Nan Mikell shook out the full length of her glowing auburn hair until the tips, hanging far out over the sparkling blue pool, dipped lightly in the water. Her brown, firm-fleshed arm lazily went over the edge of the pool and followed it; she watched the prismatic effect of the water bend her arm, immersed up to the forearm, at an acute angle. She saw the scarlet-tipped fingers of her hand waving gently at her under the water.
Nan rolled over on the cushion. The water of the pool was icy cold; the air was warm and humid. The effect of the two temperatures on her skin was sensual in the extreme. And the Florida sun beat down hotly, leaving a fine film of silvery sweat over her aroused body.
For she was aroused, after all. No use trying to hide that from herself. She had been lying here in the sun on the deck of the big Bal Harbour house for an hour now, and her reverie had passed from her body -- slim and brown in its fashionably Palm Beach string bikini, too daring for wear among any but the most intimate of friends -- to the mornings calls, to the appointment book (with its dreary succession of charities and obligatory appearances), back to her body again.
And a fine body it is, too, she thought -- the hard masculine practicality of her thoroughly divided mind asserting itself again. Thinking of it, she closed her eyes and, lying back on the cushion, she ran the fingers of one soft brown hand down the silky skin of her flank, naked all the way down except for the soft string that held the shamelessly tiny piece of cloth over her crotch. Little goosebumps broke out along the length of her nude thigh as the fingers touched, caressed, stirred the tiny sub-bleached golden hairs on her leg. Still, not wanting to rush her little game to its conclusion, she kept up the soft caresses, barely touching herself. It was a game, after all -- a game she played with herself.
A game she played with herself daily now, when-ever the schedule showed a break, whenever she had an hour or so alone to herself in the big house, with its decked pool cantilevered out over the carport- and the lush garden below. These early afternoons had come to be almost the only thing she liked about the echoing emptiness of the house: the warm air and the delicious feeling of aloneness ... and the accompanying fantasy -- rich and opulent and exotically un-Florida, un-stodgy Bal Harbour -- that accompanied it all.
The fantasy had already begun in her mind. It varied, daily, with the different impressions that she had absorbed in the morning. Always there was the same delicately handsome young body, tanned and muscled, the same masculine, but ever so gentle, hands on her eagerly receptive skin, the same soft lips covering her with hot, insistent kisses, building her excitement up ever so slowly to a frenzy of passion, again, again ... and then bringing her back down slowly from the heights, slowly and carefully, wary of breaking the magic spell that lay upon her as she lay back and absorbed it all with a delicious passivity that required nothing of her but that she respond.
The face ... the face changed daily. It was now the face of a fresh, unspoiled beach boy she'd spotted coming out of the surf, some yards down from the limits of her private beach. Another time it might be a bronzed young faun she'd run into, coming out of a Miami Beach bar a week-before. It was always a face that had made an impression of ... what? Innocent, puckish sensuality? The abandon of adolescence half-corrupted? It didn't matter. It was the impression made that mattered. No. The face could fade. It was the strong and smooth young body, the thing that did not change, that mattered. It was the gently insistent hands. Most of all, it was the questing, soft, infinitely tender lips, touching her here and there. ...
She shivered and arched her back to let one of her own brown hands reach behind her back and slip the string of her tiny bra loose. As she did, a stray wisp of cool breeze broke through the dampness of the Florida air, slipped inside her bra, caressed the unseen dark nipples of her little breasts so that they sprang to a delicious stiffness, still under the barely-confining cloth.
Her eyes remained closed. That was part of the game. The lover would remain an imagined lover. The caresses, the kisses would fall in silence upon her, unseen. And soon the reality of her own two hands, miming his, would be joined by a kissing mouth, touching here and there on her body, coming hotly to rest at last in a wild crescendo of excitement: that part was where her dreams, her fantasies, took over. And the ecstatic uplift of it all the "high," as her daughter Monica had called it once -- was enough. It was enough to blot out the dreariness of her world. The loneliness of it. The emptiness.
Nan Mikell hadn't had a man in nearly a year now.
What matter? she thought, driving the last shred of self-doubt out of her mind now, letting the fantasy have free rein. ...
... He wouldn't speak. She would hear nothing of him, there in the darkness behind her closed eyelids, except that infinitely expressive language of breath that he spoke so well. Soft breath on her cheeks, her eye-lids, her ears, as one by one he kissed them reverently, like a sultan counting his jewels. Warm, deep breath as he bent deeply over her, kissing her neck, drawing a little line of soft-lipped kisses down her body from there to ... yes, now he was pulling the soft cloth away from her breasts, baring them to the sun, to the gentle, strangely cool breeze, and his kisses went ... Ahhhh! There was a morning's growth of boy-beard on his face: as he kissed the tip of one nipple the soft-hard bristles touched her sensitive areola delicately; the goosebumps rose on the erectile flesh of the dark ring. Her nipple grew long and painfully sensitive; as attuned to her arousal as if the flesh kissed had been his own, he began now, softly at first, then with a growing abandon, to suck on it. She gasped just once -- as he took the hardened, fingertip-sized end of it into his mouth, rolling his rough tongue around the sides of it, gently nipping with sharp, white, boy's teeth all over. She groaned with pleasure.
And now his lips left the nipple, dove hungrily' on the other. And as he repeated the delicious formula on the second breast, she felt, to her intense satisfaction, his hands start in on the first: tweaking it, nipping with sharp little fingernails, tracing the line around her areolas, rolling the aroused nipple between her fingers ... It was so good!
Now, feeling. the first twinges of a passion long smothered by her loneliness and inhibitions, Nan Mikell, her own brown fingers rubbing her breasts, spread her legs to the sun, curling her red-tipped toes in abandon. And, surreptitiously, one eager hand stole gently down her side, touching nude and suddenly alive flesh every inch of the way, to toy with, and eventually loose, the simple bow tie that held the bottom of her bikini to her body. And, pulling softly, liberated the rest of her eagerly straining body to sun, soft ocean air, and the imagined kisses of her fantasy lover.
As if in response to her wish, a wisp of cool breeze swept across her suddenly naked skin. A spasm of shivering swept over her; she bit her lip and arched her long and slender neck in a delicious motion, giving her-self up to it all. ...
There in her self-imposed darkness, she went deliriously limp as the brown hands lifted her legs to the sky, caressing them all the way from the delicately painted toes and the soft, unscarred soles, down the slim ankles and swelling calves, to the unmarred tenderness of the insides of her brown and satiny thighs, opening her wide, wide. ...
And that was the curious part. When, if ever, she came to think about these golden moments afterward, as the reverie took over, the strangeness of it always struck her. She invariably imagined him naked and shamelessly male during all this, and as aroused as she was. She knew if she opened her eyes -- that wasn't part of the game, but she could imagine it -- she would see between his own hard thighs the thick and en-gorged emblem of his manhood: a stout and straining, uncircumcised, red-tipped penis of heroic dimensions, surmounting heavy balls pulled tight by his arousal against his body, the whole coming fiercely up at her out of a jet-black forest of wildly curling hair -- an ex-citing, arousing, breathless-making sight. But. ...
But he'd make no move to put it inside her. It wasn't his arousal that mattered. It was hers. And hers could only be dealt with satisfactorily by what happened next. And what happened next was a beautiful and secret thing that no man had ever done to her, that she'd never had the nerve to ask a man to do to her. And although, as she lay back to enjoy it all, she might think of the big and straining penis, its trembling head aquiver with passion, its sweetly delicate eye pulsing forth with a single silvery drop of delicious-looking dew as it all but visibly yearned for her. She might even long -- shamelessly! -- to touch and caress it, even (she shuddered now, thinking of it, shaken by the thought) kiss it tenderly and lick the tiny drop of sperm from the end of it; but this had no part in the fantasy. She might think about it -- fleetingly -- but no more. More important was to give herself up, completely, to the secret ritual they shared. More important was to spread her thighs wide, straining to hold herself open for him, as his lips invaded the secret places of her body. His lips; his fingers; his questing, darting tongue. ...
Ahhhhh! she groaned in something near pain, as the brown mouth dive& hungrily into her auburn-haired crotch, the lips, and-'teeth burying themselves in the soft, wet inner lips of her vulva, his tongue going like mad on the infinitely sensitive flesh of the insides of her. She was wet! So wet! It was his task to lick her dry, dry as a bone!
But now a new sensation entered: the beard she'd felt before. Raking inside of her, hurting her -- and then, as quickly, turning the hurt to ecstasy as the soft tongue swept over the places the ungentle bristles had scraped raw. The lips closing in a dozen soft kisses over the aroused flesh, taking mouthfuls of its softness inside himself. The tongue expelling it and licking it, licking it clean, again and again. ...
Oh my God, she thought. He's licking me. He's eating me. He's sucking my cunt ... But she couldn't say it. Not even in her mind, not even in her heart of hearts. She could only enjoy it with a wordless, mindless passion that grew and grew, slowly (she'd al-ways been so slow! It had made Ed so unhappy! But she couldn't help it. Could she? Could she?), building to a climax she could hardly imagine even now.
Once she had sat before a mirror on the massage table. And she'd spread her legs and looked at herself, long and hard, fascinated with what she saw. Her own wide-open cunt ... But she couldn't say the word, even think about it. The curling hair growing lush around it; the pink hairless flesh inside; the little red button above it; the brown button of her anus. Was this what the men wanted? she'd thought to herself. And she'd looked at it, wondering . It had seemed so strange-looking . And yet ... there was a certain beauty about it after all, now. It was all in the way you looked at it.
And this young man with her now: he must be looking at it with love, with affection, with a hungry passion. For he was diving noisily into it, his breath coming in great gasps, his busy tongue driving her crazy with eager anticipation of what was to come, any minute now, any minute. ...
When it came she screamed.
She couldn't help it. His whole mouth opened and took the upper third of her vagina into it, sucking the upper end of her cleft deep inside him, and, best of all, taking, at last, between his soft and voracious lips, the hard, upstanding head of her little button! She kicked wildly; her anus winked open, shut, open, shut, with an uncontrollable motion of its own; the wetness gushed forth from the soft tissues inside her again; but nothing deterred him. His firm hands holding her spread as wide as she could go. He began, slowly, with a steady rhythm, to suck on the little shaft, taking it in and out of his mouth, in and out, in and out. On every fourth, in-and-out motion, his tongue would sweep up the bottom of it in a delicious lick. Then he started varying the rhythm. Every third suck. Then every fifth. Then, once, he went ten sucks without licking her, and she was dying for it when it finally came. She almost fainted when it did. ...
A door slammed.
"Mrs. Mikell, I'm finished. I just wanted. ..."
Nan Mikell, her face red as a beet, sprang to her feet. And in the trembling anger that beset her she didn't think to cover herself up at first. Her features, delicately beautiful as a Renaissance Madonna's in re-pose, were black with rage, contorted like a harpy's. She stood, hands on hips, looking at the intruder, mastering the dark force of hatred in her that contended with her reason as she stared hot-eyed at the playsuit-clad young girl from the University who had come to catalogue Ed's books prior to the official takeover of his library. The girl's face was scarlet with embarrassment; her hand had gone to her mouth and stayed there, and her face held -- frozen, as in a stop-motion photograph -- a look of horror.
But her eyes, looking at Nan Mikell out of her silent tableau of mortification, strayed once, hotly, to Nan's nude body: to the darkly aroused nipples, to the fiercely tangled bush at the bottom of her belly, to the thin line of hot juice that stained her bare and goosepimpled leg.
Then, her eyes clouding over with tears, she came apart. "Oh, Mrs. Mikell, I ... I thought you were. ..."
"Get out!" Nan Mikell said in a deadly voice. And, with an indignant motion, she reached for the robe in the pool-side chair and held it protectively to her body while the young woman, flustered, turned and headed brokenly for the door. Then, still breathing hard, she sat down on a nearby chaise and pulled the robe close about her body.
She'd been seen! Doing it!
By another woman!
And, most strangely of all, she'd liked it!
She'd liked the feel of those strange eyes on her naked body. She'd felt deliciously, shamelessly nude in front of the girl -- and proud of it! And, best of all, she'd enjoyed having the girl see her not only naked, but trembling with passion, with the wetness of her flowing down her thighs!
She'd enjoyed it! Worse -- she'd had an almost irresistible impulse to flaunt it! To reach down and grab a handful of hair and bump it up at her! To put both hands down there between her legs, and ... and open herself up for the girl! Looking her hard in the eye the whole time!
Shuddering, Nan Mikell pulled the robe even more closely around her. All of a sudden there was a strange chill in the air.
CHAPTER TWO
Nan had been very much Ed Mikell's woman for the sixteen years they were married. She'd come to him -- well, not quite a virgin, perhaps, but not quite experienced either. She'd been raised small-town Catholic, poor and strait-laced, and only her bright and agile mind and the striking beauty that accompanied it had shown any sign of raising her out of the Polish, steel-town ghetto in which she'd been born.
That same beauty, however, had been a two-edged sword. It won her attention -- and then her mind had won her the scholarship to Bryn Mawr that had made her bid farewell to Pigiron City. But it had also severely restricted her sexual education. Her brothers, tough street-fighters, quick to protect her good name, had at the same time protected her from anyone who might have wished to further her education in this line. One boy did -- Johnny Bobrowicz; she'd never forget him -- and her brother Stash had broken his arm for him, to the tune of an obscene Polish tirade that could be heard all the way to the end of the street. She hadn't had the nerve to go back to school for two days after that. And after that her dates ended promptly at ten o'clock.
She'd thought things would change, away at school. She'd even changed her name, a little anyhow, thinking that what plain Anna Karpowa wouldn't do, Nan might. (She hadn't had the nerve to do anything about that plonky Polack last name; her family'd never speak to her again.) But keeping up with her grades had come much harder back East, in the Quaker country. There were always so many distractions. And it had taken all her nerve and Polish stubbornness to get her all the way through to her degree -- and then Ed had come into her life.
She'd never expected to marry millions. She'd raised her hopes, perhaps, to the point where she'd meet a man with a bright future, and she'd help him along, and they'd be in six figures, perhaps, at the end of his career. And that in itself was an audacious dream for a steel-town girl to have. She'd have settled for much less.
But she never had a chance. Ed had met her on her first job, a fresh-out-of-school summertime thing she'd taken at a suburban Philadelphia TV station. She'd been at work writing the evening news report -- it consisted of retyping and cueing a series of clips from the UPI wire -- when Ed had blundered in looking for Mr. Hovis, manager of the station. He hadn't found him, Ed always said later. But he'd found something much more to his liking.
It'd been a whirlwind courtship, and their honey-moon had taken them to places she'd dreamed of, but had never imagined herself visiting: Monte Carlo, Ibiza, Mallorca. And in each of these places Ed had friends, and old girl friends, and social and business contacts waiting for him. She'd always felt as if she were going along as part of the furniture. This world was Ed's: the world of the house in Norristown and the house in Bal Harbour and the house in Palma and the house in ... well, simply everywhere. There'd been a place open for him on the Main Line, but Philadelphia bored him. He'd bounced back and forth between divorced parents all during his childhood; he was a cosmopolite at twelve, he'd told her, with so many stickers on his luggage that the leather could only be seen at the handles.
But it was all Ed.'s. As she was Ed's. Her life was arranged by Ed's schedule, and that had much to do with the schedule of the Eastern Petroleum Company's conglomerate interests. You went to such-and-such a place at such-and-such a time because so-and-so would be there, and getting a chance to talk to so-and-so in a social, just-friends context was worth a single firm's annual payroll. And if you were Ed Mikell, you took your wife with you.
Thus she'd lived all those years on the road. And it had been a natural thing, in the kind of circles that Ed traveled in, to put your only daughter, when she came, under the care of a nanny from the first, and then send her off to boarding school as soon as it was decently possible. Nan had had Mickey, and had loved her from the first. But Ed's schedule had taken her away from the child almost immediately. Now they hardly knew each other.
And when Ed had died ... Nan had quietly come apart. And then she'd just as quietly, with all her stolid Polish stubbornness to draw on, put herself back together again, called the bankers in, reorganized the business, and taken over as much of Ed's complex schedule of activities as she could handle. He'd been chairman of this, honorary vice-president of that. Very well, she took over these functions as a dead politician's wife might, while the limelight lasted. Weekly they brought her checks to sign; daily her private secretary went over her schedule with her and told her about this flower show, that museum dedication, the varied activities she was expected to grace with her presence.
And it was all still Ed's. Nothing was hers.
Not even fifteen-year-old Mickey was hers. The two met several times a year at school vacations; they had little to say to each other. Mickey clearly thought Nan was some sort of wind-up Barbie doll her father had bought. Nan secretly thought Mickey a terrible little prig, and wondered if she weren't hanging around with the wrong crowd of people off there at school, or away on those summer-camp excursions.
This had gone on for something like two years now, since Ed's sudden death. She'd attend religiously to the functions people expected her to attend to, and then retire to whichever house the schedule required her to occupy during that season: to read, to exercise (for some reason, the upkeep on her still beautiful body was important to her), to watch television, to ... solitary pursuits.
It hadn't always been this way. She'd tried to accept some of the masculine sympathy she'd been offered in the months that had followed Ed's passing. But the choices a woman had at the top weren't much better than the ones she had at the bottom. The men were rich drunks, sexually inadequate even for a normal woman, much less for a woman whose responses (Ed had said, ever so gently, one time) were slower than most. Or they were climbers, cozying up to her with little thought in mind but her money. She'd had a handful of experiences with either kind, and quietly wished she were either back in Pigiron City, where the wives cried out in abandon, deep into the night, as their lusty husbands, poor but virile, plowed them to sleep, or out in that hazy, middle land she'd never known -- and where, she quietly suspected, the action really was.
And in the end, she'd sent all her suitors packing. She wanted no part of them. She wanted ... well, what did she want?
"What do I want?" she said one morning. And, sitting up in bed with her breakfast, she suddenly pushed the tray away. She started to ring the bell for Beatrice to come and take it away, but something made her stop. And, hugging her knees under the light sheet, she let her mind run.
A day or so before she'd had that embarrassing -- and profoundly shocking -- experience with the young cataloguer from the library. She hadn't forgotten it. She had been deeply disturbed by the clear implications of it. She was getting ... well, sex-starved. And that wasn't so bad in itself. That was curable. But . ...
But she'd clearly felt herself attracted to the girl To a girl! And she'd openly flaunted her nakedness at the young woman -- gloried in it. Was something wrong with her? Was she going off the deep end? Turning ... lesbian?
But no; that was impossible. She was as normal as blueberry pie. She probably needed a man. She needed, well, perhaps a change of scenery. Or a change of friends. Or . ...
Friends? She hadn't any friends. What she had, after all these years, was Ed's friends. There wasn't a soul left in the world that she could talk to. Except . ...
But of course!
Wouldn't it be nice to see some of the girls from school again? Mary Alice Carpenter, for example? Her old roommate and confidante?
Nan scampered out of bed, wearing only her shortie nightgown, and went to the bureau for notepaper. She'd write Mary Alice today, right away. Her address would be in the Class Reunion brochure that came last month. And she'd figure out a way for the two of them to get together to talk over old times, old boyfriends, Hoop Day at Bryn Mawr, all the old jokes. They'd have a fine time. And maybe Mary Alice (who had always seemed so sexually secure, so sure of herself) could put her back on the right track. And so thinking, she plopped her bare fanny down on the cold leather seat and began writing.
But it wasn't so good that night. And the self-doubts, the fears, all of it came roaring back. And Nan Mikell went to the bar four times, mixing herself a more deadly double Martini each time, until her head reeled from the sudden ingestion of that much alcohol. It was a hot night, and that didn't help much either. She put the last drink down, kicked her shoes off, and sauntered across the room. At the glass doors she stopped, Switched on the underwater lights of the pool, and considered. A cold dip would clear her head. And she reached for her zipper.
Then she stopped again.
She knew what she, would do.
And she pulled the Side zipper of her dress down, all right, and stepped naked out of it. And, still nude, one hand lightly running down her bare body, she went to the bedroom wardrobe for robe and sandals. Stepping into the light robe, slipping the thongs of her beach shoes between her toes, she thought angrily of the loneliness of the past year. And she shook out the dark mass of her auburn hair, letting it spill in abandon down her back as she strode purposefully to the deck, heading for the concrete stairs that led to the tunnel beneath the road to the beach.
The tunnel was dark, but there was an almost-full moon out that night, and, once inside it, she could see ahead of her the light glimmering on the water -- a full moon, or nearly so; no cover of darkness. Yet ... the four doubles were working on her brain, making her giddy, reckless. What if? What if she? Well, why not?
And, stopping near the opening on the house side, with the, whole length of the tunnel to cross and the whole width of the beach to traverse, she stepped out of her sandals, slowly undid the robe, and laid it care-fully over the hand rail. And she walked, nude -- the cool beach air coming in from offshore, to caress her sensitive skin -- the length of the dark tunnel.
As she walked, feeling the breeze, feeling the rough kiss of the beach grit under her soles, a reckless and sensual scenario of lust was running swiftly through her mind, fed by the too-sudden spree of drinking, fed by the sultry night and the cool kiss of the breeze on her body, fed, most of all, by the mad dreams that had been keeping her in an almost constant state of arousal for weeks now. She was thinking: I'm naked, and unprotected, and vulnerable. There will be moonlight on my body on the beach. Anyone who wanders by can see all I've got. I will hide nothing. I will go to the water and swim. And I will not cover myself with my hands, or shrink away, if I am approached. And I will give myself, fully and completely, to the first person I meet on the beach, tonight, in the moonlight.
The thought was daring; more so than any she'd ever allowed herself. And yet it was something she so desperately wanted to do that nothing in the world could have kept her from it. Abandon! Let yourself go! All the way! No inhibitions!
And then, inexorably, the thought crept in:
To anyone? To the first person she met on the beach?
Male ... or female?
And the defiant demon inside of her said, Yes! Yes!
Crossing the deserted beach, so bare, so open to chance, was a strange experience. After all, her -robe -- her entire covering, any protection she might have -- all these were far behind her now. There was no one to whom she could call for help should she require it. Yet ... there was a strange feeling of power coursing through her limbs now, as she walked -- she forced herself not to run, forced herself to a leisurely pace, to draw it all out slowly across the sand. It was an oddly new feeling, and she wasn't sure what she thought of it all. And only when the cold surf sloshed excitingly around her ankles did she allow herself to look around.
The moonlight was a delicious color. The beach was bathed in an odd blue light that carried far down the sand; she could see people splashing in the surf far down the strand -- just outlines, dark against the reflection of the moon on the sand. A thrill of some new and delightful kind went through her as she realized that they had only to come closer to catch her in the altogether, to ... But then an even odder sensation blotted this out.
Someone was out there, watching her. Nearby. Someone standing in the shadow of the seawall.
She couldn't make out the figure. All she could see for sure was the light of a glowing cigarette-tip, there in the pitch-black shadows. But even if the cigarette hadn't been there, she fancied she could have told whether someone was there or not. There was an aura of ... presence there.
Someone was staring at her. Slowly, insultingly, unhurriedly.
At the thought a sudden chill ran through her.
And a strange thing happened. Perhaps it was the giddiness that the drinks had brought on; she wasn't accustomed to that much alcohol in that short a time. Perhaps it was the odd mood of carefree recklessness, the eerie atmosphere of dreamlike reverie, that had overtaken her when she first made up her mind to go naked to the beach. But it seemed, now, that the sounds of the crashing surf died, and the distant yells of the night bathers, far down the beach, went away, and there was no one there, in this strange moment of suspended time, but the two of them alone: she, naked and defenseless in the bright light of the waxing moon; the stranger, anonymous, clothed in darkness, watching her, smoking lazily in the deep shadow.
And the voice said: "You're beautiful."
It was a husky voice, halfway between a man's and a woman's: a deep, throaty, alto sort of voice.
It paused; she saw the unseen watcher take another puff on the glowing cigarette.
"Who's there?" Nan Mikell said, crossing ,her arms over her little breasts.
"Don't rush things," said the voice. "I want to look at you. You're quite lovely, you know. Don't cover your breasts. I want to see them. I want to look you over, slowly and carefully, before I make love to you."
"Make .. love?" Nan said, shivering. "You ... Don't come any closer." She drew back; one hand went to her crotch in the classic pose of Venus surprised.
"Lovely breasts," said the voice. "Lovely soft belly. Lovely soft hair on your lovely cunt. Won't it be nice when I have my hand where your hand is?"
"Go away," Nan said, stepping back again. Her ankles were in the water now. "Go away. This beach is private."
"I'll bet you're excited, aren't you?" the voice said in that lazy drawl. "I'll bet you're terribly excited, under that feeling of fear you think you're supposed to have." And it was true: Nan had to tell herself that it was true. But the feeling she had on the surface was one much closer to panic and terror. She wanted to scream, to run ... yet she stood still, silent, all her resolves cancelling each other Out.
"I'll bet your cunt is` wet and juicy with excitement now, isn't it?" said the voice. It paused; the unseen speaker took another drag on the red cigarette. Then she saw the red ember describe a crazy arc to the sand and disappear. The speaker was truly invisible now. "Yes," the voice went on. "Feel it with your hand. That's where my hand will be in a moment. That's where my lips will be. My tongue."
"Oh, my God," Nan said in a choked voice.
She was sure she knew to whom the voice belonged. The young beach boy, hardly out of his teens, whom she'd seen in the surf near her the other day. He'd been hard-muscled, bronzed, smooth-skinned -- and breathtakingly beautiful, with his hard thighs scissoring in and out below the skimpy bathing suit he wore, with his hard buttocks pounding as he ran into the surf. He'd turned to her, just once, and smiled, showing strong young teeth, gleaming white. He hadn't spoken.
But this would be the voice he'd have: deep, but not yet a man's; throaty; pulsing with an innocent lechery that would belie the deliciously dirty words he'd say to her. This would be the way he'd talk: insinuating, commanding.
Something inside Nan Mikell snapped. And all the fear she felt flashed, just once, through her -- and was gone. This was what she'd come here for, after all. This was the experience she'd dreamed of: the dark, quiet lover, coming to her alone and in near silence, ready to do her bidding. No, more: ready to do all the things she had never had the courage to ask a man to do. All the things she needed so desperately.
Her hand flashed again to her crotch, felt inside, touched her button, dabbed deliciously in the wet. God, she was hot!
"Come," she said in a voice so husky she could hardly recognize it. "Come out in the light where I can see you. You can do anything you want. But come to me ... naked ... like I am." She was breathing hard as she said this; her hand went furiously back and forth in the auburn bush. Little chills of intense sexual anticipation went through her, near the pain threshold. She closed her eyes and opened them again.
A flash of moonlight lit a hand, emerging from the shadows, holding a large piece of cloth -- a towel: no, a robe. The hand dropped the cloth on the sand. The figure stepped out on the beach before her, its every detail framed in the ghostly blue light.
