of chess, and knew that he was into a stalemate; since he also thought about words he found himself wondering if his mom had found his dad a stalemate, if gross Anna would be a stalemate.
"I'm so unhappy," he said, sandwiching the words shakily between small paragraphs of wet sobs. It was his master move to break the stalemate, and it worked magnificently.
Big Anna moved ponderously, like a drowsy hippo, a bit closer and scooped him toward her breast in what she thought was a motherly gesture. She liked the kids because she liked her job. She had lost one job because the kid there reminded her of her son, whom she hated. Bill didn't remind her of anybody, so she could play the mother to him without too much involvement or strain.
She half suspected that Bill would attempt to slip his hands into her blouse and cast-iron brassiere again, so as she held him she hunched her shoulders forward, loosening everything up so that he would have an easy shot.
Not even a boy for half-measures, Bill cuddled himself comfortably into that warm flesh crag and delicately unbuttoned the first button, knowing incorrectly that she wouldn't be able to feel it. She rocked him, creating diverting motion. He shook with arousal and plucked another loose. And another, heedless now of any reaction she may display. Another and another, until he could squirm back and see that she was open. Her unspeakable breasts were like cream mounds, held by a frustrating brassiere.
All of his cool resolve had gone up in a puff of smoke like instant tinder and he threw his face onto one of those inviting upper stretches, never forgetting to occupy her pity center with the most genuine sobs he could muster. His face pressed into the soft, pneumatic breast and he smiled through his muffled sobs as she continued to rock him and pat him.
Balls a'fire, he thought, I'm actually getting into this sow's garments, fastening onto her udders like a sex fiend! Boy, is she an idiot? or is she an idiot! His hand slipped into that mammoth cloth cup, the size of a medium mixing bowl. His little cock was up again, like a finger. Straight and hard. Feeling the tit was a roaring thrill for him, and he shot his hand in with determination, sobbing and sighing, kissing and pressing his cheeks against the other orb of yielding and emotion-firing breast.
Once again he got the nipple, and struggled with the back of his hand to force that brassiere top down so that he could see it. Shit, is it strong! he said to himself. Wonder if I should ask her to take it off? No, that would ruin her fantasy, I think. Might bring her around. Maybe I should try to break the damned thing. Mmmmmm, only a small strap. SNAP! He yanked the now-free top down and threw his face against the red and rubbery prune of a target. It almost filled his already sucking mouth.
At the same time he felt her hand continue to pat him, but it moved down.
I yust feel the little bastard's ting for a vilemaybe he let me sock it off some? she was thinking. Golly yee, he some sock my ninny hard, he do? He like ninny, and Onna like little boy pungen...? Onna maybe be quiet and suck his pungen little bit?
So it was that Bill and Anna formed a mutual assistance subcult in the dark confines of his bedroom, and so it was that he wasn't particularly excited about seeing his mother return from a hospital somewhere on the east coast with two black eyes hidden behind large sun-glasses with very dark lenses. It meant that she was back and that Anna's nightly visits to his room would have to cease.
He had come to like the way she sucked his cock, making him lie atop her. He had fit marvelously. When his face was on her tits his cock was in her mouth. On a fair night she would bring him to five orgasms; on a good night ten, on a fabulous night fifteen. His record, one Saturday when his dad and Caroline were out, after Valerie had been put to sleep early, he had gone seventeen times, and Anna had made him scrambled eggs between number nine and number ten.
He felt cheated. She got from him, but he never got from her. The damned bags are dry! he cursed to himself, trying for all his worth to suck milk out. It's in there, I just know it! What's all that floppy liquid stuff, if not milk?! But he also knew that if he were to get a shot of milk he would probably be so shocked that he would swear old Anna off for good. Besides, the fun was in the trying, not in the succeeding; after all, he argued, who wants to climb the same mountain twice? not realizing that he had been climbing her twin mountains for two weeks running, repeatedly, the same way, time after time.
Bill's first experience with women was with his mother; his first sexual experience with girls was ohhh on playgrounds, in garages, in darkened hallways, closets, under beds, all over; his first sexual experience with women was with Anna. That last was, at the same time, highly gratifying and shakingly mortifying. like most pubescent little thirteen-year-old boys, the recounting of conquests equaled or even surpassed the actual hunt and conquest. So, in his bedroom he was gratified, and after he told his buddies and they laid eyes on her, he was mortified.
"Jesus!" TR Nolan, a good swimmer, said, looking at her and pointing as she trundled toward the Wright place from a nearby grocery store, "just look at her! She's a fucking Sherman tank! She has nurses' shoes for treads! She's a fucking mountain!"
"Yeah," said bespectacled little Winston Lundquist, "verily she is!" He squinted at the shrinking Billy and cawed like a crow on sentry duty. "And you," he announced, pointing, "are none other than Mohammed. The mountain finally came to Mohammed!"
Billy had a fist-fight with them, got sweet revenge, but so did they; the nickname stuck all the way through high school, reminding him of his chagrin that spring afternoon when his pride had been trampled by two barbaric little eunuchs without pubic hair. His annual, under his picture:
William Wright.
The Mighty Mo. The Mountain comes to
Mohammed. Where not even eagles dare.
Assuredly, the head editor of the annual at the student level was none other than Win Lundquist, who spent a good share of his time wondering how it would be to suck monster breasts while having blow-job after blow-job. His glasses had, over the passing years, thickened step-by-step until they resembled coke-bottle bottoms in thin gold frames.
But Billy had learned to live with it.
He didn't learn to live happily with his mother, especially after his mother had insisted that Anna leave because she, the mother, wanted to mend her nefarious ways and become a full-time mother. Billy lost touch with Anna, who seemed to dissolve into the whirl of the city a couple of miles away.
And, for the first three months after his mother's return, he fell away from his father, whom he thought had abandoned all of them brutally, capriciously, summarily. After his mother's return, the father and she whispered a lot, spent lots of time in the bedroom behind a locked door, and went out a lot. Bill was quick to recognize that his mother's idea of being a full-time mother meant a deadly succession of hot dishes, meat loafs, canned soups, frazzled pork chops, lumpy potatoes, dimpled peas, and store-bought bread. And the fucking Electrolux where it could be stumbled on at any minute. Dust on the after-dinner mints.
He had begun to think that it would be a hell of a lot more comfortable for all concerned if she would take up flying or sky-diving or attempt an assault on the Mindanao depth or Mount Everest dressed approximately the same for any of the four ventures; in one of her flowing gowns. He yearned for the succulent roasts, the rich sauces, the braised and buttered vegetables, the high pies and sweet frosted rolls, the home-baked breads, the lobster, duckling, the snacks there so quickly when his friends would come.
Anna. And those huge tits and that ever hungry mouth, just perfect. He had had to curl up to fit just right, but it was worth it. The days had been fine; good food and a shared, happy dad. And the nights had been fine.
His mother's abrupt return made all that stop.
Bill was bitter toward his mother and father, and his bitterness was a result of poor housekeeping, poor cooking, and rejection by his father.
It was only natural for him to turn to Caroline and Valerie for the affection he no longer received from his father and didn't want from his mother.
This was while he was thirteen. Caroline was fourteen, making her approximately as old as the Dead Sea Scrolls, as far as both he and she were concerned. She would not associate with him because he was a thirteen-year-old child. As far as he was concerned, then, she was undesirable as a friend because she was of another generation, already too old to enjoy the finer things of life. She was one of that respected but hated group, The Big Guys. All little guys know about big guys.
He was left with Valerie, who was dull, but pretty and pliable. Easily led to the closet. Chubby little Valerie, who was smart in some ways, dumber than hell in others. Naive, but bright.
His affection channeled to the nine-year-old, he abreacted toward Caroline, and actively plotted her violent overthrow. He spied on her, through keyholes and any other orifice that would admit even a pinpoint of light.
By fourteen he had become quite the expert on female anatomy and the fine technique of screwing. This is because Caroline had boys over while their mom and dad were out. Caroline fucked like a mink; Bill never knew for a fact that she had begun to do it the night after the great fight at the table. After mom's hegira to a sexual Mecca of her own in New York's Bedford-Stuyvesant area, a strip that ended up in the emergency ward at St. Luke's.
Bill was also unaware of the fact that Caroline was a bit of a Mata Hari in her own right, and had discovered her mother, herself undiscovered, in the arms of a man not their father, not her mother's husband and right in her parents' bed. Two days before the fight with dad in Chicago at a builders' convention.
This traumatic disclosure had caused Caroline a few anxious moments. She had come home from school, sick. She had entered the large house, sick. She had walked through the house, looking for her mother, sick. And when she found her mother, legs up around the pale but hairy body of a man she didn't recognize except after a few minutes, by the car in the driveway she left the house and trudged slowly back to the relative charm of school, sicker than before.
She had walked in a daze, a lithe young bird shot in the heart. Her left breast ached from deep inside and no amount of rubbing would ease the ache. She had to pee, and went into a clump of lilacs and squatted, peeing and spattering her ass, legs, ankles and shoes with pee and its mud. She didn't give a damn. Then she went back to school and threw up in Civics. At the nurse's office they insisted that she go home; her temperature was one-oh-two-point-three.
"No. Nobody's home and I don't have a key," she said.
"Any relatives?"
"Not close-by. Maybe I can just lie down here until school lets out ? "
"Sure, dear. Nobody'll bother you. Just you relax."
"Thank you, and well, I'll be okay now." Tears, held back. Stopped somewhere behind the eyes by the same force that made her jaws like steel; perhaps they evaporated because her eyes burned so. Perhaps there were no more.-likely, because Caroline never cried like that. Fourteen. Her jaw had acquired a permanent set.
She had returned home with Bill after school, but didn't talk. He did, but she wouldn't answer. He shrugged and kicked at clumps of grass and dandelions on the boulevard, sending clods and little clouds of pastoral parachutes flying before him randomly.
All the while she lay in the sterile and cool nurse's office she gritted her teeth and her mind ground like some out-of-phase computer with razor-blade gears. She had decided to hate her mother and scorn her father, to close off all relations with Billy and Val, and escape as soon as possible, perhaps in mom's red Caddy convert.
Three years passed and she thought about the escape, but so many things happened that the appropriate time for her to run away never die come about. Or, if it did, it slipped by. She had made a few adjustments. She had discovered home, so to speak.
This was one reason why, washing dishes three years after she married Dan, she scoffed at her idiot little brother, denigrating him because she thought that he screwed in cars and not in the house or not in a motel. For, a few days after she had discovered home, the night after the dinner-table lobster throw, she had discovered the warm paneling, thick carpet, and firm double bed of a Howard Johnson's motel. Her life, after that, became a well-worn path between home and motels, motels and home. Boys or men at either end, ready and waiting. And, as she fucked them, she began to forget why she was fucking them in the first place.
The swirling miasma of merciful forgetfulness enveloped that initial cause, repressed it, and then finally suppressed it. She was left with a vacuous disinclination to talk to her mother, and a sharp skepticism about believing anything she said. She continued to scorn her father, but the flint-edge of that scorn gradually wore down to a smooth and blank surface, impenetrable as a wall of flint between them. She continued to be stand-offish with Billy and Valerie, even though she forgot why just as she didn't notice that she didn't even care to relate to them. She was, all this time, too busy.
And then she met Dan. Her long-awaited savior.
As all this was going on, Valerie was bright, busy, but hopelessly naive.
Or so thought Billy, who wasn't much of a boy for getting into heads at that early age. Well, it's certainly true that he got into more than his just share of heads in a physical way, but he was not the person to dope Valerie out accurately.
He felt her out more or less accurately, but he didn't begin to understand that she, in some deep and forbidden layer of her lower consciousness, understood what was happening, and understood it with frightening clarity. She formed her defenses like a chess player, anticipating the outcome of the family situation with an accuracy that was so good she didn't even notice when her psychic prediction came about. It seemed as natural as a train arriving at a station on time and on the proper track. Just as it should be.
This, obviously, meant several things.
First, she was functionally blind to trouble, since as far as she was concerned on that deep and nonverbal level of knowing there was no trouble between her parents. Tension between them built according to a schedule that she understood and expected, and as it built it was therefore not trouble, as recognized by Billy, but inevitable development.
Second, since the scheme was very uncomfortable, since its ultimate conclusion was the destruction of her relationship with her parents through their own mutual destruction as her parents, she forced her consciousness onto other things, developing a lopsided mentality that could commit everything to memory while assimilating nothing of it in a relational way. She became a learner, learning to read like a demon, learning to take tests like a fourth generation computer, learning to tailor the facts of an unpleasant life to such a degree of perfection that the unpleasant life was, through the tailoring, actually pleasant, rewarding, and full.
