It was the fifth straight day that the thermal inversion hung motionless over the city, smothering the people in a choking sea of hot, dry polluted air.
One hundred eighty people had already died and hourly radio and television bulletins warned people with heart and respiratory problems to stay indoors.
The ten P.M. local news bulletin stirred Carol out of her restless sleep. Ever since the inversion hit, catnaps fifteen and twenty minutes at a time had now replaced her usually peaceful all night deep sleep. She lay naked on the bed, perspiration buds covering her entire body.
The 110 degree daily temperature readings had placed a drain overload on the city's power system so much so, warnings were being made that the entire electrical system could very possibly totally break down unless everyone kept their air conditioners and fans, lights and accessories OFF!
A cigarette in her left hand stretched out over the side of the bed, she stared .glassy-eyed up at the ceiling, watching the slim, narrow cloud of smoke hovering over head. Hearing the bulletin introduction to the weather report on her transistor radio resting on her night stand, next to the butt-filled ash tray, she pulled her other hand out from under her head and turned up the volume.
The voice on the radio, expressing little emotion, spoke in a calm monotone voice. For the last few hours, after running across the station while desperately hunting for some good music, Carol wondered what the face and man behind the voice really looked like.
"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the latest U.S. weather bureau advisory UP-DATE." Was he tall or short ... no he was tall with the biggest cunt stretching dick -- she just knew it.
"The thermal inversion that has hovered over the city for the past five days is not expected to move out to sea for at least another two days. A cold high pressure area in the midwest is moving in, but is not expected for at least forty-eight hours. People with heart and respiratory conditions are being advised to remain indoors.
"Brownouts, power cut backs can be expected to continue until the heat wave moves out to sea. Today's high was one hundred ten degrees. Stay tuned for more UP-DATE information. We now return you to Bigsbee Banyon and golden oldies you're never too old to remember."
Dead air and then the small radio blared out with the latest golden oldie to make the top forty list. Just what she didn't feel like -- noise to complicate her exciting quiet night in bed.
With one wild half-hearted swing, she caught the on-off switch with the back of her hand, knocking the radio onto the floor accomplishing her objective. The radio was off and the room was drenched in silence, except for the ticking from a small electric clock on the dresser by the bathroom door.
She lay motionless on her back, her legs propped up, spread open so the hot stale air from the small electric fan at the foot of her sweat soaked bed could dry off her black curly mound of kinky hair guarding the entrance to her sweltering slit.
What was she going to do for the next forty eight hours -- the last forty eight hours of her vacation? A vacation totally destroyed by the fucking inversion.
No! She had made up her mind. For one full year she had saved and planned for this week and damit, with only Saturday and Sunday left, the two days were going to be crammed full of everything she could get her hands and mouth on, to make up for all she missed!
Her toes curled at the thought of the fun she had in mind. Chills ran down her back as she arched her body up into the air, reaching for the imaginary man she pictured hiding behind her eyelids. Her nipples on her creamy white breasts hardened as she felt the orgasm building up from down deep inside. Often she had felt it building up, but now it was stronger than ever. This time it was not going to get away. She would help it along.
Both her hands grabbed her firm, full breasts, squeezing, pulling and fondling, first gently -- now with so much force they hurt with an excitement she had never experienced. Her body was quivering. She felt her nipples reach up toward the ceiling. Pulling her breasts up to her mouth, she licked her left nipple and then the right with a back and forth flicking motion that drove her on demanding more and more. Her cunt lips swelled. A flood of love juices began dripping down her thighs.
Never had her body responded this way before. She couldn't control herself. Her mind exploded with an ecstasy, smothering her long, firm body in a blanket of electricity.
She reached down, running her first finger through the wet, moist mound, deeper and deeper into the rich thick hair 'til she felt her own soft flesh -- the rounded lips of her slit moist and ready for the rhythmic ramming thrusts of a blood-filled dick -- any dick!
Her legs shaking, she discovered the key that was to unleash her explosion. A small mound of hot, throbbing flesh, buried deep between two swollen set of lips now drenching in a sea of lubrication that spewed from her cunt at the base of a small ridge where her legs joined together.
Her buttocks were raised high in the air. Her hands, grabbing, rubbing and stroking her mound of wet hair sent ripple after ripple of shock waves through her body. The jolts of electricity intensified. Stronger and stronger, longer and longer, until one continuous charge criss-crossed her flesh.
Deeper and deeper she thrust her finger into her cunt. The swollen dripping walls surrounded her fingers, squeezing it -- releasing it, squeezing it -- releasing it! In and out, in and out she slid her finger following the cavern of love-soaked raw skin that responded to her slightest touch, sending charge after charge throughout her taut, firm flesh.
Faster and faster. She couldn't stop. Charge after charge racked her limbs. My God, she thought, I can't take it any more. But she couldn't -- wouldn't stop. With one nipple deep between her lips, she rammed two fingers, now three, deeper and deeper into her cunt. Four fingers, deep into her loins. Could she take her whole hand? She had to find out. Shivering, trembling shakes took hold of her entire body. One mammouth convulsive explosion, sent torrents of tears pouring down her cheeks.
Her heart pounded harder than she had ever known. Gasps of fresh air rushed into oxygen starved lungs racked from exhaustion. First, frustration ... and now fatigue.
If this was an orgasm -- she wanted it. As many as she could get. But not from herself, but at the hands of a man who possessed her body totally. Never would she unleash this within herself again. Never!
She didn't remember falling asleep, nor how long she had been dead to the world, but the continuous pulsating ring of the telephone annoyed her, irritating her to consciousness.
"Hi, how'd you sleep?"
The voice wasn't familiar and she was about to hang up, when her eyes opened wide. The man behind the voice on the phone -- how did he ... she panicked. A chill grabbed her, freezing her in fear -- how did he know she had been sleeping?
What should she do? Hang up or play along? Seconds flashed by and the voice on the other end, realizing what must be going through her mind, began to laugh. "Hey, don't hang up, please. I'm no pervert, and I don't spend my evenings spooking broads on the phone. Really, I don't."
Something about the voice made Carol calm down and relax. It was deep and manly, with a slow gait that reflected a touch of emotion and tenderness. "Keep talking," she said, trying to bide time in order to wake her mind up. She was still half asleep.
How did he know what she was doing? -- that bugged her -- Wait! The window ... the drapes covering the open window at the foot of her bed. Shit! She sat up! They were tied back letting in what cool air there was. It couldn't be, she thought. The nearest apartment was three blocks away on the other side of the park, hidden behind those trees. But what if he had binoculars -- or even worse, a camera. He'd have seen everything.
Whatever she did from this point on, she figured she'd better just act cool, even though her insides were shaking and she was scared.
She hadn't been listening to what the voice oii the phone had been saying but she didn't care. She'd decided what to do and that's all that mattered.
"OK, what's the big idea of picking my name out of the phone book and calling me up," she said in a half joking voice. "Haven't you got anything better to do with your time?"
He laughed, "You know, I didn't just happen to pick your number and you know it."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about better explain." She followed her theory
through to the end just to make sure he wasn't reaching for straws.
"Come on," he laughed, "stop playing games. I don't want to waste the evening any more than you do." He paused for a second. "OK, if you insist. I live in those apartments you're looking at right now. Top apartment, left hand corner. Look closely ... you see me waving?"
She could just barely make out something moving in the window. Her mind returned suddenly to her orgasm earlier. Had he seen her exploring her body, turning herself into an exploding, raging female animal. Had he? She had to know.
"So now that you've got your jollies off -- maybe even shot your wad a couple of times watching a nude broad sleeping, be a good little boy and go back in the bathroom and play with yourself."
"I've been watching you for quite a while .. . even before you fell asleep," he said with a quickening in his voice. "And before you hang up, if you were thinking about it, don't ... I've got a proposition to make." Her heart skipped a beat.
That God-damned, fucking, mother-fucking, cock sucker, she thought, wants to blackmail me for pictures I'll bet. Who does he think he is -- a walking lifesize dick Probably thinks every broad in town is after his joint. Bet it's only three inches long and buried deep inside umteen layers of fat. Blackmail me for a quick fuck, he's barking up the wrong tree, the wrong cunt. On second thought, she didn't say what she wanted too.
"I'm listening ... you're the one who called me ... so talk Make me a proposition," she said. What else could she do. If he had taken pictures she had to get them back Anyway it took.
"I've got pictures of you and I think you know I do. Right?"
"You're doing all the talking, so don't stop on my account."
"I'll swap them for spending the night with you. That's all -- one night and the pictures are yours, negatives and all. Fair enough?"
She didn't say a word. Silence, she figured, and rightly so, was better than saying anything. Especially the wrong thing.
He started talking again, his breathing becoming stronger and deeper. He was getting excited and she could sense it and that made her excited.
"I found your apartment quite by accident. You Must believe me. I don't do this all the time. But when I found you just laying there, your legs propped up, knees spread wide apart, your cunt staring me square in the face, I just had to watch. Couldn't stop myself ... My dick, just watching you, started to bulge in my pants, straining to break free. Then when you touched your breasts, and licked your nipples and fingered yourself ... I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to have you. Had to grab your full tits ... bite your nipples and eat your box and lick you all over. I must have you, I must."
Just hearing him describe her orgasm made her cunt twitch. Her nipples hardened again ... her box began to fill and moisten her lips at the entrance to her. tunnel of love. What was she going to do. His voice was soft and she felt seduced even before seeing him, before feeling his joint, grabbing and suckling his small, firm testicles slung beneath his joy stick, surrounded and engulfed in a sea of hair.
She took a deep breath. And another and another. Then she spoke softly, seductively, in a low, soft voice she knew was swelling his joint to its very limits. What did she have to lose? If he started to cause any trouble -- real trouble -- a few yells would bring the cop living upstairs. Yah, she thought, now standing in front of the door length mirror, admiring her full rounded breasts, her long legs topped with her fluffy mound of matted cunt hair sticky from her cunt liqueur.
"Can you see my nipples harden?" She paused. "Look closely." He didn't say a word, but she could tell his eyes were straining through his camera. His heavy, quick breath was giving him away.