The figure was smooth-skinned, lithe, beautiful. Its arms and legs were perfectly formed, strong, graceful. Its hair was dark and cut short. Its hands reached out for her.
It had large, beautifully formed breasts.
In the patch of hair below the flat belly there was no penis, no testicles.
Her lover was a woman.
Breaking into uncontrollable screaming, Nan Mikell ran, wildly, aimlessly, into the dark tunnel, as fast as her legs, knotted with fear, could take her.
CHAPTER THREE
Nan Mikell sat up, legs crossed lightly, on a corner of the huge couch in the upstairs sitting-room, staring abstractedly at her reflection in the vast, lightly tinted floor-to-ceiling mirror that ran half the length of the wall opposite her. A half-finished cup of tea -- her third -- sat unnoticed on the table beside her. Next to it, an ashtray bore witness to her indecisive, nervously brooding state of mind: three broken cigarettes, stubbed out just after she'd lit them.
Nan Mikell was naked. She'd tossed her robe to one side to look at herself, hopefully with an objective eye. She was naked of make-up, hairpins, of rings or jewelry of any kind: she'd even removed the polish from fingers and toes, the better to see herself as God had made her.
She wanted most of all, right now, to see herself as a woman. What had that that girl in the darkness the night before wanted of her? What had she seen in her? What, after all, did a woman look bike to another woman? If she wanted her that way?
She looked at herself now. The pert little breasts, tipped with a tasty brown in the odd light of the tinted glass, peeped back up at her. The little belly was spare and rounded softly at -- oh yes, just the right places. From the place where her slim thighs came together, swirls of luscious auburn hair were visible. Below, the legs were softly rounded, with slim ankles and graceful feet, their toes dug sensually into the deep pile rug.
What would a woman lover do to me? she wondered.
And, almost shyly, she opened her legs to look at herself.
The auburn bush was lush, curling. But that was almost all there was to, see of her from right there. She put her hand on herself, down there, pushing the hair away from her cleft. Not much better, she thought. Oh, come on, Nan. Don't be that way. Let's find out. Let's find out everything.
So she leaned back against the couch, opening her legs wide, raising her feet high, the better to see inside herself, perhaps for the first time, really. And, peeping between her own firm brown legs at the image in the mirror, she reached her slim fingers in and opened herself wide.
How ... how wide it would open! ... But of course, she'd had Mickey. A baby's head had had to come through there. She looked, and a certain objectivity developed in her viewpoint for a moment.
It was ... it was like some lovely flower of flesh; it was a shining, pink, delicately wet sort of orchid, rising from the auburn mat. The larger lips, where her fingers were, were turgid, fat, protective of the soft thing in-side her. Inside was sweet pink flesh, a dark and secret hole, and above it a pink pistil. ...
... That grew as she watched. Grew longer, grew red with excitement. Ah, lovely! Hard and upstanding, like a baby boy's little cock! Innocent and delicate!
She blinked, looked harder. Her leg muscles spasmed involuntarily. She moved her hand, looked at it; it was trembling. She put her feet down on the couch, spread wider; looked hungrily at the vision be-fore her.
And suddenly she saw herself in the imaginary lover's eyes: she saw her own face bending to the lush bush spread out so invitingly before her, saw her own shameless tongue dart out to lick the luscious pink flower before her, her own red lips close around the darker pink of the little rod that poked so delightfully out from between the twin folds of flesh at the top of the soft flower. ...
"Oh, God," she said in a hoarse voice. Her legs fell, squeezed tightly together around her furiously working fingers. Her eyes closed, her head whirled helplessly about, shivers of pleasure-pain ran through her.. .
... And she opened her eyes, suddenly, to see behind her in the mirror the trim, pink-livened form of the maid Helga. Even in the strange light of the tinted mirror she could see the livid blush on Helga's fair face. Her hand was over her mouth; the other held a dust rag, which dropped to the floor as she watched; the hand flew to her breast.
She looked the mirrored Helga in the eyes. And they knew each other for the first time. And a series of shocks ran through Nan Mikell: one, two, three. And her brain reeled to hear her say, "Come. Come, Helga." The voice was deep and dark; it wasn't hers at all.
"Lieber Gott," the German girl said softly. Her face livid.
The strange new person who had taken Nan Mikell over said again, "Come." And she saw the, strange naked figure in the glass beckon invitingly to the maid. And she saw Helga's steps bring her haltingly around the couch ... to kneel before her, between the brown thighs. Looking her pace, very, deeply, very soulfully, in the eye.
And then the soft, fair face of the girl, red in the cheeks with passion and embarrassment, covered -- she saw now" in the diffused light -- with a microscopic, soft-as-chincilla-fur down, dipped before her to lose it-self in the lush mat of curling auburn hair.
The soft lips kissed her -- once, twice. Once on the brown fingers that held her vaginal lips open before the girl. Once, softly, ever so softly, on the very tip of the straining, blood-engorged button.
Then the girl tenderly laid her soft cheek, sideways, against the wet, gaping maw before her. Nan Mikell felt the squishy wetness of herself touching -- almost gripping -- the dry, soft, tenderly fair cheek as the girl softly kissed the inside of her thigh, the skin, thin as a baby's, of the spot where torso and leg came together, her lips parting the reddish muff, her little pink tongue darting forth to lay its own brand of barely-damp kiss on the velvety skin.
"Oh ... oh, Christ!" Nan Mikell heard the strange new voice say, "Oh, please! Please do me! Please love me ... there ... oh, Helga, please!"
As if in direct response, the girl's blond head turned; the blue eyes looked hotly up at her, with the rare sort of transported passion that only light-colored eyes can express, looked deep into her soul and found there the essence of the strange new person Nan Mikell knew was taking over her body. And, again -- this time all but completely -- they knew each other. Nan the part of her that remained the same person she'd been all her previous life -- felt almost like a stranger before these two new personalities -- the maid, whom she'd never noticed, even, since her husband had hired her, and the odd new person inside her who was, at the moment, so completely in the ascendant in the strange struggle for control of her wayward body.
"I make you come," the girl said. "Then I go... "
Nan hardly heard her, hardly noted the hot blush of sudden embarrassment on the girl's face. To her, for the moment, there was no question of mistress and maid, no problem of caste that would have to be solved, or resolved, the moment their mutual passion was spent. The future didn't exist, in her frenzy to taste this new outlet for her pent-up passion -- only the present, the marvelous present.
Gasping, she threw one naked leg over the linen-clad back. God in heaven, she was naked as a baby and the girl was completely clothed! Even to stockings and cap! There was something devastatingly exciting about that! "Come ...quickly ... please," she said in a breathless voice.
"Oh, yes, my dear," the girl said, just once. And there was a strange, soft half-smile, full of passion and a faint tinge of regret on her face, with its thin, naturally red lips and transparent skin as she hesitated. And the passive watcher inside Nan helpless to change things or stop them, noted almost casually: how lovely she is! And I never noticed ...
Then the pink face buried itself between the brown thighs. And eight, ten shocks went through Nan Mikell! Her legs spasmed! Her whole body was shaken by tremors! Her owl strong thighs wrapped themselves around the blond :head, knocked the pink cap awry, spilled the soft blond hair loose in sweet abandon!
For the hungry mouth descended directly to her clit. The thin lips closed softly around it. And the hungry, rasping tongue went to work on it with a wildness that shocked her to the core. The mouth hardened; the tongue flicked rapidly up and down the length of the little tube of flesh; the lips closed in a thousand wet, purposeful kisses on the very head of it. Nan's body shook in a dozen wild convulsions; screams shattered the air, from an unrecognizable voice she yet knew to be her own; and her bare heels drummed on the girl's back.
Now, in response to her own body's ecstasy, the girl stepped up her attack. Now she abandoned herself to the thrill of her domination of Nan Mikell's body, and used her own pink hands, tipped with clear nail polish, to open Nan wide. And her head bobbed awkwardly up and down as the licks grew longer and more avid.
The wet, slightly rough tongue flattened, and dipped all the way down her wildly aroused body to lap at the tightly clenched buttocks, tickling the flesh around her spasming anus, before licking slowly and with abandon all the whole length of Nan Mikell's wide-open vagina and rasping deliciously along the hard little head of her clit. And the action was repeated. Again and again. And the motion of the voracious mouth and tongue grew faster and more fervid, and the sound of it grew wetly audible, and Nan's body shook with spasm after spasm ... Until. ...
"Oh, God!" she said. "Oh, no ... no ... NOOO-OO!"
Her body relaxed; her brown feet fell softly on the girl's back. Her arms fell akimbo. Helga kissed her softly on the lips of her closing slit, once, twice, and, smiling softly, looked up at her. The strange, regretful smile played across her lips again. "Now ... she said, "now I go."
She sat back on her heels and looked at Nan Mikell who, exhausted, unable to move,. regarded her with mixed feelings. The girl's lips and chin were smeared wetly with the musky-smelling juices of Nan Mikell's own body; she wiped her face with the back of one hand. How lovely she was! How delicately beautiful the curve of her- chin, the sweet bow of her thin lips. How could she not have noticed earlier? "H-Helga ... " she found herself saying hoarsely.
"I go now," said the girl She stood up, not ungracefully, the strange smile still on her face.
"No," Nan Mikell said weakly. "No, don't. ..." But her hands did not rise to stop her, her voice carried no conviction. She lay, still passive, looking at the girl. She felt as limp, as emptied of volition to move, to affect the world about her in any way, as a puppet whose strings had been cut. Very well, she thought this new half of her who coldly watched the after effects of what had just happened, disclaiming all responsibility for what had happened. Very well, let the girl go back to her duties. We will call her when we want her .. .
And all the time Nan Mikell, the one who lived and breathed and felt, and whose heart went out to the girl, sat and watch, unable to move a muscle.
"I will leave an address for Mrs. Johnson," Helga said, looking down at her (did her eyes sweep lustily across her still-naked body? Lingering on her crotch again?) with that wistful and enigmatic smile. "Where she can send the check."
"Check?" said Nan Mikell.
"Yes," said Helga, a firmer note in her voice. "I not work here any more." There was a wryly understanding twist to the corners of her pretty mouth. "I not whore."
"You. ..."
"I am servant, yes. Or I am lover, yes. Not both together, you see. You pay servant. You love lover. See? You choose. Not both." There was a sadly disappointed look in the blue eyes. "You agree? You understand?"
Nan Mikell looked at her. She still had not made any move to sit up. It was as if something were stop-ping her. "N-no, I don't understand," she said. "Won't you ... stay?"
"Why I stay?" the girl said. "You make love to me? You want make love to me? No. You not want to give self to me. You not want to give self to any person, man or woman. I stay, you pay me, I become whore." The smile was sad; perhaps a little hurt.
Yet Nan Mikell still made no move to stop her. "You not want to love anyone. You want be loved, not love back." She sighed. "Goodbye, Frau Mikell." And she wheeled and walked with a certain admirable dignity out of the room.
Nan Mikell watched her departing steps, seeing the long, strong, firm legs under the white stockings, watching the fine muscular bulge of the taut buttocks move under the pink livery. God, she was a handsome woman! She was. ...
... She was gone. Nan Mikell knew -she'd never see her again.
And the thought was a pang of regret that burned inside her now as she lay back, nude and exhausted, on the couch, hardly able to move a muscle. Yet she did absolutely nothing to stop her; and she had know all along that it would be this way.
Why?
What was there in her that kept shrinking away from the giving of herself? Had something in her changed? Hadn't she been a giving person before ... before Ed?
The thought was sobering. She sat up now, her feet flat on the floor, looking at herself dispassionately in the mirror. Had she given to Ed? Really?
Or had she been a disappointment to him, too?
She'd always been so slow to respond. That had been a problem. Ed could rouse her; he could ... he could fuck her (yes, yes, use the word now) for quite a long while, and would take a great deal of pleasure in her growing arousal ... but then he'd come, and she wouldn't, and she'd know, even as she held him and made nice little bed sounds at him afterwards while his passion subsided, that his failure (he always saw it that way: his failure, not hers; Ed was a gallant man in his way) to bring her all tip way down the road to orgasm had been a thing that !hang heavily on his heart.
Could she have helped him, now?
The question was another small shock to her. But it was time for the shocking question, the straight answer -- as straight as she could make it.
After all, she'd always kept that lovely body she now saw before her, nude but somehow sexless in the mirror, now that passion was gone ... she'd always kept it in the best of shape. She'd always wanted to look pretty for Ed. He had always been quick to compliment her on her trim figure, and nights, naked and alone with him, she'd felt little chills run up and down her spine sometimes at the thought of his appreciative eyes on her body; her nipples would tingle and grow long and hard at the thought of it, and she'd feel little tinges down below.
But pretty, she knew now, staring at her own naked body in the mirror, wasn't enough. She'd failed him, again and again, leaving him to come off alone.
No! her mind said now, rebelling. She'd tried! She'd tried!
But had she?
Had she, for instance, asked him for all the things he could do for her that might have turned her on all the way for him? Or had she ... dear God, she'd gone shy on him when it came to "other" ways of doing it! She remembered now. And with the first memory, all the flood of pent-up memories she'd been refusing to acknowledge since his death started coming back. And the face in the mirror became a horror-struck mask, the lovely nude body a starveling skeleton. God! Memories! What he'd wanted, she'd held back from him ... even when she'd given him what he wanted, or let him do what he wanted to her, she'd given in with a bad grace, destroying his pleasure in it. How could she? How could she?
She looked at the stranger in the mirror, that strange, thin, brown naked woman with the disheveled hair and the haggard expression, and relived the past with the new, more understanding eyes her experience had given her. ...
Flash:
She was big and heavy and pregnant with Mickey. There came the night when she definitively decided he couldn't get on top any more, he'd hurt the baby. And she couldn't get her legs up any more. And she really wasn't in the mood tonight, she didn't really -- you know? -- need it tonight.
But: "Nan, I started thinking about you in the car on the way home from the office. I got so hot I would have whacked it if the chauffeur hadn't been there. I've been dying for you all day. I've got to, you understand, honey ..."
"But Ed. Couldn't we just ... cuddle?"
"Nan, Nan. I love you, I want you."
"Yes, but ... "
Here, dummy. You damned fool, her mind told her. Right here. Any woman who was a whole woman would have been so flattered, so excited, by the thought of her husband still getting hot about her when she was big and fat and` ungainly, that she'd do any-thing, anything, to please him.
But you?
"Here. Feel this." His hand had guided her fingers to that big rod of his, pulsing, hard. And she'd blushed! Actually blushed! And she'd even tried to pull her hand away, for God's sake!
(Nan, thinking about it, sobbed once and caught herself. Dear Ed! How she'd love to have him back right now! She'd do anything -- anything -- to please him!)
(... And the cold-eyed devil within her, cutting through her veil of hypocrisy, said back, Sure you would.)
"Nan, do something for me, darling."
"Sure I will, Ed."
"Take me in your mouth, please. Please. Now."
"In my ... my mouth?"
"Yes. Suck me off. Please, Nan. I need you."
"But Ed, I ... oh, you darling. All right." (See? She'd loved him; she'd done it!)
"Oh , yes ... that's right ... your lips around the head of it. Right ... now, yet, please, touch my balls, now ... softly, lightly ... now, please, lick the bottom side of it. ... Oh, God, that's good ... yes ... yes ... now take it all in, as far as you can ... yes ... now. ..." Now lie was on his knees before her on the bed; her fingers guided his erect and straining rod into her mouth; his hard belly was taut before her, flat and muscular; she could feel his dear hands in her hair, caressing softly, guiding; and now his buttocks started a slow, purposeful, back-and-forth rhythm, driving the long hard rod, with the lovely big rigid head of it, bulging and pulsing, in and out of her mouth like ... go ahead and say it, like fucking her mouth ... and she'd felt her own loins getting hotter, and at the same time she'd heard the drab Polack voice inside her saying no, no, you shouldn't do it, and if you should do it, you shouldn't enjoy it, you got to make him pay for asking for it, the dirty man. "Now ... now," Ed was saying, beside himself, "now, darling, please take me, all of me, in there, and when it comes, don't spit me out, don't, please, just take it in and swallow me, all of me, oh God, you'll make me so happy. ... " And it'd grown bigger and harder in her mouth and the back-and-forth motion had grown steadier and more powerful and God, that was it, he was fucking her in the mouth, that was it, and it was dirty, dirty, and God would punish her, and she wasn't supposed to like it, and it was sup-posed to make you go crazy, swallowing that awful stuff, if you got even any of it in you it would make you sick and nuts in the head, and here he was, getting ready, and he was going to come, and he was -- he was -- coming in her mouth. ...
... And at the last split-second she'd pulled her mouth away, gagging, and it hadn't been quite in time and a big gob of the heavy stuff had gone into her mouth, and she'd gagged, and vomited all over the bed, and been sick as a dog, and she'd gone out, hating him, and slept on the bed in the guest room and not let him close to her. But she hadn't slept at all well, and she'd had dreams about it, later in the night, and they'd made her so hot she'll gone back in to him and cuddled with him and said she was sorry. But she hadn't made him feel all right about it. And he'd never tried it again. ...
Flash:
"... No, Ed, please, don't, you don't want to kiss me there ... I mean, please, Ed, darling, I love you, but. ..."
Flash:
"Ed! No! Please! Not back there. That ... Oh, its stretching me, oh, it hurts, it hurts, Ed. ..."
(But it had hurt good -- it had, indeed, and when she thought it all out later, it made her hot thinking about it. His -- his ... dick ... up her asshole ... Oh, God. Oh, God, don't punish me for wanting it, for wanting him to do that thing even if it's bad and dirty. ...)
But had she ever brought it up again? Had she ever let him know it'd be all right if he tried it again?
(Filthy! Dirty! Exciting. ...)
And, now, sitting here alone in a post-coital gloom, looking, flat-eyed, unhappy, at the naked body that suddenly seemed not so pretty, not so inviting, she knew precisely what she thought about Ed and his "other ways" of doing it. She'd give a million dollars to have him right there beside her now, making her own flesh glow with his bright, warm, lusty thoughts about her undeserving body, and she knew she'd give him any-thing he wanted with a glad heart, and she'd learn to love all of it and to let everything he wanted, no matter how freaky, turn her on -- all the way -- and she'd make him feel happy about the way he felt about her. She would! She would. ...
... Oh, God, she'd eat that big dick of his now. Dick. Cock. Prick. Lovely, filthy, shit words, dirty words. They're words of love, you damned fool! Enjoy them. Savor them. Lovely dirtiness. Dirtiness that makes you feel good, dirtiness that makes love.
God, she'd suck him off! She'd tease that big cock of his until he couldn't stand it, and when he started fucking her in the mouth she'd open up her throat and take him all the way down until she had hair in her teeth, and when he came she'd swallow it all down gladly, hungrily, and thank God she had a good man's mouthful of come to swallow. ...
But Ed was dead, and it was too late. She sat there, letting the awful truth sink in again, looking at her naked body, this whole year unwanted, unused ... until today. ...
Nan Mikell sat up straight, looking herself in the eye. "Better get it together, sister," she said. "I'm about to take you for the ride of your life."
CHAPTER FOUR
There was a strange inconsistency in Nan Mikell's actions the next few days; it thoroughly rattled her staff and those of her husband's business associates who dropped by from time to time to ask her opinion on matters of interest, and by the end of the week her secretary, Mills -- inherited, like everything else, from Ed and still more attuned to the dead man's ways than to his widow's -- was seriously considering giving notice.
Under the mask of bravado she wore so determinedly, though, Nan understood their confusion thoroughly, and sympathized with it. The experience was unsettling to her, too -- perhaps to her most of all. After all, half of her was still the timid soul, used to passively going along with Whatever Was Expected and swallowing her reservations about the strange and the new. This was hard to reconcile with the egotistical new creature inside her which kept goading her onward, insisting: Try it! Experience! Throw caution to the winds! And the two halves of her fought each other bitterly for control.
Well into the next week, Nan sat at her desk with a neat pile of bills before her, signing checks. And, as suddenly as ever, she felt the goad.
What does a man want? She asked herself. In bed?
Was it all the ... the kinky things? The mouth stuff? (No, no! the voice inside her said. Use the words! The right words!)
All right, she said. Would it please. a man better to have her ... suck him off? To put his cock in her mouth and ... and fuck her that way?
Wouldn't it be more fun for him if she learned to do it right? To make a delicious teasing game out of it at first -- the way Helga had with her (and here she felt a sharp pang of regret, coupled with an eager sensation between her thighs)" And then increase the intensity of the experience, perhaps, a little at a time? Again, as Helga had done. (Oh, God! her hand went to her crotch, remembering. It was wet and sticky.) And then ... and then. ...
(Well, why not find out, dummy?)
She reversed the pen and drummed lightly on the desk top, her eyes staring unfocusedly at the wall. Yes, she thought. Why not? But ... but not around here. Not with all the ghosts this place held for her. With the giant, domineering, and certainly disapproving presence of Ed haunting the place for her so that every experience she had referred, inevitably, back to Ed and what he might think, just as her childhood experiences had always referred back to the rigidly Catholic household she'd been born to, with its fiercely inhibiting web of shibboleths and taboos ... No. She'd have to get away.
Yes! A holiday! That was it! and something ... something different. Something ... well, perhaps a little extreme, even.
No, let's be honest. Somewhere where you can meet men. Privately, discreetly, without having to worry about all these ... these people of Ed's finding out. A holiday off by yourself, incommunicado, under an assumed name, perhaps . . The more she thought about it, the more excited she got. And she found her-self once again pawing at her crotch frantically, gasping with passion as her fingers rubbed her clit wildly under the thin dress (she never wore panties these days), moaning with pain and delight as she brought herself off again.
This time, with her eyes wide open. The old fantasies wouldn't do any more. And her present course, she fervently hoped, would remove her from the necessity of having to do this for herself for a while. The worst that could happen was that she'd have a new fantasy to occupy her mind while she did it. The best? The best could mean ... anything.
She gasped and cried out, jamming her fingers deep inside the wet may of her vagina as the pleasure-pain grew too much to bear and the agonized twitching of her clit drove her into yet another spasm of ecstasy. ...
Six days later, on a dark strip of beach near Nice, a new, almost unrecognizable Nan Mikell -- hair cut short in a Vidal Sassoon-styled haircut, her face reshaped and restructured by makeup experts, her pert body decked out in sports clothing of the latest Mediterranean cut released the hand of the dark, smooth-muscled young man she'd been walking with on the sharp-pebbled strand and turned to face him. He wore only bikini trunks and a thigh length, open shirt, and, as her hands - slipped inside the shirt and ran down his aroused skin, goosepimpled in the cool air of a Riviera evening, she heard a hoarse sigh escape his lips as his muscles tensed.
"Hey, baby," he said in his broken English. "Not here ... you see ..." And he put his hands on hers. "The moon. ..."
"It's dark enough," she said in English. Her own voice was husky with excitement. "Non, chart," she went on in passable. Bryn Mawr French. "Non, laissez-mot, comme ceci. ..." And, standing on tiptoes in her low espadrilles for his kiss, she let her bands wander down his front. It was dark enough, after all. Nobody'd see. The flies didn't patrol this stretch of beach at night. And her palm slowly, sensuously, rubbed the bikini front, bulging with a thick and powerful load.
She kissed him again: once, twice. And as she did, her fingers slipped inside the trunks and began, very slowly, to pull them down.
"Non ... Non ..." he said. But her lips silenced his protests -- which sounded thoroughly insincere anyway -- and the insistent hands continued pulling the rubbery cloth down ... down his legs, to fall on the ground.
"Step out of them," she said. And she helped him. Then she knelt before him, her knees protected from the sharp stones of the beach by the trunks he'd shed. And her hands roamed softly around the thick thighs, the hard and muscular buttocks, before cupping the fat balls and caressing their tightly wrinkled skin and guiding the thick, straining cock to her eager and ready lips.
She'd picked him up on the street, in the narrow area between the Old Town and the big hill called Le Chateau that dominated the town. He'd been afoot; she'd been in the rented Alfa Romeo, driving with the top down, looking for a beautiful young man. She'd found him in a matter of moments. They'd driven to the Promenade, and here they were, only steps below the sidewalk above, with cars whizzing by overhead. And she didn't even know his name.
That was the way she wanted it. No names, no personalities. Just eager and kissable, caressable bodies in the dark. Two people meeting in the dark and making love, and then going their separate ways. ...
And now, as she'd expected, she found a certain excitement in the business of kneeling so abjectly in front of this nearly naked stranger, ready to serve him utterly, ready to ... Ahhhh. How delightful! She kissed the fat head of the quivering cock before her, kissed it first on the eye, which already bore a single bead of liquor gleaming in the dim light of the half-moon above, which she was quick to lick off with her little pointed tongue. Then she kissed it lightly, in a series of little pursed-mouth kisses all around the head of it, standing so hard and free before her. Circumcised: Jewish? Perhaps. She wanted to know nothing about him at all. She only wanted the experience of him.
It was so large, so thick! She'd have a time of it getting it in her mouth, she thought. But she was deter-mined to please him, to please him utterly, and her determination led her to redouble her efforts to do everything -- everything -- that would draw from the young man the greatest display of unbridled passion. And, her jaws straining, she opened her mouth wide to take him inside her.
And an odd sensation went over her. She realized that it felt ... somehow good ... in there. There was a kind of fitness to the big, round, hard head of it inside the soft and wet cavity that was her mouth. Softly, softly, she closed her Its upon it, letting her teeth rest lightly just beyond the head, in the tender spot where he'd been circumcised.
Above her close-cropped head she heard his hoarse moan. His hands came to rest on her soft neck; he spread his legs to increase his pleasure, digging his sandaled feet savagely into the pebbles for support. A tremor ran through his belly; she could feel it in his fingertips on her neck.
Abruptly, without warning, she darted her little tongue forth, licking fiercely across the bottom side of his glans. His body jerked with surprise; his cock twitched. The licking grew more frantic, more rapid. And now she let the sharp underside of her upper teeth scrape gently along the upper part of the head of his cock. His fingers tightened on her collarbones.
Undeterred, she let her fingers go to work on the shaft now, holding the head of his rod firmly in her lips, letting tongue and teeth nip and lick and lick and nip now and then, as her hands caressed the long and thick shaft, now lightly, now firmly: jacking him off, very slowly, very slowly and carefully, holding his pleasure back and back until he could stand it no longer.
But no, he was coming; hold it off now, make it last, make it last, until when he finally came it would be almost too much for him to bear. She let up on the shaft, stopped the action with tongue and teeth, and, holding the thick dick in her mouth, quietly, calmly, began caressing the tightly wrinkled skin of his fat and bulging bag, hanging free between the widely spread thighs.