Underneath all of this was the vague realization that marriage was for shit.
Contrasting with this: She wanted children so that she could prove that-she could be a better mother than her mother was. The spice of competition had flavored this drive, as it flavored everything she did. She had to be the best, whatever.
But, looking at her mother and father, male and female, she saw nothing, with her mind's eye, but verdigris, green mold tarnishing what had once been shining metal. Solid metal, something she could hold on to, something she was proud of.
With her mind's eye she saw that stronghold tarnish, grow cold and green and unpleasant, unsafe, unusable, unworthy. With her green eyes she saw everything as being fine. God was in His heaven, little birdies were chirping in their nests, the sun rose and fell, dad and mom were home and didn't fight (any more), Caroline was rather strange and cold, and Billy was a nice, handsome, loving, wonderful man of a big brother, one to love without any of the complications that might lead to (shit, her mind said) something as disappointing to all as that brewed by her parents.
Nine; D-year for innocent little Valerie.
She had changed so subtly that she didn't recognize the change. Her mind wouldn't allow it, because then the change would have been self-defeating and useless. She fell away from her parents only a bit. School became an obsession, as did girl activities, like clubs and Brownies, Hi-Y, and extra-curricular activities like church and choir. Anything to keep her away from home. But she didn't realize that.
That was the difference between she and Caroline; also the difference of five years Caroline knew why she didn't hang around the house except when her parents were gone and a boy friend was there with her, on the bed.
But, in some part of her mind that bled and trembled, Valerie saw it all. The dissolution of an empire. As she witnessed it in soul-searing detail, she sublimated her emotional terror by working even harder on her projects, garnering plaudits that were mere trinkets to her soul compared with a day of genuine love and affection between her drifting parents.
She watched it. She couldn't realize any of it consciously.
Her parents were really very mushy after Anna left.
Then the mushiness turned to obsequiousness masquerading as civility.
The civility gradually slid into a condition of strained toleration.
That generated into unmasked contempt, and then there was a discussion that Valerie heard, a discussion that she heard but didn't actually hear, or, precisely, that she didn't identify as a conversation at all. Her mind heard, though.
Dad told mom that they would stick it out until Val was out of the house. Then, kaput ! Valerie was not the child to be able to live with a grim specter like this. That's when the nightmares she had been having went to wide-screen Technicolor, seventy millimeter, not merely Cinemascope, but a sweeping new dimension surrounding her face, soul, and fitfully tossing little body.
She had also heard something that she could, strangely, recall. She had understood it without understanding it, but she could always recall it. "Hell with it," her dad's voice announced, creeping with the ribbon of light from under the closed bedroom door, "I'm going to take the bath..."
She had waited to hear the shower go on in the master bath, but instead the door opened, he appeared, stormed out, slammed that bedroom door, slammed the front door, and left the driveway with the engine of his car roaring, the tires screeching. She had always wondered what he had meant, and somehow she never wanted to know. She had never taken a bath since then, but showered every day, or at least five times a week. At school or at the YWCA.
Right after that House and Home came out with a news release about Wright, saying that he'd had a twenty-six million dollar operation. Finance and
Commerce described the bankruptcy as a crippling blow to the community's faltering economy, and even tried to generate private bonds to float the corporation out of receivership. Batteries of attorneys and city officials came to the house to plead, stating that the insolvency Wright had declared was a myth. One of these attorneys was the federal judge who was slated to take initial depositions.
"Be reasonable, Mr. Wright," the distinguished jurist said, "you cite a three hundred thousand dollar discrepancy; any insurance company in the world would be glad to advance that at a quarter of a point..."
But Wright sipped his Sake, looked from one anxious face to another, and then smiled at his wife.
"Gentlemen," he said, still looking at his wife and smiling without any humor, "my affairs are in the hands of Scott, Collins, Weiberg, Weiberg, and Flemenbaum. Please talk to them."
They would always leave, filing out in their dark suits as though they had just viewed the body.
Mrs. Wright, after one of those visits, threw herself onto her husband, exploding tears like liquid sparks. She hugged his legs and wet his pants. "Please, please! Honey, don't throw it all away!"
He stiffened and pulled his hands up so that they wouldn't touch her, anywhere. Not at all. And in a calm but very terrible voice he said, "get away from me, Mollie." Her name was Mildred.
The banker came. He was the friend who had screwed Mrs. Wright, the close friend of Mr. Wright.
"But you have to!" the man pleaded, looking from him to his wife, as though for support. "Tell him, Mildred he has to ! "
"And why do I have to?" This time he smiled narrowly at his wife and sipped Scotch, neat no water, no cubes. His second bottle of the day was half finished, just like the day.
"We've carried you!" the man cried, holding his hands out as though showing that his palms were pink and freshly scrubbed, not concealing weapons or forms or ball-point pens.
"Yes, Karl, you have! And you've done such a good job of carrying me that I've had you and the directors of your bank named by my attorneys as my pall-bearers you may as well finish the job you've managed to do so well over the years...." the years..."
And so it was that Eliot Wright became a proud, silent, bitter, alcoholic ass.
He signed on as a laborer for a competing construction company, doggedly refusing everything from the vice-presidency down to carpenter foreman. No, a laborer and hod-carrier, at four dollars and fifteen cents an hour. He went to work high on Muscatel.
The bankruptcy went through, sucking the house, the cruisers, the Cadillacs, and his fat bank account down the hole.
Eliot Wright took to shaving two or three times a week, and hated it. He never went where people he used to know could possibly see him, and everywhere he went those people saw him. Bankers in incredibly ratty little pirate's dens of beer-joints, attorneys in go-go joints, realtors and home-building association presidents in the drunk tank at jail on Friday and/or Saturday night, looking out of place in three hundred fifty dollar tailored suits. Seeing them, any of them, anywhere, Eliot would smile or even laugh because they had come to fear him and hate him.
He never spoke, except if it was absolutely necessary. He did use his mouth to bite his fingernails and drink wine. He went for close to two months after the bankruptcy was discharged without eating as much as a grilled cheese, Slim Jim, boiled egg, or potato chip. That's when he ended up in the nut house floor of the Vet's Hospital. Two months and a little change later, he squinted at the sunshine outside the building, shrugged, and began the twenty-mile walk home, broke and numb.
The police found him asleep; good police knew him, checked around after they saw that he wasn't drunk, and found out that his wife had rented a house in a rather shabby section of town. After calling her for an okay, they drove him there, where Valerie and Billy and Caroline were mildly surprised to see him. Mrs. Wright tried to kiss him; he farted and walked away like a zombie. Ten minutes later he was snoring. r
CHAPTER SEVEN
Valerie was ten when this happened, three months short of ten.
Eliot loved Valerie. He loved to look at her. She was like a beacon in the darkness of his ruined life, seen through wine-rheumy eyes. The eyes of a man sailing on the deep sea of wine, steering through shoals of twist-top bottles.
Fifty-two thin bucks a week on unemployment.
Money besides, the cash-value of his life insurance, handled with some skill by the full-time mother. She had dyed her hair, and it had come out orange. Nobody knew how Eliot Wright laughed about that because nobody suspected that he could see, let alone laugh. But he saw, and he laughed. It was the cherry on top of the hideous cake that she had made of their life, and he had lived to see it and laugh about it. But he didn't want to share his laughter. Not about that, because the only person he cared about sharing anything with was Valerie.
Her birthday drew closer, and as if by magic every cent in his pockets disappeared into the black and chrome cash register down at the liquor store. Closer and closer; ding, ding. And burning sweetness, numb bliss, and dreamless sleep. Only to see bright little Valerie, her once nice clothes now patched and torn, her pretty knees dirty, chocolate on her chin. Those huge green eyes. He would look at them and cry silently. God, they see right into me, cut me like a scalpel; Christ, she knows, and she knows everything. What have I done? What have I done?
His tears threatened to become wet reality, and he walked from the house, measuring his gait so that nobody would suspect that he had anything in mind. He did. Suicide. Not slow, not twelve per cent suicide, but sudden death, release from bitter, aching life. Death couldn't be worse: death's eyes couldn't be bigger, more searching or searing or knowing than Val's .
He passed the church, the one he had done a good bit to build. "A last walk with my old buddy God," he muttered, staggering up the broad stone steps.
He threw the wide oak door open and peered into the dimness. The cross was illuminated. He made his way down the center aisle, his cock out. His bladder was ready to burst. On the raised platform was the altar. On it was the cross. He pulled the cross down carefully and put it on the maroon carpeting. Then he pissed on it, arching back and smiling good-naturedly at the stained-glass representation of Jesus kneeling at Gethsemane.
"Hey, Jesus, you old prick! See me? I'm pissing on your tree, young fellow! And if you were here I'd piss into your mouth! Now, how's that shit grab you?! And tell that bumbling oaf of a father of yours that I'm gonna spit right into his beady eye first chance I get! His judgment, Jesus, not mine! I never bungled a job like he did! And I'm not even omnipotent, y'hear that? I'm just a drunk fuckin' ass!" He cleared his throat, conjured up a nice thick green and yellow gob of phlegm, and spat up at the window, missing it by no more than two inches. Then he shook the last drops off his dick, tucked it in, zipped up, and turned to look into the eyes of little Valerie, his daughter.
"C'mon, dad," she said, and took his hand. She walked him home.
Valerie blanked on that one too, as did her dad.
The next day he woke up, shaved, put on some newly pressed pants and a clean shirt, shined his shoes, and walked down to the carpenter's union office, arriving just as the birds in the nests were opening their eyes and thinking about worms or grains of something to eat. Wright was thinking about things to eat about birthday cakes and food for little angels with pretty eyes, grubby knees, and patched dresses too short.
Almost four hours later he was taken on as head business agent for the local at a starting salary of two-fifty a week plus benefits. Secret, the benefits included a new Buick, a new house in a nice suburb, and an expense account that, "shouldn't really go much over five hundred a week, Eliot."
He received an advance from the union head, took the keys to the dark blue sedan, and drove out to the river, where he cried for a few hours. Then he looked up at the sky and sneered. "I still think that you're the blunderer of all time!" he roared, and drove off to buy some nice things for the kids.
For the first time in a long time he had an erection, but he didn't know what he could do with it, so he forgot about it. He saw it as a sign of renewed desire in living, and that was plenty for him. Driving to the house, he whistled. The new house.
Examining it, he saw that it was about par for the course. Perhaps thirty-five on the market. Can use some touches, he said to himself, wandering through it and checking the doors for binding, inspecting the mitering on the window casing, the fit of the gypsum board against the fireplace. Mmmmmm, a patio out there, maybe, and use the amusement room for the kids. Their room. And their own rooms. My own room, too. Good. And a room for Mildred the slut. Mildred the Terrible.
Squirrel nipples. Ish!
Well, the kids ought to be pleased. Hell, with just a little work, touches here and there, it won't be a bad place at all.
Then he went to the department store they used to go to, but he floundered. "What size?" the woman asked him, short-circuiting his head. He stammered and sputtered and blushed, then laughed. "Tell you what," he said, telling her what, "I'll bring them down about four, when they're out of school. Hell's bells, I don't know what size they are!" She laughed and he looked at her just that teeny fraction of a second too long. "Lunch?" he asked, as though they'd been friends for years.
"Sure," she replied, as though they had been friends for years.
And, as though they had been friends for years, they went out and had lunch.
He passed on a cocktail, she had two Bacardis. They had a good salad with Italian dressing, a salad with tomatoes and eggs and ham slices and a bit of turkey on the bed of lettuce. Then came lobster for her and medallons de veau Cordon Bleu for him. His foot touched hers under the table. She didn't move hers. The two feet touched throughout the meal. Their eyes touched throughout the meal, and their spirits also touched. They made love right there, with their eyes. Their spirits screwed like crazy some two feet above their heads, and both knew it. Very few words were spoken until they left, and walked from the dim restaurant back to the department store.
He liked the way she walked, even though she was perhaps two years older than Mildred. She had nice legs and a nice shape in general. Fair breasts, he judged, on the plump side. A smooth, pleasant face with happily dancing eyes. When they were almost to the door he stopped her, took both of her hands in his, looked into the deep and intriguing pools of her dark brown eyes, and smiled. "Thank you so much," he said quietly, meaningfully.