Just the mere thought that she was exciting him drove her on, driving him mad for her body. She walked to the window and pressed her breasts flat against the warm window pane. Slowly, in a slow rotating motion, she rubbed her breasts and pussy hair against the glass. It was different, a new experience In an evening that had already shown her the thrills of her very being ... a body she had never felt before -- a body she had learned to begin to love.
"Grab your joint in your hand and wrap your fingers around its swollen mushroom head", she said, rolling the words off her wet lips. "Now slowly, oh, so slowly, slide your hand up and down its long shaft stem. Feel it and remember how it feels. Remember, because my soft wet lips and my hot tongue will bring you a million fold the pleasure you feel now tingling your rod, priming your come in its soft wrinkled sack. Hold back. Save your hot giz for me and me alone."
As she spoke, her body quivered and shook Her toes curled and she felt her cunt juices ooze down between her pussy hairs, again rolling along her thighs. With quick jab-like motions she thrust her hips into the window. He watched and rubbed his own prick toward her, four hundred yards away.
"How long will it take you to come over?" She breathed into the phone, still trapped in her own self-induced ecstasy.
"I'm there already", he said, and hung up.
She didn't know what to expect nor did she really care. A man was coming over to her; a man who wanted to turn her body wild with passion and raw sex and that's all that really mattered at this moment in her life.
Chapter Two
But at a time much earlier in her life she did care what the men wanted from her. They weren't men then, they were boys and because she was pretty with legs they liked and had small firm breasts that stood straight out, (while her other girl friends had none), she had all the boys she could handle, and then some. And that made the other girls angry, even jealous. But she really didn't care.
Her mother had always told her not to let the boys touch her. But what did her mother mean. She could never figure out why the boys couldn't touch her. Her mother never said more than -- "don't let them touch you, understand?" Of course she nodded "yes", but she didn't understand what she was agreeing to.
One day stood out from all the rest from her childhood years. She was just fourteen, exactly two days past her birthday party that she had invited all sixteen of her friends to attend. It was late at night, and she was walking home from her Uncle Jebs cottage down the dusty dirt road, around the bend and just the other side of the foot bridge, next to the old oak tree. It had been a beautiful day with Aunt Eloise and Unk Jeb. Swimming in the morning and a boat ride in the afternoon on Unk's new 14-foot Fiberglas boat had left her tired.
She walked slowly, no need to run home since Mother and Dad had gone out for the evening to visit with the Stokes up the road a piece.
The sky was pink from the setting summer sun and there was just enough sunlight to guide her the rest of the way home. The light from the back porch caught her eye just about the same instance the arms reached out from the bushes alongside of the road, one hand covering her mouth, smothering her screams, the other hand wrapping around her arms, dragging her, pulling her deep in the underbrush off the path.
She never remembered anything else from that night. Everything had been buried deep into her subconscious. So much so she never remembered Unk jeb finding her sprawled out along the side of the road with her dress and underpants pulled down around her ankles. Her long straight black hair was thick with leaves and twigs, messed up ... her pony tall was no longer pulled tightly back.
But that was ten years ago -- an eternity -- this was the here and now, the present and she was waiting for what seemed like hours, but was in fact just thirteen minutes.
The intercom buzzer was still ringing when she pushed the talk button. "Who is it."
"It's me from across the park." His voice was loud and clear. "Buzz me up."
She didn't say, a word, just pushed the buzzer long enough for someone to walk from the talk-listen speaker and open the door.
Two minutes passed, then she heard the elevator door open and close -- then, three knocks on the door. The knocks were firm and strong. For some reason, the knocks made her think a real man, not a boy, was standing on the other side of the door.
Opening the peep hole with her left hand she peeked out into a deep blue eye. "Stand back and let me take a look at you." She felt silly. Why was she playing games at this moment for? Did it really matter whether he was tall or short, fat or thin? Just so long as he had a thick rod between his legs that felt like a salmon and wanted to -- had to -- come up stream.
Outside in the narrow hallway, he stepped back five feet so she could take him all in. Pushing her eye into the fish eye viewer, she felt her heart skip a beat and then race. It was impossible. He couldn't be! He was more than she could have possibly hoped for. Tall, about six feet, she figured, with long blond hair ... built like a football player. Muscles covered his frame where fat normally hung on the average run of the mill man.
She fidgeted with the door and stepped back. "It's open, come on in ... I'm ready when you are."
The door opened slowly. A hand holding a roll of Kodak 135-film nudged through the opening and started waving back and forth like a white flag of surrender. Carol stepped back again, bumping up against the kitchen table. She stopped. The door opened and then closed.
Standing in her bikini panties, she gazed at the hunk of a man who just a quarter of an hour ago, was a voice on the phone. She watched as he locked each of the five bolts and then took off his nylon jacket. He wore no shirt and his hairy chest excited her. His broad shoulders and thin waist seemed like they belonged to a Roman God from Mt. Vesuvius, not a real human being.
She had to touch him to make sure she wasn't dreaming. He stood motionless not saying a word, watching this tiny dark-complected girl with two soft, bouncing matched mellows topped with wrinkled red nipples, slumber slowly toward him. Her heart pounded and her stomach quivered. Closer and closer -- was it really a dream -- was she going to wake up at the last moment?
His hands reached around her small waist, drawing her to his chest. Her heart pounded deep within her chest. She felt her body pulled into his grasp. She did not resist. His hand with the film, slid down her curved back slipping the canisters of film into her panties, down between her firm, hard cheeks, pressing it deeper until the film rested firmly in her moist damp bed of pussy hair.
"It's all yours, just like I promised, but if you don't mind me saying so, film is supposed to be stored in a cool dry place." He smiled, his white teeth bit her upper lip gently but deeply, drawing a single drop of blood. He scooped it up with his tongue.
Arching her head straight up, she peered deep into his eyes. "Thanks," she busted out laughing and kneed him jokingly in the bulge that rubbed up against her bikini panties. While he was holding her tight, she felt the beast in his pants straining to be free. She teased him, rubbing her box gently back and forth, up and down and around in a circular motion. A small damp wet spot appeared on his pants just at the head of his dick, not tucked under like most men, but reaching upward, trying to free itself.
Running playfully into the kitchen, she dropped the film into the open kettle of water sitting on the stove. She had no choice but to believe the film in the canister was the same film he had used to photograph her love play. It had to be destroyed first before she became too involved and lost rational control.
"Want a drink?"
"Never drink", he said.
"How about something to eat?"
"Later, I promise." She caught his chuckle and smiled along with him.
"Like what you see?" She turned out the kitchen light, leaving only the night stand light in the bedroom directly behind her, to light the apartment.
He nodded his head.
"Want to see more? If you do, you'll have to take the rest off yourself! This ain't no restaurant. It's smorgasbord tonight. Take all you want ... eat all you want ... seconds are on the house."
She could feel her body begin to tremble. Awaiting his touch from those powerful hands seemed like an eternity. Why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't he walling toward me, she wondered. Unable to wait any longer, she walked on the balls of her feet over to where he stood, towering over her, saying nothing, only smiling.
Slowly, with only her finger nails, she ran up his hairy chest, across his broad shoulder, down his muscular arms, in between his arms and chest, reaching back around to his back. Her nipples hardened at the first touch of his hairy chest. From the tips of her toes up the front of her legs and panties, she pressed every inch of her body close to his.
As soon as she felt his flesh on hers, she started sliding her breasts and cunt up and down and around in a circular rhythmic motion, as she had done before. Standing high up on her toes and arching her shoulders and chest back away from his, she slid his firm, hard rigid rod, still hiding beneath his pants, into the soft front ridge of her slit. He tensed his body, then pulled her into his powerful arms. His lips reached out, capturing her moist mouth.
Their tongues met, flicking each other's tips. First his powerful tongue thrust deep into her mouth, between her teeth and inner lips, then deep within her mouth, then gently across the top of her bottom lip. It was her turn. In and around, lightly, then stronger pulsating thrusts that matched her ramming drives of her hips into his muscular thighs.
She was totally within his powerful grasp, yet he was gentle and soft. He was obviously aware of his strength and knew how to use it. He was powerful. She was weak and this realization made her feel good. He was the man capable of possessing her as none else had done in the past. Many had tried. All had failed, leaving her longing for a man that could make love to her. Raise her to the limits of her endurance, take her beyond, then return her total body as she had always dreamed.
She could smell the sweat from their bodies melt together. It excited her senses and tingled her nose. His body odor was strong and manly; while hers was soft and delicately sweet. The raw nakedness engulfed her in a feeling of total freedom. Nothing was wrong, everything was right. Everything in the room seemed to disappear. The mugginess of the evening and sweat from their hot throbbing bodies covered them both in a thick blanket of perspiration. Her tongue caught the drops dangling on the hairs of his chest and she rolled them across the tops of her lips. Nothing seemed to stop her. She wanted to devour him totally. Kiss him. Lick him. Suck his very essence. Leaving nothing unexplored. Leaving nothing sacred.
"Spread your legs. Don't move a muscle, no matter what", she pleaded, sliding down the full length of his long body, coming to rest on her knees.
This was the moment she had been waiting for. Her eyes opened widely. She ran her hands lightly around his hips and the rock buried inside. It was hard, long, thick and hot; underneath his pants she could feel the heat pouring though. Beneath the rigid ramrod, she felt his two testicles filled to the brim with the come she longed to explode deep within her pussy.
She was in no hurry. She moved slowly, concentrating on every inch of his flesh. She had made up her mind when she first saw his body standing like a giant in the doorway, that this would be a night he, too, would remember for the rest of his life. She never went back on a promise.
She prided herself on her long finger nails and put them to work gliding up and down his powerful, hairy legs. His twitching muscles drove him on, higher and higher, until she arrived, at last, at his throbbing joint, cramped inside his pants, struggling to squirt its hot cream like a water pistol, deep in her loins.
It would have been easy to simply unhook his belt, unzip his fly and drop his pants and under-pants to the floor, freeing his beast that desperately desired to engulf and penetrate her hive now filled with flowing honey. It would have been, but why hurry.
That pleasure would be his soon enough, but not now, she thought. She would rack his body with the tortures of total pleasure, pleasures that bordered on insanity.