They were covered, all around, with light hair. She touched this, caressed it, plucked lightly at it, and let her fingers rub softly all around the thick purse that held the heavy balls. They were large; each testicle was a handful for a smallish woman like herself. Her hands moved to and fro on them, her mind wandering with them.
Now, her exploring fingers found a light twitching In his crotch: a muscle somewhere moving spasmodically. Her hands roamed, looking for it--and found that his anus was clenching and unclenching, almost beyond control. Her fingers went forth, exploring, little by little -- and caressed the spasming orifice lightly. His body shook uncontrollably in response.
"Ahhhh," she said, removing her mouth from his rod for a moment, still holding lightly to the shaft with one hand. He shivered as the cool night air hit the wet surface of his glans; his knees shook. Undeterred, she worked up a bit of spit on her forefinger, worked it under him, and slid it, one millimeter at a time, up his anus.
The hard legs trembled. And she had to steady him on the pebbled beach with one helping hand as her finger passed the first barrier and slid into the next chamber, where the muscles of the sphincter gripped her fingertip hard.
Fine; now she'd go to work. The other hand jacked firmly back and forth on the thick shaft of his penis, guiding it inexorably to her ready and eager mouth which, wet and warm, opened to receive him.
She first began to suck on the head -- the very tip, no more, keeping the circle of her lips just ahead of the hard edges of the glans but sucking hard, as on a piece of particularly juicy candy. And with each suck she'd twitch the questing finger buried deep in his body. And with each twitch she found that the finger -- lubricated by the thick gob of mucus on it -- would sink farther into his body.
His hands now began running sensuously up and down her neck, caressing. The motion was wild, uncontrolled. He was beside himself with the agony and de-light of what she was doing to him. And, knowing this, a little thrill went through her. ...
But now her finger reached a particularly sensitive place inside him -- the prostate? perhaps -- and his hard buttocks closed about her hand, almost hurting her. Very good, she thought. I'll save that for when he's ready, ready to come. It'll drive him crazy.
And she went back to work with the free hand, rubbing -- now with the smallest, most delicate motions of her nails, now with soft and tender fingertips -- the length of the shaft before her, feeling the straining, en-gorged blood vessels on the sides of it, feeling her fingers disappearing into the thick bush of his crotch hair as she carried the long, masturbatory stroke back to his body before running it forward again.
And her mouth. ...
Her mouth now went to work in earnest, sucking the big head in, letting it back out (with an extra lick along the bottom side from the rolled surface of her tongue) in a bobbing motion that accelerated to a wild and uncontrolled frenzy. Yes! He was getting closer! He was moaning steadily now; his body was shaking; his knees were jerking. Now was the time ...
And, as her head bobbed up and down, sucking madly, her left hand pumping strongly on the shaft of his cock, she suddenly thrust the embedded finger of her other hand deep inside him, shaking it back and forth, rubbing the tender skin inside his body at precisely the right place. His bodily spasms became mighty tremors. His hard buttocks thrust forward, shoving his belly at her; his strong fingers dug mightily into her neck muscles. ...
"Mmmmmmeeeerrrddddde. ..," he cried. And his powerful loins pumped into her mouth a thick jet of heavily viscous liquid. She gagged. She pulled her head away, but his hard hands forced her to stay where she was. Her lips opened, pushed him out; but the thick liquid splattered over her face, dripped from her chin, soiled and stained her chic little jacket ... She tried to pull away, but his heavy grip lay on her neck, bruising her. He forced her face, again and again, against his wet and suddenly limp penis, forcing her too kiss it, rubbing her face back and forth against the dripping head of it, smearing eyes and nose.
"Non," she said desperately, struggling to get up. Laissez-moi. ..." But then the broad hand swept back and forth across her face, slapping her, her head flying wildly to and fro as the bruising strokes battered her cheeks, themselves already wet and slimy with the juice from his massive testicles. "Vache," he said. And then he said a lot of things that were much worse, more degrading and insulting, as he continued to hit her. Nan fell, sobbing, to the pebbled beach, hardly noticing when the policeman's flashlight picked her out where she lay and the young man, cursing, picked up his discarded trunks and ran for it. She was still weeping, unable to move, when the policeman found her and bent to help her.
Lesson one: All men are not necessarily like Ed. ...
Nan was surprised to find herself so self-confident, so self-possessed, lying to the police like that. It was so easy! The story fairly tripped off her tongue: he had volunteered to show her the city, he had taken ad-vantage of her ... The flits professed to believe every word, found out who she was. Rich and powerful ladies, for the record, do not tell lies about young men trying to rape them, forcing them to unnatural acts, beating them. Rich and powerful ladies (and how strange it was to think of herself that way, after being led around by the nose by Ed's lawyers and business managers since his death!) did not get their names in the paper for the outr� things which happened to them while driving in the quiet evening streets of a dull city like Nice.
So her story was accepted (and thank God the young man had got away!) ... but there were enough inconsistencies in it that somehow, some way (the French are good at this sort of subtlety) she was given to understand that it might just possibly be the best thing if the remainder of her holiday were spent else-where. Not out of the country, perhaps; not out of the Department, even, you understand; just out of the jurisdiction ... Nan smiled her understanding smile -- the new Nan, bold and confident, was very much in the ascendant just then -- and told the prefect that she had reservations for tomorrow at ... and here she mentioned a famous St. Tropez hotel, accessible only to those with money and power. It was a bald-faced lie; she had no reservation, but the strange, heady feeling of flexing the muscles she'd inherited from Ed as majority stockholder in Eastern Petroleum was upon her. She knew, as sure as she knew her name, that a call on the long-distance wire would force some poor devil out of his room on an afternoon's notice. And the two halves of her new, sharply divided, personality warred constantly within her as to whether or not' she should feel shame and pangs of conscience over this. The no's had it. She'd never see the person she'd displaced. Why should she worry?
At St. Tropez you could bare your breasts on the beach and dare a man to stare at them, giving him the insolent glare from the eyes the glare that said no, while the little smile at the corners of your mouth said well, perhaps, but you'll have to do something out of the ordinary to interest me. Yet she couldn't fool her-self, and ultimately she couldn't fool the men. Her nipples grew long and hard under the gaze of the hard-eyed young men of the beaches, belying her studied in-difference. It flustered her; there were still a lot of things left for her to learn, it appeared, in the matter of being blas� and indifferent to sexual overtures. Half of her wanted to retreat; the other half said Press onward! Free yourself! Enjoy!
And one afternoon she found herself stretched out on her blanket, tanning her back, when she looked up to see beside her, no more than a yard or so away, a bronzed and lovely young woman with close-cropped hair like her own, busily engaged in taking off the last stitch of clothing on her smooth and hairless young body.
The girl was bare-breasted, as Nan Mikell was; her nipples, erect in the cool breeze that swept across the sunny beach, were dark, almost black. She was kneeling on her own blanket, a soft knit thing in blue, and her neat little hands were engaged in untying the knot at the side of her bikini pants -- a knot which, so far, had steadfastly refused to come undone.
Nan Mikell looked at the brown young body. It was small-boned, trim, without an ounce of excess fat upon it; yet the effect of it was one of a careless and fiery sensuality. Every tiniest square millimeter of flesh on the little body was dark with suntan, bursting with youthful health and vigor. The face was square -- more piquant than pretty, an American might say -- with a thin-bridged but otherwise quite Roman nose that gave her little face a classic Mediterranean beauty that prettiness might not have done. The hands and feet were small, the hips sturdy.
"Oh, look," the girl said in easy rule-of-thumb English, "It is stuck. And I have broken a nail. Merde." Then she looked up with dark guileless eyes and said, "See? Do you think you could help me, please?"
Nan raised herself on her elbows, feeling the little breeze sweep across her breasts, naked too now in the open air. "You ... you're going to take them off?" she said. She looked around her nervously. "Here?" The beach was dotted with singles and couples. The feminine population of the beach was about evenly divided between the bare-breasted and the women wearing bras. There were no families there; the children's beach was quite a long way down the strand.
"Oh, poopoo," the girl said. "Everybody does it." This in spite of the fact that not a single bare bottom could be seen from where they lay. "Wait an hour. Half the people on the plage will be naked. And no-body will care. Can you help me?" She said all this in the most matter-of-fact way.
"Here," Nan Mikell said. And she smiled at the girl -- which brought a puzzled "take" before acceptance took over. People were not so free with their smiles in Europe -- even in so Americanized a part of Europe as the French Riviera. After a beat's pause, though, the girl smiled back and offered her brown hip for Nan's sure-handed aid.
It was all so ... so matter-of-fact. The phrase, once again, was the only one that, seemed to fit. It was like running into a girl at the beauty parlor -- back when she'd still gone to beauty parlors -- and having her ask Nan to pass her a copy of Redbook from a nearby table; she couldn't stay under the drier and reach it. Nan's fingers tugged deftly at the stubborn cloth and suddenly pulled it loose; the green cloth slipped down the girl's thighs, again matter-of-factly, and she just as simply opened her legato let it fall. And she was suddenly naked as n egg next to Nan, on an adjacent blanket:
"Ah," said the girl, "thank you. That feels much better."
Nan's eyes could hardly leave the girl's crotch. It was nude -- of clothing, of hair, of anything. Instead of the black patch of hair, there was a brown expanse of skin ending in a brazenly naked fold of flesh as bare and as innocent as that of her daughter Mickey, when Mickey was a baby -- but, where Mickey's innocent little bottom had been sexless and inoffensive, merely something to make messes with, this was a mature woman's slit, with -- she saw as the girl turned toward her, smiling -- open, dangling lips that hung brazenly down between her open thighs, emphasizing the fact of the shameless nudity she had so suddenly placed on display.
She looked up, embarrassed, to see the girl smiling at her. "You should try it," the girl said. "It feels much nicer you know." She lay back, baring the startlingly naked body -- so much more naked because of the shaved area. where her legs met to the sun, smiling in friendly fashion at Nan. "Oh, come on, my dear," the girl said. "Nobody will mind. Look," she said, a gay laugh in her voice. "Even men do it."
Nan, blushing, followed where the girl's gaze led her. And to her intense embarrassment -- where had things come to, after all, on a public beach? -- she saw, not ten feet away, two deeply tanned young men in their late twenties, their bodies superbly trained, walk slowly past her, deep in conversation, oblivious of her own bare breasts, oblivious of her companion's shame-less and shocking nudity -- and as bare themselves as was the girl next to her!
"Voild!" said the brown girl on the next blanket. "Ah, cherie, you can have the one with the blond hair. Look at the ... the rod on the other one!. Ooh, babee!" And, laughing, she moved her brown hand to her hairless mound, giving it a long and shameless rub before resting the brown hand beside her on the blanket.
Nan blushed again; she couldn't help it. Neither could she help looking where the girl's finger had pointed; the young man's penis, bouncing along at rest on his own berry-brown young body, must have been well over nine inches long in its current flaccid state. How large must it be erect?
"Mon dieu," the girl said. "You are. blushing!" She smiled; it was a nice, wrinkly-nosed smile. "I have ... a girl friend, you know, who has slept with him. She says he is ..." here her hand made an eloquently disdainful motion, "... nothing." She smiled again. "I know many men better."
"Heavens," Nan said. She couldn't get used to all this ... openness was the only word for it. She'd had to take a half-dozen very stiff drinks to get herself ready for her disgraceful little escapade at Nice. No, be honest; she was all but blotto. And this open parading on the beach ... "I'm afraid I'm not quite used to all this," she said. Her hand waved at the beach around her. As the girl had said, more nudes were beginning to appear. As she watched, a stunning redhead slipped her sheath dress over head, folded it neatly, and sat down next to it on her red blanket twenty feet or so away from Nan's. She was model like in her thinness, and still had the white marks from her bikini bottom. She must be as new to this as Nan was.
"Stick around," the girl next to her said with a merry laugh, "you'll be quite at home before long."
"Look," Nan said, "I'm sort of new here. I mean, I haven't any friends." The impulsive act was also something she wasn't used to -- but, it appeared, there was a new side to her, and when it was in charge she would do things that would never have occurred to her before. "I ... would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
The girl looked across at her, a friendly look in her laughing eyes. "Why ... why, certainement, my dear. I will ... how you say ... show you around." She reached over and gave Nan's hand a friendly squeeze. "Now," she said, rolling over to bare her pert bottom to the warm sun, "would you oil my back for me, please?"
CHAPTER FIVE
The rest of the afternoon passed in friendly girl-talk conversation, switching back and forth from English to French (although the girl, whose name was Marie-Helene, simply put her tp shame as a linguist). Nan's one successful attempt-to Easter her timidity -- her impulsive offer of dinner to the girl -- was all she managed to muster. She had shot her bolt, and was content for Marie-Helene to lead the conversation where she would the rest of the day.
Similarly, despite Marie-Helen's urging, Nan could not force herself to take off the remaining bikini bottoms. Baring her breasts on a public beach was the limit of her bravery, it appeared. Marie-Helene, who was certainly a lot farther down the road to liberation than she, kidded her impishly about this, and brought blushes to her cheek time and again with her comments, lusty and appraising, on the men who passed, clothed and nude, speculating on how this one or that would do between the sheets.
Nan grew fond of her in the course of the one after-noon, and found herself enjoying the girlish conversation immensely. It took her a while to figure this out. Marie-Helene was pretty, young, lusty, and outgoing; but her mind was commonplace. No matter; it was a commonplaceness she knew already from somewhere, a reassuring sort of everydayish dullness that made for good friendships. Where had she come across this sort of thing before? she wondered.
And then, just as she was helping Marie-Helene into first her bikini, then into the little dress she had worn over it to the beach, it hit her. It was like school again. Like her first year in boarding school, after the scholar-ship had come in at Bryn Mawr. The innocently smutty confidences shared, the matter-of-fact quality of casual friendship ... how nice it was, after all these years! And, as she thought this, Nan felt a little thrill of affection go out from her to her new friend. Helping her into the little jacket that came with the dress, Nan impulsively gave her a little hug, one which led to an immediate reaction in herself. She pulled back and blushed, a hesitant smile on her face.
"Oh," she said. "I ... I couldn't help doing that. It's just that ... My husband died some time ago, and I haven't had any friends of my own for so long ... I've been lonely, you know."
Marie-Helene studied her with grave eyes. Then her warm, crinkly-eyed smile returned. "Oh, yes," she said. "I understand, my dear. And I like you too. Here, let me help you." She held up Nan's bikini top for her to put on. "Here," she said. "Ah, void les petits Tetons ... you know, you're most lovely. I think we shall be-come great friends.
Nan agreed, and she found herself blushing again as she finished dressing with Marie-Helene's help and stuffed her blanket into the beach bag the hotel had given her.
As she zipped it up she caught Marie-Helene's eyes on the bag. "La?" the girl said. "You are staying there?" Nan looked up to find the girl's eyes first large and impressed, then narrowing to a certain squint she could, perhaps, blame on the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun. She knew the look, she thought, When people found out you were in an utterly different financial bracket from them they often tended to look at you in a correspondingly different way.
"Why ... why yes," she said. "I ... my late husband's business manager got me reservations." It was a lie but it seemed the right one to tell now.
"Oh," said Marie-Helene. "You must be ..." she smiled the impish smile again ... "the poor little rich girl"
Nan couldn't not smile back now. "I suppose I am. But how empty my life has been. I'm sure your life must have been much richer, much happier. You're so assured, and I have to ... oh, you know ... drink a lot before I can force myself to do anything odd or new."
"My poor little rich girl," Marie-Helene teased, grasping Nan's hands impulsively. "No, there, pauvre petite. I will not tease you." And, standing on tiptoes -- how tiny, how delicate, she was, after all -- she reached up to give Nan a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "Now let us go. I am ... how you say ... starving to the death."
At dinner they sat head-to-head like a pair of teen-aged girls, sharing each other's meal. "Here, try a bit of this ... a morsel of that... ." And Nan, under the influence of her new friend as much as that of the excellent wine the waiter had brought, found a warm and mellow glow spreading out over her as the meal drew to an unhurried close. She found herself confiding in the girl about some, not all, of her recent mental ups and downs. She told about her sexy fantasies, but not about poor Helga. She told of dreaming of an incident lice the one at Nice ... but she did not tell of its actually happening, and she placed the dream safely back at Bal Harbour. And as she talked, the pretty brown hands came across the table and held hers, and -- this was surprising in its intimacy -- a pair of supple bare feet, kicked free of the beach clogs Marie-Helene had been wearing, sought hers under the table, warmly rubbing her insteps and ankles. Under the influence of the wine, Nan's mental protests slipped silently away; the contact seemed so innocent, so much a piece with Marie-Helene's unashamedly tactile approach to life, that she abandoned herself to the sensation and. squeezed her friend's hands back.
A glass of brandy afterwards: "Nan, my dear," the girl said, "you know what I'd really like right now? Tonight?" Her brown face with its flashing eyes was inches from Nan's. But, strangely enough, Nan got very little of the sort of vibrations from Marie-Helene that had surfaced in poor Helga after months of repression. "I'd like ... I'd like to call up a couple of men friends of mine. To ... well, you know ... have, how you say it, a party?" She squeezed Nan's hand. "Would you like that?"
Nan blinked; then the brandy got to her, and the new and more daring Nan took over for a moment. "Yes, I ... I think I'd like that," she said, blushing again. Her head was a little giddy; they'd had the better part of a magnum together, and the brandy topped this off splendidly. "You ... you know a couple of nice men? Young, handsome?"
"Lovely men," Marie-Helene said. "I have been with both. They are both wonderful lovers. May I call them? Marc works in a bar; he will be off duty at ..." she looked at her -watch. "In an hour. We can drive down to Louis's house and ..."
"No," said Nan impulsively. "I have this marvelous big suite of rooms, with this lovely romantic balcony. Let's go to my place." What was getting into her? She could hardly imagine herself saying these things. "I ... well go through my wardrobe. I have some lovely sexy things for us to wear."
Marie-Helene smiled; her own face was flushed from the wine. "Oh, yes ... we'll drive them crazy." She reached forward and caressed Nan's face with an innocently sensuous gesture; her bare soles, under the table, clasped Nan's foot warmly as their knees touched. "I'll call the waiter. ...."
The hotel management would undoubtedly have complained violently at having to supply champagne and the makings of a midnight snack -- caviare, pfitb, the whole spread -- so late in the evening except for the intervention of Lucien, the steward, who had, during the day, bothered to inquire through banking channels about the mysterious Mrs. Mikell who could so easily get reservations at the exclusive hotel. When the word came down, however, the staff responded with that special panache hotelmen reserve for the sort of guest whose bills are paid at a distance by people hired to do that sort of thing. The appointments they managed, on a moment's notice, were lavish; the staff's disappointment was visible as the girls dismissed the servants the hotel had sent up to keep a fresh bottle of champagne forever on the ice, and fresh hors d'oeuvre on the little Over trays.
Nan and Marie-Helene shooed them out happily; an air of eager anticipation hung over the entire venture. Nan poured champagne for the two; they toasted Nan's new-found freedom and admired each other's looks as the wine went through them, casting a delightful glow over it all. "You look marvelous," Nan said to the girl. "You should dress this way all of the time."
And to be sure, Marie-Helene was a delightful sight. Nan had dug out a diaphanous gown, meant only for the boudoir, for her, and she'd donned it over nothing more than her bare skin. Now, the sensuous-looking brown nipples peeped out through the thin cloth, and the nudity of her belly was accentuated by a golden waist bracelet Nan had found for her. Nan had blushed, during their toilette, to see the girl borrow rouge from Nan's makeup bag and deftly enhance the pink glow around the outer lips of her vagina with it. She fancied the rosy tint was almost visible through the girl's all-but-totally-transparent outfit.
Marie-Helene had insisted on dressing Nan, from the skin out. Beneath the cloth, she insisted, Nan must wear nothing but jewels, and she proceeded to empty Nan's jewel box to deck her out in a rich assortment of golden trinkets; through the translucent gown Marie-Helene had picked out for her, one could see not only the secrets of Nan's lovely body but the rich treasure trove of rubies, diamonds and emeralds Ed had bought for her. "But Marie ..." Nan had said. "All of it together? All of it? Isn't it a little much?"
"No," the girl had said, bending to kiss her pertly on one nipple. "Think of' how much fun darling Marc will have taking it all off you." And thus, neck and belly and fingers and toes glimmering through the floor-length gown, Nan awaited her date for the evening. Standing on the deep pile rug, she rubbed her sensitive, all-but-naked bottom against the refreshment table, her heart pounding with excitement. Was this Nan Mikell doing this? she wondered, her head reeling somewhat from the very dry champagne. And, more than once as she waited, she'd have run away ... if there'd been anywhere to run to.
Marc big, thick-necked, shockingly virile, a former boxer, he said -- and Louis, a rough-diamond type bearing a striking resemblance to Jean-Paul Belmondo, were excitingly domineering and brusque in their first dealings with the girls. Marc's first kiss was hardly tentative, exploratory; his lips bruised hers, his long thick tongue explored the inside of her mouth with a proprietary bluntness. And his big hands were immediately on her body, not touching but grasping. Almost immediately she felt the shock of having his hand invade her body -- which only showed how wet and receptive she already was down there.
How exciting! she thought. And, her head reeling from the champagne already, she downed another goblet of the bubbly stuff; a new, abandoned, silvery laugh issuing from the new Nan, a strange and independent creature brought forth by the holy drunkenness the wine had brought upon her. "Here," she said, putting down the glass and unbuttoning Marc's dark shirt to show the thick mat of hair on his chest "I'm glad to see you. Let me." He didn't understand a word of English, and she hadn't made out a single complete phrase of the rough waterfront argot in which he and Marie-Helene conversed. No matter. They were entering a stage where words did not make the slightest difference. ...
An hour later, so drank she could barely speak, Nan Mikell, hair disheveled, naked both of gown and of the pile of jewelry that lay neglected on the rag, lay face down on the end of the big bed, her belly supported by two thick down pillows, and felt the long, amazingly thick cock of Louis -- the Behmondo type -- inching its way up her anus, one tentative thrust at a time. She was crying; there was blood on the bed; somebody had done this to her before, and it'd hurt even worse then. Her rear was already, she thought, crammed full of her blood and two men's come, and she hardly thought Louis should take so long in entering this once. Put it in, fuck me, come in me, and get it over with, for God's sake, her mind told him. But her mouth, pressed into the bed by the strong hands of the man in front of her -- Marc? Yes, that was his name -- could say nothing.
It was amazing how she'd begun to understand them. The argot had become intelligible, a little at a time, as she'd been repeatedly had by both men (where was the girl? Marie- something? What was her name?) in a variety of ways; she now could make out almost anything they said to each other. It was not direct; her mind had to translate, automatically, and there was a bit of a lag. But she could get their drift the whole time.
Now Marc was saying to him: "Got it in, baby? All right. All right. Now perhaps ... yes. Now we play seesaw. Yes. I hold her. Now all the way in ... " And suddenly the huge rod rammed brutally all the way inside her; a pang of almost unbearable pain went through her (why didn't she scream? Was this real? Was it a dream, perhaps?) as the unseen apache be-hind her buried his penis in her behind, all the way to the hair. She heard a savage grunt out of him, and she felt the hard thighs nestled against her own. "All right," Marc said. "Now I have myself some fun."
And she felt his big hands lift her face off the bed and set her hands for her, under her shoulders, holding her upper torso up. At the same moment Louis' unseen hands lifted her hips free, his hard cock still inside her, and pointed her knees toward the bed. She now knelt on all fours on the end of the bed. Louis, impaling her from the rear, stood behind her, his feet on the floor. And Marc, on his knees before her on the bed, forced her face up to look at him.
There, her mind said, there it was again, that long, thin, and slightly crooked penis of his: no bigger around than a small-to-average man's, but incredibly long and as hard as a breadstick and with a slight bend to the left. It was so long that he couldn't get all of it in her, quite; it reached the cervix and battered her unmercifully the one time he'd taken her in the conventional, man-on-top way. It had bloodied her rectum so badly when he'd speared her there that she'd thought she had broken a blood vessel. She'd cried for help, for a doctor; but it'd stopped soon afterward and they'd forced more champagne down her to silence her bellowing. After that he'd had her suck him, and he'd slapped her hard when she hadn't done it right. (And where, where was Marie-Helene while all this was going on? Her befuddled, alcohol-blurred mind had no memory of what had happened to the girl.)
Now, it appeared, that was what he wanted this time. Only she was to do it in this awkward position, with her neck stretched out like a giraffe's, with this beast behind her tearing her anus apart with that unmercifully fat and brutal rod of his. Her eyes blurred with a sudden rush of tears, she abandoned herself to the experience; perhaps if she did what they wanted, and didn't complain, they'd just finish with her and go away soon. (And where, oh where, was Marie-Helene?)
So she balled her helpless hands, holding up her torso, into fists and opened her mouth wide for the giant cock -- nine, ten inches at least! -- before her, and stifled her own impulse to gag as the long, thin rod came inside her. The last time she'd gagged he had nearly knocked her cold. And as this other penis invaded her, she took a deep breath, breathing through her nose, and stretched her neck out in a line. She knew what he wanted now. He wanted to get all of it inside her, and if she reacted in any but the most passive and accepting of ways he'd beat the daylights out of her. So she strained forward, her lips open, her teeth pulled back to keep from touching him, and let the long cock slide slowly and carefully down her throat. At the uvula she had to repress another impulse to gag, but she stopped it this time. It was amazing what you could do if you had to. ...
And now, her body used and abused in the most insulting of ways, her mind began a strange and abstract speculation on the nature of what was happening to her. Somehow, for instance, she could imagine that it would be quite possible for a woman to be used this way -- even, as now, by two men with nothing more on their minds than their own brutal pleasure -- and enjoy it; be turned on by it; even have joyful, screaming, deliciously abandoned orgasms from it. There was a tiny part of her that understood this (and a much larger part of her that was thoroughly shocked by the fact).
But herself -- it wasn't the act that mattered. It wasn't even important about the pain. If there had been just one more element there ... tenderness, even pity, perhaps ... she could have stood the pain and rejoiced inside as the man's semen shot hotly inside her, reaming her, raping her, making the tortured flesh of her rectum open wide for his savagely invading cock. She might even have felt her mind give way, slowly, slowly, then felt the floodgates of emotion and desire thrown wide open, letting her come with him even as he ripped her open in this humiliating and degrading fashion (Yes, yes! her mind said now. Yes, I'd love it -- even if it hurt, and hurt, the way this does now!). But this way? With nobody asking her? With -- God! -- nobody even telling her she had to do it for him, only these two devils holding her prisoner and talking over her head to each other as they did it, as if she were some sort of animal, some piece, even, of inanimate furniture. No, no, she couldn't enjoy it this way. But ... but .. .