Her eyes thanked him, she squeezed his hand, smiled a mystical little half smile that made his stomach jump, and turned to walk away and disappear through the aluminum and glass door. He looked after her, liking the way she put one foot in front of the other as she walked. Graceful and feminine, like a real woman.
His happiness was complete. He wondered if God had maybe decided to mend His ways, and decided that he'd give Him another chance and capitalize His name the next time he chewed Him out.
At the old hovel, with his titular wife:
"You certainly look good, Eliot," she said.
"Never mind about how I look. We made a deal. I apologize for copping out so badly. Never meant that the kids do without. Got a job. A good one-"
"Wonderful!" and she tried to hug him.
"Wonderful!" and she tried to hug him.
He lurched back. "Cut it! Go rut with your colored friends in New York, or with your sleek bankers. But do not ever touch me again!" Jaw out, eyes blazing, every muscle knotted.
She shrank back, face pale, thin hand to her mouth. Her eyes reflected abject terror and then abject despondence. "Eliot, can't we ... ever ? " Almost crying.
"Never. We've had it. I resigned, but I gave you your shot first. You took it, and you knew what you were doing. You knew how stubborn I was. Well, babes, I had it and I threw it away. I hit bottom, and had a lot of help doing it! Rock fucking bottom! And now I'm rising, a sort of phoenix, out of the ashes. But I don't want your help, no ma'am! You've done enough ! "
"Stop that! You know you were screwing those little those little trollops out at the apartment! You know that . "
"Bullshit, lady! I didn't screw once! I didn't touch one of those little twerps! The rent came in every month, didn't it?! If I would have been screwing, then they wouldn't have paid rent you, if nobody else, should know that!! ! "
"What do you mean by that, You " she started to say.
"What were you about to call me?" he asked.
"Oh, God, Eliot, I'm sorry! God, I'm so sorry!" Waterworks.
"Yeah. Well, that's life," Eliot said.
"Eliot, can I ask you a really hard question?"
"Life has been doing it every day of my life, and you have every day since I met you, so why not? Why stop now?"
"Eliot, won't we ever be able to ? " she asked.
" 'Fraid not, my loving bride, 'fraid not. Have me once, shame on you; have me twice, shame on me."
"Can't you forget your goddamned fucking pride "
"HAH! You're utterly fan-tastic! Really, you're better than Buck Henry! Talk to me? about my pride? WOW! I wear pride like a coat of paint, latex paint that I can wash off with soap and water! You took my pride, lady; I gave it to you when I gave you your ultimatum. Shape up or face the consequences, remember? And remember how it went? Hunh? I tried..."
"You got a job as a laborer!" She was mad now, too.
"Damn betcha I did! Which is a hell of a lot more than you ever did! And a hell of a lot better than I would have done for you, too. But the kids. And we'd made that deal. You screwed up on it, bitch! Screwed and screwed up. But now I lay it on you loud and clear: Lay off me. Your stomach can be on the ass all you want, but not on this ass! We once had one thing in common, we both loved you "
"Stop being cute; it's not in good taste."
" but you fixed that! Before I'm through we'll have something else in common; you figure it, if you can still stand yourself long enough to think about yourself!"
"You talk about me--? ! "
"I'm already nothing! I don't love myself, I hate me! I can't stand the stink of my shitty shit-shit-shit, if you want to know! All I want to do is do my work, give you a place to be a full-time mother to our children they are ours, aren't they? and drop my weary, tired ass into bed. Just one thing; if you ever, ever! bring another one of your paramours into my house, lady, you had better be prepared for a pretty fucking grisly scene, understand?" He glared, his face red.
She gulped and inhaled and blinked and retreated. "YOU UNDERSTAND, BITCH?"
"Yes," she whispered, knowing full well what he meant.
"All right, then. Now, I got a job, and a fairly good one. We have to keep it down around the kids. Go out and get fucked all you want, it may make you better easier to live with. Or make cottage cheese under your dress, I really don't give a shit. But goddammit, run the house. By the way, I also got us a new house. You have your own bedroom, but remember this: The roof is mine! We move in right away. Get the hell out of this depressing dump!"
As he ranted he looked at her, thinking what a wonderful wife she had once been. Eyes like a frightened doe. Large, like VaVs, but brown, Delicate face, almost blue white and fragile. Damned attractive. Too attractive. Pity, he thought. What a goddamn farce this whole life is! What a goddamn cruel farce! As he thought these things his attitude toward her softened. "Millie?"
He hasn't called me that in well, in a long time. "Yes?"
"Listen: Truly, I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. It was mine, too. We blew it, that's all. I threw the thing away, but if I had to do it again, even though I regret it, I would! But look, let's try to be friends, at least, hunh? Val is ten now. In six or seven years we'll be able to re-evaluate our situation. Let's try to be friends. But don't ask me to love you and I won't ask that you love me. Or sleep together. It'll be hard, but we have to do it for the sake of the kids I hope to God that they're not screwed up already...."
"I'll try, Eliot. I'll try." She knew that she would.
They moved.
They all liked the amelioration of their life.
They all went their own ways, silently. .
Except that Valerie and Billy spent a good bit of time together.
Valerie had a splendid happy birthday.
Elliot and the saleswoman became very close indeed, and his hair color changed gradually from almost white to salt-and-pepper brown. He smiled more then usual but still didn't talk much around the house. An uneasy truce prevailed between Mr. and Mrs. Wright for the first six weeks. This gradually changed into a viable relationship or mutual respect that bordered on civility. Before long they were living together like two sexless humans, intent on not stepping on the other's toes.
Their calculated indifference to the activities of the other became something like a libertarian system, and it extended to the children. Although they were quick to praise or even over-praise, they never scolded. They never questioned. They never got after Billy when they discovered that he smoked, drank, or screwed. They didn't chastise Caroline for her mysteriously late dates. And, of course, they never had cause to worry about Val.
Before long they moved onto the same floor. This was when Caroline graduated from high school and eloped with Dan.
That left the four of them. The strain lessened, Mr. and Mrs. Wright decided to once again inhabit the same room, albeit with widely spaced double beds.
She became interested in gardening and he maintained his interest in the saleswoman. During his long silences he would sit and think about her. Their relationship was not torrid but it was warm. He craved the warmth.
They gradually came to a point where the home-life was not terribly trying or unpleasant. They even established themselves with a new dentist, a tall and proficient man whom they all didn't mind going to. Dr. Jack Meyer.
Mrs. Wright hated dentists or, at least, hated what they did to her. She didn't mind seeing them, walking down the street; she just didn't like to get into their chairs and open her mouth. She made ah exception for Jack Meyer; he gave her gas.
"Brenda," he said to his slender young dental technician after administering a nice dose of nitrous oxide to Mrs. Wright, "would you please go down to Fremont supply and get those new bottles of Pontacaine?"
"Yes, Jack." And Brenda left just as Mrs. Wright went under.
Jack Meyer was alone and he was, as usual, on top of the situation. He smiled down at the slender woman, sound asleep in his chair. Then he strode easily into the reception room, clicked the small locking device under the knob and, whistling merrily, walked jauntily back into his office.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She lay there, her attractive face relaxed. He touched her shoulder. "Mrs. Wright? Mrs. Wright can you hear me?" He pinched her finger. Then he smiled. "You can't hear me? Well, okay." Then allow me to toy with your body for a while. Brenda will be gone for some time, Mrs. Wright, some time indeed! I shall avail myself of your body, Mrs. Wright. Yes I shall!
She wore a fashionable jersey blouse that buttoned down the front. With the deftness of a dentist, Meyer peeled her, undoing the buttons and pulling the blouse open. Her breasts were less than he had hoped for, but exciting nevertheless. She wore a flowered brassiere, cut low. It was no trick to pull the straps down her arms and lower the brassiere cups. Her breasts were still firm and high, even though he judged her to be in her early thirties. like the little girl tits he admired so much.
Her nipples were soft pink cones, surrounded by paler pink aureoles. They called to him and he went around to the back of the chair and ran his hands down over her shoulders and onto the soft, naked breasts.
"Ahhh," he sighed, "no shit, this gas is a gas! I'm really glad that I went through dental school. And damned glad that I'm taking that post-grad course in medical hypnosis! Nya-ah-hah! Whew! Eeee-magine post-hypnotic suggestion!! ! What fun! Come here, little girl. Now look into my eyes!" As he rambled on he fondled her breasts, rubbing his itching cock on the back of the reclined chair. He lowered it all the way and, when he got his fill of her breasts, he strode around to the side of the chair and lifted her skirt so that her garter belt and panties were exposed to his hungry view.
Lifting her a bit, he pulled the garment up even higher and clipped it there. Then he lowered the panties, leaving her thatch of curly brown pubic hair framed by the skirt and garter belt. This was a sight he dearly loved. Beaver. A nice snatch. Tender cunt covered lightly by those delicious little curls. Nice smooth thighs.
Looking at her pussy like that he allowed his mouth to water. His cock was tremendous now, itching and burning to fuck. But he neglected it and went on with his schedule. Schedule it was, too.
He had bared her private parts and feasted his eyes. He leered at her, his face twisted in a lewd smile reflecting every base desire known to man.
He leaned over and spread the pink lips of her vagina and peered into the relaxed folds they concealed. Then he pressed his finger into those warm pink folks. A new rush of tingles vibrated throughout his cock and his nuts became hard. His finger went all the way in. He pulled it out and pressed two in. And then three. Finally he tried to press all four in, hoping to make it all the way to the thumb. But no. Only three. Four and she would be sore. Probably suspect hanky-panky in the dentist's chair or something equally ridiculous!
Finished with that, and not unpleased at all, he went to the foot of the chair, braced himself between her legs, spread them, grasped her ankles, and lifted them high and wide. He stepped on a pedal on the floor and two stirrups slowly lowered from the ceiling. Into these he strapped her spread and raised legs. Gingerly toeing the pedal again, he raised it until her cunt was about right. Then he knelt and peered right into it, using his examination light and two fingers as spreaders. He smiled and shook his head.
"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, immensely pleased.
The examination light went onto his tool tray and he once again knelt. His hands went up, over her bared upper thighs from the outside and clasped them. His face moved toward the delicate cleft. His saliva flowed. He looked up at her belly and beyond to her breasts and then further beyond to her placid face. Then he pressed his tongue against the moist lips and thrust it in, moaning in delight. Her juice was scooped onto his tongue and his hands went up and caressed her breasts rhythmically as he sucked the lips and thrust his tongue ever farther in. He pulled away.
Her bottom was well elevated, hoisted up by the stirrups. He bent and speared his tongue into the tiny puckered hole of her anus. That sent a thrilling rage through him. His nose pressed into her cunt and his cock trembled and stretched even more. His tongue thrust into her ass-hole and then he lapped her bottom. Long, broad licks with his flattened tongue.
His hands swept over her firm little breasts, working the nipples to hot erection. When she was well-lubricated he stood, still between her legs, and pulled his cock out. His pocket contained a Trojan, and he unwrapped it and rolled it over the stiff hard shaft, wincing with pleasure and panting with anticipation.
Then, bending toward her, he carefully placed the white-pink knob of his cock against her moistened cleft and pressed his cock in and surrounded it. He lowered himself so that he could once again grasp her tits and, as he did, he began to thrust and buck. The tightness of her pussy was wonderful, gratifying. But he didn't care for the sterility of fucking with a safety.
His chair was a brand new one, delivered and installed over the week-end. He had paid a lot for it, because it had a few rather unconventional adjustments. Such as a piston which raised and lowered it. His specifications had driven the salesman mad, but he knew what he wanted. And this, Mrs. Wright was the perfect one to experiment on.
So he pulled out, rolled the safety off, and began to fuck her au naturel, meat-on-meat.
"Ahhh, much better; much, much better!" He bucked and grasped her tits again, pinching them and watching her face for the slightest twitch. Nothing. Deep, untroubled sleep. "And they say that hypnotism is this good!" he observed to nobody. Looking down at his unconscious victim, he was about to come. Sex, to him, was a daily exercise in use. A release, and little more.
He looked at his patients as sub-humans, worthy of being screwed. Never had he formed a relationship even faintly tinted with affection or personal regard. But he did love his pussy.