As she began, his powerful hands engulfed her breasts, squeezing them, pulling them, then stroking them. Never before had her breasts been handled with such total delight His hands ex-cited her tongue that licked at the inside of his thighs. Even through his pants, he felt the power of her flicking tip. After what appeared like hours, she dropped his pants to the floor leaving him clad in his cotton mesh bikini underpants sitting low on his hips.
He closed his eyes as she stroked his massive hunk of manliness from the bottom with only the tips of her fingers. The tingling sensation ran up and down his whole body, shaking and twitching his muscles.
Her own body quivered to his obvious delights. Both were reaching the 'first of many orgasms that were to end in a crescendo of pulsating thrusts and animal like groans.
Hardly a word had been spoken for half an hour, but no words needed to be spoken. They communicated with their tongues, their fingers and soon -- oh, so soon -- with the love potions churning within his wrinkled, hairy sack and her pulsating cunt.
With a slow -- very slow rolling motion, she took down his bikini pants exposing the massive, red mushroom head of his long joint. Chills ran through her nipples, down into her pussy. Never had she seen such a big head on any man. He was built like a horse with a dork that continued to grow, once its head broke free of his pants. Seven inches ... no eight inches long and at least two-and-one-half inches thick. Maybe she was too small. Her small tight box, unaccustomed to any-thing this size, might be too narrow. His massive thrusts could tear her up inside. She was scared.
She could no longer hold back. Cupping his dick gently in both hands, she slid his total mass deep into her mouth. He smiled and raised his head to the ceiling in total ecstasy.
She was shocked. She could get his total prick in her mouth. Her body exploded in rapture, unleashing a flood of her own juices rolling down her legs.
Rolling her tongue around his massive penis, she continued to slide her rounded lips up and down the total length of his pink, hot tool. With her finger tips, she stroked his hairy scrotum sack, gently squeezing the jewels carried snugly inside.
Starting slowly then increasing to a crescendo of thrusts from her head and his hips, she sucked his shaft like a lollipop, feeling his volcano of lava building up deep within his joint. Her mouth lubricated itself as he swelled reaching its full massive length.
He squeezed her nipples, creating a shockwave of pain so joyful she became light headed, and her eyes dripped tears. Faster and faster she sucked on his full, hot penis. Harder and harder he pulled at her tits, stretching her nipples. Her body-racked with small electrical charges, shook, pouring forth sheets of perspiration that rolled down her breasts, mixing, as they had earlier in the evening, in her handful of black damp hair. The charges grew stronger ... stronger ... She sucked harder and harder; jamming, ramming, everything he had into her mouth. She tore into her panties, sliding her fingers into her wet slippery slip, searching for her clit. One touch and she found, for the second time in one night, the key to her internal explosion.
The cunt juices flowed like the dam had burst and she thrust fingers, drenched and dripping with her come, up into his mouth. He sucked hard, drinking in her warm, oily liquid ,
Once again she returned to her hairy slit and began to explore. Faster ... Faster ... Thrusting, sucking, fingering, squeezing, pulling ... sucking, more ... more ... deeper ... biting ... EXPLOSION!
Their orgasms touched each other off. Deep in the dark depths of his sack, gushers of white creamy come squirted up, up through the long tube running the full length of his dick and into her mouth. The alkaline taste drove her on sucking out his juices until her mouth was full and he was dry -- at least for the time being. The hot giz filled her mouth, but she wasn't finished yet.
She jumped to her feet and met his lips. He knew what she wanted, but he did not resist. He explored her open mouth with his tongue. His own hot come slid back and forth between their tongues and lips mixing with their own saliva. They thrust their tongues into each others mouths again recreating the climar that had just engulfed them totally.
Swallowing the last globs of sperm, he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom and turned off the light. Now it was her turn to be worked over.
It was 1:10 PM exactly. The all night DJ announced it in between an old Bill Haley hit from the early fifties and one of the more popular Beatle million-plus sellers from the middle sixties.
Her small, three room, fourth floor brown stone walk up off Central Park West was dark, muggy and totally silent, except for the toilet flushing off the kitchen, next to the dining room.
He had gently carried her naked, exhausted body into the bedroom and had disappeared. Frankly, she was glad. She had these few minutes to herself. It gave her a chance to relax, unwind -- mentally and physically.
Never had she felt the way she did at this very moment. If anyone had told her to describe how she felt, she knew they wouldn't believe a single word she would have uttered. She lay spread eagled, drenched in sweat that filled the room with an aroma that buried the stagnant air. She felt as if she was three feet off the ground, free, totally free and at peace with herself.
Her mind kept slipping from one thought to the next, totally incapable of staying on anything for more than a fraction of a second. A collage of images passed before her glassy stare covering the total span of her entire life. Without consciously trying to add meaning to what she saw, she sat like a small child in a movie theater, transfixed by the mere wonder of the movement passing before her eyes.
The bathroom door opened. The pictures stopped as she followed his bare feet, groping in the dark, first bump into the couch and then Aunt Mary's old antique floor lamp, before he finally stumbled into the doorway to the kitchen. w .
Inside, her ears strained a bit to hear the magnet latch on the refrigerator snap open. What was he doing in the refrigerator? Probably hungry, could be looking for a cold beer for a bit of strength she thought, turning on the radio.
"Sorry, no beer," she yelled into the dark, as she rolled over onto her side, sliding her arm under her head. "Only Diet Fresca."
His deep resonant voice responded, "Who said I was looking for something to drink."
"Then what is he looking for," she thought. If it wasn't food or something to drink, then what was it? "Here, let me help you," she yelled back, starting to get up.
"Stay there, I found it ... be right in."
"Surer
"Very sure," he said.
Little did Carol realize that she was in for an experience she had never dreamed of ... and the secret to what lay in store was held behind his back as he stood in the doorway.
"What did you find that you were looking for?", she asked anxiously, curious to hear his answer.
You'll find out soon enough. Trust me," he said, walking over to the edge of the bed. He stood erect, not an ounce of fat covering his tall, lean muscular frame.
She ran the palm of her hand over his left leg, lightly skimming the blond hairs. His long, limp dick jolted to life filling it's inner limits with blood, turning a deeper and deeper shade of red, until it jutted. out from his flat gut toward her face.
"Careful. It's got a trigger finger machanism. The slightest touch, the slightest, and bang." He jolted toward her like a ghostly monster.
She was obviously shaken and rolled over on her back and over again till she stopped ... resting on her other side facing the wall.
What was he hiding? Her curiosity was mounting, she had to find out. Before she had a chance to ask him straight out a shocking streak of cold-freezing icicle electricity streaked down her spine into her cunt, down her legs, curling her toes. Her limp nipples, reacting to the cold, contracted, wrinkling into a tight raised mound of pink flesh. A second shiver jolted the tips of her shoulders and then one long stinging penetrating frigid, dull cold struck the base of her spine just above the round cheeks of her buttocks.
"Wh-what was that?"
Spinning around like a top, she searched the dark for an answer. She heard only his voice from the edge of the bed. "The Turks call it glacial rocks."
"Please," she begged, "tell me."
"Lay back, spread your legs and pull your knees up so your feet are flat on the bed." She responded without asking another question. It was his ballgame, she figured, and since it was his turn at bat, he was going to call all the plays for the rest of this game.
Her body quivered in anticipation of what was to happen next. He sensed her uneasiness and waited, letting her mind question the intensity of the next explosion to follow.
Silence. Dead silence filled the room. He had turned the radio off right after he sat down and she could only hear the two of them breathing. The street sounds that normally filtered up into the room were not there because of the thermal inversion.
After what seemed like hours, cold slid along the length of her right foot like the flame of a fuse burning. As quickly as it had appeared it was gone. Her left nipple trembled to the sudden slick, damp wet, freezing cold object that lit on the tip of the nipple then vanished into the dark.
Never had she felt this turmoil in her loins. Her mind began to vibrate with stinging electricity. What was he doing to her? Again and again in sudden swift sneak attacks he thrilled her body. No area was left untouched. Nipples, stomach, her warm soft thighs, even her hot sticky cunt felt the pleasure of his cold glacial rocks. "More ... more," she found herself screaming. "Don't stop."
She shook from head to toe, possessed by a strange magical power he seemed to hold over her. His strong hands reached in between her raised thighs down along her wet hairy cunt grabbing hold of her tight cheeks. Pulling them slowly apart, she felt a cold wet finger slide back and forth, over and around, probing her tight anus. Ripples of unknown delight tricked up through her stomach. He -- this stranger with no name -- was exploring her body with the deft touch of a master, a professional.
Inching his finger deeper and deeper into her anus, little by little, a swelling balloon sensation came-over her. Her tight contracting sphincteral muscles finally gave in allowing his finger to penetrate deep into her body, up to his knuckle.
Such an entry had never crossed her mind in her wildest dreams. It was wonderfully different and exciting the way his long finger probed, with-drew then pushed deeper until she felt she could take no more. Once he had entered to the full finger length, he' withdrew completely and reached across to a long, firm object laying on the bed where he had placed it.
A smashing white cold, stinging flash struck behind her eyes. Her body jolted then arched up rigid with electricity. Deep between her legs, a cold member was pushing, inch by inch, into her bowels. Her sphineteral muscles contracted, trying to repel this shivering intruder, but failed and heightened her ecstasy. Five full inches had entered her body. She could feel every inch, totally, but what in god's name was it?
Every inch of her body trembled and exploded internally, with flashes of hot and cold. Engulfed in her own delight, she grabbed her breasts, squeezing and pulling her nipples, multiplying her own delight. She thrilled to the pleasures he was giving her and was shocked at the way she loved to touch and fondle her own soft flesh.
Her body remained arched high into the air with both legs spread wide apart. Only her heels and shoulders touched the bed. "Oh, no," she screamed. "No, I can't take any more ... My god what are you doing to me ... NO MORE ... No, please don't stop. Yes ... Yes ... More ... Faster ... faster ... Yah ..
Her words turned quickly into groans that filled the apartment, bouncing off the walls. Her ears, head and the ridges,and the swollen lips of her wet hairy cunt felt the back and forth sloshing movements of his quick flickering tongue.