Her eyes opened now. They were watering; she blinked the tears away. She could see his hairy belly, ending in a thick blanket of pubic hair just past the edge of her vision. He was more than halfway down her throat now, edging forward gingerly. It was not consideration for her; he did not want her to gag be-cause it would spoil his pleasure if she did. In some strange way, it occurred to her now, the sexual act they were engaged in was something between the two men; to her, she was not involved at all as a person. Witness the fact that her vagina, after Marc's first inconclusive attempt to have her the ordinary way, had been neglected utterly. Her little clitoris hadn't been touched; the eager lips of her cunt had been left quite alone. She couldn't understand this ... But she was shocked out of her reverie as his body moved, now, and the long penis slid all the way in; her nose was buried in the dark forest of his pubic hair.
"Ecoutez," Marc said above her. "C'est bien engagee."
In answer, behind her, she felt the thick cock inside her anus twitch with excitement -- excitement at the other man's feat of getting the gigantic length of his prick inside the woman's mouth. "Ahhh, Marc," the other man said in, ,a hoarse simper. And his buttocks pulled the big cock back precisely as Marc pulled back on the other end: They were fucking her in rhythm, now, she thought. Each pulled out, each thrust softly forward, together, their minds on each other, their eyes -- she knew it without looking -- on each other's. She could even, in her mind's eye, see them making excited little moues at each other as their buttocks moved in a slow and ponderous rhythm, making little lovers' faces at each other. ...
Something unseen above her, then, dealt Marc's body a sharp blow, and the rhythm stopped. She heard Marie-Helene's voice say: "Hey! The jewels and the money are in the bag! You two can fuck each other some other time! Let's get out of here"
"Hey," Marc said. "You just wait a minute!" His voice was no longer the waterfront tough's; it sounded like a female impersonator doing Edith Piaf or some-one. Another blow shook his body, and he fell back, his rod going limp as his falling body, tumbling back-ward off the bed, pulled it free of Nan's tortured and violated throat. She gasped for air, looking up. Marie-Helene stood over the bed, fully dressed in her beach outfit, her beach bag dangling from one hand, stuffed full -- Nan suddenly realized -- with all the baubles the French girl had insisted on putting on her that evening. Of course! Of course! What better way of getting her to show them all her valuables? So that they could steal them? She looked up at Marie-Helene with glazed eyes.
"Get dressed," the girl said to Marc now. "You guys have been getting all the fun while I do the dirty work." She looked down at Nan now. "Merde," she said, a sour look on her face. "He's really got that thing up your ass, hasn't he, my dear? Hmmm ... You know, that's making me hot. You ... Damn it, Marc! Get dressed! She's got time to eat my box while you get your damned fairy panties on. Loulou?" she said to the man behind Nan, who was beginning the slow back-and-forth motion again. "Oh, all right, bugger the bitch. But then you get your little sailor suit on and get out of here." She smiled a mean, hard smile down at Nan Mikell, dropped the bag, and hiked her skirt up above her waist; she wore nothing beneath it. And now she climbed upon the bed, belly up, before Nan and kicked her naked legs high, waving the rouged lips of her hairless slit in Nan's face -- heavens! She'd rouged the entire length of her little clit, which stood up proud and aroused -- and held herself wide open for Nan's attack, with her little brown fingers.
"Okay, baby," she said in English, deserting for the first time in hours the. gutter Marseilles argot the three used among each other, "lick me out. And you, Loulou -- keep it up. Let's see if it does anything for her tongue work. ... "
Still resigned, Nan Mikell bent to her task. And, strangely enough -- it must be the champagne -- found herself warming to the job. That red little clit before her was so tasty-looking ... so tempting ... She put her tongue to it just as Louis' battering-ram prick rammed her heavily from the rear. A tearing pain shot through her bottom again; she screamed feebly; the blow rammed her entire face into the wide-open, shaven-clean-as-a-baby's vaginal cleft before her, smearing the girl's juices all over her eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks. A savage shiver of some utterly new emotion went through her as the girl below her screamed with passion. And, her eyes bleary with rage, she dived on the red and straining clit, sucking wildly on it, licking it, worrying it with her lips the way a dog worries a bone with his front teeth.
Marie-Helene went crazy beneath her. Her high-pitched screams sliced through the night air as Nan renewed her furious, fiercely aggressive assault on the girl's vagina. The sight and the sounds evidently ex-cited Louis; his attack on Nan's rear increased in velocity and brutality; his own hoarse moans and groans of passion became audible even through Marie-Helene's screams; and the moment Nan could feel his cock pulsing with seed, ready to come inside her, she dived on the girl's hairless slit with renewed ferocity. And the bursting package of blazing-hot sperm that tore into her insides was met at almost the same instant by an orgasm in the brown girl on the bed, who shrieked like a banshee and kicked her bare legs like a madwoman. ...
They went out the window a scant fifteen minutes later, leaving Nan tied, naked, smeared with the juices of all three as well as her own blood, to a chair. She was bleary-eyed with drink, but the entire experience was getting clearer, not dimmer, in her mind with every passing moment as she struggled feebly to get free. She'd learned a lot.
"Lesson two," she said bitterly to herself through the silk gag in her mouth, "all men aren't necessarily men."
But another thought was forcing itself into her mind, unbidden. There may, she was thinking, be one more lesson from this, one having to do with women and whether or not they were necessarily women. The thought was, in a way, more shocking than the entire rest of the experience.
She, Nan Mikell, had come herself, at precisely the same moment when Marie-Helene had ....
CHAPTER SIX
The disquieting thought took root in her mind and bothered her for some time after that. She'd cut short her holiday then, and flown back to the big Bal Harbour house in a evn and introspective mood. Was she turning?. Was she undergoing some odd sort of sea change into a woman whose desires were primarily turned toward ... other women?
What was happening to her? Was she only to be attracted, from now on, to men who cared nothing for her and whose disdain for her body and its needs would further add to her sexual and personal frustration ... until she would inevitably be driven to the arms of another woman for comfort and solace?
Was this, in fact, what she really wanted? Was she deliberately seeking out ways of making sure her contacts with men were frustrating and unattractive?
These thoughts bothered her all the way back home on the big plane to New York. They dogged her foot-steps on a brief shopping trip through New York (in which she quite deliberately avoided any opportunity of meeting either men or women on anything but the most mundane level), and they spoiled her subsequent plane ride back to Miami.
Now, finishing her morning coffee alone in the up-stairs sitting-room, she turned to the morning mail, left on a silver tray by the taciturn private secretary, Mills. But, sitting with the letters and the opener in her hand, she stopped again, as she had done so many times in the last few days, to think.
The house, the old routine -- she couldn't go back to them. She felt, quite frankly, strangled by the web of Ed's old life every time she returned to the Miami beachfront home. There was no place there for Nan Mikell to be Nan Mikell, herself; there was only room for the widow of Ed Mikell, who had responsibilities, social commitments, something to Live Up To.
But where to go?
Could she trust herself, starting out somewhere new -- even provided that she could find the sort of anonymity she sought anywhere? Would she get into the sort of trouble that had dogged her footsteps in France -- letting the strange new personality inside her take over, getting into embarrassing, even dangerous, scrapes like the ones in Nice and St. Tropez? Would the perverse devil that shared her body with her keep leading her into bad associations? Into some sort of terrible, frightening sexual morass from which even Ed's money, eventually, could not extract her?
It was a strange and terrifying question. She simply didn't know who she was any more. She simply couldn't have imagined herself doing the wild and undisciplined things she'd done since that strange, fateful afternoon by the pool. ...
No, she had to get away from Miami, from the whole structured life she was in. But it had to be some-where where she could work out her problems in a calm atmosphere, without having either the old structure or the new temptations to inhibit her growth and (there was no other word for it) her rebirth.
Thus thinking, she turned to the letters in her hand again. She scanned the return addresses, wondering which to open first: bills, bills, a couple of obvious solicitations from charities ... and, near the bottom, an odd, rustic-looking, obviously hand-printed letterhead envelope (the legend added in tiny characters "Printed on Recycled Paper") from some sort of place in Studio City, California, called WomanSchool. Another sob story from a charity? She opened this letter first, on impulse.
The letter read in part:
Annie!!!
You can't IMAGINE how delighted I was to hear from you!!! As you can see from the name, I'm once married, once divorced ... and I took the settlement money and put it into this place. I'm having a marvelous time now -- why didn't anyone ever TELL me it was so much fun to be single?
DO come out and visit. I mean, really!!! Right now!!! You'll have a MARVELOUS time!!! The people here are just FANTASTIC and I'm sure you'll love every single one of them. Do write and tell me you'll come. We'll all be looking forward to seeing you -- and me most of all!!! I can't wait, simply cannot wait, to see you!!!
Love and kisses
Mary Alice Haslam
A postscript at the end said, "That's my married name. I'm getting my own back but that won't be for another couple of months. DO COME SEE ME!!!"
"Annie," she said, staring at the wall. It'd been years since anyone had called her that. How very little Mary Alice had changed from the girl, her roommate, at school. And -- she thought with a sudden pang of her lost girlhood how very nice it would be to see her. She'd write her immediately. It sounded like exactly the right tonic for her right now.
Woman School? she wondered. What was that? It sounded like something she had some sort of partner-ship in. Or perhaps she owned it. A licensed school of some sort? She couldn't imagine. And where was Studio City? She reached for the almanac and finally found it: a small suburb of Los Angeles, separated from the main city by a sizeable mountain range but -- if the highway map were right not far from the Hollywood complex. She'd never been in Los Angeles. The one time Ed had gone there he'd gone alone; he had a speech to make at some dull convention and he hadn't recommended the trip as anything she might enjoy. Very well; very well ... She checked the letter-head again (obviously something done on a hand press, but not unattractive for all that). There was a telephone number listed. She picked up the desk set and dialed. ...
Two days later she walked down the ramp from her plane at L.A. International, her eyes eagerly scanning the crowd for signs of her friend and recognizing no-body. It was well after eleven p.m., but she noticed with a shock that even Florida's idea of informality (as reflected in her own ensemble, purchased in Miami Beach) was decidedly too studied for Los Angeles, if this crowd were any sort of accurate cross-section. The new short hairdo was all right, though: the only really nice thing she'd brought back from her European trip. It helped dispel the feeling of being horribly, pretentiously overdressed.
"Annie!" a voice said from down the way. Somehow even the voice -- not unduly loud, but capable of carrying quite a distance, she remembered from all those years, before -- seemed to come with underlined capital letters and triple exclamation points attached. There'd been a strange Betty Hutton sort of competent-but-vulnerable air about her that her girl friends had found far" more appealing than the men they met had. Suddenly, looking for her, Nan wondered what kind of man she'd married -- and divorced.
Suddenly she spotted her. And she couldn't believe it.
Mary Alice had been the neat type: prim whites and pinks, closed shoes even in hottest summertime, hair always just so. Now the woman who stood before her, her face split, by a happy smile, wore a thin sweater with no bra underneath -- showing nipples, even areolas, quite clearly under the semisheer cloth -- and trim, but stained, blue jeans, with canvas shoes. Her hair was waist-length, but had been braided into a single brown pigtail that hung -- not at all unattractively, Nan thought with a start -- down one side of her neck.
"My ... gosh!" Mary Alice said. Nan looked at her, her own jaw dropping, her own responses shorted out for the moment. "Wow ... look at you, for Pete's sake! Just look at you!" The smile was genuine; it was as real as anything in the world. Nan couldn't be hap-pier to see anyone she knew in the whole world. And, her hesitation over, she swept into Mary Alice's arms for a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek that wet her face with sudden salt tears.
"Oh, honey ... I've spoiled your makeup ... I'm so sorry, but I ... "
"Oh, Mary Alice," Nan said, meaning every word of it, "you're the nicest sight I've seen in a year." And the two swept off, arm in arm, to get her baggage.
Mary Alice drove a Volkswagen bus. "You have to have something like this," she explained as they sped up the San Diego Freeway toward the mountains. "I mean, if you're hauling stuff around the way I am a good 'deal of the time. I'd like to have something with a little more poop, you know -- but I've got every nickel invested in this place of mine. It's all I can do to meet the nut half the time. I mean, you wouldn't believe" (here Nan's mind supplied capital letters and three exclamation points again) "how many licenses you've got to carry here, how many taxes you have to pay."
"What kind of school is it?" Nan said. She'd shared some -- but not many -- confidences with Mary Alice so far; she'd mentioned losing her husband, for instance, but not that she'd gained something in the neighbor-hood of twenty million dollars in the process. She wasn't sure just why she'd held back.
"Well, gosh ... you'll see. I started to get you a nice reservation at the Sportsmen's Lodge or somewhere, but I thought, gee, I couldn't just let you go the first night. I've been so excited ever since I heard from you the other day, I just couldn't. I hope you don't mind staying with me tonight. I want to show you the place, and ... well, gee. It's just fantastic to see you, hon."
"You too, dear," Nan said. And found herself meaning it. She was a sweetheart, just as Nan had remembered her. Only something had happened to make her open up even further. She'd been hurt, perhaps ... and had recovered from it. Nan sighed, thinking. When would she recover from Ed? Or were all these changes she was going through part of the process?
They were climbing now. "Hey, look up ahead, sugar," Mary Alice said. "I never get over how pretty this is. I mean, here you are right in the middle of this big fantastic city, you know, and all of a sudden they run his eight lane highway over this whole cotton-picking mountain range. I mean look. And when we get to the top ... there, look. Have you ever seen anything like it? That's the Valley. It's, like, only this teeny little part of L.A., and here its population's about the size of Baltimore's or something. It's nothing but this ... this big damn sort of bedroom community, re-ally, but you can find just about anything in it that you can find in Philly. Honest, hon, I love it. Gee, just look at that." And Nan had to admit to herself that the sight was impressive: a giant city, spreading out as far as the eye could see, visible from the top of the mountain they were crossing. The lights were as bright as those of an entire, large Eastern city, and they didn't stop for miles and miles.
"But your school," she said. "You were going to tell me about it."
"Yeah," Mary Alice said. She took the off-ramp to the Ventura Freeway, heading East. She drove with a man's confidence and competence, Nan noticed. "Well, I had this idea, back when my marriage was falling apart and I needed something to kind of throw myself into. I'd always wanted to learn about ceramics, and nobody had any classes -- oh, gee, wait'll you see this creamics teacher I just hired, he's a dream -- anyhow, I thought, why? Why weren't there any schools specializing in that? I mean for adults? No credit or anything. Just learn how to do it, you know, and learn well. Right? Yeah. But I learned Joe was gonna fight the divorce, and I got me this fan-tas-tick lawyer, and he soaked Joe for this nice big fat wad -- oh, a hundred thou or so, you know -- and I thought, Mary Alice, you're going into the school business. Anyhow, I had the house, and there was this crummy old motor court -- remember those? With the little cabins and all? -- next door, and when it came up for sale for delinquent taxes ... "
The story waffled pleasantly on as the little bus sped through the night. At a particularly unlikely-looking off-ramp Mary Alice swung the wheel expertly to one side and steered them out of the traffic. In a few blocks she turned off, went up a long driveway, and pulled up in the middle of a nest of disreputable-looking shacks, parking behind a billboard advertising the school.
They got out, and Mary Alice insisted on carrying her bag. "Don't be to quick to judge it," she said. "I know it looks like a dump right now, but we're due for a paint job right after I make the nut on this quarter's taxes. And it's a great place, really, with terrific vibes. I can't wait for you to meet everybody. You'll just love 'em."
They ducked into a big old frame house situated to one side of the complex; it was large, roomy, and very nineteen-twenties. It reminded her (with a pang that surprised her) of small-town Pennsylvania, and the re-minder was immediately reinforced by the interior, which was put together in old-fashioned furniture and cranky, unmatching objets d'art. It needed a sweeping. Nan vowed to give it one next morning.
They raided the icebox for salami sandwiches and beer, and they -- just once -- found themselves hugging each other and crying and saying sweet things to each other. Nan was touched, more than she could say. And just before bedtime, sitting before the fireplace -- imagine! In what ought to be dead midsummer, you could have a fire! -- in their robes, toasting their tired toes be-fore the flames, they cracked open a special bottle of brandy Mary Alice had been saving for a real, live, Special Occasion, and toasted their new futures, what-ever they'd turn out to be. And Mary Alice had got off a few tears again, and Nan had hugged her with a surprisingly genuine affection.
Bedtime. They kissed, and said good-night, and Mary Alice went to her own room after tucking Nan in with a warm kiss on one ear and some hoarsely whispered words of affection. And Nan, tired to the bone, slipped off to sleep almost at once.
Disquieting dreams bothered her again, though They woke her four times in a row. They were dreams of the bad night on the beach at Nice, of the young man beating her. Of the horrors of her marathon night of cruelty and sadism at St. Tropez. She woke up finally in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright.
There was a noise somewhere in the dark house. A noise as of a child or an animal, whining in a low, nasal voice. Nan sat up, wide awake now, listening.
"Ohhhhhh ... Ohhhhh ... "
It was coming from a room down the hall. Nan got up in her nightie, disdaining the robe, and padded silently out of the room in bare feet. She wished she had a flashlight ... but it didn't seem to be anything really dangerous. She went forward, spurred by curiosity.
"Ohhhhh ... Ohhhhhhti ... "
There! It was in the second room, after all. She tiptoed forward, opening the door slowly, as quietly as possible, looking in.
The moon was nearly full, it seemed. It was certainly bright. And it shone through the open window on Mary Alice's contorted face, shining with cold sweat in the white light. She was stretched out on the bed, naked, her head rolling back and forth as the moans escaped her lips one by one. In the moonlight the lovely, round, womanly breasts looked even more grossly sensual than they had through her thin sweater at the airport. And as Nan watched, Mary Alice's sleeping hand stole to her crotch, to burrow deep into a thick, coarse mat of curling black hair between the sturdy thighs. The sight was one which should have roused Nan to pity; the cries escaping from Mary Al-ice's lips were agonized, unhappy cries for help. In-stead, Nan found tier pulse pounding all of a sudden. The view was ... was incredibly smutty. Sexy. What-ever you wanted to call it. Mary Alice's body had none of the fashionable skinniness she'd seen everywhere on the beaches of the Cote d'Azur. It was the full, womanly body of a peasant: gross, physically demanding.
My God, Nan said to herself. What am I thinking? "Ohhhhh ... Ohhhhh ... "
And then compassion took over -- that and the affection she'd already begun to feel again for her old school friend. She was, after all, so unpretentiously de-cent a soul -- there was hardly another word for it that Nan's heart instinctively went out to her. She remembered Mary Alice well; there'd hardly been a selfish bone in her body. When her friends had suffered -- poor grades, broken romances, the whole innocent tragedy of girlhood -- she'd suffered with them, and stayed up crying with them until they'd been restored enough to face their problems. A good-hearted person.
Nan couldn't help it. She approached the bed and sat gently down beside her friend.
"Mary Alice," she said gently.
The body beside her shook, shivered, sobbed, and came awake. And, shocked, frightened, she sat bolt upright, a look of terror in her eyes. "I ..."
Nan held her gently in her arms, patting her softly on the back. "There, there. There, sweetheart. It's all right. I'm here."
"Annie ..." There was a flood of tears and Mary Alice snuggled her head into Nan's neck. "I kept ... I kept dreaming ... I dreamed I'd lost the place .. " And she hugged Nan hard. Nan felt the big gross breasts, with their dark, hard nipples, pressing sensuously against her own. And felt her own nipples harden at the sensation.
"There, there, sweetheart ... Nan said. And she pulled back to look Mary Alice in the eye. "You won't lose the place or anything else, sweetheart. I'm here to help you."
Tears gleamed in her friend's eyes. She couldn't understand ... Nan now remembered she hadn't told her that she'd come into money, more money than Mary Alice had ever heard of in her whole life. She was about to explain this, gently, when Mary Alice herself took the initiative. She leaned forward, her eyes brimming with tears, intently fixed on Nan's, and kissed her.
It wasn't a friend's kiss. It wasn't even the sort of kiss women give each other on the rare occasions when they kiss each other on the mouth. It was the kind of kiss a man gives to a woman. The lips bruised hers; Mary Alice's tongue shot deep into her mouth, and Mary Alice's hand went to Nan's breasts: caressing, exploring, touching, and tweaking the tender nipples. "Oh, Annie ... you're so lovely ..." Mary Alice said. And her hands went under the nightie, swept it up and off, baring Nan's body in the cool night air. "Oh, Annie ... darling ... stay with me ... " And Mary Alice kissed her again, harder.
Nan, her heart, melting, came, shuddering, crying aloud, at they: kiss,' kt the feel of the warm fingers on her nipples, at the 'sound of the soft and loving voice. And she rolled over on the bed, spreading her legs for her friend's kiss, which roamed over her body, touching here and there, before coming to rest in her yawning, wetly glistening patch of auburn pubic hair. Once there, her friend's broad tongue went to work, licking her clean, licking every drop of juice from her warm and slippery hole before running up between the lips of her cunt and going ferociously to work on her clitoris, with little cries of delight and appreciation. "Annie ... darling ... " she said, between juicy and unbelievably sensuous licks at Nan's eagerly trembling crotch. "Annie ... I can't believe you're here, sweetheart ... I've always loved you ..." And the ardent attack brought Nan off twice more before Mary Alice was ready to raise her head from Nan's dripping and satiated lap and kiss her again on the lips, her mouth still reeking (and how incredibly sexy it was!) of Nan's own bodily juices, her trembling breasts pressing against Nan's own in a pagan and uncontrollable abandon. Then, falling to the pillow in each other's arms, they slept, kept warm by each other's bare flesh in lieu of cover. ...
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was a cover over her when she awoke, alone, though, and she was glad to have it. The mornings here, if they were mostly like this one, wouldn't at all run like Miami's. It was cool -- if you got right down to it, downright" chilly -- and the light coming in from the open window was' from an overcast sky. She pulled the covers up over her breasts as she sat up.
Beside the bed was a little rolling table with a little hot-water heater and a cup on it. There was a teabag in the cup, and there was a piece of paper stretched out beside it. Nan leaned over, poured for herself -- the water was still simmering nicely, and the smell of the tea, as the water went through the little bag, was delightful -- and only then looked at the note:
Annie darling!!!
It's SO nice to have you here!!! Don't mind me, I have to get the place open and let these chicks in to pay me some money so I can keep the place open!!!
Come on down as soon as you're ready -- no hurry!!! -- and I'll introduce you to everybody and show you around and everything. I hope you'll just LOVE it here!!!
Gotta rush
Mary Alice
Nan smiled at the letter. Nothing about last night at all. That would be so like Mary Alice. She wouldn't push her ego on you for anything. And the first thing she'd think of would be making Nan feel at home. What a sweetheart!
And now, sipping her tea, Nan had to face the fact that she didn't feel the slightest twinge of conscience, of shame, of bad vibes, of anything negative about the night before. And the thought of that was itself enough to throw quite a shock into her.
After all, here she'd had a real honest-to-God lesbian experience the night before, and it didn't shake her up. As a matter of fact, she felt good about it better than anything had made her feel in simply ages.
In more ways than one, she had to admit to herself now. At the thought of Mary Alice's warm-from-sleep, delightfully padded figure pressed so lovingly to her own -- of Mary Alice's affectionate and expert lips diving so happily on her wet and ready cunt, she blushed -- and felt a telltale twinge in her lap. God, she was sensitive there! And, holding the cup in one hand, she reached in her lap with the other and touched herself on the button, softly, tentatively. She was almost raw there. But what an incredible series of lovely, guilt free, sweet orgasms she'd had the night before! It was almost as if she'd never come before, really.
There! Her finger dipped down into the depths of her slit, wet and ready even now, for lubrication to put on her finger. With it, she very gently rubbed her clit. How nice! She put the cup down and opened her legs, giving herself long, slow, languorous rubs with the tender fingertip. She shivered and wiggled her toes. God! How lovely she felt! How sweet the night had been .. . waking briefly in the middle of the night to feel her friend's warm hand on her thigh ... guiding it again to her slit ... . Then, waking again and lying there talking, not saying much, just a word or two now and then, kissing, massaging earl, other's cracks with fingers that smelt enchantingly funky from each other's bottoms until the two of them, exhausted, came softly and sweetly, lying there like that, and slipped quietly off to sleep again ... Ohhhhhhh! she said in her silent mind, coming again, softly, easily, and lying back to enjoy the nice feeling afterwards. ...
She showered and then, letting her body dry in the cool air, padded about naked while looking over the upstairs part of Mary Alice's nice, cranky old house. She went to her bag (Must remember, she thought, to send for the rest at the airport today!) and settled on a pair of stylish pants and very bare sandals. Standing before the mirror, though, staring at her topless body and her delicious little breasts (whose nipples grew longer as she looked at them), she wondered: bra or no bra? as she held her cute little knit top in one hand, undecided. Then she said suddenly to herself in a loud whisper: "Live!" And, an amused smile on her face, pulled it over her head. As she straightened it out she noticed that her nipples stuck out invitingly, and the brown areolas were all but visible through the translucent cloth. "Well ... why not?" she whispered. And she went downstairs to Mary Alice's office, already buzzing with excitement, already -- she saw even before she stepped through the door -- half-full of bright-eyed women in gay-colored sports clothes, talking away in animated voices.
Her entrance didn't exactly create a sensation, then. But she saw a few eyes on her, and drew a friendly smile or two, as she threaded her way through the crowd to the reception desk, where a plain but bright-eyed young woman was busily engaged in signing up a jolly, overweight Jewish lady for something called Tai Chi Ch'uan. She patiently waited her turn, looking around the room at the staff photos showing teachers of various artsy-craftsy disciplines at work.
Most of these, it appeared, were women. There was a blond painting instructor with a nice, mobile-looking face and a ring of ringlets growing close around her shapely little head; a French teacher -- wearing a mannish suit, but with a pleasant, humorous face -- showing a pupil, apparently, the correct way one holds her face to say "u" a la francaise; a sturdy-bodied, cropped-haired sculptress, with -- how fitting! -- a marvelously scultural face, with beautiful wide cheekbones and a simply marvelous nose ... There was one man visible on the wall, but even as she watched, one of the girls, who apparently belonged to the place, took that picture down and replaced it. The new photo bore the image of a huge, dark-haired man with a big black beard -- and, she saw, a kind and gentle face beneath it -- bending over a potter's turntable, worrying a clay figure into shape with large, dirty hands.
Dominating the wall display, however, was a series of shots of dancers in action -- a set of earnest-faced, frankly lesbian Moderns in black leotards, severe hairdos and gnarly bare feet, a line of young matrons in classical-ballet garb doing bar exercises (and showing surprisingly good form), and ... the largest and. most professional-looking of the photographs immediately took her attention.