But now he knew that he was about to come, and he pulled his cock out, gritting his teeth. He ducked under her legs and minced his way to the head of the chair, which he lowered even farther. Then he straddled it, his crotch right above her neck. He fed his cock into her mouth, adjusting her lower jaw so that her teeth were exerting just the proper tension on the shaft. This done, he raised her head and began to buck in, not worrying in the least about the thrusts to the roof of her mouth. He went faster, trying to poke the knob of his cock right down into the depths of her throat. But he couldn't.
His gush came too fast. It exploded out and he rammed her head back against the chair with his cock, sending his searing sperm right down her throat. He arched and gasped as he climaxed, almost roaring with pure pleasure. Then he wiped his spent cock on her lips and lifted a leg and whirled smartly.
Moving quickly, he tucked his cock into his pants, shot a blast of deodorant on his fly from a distance, and moved to the bottom shelf of his cabinet for his Hasselblad. He snapped then photographs of her, replaced the camera, and unhooked her feet. Then he pulled her panties and garter belt into something like their original position, lowered her skirt, and fixed her brassiere so that her breasts were cradled as before. He buttoned her blouse, raised the chair, turned on his light, and put the saliva extractor into her mouth.
It went ssscchhlluuuppp! and gurgled as it removed her saliva and the remnants of his come. A few quick blasts with the Lavoris hose and she was as good as new and ready for a shaft in her aching molar. He had her filling installed in less than five minutes, and chipped a nice piece of hardened deposit from between her two front lower incisors. Holding it in his forceps he laughed. "Ahhh, a plaque suitable for framing," he said, and threw it into the waste basket, where the discarded safety lay.
He gave her a quick once over, feeling her soft tits again, and then snapped an ampule of ammonium chloride under her nose until she came to with a startled jump.
She blinked, gasped, looked around, and then smiled at the dentist, who was standing away from her, smiling back and dry washing his hands. The first thing she noticed about him was the hair on his hands and arms. She hadn't even seen all that hair before; it aroused her, but she blushed the sensation back and spoke.
"Gosh, are you all through?" she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Wright. All through. You have two more nice little cavities that I'd like to give more attention to, but you shouldn't have any trouble until say Thursday? At about three-thirty?" Brenda had Thursday afternoons off.
"Fine. Thursday at three. See you then, Doctor."
She went out to the old Falcon El had bought for her and sat in it for a moment, her arms and legs shaking. Noises like many church bells chiming blurred in her head. She felt strange, as though she were sexy. Her pussy seemed to itch, and her belly felt as though it required some sexual gratification. It was then that she decided to take up smoking. Better than nail-biting, she thought, conjuring up visions of El gnawing on his.
She stepped out of the car and went into the drug store. There she surveyed the colorful array of cigarette packages and settled on L&M menthols. She hated them from the start, and in a week was chain-smoking them. In a month she was hacking like a panther.
And at about that time Dr. Jack Meyer completed his course in medical hypnosis.
"It is not possible," the kindly old fraud teaching the course was saying, "to induce a person under the influence of hypnosis to act in a manner contrary to his natural proclivity. It is important that you stress this, because it has been found that the most obstinate barrier to the successful and expeditious induction of the hypnotic trance is some innate fear on the part of the subject that he or she will in some way compromise tumor herself."
Meyer had listened and smiled. Ah, well, he was thinking, now what woman doesn't like to fuck or suck a little cock? Lots of women don't like to talk about it, but what woman doesn't like to do it?? ? This sounds like the perfect magic just what the doctor ordered. His smile broadened and he listened intently, fastening on every clue, every detail.
For some strange reason, Mrs. Wright always felt vaguely discontented after leaving Dr. Meyer's office. As though her whole body was a cavity. She thought about him in all ways. As a man, as a doctor of dentistry, as a sexual partner, even as a father for the children. She had been given the green-light for an affair by Eliot, who she was once again calling El.
She was frustrated and had frequent headaches, splitters that almost made her vomit. Her garden was some help, but she was basically wretched, withdrawn, and fundamentally afraid of growing old and withered, unloved ever again in her rapidly passing life.
It was while nervously smoking and pondering this very fear that the phone rang early one
Thursday afternoon. "Hello?" She was annoyed at the interruption of her nothing, preferring nothing to anything, especially an unsolicited phone call.
"Hello, Mildred? Jack Meyer here." The voice was familiar.
She brightened immediately and her stomach jumped. "Jack! Oh, how nice to hear from you! How are you?! " She stabbed the cigarette out nervously and was fluttering like a feather in a whirlwind inside. Telepathy, she was thinking. How did he know?
"I'm fine, Mil. Say listen, you mentioned that the gas gives you a headache, right?"
"I get over it, Jack," she said.
"Well, good news! Just got my certificate "
"The hypnotism thing?" she asked.
"Yeah! Now you have a pin-point on your bicuspid, and I would be able to work you in right away if you want to be my first victim!"
She didn't have the foggiest that he was telling the gospel truth. It's problematic that she would have declined had she known, but the thrill would have completely disappeared for the lecherous dentist. He would have shunned her as a tart, an easy woman. And his self-esteem hung on the hook of successful seductions under complete unconsciousness. Everything was deliciously dirty that way, and there were no maudlin sentiments to mess with.
"Be right over," she said, ecstatic that she could see him again, even if it was to have porcelain put into a pin-point hole in a bicuspid.
The trance induction exceeded Meyer's wildest dreams, but he didn't screw her or use her in any way. He merely filled the hole in her tooth, drilling only as much decay out as he had to. No reaction, and he knew her to be skittish about the drill. But, before he was through, he left an idea to grow inside her.
He crooned to her, melodiously, monotonously: "Can you hear me, Mildred?" "Yes."
"Do you know who I am, Mildred?" he asked. "Yes." Her voice was flat and very low. "Do you like me, Mildred?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Would you be quite honest with me, Mildred?"
"Yes."
"About everything?" he asked. "Yes."
"Do you masturbate, Mildred?" He waited for her answer.
"Yes." She was slow to reply to him. "With both hands?" "Yes."
"Do you ... fuck other men ? " the dentist asked.
She frowned slowly and hesitated again.
He hurried to correct the question before she slipped out of her alpha state. "Have you fucked men since you have been married?"
"Yes."
"More than ten?" "Yes."
"More than fifty?" " No."
"Have you ever fucked me, Mildred?" he asked. "No."
"Would you like to?" the doctor asked. "Yes."
"Mildred, listen to me carefully. The next time I call you, you will come to my office right away, no matter what time it is. You will go into a deeper trance than ever before, Mildred, slipping right in easily, gladly, to find peace and happiness. Do you understand me completely, Mildred? You will come here to the office at any time I call you, without argument or hesitation. And then you will slip into a deep trance easily, gladly, to find peace."
"I understand."
"Good, Mildred. Now, I am going to snap my fingers, Mildred. At the count of three. When I do. You will awaken refreshed and rested, feeling fine. You will not remember what I have said to you, except you will respond to my command on the phone. Now, one, two, three." Snap! And he snapped his fingers.
She blinked and smiled. "Well, when are we going to get started?"
"How do you feel?" he asked, smiling broadly.
"Wonderful." She thought about how she felt, trying. She felt better than she had felt for years. "Why, Jack, I feel simply wonderful! Great! But you mean--? ! "
He nodded, a theatrical smile across his ape-like feel just fine! It's a miracle!"
He smiled at her. "Yes, it is a miracle, isn't it--? "
And that night at ten she answered the phone. Fifteen minutes later she was back in his office, not giving it a thought.
Thirty minutes she was at his lake cabin. She had become his slave.
And five years after that another slave was returning. Billy. Yes, Billy was also a slave; an aberzombie and a willing one at that. He had fetched his younger sister for the nefarious doctor of cavities.
CHAPTER NINE
The cabin was a luxurious affair, set on a grassy knoll up above a clean, sandy beach on Eagle Lake. Stately pines spiked upward from a thirty foot umbrella of oaks and aspens. There was a perpetual breeze, a zephyr that whispered through the blue-green pines and rustled the crisp oak leaves. There was a studied ruralness about the place; Meyer went to great lengths to make it just the sort of place where people could relax. Relax.
The grass was never well trimmed for one thing. For another, unlike most people, he wouldn't empty ash trays and whisk empty bottles away before guests would arrive, no. On the contrary, he would place cigarette butts in the ash trays that were clean, put empty bottles and cans around if there were none, and even throw some magazines around, determined to give the place a lived-in look.
If he would have lived there utterly alone, the place would have been about as clean as the inside of a vacuum tube. Jack Meyer was like a machine in that respect; he hated clutter and dirt. But he also had a perverted interest in watching how other people seemed to be comfortable only in chaos. It confirmed his opinion of them.
He had called Billy the previous afternoon, triggering a post-hypnotic signal.
"Are you listening to me?" on the phone.
"Yes."
Meyer gave complete instruction about the next afternoon. "You will bring a fine young girl of your choice."
"Yes."
"When I open the door, you will be under my control." "Yes."
"Seven-thirty." "Yes."
And now, the afternoon had turned into evening. Billy had been to bed, for the first time, with his young sister. He had convinced her that they should go out to see Dr. Meyer, "the nice guy."
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was close to seven-thirty. They were close. He was feeling fine, if a bit superior. After all, he had conquered his sister and also enlightened her about their parents.
This had triggered some thoughts in her mind, ones ready to be released because of a relaxation of her censor. She had seen a lot, and a lot of pieces of a grim puzzle were beginning to fall into place for her, making her sick. She wished that she could sit down somewhere and relax, maybe get roaring drunk. Spending an evening talking with the dentist did not make her fall apart at the seams with eager anticipation, but it certainly beat singing in choir practice. Her head hurt, throbbed, whirled. She was confused, floating in a chaotic limbo.
She opened the window of Bill's car and lay her head on the sill. The sky was still light, with mild streaks of purple and gold melting into orange, blue, and deep indigo. Not a cloud.
The calm sky had a soothing effect on her and the wind in her hair captured her attention, diverting her mind from her parents and Caroline's problem. She thanked it for that. It soothed her and cooled her, relieving her headache and confusion.
"We're almost here!" Bill announced, his voice cheerful.
She raised her head and smiled at him. It was nice to see him so happy, so care-free, so confident.
He wheeled the car to the left and onto a roller-coaster road with a red dirt surface. A dense cloud of red dust rose and hung behind the speeding Mustang like red freight cars behind a locomotive. The low sun was dazzling, speckling them from the frequent openings in the green umbrella of leaves above. Despite the engine noise of the car, a certain peaceful silence seemed to press in and caress Valerie, soothing her even further.
The farther they went in, the more eager she became. She had never been to Dr. Meyer's cabin, though she had swum in the clear water on the other side of Eagle Lake.
It was finally as though they were speeding through a natural tunnel of greenery, trees overhead, bushes to either side. Solid green whizzed by, exhilarating her. She watched eagerly for some turn-off, sensing that they were close.
They were. Bill slowed, beeped his horn three times for some reason he could only describe as a friendly gesture telling Jack that he was arriving, and pulled to the right and onto his vast grounds. Now, with the engine speed down and little noise, she could almost hear the serene peacefulness. She inhaled the scent of the woods, the grass, wildflowers, fresh green leaves and budding pine and spruce needles. Perfume, pungent and almost thick enough to drink.
"Gosh, is this nice!" she said, happily.
"Quite a place he has here. And he's a no-sweat guy, too! You can relax here. No rules. Just help yourself to anything you want."
"Really?"
"Sure. And don't worry about old Jack, he's a funny guy, full of hell. Always playing practical jokes."
"So I've heard."
"From mom?"
"Yes. From mom." Icily, detached.
"Well, he's a nice guy. We're here; let's go in."
Jack was there, his Great Dane standing at his side. He was tall, and the dog's shoulders came to his hips.
"What a beautiful dog!" Valerie cried, "does he bite?"
"Monty? Heck no! He's as gentle as a kitten! Hi, Jack! Look who I brought!" He pulled Valerie up to the smiling dentist, himself smiling.
"Why, if it isn't little Valerie! Welcome, Valerie. And don't worry about Monty here, he's as gentle as a kitten."
"Hello, Dr. Meyer "
Hand up and a smile: "Jack, young lady! Just plain Jack!"
"Jack. Nice place. Can I pet the dog Monty?"
"Why of course you can! Glad you like my little retreat! I get so lonely out here at times! And could you believe it, at night I actually get scared! Hoot owls, you know."
"Hoot owls? Are there other wild animals here?"
"Excuse me, Valerie; Bill, why don't you go in and make yourself comfortable? I'll walk Valerie down to the beach and show her some of the highlights of the place. Back in a minute, right?"