With rapid convulsive twitches, she exploded again and again and again. She wanted to stop but couldn't. She was possessed and felt as if she was coming apart, turning inside out then back again.
She fell unconscious and limp onto the bed, shivering from deep cold chills that slowly sub-sided in intensity. Totally exhausted and mentally drained, she slept as never before. Beads of sweat poured from her skin, cooling down the freezing volcanic convulsion that had minutes before liberated her mind from her body. She had reached deep into her loins and had given all she had to give -- there was nothing left to bring forth. Only sleep.
Chapter Three
He was gone. Some time during the night while she was reliving her pleasures, the man with the perfect body had gotten dressed and walked out of her life. She found the note he had written and left on the kitchen table. "A deal is a deal. That's all it was, nothing more, nothing less." It was printed very neatly on the bottom of her shopping list. He was gone all right, she thought, but she'd never forget one single detail of what happened.
After reading the note twice, and then throwing it in the garbage, she took the roll of film from the kettle on the stove and threw it into the garbage, too. Back in the bedroom the clock showed 9:00 AM. One look out the window at the smog, Carol flopped back on the bed and slept.
She was enjoying her walk through Central Park with the hot sun burning down from above, even though the air was still highly polluted. Every muscle in her body ached, but it was a good hurt, not a bad one.
Never could she remember feeling this fantastic. A wide ear to ear smile covered her face without any outward sign of leaving. To New Yorkers, smiling people were strange -- something was wrong with them. As she walked by first an old lady, then a young mother with a baby carriage and lastly a middle aged Wall Street type, those "stay away from me" glances flashed across their eyes like .daggers as they turned, continuing on their way.
What did she care. She was happy for the first time in years ... so "fuck the world", she heard herself mumbling out loud. "Fuck it in the ear." She stopped and chuckled. In the ear ... never tried it!
After finding the note she went back to sleep. She woke up three hours later, took a shower, wrapped herself in a towel that tucked under arms and across her breasts and sat down to a hot steaming cup of coffee and a piece of buttered toast with grape jelly.
It was now two-ish and she sat down on the base of the fountain, behind the outdoor music shell, eating a hot dog and drinking a can of Doctor Pepper. She watched the ducks land and take off, only to circle the park a few times and land again in the cool stream-fed lake fifty feet away across the stone plaza, to the north.
Suddenly, without warning, two open hands shot in from both sides of her field of vision covering her eyes. Carol gasped as a chill ran down the base of her spine.
Dropping her half empty can of soda, she tore out pulling at the powerful hands that wouldn't budge. Automatically, out of instinct, she drove her long pointed nails into the hairy flesh on the back of his hands.
"Shit," a man's tormented voice screamed out in obvious pain. "Can't you take a fuckin' joke."
His hands jerked away letting in a blast of white sunlight that forced her to squint and shield her eyes with an open hand. Recognizing first the voice and then the face after swinging around, she smiled and broke into a wild, hysterical laugh.
"Next time, watch where you put your hands, OK."
"Next time ... next time, I'll put my hands in your hot pants and then I'll know for sure you won't want me to ever take them away."
"When did you become the comedian?"
'Just about the time you jabbed those deadly weapons into my source of livelihood)", he said under his breath, licking his wounds, not quite seeing all the humor in the whole thing.
She watched him sucking on. one of the punctures that had a speck of blood sitting in between the hairs. She couldn't stop laughing. Trying to catch her breath, -- she tripped over his 8-speed English Racing bike laying on its side, where he had left it before he started his fruitless attack.
Catching her footing, she stared at Paul for the first time since his mock attack fell apart. Paul Bryant was the kind of man she always dug and the only man she had ever known she could honestly see herself marrying. One trouble though -- a small one -- he was already married, three daughters to boot,. and of course, a wife.
Full of personality, 6 feet 2 inches, red hair, bedroom blue eyes that sent a chill down her back, and a faceful of freckles, and a CPA to cap it off. Paul Bryant was in Carol's own words, one hell of a HUNK. Without batting an eye, she'd jump into the sack with him, but only if he made the first move. She was no home wrecker. Playing the other woman was not her bag. She'd never break up a home, but grabbing for the loose pieces after everything was gone, was quite another story.
Again breaking into a smile from ear to ear, Carol stretched out her right hand as to show, "no hard feelings." Hoping to play the hurt, misunderstood ,role to the hilt, he hesitated just on principle.
"If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing out here by yourself attacking helpless, defenseless women? Where are Jill and the kids?"
"Maine, visiting her folks. I had hoped to join them for the vacation, but some unexpected work came up."
Butterflies tickled her stomach. Wondering whether she should or shouldn't, she finally did after a few seconds of deliberation. "How long are they going to be gone?," asking in a matter-of-fact tone, making sure she wasn't looking him in the eyes.
"Two weeks."
Fourteen days. Paul didn't see the smile Carol buried behind her face. "Oh yah, Jill did mention something about it when we met in the elevator." Jill didn't care for Carol, for obvious reasons. So it was doubtful they had ever spoken more than two or three words, at the outside, to each other.
Okey dokey, she thought Maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards right, he can be had. But how to find out the card game he was dealing was her next question. He answered that question for her much sooner than she had expected.
"How about dinner tonight?"
"Huh," she responded, not having anything better come to mind.
"Didn't realize I affected your hearing when I covered your eyes. Let's have dinner together. Know this very nice place." He cocked his head to the side, a questioning expression flashing in his eyes. Oh, those eyes! "Don't you like to eat three squares a day? Oh, or is it you think I'm really a wolf in sheeps clothing. You'll have to find that out for yourself."
Hell, why not. She nodded her head, topped off with a why-not half smile.
"Great. Fantastic. Pick you up at what? -- Seven?" He paused and waited for her nod. She smiled. He smiled back and said, "Got to pick up some clothes at the Dry Cleaners over on Eighth Avenue. See you at seven."
In a flash he. sprinted over to the bike. He picked it up and accelerating to a quick run, leaped onto the slim, narrow seat and peddled off, turning around once to wave.
"Hi, Oh Silver away," she caught him screaming off in the distance as he swung around the bicycle path as it curved down by the bridge.
She remembered she had promised herself a wild weekend to make up for a shitty week's vacation and now everything was falling into place. Tonight, oh tonight, things were really going to fit together very tightly. She could feel it between her legs, deep in her powdered cunt hair. She could tell by the way they tingled.
Chapter Four
She had just finished her second showers of the day and stepped out from behind the shower curtain, standing dripping wet on her blue mat; part of the bathroom set that included a seat cover and shower curtain.
Hot, moist steam filled the room leaving a dense cloud of dew clinging to the mirror. Her entire body tingled to the slight chill that came over her as she stepped out from the hot stream of water still splashing into the bath tub.
Reaching in, she turned both nobs clockwise and sat down on the toilet seat. She picked up one foot, crossed it over the other knee, dried off the toes and put toe nail polish, a deep red coat, on each nail. She repeated the same with the other foot.
Carol opened the bathroom door and felt the sudden blast of cold air rush in, chilling her skin. The water droplets left from the shower were just about gone, and she patted the few remaining ones with a soft bath towel.
What was she going to do with her hair? Be-cause of the weather, she decided to comb it up. Always looked best that way when it was hot and damp. Anything else would kink on her.
In the bedroom, she stood in front of the mirror, mounted on the inside of the open closet door. She had so much to wear, she didn't know what to wear. Fingering a few dresses, she picked something simple and threw it on the bed and pulled a pair of white hair-line bikini panties from the drawer and put them on. Leaving them half way between her knees and hips, she powdered her mound of black pussy hair with a seductive powder. If he could get past her sweet smell, she was making sure he would without any trouble, he'd have it licked. In a matter of minutes, she was done. And just in time, because the door buzzer rang as she finished with her lip gloss.
"Welcome to my humble abode," she said, opening the door. "Your wish is my every command. Within limits, of course," she added after an obvious pause.
"Classy joint." He walked in looking around. "Can't pay for this on a teacher's meager pittance. Who's keeping you?"
"Now, now, mustn't give out those trade secrets, you know."
They laughed and she gave him a tall double Bloody Mary on the rocks, took one for herself and gave him the fifty cent tour of the apartment for only a quarter.
"What time are our reservations? Don't want to be late and lose them."
"Fear not ... our table will be waiting what-ever time we get there," he answered, toasting his empty glass for a refill.
"The gent's got class," she said, refilling his drink. "Real class, he does."
Handing him a second chilled glass, she sat down taking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her legs. "Hey, all kidding aside, really ... stop smiling at me like that ... Let me be serious ... It isn't necessary for you to take me out to dinner ... I do appreciate it. Really." She touched his glass and sipped the drink. It was good. She began to feel the effects of her old family recipe.
Carol was happy and relaxed and she could tell by the way she talked. She made a point not to do a lot of talking and just sat staring at his big, beautiful eyes, listening to him rap about any-thing and everything.
The more she drank, the better he started to look and the more she started to glance down to where his penis was cradled in his pants. She could see it resting up against his body. Another couple of drinks, who knows, she'd bend over and kiss it on the head. It was gigantic even though it wasn't erected. And beneath, she caught the out-line of his monsterous balls that budged out from his double knit navy blue slacks.
"Are you listening?"
She looked up. "Of course I am. What do you think, I was raised in a barn or something. I got couth and I'm never imbolite." The Vodka had turned Impolite into Imbolite. A couple more and she was going to turn into something else. Her bedroom.
"Look what's happening to me. I've got a man in my apartment, a stranger to boot, and I'm losing control of myself." As she finished talking, she bent over and kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled back a few inches, staring up into his eyes. Neither one uttered a word, only looked, talking with their eyes. Together they slowly searched for each other's lips and met. She spread her lips a hair and he responded, inserting his tongue into her moist cavity.
"Hey," she called out pulling away and standing up. She took a long swallow and then another. "I think we'd better be going. Don't you?"
The room was silent. Paul didn't say a word foe a minute and only took a swallow, finishing his drink. Pulling his, eyes away from hers, he looked down, watching his first finger of the left hand slide around the slick rim of the thin necked glass.