This was a professional action photograph of a young woman in her middle thirties, with an unusually lovely, if hard-eyed, face, a wildly voluptuous figure that simply begged the viewer to touch it and caress if she dared, and a sinuous grace in her posture that could only have come from the most rigorous professional training. She was wearing the scantiest of Middle-Eastern belly-dance costumes, and her motions, arrested by the camera in the middle, had all but separated her gyrating body from every vestige of covering she wore. Indeed, one dark areola bulged from her tiny bra, and her skirt was pulled so low, over so flawlessly supple a belly, that stray hairs from her pubic area peeped over the top. Her hands and feet, glimmering with gold rings, were subtly expressive after a Far Eastern, not Middle Eastern, manner.
God! Nan breathed to herself. What a woman this must be! Her heart was pounding as the girl at the desk turned to her now and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "Can I help you, dear?"
"Oh," she said, a little flustered. "I ... I'm looking for Mary Alice ... "
"Hi, hon," a familiar voice said behind her, though, and she turned to see Mary Alice, trim -- for a big girl -- in a pants suit and sandals, approaching. "Oh, look, Louise. Here's my best friend in the world that I told you about."
"Oh," said the plain girl, beaming at Nan now and rising. "You're Annie. We've all heard so much about you." She came forward to press Nan's hand warmly. And Mary Alice, hugging her affectionately, proceeded to introduce her to nearly everyone in the room, one or two at a time. Everyone was warmly open and friendly; Nan, used to the New Yorkish distrustfulness of Miami Beach money, was delightfully flustered with the reception she received.
The crowd thinned as classes began for the day, though, and Mary Alice took her out the door. The morning was still a bit on the cool side, and she was glad to get out into whatever sun there was. Mary Al-ice chattered along pleasantly in her usual fashion as she took Nan on the Grand Tour, grasping her hand and lacing fingers with her as the two went from one .little outbuilding to the next, meeting the teachers in Mary Alice's -- suddenly charming, Nan felt to her surprise! -- little school.
The first cottage they passed was that of the French teacher, who turned out not to be mannish at all, but wise, middle-aged, and unassuming. Then they turned to the dance classes -- the male teacher of the classical ballet class was obviously gay, but friendly in a twittery birdlike way, and he was glad to take them next door to the Modern class and introduce her to the girl teacher, who was dark, intense, and who pressed her hand in a sententiously predatory way. His name was Lloyd; hers was Esther.
Next they met the big man with the beard. He was just setting up his equipment, and Mary Alice made it clear that she had just hired him to replace somebody who "hadn't worked out." Nan's hand virtually disappeared into his as. they shook, and he grinned shyly. He was lie a big pet Teddy bear, and the warmth emanating from the big man was real and irresistible. As they walked away Mary Alice said, "Yeah, isn't he a sweetheart? I took to him immediately. If I ever get the time to do anything but run this place, I swear I'm gonna sneak in one night and throw myself on him. We put his picture in the quarterly mailer next week. I bet we wind up with more applicants than he can possibly handle."
Next came the painting class. This teacher's name was Myra, and she was matter-of-fact as painting teachers tend to be; but just once she brushed her hand over Nan's face and said, "You're quite lovely. I must get you down to sit for my pupils. You have marvelous color." Nan stammered, "Yes, yes of course."
The sculptress -- the one with the marvelous Polish cheekbones -- was even more direct. When they entered her class, several women in dirty smocks were working from the model -- a thick-bodied, fortyish nude who stared brazenly at Nan the whole time they were there; somehow Nan felt herself growing warm around the crotch again -- and the sculptress, Maxine ("Everybody calls me Max"), was correcting a pupil's conception of the woman's hipline.
"Look," she said. "It goes like this." And her hand swept matter-of-factly down the woman's naked haunch, touching it all the way. (Nan got goose-bumps.) "There has to be a joint under there, and it has to fit together just so. See? Now chop off a chunk of that and build it back up again. Underneath the flesh" -- here she patted the naked woman familiarly on the strong buttocks -- as a machine, and the machine has to look like it might work, you know, this muscle pulling that tendon to make such-and-such work." Her hand indicated vaguely here and there on the bare body before her; Nan, flustered, could hardly tear her eyes away from the lush bush of pubic hair in the middle of the strangely sexy figure before her. Then she felt Max's eyes on her again.
"Oh, yes, Annie," she said. Her eyes were businesslike, but appraising -- frankly sexually. "I couldn't talk you into coming down to sit for me, sometime, could I? I've got a commission, and I need a water nymph. Someone with a nice, petite little body like yours. You'd be just fine, I think. I'm behind schedule on it, you know, and I'd better get down to work one of these evenings or I'm going to be in a lot of trouble. Do say you will? Hmmm? Please?"
"I ... Well, if you really think. ..." Nan stuttered.
"Sure, hon," Mary Alice said. "Just let her get all settled in first." She patted Max on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Say," she added as she pulled Nan out the door, "come see me tomorrow about that Saturday class, won't you? I want to give it a real big buildup for the mailer." They went out; Max's eyes were on Nan, and a small smile was on the corner of her mouth. The nude looked at her hard, too -- unsmiling, sultry.
"Come with me," Mary Alice said, her arm in Nan's. "I mean, back to the office. Just a second. I ... I've got some business for a minute."
"Sure," Nan said. "Say ... I was wondering ... who was the belly-dance teacher whose picture I saw on the wall back at the main office? The one with ... "
"Oh," Mary Alice said, grinning. "Sexy, isn't she? That's Zora. The professional name's Zoraida. She used to be in the flicks. She's one of my best friends. She almost supports this place during the summer sea-son when everyone's away on vacation. The kids in her classes just adore her. Heck, so do I. You'll meet her tomorrow. She doesn't teach every day; she comes in and books a whole day full at a time, and we have to turn away students now and then."
"Gee," Nan said. They came to a back door in the big house.
"This is my own sanctum," Mary Alice said, ushering her in. "I have to have someplace -- I mean, besides the living half of the house, upstairs -- where I can get away from it all now and then." The little office was as neat as Mary Alice's living quarters were untidy, Nan noticed to her surprise. The big desk was totally bare; the little bed in the corner was made.
"How delightful," Nan said, meaning it. "Would you like me to wait outside?"
"Outside?"
"Well ... you said you had business. I thought if you had to phone...
"Oh, sweetheart," Mary Alice said, giving her a hug and looking her in the eyes with a look of pure puppy-dog affection, "You're my business. It's so good to see you." And, taking Nan in her arms the way a man might, she kissed Nan on the mouth -- warmly, voluptuously, with a vigor and ardor that surprised her even after the night before.
"I ... " Nan said. But she could find nothing to say. She found herself melting, utterly melting, in Mary Al-ice's strong and persistent embrace. And, in the highly sexual, highly charged atmosphere of the morning (all those hot glances! The naked woman on the stand, being pawed so by the girl with the broad face, and looking hotly at Nan all the time!), she felt her lap grow wet, her breathing growing heavy.
"Darling," she said, and kissed Mary Alice back hard, boring between the girl's heavy lips with her own little pink tongue, pressing their two pairs of braless, nearly naked nipples together in an embrace whose warmth and passion surprised her.
"Oh, God, Oh, God," Mary Alice said. "Oh, sweetheart ..." and she bore Nan backward to the desk. Then, her large and capable-looking hands reaching down to Nan's waist, she unbuttoned the side buttons of Nan's pants and slipped them down, and bent to slip one of Nan's sandaled feet out of the pants leg. Then she lifted Nan by the hips and sat her, bare-bottomed, on the desk.
"Sweetheart," she said, and kissed Nan again. Then she lay Nan down gently on the desk, spread her legs gently with her hands, and lifted her bare legs high. "Oh God," she said, looking down at Nan's open and glistening cunt, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Oh, Jesus, Oh, Annie, I can't resist you, darling."
And, not looking up, her face eagerly intent on her work, she bent over to kiss Nan squarely in the middle of her eager and dripping slit.
"Oh, Christ," Nan aid. She'd never been so hot in all her life. "Oh, God. Oh, Mary Alice, don't. Oh, sweetheart, I can't stand it. Oh, don't. Oh, Mary Alice, please stop. You can't ... I don't ... Ohhhhhhh!'
She'd come once already, and she'd barely got her pants off. God, was she hot!
She tried to sit up, but her friend's mouth was busy again. "No ... now, don't, Mary Alice ... please, sweetheart, I'm sore ... I'm raw down there ... I can't take any more of it ... Oh, God! Oh, heavens, please baby, don't. Don't, baby. Oh, God, that feels so good, I can't stand it. I can't. I can't take that much more, sweetheart. It's so ... oh, God, it's so good ... it's so ... Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, God, I'm coming ... Oh, God, oh, no, oh, heavens, no, oh, please ... please don't ... don't ... don't stop, don't stop now, don't ... oh, please, oh, please stop ... Oh ... Oh, Christ ... Oh, God, Ohhhhhhhhhh!"
"Mmmmmmm," said Mary Alice from between her legs. "Mmmmmmm."
"Now don't ... don't do it again ... oh, that hurts ... it hurts ... it hurts so good... . Oh, God ... oh, don't ... not there .. . I can't take much more of this ... oh, I can't take it there any more ... oh, please don't .. no, no," her voice was not even recognizable as being her own now; it was some strange new musical instrument that went deep down into the contralto register before sweeping up, into the soprano, in a tone-less whine, "now, now, Mary Alice, you can't . . No, no, honey, please don't ... no, no, no, not there, not there, not like that, no, no, baby, oh, please, I can't take that, it's too much, it's too much, baby I won't .. . I can't ... oh, please, oh, God, no, oh, no, don't do it any more, oh, please, oh, yes, yea, right there, yes, baby, oh, God, yes, right there, eat me, yes, yes, right there, yes, eat me, oh, please, sweetheart, oh, yes, oh, God, eat me, yes, yes, eat my cunt, eat me, baby, oh, wow, oh God, yes, yes, oh, baby, don't stop, please don't stop, honey, yes, yes, right there ... oh, right there ... yes, please, oh God God Godgodgodgodgodohgodohgodohgod ... Yesyesyesyesyesyes ... Yes! Oh, Yes! Yes, now! Now! There! There! THERETHERETHERE! ... NNNNNOOOOOOWWWWW! ..."
Her exhausted legs fell on Mary Alice's back. And only then did her friend's eager-eyed, excited face rise from her burning lap and look with love and devotion into her eyes.
"Annie ..." Mary Alice said in a husky voice. Her eyes were out of focus. As she raised a hand to her own forehead Nan could see it trembling. She put both hands on the desk; she needed the support, obviously -- her head must be reeling with the effort.
Nan sat up. She wasn't sure where she got the strength. And she took Mary Alice's tired head between her two hands, gently, ever so gently, and kissed her first on the brow, then on each cheek, then on the mouth -- still hot and wet from her own juices (why in heaven's name did she find that so sexy?).
And, getting down, puffing the other leg out of her pants and standing in sandals and braless top before her friend, she said, "Come." And she led Mary Alice gently over to the bed.
"No, honey," Mary Alice said weakly, "no, I've got to go, baby. I've got work to do. ..."
"Nothing's that important," Nan said. "Everything will keep."
"But baby ... I've got to get the bank deposit to the bank ... I've got the power and light check, and the gas company check and the telephone company check to cover, and I've got to get to the tax lawyer and make sure we're going to have enough to cover the franchise tax for the period, and then I've gotta make the note on the house and the place here. You can't understand. It's all coming due right now, and I don't really have the money, sugar. I'm having to kite checks all over the place and hope to God nobody catches me at it."
"Sweetheart ... "
"Oh, baby, you just don't know. You just don't know. I love this place so much, and I've worked so hard on it, and even after, like, all these years of it, I'm still just barely ahead of the cops and the tax man." She sat down, heavily, on the bed, her face disconsolate, her eyes on Nan's. "Just when I thought I was gonna get ahead for a change, somebody called for an audit last year. Then the city condemned a couple of buildings. And I had to hock my shirt to get the variance, and an extension, and pay off a couple of guys to keep the city off my back, and there I was back in debt again right up to my eyes."
She looked up at Nan, a wistful expression on her, face, her eyes briefly sweeping down to take in Nan's naked legs and crotch; this brought a brief little smile. "Gee, you look sweet. You look so sexy. You always did. I swear to God, honey, I don't blame Max and all the girls for takin' a shine to you. Even if I didn't know you I'd want to make a pass at you. And sugar, I'm not jealous. I saw you give Max a look back there. Right? ..."
"I. ..." Nan didn't know what to say. Had she?
"Anyhow, if you want to, I mean, honey, feel free. Max is a nice girl. If she wants. to eat your box, I mean, gosh, go ahead, honey, she's kind of nice. We used to be real close friends once, back before I got so busy. Maybe I'm not her type, I mean, for something extended."
Mary Alice reached up and took her hand now. "Jeez, honey. If I looked like you, I'd be putting out for people I can't get close to right now. I'd have that big beautiful Avram, the pottery teacher, down on his back so fast. God, honey, you look so lovely, I mean like that, there, with your bare fanny hanging out and the little beads of juice gleaming on your pussy hair in the morning sunshine. You're so pretty. If I looked like that ... Bah," she said. "If I looked like that I known damn well what I'd be doing. I'd be kicking my legs in the air for some rich shtarker in Universal City and putting the toughest price on my fanny I could manage so I'd be able to raise the bread for this place. It's be-come like an .obsession with me. It was just fun, at first. But now ... damn it, Annie, I believe in the place. I think it's something that, you know, ought to be here. People ought to have something like this to come to. All those lonely doctors' wives and all, up there on Pill Hill. I mean, gee, they love me. They love the joint. I know it doesn't look like much."
"It looks great, sweetheart," Nan said. She stooped to pick up. her pants, slipped one foot into a pants leg. "It's a sweet place." She stepped into the other leg and pulled her pants up, shivering (with a little grin at Mary Alice) when the crotch of the pants touched her still-tingling genitals.
"Well ... it will, anyhow. Soon. One of these years. I'm going to slap some paint on it, inside and out, when the break between summer and fall terms comes. If I can keep afloat till then, I mean."
She looked up as Nan sat down next to her. "Oh, gee," she said. "Here I am, telling you all my damn troubles. I didn't mean to do that, honey. Gee, I hope I didn't bring you down. But I ... I just don't have much of anyone to talk to these days, you know. Is that silly? When I have all these dear friends around? And I can't find anybody to talk to in spite of all that? Sounds stupid, but it's true. How can I tell them my troubles -- about this joint, I mean? They've got their lives invested in it, just as I have mine. Can I go telling them we've been on the verge of closing for a year now? And shaking them up? When the one thing I gotta provide for them -- I mean really, not just the roof over their heads -- is the sure knowledge that the joint's gonna be here next term and they'll be able to eat regular? I mean, it's not like they're starving. Max has commissions. Zora can always go back on the stage. And Avram had a nice little business of his own until his wife divorced him and the courts busted up his business to give her half the assets. He could get it together again. But these guys count on me. They trust me."
"Sure they do, sweetheart," Nan said. And she was thinking, I've got to do something nice for Mary Alice tonight when she comes home from work. Like fix her a nice dinner, and get a nice bottle of some really good wine. And give her a really wonderful loving to help her sleep...
It didn't occur to her once to reflect that she was thinking the way she'd think if she were living with a man. Or that the "little surprise" was the kind she had once planned for Ed, back when they were young and full of the kid joy of playing house. He'd be the big papa, and she'd be the little mama, and he'd come home tired after work and she'd make it nice for him. Or that her mind, without a moment's question, had cast Mary Alice in the role of husband and herself in the role of wife.
Perhaps it was this strange confusion of roles that kept her from coming to the other, more instantly obvious, realization that she could, right this moment, solve every one of Mary Alice's problems of the moment with an idle stroke of her pen. ...
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mary Alice's "business" for the afternoon, however, was to take her on a big round of errands from Glen-dale, in the Eastern part of the Valley, to the farthest corner, a dusty town called Chatsworth, with a detour well to the north, outside the_ Valley in the Grapevine foothills, to pick up some building materials in Newhall. She asked if Nan wouldn't like to go -- but Nan, her "surprise" firmly in mind by now, begged off. She'd stay behind and fool around the place.
So Mary Alice drove off just as the afternoon was getting warm and smoggy -- goodness, the sky did get gray and overcast with the stuff, even on a hottish day, only with no loss of heat in the process! -- and Nan sat down at an empty desk in the office out front, scribbling a shopping list, organizing her afternoon.
She'd have to get a car -- rent it, lease it, buy it, it didn't matter -- before long. For now, it appeared, there was a supermarket not far off, and she'd shop for a re-ally nice meal that evening. Then she'd come back and put their living quarters in apple-pie order and have the place spotlessly clean when Mary Alice got back that evening. It'd be a nice day, with a particularly nice evening at the end of it. She found she was humming a happy little song as she wrote; and, to tell the truth, she hadn't been so happy -- felt so fulfilled, really -- since she and Ed were young lovers, with a newborn baby and a happy little love nest. (Little! It had been the size of a railroad station, and she had never, ever, felt at home in it.) She felt healthy, eager, full of vigor and bonhomie. What a happy visit this was going to be!
Across from her Louise, the receptionist, said suddenly, "Say, Annie. I hope you don't mind my asking. What do you do?"
"Do?" It wasn't" the kind of question she was used to.
"Well, I mean ... most of us here are ... well, like, into something. I mean, Mary Alice's thing is this place, si monumentum requiris circumspice, you know, heh. And most of the teachers are, like, really wrapped up in their thing. Me, I'm writing a novel nights. Mary Alice lets me use the typewriter when I'm done here, and I get in a couple of hours every night. I ... I was just wondering."
"Gee," Nan said. "I ... well, Pm sort of just beginning to find out. I've been a housewife for a number of years. But my husband died a couple of years ago, and my daughter's in boarding school. I guess you'd say I'm kind of at loose ends."
"Well, you've come to the right place. If you're connected with the place you get to take classes free if you want them. I'm still shopping around for something. I'm not the dance-class type, but I could get something out of painting maybe."
"I think I might just look around, at that," Nan said, smiling. "I guess, when you come right down to it, I must have a lot in common with the girls who take classes here. I mean, the first part of the marriage life either failed or over for some reason, and nothing to do. You can grow old fast that way if you don't keep busy."
"Right," the girl said, her fingers beginning to fly over the keyboard again. "Anyhow, that's what 'we're here for."
Nan thought about it on the way down to the store on foot. It would be kind of fun to get involved with something, even if you weren't much good at it. She'd had a fair hand with clay as a girl -- it may simply have had something to do with the fact that she'd had a schoolgirl crush on the guy who taught ceramics and sculpture -- and maybe she'd wind up throwing pots in Avram's little studio for a while or doing figure statuettes with Max. She imagined she could have a lot of fun with either discipline. It didn't hurt, either, that she knew (she now admitted to herself privately) that she was strongly attracted to both.
But she thought about that, too, as she bustled about the store filling her market basket. While she was here it would be the right thing, of course, to stay with Mary Alice. She had no intention of making her friend unhappy -- despite her claims of non-involvement, she knew Mary Alice would be jealous if she even looked at another person that way -- and. ...
Thinking about it brought her up sharply, and she found herself halting the market basket's progress so suddenly that another woman's cart rammed her from behind. "Pardon me," she said, and pulled the cart to one side.
Goodness! She was ... she'd drifted -- as casually as that -- into a real, live, lesbian affair. And what was more surprising, she felt no guilt about it whatsoever. It somehow didn't seem at all strange, or "queer," or reprehensible. They were just two lonely girls who needed friendship and consolation, and the sex part of it was just a natural extension of that. It didn't feel bad at all. On the contrary, it felt good. No. It felt wonderful She felt hike a human being again, like a whole woman for the first time in years.
Wasn't that it itself something wrong? Shouldn't she be feeling some sort of shame? She asked herself this, and was again surprised to hear herself say no, not at all. "If it feels good, do it," the saying went among her daughter Mickey's friends. She'd put that saying down in the past. Now she was't so sure about this or any-thing else. Now Mickey's little rule of thumb, which sounded so dangerous when teenagers said it, sounded like good sense.
She asked about cabs; there weren't any, they told her, so she packed her stuffed bags in a shopping cart and, in full defiance of the law cited on the wall of the store, proceeded to roll the cart down the street, heading for the school.
And, with her progress slowed by the necessity of worrying the heavy cart up and down the curbs at street corners, she let her mind run in other directions.
What (her mind said to her) if she did make friends with the enigmatic Max, the sculptress? What if she did decide to go to bed with her? What if... ? There'd been something just incredibly sexy about the scene this morning. It hadn't been the way things had been in life class, back in school. There the model's nakedness had been impersonal, and their own participation in the class so dehumanized a thing it'd been impossible to think of the nude girl on the stand as being anything but a series of planes and curves to try to render in charcoal or pastels. The model had been bored and sullen and totally somewhere else, as far as her own participation in things was concerned. And Nan -- who had had troubles with line, with getting her facility up in drawing -- had been so busy trying to get something, anything, done, in a three-minute pose, that she hadn't had time to think of anything.
It certainly hadn't been that in Max's class. She'd never seen a teacher touch the model before. And it hadn't been a cold, impersonal sort of touch at that -- despite the abruptness of her words. Nan had the strong feeling that only real passion of some kind would get any other kind of tone out of Max, who seemed to have matter-of-factness built into her voice.
But not into her eyes, and certainly not into her strong and capable hands. And, cool voice or no, she had a way of letting you know what was on her mind, all right. Nan felt her face flushing as she thought of the interview this morning. Perhaps it would be the best thing to think of this as being a short visit -- maybe a week or ten days, no more -- and then go back to her life in the East. But then, she thought, on the other hand it is a cute place, and the people are nice, and maybe it would be fun to do a little craftsy dabbling now ...
Back at the place she stowed the groceries in the ice-box and pantry and settled down to giving the place a nice sweep up. For this she shucked her pretty sports clothes; Nan bled to clean house naked. This had been a habit ever since the days when she'd locked the door to keep even her girl friends out, to keep them from seeing her. It was, she'd thought at the time, something of a necessity for a poor girl in school; you didn't get your all-too-expensive clothes dirty that way, and you didn't fatten your already prohibitively high cleaning bill. When you were done you were dirty all over, perhaps, but then it was the matter of a moment's work to pop into a nice hot shower and get deliciously clean again.
She really leaned into the broom now, getting up the dust, and when she was done she gave the place a thorough mopping. As she mopped the kitchen it was. the natural thing to do to put on a pot of coffee, and when it was done she poured herself a cup even before heading for the bathroom to run the hot water.
As she did she heard a soft step behind her. "Mary Al ..." said a familiar voice. Then it said, "Oh."
Nan whirled. "Oh, Myra." She put down her coffee and reached for something to put on; then she remembered she'd left everything in the bedroom.
"Oh, don't mind me," the girl said with a friendly smile. "I like to clean house that way too. My, though," she said, with an appreciative glance down Nan's front. "I certainly was right. You'd make a lovely model. I certainly came to the right place."
"Oh?" said Nan, blushing. She picked up a dish-towel and held it over her body, feeling awkward. "I ... I'll be back in a minute when I've something on." She started for the door, but Myra stopped her with a gentle hand.
"No, no, ,sweetheart, don't put anything on for me. Not unless it makes you feel bad. I like it. You're very pretty. I ... well, it's a funny thing. Life is full of silly coincidences."
"Oh?" Nan said. She remained standing where she was. Strange; the funny part was that she didn't feel odd for being naked. She felt odd for being dirty. "Just let me run some shower water. It takes the water a while to get hot."
Myra said, "Fine. I'll pour myself a cup of coffee, do you mind?"
"Heavens, no." Nan, in the bathroom, ran the hot water. Then, giving herself a look over in the full-length mirror , she thought: I've a choke now. Do I put something on, to get respectable, or ... ? The figure in the mirror, somehow even more attractive for the disarray of her hair, the little smudges of dirt here and there -- all looking artfully placed, despite her lack of planning -- smiled impishly back at her.
She compromised, going, to the bedroom for robe and slippers but bringing them back to the bathroom only to put them on the closed toilet seat. "Myra, hon," she said, "I have to wash all this stuff off. Come bring your coffee cup and talk to me, huh?"
"Sure," Myra said. And she entered, holding the cup in both hands and leaning against the open door, looking at her, as Nan stepped into the shower with a smile.
Nan stepped under the hot water, letting it splash wildly and deliciously over her close-cropped head and down her breasts. Clouds of steam began to rise from the blazing-hot water. "Oh, gee, that feels marvelous," she said. "You were saying ... "
"I was saying I came up to ask Mary Alice if she'd sit for my advance class at five," Myra said in her nice, rich contralto voice. "I'm having the hardest time finding models. When I get one she either gets knocked up or she finds a new boyfriend who disapproves. I thought I had one sewed up for this week and next, but then I get this call at the last minute and she can't make it tonight. I have to tell her that if she can't make tonight, forget about next week. My girls are going to finish this painting, and that's going to take two sittings."
Nan, soaping her neck, said, "But Mary Alice's out now. And it's almost four. And I don't have any idea when she'll be back, surely not before seven, with all the errands she said she had."
"Ouch. Mary Alice's always to good about filling in everywhere when she can. She even stepped in as a subject in the hypnosis seminar last month." Myra's voice took on a subtly different tone. "Annie ... I was wondering. Are you busy? Right now? For an hour or two?"
"Me?" Nan said. Her hands rubbed the soap vigorously over her nipples. It felt delightful. "But ... I was going to wait up for Mary Alice," she said. "I had a nice surprise supper all planned."
"Oh ... But say. If you don't know when she'll be home, how can you know when to start dinner?"
"I can't, that's the problem. I'll just have to play it by ear."
"Well ... can't you leave her a note to come get you at my class? Then, whenever she comes, you can go right then, and it won't matter to me. My girls will at least have had the chance to get their picture started, set up, you know. Oh, please, Annie ... we'd appreciate it so much."
"Well ..." Nan said, wavering. "You mean, like, a nude pose?"
"Sure. You'll be perfect"
Nan rubbed the soap up her glistening, tingling groove, hesitated. It'd feel nice ... sexy ... all those eyes on her naked body ... She smiled a secret smile to herself. "Well, okay," she said. "But I have a little finishing up to do here first."
"No problem," Myra said. "I'll help you. I'm free until then. Come turn off the water and I'll dry you off."
Nan turned the knobs. "Thanks," she said. "Uh ... there are a couple of great big beach towel type things there in the cabinet," she said. She pushed back the curtain and stepped out onto the floor, slipping her toes into rubber shower thongs Myra had set out on the floor for her. "Gee, that felt terrific."