"Sure, Jack!" He responded as though he wanted to. In fact, though, he had no choice. It was an order.
Jack looked down at Valerie and shook his head jauntily, a few flippant twitches. His bushy mustache was twirled up and, for the moment, she thought that he looked quite a bit like Keenan Wynn in his old movies. Balding, with wavy gray and brown hair brushed back. Peaked eyebrows and soft eyes that inspired confidence.
She tentatively decided to like him. "Before we go down to the beach, could I have a coke or something? I'm positively parched."
"A coke? Good Lord! You wouldn't! To those precious teeth! How's about a little drink, perhaps a beer ? "
She blushed coquettishly. "Well, if you want to know, that's what I'd prefer, but I just didn't want to ... ask . " She looked down and went from one foot to the other, like she did when she was younger, reciting in grade school under the watchful eye of the teacher. She thought of him as a teacher, as a superior, a smart man, someone to be nervous in front of.
He saw it and chuckled. "Well, well, let's have ourselves a nice little drink then. You stay here and make friends with Monty while I do the honors. My, my, you certainly have grown into a pretty little woman, haven't you!" He touched the bottom of her chin with his index finger and softened his eyes while smiling in a frank, friendly, confidence-inspiring manner.
It worked. She beamed back at him and her blush turned to a smile of thanks.
Two minutes later they were sitting on the cedar plank steps, side-by-side. A cool breeze swept over them. Each held a tumbler full of Scotch and water and ice. "Isn't it peaceful here?" Val asked.
"Yes. I call it Eden. It's my place. In this hectic, work-a-day world, with the roar of cars, the smog, the hustle-and-bustle, it soothes me, relaxes me, makes me ready for another day. Or, at least, it repairs the harm done during the passed day." He was a psychologist of the first water, Jack Meyer was. He had Valerie pegged as a nervous girl questioning her values.
Their arms touched, but Valerie was too comfortable and relaxed to worry about it. He was wearing a sports shirt with short sleeves. That warm touch actually made her feel better, anchored, as it were, to something, someone. She needed it and he was there, friendly and very human. She pressed against him and looked up into his eyes, disregarding his age. All she saw was warmth in those eyes, and it bolstered her sagging spirit.
"Skol!" he said, lifting his glass high.
"Skol!" she echoed, and they both drank. She shuddered and sputtered, and took another sip immediately, trying harder this time. She managed it, and quaffed off half the glass. The taste was strong, smoky, burning, thirst-quenching, fine and cool. It burned down her throat and left her gasping and breathless.
Bill sat in the house, drinking and watching television while a roaring fire he started in the fireplace warmed the place and made it cozier. He was about to take a shower and jump into a clean pair of red satin pajamas.
The sun was about to disappear into the hills beyond the lake. "What say we share the sunset, Valerie?"
"I'd like that, Jack." She looked at him and her stomach jumped. She frowned as she looked away.
Oh-oh, she thought, am I going to get Involved with him?! I can't, I don't want to, I won't allow myself to. In fact, I wouldn't. He's kind and generous and warm, but he's too old. But how old is that? Oh, nuts!
He handed her up and then his hand slipped around her waist. He began to walk down the path toward the beach, his hand around her waist. This girl, he thought, is more than her mother ever was, and more than her sister was or is. She is alive, astouding, foxy. She is definitely superior, and young enough to train. Yes. She's going to be my project, and I'm going to cultivate her.
They walked down the garden path like two friends. Valerie was haunted by the fear that Jack had false teeth and she almost screamed at herself as the thought possessed her like a bowl holds a goldfish and its water. She couldn't escape that horrible thought, and burned to ask him. She couldn't imagine that a dentist would have false teeth, but she knew that shoemaker's children always go barefoot and painter's houses are usually made of unstained redwood or cedar. All the aphorisms and old saws cut through her mind, and she was almost delirious by the time they reached the gently sloping expanse of clean golden sand that disappeared into the lapping azure of the cool lake water. "Jack ? "
He smiled at her. "Yes?" he asked, pausing.
She looked at his wonderful teeth. She lost courage. "Nothing," she said, and turned away. With a toss of the glass and a determined tilt of her head, she guzzled the drink right down.
She wanted to punch him in the mouth, to see if his teeth would come flying out, China clippers clacking wind and biting sand, and he stood there like a sentinel, the statue of Ulysses pointing at Jason's fleece. "Look there!" he said, his pupils small as he looked at the orange orb disappearing beneath the hazy trees on the far side of the darkening lake.
Valerie glanced at it and then fixed her gaze on the sun's reflection, sparkling on his teeth as though they were white diamonds. "Gosh," she said in awe.
"Beautiful, no?" asked Meyer, enraptured.
"Too beautiful," said she, equally enthralled.
He glanced at her and glowered like a storm cloud. "I mean the sunset! Look at the sunset for God's sake!"
She laughed at him and he thrust the upper part of his body away, frowning at her and wrinkling his lip. She laughed even harder. He leaned farther back and frowned even more. "What's so funny!"
"You!" She blurted it out and laughed again, bending over and clutching her stomach.
"What's so funny about me?" asked Meyer, off balanced by the bright and cheerful little girl.
She was having a disturbing effect on him, jabbing and parrying, moving aside with quick footwork, taking blows and faking crosses. She was an animated shadow with which he had been trying to box, a little girl whom he had been trying to fox, a fox he had been trying to box. And she was slipperier than a bucket of fresh eels. And, on top of that, she stood there and laughed at him. His diastolic pressure skyrocketed.
"What's so goddamn funny!" he roared.
Valerie felt wonderful and threw herself down on the sand. She rolled and fell apart, laughing until tears cascaded down her laugh-cramped cheeks. She really didn't know what was funny, but she was so happy and loose and relaxed and ecstatic that she felt everything was funny, especially his false teeth. "Are they?" she finally sobbed.
"Are who!" roared Meyer indignantly, looking around furtively.
"Your teeth!" she managed, and dissolved again into uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter.
His hand went to his mouth and his fingertips touched his clean and even teeth. "Whattsa matter? They filmed or something?" He almost wet his pants.
"Yours?" she cried, rolling over and over, wailing and sobbing laughing so hard she was about to explode.
He straightened like a marine sergeant in a dress parade inspection as the colonel approached. "I beg your pardon! They most certainly are my teeth! What's the matter with my teeth?! "
"They're so so so ohhh, God! I can't stand it!" and she raveled once again.
He squirmed and frowned and felt like the kid all of a sudden. She was the jungle cat who had gotten his number. He was on the bottom, and he was afraid that it would be that way. She was laughing at him. The nerve! The impudence! The effrontery! He had never been put down by a woman before, never laughed at since he was in college and was caught peeping in a low rent district. Good that he was caught by the campus police, who laughed at him spying on the professors' living quarters like he was.
And now she squirmed in the sand, laughing; he squirmed on his two ten-and-a-half wing-tips, wincing in pain amplified by his own imagination a very fertile imagination at that! His fingertips continued to examine his teeth this whole while. He hadn't chewed Black Jack gum, so one of them couldn't have been blacked out. And there was no unsightly film that he could feel; he'd pumiced them only two days ago. He was at a loss.
He was neither lovely nor loved, so he decided to be reasonable, and cowardly besides; he turned in the sand on his heel and beat a hasty retreat up the hill to his retreat, Eden as he called it.
Valerie knew that she should have stopped laughing after he left because there was no longer anybody to laugh for. That was good enough for her to laugh about, and catalyzed another treadmill of mirth, unappreciated but fun for her. But, after a while, she began to feel insane, all sandy and stupid in the sand, laughing when nobody was about to notice, so she shook her head, shrugged, sighed, looked at her empty but sandy glass, and rolled up and went up to the cabin.
As she expected, Jack and Bill were there; with a long pink tongue leading into the slab-sided face of the pert snout, so was Monty. Val looked at Monty and grinned evilly.
"God," Jack said, "why did you come back; to laugh at me some more?" He had relaxed and recouped his self-confidence.
She accepted the implied invitation and went to the sofa, shrouding it with sand, much to Jack's delight. "Mix me a bigger one of those, Jack, will ya?" The first one had hit her, knocking her off her gimbels. She was precessing wildly. But she felt calm, cool, comfortable, cozy, conspiratorial, comradely, conjugal. Besides, she had decided that she liked Jack Meyer.
The warm paneling and quietly cracking fire calmed her more, making her want to lie back. She thought about her change of attitude; she knew that she would normally be frightened or, at very least, proper in such a situation just one day before. But this was this day, and she was not uptight, worried, or nervous. So she lay back and handed him her glass drunkenly, carelessly, wanting more and more and even more. "More, you fool! Make me drunk and then "
"And then?" he replied, taking her sand-frosted tumbler.
"Whatever," she replied, and lost interest.
Fuck! Meyer muttered, not describing his intentions but her condition. Nevertheless he got up and mixed them a pair of very tart Scotch and cubes, with a dash of Campari to make them more fun. He was out of his element like a mackerel flopping on dry sand on Cape Cod, hating every minute of it. Damned women's lib recruits, he grumbled, hating Valerie for being the most beautiful female animal he had ever laid eyes on, the only female or male that had made him lose his breath and feel like a school-boy with short pants and two front teeth missing.
For the first time in his life he felt inferior, and he screamed aloud when he realized that he was dumping an ash tray close to her into a waste basket.
Valerie was going to ask why he screamed, but she only laughed. "Where's that drink, Jackie?" she taunted instead, somehow knowing that he was ropes material. She didn't actively sense that she had him, but the woman in her told her that she had him wrapped around her little finger like a snake ring. Sterling, no less.
Jack Meyer also knew that he was on the ropes. Naturally he had heard that little Valerie Wright was a rather bright girl, a genius, according to those silly tests that catalog people into mental bins idiot, moron, dull, average, superior, genius just as though they were potatoes or cuts of beef displayed for the conscious shopper at the supermarket. Some potatoes, he said to himself, trying desperately to regain a semblance of his aplomb, if not his damaged ego/manhood.
Of course, he thought, the only way I can manipulate this lusty little bitch is by depersonalizing her, thinking of her as I think of all people, as tools of my pleasure. I have fallen into the trap of seeing her, looking into her, liking her as the person she is. Nice, obviously, if I want to fall into traps, be sucked into an emotional involvement which might result in my mooning and pining to see her, howling at the full moon like a timber-wolf, yellow-eyed and ravenous. But who the hell wants to bark at the moon? Not me, not for some little fox, For sure I don't! Thinking these last self-preservative thoughts, he was gazing moodily into his glass of reddened Scotch, sneering. Sneering because he didn't like his situation at all.
Why am I thinking these things about her? he asked himself. Why her? Is it because I'm tired of being a sexual dilettante, a dabbler, a part-time amateur? Without knowing it, do I want a new dimension in my life? Shit, she might mess the place up. She makes me uncomfortable I can feel that she's what I want. I can't stand it! What the hell's she doing to me? Or am I doing it to myself?? ? Looking more like a younger Keenan Wynn than ever, he glanced at her, knowing that he was taking a chance.
Valerie was looking at him the whole while, even when sipping the sweetened drink. Her mind had settled down to a supersonic pace, its normal speed. Every buzzing little cell in her mind and body calculated and weighed him, dissected him, analyzed him, made judgments about the results, cross-checked these results, and went on relentlessly, over his body, and into it, crisscrossing and covering it. She liked what she saw. There was one word for it: SECURITY.
"How old are you?" she asked as their eyes met.
"Me?" He pulled his chin in. "Why do you ask?"
"Caroline always asks that too. Why do you ask?" She smiled and stirred her drink with her finger, listening dreamily to the melodious clink of the cubes against the frosted glass. Then she smelled her finger; combination of tart fruit and smoky whisky. Very very cold. So she put her finger in her mouth, puckering her lips into a red-pink little doughnut. She slipped the finger into it to warm it and take the whisky off. It felt good. And all the while her eyes were on his. Then she saw his twitch and flick down for a split-second; when they came up to hers again they were very troubled, almost cloudy, and his eyebrow was crooked.
OMIGAWD! he silently raged inside, watching what she was doing. He drew his own conclusions, the obviously male ones. She was looking right at him with her large green eyes dancing like pixies in the grass on a green night in an emerald forest in eastern Ireland; she was sticking that finger into her mouth, between those pouting lips, and pulling it out. In and out. In and out.