He looked up. Different now, not the fun loving Paul she had always been used to, but a somber serious Paul that was turning his insides out and dropping his "I've got the world by the balls" attitude. She felt love for the Paul she was looking down at. She wanted to know more about him.
Realizing what was going on, he broke a smile and stood up. "Yep, you're right," he joked! "Let's get going so we don't miss anything. And you know what ... I think we're going to make it. I'd make book on it."
She caught what he'd said but decided to drop it and not make any cute comments. Time would tell. "Okay, the glasses are in the sink, you lead the way. I'm starved."
"Follow me."
"He opened the door and walked down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button. Carol locked the door and met him waiting for her with one foot jammed up against the steel door, keeping it from closing.
Inside, the doors closed and the elevator began to move. Why was it moving up instead of down. Her heart pounded.
"Mind filling me in?," she asked, half knowing the answer in advance, but wanting to hear it from his own lips.
"No, be glad to. With the weather still bad and unhealthy, I became concerned about taking care not to spoil your body and decided to eat in ... at my place."
"Just one condition," she said sternly, staring him straight between the eyes."
"Name it."
"Only if you wash and I dry."
Chapter Five
"Please ... why ... don't ... are you sure?"
"Have been for over a year ... and I think, if I'm not mistaken, you've been, too," he said cooly with complete certainty in his voice, waiting for her answer.
She felt his powerful arms sliding slowly around her firm waist pulling her closer, deeper into his chest. His wet lips nibbled on the nape of her neck. His thick hot probing tongue explored her ears. Carol's mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart thumped, pounded out of control. Time slowed down to a crawL Nothing else seemed to exist or even matter. For this moment, for this second in time, she was his to do with as he pleased.
Their bodies fused together as one. She felt her two soft full breasts topped with rigid protruding nipples thrust into his chest. Responding to him even more, Carol slid her thighs and mound of silken pussy hair across his inflated rod to manliness, sending streams of cunt come flowing in her swelling, hotbox. Tongues flicked. Lips sucked. Teeth grabbed and devoured the soft flesh at the nape of the neck.
Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness so she could just barely make out his hard, angular face peering down at her from above.
It had all happened so fast. The Bloody Marys ... the elevator rode ... the door opening ... the door closing shut behind her, burying her in total darkness ... his hands exploring her trembling flesh. Everything was hazy and details ware distant and unclear in her mind. Everything seemed like flashes of memory from a make believe world.
Carol was confused. Scared. Happy. Frightened. Something was happening she couldn't quite get a hold of, or understand. Something that had never happened before. Whatever it was, it was petrifying her and she had to know.
Her thoughts were jolted. Maybe what she felt, what she was experiencing for the first time in her life, maybe, no it couldn't be. Impossible. She wouldn't let herself even think of it. Or believe it. NOI She never needed anyone before and she never would either. NO! NO! NO! SHE WAS NOT FALLING IN LOVE!
Sex; raw sex, yes! Love, fuck no. Fucking and blowing guys, all right. Eating and sucking, right on. But never any strings attached. Needing someone, relying on someone ... she'd die first. She was no kitchen cunt. Her fuckin' folks were so much in love they got their order of things all screwed up. She showed up three weeks before they were married. And six months after they wed, her old man, the schmuck, knocked up some young high school cunt that used to jump gear shifts for kicks, and split. She never knew him. Wouldn't recognize him if she did.
But why was she thinking about her folks now, now of all times. All she wanted to be was happy and have a dork shoved into her hole so deep she could taste the come in her mouth. Carol thought maybe she was flipping out. Having a bad trip, but she wasn't on anything. Maybe he put some-thing in her drink?
Nothing was making sense, nothing. Like a drowning man grabbing for a straw, she clung to him for dear life, squeezing and hugging, digging her hands into his fleshy buttocks.
"Now dammit," she panted, "Eat me. Don't wait. Go down on me. Eat me out. Lick my clit. Suck my cunt. Pull out my hairs one by one with your teeth. Drink my honey. Do it! Yah! Do it!" Her staccato shrieks exploded into a faceful of tears that he licked up one by one with the swish of his tongue.
With one smooth, slow, singular motion, he slid the zipper down 'til it stopped over her ass. He inserted one hand and felt her moist cheeks tighten as he stuck a finger down between her panties and her round flesh. She cringed and bit his earlobe. He pushed and she flinched as he jammed his dick into her slit. He knew what he was doing, of that she was certain. He was no beginner out fucking around while the old lady was gone.
He pulled away! Alone she stood in the darkness, searching for some sign of life. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth. Never before had a man seduced her like this. He had no pattern -- no fixed routine like the others you could read like a book. Everything he did was wildly different. Exciting. It was like she was a virgin getting it for the very first time.
He moved faster than she could follow. Before she knew what happened, her summer white dress' slid off her shoulders, dropping to the floor. Shivers of delight engulfed her body as finger tips began to explore her dripping wet flesh. Nothing was left untouched. It was as if a blind man was trying to make a mental picture by touching her every mound, every curve. Over the tops of her tits, slipping around their soft bulging sides, along their rounded fleshy bottoms resting lightly on her white flesh.
Carol was stoned. Higher now than booze or grass. Higher than she had ever been. Her nipples continued to contract. How much longer could she take it before she exploded? Before his fire burned ass the way to the end of her short fuse. How much longer? She couldn't tell, but she knew it had to be soon because hot, thick, lubricating honey from her bee hive dripped down her swollen lips in an endless stream that stuck to her pitch black short hairs engulfing her twat in a cushion of warmth.
Every second became an eternity of total plea-sure. She had only one wish. To grab his long, long throbbing dick and fondle it in her hands and shove it into her mouth. To flick it and suck it and bite it and nibble on it and chew it and ram it and ram it ... and ram it ... and ram it ... and ram it ... driving it deep into her swollen box until it exploded, shooting clouds of creamy white, thick come all over her cunt. To drop to her knees and suck on it 'til the volcano builds up again ... To grab and squeeze his hot nuts, forcing out every last drop of giz in his hairy sack slung below his gigantic protruding dork.
That's what she wanted to do. But she didn't. She was his for now -- to play with, to fondle, to explore like a child plays with a new toy.
PAIN! stinging, pricking PAIN. My god he's pulling out my hairs one by one, she thought. PAIN and pleasure, it was too much. Every hair sent bolts of lightening streaking to the far corners of her mind. Her toes curled; she drove his head deeper into her ripples of flesh. Moans slipped from her lips. Grunts took over her tongue.
She spread her legs, opening her lips to his long curled probe. It danced in delight, tickling her swelling folds. It never stopped. Racing along the rim of one lip across her protruding clit back down the narrow inner ridge of the other lip, all the way to her tight anus. Down ... down ... down ... down ... down ... one thigh, flicking with the rapidity of a machine gun ... jumping across to the other thigh and reversing its way back home upstream like a salmon spawning.
She was primed. All resemblance of control began to leave her weary body. She grunted and groaned, tightening her muscles into a drenching sweat. His tongue! When would it stop. Deeper and deeper and deeper into her dark cavity. Her pulsating muscles fondled it, throbbing in unison with her driving pounding heart, pouring fresh blood into every cell of her body.
Charge after charge of convulsive shocks jolted her flesh. Sweat poured from her pores. Screams of animal frenzy pierced the walls. Grunts tore at her ear drums but he wouldn't stop.
Chapter Six
Jill Bryant sat on the edge of the cushion of the couch in the living room of her parents house in Maine, waiting for the baby blue princess phone to ring. Since she was a little girl growing up in Dayton, Ohio, her mother tells how Jill always had "ants in her pants," an expression Jill hated then and still hates, but an accurate enough expression of her constant nervous state. If nothing was wrong, she'd find something to be wrong.
The ashtray on the side table, next to the phone was filled with half-smoked cigarettes that had been lit, puffed two or three times and rubbed out. In the last hour since she washed each of the girl, put their pj's on, had them kiss grandma and grandpa and tuck them into bed, Jill had sucked away on a pack of Kools.
Why hadn't Paul called? She thought maybe something had happened. He had said he'd call every night, and had, all except tonight. Every other night he had called before seven. It was already nine and no calL Her father, a full Professor of Sociology at Dartmouth College for the past 15 years, sat across from Jill and tried to occupy his daughter's mind with small talk about the grandchildren. But Jill's thoughts weren't on the happenings of the day -- the morning walking in the woods, the afternoon sailing and fishing.
Her eyes blinked incessantly; a distracting habit that drove everyone including her parents and husband crazy. She sat hunched over with her hands clasped together on her knees and her feet tightly together. As her father talked, she unconsciously swung her head back and forth between him and the phone that didn't want to ring.
For a woman of 33, Jill was about thirty-five pounds overweight and was consistently on a diet of some sort or other. Diets that never seemed to take inches or pounds off. She did at one time, right before her wedding, have a sexy body and beautiful face, with the most beautiful long; straight blond hair and soft, clear skin. But now she was the perfect case of a woman who did not seem to benefit from marriage or children.
The Maine night was exceptionally cold, and her father, a well-built, tall man standing a fraction over six feet tall, sat smoking his thinking pipe in his favorite rocking chair, wearing a light, but warm pullover sweater to keep out the chill. At sixty-five, he was one of the most respected men not only in his field, but at the college. His daughter never demonstrated any exceptional intelligence, despite the surroundings. Both he and his wife, now upstairs sleeping, had wanted more children, but complications during Jill's birth pre-vented that, so they had decided not to adopt and devote all their love to their only daughter, with moderate success.
This had been a mistake, but like all mistakes made by parents, they discovered it too late to really do anything about it. Jill was the result and end product of an overly protective, nervous hypocondriac mother who was for the past sixty two years a virgin. Everything her mother was, her father wasn't. There wasn't a day since, as far back as she could remember, that he wasn't al-ways calm, cool and collected and so much fun to be with. Unfortunately, when the dice were tossed the night her mother and father screwed, the cards were stacked against her. She was to posess every single characteristic of her mother, except one; her father's navy blue eyes. It had been evident at birth, and it had also been evident that there was nothing that could be done about it.