Myra stepped forward with the big towel and Nan stepped into its heavy folds, feeling the girl's strong hands on her immediately, feeling the grossly pleasurable sensation of the powerful fingers kneading her bare flesh through the rough, tacky towel. Her back was to Myra now; the girl rubbed down her back, baring her an inch at a time, before cupping her hard little buttocks with her two hands and rubbing them dry. Then, her hand inside the towel, she reached between Nan's legs and ran a toweled finger up, inside her buttocks, to touch Nan's tingling anus before starting to towel her legs.
"Boy," Myra said in that nice low voice of hers, "I wish the girls could paint you right now, with the color fresh from the hot bath. It's delicious. Now," she said matter-of-factly, "turn around." She sat down on the toilet seat, on Nan's robe, and rotated Nan's hips in her hands. When Nan's eyes met hers, there was a friendly smile on Myra's face.
"Gee," she said, her toweled hands on Nan's hips, "you're marvelous. Your breasts are so delicate. You've been sunning in the buff, too. It looks great on you, with your basic color. It sets off this so nicely." And her eyes came to rest on Nan's rich auburn muff of pubic hair. "God, what lovely pussy hair. Looks good enough to eat." And a new look entered her eyes. "I ... " And her composure, her matter-of-factness, deserted her entirely. She dropped the towel and hugged Nan's body, all pink and tingly from the hot shower, closely to her, her soft cheek nestling against the reddish patch of hair. "Oh, God," she said. "Oh, God." Her hands, behind Nan, clutched her tender buttocks, which all of a sudden felt as sensitive as her thoroughly aroused nipples did. Nan's hands went be-hind Myra's head; her finger buried themselves in the close cap of blonde ringlets as Myra's hands forced her pelvis forward for her hotly eages kisses, all around her belly, on her navel, and, again and again, on the soft mound of richly curling auburn hair.
"Christ," said Myra, beside herself with passion. "I. ... "
Nan hesitated. She could see over the girl's shoulder the wildly exciting sight in the full-length mirror: her own nude body being kissed -- God, right on the cant! -- by this ravishingly pretty little woman with the lovely blonde ringlets. When she spoke her voice was hoarse, as deep as Myra's. "Myra, dear ... in here ... come to bed. ..."
Myra was helpless with lust as Nan led her into the bedroom and lay down before her on the freshly made bed. "Here, darling," she said. "Here, sweetheart." And, her limbs full of a delirious languor, she spread her legs wide for the girl's kisses. "Here, darling .. right here ... oh, yes ..."
Myra was simply wild with lust, with hunger for the ripely beautiful sight before her. Nan's body was, as she'd said, tanned to a gorgeous golden hue, and the basic lightness of her skin, almost transparent when she'd been out of the sun, gave a special luster to the pretty color it turned to when she had been sunning nude, as she had done for some days before the original incident which had led to this vastly liberating trip of sexual discovery. The days at Nice and St. Tropez had helped some, in their way. She now felt grateful -- whatever other feelings the experience aroused -- to Marie-Helen for getting her to bask in the sun, braless, on the beach at the peninsular resort; she knew her bosom had benefited hugely from this.
It was not her bosom, however, upon which Myra now descended with so potent a hunger. It was the deliciously naked, wonderfully wide-open expanse of her pink and juicy cunt, spread out like a holiday feast within its bower of gleaming, still-wet-from-the-bath auburn hair.. A fresh and delightful perfume of light, sexual musk emitted :from the shiny cleft as Myra looked at it, her face contorted with desire. Her eyes sought Nan's, warmed at Nan's welcoming smile.
"Oh, yes, darling," Nan said. "Please. Please suck me ... now ... yes, baby." Her hand reached forth to caress Myra's cheek, softly. "Would you like to? Oh, sweetheart. Go right ahead, baby."
"Nan ... Nan, honey ... talk to me, please, while I do it. Please, sweetheart? I'm so hot. That turns me on so. Would you, baby?"
Nan smiled. And was surprised to find that the thought got her a little hotter itself. She'd always had this crippling Catholic inhibition about "dirty" words anyhow. Somehow it all seemed a little sexier now, this way. "Myra ... please, baby ... suck me. Suck me off right now, sweetheart. I'm dying for you to."
Myra's face took on a kind of feverish glow. "Yes ... yes ..." she said. "Yes ... more ... " And her pretty face, with its halo of closely curled, blonde ringlets -- almost a white version of a mini-Afro -- turned down to the lush sight below her. Her thin-lipped, pretty mouth, with its gleaming white teeth, dipped down the brown thighs to kiss first the auburn bush, then the outer lips of the fleshly jewel within it.
Nan shivered wildly at this. She was, to tell the truth, still a little sensitive from the thorough tonguing she had received from Mary Alice that morning, and it came as no surprise to her to find that the first time Myra's lovely lips touched the flesh inside her wide-open cunt she was ready to come. And the voice that escaped her was even deeper and hoarser than before.
"Oh, God, Myra," she said. "Oh ... God ... my cunt's on fire ... oh, your mouth, your mouth feels so lovely ... so sweet, so delicate, so ... oh, God, oh, don't touch my button, baby, I'm raw, just lick inside my cunt, darling ... yes, oh, yes, that's it ... lick all around inside ... Oh, Christ ... oh ... oh ... oh, God, your tongue's so long, oh, baby, I can't stand it, oh, please do it some more, sweetheart ... Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!"
Myra, it seemed, had a surprise or two in store. Her tongue was a good two inches longer than normal, and now, as she worked her pretty face farther and farther down inside Nan's open vagina, she protruded the potent appendage farther, deeper, until, coming out of her thin lips, it had the appearance of a small but not insubstantial sort of penis, long enough to penetrate the inner lips and pass the area where Nan's hymen had been. Now, stuck out to its complete length, it probed her insides, washing the lovely pink flesh clean, lapping up the juices that lubricated her tingling and sensitive insides.
Nan was more and more aroused by this: it was truly an amazing and totally new experience for her. Her voice grew less and less controlled: "Oh, yes, oh, God, honey ... what a tongue ... oh, yes, lick me, lick my cunt, I can't stand it if you stop, don't stop, sweetheart ... oh, God, spear me there ... it's like you were fucking me ... it's like a lovely little cock, oh, Myra, it's so beautiful ... oh, baby, don't stop now, sweetie ... oh, fuck ... fuck me, honey ... oh, yes now, deeper, deep inside me, fill me up, baby ... Oh, God?'
Myra's attack was growing more and more spirited, and now it moved higher, to lick up the inner sides of Nan's wetly tumescent vaginal lips, drawing more and more of the rich juices of Nan's body inside her ravenously hungry mouth. Nan could hardly take this. Her feet kicked high in the air; the little thong sandals flew wildly across the room as her gyrating feet flailed back and forth. Her hands went to her own little breasts, mashing them roughly beneath her palms; the nipples grew hard and long, protruding between her kneading fingers as she masturbated them deliciously.
"God, Myra, you're ... oh, don't, honey ... oh, don't, sweetheart, I'm so sensitive ... oh, don't suck my button, baby . . oh, no, baby, don't ... OH GOD! OH, MYRA! Oh, heavens, oh, God, please, no, baby ... don't lick me there ... oh, your tongue's so long and rough ... oh, God, I'm so tender ... I'm so sore there ... Oh, Christ, it hurts, hurts, hurts, oh, no, baby ... Please, please, please no, no, no, don't suck there, no, don't suck it in your mouth, oh, I can't stand it ... Myra ... Myra ... NO! NO! NOOOOO-OOOO!"
Myra's kisses left the forbidden area as Nan came, shrieked, spasmed, subsided, collapsed with her legs hooked affectionately around Myra's lovely neck. She kissed Nan on each delicate inner thigh, then, relaxing, laid her head softly on the lush bush of wet cunt hair, her cheek nestling closely to it. She had come, sweetly and silently, herself as Nan shrieked her way into semi oblivion -- come gently and happily with Nan's pretty little red clitoris nestled gently between her red and perfectly formed lips, the great length of her tongue withdrawn now, only the barest tip of it touching Nan's detumescing flesh. Now she lay, her head on Nan's crotch, a little smile of victory on her pleased face. ...
CHAPTER NINE
Between them they made short work of the final touches that remained to Nan's clean up of Mary Al-ice's house. Myra pitched in with a will; as they passed each other in the hall once, Nan was astonished to see her new friend blushing hotly. Well, why not? she said, after her first reaction: That was quite a session we had there a few minutes ago...
Rather than have to change twice, Nan slipped into a fetching dashiki she'd picked up in an Algerian-owned store in Nice and wore that to class. It proved much less awkward undressing in the little studio room; all she had to do was step out of her sandals, slip the robe over her head, and she was ready for the pose.
Myra wanted a semi-seated attitude out of her, with her seated well forward on the seat, facing slightly to her right, right leg flexed, left leg extended well behind her. This, she explained, gave the body a nice long line and would set the pupils severe problems in the rendering of muscular masses under stress. Myra kept her so busy, moving this hand here, setting that foot there, as the students bustled about, setting up their own easels and preparing their palettes, that she hardly had time to be embarrassed at being naked in front of a roomful of strangers.
Not that it was that much like being naked in front of other people at all -- at first. The eyes that turned her way, once the setups had been completed and the students were ready to paint, were intent, focused upon her body as an abstract thing -- a problem in composition, in line, in color balance. If it were only for the students, she thought, posing would be a thoroughly boring exercise, made tolerable only by the delightfully comfortable feeling induced by the combination of the cooling evening air coming in through the open door and the warmth of the lights focused upon her. Marie-Helene had been right about one thing: it felt better than any clothing she could wear.
And the feeling of being no more than an inanimate object on display was quickly dispelled by the warm glances Myra gave her whenever she chanced to look Nan's way -- which was often. Her hot gaze swept across her body like a caressing hand; the raw sensuosity of it sent little chills of pleased titillation through Nan's body, and brought out goose bumps quickly erased by the warm lights.
There was a little patio set up outside, between the little houses; in it an assortment of tables and chairs had been set up to allow the teachers and students, when time permitted, to eat lunch under the trees, or hold impromptu classes al fresco, or just take their ease in the deep shade. Nan, her eyes fixed on the rear of the classroom by her pose, could see through it now, and could see that she was on display to the small group gathered there in the rapidly cooling air of the early evening. And somehow she found their gaze sexy, challenging, where the students' semi-professional air of detachment was lice being monitored by robot television cameras. She could make out faces out there still; few of them were people she'd met yet. Once she saw Louise, the office girl, pass, a worried look on her face. Nan wished she would look in, but she went single-mindedly on her way. Once, too, Lloyd the dance teacher passed; he looked in and waved in a friendly fashion, his mouth making a round, his eyebrows lifting comically.
Then, a. little later, just after her break, she saw Avram the ceramics than look in. She half expected him to blush with embarrassment; he had this air of shyness you sometimes see in very large men. But Avram's warm grin of recognition gave way to a very frank, very unashamedly sexual appraisal of her body, placed so enticingly on display for him by the pose (which suddenly felt very, very naked indeed, spreading her apart the way it did; she knew the position of her legs left her slit wide open in its little bush of red hair, exposing the pouting pink lips for everyone to see). Most especially, his eyes lingered hungrily on her pretty little breasts, which the mechanics of the pose caused to hang as temptingly as fruit on a tree. She was pleased with this; she was proud of the perfect shape of her little breasts, and was always flattered to see they were getting attention. Her answering smile to Avram carried an air of open invitation that the moment he'd waved goodbye and slipped out the door -- surprised her again.
Strange things, indeed, were happening to her sexually these days. Frightened at first by the realization of her attraction to other women -- which she'd never suspected -- she'd retreated into a frantic search for new, preferably strange, men to please. She'd had a couple of false starts, and new confirmation of her sexual ambiguity in the brief seduction by Helga the maid, and then she'd done some rather stupid things trying to prove her heterosexuality to herself in France, on holiday.
These had only confirmed the fact that the sort of man you meet when you're trying to prove something to yourself is very unlikely to provide even a satisfying ephemeral relationship, and -- in the case of Marie-Helene -- confirmed her growing suspicion that she was, indeed, very strongly attracted to the bodies of women.
Yet the mere fact of having sex with a girl was not enough in itself, it seemed. There seemed to be some-thing in there about -- oh, vulnerability, sharing, giving, maybe even the abstraction called love. Certainly what she felt for Mary Alice -- a deep friendship, combined with affection and a surprisingly strong sense of protectiveness -- was something more complex than mere sexual attraction. That ... that was what she felt for Myra, for instance. That was what was giving her little twinges of sexual perturbation every time Myra's glance landed on her, now, and lingered for a second. After all (she reminded herself), she'd been -- was it only an hours or so ago? -- quite recently locked in the most intimate of embraces with the girl. God, her very flesh tingled at the thought of ill That long, hot and incredibly expert tongue of hers!
Now, however, as she looked up, Max the sculptress entered. A one-sided grin came over her face as she looked up at Nan; somehow the mannish grin fit the striking Slavic face with its marvelous aquiline nose and wide cheekbones. Now, returning the once-over gaze Max gave her bare body, she noticed Max was actually quite a trimly built girl -- with a lean-lined, athletic body that did not run to mannishness at all, filling out the dark jumpsuit she wore very fetchingly.
Watching her own appraising gaze, Max smiled with a wry amusement. Theft, squeezing Myra's shoulder, she came forward to speak to Nan in a low voice -- so low that Nan had to watch her lips to make out what she was saying.
"Hi, baby," she said. "You look just luscious. I can hardly keep myself from dipping down there and giving you a lick right now."
"I ... " Nan swallowed. She knew she must be blushing hotly now.
"Look, sweetheart," the short-haired girl said, looking Nan hard in the eye and pressing her bare foot warmly with a strong but gentle hand, "I have to get busy on that commission tomorrow night or I'm in trouble. Why don't you stop by and I'll at least get it set up? Maybe we can combine business with ... a little pleasure." And her strong fingertips tickled the sole of Nan's foot lightly. "Say, tomorrow at seven? Okay?"
"I ... I'll let you know," Nan said. "How can I reach you?"
"Ask Louise. I'm in the office phone book. And look, hon. I'm looking forward to seeing you. Right?" And, winking at Nan, she gave her calf a familiar pat on the way out.
Nan's head was virtually spinning. She hadn't had so much action since ... since she and Ed were young lovers, at the peak of their sexual attraction. And here all of a sudden she had taken two lovers in a single day and made a virtual assignation with a third. The thought was enough to take your breath away, she told herself. (She would just dearly lave to be able to reach down and have a swipe at her crotch right now; sensitive as it was, she was sure it was wet and juicy right this moment -- and, she thought with another blush, open for everyone to see the fact.)
She had just closed her eyes, trying to get her mind off the admittedly very tempting subject, when a commotion outside -- women's voices, talking very animatedly about something -- caught her attention. She looked up. Myra, her brow knit, dropped her critique of a student's setup and went to the door. The voices grew louder; Myra went out, disappeared.
When she came back her face was totally different. There was an expression of shock and concern on it, and, looking up at Nan, she said, "Excuse me. Nan. Could you ... ?"
Nan looked up. "Me?"
"Yes," she said. "Put your robe on. I think we have an emergency."
Nan stood up, stretching. Then she picked up the dashiki. "Emergency?"
"Yes ... there's been a highway accident ... Mary Alice ... the hospital just called ..."
Nan's face went white as a sheet. "Oh, God," she said. She dropped the robe; her knees shook; she had all she could do to keep from collapsing on the floor.
"Quick, honey," Myra said, "get yourself together. Louise is going to drive a few of us down to the hospital. When she talked to the doctor just now, the chances were no better than fifty-fifty."
Nan picked up the robe, tossed it over her head. She stepped into her slippers. "Oh, yes ... by all means ... let's go ... let's go right now."
It was no time for getting in to see her, the nurse said Things were still in emergency status, and two young medics from the emergency ward were working like demons to patch things up for the time being and halt the body's wild, almost uncontrolled reaction to physical trauma. There was a strong possibility of dam-age to internal organs; there was considerable internal bleeding. The possibility of temporary or permanent paralysis had been discussed.
The first of the doctors to emerge had much the same things to say; his hand made a comme ci-comme ca gesture, eloquent in its noncommittal futility, when asked what her chances were. His face was flushed and tired-looking.
Nan, walking about in a daze, saw Louise arguing with the woman at the reception desk; she wandered closer to see what was happening. "Can I help?" she said.
Louise turned to her with a worried, harried look. "Oh. Nan, you wouldn't know what Mary Alice's insurance situation is, would you?"
"It's just a matter of making sure someone, some agency, is responsible," the receptionist said. "If she's insured, there's no bother, you know ... "
"I ... " Nan said, her hand wiping her forehead. She was all over cold sweat. "Ill be responsible," she said. "I don't know about her insurance ... that's all right, I'll take care of it."
"All right," the woman in white said. "Your name?" Nan told her. Then she remembered she hadn't brought wallet or ID or anything. "I ... residence Miami Beach," she said. "Please have the credit people look me up in Dun and Bradstreet and then call this number tomorrow. Louise? Could you give her the school number? Right. Thanks, dear. That's Mrs. Edward P. M-I-K-E-L-L, Miami Beach. I'll ... I'll take care of it."
The nurse gave her a skeptical look -- her in her beach sandals and dashiki. She didn't look responsible. Then she shrugged and flagged the file card for action tomorrow.
Back at the house, Nan sat disconsolately on the big couch in Mary Alice's upstairs parlor -- she guessed you'd call it a living room, the. way the house was divided up, with the bottom floor all broken up with offices -- and stared at the floor between her feet. There was broken glass down there; she'd have to remember to clean up after herself before somebody stepped on that and cut her feet. Clumsy of her anyhow, dropping a full glass of straight gin like that. Maybe it didn't matter, though. There was only herself to get hurt by it now. Mary Alice could be dead by now. She might .. . just might ... never walk again anyhow, the doctors had told her. ...
She'd been on a crying jag ever since the girls had left. Myra had wanted to stay with her, but she'd shooed her out fast pleadingly, then angrily. She didn't want solace now. Most particularly, she didn't want anything- there to remind her of the tremendous burden of guilt she was carrying right now.
After all, right, about the time Mary Alice's little bus, coming down the turnpike -- no, they called them freeways here, didn't they? -- had blown a tire and rolled over six times, crushing the top of the little van in on her, she, Nan, had been rolling in Myra's arms, having the time of her life. She'd betrayed her friend -- and so soon! -- and she didn't want Myra there to remind her of the fact ... Shuddering, she tipped up the new glass and let the raw gin burn its way down her throat.
God, she thought now, how much did it take to put you out of your misery? She'd put away the best part of a bottle of ninety-proof gin already, and showed no sign of being able to relax into comforting and consoling oblivion. She drank again, shuddering at the vile taste of the stuff. Then she gagged a little as she swallowed it down. God, she thought, she was going to vomit it all up before it got her drunk enough to go to sleep. ...
Cursing hoarsely at it (she'd cried so long, so hard, that she could hardly talk now), she held the glass up and poured it full again from the bottle, spilling it all over her dashiki. Then she dropped the bottle, letting it roll away across the uneven old floor. "Damn," she said. "Damned filthy ... thing ... " And she ripped the dashiki up the middle, crushing the thin cloth into a ball and heaving it disgustedly into the far corner of the room. The place was a shambles already, it seemed; and that after she'd worked so hard to get it clean today. God! God! She didn't want it all spic and span right now. She wanted ... she wanted to burn the place down. She wanted. ...
"My," said a low, harsh voice from the door. "That's quite a sight."
The voice was so deep and in personal that it could have been either a man's or a woman's. Nan, in her sodden and uncaring state, didn't bother to look up for a moment.
When she did it was to see the caller stepping into the room. She blinked in the dim light; the figure looked familiar from somewhere -- lush, ample curves tucked tightly into jeans and a close-fitting jersey, braless breasts of perfect and voluptuous conformation, their nipples sticking pertly through the soft cloth, a dark unsmiling face with the bone structure of a great beauty only slightly gone to seed through ten -- maybe twenty -- years of hard living.
"Hey," the newcomer said. "Did I interrupt a party? Where's Mary Alice?"
"She ... she's in the hospital," Nan said, not rising. "She had a bad accident today."
"Jesus," the girl said. What was the name? Nora? Zora? That was it, Zora. The dancer. "Wow. And you're her friend that's staying here, right?"
"Yes, I ... " Nan tried to sit up straight, but only succeeded in spilling her glass.
"Hey, look," the girl said. "You feel pretty bad, right? You better stay away from that stuff, honey. You need something that'll soothe you, not that junk. That'll just make you feel worse. Look, hon, I know what's in Mary Alice's medicine cabinet. I ought to, for Christ's sake. Let me fix you something that'll make you feel great, huh? You just sit there."
Nan sat looking after her, watching the firm globes of her incredibly expressive buttocks working under the tight pants. God! she thought, a sudden twinge of sexual desire breaking through her gloom. How she'd love to get her fingers on those things! What amazing thighs! What ...
"Say," said the girl's matter-of-fact voice through the door, "my name's Zora. I teach the belly-dance classes here. What's yours?"
"Nan," Nan said. "Mary Alice calls me Annie. We used to be friends in school when we were kids." She was beginning to come alive a little now.
"Annie, huh? I think I heard about you. Mary Alice was saying somebody was coming to visit." She came back in, holding up two glasses full of an odd-colored liquid. "Mama Zora's original pick-me-up," she said. "Enough there to kill a horse ... or cure whatever ails you. I hope you don't mind: I fixed myself one too. God, I could use a pickup. I've had a hell of a day." She handed Nan a glass and kicked off her own shoes before sitting down.
Nan looked down at herself. God, she was naked! She couldn't remember how she'd got that way. Well, perhaps it didn't matter. She looked at the strange girl, blinking.
"Come on there, honey," the girl said. "Down she goes. Here's lookin' up your kilt." She touched glasses with Nan, who sat there stupidly looking at her. "L'Chaim."
Nan watched the girl shudder wildly at the first drink. Then she took a sip of her own. It was ... terrible! She shuddered and made an equally awful face. Then ... then ... even this quickly ... the strangest feeling came over her. Her head reeled. "I ... my God," she said.
"Yeah, it's good stuff, isn't it? It's the old Zora Zapper. I used to give it to Mary Alice when she was feeling low. Gee, that's terrible about her getting hurt. Tell me about it, huh?" She turned up the glass again. "Zowie. Oh, God, that makes me feel marvelous." She put the glass down and, oblivious of Nan's shocked stare, pulled her jersey up over her breasts and began to massage her big-nippled bosom.
It was ... strange. That was the only word for it. Nan took another drink, shuddered again, and let the strange -- heavenly! -- feeling steal over her again. She looked again at Zora. She had her eyes closed and was twiddling her long nipples between her fingers, obviously enjoying every bit of it. "M-my," Nan said, her voice coming out sounding positively unreal. "You .. . you're gorgeous." She was, too. Those were the most perfectly formed breasts she'd ever seen. And the strange girl knew it, too. A smile of recognition went over her face, breaking through the look of mindless semi-ecstasy that accompanied her single minded kneading of her breasts.
"Yeah ..." she said. "Best old bod in town. Still is. Oh, wow, that's good stuff ... Oh, Jesus, baby, you don't mind if I get comfortable too, do you?" And, not waiting for an answer, she stood and jerked the sweater over her head, Her upper torso was sensational. "Drink up, sweetie. That's good for you." Her hands went to her pants. Then she stopped. "Christ, let's get some music in this joint" She went over to Mary Alice's hi-fi set in the corner and turned it on; when the carrier wave came up she twirled the dials until a pounding, snarling, animal rock band came on, deafeningly loud, almost oppressively sensual. "God, that's good. Oh, my head's spinning." But she showed little sign of it; there was not only a sinuous grace in her funky animal movements as she slid into a sexy bare-breasted dance to the dark and mindless music, but a complete control of her actions.
Nan drank another draught. God! That was strong stuff! She stood up herself. Strange: whatever it was it did little to make her dizzy, the way the drink she'd take in before would. She could almost not feel the gin now. Only the strange new mixture -- heady, exhilarating. ...
"Hey, kid," Zora said. "You're kind of cute." Her rounded hips shook with savage abandon under the tight jeans. She reached out now and touched Nan lightly on the nipple; then she went back to the wild dance. Midway in a series of gyrations she stopped and wiggled the pants down her legs to step out of them, naked now except for a gold stomacher. From the stomacher hung a strange medallion, dangling just above her rich curling bush of pubic hair.
And, as Nan watched, the voluptuous belly of the girl began to quiver with a rich and primitive rhythm; the stomacher shook, its gold chain links traveling across her rich belly in ecstatic ripples. And on the silky surface of her belly, above the lush forest of her dark-haired pubis, the medallion danced hypnotically. "There ... " the girl said, her voice low and mesmeric. "There ... isn't it something now ... Don't you want it, baby ... look at that big luscious cunt there, sugar ... you never had anything like it, baby ... it tastes like Mama's milk ... and I can wiggle it inside like I can wiggle it outside ... I can twist a man's cock off with that thing, sweetheart ... I can write my name on your tongue with my clit, cookie ... just try me ... now drink it down, sugar ... just tip up the glass ... it's good for you ... it's good for you ... it'll get you hotter than a pistol ... and then we're going ... in the bedroom ... you and me ... and you're gonna eat Mama's box ... until the dawn comes up ... Yeah... oh, yeh ... And you're gonna love it ... Yeah, drink up, sweetie ... watch the medal now ... see the pretty gold medal ... I can't take it off, you know ... it's welded on there permanenty ... you can't take your eyes off it, can you? ... No, now look at me ... watch me open and close my pussy ... yeah ... I'm gonna kiss you on the mouth with that ... I'm gonna fuck you in the mouth with my button, cookie ... look at it now ... it's sticking its little red head out now ... oh, isn't that delicious ... wouldn't you give anything to suck that ... well, you will ... and I'm getting hot for you to do it ... oh, look how long he is ... oh, he's mama's boy ... he's the longest little clit in the world, and he's hot as a pistol ... come on, now, sugar baby, why don't, you go down there and eat him ... give him a lick ... you never had anything like it ... I can balance a drink on your head and fuck you in the mouth and not spill a drop even when I come ... yeah, baby, down on your knees ... down on your knees ... like my little buck-naked slave ... that's what you are ... like Fm Artie's slave ... down on your knees before me ... now cross your hands behind your back ... and stretch your neck out toward me ... now hold your mouth like you were kissing somebody ... and I'm gonna ... put my button right there ... and I'm gonna shake it ... and I'm gonna fuck it ... and I'm gonna grind that coffee ... and you're gonna get me off, baby ... yeah, kiss kiss ... Yeah, hold your lips out ... now don't you use your tongue ... until I tell you to ... yeah, now ... there ... there ... in ... and ... out ... and in ... and out ... and in ...and out ... and you can open up a little now ... and now stick out your tongue ... and gimme a lick ... when I bring the button by ... oh, yeah. ... Ohhhh, yeahhhhhhhh ....."