Stop it! Stop it! You're driving me insane! Are you playing at cocksucking are you trying to seduce me? or is it my ass-hole that you're symbolically finger-fucking? You little goddess of nasty sex, stop it this instant! "What on earth are you doing? There, with your finger?"
"Me?" and she laughed lightly, examining her finger and then sighting down it, pointing it at him, right between his troubled eyes. "I'm Diana the Huntress and you're the stag of the magic forest, don't you know? Bang bang! and you're now magical venison, the meal for a goddess!" She thrust her face close to his and mustered up her most intent look. She licked her lips.
"Mmmmmm, yes! I'm going to eat you, stag! But, since I'm a good little goddess but mind you, always the Huntress where shall I start? Your hind-quarters--? Maybe your ears?" and with that she lurched forward and threw an arm around his neck and fastened her mouth to the side of his head, taking his ear in and running her tongue all the way into it.
While she was doing these incredible things, things incredible to the dentist, he was verging on fright. He was a man who did, and was seldom done unto. He was the hunter. Now he was the hunted. It tumbled his mind to realize that she was even saying it. Sighting down that finger pointing right at him, symbolically shooting him, telling him that he was going to be eaten by a goddess, asked where, first. And those eyes, all the time those eyes sparkling and dancing with wit, humor, devilishness, intelligence and sex.
And, when he felt the arm go around his neck, the breast press against his arm, the tongue in his ear and that made the entire right side of his body spring out immediately with goose-pimples and made his stomach flip completely over he was lost.
Bill, acting strictly according to instructions, sat there as though he were a display in a wax museum, staring into the fire.
The indescribable taste of his ear-wax inflamed Valerie, who was already pretty hot. She had half-turned to grasp him, sending her right hand around his neck. She pressed now against him, her teeth nibbling his ear lobe, her tongue probing in once in a while. The fingers of her right hand slid through his full hair in back and then slid down, to flit lightly, teasingly through the short hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him hunch and quiver, and she answered this reaction by moving her shoulders and upper body up and down and back and forth in a slow, sinuous, sensually grinding motion, pressing her breasts against his well-muscled bicep.
A stranger to this sort of thing but no stranger to female anatomy, Meyer took a while to recover but, once he did, he began to reciprocate efficiently. His left hand slid under her sweater and up, up against the firm smooth skin of her belly, up and onto the embroidered and stitched material of her brassiere. Then it went over and rested on the creamy skin at the top of her breast. The touch made new thrills course through him. It was an experience that he hadn't had since college, many years gone by. He had never been what was called a "hustler" because girls didn't take kindly to him. They put him down, and mercilessly. Made him bitter.
So bitter, in fact, that he changed from a history major to dentistry. That bitterness propelled him through the seven-year program in dentistry, depositing him on the podium of the stage as the head of the class, the graduation speaker. His speech was stirring but dull, passionate yet shallow, apparently succinct and at the same time so rife with platitudes that well, that it was generally regarded as the best graduation speech the dental students had heard that year. That there was only one graduation speech the dental students had heard that year was a great comfort to Meyer now Dr. Meyer, deep in debt because he knew that he would be fingered for the others, too. His speech was a master-work of double entendres, and he ended it on the rousing note:
"And, to the faculty, I'd like to say, on behalf of the entire graduating class, believe it, we know that we'll miss you every bit as much as you'll miss us!" The applause of the dim dining hall of the hotel could be separated by a functionally deaf idiot into two distinct camps, each trying to outdo the other.
And finally, realizing that the horrendously grinding speech was over, the mixed applause coalesced into a building clap of thunder and then died abruptly, releasing Meyer from further need for entering the dusty and antiseptic-scented dungeon known on campus as Owre Hall. His office was already outfitted at a cost of over twenty thousand dollars. Even by dental student standards that was a bit much.
Never during his practice did he ever regard people as humans. Especially women. They were merely mobile idiots with two commodities he wanted. Cavities and money. Although he would never admit it, even under pentothal, he had sunk many a shaft into a sound molar, only to ask, "Is that tender?" Every hair on the victim would stand out like steel wire, provided the person was still conscious.
This, he knew, was standard office practice among struggling young fledglings. And it made him sleep better, since it fattened his checking account while trimming his payment book.
He was one of the first of the "New Breed" of oral charlatans to revive that old leg-slapper about painless dentistry. If a patient would squawk, saying that a root-canal job hurt, he would reply: "Tut, tut; I didn't feel a thing and I am the painless dentist." As usual, he did it once too often. He said it to a young boy with red hair and a spate of blazing freckles. The kid promptly bit his finger, and bit it so hard that Meyer peed in his pants while running around the office, knocking stuff over.
The kid, no dummy, fled in the confusion, stealing one of Meyer's two dollar bibs and two six-bit clamps; they were around his neck as he escaped. That's when Meyer decided on Miami for two weeks.
His success as a dentist was average, mediocre. He only averaged forty thousand dollars a year for the first five years. Then he began to make money, because he decided to open his office three days a week, prepared to assume the extra four-hour work load. He bought stock in Coca-Cola, Pepsi, 7-Up Fanny Farmer, Quady, Mars, Pearson, Wrigley's and even brokered franchises for gum-bal machines, playing all the cushions. He had a gum-ball machine of his own, standing out beside the front door. Gigantic gum-balls, for a nickel a pop.
His waiting room always had comic books for the kiddies, and he would give them suckers, telling the dubious mothers that they contained no sugar
Every turn of his life was like that.
His parents, farmers from a Midwest depressed area famous for nothing at all, disowned him when he decided to become a smart college kid and not a preacher or farmer. Even his girl back home, a human cow complete with two udders and cow eyes and lashes, gave him up as a heathen; not that being a heathen was so bad it was just that al people leaving that county for any reason were considered tainted, furrin devils, heathens, outsiders, and definitely untrustworthy from there on out. All these factors combined to make Jack Meyer the efficient human being that he was.
Until he felt like one, that is. He was efficient, by any sane and self-perpetuating standards. But as soon as he felt like a human being, efficient or not, he would fall apart. He realized that quite early in life, and remembered the lesson.
Now he had exposed himself as completely as though he had cut his body open so she could crawl in and rummage about. It made him hate himself because his value system was challenged by he himself, that value-system that had done so much to keep him on the rails on his bumpy ride through life.
He considered her a merciless little bounder, almost sacrilegious for raping him as she was doing. She was doing it against his will, without his consent. He knew that it was turnabout, but he pouted because he, at least, had the decency to gas or hypnotize his objects. And that's what he felt like. Even though he was feeling her breast, his hand now up into her brassiere from the bottom, he correctly regarded himself as the object being manipulated.
Valerie was flushed and breathless, driven on by forces she could only vaguely define. Release. The fuck earlier that afternoon had ripped away one curtain, her chat with Bill had torn down yet another. The drinks lowered her sensual limen, and the sight, warmth, scent, taste, sounds, feeling of this large, hairy man had caused the utter dissolution of her will to resist much of anything that might possibly happen that night. She realized it; she frankly didn't give much of a shit what happened. Three days away from graduation.
And she had, after chatting with Billy in the car, recalled those words of five years ago: "We'll stick it out until Val is out of the house."
It is impossible to reason with children about things such as this. First, it placed a tremendous emotional load on Valerie. Second, it denigrated her self-esteem; she would have to think that her value was somehow lessened by her use for external purposes. Third, they would stick it out, meaning that her very presence in the house was causing the continuation of unpleasantness between them.
Her computer mind registered this data and displayed it in flashing red neon in her mind. As she registered it, she had felt lost. She had attached to Billy because he had befriended her long ago, and further because a relationship with him would presumably not result in a repeat of her parents' fiasco.
Then she saw Meyer, and she saw strength and loneliness in the same eyes. Confidence and bewilderment. A conflicting counter-point of clues to his character. She liked him immediately, and therefore tried her best to uncover every one of his flaws, starting with his most obvious asset, his teeth. Just too big and white and even and clean. When she asked him about them she had kneed him right in the nuts. Without realizing it. Since eating was more important to him than producing babies which was anathema he valued his teeth more than his nuts.
If he had been a Catholic doctor specializing in testicles the situation may well have been reversed, for he had never heard the one about shoemaker's kids. Besides, a dentist standing around smiling with no teeth but with hairy nuts hanging out may well frighten a few customers away.
Meyer was thinking about his nuts, bunched up in his fuscia silk shorts under the lightweight gray flannel slacks, because they were speaking to him. They were speaking to something in him, anyway. His hands were also talking. The palm of his right was telling him that she had very smooth thighs, warm up there close to her sex. His left raved about the wonderfully firm young tit it cupped, suggesting that a little undressing and a suck or two on that ripe piece of young female fruit might be satisfying and well might lead to better things.
The skin on his stomach joined the chorus of voices: "Why not press me against her flat tummy? I want to get to know that warm plain of flesh; I think that it would make me feel wonderful and by the way, Doc, when was the last time you put me against a nice little fourteen-year-old stomach a girl-child's stomach? Huh? Answer me that one, Mr. Man of the World!"
His cock guffawed like a shrimp fisherman drunk in Marseilles.
His lips were busy, mumbling incoherent nothings the only decipherable phrases were obscene or hopeless.
His mind was standing them all off: "Be calm, you physical fools! You're dealing with the Huntress, and she'll kill your ass like nothing!"
Although they ate with one mouth, every separate part of his body roared back with one voice: "Shut the fuck up up there, you gray blob of goo! What do you know about satisfaction, hunh? You shoot off to remember that two and two is four! You're nothing but a sexual intellectual a fucking brain." The body spoke in a gruff, hoarse, unpolished voice, vaguely redolent of hill-folk talk. The mind spoke their language, so they might understand, but did so with clear tones like those of a small silver hammer tapping a crystal goblet in polite society at a dinner on Williston Crescent in London, even though that's probably fairly rare.
Valerie was flushed and breathless, and also thirsty. She had finished her Scotch before the attack and liked what it did for her. It made her not care so much. She pushed herself away from him, making sure that she didn't go so far away that his wonderfully talented hands wouldn't come away from her breast and legs. "Whew! Gosh! You're really something!" she told him, shaking her head and licking her lips. She smiled as she gazed at him.
"Me? Something?" He was flattered and flustered.
"Yes! You've made something happen down there down you know where...."
"You mean by your pussy?" he asked.
"Yeah! And you didn't even touch it! But it got all hot and then wet. Wow! I wonder if it was physical or mental?"
"All wet you say? And you wonder if it was physical or mental? Is that it?" He felt and, sure enough, she was wet.
"Yes! There! What do you think?" she asked.
"I think it was mechanical...." he said.
"Why, because I came unscrewed? Oh, would you give me another drink?"
"You heard that one, did you?" he asked. "What one? Did something fall?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow at the insouciant little darling and hated her for stealing his joke. A big drink, to make her drunk. Then, with thought and determination, he mused, I shall take over and be on the top, where I belong. Good God!
He removed his hands from inside her clothes and glanced at Billy, who was still just sitting there. "I say, Billy; would you like a drink?"
"Sure thing, Jack." Enthusiastic voice, but Billy just stared at the fire.
Valerie looked at him and then her eyes swept back to Jack. In a way he reminded her of an ape-man, or even an ape. Hairy and muscular. Graceful movements, almost liquid. She smiled as her earlier conversation on the bed with Bill came back to her. Early man had no choice but to mate with an anthropoid sport or with a very close relative, like a brother. Back looking at Jack, she appraised him, wondering if any children they might have would look like apes or like people.
Then she laughed; her fantasy had carried her back almost thirty thousand years, and she was the only woman around, her sex urge strong.
And it was. She felt as though she could fuck for hours or even days. It was natural for her to wonder, after screwing Bill, if Jack would be better.
And it was natural for Jack, after having fucked both Caroline and Mildred (and, for all that, Billy), if Valerie would be better. But while Valerie was merely wondering, idly tossing the thought around in her mind, he was burning with the desire to find out; he knew that she would be infinitely superior to any of them, of course, and that's why he was smoldering to find out.
He smiled as he poured two very stiff drinks for them, one fairly weak one for himself. Booze, he murmured to himself; not better than pot but certainly better than astrology for getting into a girl. At least, that's what they say. Say I: There's no substitute for hypnosis or gas.
He paused after mixing the drinks and pondered. Why don't I just hypnotize Valerie? Why don't I treat her like the rest? It's a bit late in the game to form attachments. Why is she attacking me? First my goddamn teeth and then my age. How did she know that I have a thing about both? Is she a mind-reader? Has Billy told her that I've directed his studies in ESP so that he can bring more girls over here? I wonder. Hmmm, have to ask him about that.