Realizing that his conversation was falling on deaf freshman ears, her father feigned a yawn, took a quick glance at the antique grandfather's clock in the corn', commented on how late it was and what he had planned the first thing the next morning, kissed his daughter on her cheek, and walked up the stairs to bed.
As soon as she heard his bedroom door shut, she grabbed the phone and dialed "0" for Operator. "This is Jill Bryant, would you please try to call to New York City again," she said anxiously, her eyes blinking a mile a minute. "It's very urgent Yes, thank you, I'll wait!"
She smiled and lit up another cigarette when she heard the operator say that there was finally a free long distance line available to New York. First came the sequence of clicks and then the ringing of the number. After the sixth ring, she heard her husband's excited voice on the other end, very distant and accompanied by a low continuous level of static.
Instead of saying hello first, she blasted him with a barrage of "Do you know what time it is? Why didn't you call me? You knew I'd be worried?"
Before she let him get a word in edge wise, she noticed how winded he sounded and asked for an explanation. "You just ran in the apartment after hearing the phone down the steps? Oh! Wouldn't it have been just as easy to call me from the office. Well, next time, if you're going to have to work late ... Please call me from the office. You know how I worry." While she stopped for air, Paul said how he missed her and the kids and couldn't wait for them to get back.
If you had called earlier like you said you were going to, you could have talked to Mom and Dad, (Whoopy, Paul thought), but they already went to bed. And that's where Pm going now," she announced in her "I'm done with you" voice. "Co to bed, you must be tired. Call me tomorrow." Smacking her lips, throwing him a kiss over the phone, she hung up, turned out the light and pulled out the sofa bed and went to sleep, making sure to put on an extra blanket just in case.
Chapter Seven
Carol had already exploded with her orgasm and had dropped to the floor wrestling Paul's pants off and just began to suck on his dick when the phone rang, breaking the silence of the quiet room. Her first shocked, automatic reaction made her sink her teeth sharply into his swollen joint at the base where the curly underbrush of hair sprouted all over.
Pain, unbearable excruciating pain shot through his erected joint. For more than a brief moment, Paul thought all he had left were two useless balls hanging around. Not since he was kicked in his shins in college dining the big ten championship, had he ever experienced such a throbbing agony.
His eyes were squeezed shut as the suffering raced throughout his entire body. While Paul grabbed for dear life to soothe his injured dork, Carol rolled over on the floor, totally broken up with laughter. Within a fraction of a second after her mouth clamped shut, his seven inches ram-rod dwindled to a mere miniature size Tootsie Roll. She had creamed and milked quite a few joints since she was fourteen, but never had one collapsed in such record time.
Swinging over onto his knees, he raced on all fours ( actually on all threes, since one hand cupped his wounded short arm), to the phone reaching it finally, after a few slips in the dark, out of breath.
Realizing who was on the phone, Carol crawled over to Paul and began to kiss him on the neck and ear all the time holding herself back from laughing. He kept shooing her away. She could play his silly game. She changed her tactics and pretended she was a weaning calf and nosed her mouth along his side looking for an utter of sorts. After some playful hunting and pecking, she found what she sought and began to suckle on his penis. If only his old lady could see him now she thought, drawing on his stick with her rounded lips, sucking in with the vacuum of her cheeks.
It was working. She felt it come to life and fill up with blood, stretching down and back of her throat. But she didn't stop there. She grabbed his nuts with her left hand and began to squeeze and fondle them the same way Humphry Bogart played with his "balls" in the Caine Mutiny Court Martial.
It was too much for Paul to bear. He felt the tingling sensation from the thin sliver of skin at the top of his mushroom-shaped head. How the fuck could he keep his cool with Jill. She'd catch on and get curious. But he couldn't tell Carol to stop and he couldn't swing back at her because she was off perpendicular to his side. Nothing to do but hang up as soon as possible.
"Yah ... me too, ... yes ... you know I will ... right ... kiss the kids for me ... no ... you don't have to worry about it again ...promise ..."
Finally, she hung up. He reached for the phone, missed it the first time, then slammed the receiver down.
"Who was that Paul," Carol said with a dumb, curious voice, "Anyone I know?"
"You know who the fuck it was!"
'Now how did I know that? You were talking to her ... I wasn't."
Paul groped in the dark, rolling her over on her back. He grabbed her wrists forcing them out-stretched to the side. He laid down on top of her warm body, his chest flattened her hot breasts, his legs wedging themselves between hers after a brief flurry of muscular resistance that ended before it really began.
"You asked for it you ... you ... ," he said, pretending anger and biting her lips. "... you shark. You are going to get every inch I've got and then some. I'm going to ram my dick into your fucking cunt so deep my cone's going to tickle your adams apple."
Carol was still sore and stiff from the night before, but she was loving every minute of it. She squirmed and twisted, trying to break free, but she was wedged too tight to budge. His hot throbbing rod felt like a hot salami sliding between the wet lips of her slit. Every time he moved it went deeper and deeper, tickling her swollen clit.
She wanted him bad. Every second brought her closer to when he'd shove deep inside her box .. . in and out ... in and out ... in and out ... faster and faster and faster ... deeper and deeper, each thrusting, savage plunge. She loved the sloshing sound his penis made splashing back and forth through her lubricating honey, drenching the walls of her hot box. But most of all, she desired that final thrust that ignited the explosion of white hot come that squirted from the small slit at the tip of his swollen over worked joint.
The mere thought thrilled her hot sweating body. Tired of playing games, she rested her heels on the back of his knees and spread her legs, so he could enter at will.
With his first grunt, he drove deep, stretching the tiny passage as it went, stopping as it bounced off the cervix -- that volcanic mound of flesh guarding the entrance of her uterus.
She reeled with delight swinging her legs high around his waist, rapping her ankles around each other tightly. His hands ran under her armpits and grabbed her shoulders, jerking her onto his chest each time he rammed his dick deep into her hairy box. Her eyes were shut and she moaned in sheer delight. He was more than she could have hoped for. As he plowed forward, her open wet lips raced up to meet him. She matched grunt for grunt ... thrust for thrust ... pleasure for plea-sure.
His body was the perfect machine, the ultimate product of the industrial society, never missing a singular motion. Never missing that right instant to drive forward. When would he explode. She was in seventh heaven. Every muscle was engulfed in surrounding his molten flesh. Pussy honey pored down her cheeks along the base of her spine, finally dripping onto the floor. Faster and faster he rammed. She felt him switch into high gear, racing for home, his goal in sight. Like a machine gun he shot salvo after salvo billos of white cotton candy come into her snatch. Her firm, muscular walls reaching out, surrounding his penis, drew out every last drop. He was empty.
His joint thrust deep between her legs, they lay in the deep pile- carpeting, motionless, legs wrapped around each other, racing to catch their breath, entangled in a slithering jacket of sweat that curled their toes.
'You know what," she said, gasping for breath.
"No, what?"
"I ... I ... I never ... knew how ticklish ... my adam's apple ... really was!"
Chapter Eight
Carol bolted up into a sitting position from a dead sleep and peered frantically around the room, straining to find some reference point -- anything that would tell her where she was.
Slowly, her eyes, adjusting to the dark, grasped the familiar outlines of the dresser by the door, the armoir against the wall directly at the end of the bed and the sleeping nude body of the man sleeping peacefully next to her on the other side of the bed away from the door.
For some strange reason a lecture she had had in Psychology over eight years ago at Michigan State University occupied her mind. She remembered the day that her professor had passed on his unique concept. Why she should suddenly remember this of all things, she couldn't answer.
It had been a very hot muggy summer day -- as only the Midwest could get them -- and a tornado watch was on. She remembered sitting in the last seat in the third row, ( she never liked to sit up front; always thought the guys were looking at her behind). The professor began the lecture by asking the then shocking question, "What side of the bed does your man sleep on?"
Those were the days when girls still giggled about sex and boys tried to act nonchalant. After, the obvious shuffling of feet and uneasiness died down, Dr. Rittlingger, a short stout man in his early fifties discussed security needs and how they were manifested by bed position in relationship to the exit door. Insecure individuals tending to occupy that side of the bed furthest from the door. Stronger, more adventurous types, prefer-ring not to be closed in, sleeping closer to the door, and adventure.
Strongly enough this bit of useless information had stuck in her mind out of all the facts, figures and dates that had been shoved down her throat, later to be vomited up during finals.
Little did Paul realize, nor would he have probably cared, sleeping in the raw, his stark white area around his dick contrasting his other-wise dark muscular frame, that he was undergoing a mini-psychological exam.
NOI Paul just didn't seem to be a weak dependent type. Nor had anything she had ever seen. indicate otherwise. Quite the contrary. The blunt, straight-forward, ballsy approach was rather his trademark.
It was 3:00 AM in the morning according to the lighted digital clock radio above his shoulder on the night stand next to the phone. A drizzling rain -- either before or after the storm, she could tell, was tapping gently on the window glass and the metal portion of the air conditioner jutting out into the night.
The smile of a small girl glowed on her face as lightening exploded silently into the room for a fraction of a second and then disappeared without a trace. She immediately began to count as soon as the lightening blinded her eyes. Counting the seconds between the flash and the crack of thunder would tell you how far away the center of the storm was and which direction it was heading. Or so Uncle Billy had told her that night many years ago when she was just a little girl frightened out of a similar sleep with the cracking of thunder and flashing of lightening. "Counting the seconds," Uncle Billy said, "and converting each second into a mile, would give you secret information only very special people knew."
Six -- Seven -- Eight seconds. She had slept through the storm and it was heading away from the city. Her nude body shivered at the bolt of lightening that turned the room into a blueish tint that seemed to have the strength of ten suns. Sore, stiff and achy from the last two days, the continuous breeze from the air conditioner helped her relax as the rest of the city sweltered. It was a real pleasure to breathe fresh air. She had, like most New Yorkers, forgotten what clean, clear air was really like anymore.
What was she going to do? She wasn't tired, though she had only been asleep for two hours. Her fidgiting and restlessness stirred Paul slightly, disturbing his sleep. For a few seconds he tossed and turned then rolled over on his back, flopping his outstretched right arm across his pillow.