Time passed. Nan was out of it most of the time, doing as she was told obediently, like a slave, bending to kiss the strange woman's crotch when told, sucking her out, eating her juices, even, on command, coming around the wonderful rump to stick her tongue deep into the girl's anus. Scouring the girl's naked body from neck to toes with her tongue as she shouted ever more harsh, more rude commands to her. All of it with her hands crossed at the wrists behind her back, as a slave's hands might be. She loved it; she deserved it; she had been bad, and had to be punished and humiliated for having betrayed her friend. It was so fitting. It was so good ... and the wonderful stuff Zora had given her to drink was so warming ... so comforting. ...
CHAPTER TEN
She awoke on the floor of Mary Alice's bedroom, naked and covered with filth. She was freezing; it was late morning, but the sun apparently still hadn't broken through the chilly fog that sometimes seeped over the hill. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling no pain, particularly -- whatever that stuff she'd drunk had been, last night, it didn't leave you with a hangover -- but stiff in the joints.
God, what a night it had been! She could only remember little snatches of it, now and then. Thinking of them, she shivered, and, for want of other clothing,' pulled the coverlet off Mary Alice's bed.
When she did, a small white box and a piece of pa-per fell to the floor. She picked them up. The paper read:
Hey, kid, you were kind of down last night. If you get to feeling that way again take a couple of these. I'll be by tonight to see how you're doing.
Ol' Doctor Zora
The pills, when she opened the little box, were multi-colored Spansule-type capsules full of little red and white particles. She put the box down on the floor and thought about the evening.
She couldn't quite put it together. There had been the business with the wild dance, at the beginning. She remembered that. Then they'd got to playing games, as Zora had called them -- sexy games. She. ...
She looked at her wrists. They were red and raw. She had been bound! It hadn't just been the game!
"God," she said. Her head was reeling from the memory. She got up suddenly, and, still wearing the coverlet, went to the kitchen to put some coffee water on. Then she headed for the bathroom to look at herself in the big, full-length mirror and survey the damage, if any.
But the mirror only confirmed that she was dirty -- what could she have been rolling around in, for heavens' sake, to get so all-over filthy? -- and that she needed a bath as badly as she needed a cup of coffee. She looked at the red marks on her wrists: perhaps a little body make-up would conceal that. She certainly hadn't brought anything to wear that had sleeves long enough to cover her up.
"God," she said. "God, God, God." She ran her fingers through the close-cropped hair; turned on the tap to splash water on her face. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked terrible. She'd have to do something about that.
In the kitchen she fixed coffee, but brought the cup into the bathroom to set it on the sink. Then, running the hot water, she stepped inside to give herself a good hot scrub down. Towelling off and looking at her-self in the mirror afterward, she noticed the drawn quality of her face again. Quickly she pulled the towel away, studied her bare body. She could see every rib clearly. There was a ... scrawny ... look to her shoulders and collarbone. There was no other word for it.
She stepped on the scale. God, she'd lost seven pounds! In a couple of days! And she'd been trained down pretty fine before -- as thin as you could afford to be and not look dl, the way a fashion model does. She didn't look at all well. Why hadn't she noticed this be-fore?
She dressed now -- light dress and sandals -- and went down to the office. Louise looked up as she entered. Her smile was troubled.
"Oh, Annie." She opened a drawer on her desk, pulled out a notebook. "There was a man called a few minutes ago, from the hospital." She pawed through the little book, looking. "Let's see. ... "
"Hospital?" Nan said, remembering with a sudden sinking feeling in her chest. "Did ... did he say ... I mean anything about Mary Alice?"
"No-o," Louise said, thumbing to the back of the book. "No, it wasn't that kind of call. It was something about the insurance. Are you handling that now? Be-cause if you are, I'll stop worrying. About that, any-how."
"Yes ... yes. I understand. I'll take care of it. And Louise. What about the bills? The tax, all that? Did you find out whether Mary Alice had paid it up before ... before she had the accident?"
"Paid it up? How could she? She was broke. The place is on the rocks, Annie. We'll be lucky to make it to the end of the term before they close us down. I've been sweating it out day by day already. It's so depressing."
"Oh. Oh, my. She didn't tell me." Nan sat down now, her brow knit with thought. "Are we that close to deadline on the tax thing, then?"
"Worse. We're at the end of an extension she'd wangled out of them down at the Board of Equalization. The mortgage payment's overdue also. And ... and there's a lot more, really. I'd have to go through her desk to make sure."
"Yes, could you do that? I mean for me? Please? Could you come up with some figures today, maybe to-morrow, on just how much she ... on how much we owe everybody? To bring absolutely everything up to date? And maybe even ... if you find the time ... what you'd need in the bank to get us through the term safely?"
"Why, sure, Annie, but ... Oh, here's the name and number. You want to call this man here. Anyhow ... gee, could I ask why? What do you think we can do?"
"Oh, I can get us out of trouble, I think. On this, anyhow. It's a matter of, well, I have a checkbook on me, but it's sort of little mad money account. I couldn't even have paid for the airline ticket out of this. I ... I only expected to be here a couple of days. Now it seems I'd better stick around a while. I mean, at the very least until ... well, you know." A sudden rush of tears to her eyes necessitated quick repairs with a Kleenex. "Oh, Jesus, Louise. I hope she comes out of this okay."
"Yeah, me too. But hon ... I mean, you can get the money somehow? Like borrow it? I don't think she'd want you to do that."
"No, I want to. It's ... it's a matter of transferring some funds here ... I mean out of another account. Maybe cashing some bonds or something." She didn't really know the mechanics of it all; Mills had handled most of it, the banks the rest.
"Oh, no, honey," Louise said, putting her hand impulsively on Nan's. "Not ... I mean, your future. Not the old-age money."
Nan looked at her, her eyes full of tears again. "I don't even know how to say this, Louise. If it beggared me ... and it won't ... it wouldn't matter. I'm going to give Mary Alice her school, if she lives. And Pm going to get it out of the red, and make it work like clockwork, if the job takes my every waking hour and every dime my husband left me." She wiped her eyes. "Could ... could I borrow your car, please? I'm going to the hospital, and I might as well talk to the man while I'm there. I'll fix it with the finance department."
Louise pressed the keys into her hand, her own eyes moist. "Gee, Annie ... you're a peach. You really are. But ... you think you can swing it all? Really? I mean, you never told us who you were, anyhow ... "
"Who am I?" she said, her eyes going out of focus as she pondered the question. "I've been having a lot of trouble with that question lately. I used to think I knew. I used to think I was plain old Polish Anna Karpowa of Pigiron City, Pennsylvania. Then ... then I was Ed Mikell's wife, for a long time, and until he passed away I was very happy to be nothing but that. Since then ... I don't know. But I can tell you one thing. I'm going to find out."
She went to the finance office first; visiting hours weren't until early afternoon, and it seemed better to take care of the practical things first, since they were, at the moment, virtually the only thing she really could take care of reliably.
The interview went quickly. As she'd suggested, the man had called D and B first, and his tone was respectful and reassuring, in a way she knew he wouldn't even consider if she were, indeed, plain old Anna Karpowa, from the wrong side of a town that'd never amount to much in a million years -- a steelworkers' company town full of Polacks and Ukrainians and Hunides and Bohunks and all those other low-class parish Catholics from the poor countries of Central Europe, people with good hearts and hot tempers and ten kids apiece and no more chance of ever getting out of their grubby ghetto life than. ...
But of course she had. How lucky she'd been!
Or had she? she thought now. Was she, after all, all that much happier than the girls she'd grown up with had been? She who'd had one kid -- practically barren, by Pigiron City standards -- and who virtually never saw her? She who was, right now, lonelier than she'd ever been back in the crowded little brick row house in the narrow valley the Monongahela had cut through the folded mountains of Western Pennsylvania millions of years before? She wasn't sure. When all this was over, she promised herself a trip back to Pigiron City, just to see. She hadn't been back in years, not since she'd paid to have Mom moved to a nice nursing home and settled an annuity on her sister Polya for taking care of Pop. Now she had to know, had to go there and ... and pay attention, this time, and really see.
Had her childhood been really so bad?
Was her adulthood really so good?
The years with Ed ... how much was there to remember? Mickey had grown up under the care of a nanny. You did that,, kind of thing in Ed's upper-class Church-of-England, everything-modeled-on-the-English-upper-class sort of world. She'd missed all the lovely things her sisters had told her about in their own kids: the first words, the first little sentences ... And what had she to show for what she'd missed, not really being a housewife? Not really being a mother? Not, perhaps even, really being a woman all those years?
That was easy. She had a house full of empty memories, and a bunch of family friends who turned out on closer inspection to be his friends, not hers, and she didn't have a damned thing in common with them. She had closets full of clothes she didn't wear, and fifty pairs of shoes she didn't need ... and all she needed to be happy was what would fit in a weekender bag bike the one she'd flown here with. Mary Alice hadn't known a damn thing about her except that she was her friend, and she'd done everything she could to make her feel loved and at home and happy on the basis of that. For that you didn't need twenty million dollars. What did you need to be happy? Just a roof over your head, and a way to keep food in the larder, and the good body God had given you. And people you loved around you. ...
She was in a good mood when she went to the ward where they'd moved Mary Alice. The doctors took some of this away almost immediately, with their talk of trauma and possible paralysis and the loss of one eye. And their long faces. Doctors didn't have long faces -- not in her experience. Not unless they'd been struggling with something difficult all night and now found themselves on the verge of losing.
Nothing could quite have cushioned the shock of seeing Mary Alice, though. Most of her face was covered with white bandages, including one eye. The mouth, grey and drawn, was visible, and one bloodshot eye. The eye looked at her; she could see no sign of recognition.
Nan -- Annie, she was now, all Annie -- sat flown beside her. She looked, and she gulped, and she tried three times before she got something out.
"Mary Alice," she said finally. "I ... I hope you're feeling all right. I don't know if you can hear me ... and I guess I'll have to take that chance ... anyhow, darling, I ... I wanted you to know that I'm taking care of the school, and it'll all be okay ... I'm going to pay up all the bills ... and I'm going to stay here until you're okay ... and maybe I won't go back ... and Fm going to pitch in here and make the place work until you'll be so proud of me. ..."
She broke down a little here, and the unseeing eye stared at her out of the bandages, uncomprehending, and it took her a minute or so before she could go on. But when she could, it was to bend over close to Mary Alice's one visible ear to tell her "I love you" and kiss her softly on the cheek. The one glaring eye saw nothing, registered no knowledge that she'd even been there.
It was too much. She made it out of the room, made it down the stairs and out to the parking lot, and to Louise's car. And theft, sitting in the driver's seat with the key in her hand; she broke down. She had a long cry, but this time it didn't seem to help the way it had in the past when she'd had a long cry. It got something but of her system but it didn't change the situation. And it did nothing, nothing at all about the terrible, nagging feeling of guilt that was eating away at her.
After all, while Mary Alice was out there, having these ... these awful thing happen to her, where had Nan been? Taking her pleasure with two other women; Betraying her friend's love and affection with not one, but two other women ... With a strangled sob Nan banged her head savagely against the steering wheel. "You fool!" she said to herself. "Damned weak fool!"
... And as she reached into the pocket of her dress for Kleenex, her fingers closed around the little box of pills Zora had given her, wrapped in the little note that had accompanied them. She opened the paper with trembling fingers and read again:
... If you get to feeling that way again take a couple of these. I'll be by tonight to see how you're doing. ...
Taking the pills was a bad mistake. She realized this the moment she got out on the freeway. The white line started to weave the first time she got the car into high, and the cars ahead started going in and out of focus. She narrowly missed sideswiping another car, getting back into the right-hand lane where it was supposed to be safer. And, weaving in and out of her lane, she steered into the off-ramp as soon as she possibly could. At the bottom of the grade she pulled over and shook her head, but the cobwebs wouldn't clear. Things kept going in and out of focus, in and out. ...
It took her a full half-hour to get the rest of the ten or twelve blocks home. She kept having to pull off to one side and stop to shake her head; once she saw a cop car slow down, its driver giving her a suspicious glance. She would have been a cinch for a ticket if he hadn't almost simultaneously spotted somebody up ahead doing something wrong, blatantly and recklessly. And when she finally pulled the car up in the school parking lot, she knew she was in such bad shape she'd really do best to avoid Louise; she left the keys in the car and headed for the stairs to Mary Alice's apartment, weaving drunkenly.
At the stairs, it became obvious she wasn't going to make it up on her own two feet. She got down on all fours and took the steps one at a time, testing every handhold and foothold as if she were climbing a mountain. On the way she lost a sandal; she could hear it clatter down the staircase. And at the top of the stair-case she simply collapsed, her face against the dirty floor, and lay there letting the world spin wildly about her. ...
Dreams wavered in front of her eyes, going in and out of focus the way the world did when she tried to sit up. After a while she stopped trying to sit up. She lay there and took it all in. It wasn't as if she really had any part in it, though, even when the visions that entered her mind were visions in which someone named Nan, or Annie, or whoever, took part -- looking strangely like herself 'the way she looked when she looked in the mirror, only ... kind of far away some-how, kind of uninvolved. The people in her vision touched her and prodded her and poked her and fondled her and did things to her, some new, some old, some strange and some familiar. It all didn't seem to be happening to her, really: she seemed to be seeing and feeling at one remove. ...
... There was a strange smell in the air, and voices talking. The woman's was familiar, the man's strange to her. She blinked and looked around her face. A few feet away she could see the legs of the couch, and, be-fore it, two pairs of bare feet, a man's, thick-veined and hairy, and a woman's, soft-skinned and graceful. As she watched, the woman's foot crept across the man's and, toes clenching sensuously began to caress the man's instep, slowly, languorously.
Voices:
"... Hey, gimme the roach, dammit, don't go Bogarting on me there ... mmmmmmm ... yeah ... yeah ... Oh, yeah ... "
"Mmmmm. Right. Riiiiiight"
"Jesus Christ, what a mess this joint is."
"Mmm hmmm. Me and the lady of the house over there had a party last night. Not bad either. I was just gettin' warmed up when I had to go pick you up. Damn you, Artie, anyhow. I could have balled all night. And you have to go use it all up on the old lady."
"Right Best fucking stud in Brentwood. Don't bitch, baby, it pays the rent"
"Faggot. You couldn't even get it up."
"Shit. I needed some sleep. Balling that wrinkly old bitch is work. She'd put anybody but me in the hospital in a week of that"
"Faggot. Faggot."
"Get your goddman hands out of my fly. You want it, you gotta beg for it."
"No. No, stop it, you're hurting me. You're hurting me. Goddammit, Artie, you're hurting me. You're gonna leave a bruise, and then what the fuck am I going to look like when I play that house party gig Friday?"
"Cover it up, hey? Wear a Band-Aid."
"You son of a bitch."
"Anyhow, we got all night tonight."
"No I don't I gotta get back to class."
"No you ain't. Get the kid to teach it. The assistant, what's her name."
"Oh, Artie. ..."
"Suck my dick."
"Now?"
"Yeah. I wanta get my cock sucked. Right now."
"But, honey. ..."
"Fuck it, get down there and eat it. Look, you got it up, you gotta get it back down again."
"Do I have to?"
"You bet your ass, bitch. And you better swallow every drop. I don't want any spots on my pants. I gotta wear these things to Bel Air tomorrow night. Come on, don't fuck around: Get your fat ass down there and gimme the best blowjob in town. Theeee best, right?"
"But Artie. ..."
(the man's feet moved apart, splayed, turned out The woman got down on her knees, her round bottom in the air, her wrinkled soles bunch, the toes clench. The woman was enjoying this. Nan looked up, now. The woman's head was bobbing crazily up and down over the man's lap. From her position Nan could see the woman's hand come down between her legs, and, visible between the voluptuous thighs, rub her crotch vigorously.)
"Hey, ohhhh, that's nice, that's nice. You just don't look right, baby ... unless you got your mouth full of dick ... just you wait till tomorrow. ... yeahhhhhh ... I'm gonna chain you up and pass you around to the crowd ... and we're gonna play post office my way ... Yeahhhh ... pass of Zora around in the circle ... spin 'er in the middle of the floor ... an' whoever she points to ... she's gotta do whatever they want ... Right in front of everybody ... I can't wait to see ... that big buck nigger from the Cop Story cast ... fuck you up the ass ... with that big tool o' his .. . I'm gonna get it all on videotape ... and we're gonna play it back the next day ... and ... ohhhh, yeahhhh ... oh, yeahhhh ... that's the old cocksucker ... oh, yeah ... oh, me! Oh, my! Oh, I'm gonna blow it ... you better get ready, kid ... here I come ... here I come ... oh, yeah ... Yeah ... Yeahhhh... YEAHHHHHHHH. ..."
"I gotta get to work."
"The fuck you do."
"No, Artie, I do."
"Call the cunt, what's her name. Tell her you got the curse, can't go shakin' that old ass if it smells like a fish market and you got it all stuffed full of rag."
"I don't wanta."
"I don't give a fuck what you want. You get that? Now get over there and call."
(Nan got her hands under her and pushed. She raised her body an inch, two inches.)
"Hey, look Sleeping Beauty."
"Yeah. I think she must be comin' out from under that shit I gave her."
"Maybe she'd like to suck me off too. I got a bone on again."
"So ask her. Tell her. Who the fuck you think I am? You ain't Miles Standish."
(Nan sat up gamely. She shook her head. She had to get out of here. Maybe Louise or someone would help her. She had to call ... call someone ... Maxine ... Max ... the sculptress ... she had to find help ...)
"What're we gonna do with her?"
"I dunno. She's freaked out on that stuff I gave her."
"She's comin' out of it. Maybe she needs some more."
"Yeah, why should a jerk lice you have all the fun?"
"So get her a glass of water. I got some more in my pocket."
"Okay."
(Strong, none too gentle hands guided Nan on hands and knees to the couch. She looked up; a rigid penis stared her in the eye. "Here," the voice said matter-of-factly; hands forced her slack jaw down, forced the big penis inside her mouth. She gagged; her head shook; she tried to spit it out.)
"Hey, God dammit, none of that. Give her the
"Okay. Just figured she ought to be working for her keep."
"Okay, just give it to her. There ... drink it down, cookie ... there ... we're gonna take you for a nice ride."
"Ride? What the fuck do you mean ride? She ain't going with us."
"Oh, hell, Artie. Let's take her to the party. We'll have some fun with her. She won't mind. Look, she's happy. She's smiling."
"That's the shit taking effect."
"Same difference. Look, she's on a downer. We'll cheer her up."
"I dunno ... you're gonna get in trouble doin' that sometime."
"She isn't a bad piece of ass."
"How would a goddamn frigid bitch like you know?"
"I asked the weejee board, you dumb faggot."
"Fuck you."
"Look. Just put her in the back. You can get in the back with her. Put the seat down. She can blow you while I drive us back to the beach."
"Okay. What the fuck."
"That's what I say."
"Okay. Okay. we'll have a party. Practice for the big party tomorrow night."
"I'll go get the wagon and back it up near the door."
"Balls. She doesn't weigh anything. I'll carry her down."
"Okay. Just lemme get our shoes."
"Check the medicine cabinet while you're at it."
"Sure. The chick won't miss it where she is."
"I'll meet you downstairs."
"Okay."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The back of Zora's little bus was enclosed, with thick curtains all around. The floor was all one big mattress from the back of Zora's seat to the back door. Artie put her down, not gently, and climbed in the back with her. The dri g was working now -- the second dose, she was suite of. it and she couldn't even sit up-right without help. As it turned out this was no big thing with Artie. He didn't want her to sit upright.
"Hey, Zora," he said as he turned over Nan's unresisting body onto her side. "You're such a lousy driver I had to figure a new position out. For gettin' blown, I mean."
"You do it side-to-side," he said. He was trying to take Nan's dress off. The zipper was stuck; with a low curse he ripped it up the side. Then, the action having released some small urge to violence in him, he yanked the shreds off her body and tore each of them down all the way, throwing the remnants into a dark comer of the car.
"How's that?" Zora said. Something outside -must have scared her; she slammed on the brakes, then, just as hastily, hit the acceleration again. "Fuckin' son of a bitch," she said.
"I discovered it the night we drove those two fruits home. After Norton's party. I got bored so I banged the blond one -- what the fuck was his name? Harley, Charley, somethin' like that -- in the back here. First off I tried puttin' him on hands and knees in front of me. It didn't work. You hit one of those potholes, he almost bit my dick off. I said no way, sweetie, we gotta figure somethin' else out. So I did this little number where I lie down on my side and I put the fag's head on my thigh, right?" He was suiting the action to the word with Nan. She tried to move her arms. It was like trying to hurry up a movement under water.
"Anyhow, here's his head on my lap and his body stickin' out at a sharp angle to me. And he can blow away all he wants, and it don't matter how dumb you are behind the wheel. He wasn't bad either." He told Nan brusquely, "Better open up, baby, daddy wants to paint you tonsils." She obeyed. It was all she could do to get her mouth open when she told it to, much less get any really complicated action going. She couldn't have resisted if she'd tried.
The car hit a terrific bump. Sure enough, it didn't jog Artie's thick cock, hard as a breadstick, out of Nan's lips. She wasn't much fun, though, it appeared. "Hey," he said. "Suck, God dammit."
"Mmmf," she said. She opened her mouth wide and tried to tell him she couldn't. She couldn't get coordinated enough to do anything, anything at all. It was very dark in the back of the van and she was having strange visions.
In the vision &tie was back on the bed in St. Tropez, fanny in the air, her front supported by hands and knees, getting her rear end reamed by one of them -- what was the name? She couldn't remember any more; perhaps it didn't matter -- and having the other one force that immense tube of his down her throat, one inch at a time. The difference was that it didn't hurt, back there. It only hurt when the front-end one, she couldn't remember his name either, started fucking her mouth hard, hard, battering her mouth and throat with hard lunges of his rock-hard buttocks. Or was that Artie instead? Which was the dream? The bed in St. Tropez seemed more real, more rightly lit, more colorful, so she concentrated on, that.
Anyhow, there she was, skewered at both ends like a chicken on a rotisserie, and in her dream all the people she knew, all the people she'd ever known, were standing around her in a circle looking on, chatting, making comments. People said things like:
"Oh, look, he's got it all in, in her ass, right up to the hair. Don't you suppose that hurts?"
"There, now. Now, you've got it, Frenchie, sock it to her. Fuck her up the chute, boy. God, I'd like a piece of that myself."
"Maybe they'll give her to you afterwards."
"How does she get all that dick in her throat like that?"
"It's an old parlor trick. She does it with mirrors."
"Nan, darling, would you suck me off lice that? When you're done there?" (That was ltd. She wanted to say "Yes, Ed, please help me, I'll do anything, I love you, please help me;" but in the brightly lit dream she was as helpless to help ,herself, to resist, in any way as she was in the dark dream where the cruel man was raping her in the mouth in the back of a truck.)
"Nan, where are you? I can't see. I can't see, Nan." (That was Mary Alice. Nan could say nothing. She was helpless, helpless, helpless.)
And all the time, here she was, this ridiculous spectacle, on view lice a sideshow freak, and people were doing these frightening and vile and humiliating things to her, and she could do nothing, nothing, to help her-self. It was just too bad. ...
"This broad is the worst fuck in the mouth I ever had," Artie said. "What the goddamn hell did you give her another couple of the pills for? She was so freaked out she couldn't keep her eyes open already"
But of course that wasn't true. The only thing she could do was open her eyes. She just couldn't see any-thing out of them. Blind, blind, just like Mary Alice. In the meantime her hands and feet didn't seem to work, and this big thick thing kept battering her in the mouth. Her nose seemed to be running. It hurt a little, too. Maybe her nose was bleeding. It'd serve him right if she got mess all over his mattress. It'd serve him right. ...
She got what seemed to be some sort of second wind when they took her, naked and shivering, out of the car to walk her to the beach house. They got her legs to working a little, although they buckled a couple of times and simply refused to hold her weight. It'd be all right, Zora said. She'd seen a lot of people through a trip like this. She'd get over it. "Artie," she said over Nan's head, "give her your sweater, she's cold. Jesus, I'm cold myself. The fog's in nice and heavy tonight."
"Aw, balls. Nobody's gonna see her. Buck nekkid people go by here all the time."
"She's cold, Artie."
"Christ, we're almost there."
She stubbed her toe once and it hurt and hurt, but nobody would let her stop. By and by, though, they came to a door and after Artie fumbled with some keys and Zora swore bitterly at him they all went inside, and it was better in there.
"I'll make a fire. I still got some of that wood we brought down from Topanga."
"Okay. Coffee?"
"Yeah. You're right, it's cold."
"Lemma put something over her first."
"Okay, you don't want her to get a cold in her cunt and go blaming it on us."
"Oh, look, you bloodied her nose."
"That was you and your stinking driving."
"I thought you had the perfect foolproof position."
"Go make the goddamn coffee."
"What the fuck do you mean go swimming?"
"I feel yummy. I want to go soak it in the ocean."
"The sun ain't even up yet."
"Sure it is. Look, Ill pull the curtain."
"Christ. Close that thing."
"See? I want to go take a dip. It's dawn."
"So go soak your ass. I wanta sleep."
"You always wanta sleep. You faggot."
"Stop call& me that."
"Faggot, faggot, faggot."
"Whatta you gonna do with her?"
"You mind her."
"I'm goin' to sleep."
"Damn you." The woman came over to Nan, who was sitting up, naked, on the bed where they'd left her. They'd done a lot of things with her and to her and some of them had been fun and some of them had hurt. She was all right now, though. "Annie," the woman said. Nan couldn't remember her name. "Annie, you want to go take a run with me on the beach? You don't have to go in the water. Just come run with me. It's fun."
"Yes," Nan said, "it's fun."
The woman put a light little robe over her; she was going out naked herself, she said, it was good for the skin. "Here, you hold the towel for me." And the woman helped her out the door to the deck and down on the sand. It felt good between her toes. The morning light was very, very dim through the fog, but it was light, all right.
"Come run, Annie."
Nan followed her, watching the girl's round bottom wiggle as she ran. After a nice long run of it the girl dived into the surf with a squeal. Nan kept running. She might have kept on running, for miles and miles and miles, if she hadn't got her feet all tangled up in the robe and fallen down. Once she'd fallen down it wasn't so easy to get up. Her head was swimming. She saw the wet girl come running up, mad as blazes.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she said.
Nan didn't answer. She didn't even know where she was.
"Can she feed herself?"
"How the hell do I know? Ask her."
"When I ask her she don't say nothing."
"Maybe I ought to help her or something. Here, I'll swap you. You hang the decorations, I'll feed the baby."