I suppose I may as well give them these and then perhaps I'll put her under. Screw her a few times, and let Monty mount her for some more pictures. Maybe some close-ups of her getting it in the bung by his black cock. Hmmm, wonder how she'd react to seeing some pictures of her mother and sister? All kinds of nice pictures. It might break her. Or, then again, it might do all kinds of fun things to her emotions. She's as shaky as I am right now.
He carried the drinks over, handed them around, and once again sat beside Valerie. A dull depression settled on him, weighing heavily on his shoulders and stomach, making him logey and listless. A glance at her crushed his resolve to plunder her, smashing it to dry powder. She had speared him like he was that stag.
Normally very strong, Meyer felt drained of all strength, weakened to the point where he wouldn't have been able to crush an egg in his hand. He held the hand out and looked at it, uncomfortable looking at her while thinking of hurting her. The palm was smooth but broad and strong. A long line led from about the center of the wrist-hand joint up to within an inch from the joint of the index finger. One very large, very clear M was visible, starting halfway up the lifeline of the left palm. An M. He frowned and looked at her.
Her parents, he thought, couldn't possibly mind, not after the mess they've made of their kids. And Christ, I'd be kind to her. I might even quit horsing around in the office. In fact, I might never go back to the office again! Screw dentistry! Sore gums and bad breath! Whew! And all those wobbling tonsils! Those coated tongues, some of them with pubies and no more of old lady Briggs, who comes in with pubies caught in between her upper incisors! Ye gods! One look at that awful maw and I almost heave! Good old Brenda! She cleans them out. Wonder what Briggs has on her mind, coming in to see me with a mouthful of fuzz? She maybe thinks that she can seduce me that way. Shit! Fat chance!
No, her parents couldn't possibly mind! But I wonder how she'd feel. Jesus! She's the first female
I've ever really wanted to like! The first one to get to me....
"Penny for your thoughts, Jack," she said.
Quite without realizing it, he said: "Will you come with me into the bedroom?"
"Why?" She regarded him with veiled amusement over the rim of her glass and then sipped, her eyebrows raised.
He stood and held his hand down. "Don't ask."
She knew, through her now singing feminine intuition, exactly what he wanted. That same source told her to make him work for it. "But I have to ask. I ask because I wonder what you want me in the bedroom for, when Bill and the nice warm fire are here. This is cozy and ... safe. Of course, I know that you wouldn't try to seduce me. You're too wonderful for that...."
He blinked. "Do you really think that I'm wonderful?"
"Of course I do! I even love you, Jack, don't you know?"
"Don't tell me that, for God's sake you want to make me kill myself?"
She took his hand and brought it up to her mouth, worked it open, and kissed the palm a few dozen times, rubbing her cherubic face into it. Then she smiled at him. "You're Jewish, aren't you?"
Strike three! "Only around the edges. My parents were, and so was my sister, but she was an only child. You see?"
"Perfectly. Do you discriminate?" she asked.
"Doesn't everybody?" "Do you eat pork?" "J call it something else, unless I'm wearing my lightning rod." "Synagogue?" "Hardly." "Bar Mitzvah?" "Nope."
"Well, if you're not Jewish, what are you?" she asked.
"I thought I knew-" "Until tonight?"
"Right. Until tonight. Until I saw you after so long."
"Aren't you going to ask me when I'm going to come in for a check-up?" "Nope." "Why?"
"I wouldn't feel right, screwing around with your teeth."
"Oh, nonsense. What's the real true reason?" "I don't want to tell you now. Not that," he said.
"How old are you?" she asked him again.
"Guess."
"Thirty-five."
"You're way off. Would you believe twenty-two?" "No."
"How's forty-six?" he asked, smiling. "Much more reassuring, more comforting. Are you rich?"
"Why do you ask?" he asked.
"There you go again, Caroline!" she said.
"Did she copyright that?" he said.
"I give. Are you rich, I asked," she said.
"No. Filthy rich. I'm a Jew, remember?"
"Oh, stop being a child," Valerie said.
"Why can't I just be a child once in a while?"
"You can. Be one then. With me," she said.
"I can feel my hair growing when you're here."
"Aw, come on!"
"Seriously! I can feel it! And I can hear it getting dark, hear it changing back to its brown color. I like looking at you."
She smiled and wrinkled her nose at him, feeling very much at ease. "I like looking at you, too."
"Why do you really want to know if I'm rich?"
"I'm venal. Just like Billy," she said.
"About you I doubt it. Billy? Perhaps. He is, maybe."
"Are you circumcised?" Valerie asked. "Sure, isn't everybody?" the doctor said. "Did it hurt?"
"Of course it did, doesn't it always? But my doctor was a good guy. He brought me up to his apartment one day and-"
"Showed you some of his clippings?" she asked.
"DAMN IT! NOW THAT'S THE SECOND TIME TONIGHT!"
"Hmmm. Let me see it, can I?" she asked.
"See what?"
"Your circumcised penis," Valerie said. "You have to be kidding!" Jack said.
"No I'm not. Come on now, Jack. Let me see it. And, by the way, I don't want to call you Jack. Can I call you Meyer?"
"Enjoy." He shrugged and spread his hands out.
"Can I see it? Maybe touch it, if I like it?"
"DO IT, YOU FOOL!" his prick yelled at him. He obeyed, and unzipped his pants.
Before he could make another move she reached her hand into the fly and pulled it out, holding it like a dead bird. "Oooh, look at it! It's dead, the poor thing!"
"It's not dead, either," he said indignantly.
"It certainly looks dead! Maybe if I breathe on it! If I breathe on it do you think that it'll come back to life? Oooh, just look at it! Poor little birdie! Did you fall out of your little nest?" and she bent as she spoke to it, blowing a stream of hot air onto it. When she inhaled, she did it through her nose, filling her nostrils with the dizzying scent of his scrupulously clean cock.
She saw that it wasn't as long as Bill's but it was thicker. She liked that. Holding it thrilled her, and being so close to it also thrilled her.
Gosh, she said to herself, he doesn't seem to mind what I do, I wonder if he would mind if I kiss it. I'll try and see what he does. She bent forward more and placed a dry little kiss on the upper plane of the rose-colored knob. Her tongue speared it very lightly.
"Oooh!" he moaned, and slouched back, almost spilling his still full drink. If he liked her before, he loved her now.
CHAPTER TEN
Once she kissed his cock she was gone, lost in a whirl of erotic desire and electric ecstasy.
The flavor speared her in the guts, making them churn and boil. Her breath caught. "God, yes! Your bedroom! Now!" She didn't give lover/brother Bill a single thought.
Meyer did. "Be right back, Bill," he said, and handed her up. As before, his hand slipped familiarly around her small warm waist. He looked down at the tiny girl, met her eyes, returned her smile. His throat went dry. "Here, let me exchange drinks with you."
"Is mine too strong for me?" Valerie asked.
"It might be."
"And you don't want me drunk," she said.
"I like you better sober," the doctor said.
"You've never seen me drunk," she replied.
"I like everybody better sober; and I never want to see you drunk."
"Do I note promise in that?" she asked, putting her drink into his hand.
"Am I being presumptuous?" he asked in reply, frowning because of his own uncertainty.
"Let's talk about it after," she said, teasingly.
After what? he asked himself. Is she actually going to let me do something to her, of her own free will? Is this girl unlike all those others? Those Lesbian bitches at the university? Is it that I am finally to fall in love after twenty-six years of frustration, bitterness, waiting?
He was walking her quickly to his bedroom, a lavish affair composed of burnished oak, black leather, and fur.
Now in the bedroom he sat on the edge of the bed, placed his drink their drink on the low table beside the low bed, and took both her hands in his. His were twice as big. He didn't know quite how to accept that, merely shrugged. Then he turned his gaze up, letting it travel up her body an inch at a time, taking in her smooth youthful childish contours.
Her eyes were more alive than they had been, something that even he had trouble believing but then, he wasn't in the habit of looking into eyes searchingly. Eyes frightened him since they had the perturbing possibility of determining what was going on in the mind.
"Do you know what's going on in my mind?" he asked.
"Better than you do, Meyer, better than you do. Do you know what's going on in mine?"
"No. Would it be too much for me to ask you?"
"Too much?" She hummed and looked up at the exposed beam ceiling, a burnished brown oak, lit by the candles he used for effect. "It well might be, Meyer, it very well might be."
"Please, for God's sake, tell me!" He felt as though she were stretching him on some antique rack, pulling him apart with her toying. She had toyed with his values, his emotions, his body, and his very reason.
What else, he wondered, can she possibly do to me ? His expression as he waited was one of fearful anticipation.
"Tell you? All right then." She looked back down at him, moved forward so she was tight between his legs, her belly and breasts against his face. She liked the feeling, and she shuddered when his hot breath penetrated the material of her sweater and warmed her skin. She worked her hands free of his, lifted his so they would go around her hips, and began to stroke his head, running her fingers through his hair. She hummed for a few seconds, happy, and then she spoke, her voice dreamy and soft, warm and full of love.
"Meyer, my mind is cleaning itself. Today I had a great mental cathartic. Bill fucked me. Sorry about that," and she squeezed him. "You'll know why I am.
"But today seemed to be my big day in a lot of ways. At three I was a prig, a child, a little snot worried about books and homework and grades childish nonsense. I detested boys. Do you know that I've never been on a date in my life? No, don't answer. Just keep doing that, Meyer. It's the truth. Never. And I had never kissed a boy. Never let one touch me.
"Well, today I pieced it all together. Talk about hysterical blindness! Anyway, Bill more or less seduced me. Something deep down inside me let him. Only now do I realize what it was. Some emotional timer. You see, I had been shut off. Had turned myself off. Oooooh, yes! Do that it feels so good!
"It's like I have walked out of a closet, one where I've hidden myself for approximately five almost six years. My pubescent era. There was a reason maybe I'll tell you about it some time, if you have trouble sleeping; it's pretty childish and dull.
"I came out of my own dark closet today and walked into the brightness of life. I saw myself for the first time in six years, and Bill told me what I couldn't see. What I couldn't bring myself to believe that I'm not bad looking. And he showed me something else that I am very sexy. Very sexy indeed.
"It had been bottled up, dammed up. He broke the dam, and nobody else could have done it, not even you. He did, and the water is flying over the ruptured concrete all white and roaring. Wonder how long it will last--? Hope forever!
"He brought me here. I was supposed to go to choir practice; couldn't bear the thought of that, really! I've shed the hair-shirt, the dismal, medieval old life. No more choir and, I think, no more school. And now, to answer your question:
"What's in my mind? How would you like a housekeeper for a few days? Someone to dust this mess? Throw the bottles in the garbage, empty those full ash trays, maybe even trim the lawn a bit. Really, you're an atrocious housekeeper, but that's all right, tidying up is a woman's job.
"I ask, not because I want to clean the place so much, but for other reasons. First, I want to get to know you. Then, I don't want to go to school any more. Only two and a half days left, and I graduate. No, Meyer! Don't worry! I'll still graduate, I can. I just don't want to go back into that musty school again. You know what I mean? Besides, I may do something that would be, as far as certain people are concerned, regrettable. like take on every guy in the graduating class, and there are a hundred and seven of them, counting that nitwit Dennis Plummer. Finally, I want time to think. To think about us, and how we can work it."
This made Meyer finally force his face away and look up. "Us? How we can work it?"
"I know you want me to be with you." She was calm and smiled as she felt his heart thunder against her thigh. Her hands ran through his wavy hair and then played on the golden dome above his forehead where he had gone bald. She wouldn't trade the entire high school class for him. She had a guts feeling for him; her roaring white cascade was for him.
"So," he said, "we be together. We get married."
"Not necessarily, Meyer, not even necessarily."
"But why, for God's sake? I could give you everything!"
"Maybe, and maybe not." She continued to rub him and her affection built. One of her hands went down the neck of his shirt and onto his back. She dragged her fingernails up slowly, digging in but not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to arouse.
"What couldn't I give you?"
"Since I don't know what you can give me, how could I tell you what you can't?" She underlined that with a hug.
He shrugged, snookered again. "If it's money..."
"Oh, nuts! You know I'm not talking about money at all. That's why I have to stay here for a few days. Why I want to, why I should. I'd prefer you to anybody I know, with the possible exception of Bill. But there are problems about him. By the way, I notice that he's under. No matter. Perhaps it's better he didn't know what we're about to do. Undress me now, and then I'll undress you, my ape-man. I hope that you're good in bed. I sincerely do."