His large frame took up the full length and over half the width of the double bed. She stared at his massive joint that had plunged deep into her box like a jack harmer, now laying limp across his leg, those massive testicles hanging deep in their long sack buried in his red pubic hair. It amazed her mind how this long, narrow piece of dangling flesh lying dormant could swell instantly to such a size that it looked like a balloon about to burst. Her eyes caught the two parell veins running along the top of his dick. Now narrow and blue, she remembered how they enlarged and spread apart, pumping blood into the empty tissues the same way a submarine pumps water into the ballast tanks.
She stared at his piece of flesh and wondered what it would be like to be blessed with such a gift. What it would be like when you got turned on by a wild body. What it felt like to stick it between a girls legs and drive it deep between the wet swollen lips of a cunt. She had known what it was like on the receiving end. But on the giving end, that would be interesting to know.
The thought of wanting his dick reminded her of the evening that had just passed. The drink, the elevator ride, her first orgasm, sucking him off when the phone rang and then the dinner.
It wasn't an ordinary dinner, quite the contrary. It was a dinner fit for a king with everything she liked to nibble on. Served, ah, that was the wild part of it-served in the bathtub. After a hot steaming shower.
The mere thought of those exciting hours ex-cited her and she closed her eyes remembering every lucious moment that were now only memories. After the phone call from his wife, she recalled, he had fucked the hell out of her. Her sore thighs were enough proof that she had been fucked by what felt like a rhino. Never had anything that big plunged into her small hole. The tight skin had first resisted and then given into his driving thrusts. His burst of sperm was so thick and hot she could actually feel it erupt at the end of her box.
She wet her lips recapturing what had followed next. He laid in her arms, drained of strength from his enormous effort, sweating like a race horse, his heart pounding like a steam engine, his lungs sucking in a mouthful of fresh air. He was helpless and she loved the way he responded to her kisses. For those precious moments, they were one and they belonged to each other. Neither one had said a single word, but each felt what the other was feeling. Without uttering a single sound they had responded to each others private wishes!
Like a young warhorse with the stamina of two horses, he lifted himself to his knees and slid his rod out slowly. She remembered how she felt when she was shocked to see that he had not softened after unleashing his load, but remained hard, swollen and covered with his white drip-ping globs of sperm and her clear honey. Never had she seen a man remain as hard and firm as he did after leaving such a big load dripping down her slit and cheeks.
The sight of him, hard as a rock jutting up at her face had been too much for her to take. She flopped him back on his back and slid his joint deep into her throat between her tight rounded lips. The slick taste on her lips excited her more, driving her on sucking faster and faster. Even now after filling her box she felt the bubbling fluid rising deep in his reservoir. She was what he liked a woman to be, aggressive with a lust for sex and a body to keep pace with her thoughts. Her sucking began to drive him mad. What was she doing. His nuts, his sack, his prick were being set on fire with pleasure he had never imagined. He closed his mind in sheer delight at her teeth sliding along the enlarged tube that runs along the bottom of his penis, carried his rising sperm to the surface.
He couldn't take it anymore, just laying there not being able to explore her moist wet lips drip-ping with his come, her full, rounded clump of hair flattened with the residue from their two bodies dripping through the individual hairs. Grabbing her small frame, he lifted her legs and swung around her body without removing her mouth from his dick buried deep in her mouth. He opened his eyes and stared up at her hairy box. His tongue instinctively reached up and explored the ridges buried in darkness. She loved the tickling sensation running through her limbs and returned his love making by spreading her legs and lowering her hot waiting box closer to his flicking lips and teeth.
Within five minutes both had climaxed simultaneously in a smothering muffled explosion. Paul in her mouth. Carol in his mouth. Together.. Totally. It was beautiful.
Exhaustion had crept over both of them and they were hungry and thirsty. They laughed on the floor deciding who was the first one to get up. Each tried, but collapsed into the others arms from sheer overexertion. Paul's balls ached. They were drained and hung close to his body. Her nipples were sore, her passageway was sore from his massive plunger. She could feel her anus, though it was a pleasant hurt, and she remembered how it felt as he slid his finger deep inside as she was about to explode and how she double-erupted as he yanked out that finger at the instant of orgasm.
Paul reached for a dime on the table and set up the rules of the toss. Winner gets up, calls in the pizza order and turns on the shower in the bathroom. Both agreed and the coin spun end over end like a football into the air and landed buried deep in Paul's other hand. He slapped it down on the top of the flipping hand and stopped a second, building up a bit of curiosity in Carol. A second later, he had a giant smile on his face, and she began to pick herself up.
The Chinese Pizza Shop over on 71st and. Eighth Avenue told them it would be at least twenty-five minutes before it would be delivered, so they decided not to rush through the shower.
The water was hot and the blast from the nozzle pulsated the flesh, relaxing it completely. Each took their turn washing the others back and then front, seeing to it extra special care was taken around the nipples and down through the hairy-covered slit that twitched at the lightest touch of soap. She likewise took extra special care to wash his drooping limp penis that swayed as he walked around the shower. She even joked on how he must have left the splinter and tape in the other room since there wasn't much left to work with. At that, he got a hard on that wrinkled her nipples and tightened her soapy fingers, gripping his joint. The rest happened so fast she just re-members spinning around and grabbing her ankles with her wet hands. And then feeling him shoot his joint in between her wet lips deep into her cunt. Deeper and deeper and deeper. With the water flowing down her face and hair, she couldn't see what she was doing so she felt her way down her stomach across her cunt hair and searched for his balls. First sliding over them and then latching on, she fondled them with her fingers stimulating her breast with the other hand.
He grabbed two handfuls of cheeks and pulled them apart, driving his joint in even deeper. She groaned with pain and felt his massive member press up against her tonsils. It felt like somebody had shoved a baseball bat between her legs. The frequency of his thrusts increased until he made one last massive grunt and squeezed her breasts from around her sides and fingered the nipples.. He was wearing her out. When was he going to stop. He remained hard and soaped up his finger and began to slide it into her anus when the door buzzer rang. SAVED by the bell.
While she threw on a robe, she heard him turn off the shower and turn on the bath water. Walking back into the bathroom with the large pizza with mushrooms and sausage, she found him sitting up at one end of the tub, chest high in water. Showers, and now pizza and a bath, this guy was going to fuck her to death. They were going to find her nude body staffed in the garbage can, a white flag sticking out of her wornout cunt. Oh, well, she had asked for an exciting weekend and, fuck, she was having one.
The pizza and what followed, was out of sight. It was different and she learned a new position. Made especially for bathtubs and pizzas.
Remembering those hours of physical delight she had once again excited her body raising it to a fever pitch. Bending over, she lowered her head toward his joint, wetting her lips in anticipation of the soft flesh that was about to be sucked completely into her waiting mouth.
Chapter Nine
"How long have you had these dreams?"
"Too long."
"Please try to be more specific. I know you're upset, but it's very important we talk about them. You must trust me. Ok? Fine! How long? Six months? A year?"
"Two years ago they started. At first, in the beginning I thought they were funny, if you know what I mean. But they wouldn't go away. They got stronger. I'd wake up in the middle of the night squeezing and holding my breasts. It was always the same dream. Over and over again. Always that weekend, bad weather and I was stuck having to kill some time before I went back to work. Always that weekend, but always different guys. Each dream was more vivid than the last. On the one hand I was scared, on the other, I couldn't wait to go to bed. I wanted to go to bed. I enjoyed the dreams more than being awake. But I shouldn't have -- they were wrong. How could I feel that way? Me, a Nun!
"I can close my eyes and see it now. It's as if I'm there and they're touching me, making love to me! Always Friday night and Saturday. But never on Sunday ... never. Not once in two years on Sunday. I'd always wake up! What's wrong with me? I'm a nun -- married to Jesus -- a servant of God. Why do I dream this dream? Why? Do I want to offer my body to the flesh of other men rather than to the spirit and love of God?"
"Here's a kleenex and some water. Just relax. What's important now is the fact you've come to me for help. You faced up to the problem and you're not running away. Everything we discuss everything -- will be confidential. No one in the Church or anywhere will ever know about this."
"Thank you. I feel better. Let's get started. I'll do anything you tell me. I trust you. I was scared when I came in here and when I called you on the phone begging for help and even before."
"Good, let's talk. When I ask you a question, answer how you feel. Not the way you think you should or you think I want you to. Only tell me the way you feel. Right? Good. Now, first things first -- How old are you? What is your birth name? Any sibblings? Where were you born? Are your parents alive? Tell me a little about your childhood"
"Wow! You don't waste time, do you! Let's see. Thirty-four years old. Only child. Both parents killed car accident about two-and-a-half years ago. Was born, grew up and went to school in a small town in upstate New York on Lake Ontario. I think I had a good childhood. Nothing special. Went to teachers college in Minnesota. Graduated, got a job in Chicago for two years. Hated the little bastards. Wanted to do something worthwhile, so I broke one habit -- teaching -- and took up another ... the cloth. That was ten years ago."
"Tell me again the story you started to tell me on the phone, why you finally wanted to see me! Start from the beginning and give me specific details."
COMMENTS
Session lasted fifty-three minutes. Sister Bernadette -- Sally Ann Lawton -- arrived promptly at her scheduled appointment at 2:55 P.M. Extremely anxious and nervous upon arrival, she demonstrated a remarkable ability to verbalize her tensions and express herself. Am contacting her doctor to deter-mine possible physical impairment -- doubt it. Unusual, very unusual case! Feel she's not telling all. Extremely attractive, if not sexy. Hard to believe she is a penguin. Does not fit standard stereotype of nun. Appointment in two weeks!
Chapter Ten
"Before I joined the order, even before I started college I was putting out. Started back in high school when I realized I had something guys wanted. That I was sitting on a gold mine and why should I just give it away, when they'd pay for it. And I was good. Turned the trick more times than my girlfriends imagined. No one even knew other than the guys, that is. I made sure of that. Only made it with the richest guys who's father's would have killed them if they'd known. Know what I mean?"