"Where are the costumes?"
"Yours is ht the closet, next to your jumpsuit. I still got to do some sewing on mine."
"What about her?"
The woman giggled. "She's wearing it ... less a few little frills."
"Buckass nekkid?"
"Yeah, only with little gold chains. She's gonna be a Roman slave."
"Hey, that's groovy. Hand people drinks and stuff."
"Right She seems to be able to hold things now without dropping 'em."
"What is that shit she took, anyhow?"
"I don't know the Latin name. Too long anyhow. That don't matter. What matters is it makes you ... what's the word ... suggestible."
"Amenable."
"Yeah."
"Far out."
"I guess I gotta do a few things with her. Wash her up. A little makeup wouldn't hurt, maybe. Blushing virgin stuff."
"Zora, you are a groove."
"Artie, you old fart, you're gettin' a little old for that dumb-ass hippie talk."
"Everybody I know talks that way. Young an' old. And besides, look who's talkin' about bein' old. You got five years do me easy."
"Now look what you did, you dumb bastard. It's all unbalanced to the left. To your left, there."
"No it ain't."
"Sure it is. Get down and look."
"Look at yourself. I never saw anything lie that. Grown-up woman, sittin' there on your lap, bareass nekkid, bein' fed Grape-Nuts Flakes one spoonful at a time."
"Never a dull moment, I always say. Never a dull moment around of Zora's house."
The chains didn't really hurt. They were actually kind of pretty, on her tanned skin, and they didn't have any sharp edges to cut or bind. They did get in the way if you tried to walk with normal stride, being hobble-short between her ankles; but with a little mincing step (slaves always walked that way, Zara said, and they never said anything to anybody or looked anybody directly in the eye unless they were spoken to first; she'd read that in a book somewhere). The wristlets were far enough apart on their own little chain to allow her to carry the little tray with the drinks on it. It was kind of fun; she smiled at Zora when she was being primed on what to do.
"Look, Artie, I ... "
"Yeah?"
"Maybe I better not put the chick through this."
"Oh, Jesus Christ."
"No, really. What if she freaks? What if. ... "
"God damn. You're not gonna chicken out on me now, are you? Stop playin' the fuckin' mama hen and come help me set up the buffet table."
"Oh, all right. ..."
"Damn right, all right. You thought up the fuckin' thing, you go through with it. Hell, look at her. She's smilin'. She's enjoyin' it."
Artie was wearing a sort of Steve Reeves outfit that showed off his massive upper chest and his thick muscular legs. With his trimmed beard he kind of looked like Steve Reeves. Zora wore her Salome outfit, she called it. It was marvelously flattering to her figure. She had a plaster jewel in her navel and more jewels on her bare toes. She looked exotically beautiful. What fun it would bet And here she was, with all the lovely little gold things on her body, here and there, and little tinkly chains with gold bells on them. The thick rug felt nice under her feet.
Artie turned off the overhead lights on now, and the hi-fi came up at the same time as the black-light show. It was so lovely! With all the little dancing lights and everything! And the music was deep and sensuous and gorgeous: something from a big budget movie, she guessed. Very, very heavy in the strings, heavy enough to allow someone to give the tune at the second time it came around to a pair of French horns. She liked the French horns. She'd had a crush on a boy in high school who played the French horn in the school orchestra, only she hadn't told him, he was from the other side of town and they didn't mix with the Polacks after school much.
"Answer the door, Artie."
"Hell, get the chick to answer it."
"Oh. Oh, sure. What better way to get a party off to a good start?"
Zara came along, though, and told her to bow het' head when she opened the door. Just bow your head, honey, and step back with your hands folded to let them through. She stood behind Nan to see everyone's reaction.
"Well, how do you dooooooo?"
"Why, looky here, Nettie. Ain't that a hell of a way to get a party off to the right start?"
"Hello, Fred. There's only me and Artie so far. And ... our little slave here, as you see. Go on in the back and find yourself a drink."
"Why sure. Sure, Zora. Nice to see you, honey. My, my. That was a right nice little surprise. Ain't nobody gonna believe that back in Dallas."
"Ain't she a pretty little thing, Fred? Look at them cut little titties."
"Right near eatin' size."
"Ever'thing's eatin' size to you, you old goat."
"Fuckin' ay, Nettie. An' you know you. couldn't get enough of it if you tried."
"Oh, you old fool."
It was fun for a while. But when the place got really crowded people started jostling her -- it was the rock and roll music, really, and people kept trying to dance to it and that meant a lot of sharp elbows in her ribs -- and she dropped a tray, not once but twice, and spilled everything. Down on her knees, trying to pick it up, she started to cry. Somebody in a clown suit got down on his knees with her.
"Hey, don't feel bad, cutie. Take some of this. It'll make you feel fine." He dropped a powder in his drink and helped her drink some of it. "Thass right. Drink up. Everybody gotta feel fine, everybody gotta have a little fun."
She didn't say anything. The drink had tasted really strange. Strange.
"Say, you're kind of cute, you know that? And that's a real original outfit you got on, you know? My name's Sammy. Would you like to go out on the deck for a minute with me?"
She tried to stand up; her head swam. She couldn't seem to get her feet under her for a minute. Then something happened in her head and it got to be easy again. It was all very odd.
"You hear me, honey? Would you like to go out-side?"
"Sure I'd like to go outside. Yes, yes, that'd be fine." All of a sudden everything seemed to be a bit clearer to her. And she understood. Nothing could hurt her. Nothing could reach her. So she might as well do any-thing, anything for kicks, anything anybody asked her nice about.
Outside was real funny. It was like it was cold but it wasn't. She could feel the goosebumps on her naked skin but there was a sort of layer of something on her that kept her from really feeling awful despite the fog and the chill. It was kind of nice, really.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Well, gee, I ... I mean ..."
"Maybe I ought to suck you off. That's what every-body seems to want. That's what everybody seems to be doing in the bedroom and the bathroom and the kitchen."
"Why, look here, I ..."
"Here, let me. Oh, how nice. That's a nice little one. That won't be any trouble at all. I bet I can get it all in without gagging. Oh, see, how nice and hard it's getting. Oh, say, that's cute. Look, let me put it in my mouth now. You just stand there and hold on to the piling. I'll get down on my knees again. See? I'm a slave on her knees before you."
Sammy's dick really was quite small, but it got nice and hard as she licked on it innocently, like a child licking a popsicle. She diligently licked up and down one side, then the other. She kissed all around the circumcised head of it; she knew this tickled nice and would please him. Then she put it in her mouth and started to suck.
He moved his hips a little. She took it out of her mouth. "No, let me, please. I'm your slave. I have to do all of it. You just stand there. I'll do all of it. It's part of the game. It's part of what I have to do." She smiled angelically up at him. It was strange, very strange. She felt just like a little bitty girl who has just been invited into grownup games and is eager to please. What fun she was having!
Now she began to suck on his cock in earnest. It wasn't difficult; it was, after all, quite small and easy to manipulate in her mouth. It was a lot more fun than these big thick things; it was maybe like sucking off a little boy. She liked it. She must remember to thank him for the opportunity.
He was wearing cut-off pirate pants; she unbuttoned the rest of his fly and the top button, too, and pulled his pants down to his ankles, so she could grip his buttocks with her hands and really get down to it. Her head bobbed back and forth crazily. How nice they'd planned things! The chain was just long enough to al-low her to reach her hands around in back of him and grab his fanny this way.
Her teeth scraped him lightly. He shuddered. "Oh, God," he said. "Do that some more." She started giving him all sorts of gentle little bites all over it, particularly around the head of it, with her sharp little teeth. His buttocks jumped; his anus was flexing and unflexing, she knew. He was really enjoying this. Now she'd scrape with her teeth and then lick where she'd scraped. His fanny was beginning to tremble; it was covered with goosebumps from the cold salt air. Okay, she thought, let's give him a good one. And her head went to work, bobbing and wiggling from side to side as her lips slid up and down the length of his little cock and her tongue gave the underside a long, slow rub every time she withdrew. ...
In a moment he reached his limit. "Oh, honey, oh, that's fine, I can't stand it, no, baby, oh, stop it, oh, stop it, now, oh God, oh Christ. ... OHHHHHHHHHH!"
He didn't hold very much either. She swallowed all that he had to give, licked his little cock dry, and kissed his hands before getting up to smile demurely at him -- the way Zora said a slave was supposed to do -- and go back inside. That stuff he'd given her made her feel wonderful, just wonderful. She wanted to go inside and do everybody, just everybody, at the party. She wanted to go find the big buck nigger from the Cop Story cast that Artie had talked about and get fucked up the ass by him. She wanted Artie to put it all on videotape so they could all play it back the next day and get hot from watching it. She wanted them to spin her like a bottle and take turns telling her what to do to them.
She stumbled once and fell down. Sammy rushed to help her up but she knew the ankle chains would have to go. She reached down, pulled, strained, and broke them in the middle. She was surprised at how strong she was. She could do anything. She could go all night. She could fuck everybody in the world, one, two,. or three at a time. After all, it was her job. She was a slave. It was a slave's job to do everybody. It was a slave's job to be a piece of meat for fucking in the mouth and the ass and everywhere, and the more people got pleasure out of watching it happen and getting hot and jacking off to it, the better. Only she'd beg them not to jack off all the way. She'd come around afterwards and suck them off, every one. And she'd suck every dick and lick every pussy in the room, and thank them all for it. She was a bad girl and she had to be punished. It was her job.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Inside, the party was going full blast. Bare breasts were beginning to show here and there, most prominently Zora's ripely beautiful pair, jutting out proudly with their rouged nipples. In the big room with its high beamed ceiling little patches of light showed where a couple, or a pair of couples, stood under a muted lamp covered with muslin and whispered about assignations and technical minutiae of interest only to the specialist. In the adjacent rooms the technical matters got off the drawing boards and into the wind tunnel. Nan wished she'd gone to peepee on the beach while she was there; the inside bathroom seemed to be all tied up, what with one naked couple making it in the shower standing up -- well, the man was standing up anyhow; the girl was bent over in front of him, her titties and long hair hanging down -- and a couple of queers at work on the floor.
As she passed one couple, someone took her gently by the arm. "Oh, look, here's the only sensible person at the whole party, Helen. She got her clothes off beforehand."
"Yes, and isn't she darling?"
Nan blinked at them in the dim light. The drug she'd taken seemed to have rounded a corner and done something really odd to her. Her head was reeling. She needed to lie down somewhere. She needed. ...
"Oh, here,. sweetheart. Oh, look, Bill, she's dizzy Somebody must have spiked her drink. Oh, look, sit down, baby. Here, between us. Give her your cloak, Bill, the poor thing's shivering."
The world was swimming around and around. The two warm bodies snuggled up next to her, their arms around her, felt nice, very nice. It was like sleeping with Masha and Polya, in the one big crib, when they were kids. Warm, warm.
Voices again around her:
"Nettie here just. loves to suck cock. It's the one place where she really excels. Why, once in Dallas we threw a swinger party out by the pool and Nettie took on nine. ... "
"Oh, I didn't, Fred. They wasn't no more than six of them fellers ... "
"Well, don't let her try to tell you she ain't any good. She's the best. Folks does something down Texas way, they does it up right. An' of Nettie's the best. ..."
"... Oh, dear God, Esther. Oh, my stars and body. Its' ... Oh, look right over there. It's the new girl Annie, I think they called her. The one who was staying with Mary Alice."
"By God, Lloyd, you're right. And look: somebody seems to have slipped her something. Oh, the poor thing's all freaked out. She's on some kind of bummer. Oh, that god-damned bitch Zora. I bet she slipped the kid acid or something."
"I'll bet. The bitch. The rotten bitch. Remind me to slap her stupid face some time."
"The dirty fucking slut. I'll break her arm."
'Well, anyhow she's in fairly good hands. Bill and Helen are all right. They won't let any harm come to her."
"The hell you say. Bill's been dropping reds. He can't take that shit. He did that over at my apartment and the next thing you knew he'd let his goddamn cigarette burn a runner up the top of my favorite table."
"Oh, dear."
"I'll never invite that fucking bastard back again. Her, maybe. She's not a bad piece of ass when she's straight and all her instincts aren't shorted out by all the dope he gives her. Fucking men, pigs all of them."
"Oh, the poor dear. Look, she's shivering under the robe. She's having a chill."
"Yeah, Jesus. What a dumb thing for that ... that vicious goddamn cunt of a Zora to do. I know it was her. Artie's too fucking stupid to ever get his shit together enough to do something really mean. I mean lasting mean. She's mean smart."
"Perhaps we ought to do something."
"Like what?"
"Oh ... we could call Avram. For help, I mean. I mean if we tried to take her out ourselves ... well, you know how Zora and that rough trade she hangs around with are. They're all over muscles. And hostility, and everything."
"He lives just up the hill, doesn't he?"
"Oh yes. And I happen to know he's home tonight"
"How?"
"Oh, I ... asked him to come tonight. Oh no, don't, you're making me blush all over again. But ... you know ... he's just so refreshingly jam I can't stand it. ... "
"Yeah, he's a pussycat. If I was into men ... but I ain't. So call him."
"Oh, I'd be too embarrassed. I mean, after ... "
"He'd be em-baaw-athed. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Lloyd. Gimme the number, I'll call."
Other voices came and went. After a while the two people with her go('up and went somewhere. They were nice enough to leave her the robe. But after a while it fell off, too, and she discovered she didn't really need it. She was in the middle of a high now, not on the cutting edges of it, and she'd slipped back into that strange passive condition she'd been in earlier. And the people came and went. ...
... They were in the back room. She was naked still, and Artie was setting up the cameras. She was sitting back on her heels an a pad on the floor, the kind you use for lying on to exercise or do karate classes or whatever. She looked around her; she was surrounded by lights, and they were warm on her naked body. They were too hot to get very close to and too bright to look at for more than a second. She could see a ring of faces just behind the lights, but she couldn't recognize anyone. They were all her friends, though. She knew that. She smiled at them expectantly. Artie was planning some fun new game for her to play in.
Ahead of her, inside the lights, a tall, thin black man, wearing only jockey shorts, stood smoking a brown paper cigarette. As he took a long puff she saw his broad nostrils widen and his very white teeth gleam in a smile of appreciation. "Moth-uh-fuck, that is good stuff," he said.
"Listen to the phony soul brother accent," some-body said.
"Jigaboo knows where the money is," another voice answered. "Same sons of bitches that used to go around growing guinea mustaches, trying to pass for a portagee or something, kissing the asses off them Kentucky colonels for a buck, they're out growing them tumbleweed hairdos and sashayin' back and forth in a print bathrobe tryin' to come on like African diplomats."
"Niggerer'n thou," the other voice said. "Sellin' Muhammad Speaks on the street corner."
"An' all the time wouldn't know a chitlin from a chattel mortgage."
"Raht awn, muthuhfuckuh."
"Yowza, yowza, yowza."
The black man turned around, very conscious of effect, and looked out over the lights. He was tall and, when he drew himself up like that, rather majestic.looking. Nan smiled up at him. She wondered what they were going to do together.
"Hey, Paul," Artie's voice said from behind the camera. "Get up next to her. I want to get a reading on both of you. Yeah. Now drop your drawers. I want to get a reading on that big black dick of yours. I want to make sure every goddam vein will photograph, nice and raunchy, without washing her out completely. Right?"
"Okay, Art," the black man said. He dropped the end of the cigarette into a can and, quickly and economically, shucked his underpants, using both hands to shove them down and then stepping out of them. His penis was long and crooked and no bigger around than an average man's, soft Re that. It was also, for some strange reason, much darker than the rest of him. He was' not unpleasant milk-chocolate color all over, but his penis was almost black.
"Hand me that vaseline," he said. Someone put an arm through the lights and gave him a jar. He looked down at Nan. "Got to grease the old man up," he said. "You want to do it for me, white gal?"
Nan smiled up at him, her eyes out of focus in the bright light. She took the jar he pressed into her hand.
"Rub that stuff inta my dick," he said. "Get 'im nice, and hard for them dumb honky bastards out there in Tee Vee Land. We gonna wind up on the silver screen." He laughed harshly. "Plain' first-run dates at every fuckin' X-rated motel in Southern California."
Nan smiled wanly up at him, eager to please. She dipped her fingers into the jar and came out with a big, thick gob of grease, about the size of a dried date. She looked up at him expectantly.
"Go ahead," he said in a voice with a slight contemptuous edge to it. "Rub it in."
She reached over to take his penis -- how long it was! -- in one hand. Almost immediately it jerked slightly in her fingers, stiffening a little. "Right," he said. "Now you just bend right over there, white gal, and give him a big kiss, right there on the big old black dick, with them ruby-red white-gal lips o' yours."
Nan bent over, giving him another shy smile. And when she kissed it, right on the edge where the head ended, it leapt smartly to attention. "See there?" he said.
"Hey," said a voice. "Artie, you better get some of this preliminary shit on film too. It's pretty good."
"Okay," the black man said. "Now slap some of that goo on that or dick and rub it in -- slowly and carefully. I ain't been jacked off by a white gal in a long while. E-e-easy does it, now, just rub it in nice and sneaky with them little white fingers. Awwww, that's niiiice. ..."
"Christ," someone said, "this is getting me hot."
"Want me to blow you while you watch?" another voice said.
"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, that'd be nice."
Nan's fingers worked that stuff into every pore of the man's skin, from one end to the other. She couldn't understand why she was doing this, but it seemed to be giving him some pleasure. She noticed, while she was doing it, that the chain between her wrists was only a little bit longer than the enormous length of his rod. She held up her chained wrists to show him, an angelic smile on her face.
"Yeah, that's right, gal, now you get right back to work and rub that stuff in real good. Yeah. Yeah, now that's gettin' it on, right. Yeah."
Nan tried using both hands, choking up on the huge thing as if it had been a softball bat. And she ran both hands up and down it, up and down, feeling it pulsing with excitement as it grew harder and -- almost impercepibly -- longer.
"Hey, baby," a voice said, way back there some-where, "jack me off that way, hey?"
"Steal me that jar of goose juice."
"Shit, I can't reach it. They're filmin'."
"Well, get something from the john."
"Aw, hell I'll play .with it myself. At least nobody won't give me no back-talk."
The black man put his hand on- hers now. "That's okay. That's okay. Don't want to spoil it all. Now." He looked toward the camera. "Ready, Art?"
"Any time."
"Okay." He turned back to the girl. "Now you just hunker down on them hands an' knees, and look over yonder and smile for the camera. See the birdie? Okay, smile now."
Nan smiled. As she did, her eyes out of focus in the bright lights, the black man slipped. behind her. And she remembered to keep smiling -- after all, that's what they had told her to do -- even when the black man's hands gripped her hips and he began, little by little, to slip the massive, greased tube of his big black cock up her tender and protesting anus.
"Wow, look at her blink."
"Wait a few minutes. He's gonna get it in all the way to the eyes anyhow."
"That thing's as long as she is."
"Oh, God, this is getting me hot."
Oh, God, it hurt! It hurt so! Even going in slowly, even with the added lubrication she'd rubbed in, it was hie a knife inside her! Nan tried to smile, but even as she did she began to cry. And it wasn't an adult's silent, held-in sort of crying, but that of a child, abused beyond her comprehension: a wail, low-pitched and slow. Even then she tried to smile; she wanted to please, if she possibly could.
Well, Goddamn. Will you look at that."
"Yeah, for Christ's sake."
"Fucking amateurs. ... "
There was a commotion back behind the lights. Loud voices: "Hey, Goddamn it ... you can't ... get back there ... Goddamn it, stop him, don't let him through. ... " As she looked, her eyes still filled with tears of pain and humiliation, Nan saw a large and heavy figure push Artie's camera over, it fell with a loud crash. Then the same large and heavy pair of hands pushed Artie over, and, for lagniappe, pushed over two of the lights that stood between her and Artie. One of them fell with a resounding crash; the glass went every which way. A big, bearlike figure in blue denim, with crazily unkempt hair and a ferocious black beard, pushed the black man away and Nan fell forward on her face. Strong and capable hands raised her in a second, though, and a deep and gentle voice said out of the forest of whiskers, "It's okay, Annie. We're going home."
Avram picked her up as easily as if she'd been a babe in arms. "Zora," he said, "throw something over her, will you please?" The voice was slow and patient, but there was enough menace behind it to compel attention. "Now don't delay me, anybody, you'll only make me mad, and that'll only waste your time and mine. Zora? Thank you, thank you ... now we'll just run along ..."
Outside, Esther sat behind the wheel of Lloyd's Volkswagen camper, an angry look on her face. "Yeah, good, Avram, you get in the back with her. The bed's down. Put her in there and keep the cover over her. I'll drive: Lloyd here can't stop blubbering."
"It's all right," Avram said in his gentle voice. "Both of you did just fine. You both did the right thing." Lloyd looked up at him gratefully and blew his nose, his face was red as a beet. Nan gave both of them the same trusting smile she'd given the camera as Avram's strong arms lifted her into the back of the little track.
It was dark back there. Nan was beginning to come down off her drug induced high, and reality was seeping back into her mind. Reality and memory. "Oh, Avram," she said as he lowered her gently onto the little bed in the back. "I had the most terrible dreams."
"Yes," he said, tucking the coverlet over her. "That's what they were, dear. Dreams." He patted her arm. In front, Esther started the car and put it in gear, easing out into the Highway One traffic. Lights from other cars flashed oddly, off and on, through the front windows and windshield. It was lie the funny light show in the dream, only there was no rock and roll music. That was okay. She didn't want any music. Anything that loud would drown out the soft and reassuring sound of Avram's deep voice.
"There was this dream about Mary Alice," Nan said. "She'd been hurt, and I couldn't seem to do any-thing about it. But ... it was lie I could, too, only I had to go back to being Ed's wife to do it. I all of a sudden had all the money to help her with that any-one ever needed, and I could pay off all the bills and maybe even buy into the school and become partners with her once she got well ... She will get well, won't she, Avram?"
"Yes, she will," he said. "We called the hospital this afternoon, and she's going to pull through. She'll need a lot of help, and she'll particularly -- I mean besides somebody taking care of her. ..."
"Oh, I'll do it," Nan said. "She'll get the best of care. I promise." She gripped his big hand hard.
"... Anyhow, she'll also need a lot of help putting the school back on a sound basis. I'm sure I can help out there some. ... "
"But Avram, that's what I was going to tell you. I ... oh, it wasn't a dream. It wasn't. It's me. I am worth ... oh, God, twenty million dollars ... "
"Well," he said, obviously not believing her, "I'm sure it won't require anything like that much. We'll all pitch in."
"Oh, sure we will. Sure we will, Avram." She gripped his big paw with both of hers. "There's some-thing ... something on my wrists, Avram. What is it?"
"Oh," he said. He felt for them. "Oh, that." His big hands broke the chain, once, twice, tossing the pieces into a corner of the little truck. "Junk jewelry," he said. "Not really your thing, I think."
"Oh, it isn't," she said. "I never liked jewelry. Ed kept giving it to me and I never liked any of it. I didn't even feel bad about it when Marie-Helene stole all of it back in St. Tropez."
"Well," he said, "that's all over."
"Yes," she said. "Oh, yes, it is." She clung to his big arm. "There ... was so much of it ... I didn't under-stand ... There was a dream about myself ... under the lights ... and people were doing things to me ... and I couldn't help myself ... I was so embarrassed ... "
"Only a dream," he said, patting her hand. She grabbed the hand suddenly and pulled it under the cover to hold it against her naked bosom. She could see his face, big and kind and black-bearded, in the flickering lights.
"Yes ... but Avram ... it was a sexy kind of dream, really ... it felt really sexy ... I was naked ... and everybody was looking at me ... and I felt kind of hot ... you know what I mean?" She turned his hand around to feel his big rough palm on her hard nipples.
"Yes," he said, "I know what you mean."
"Yes ... and it would all have been so nice ... if only everyone had been kind ... I was feeling kind to them ... but they weren't feeling kind to me ... and ... and ... that's one of the things I learned, these last few weeks, Avram ... that love is being kind ... and giving yourself completely ... but only to the people who give back ..."
"That's right," he said. "That's the beginning of wisdom. It takes us all such a long hard time to get around to learning that." His hand, guided by her own, strayed down her front to rest on the soft patch of hair.
"Oh ... that's nice ... hold me there, Avram ... could you ... could you put your fingers inside me ... and feel me ... and hold me ... I'm still hot ... from the dream. ..."
He did, and the hand was huge and warm and comforting, holding on to her thoroughly wet cunt as if it were some sort of handle, his big thumb slowly, gently, massaging her clitoris, which now stood out proudly.
"Oh, Avram ... I've needed all of you ... so long ... I've needed so much to learn ... that it didn't mat-ter whether it was a man or a woman ... you went to bed with ... as long as it was someone you loved and-trusted and respected and felt affection for ... Oh, Avram, I love Mary Alice so ... I'm going to take such good care of her. ... "
"I'll help you," he said. "I love her too."
"Oh, you do? You do? She loves you too. Oh, Avram ... dear Avram ... come up in the bed with me ... "
"I'm not sure both of us can get up there."
"Oh, do ... please do ... I'll get up on top ... there's room. ... "
His big hands turned her this way and that, and he rolled his big body onto the bed, and he fumbled with his clothes a bit, and then Nan, still naked except for the coverlet over her shoulders, felt herself slowly sliding down ... down onto Avram's large and thoroughly ready cock. She opened easily to receive him, and prepared to settle down comfortably. To her surprise, it filled her, inside, all the way to the cervix: there was a thoroughly satisfying feeling of being stuffed right up to the gills.
"Now arch your back a little," he said. "Sit forward a little."
She did, and felt the tip of her clitoris rub decliciously against his pubis, covered as it was with his thick forest of bodily hair. It scratched ... Delight-fully... She purred softy as he rearranged the cover on her shoulders with big protective hands, and, still purring quietly, she began slowly and rhythmically to ride, ride, on his big and responsive body, back and forth. Her eyes closed; her breathing grew heavier, heavier; she felt his own response growing, growing .. . they were coming, together ... both of them ... at the same time ... She heard his deep grunt at the same moment her own climax came, and she collapsed grate-fully on his big chest, digging her flushed face into his heavy beard. ...
"Don't look now," Lloyd said up front, "but something's going on up there in the back."
"What?" Esther said in her rough voice. She looked around when the track stopped at a traffic light. "For Christ's sake," she said. "Fucking. Can you beat that?"
"My, my," Lloyd said in a mock-prim voice. "But wouldn't you just adore getting a piece of that, now?"
"Which one?" she said, putting the car back in gear. Lloyd, an arch smile on his face, refused to answer.
She looked in the rear-view mirror, smiled wryly, and gave it the gas. "You're right," she said. "It wouldn't matter in the slightest."