She stood back and smiled frankly at him, not feeling at all like the fourteen-year-old she had been a scant six hours before. On the contrary, she felt as calm and steady as the He de France cruising on a glass-calm sea. Inside, however, just as in the large ship, she was churning and her motor was racing.
Meyer trembled as his hands worked the button and then the plastic zipped on the side of her skirt. He swallowed repeatedly as he pulled the zipper slowly down. Then he pulled the tight little skirt down, holding the hem and working it down, tugging on one side and then the other. Down it went, revealing her clean white nylon panties that concealed the modest little bulge of her child's pubis. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead and his heart skipped and thundered. His mouth was dry then wet, then dry again.
By God, he kept saying to himself, is this real? Is this really real? Is it happening to beat-out old me? She's going to give herself to me! Can it be? Is it real?
His eyes almost sparked and smoked as they drank her tiny little legs in. Smooth limbs, perfectly shaped, blemishless, alluring. After he had pulled the skirt all the way down she lifted first one small foot and then the other, stepping out. There wasn't a trace of baby fat on her anywhere. His hands swept up those warm smooth legs after he threw the skirt onto another low table, and he pulled her forward, bent, and placed a dry kiss on the mound, through the sheer nylon of her panties. He smiled as he heard her groan and tighten her grasp on his head.
Then he began to work her sweater up, the bottom hooked onto his thumbs. Up it went, baring her lovely little stomach. His eyes fastened on her navel, an interesting vertical slit in the well-tanned and soft-looking expanse. And up. The bottom of her white training brassiere, colored with small embroidered flowers, came into view. His pulse quickened. He glanced up and saw the indulgent smile on her face, an expression that belied her' extreme youth. She was, as far as he could see, an eternal woman, a latent mother nature, a timeless goddess a child. This almost made him choke up, so he stood and hoisted the sweater up over her upstretched arms.
That he flicked onto the discarded skirt. Then he cupped her face in his hands and placed his lips against her soft pillows. She didn't part her lips for him, but pulled back just slightly so that the kiss was like the touch of butterfly wings for both of them. Not sexy, not passionate, but affectionate. His hands went around her, under her arms, and his fingers unclipped the two hooks of her imitation brassiere easily.
As he stepped back a bit she shrugged her shoulders forward and the brassiere was off, revealing her twin treasures, those wonderful breasts. The first thing he noticed upon recovering from his pleasant surprise was that she most certainly didn't need a brassiere. The second was that her still-forming breasts were larger than he had guessed. He stepped back and surveyed her.
She stood, apparently calm, wearing nothing but her panties. The discreet triangle of her sparse pubic hair was only just visible through the sheer material. He shook his head from side to side in awe, a gesture that, under other circumstances, could have passed for abject weariness.
What a goddess, he said to himself, what a queen. She'll have to be my queen but, God knows, I'm no king!
He went forward and kissed her again, lightly, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her panties. He pushed down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He broke the kiss and knelt slowly as he pushed the panties down her legs. All the way. Once again she lifted one small foot and then the other. Her toe-nails were immaculately clean and perfectly manicured. A small thing, but Meyer rejoiced to see it.
He was now on his knees, his eyes at navel level. Her gold-red torrent of sparse-scattered hair was calling, and he leaned forward and placed his lips against it, blowing and then kissing. A piquant perfume filled his nostrils. Delicate child sex and virginal wildflowers. His hands went around her hips, caressing them, and went on, reverently, back to her fanny, onto the soft smooth oblong orbs. He pulled her against him and kissed her mound mightily, afraid that his heart would stop or, at very least, thunder right through his chest. He realized that it was the first time in his life that he had received more from a kiss than he could possibly give.
Her groan of satisfaction let him know that he was giving, too, though. This increased his gratification.
It occurred to him that he may well be considered shallow, enthralled by the tender young flesh of a child, but he couldn't nor wouldn't offer a defense. If he would have had to, it would have been the unacceptable, lame, trite, silly, tenuous argument that he was mad about her. Nobody would have believed it, and he knew it. The truth is always incredible. And, in a court of law, the truth is the world's worst basis for defense.
He tried to think of a good reason for loving her, one that those people who infest jury boxes might understand. He couldn't. He ... resigned ... himself to being exposed, vulnerable, a fool for falling in love. And he resigned himself to kissing her tiny pubic mound, his mustache mingling in her hair.
"Come, Meyer," she said to him, tugging on his shirt. "Rise from that semi-recumbent posture! It is most indecorous!" She laughed after having delivered the lines in a Victorian voice and manner. She loved what he was doing, but didn't want him to poison himself on that vaginal foam.
He stood and looked into her eyes hopelessly. He wanted to tell her to go away, to leave him because he was unworthy, a prototype of the Dirty Old Man. But his mouth wouldn't say the words.
She understood the look of despair in his eyes even though she had never seen or noticed one before. "Come, my love; let me minister unto you." She kissed his chest and pulled his shirt up. He bent and raised his arms. Lovingly, slowly, she pulled it off. "God, I love your hair. You are a real man!"
He wanted to thank her. And thank her and thank her and thank her. But he only frowned and looked troubled. He was troubled.
She rubbed her hands in the dense black hair on his chest. "You look so strong! God, but I feel safe with you!" She rubbed her face into that hair and nipped his pectoral muscles.
His hands went involuntarily around her and he almost sobbed. She had reduced him to a pliable little lump of putty in her hot hands, and he was glad beyond words. Also frightened. Something good in life had finally been revealed to him; he had been given a wonderful chance to love. He knew it and shuddered.
Pure love calmed Valerie's shaking as she knelt before him. She bent forward and kissed him through the pants, and then moved back, taking one of his polished black Stetson loafers off and then the other. She rolled his dark blue angora socks down and placed them carefully on the shoes. Then she undid the clip on his trim self-belter Daks and pulled the zipper down. She pulled the pants down slowly, smiling at his wild boxer shorts. It tickled her to see such a loud color, such shiny material, for shorts.
It figures, she said to herself. He's the man to appreciate all those little unseen comforts, God love him. He lifted foot after foot and she stood, folded the pants carefully, carried them to his maplewood valet, and hung them up perfectly, returning, she once again knelt, spied the dormant lump of his meat, and moved toward it, grazing the fuscia silk with her face.
When her sensitive lips touched it, she opened her mouth and bit it lightly through the material of his shorts. He groaned. His fingertips pressed into her shoulders and she thought that he was going to topple. She blew hot moist breath onto his lengthening cock, thrilled with her gentle ape-man. She felt powerful. like Diana. But she also felt like the woman, the subordinate. She felt that she could submit to his strength with a power that could match his; she wanted to be fucked hard.
She pulled his shorts down quickly, thrust them to his ankles, and grasped his thick, hot, soft prick. She took it lovingly, as though it were still that dead bird, the one fallen out of its nest. She whispered to it, fondled it, bent forward and kissed it. Then, insouciantly, coquettishly, she looked up at him. "Meyer? Do you mind?"
"Mind? Mind what?"
"If I just sort of worship you for a while? like this?"
His expression at her was something like a mute laughing and crying at the same time upon having seen something horrible and yet outrageously funny.
She understood, and bent forward again, comfortable and prepared to spend hours on her knees.
Meyer understood that too, and wasn't prepared to spend hours on his feet. "Come," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He rolled over onto his back, holding her hand and attempting to bring her over onto him.
"No. You lie there. Lie still, and pretend that you're asleep. I am the woodland nymph, happening upon you. You're a satyr, full of grapes and ambrosia, dreaming about a young nymph. I come. Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream is being recited. Mendelssohn's Incidental Music is playing-"
"I have it, you know," he said. "There on the living room shelf."
"Good! Just a minute, I'll turn it on then," she said.
"No, no. You'll never find it. Just wait here; be right back." He bounded up and disappeared into the living room. In a minute quadrophonic music crisscrossed the room. He walked back, wagging his finger like Antal Dorati, the director of the orchestra which had cut the record. He wagged his head and directed it, attempting to prove to her that he knew it and loved it. Empty, banal, phony, the gesture, but sincere. His heart swelled as he heard the perfect choice of music she had conjured up. And it, his pounding heart, almost tore loose its moorings, as he saw her kneeling beside the bed, gazing at him with hot but devilish eyes.
"What could be more perfect?" he asked, going to her side.
"I don't know, Meyer, I really doubt for me anything could. Thank you." She had begun to cry.
He threw his arms around her. "Honey," he murmured, "I don't want you to ummm...."
"Suck your cock?" she said, recovering quickly.
"That. But please don't sound soso dog-goned-"
"You don't want me to do that?" she asked.
"I do, but is it beautiful? I mean, that--? "
She shook her head at him, one step short of despairing. "Can we do anything, right now, that wouldn't be?"
"Do you really feel that way?" he asked.
She replied, "I adore you." She meant every word.
The light but meaningful music filled the room. It was golden and warm, like the room itself, like Meyer himself.
"Come with me then, my darling. God, how I love you!"
She cut his heart out with a simple stroke. "Don't love me too much, Meyer. I warn you. Not too much."
CHAPTER TWELVE
His hopelessness was compounded, multiplied by itself and raised to the tenth power. He wanted to run out of his own house. She was like a woman of smoke, one he could not grasp, one too intransigent to possess. His imperative was possession since he had found a love that eluded him but called him irresistible. A man wants something more if it's just beyond his reach and, once he has it, he tends to relax about desiring it, having had it. The spirit of the chase. The defeat of capture.
He wondered if his elusive little naked nymph would ever become a fixture, an object, a tool like the others. He looked at her. Just like every other time he had looked at her that night, he was covered with goose pimples and his body quivered. Hot and cold. Confusion and racing breath, pounding heart and pulses.
Her hand went to his penis again, taking it tenderly.
New thrills coursed through him, thrills he had never had. Not cheap thrills, but deep, abiding thunderous thrills, shaking the very foundations of his existence. He would have killed himself at that moment, dying happier than any man had ever died before.
Valerie fondled his cock and slipped down to the floor and went on her knees between his legs. She once again settled herself, pushed his chest easily with her spread fingers, and he lay down on his back, his feet on the floor, his muscular and hairy legs spread for her. Thrills pounded her too, looking at a man like that. She had seen only Bill naked, and he was nothing like Meyer. Bill was handsome and masculine, but in a very different way.
Meyer, to her, was a big man, a presence that represented fulfillment, strength, safety, security, love. Also sex. She didn't know what a boy her age might feel like, looking at the genitals of a woman his age, but she doubted that the sight could have made that hypothetical boy sexier than the sight made her. She burned to know his cock, his balls. Burned to know them intimately, to kiss them, lick them, suck them, make love to them. They intrigued her, burned into her, incited her, aroused her. Her pussy was hot, her stomach growling ferociously.
She threw herself against his crotch and took his cock into her mouth, her heart pounding wildly.
She closed her eyes so tightly that the lids hurt and red flashed at her from them. She met insanity, and loved it.
The sexy salty flavor of his knob brought unknown desires up to the surface of her ravenous desire; she covered it with her lips. Her heart faltered. She whimpered from deep in her belly. She knew what she had to do; only one thing. Pulling abruptly away, she gazed at him. "Meyer?"
"What, my love?"
"One thing."
"Anything."
"Please release Bill."
"It's done."
"No it isn't. Do it now. Send him home. Clean. Clean him up, and send him home, Meyer. And then we'll spend three days in bed. I want everything you have. Everything you can give me."
"I'll do it."
"I want to watch."
"So watch. C'mon."
It was done in seconds. Bill left, and left them in an embrace.
"God, Valerie, will you marry me?" the doctor asked.
"I love you, Meyer," Valerie replied.
"Will you marry me?" he repeated again.
"Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. But now, my strong, hairy ape-man, I want you to make love to me. I want you to fuck me hard. I warn you, ape-man, I bite. I bite and I scream and I am easy and hard to satisfy. Let us make love together, my man, because my God, do I love you! Thrill me and satisfy me. Give me your today, Meyer, I'll give you my tomorrow."
She really meant it, but somehow, she kept thinking about all those boys in her graduating class, so young and full of come. Dozens and dozens of different kinds different shapes of cocks.
I wonder how long it'd take me to find out the different flavors of each? Valerie asked herself, her hand wrapped tightly around Meyer's raging cock.