"Anyways, I went off to college, and my parents, not being from money, well I didn't want to take their last bit of money, so I told them I'd gotten a job waiting on tables. Minneapolis was quite a town -- got a job, go-go dancing in a truck stop bar off the main drag. Pulled in $200 -- $250 a week making it with the transient drivers preferred it that way, was straight with the college guys -- didn't want to take any chances with my career. Fucked my eyes out on the weekends. I'm surprised that they believed me Monday mornings when I told them I had been horse back riding all weekend. Those were still the days when there were such things as nice girls and bad girls.
"For three and a half years of college I supported myself shacking up with truckers, then, as luck would have it, I met a guy that knocked me on my heels. I stopped putting out and moved in with him. He never knew what I had been doing or how I had paid for my room, books and tuition. I told him my folks were paying and he believed me.
"After graduation, when I moved to Chicago, he wrote me for over a year. He had gotten a job in Cleveland, working in the accounting office of one of the local Steel Mills. He wanted to get married. I thought I did too, and so we did. He moved to Chicago and got a great job. It was a small wedding -- his folks and mine and Jay and Paula, our two best friends who stood up. For two months it was heaven. Then the bomb fell.
"Out of the clear blue, he tells me he never really loved me. That he thought sea with women was wrong and to top that, he and his good buddy Jay ran off together to live happily ever after. He cleaned out the checking and savings accounts and took the car, leaving me flat broke in the middle of summer -- and me on the ten month pay plan. Fuck, I felt like I was up shit creek without a paddle.
"I had been had and I didn't like it! I needed bread, the green kind and fast. My body was firm and my hair was long and I still caught guys giving me the once over. So, I started hustling. Made good stuff, met some dudes, then got busted. Hallelujah. No pun intended, Doctor. Spent six months repenting, compliments of the State. Lot of things happened inside my head while in stir, and when I came out I was completely changed. As you can tell by my wardrobe, my life took on a new style, a new meaning.
"Well, just over two-and-one-half years ago, right before my parents were killed in the car accident, two unsuspecting friends, friends that once were separated, met again. In church, one of the truck drivers I used to ball quite heavily -- we really hit it off -- moved unbeknown to me, into my parish with his family. We bumped into each other during one early morning mass. I spotted him immediately. It took him quite a while longer to recognize my firm round hips and large breasts beneath this veil. But he must have had Super-man's x-ray vision, because he did. You should have seen the look on his face when he first saw me. Wish to God I had had a camera.
"We talked and he made me a proposition. Give it to him regularly and he'd keep his mouth shut. Having been recently divorced, I had no leverage over him. I was scared -- confused. The holy mother nor the church knew anything about my sex antics. If they found out, I think I'd be out for good. No convent would take me. I panicked. One night after visiting a sick parishioner in the hospital, I stopped back at the chapel to say a prayer for his health. It was fall and it was dark at six PM. I was entering the doorway when he jumped out of the bushes, stone drunk. He could hardly stand, as weak as he was, he pulled me into the bushes beside the old, aged stone grey ivy covered church and raped me. What bothered me was not the rape. A virgin I wasn't. The fact that I, down deep inside, enjoyed it -- the first. lay I'd had in God knows how long, scared me. That's what petrified me. A nun enjoying sex! A mortal sin! I told no one. Shortly after, he left town. He wasn't so drunk he didn't remember what he had done, but it must have really bothered him be-cause he'd left $200 to the Childrens' Charity Fund right before he left. And for him to give anything away other than his sperm, was a miracle.
"The so-called rape, my subconscious desire to sleep with him again, my parents' death leaving me alone, all happening at approximately the same time, was too much. The dreams started. I started to see men, members of the parish as sex partners. My nipples would harden and rd look -- stare at the buldges in men's pants. I was to say the least confused. That's why I called. That's why I am here, Doctor."
Chapter Eleven
The crowd of people stared up at the floor light above the elevator, watching the light move from right to left the lighted number indicating the floor the elevator was stopping at. The weather was hot and everyone was uncomfortable in the minty degrees muggy heat. Three-two-one -- the doors opened and a car load of human sardines plowed out into the lobby, out through the revolving door into the street. Within an hour, they, and thousands of other herds like them, would be returning from lunch, crunching back into the tiny cans that daily take them to and from their life's work.
Sister Bernadette stood motionless in the mob waiting for the elevator to clear. Her poise was conspicuous and drew the eyes of those men around her. Her deep blue yes contrasted with her tanned brown skin and black mideaval habit. The elevator empty, a man held back the door with one hand and signaled with the other for her to enter.
She was the only one to get off at the twelfth floor. The hallway was empty of it's normally heavy congestion of people scurrying around. Her eyes peered deep from within her veiled face toward the row of crowded offices lining both sides of the hall.
Room 1222. "Mr. James Balldns -- Executive Vice President," was printed on the door. She knocked, heard a voice from the other side, and walked in. The lobby was 22nd Century modern. Two sterile chairs and a white couch contrasted the stark green walls, and latest in-look. The receptionist, barely able to keep on her tight short stewardess type flight suit outfit, looked the good sister up and down twice before she reached the desk.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm Sister Bernadette," she said in an emotionless etherial voice. "I have an appointment with Mr. Balldns for 12:15."
A quick glance at her calendar and the receptionist picked up her inter-office phone, dialed two numbers -- "Yes, Mr. Balldns, I'll tell her. Thank you." Her eyes fixed on the good sister. "Please be seated. It'll be just a few minutes.
Sister Bernadette felt uncomfortable in the chair. Two high, her. feet barely reached the floor.
The inter-office buzzer rang out in just a few minutes. Without taking her eyes from her crossword puzzle, the receptionist punched up the lighted button -- "Yes Sir -- I'll send her right in."
The door to the conference room was opened and Sister Bernadette walked in. "Thank you my dear," she said, bowing her head, her hands crossed. The heavy door slammed shut!
Cindy Kalin was self-employed and this was the third appointment of the day. She was one of the lucky people in the world who made a living doing what they loved to do the most. For Cindy, what she loved to do was fuck. She was a prostitute. Maybe not the best, but one of the most clever. Long ago she had been busted and learned her lesson. Three rules guided her life. Don't have the men come to her -- don't get caught and never give it away for free.
The idea of the nuns habit flashed across her mind after seeing the Nuns Story, especially the scene with Audrey Hepburn prostrating herself flat on the ground. If a nun could go down with her habit on -- that was the job for her.
As far as the business world knew, Sister Bernadette was helping to raise money for orphaned children in Asia or Africa. She came and went as she liked, never suspected of anything. Raking the dough in hand over fist.
"Miss Jaslin, I don't want to be disturbed. Hold all calls. I want to see no one."
Jim Balkins, thirty-five and the son of Sam Balkins, Publishing Empire, was soon to take over the entire operation, lock, stock and barrel, when his father, now eighty-five, retired at the end of the year.
Cindy pulled off her shawl and flopped onto the couch overlooking Fifth Avenue. "Pour me what-ever you're having, I'm dehydrated from all this heat." Her long red hair fell to her shoulders as she yanked out the pin.
Jim mixed another Bloody Mary, dropped in three chunks of ice and stirred. Tall, handsome, a yachtsman, a horseman -- Jim was everything any girl would want or ever dreamed of. But marriage was the farthest thing from his thoughts. One night stands -- preferrably hookers, no grief were his bag.
One quick drink and off with the habit. Off with his clothes and on with the stero, then long steaming shower together in his private bath.
... First, she washed him from head to toe with a thick layer of rich bubbley soap. Then, before he went under the hot, steaming water he lathered her rounded soft folds of flesh. They played and kissed and wrestled standing in the tiny stall. Rubbing their bodies they slid back and forth, unable to stay in contact for long because of the slippery soap. His joint jutted straight out at her pussy. She cupped her hand around it and jerked him off sending squirts of hot come splashing on her cunt hair. They kissed, exploring each others moist mouth as she slid her hand back and forth along his slippery cock that measured only four and a half inches.
He was a big man, solid and very muscular, but she had to be careful about what she did and said about his small joint. Every since she had started coining to his office, over two years ago, she had learned what to and what not to say. At first, she had tried to tell him that his cock wasn't small, that it was big enough, that he made her feel like a woman when he fucked her, but it made no difference. For the guy well over six feet, four and a half inches wasn't anything to sneeze at. She had known a guy once who was only three and a half inches erect and he fucked the hell out of her, but he didn't care to listen. Standing as tall as he did -- 6' 6" -- and weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, he felt like he was slung like a kid in kindergarten.
Just as he started to come, he pulled her into the jet-of water pouring down. The soap washed away while his come stuck to her pussy hair. She knew if she stopped he'd shrivel up and he'd never get up again. So, she quickly dropped to her knees and shoved his wet cock into her mouth and started sucking him off. As a lover, he lacked the finesse that anyone would have assumed a man of his charm, poise and position must have. In fact, he was a pig, unable to nor desired to satisfy a woman. From his standpoint, women were there to serve him, so why should he waste his time trying to make love. Love was a line of bull-shit the average person used in order to keep his woman. A woman's fiber he wasn't. Because of his money, he could and did buy women the same way people buy cars, shirts and food. He had money to buy anything he wanted. He'd simply see a girl he wanted for the moment and showered her with cars, diamonds, trips, whatever it took to turn her on. Wherever business took him around the world, there were always three or four broads close-by when ever he got the fancy. They weren't stupid or naive either. They knew his reputation and understood that their presence lasted only as long as they appealed to his animal desires. It could be a free two day ride, or a three year gig. They were strickly free-lance, but got paid well for their services.
She paniced. He was getting limp. Unless she turned him on and fast, she was in trouble. With the deft touch of a skilled master craftsman she mobilized her emergency contingency plan. He paid too good not to have prepared a first aid procedure. With the precise technique of a highly skilled emergency room nurse fighting to save a man's life, she took his nuts in her right hand and started squeezing them gently in her palm, her long fingers caressed them sequentially.
Her left hand stretched up around his wet waist, probbing blindly for the bar of soap she knew was there. Mustn't panic, she told herself, not letting on to her `patient' the severity of the moment is imperative. There ... she had it in her fingers. The water splashing down on her head blinded her, so she was operating under blind instinct. SHIT! The bar slipped out of her fingers and she heard it slide around the tile around his feet. Without losing a single stroke with her lips or a single massage of his nuts that hung in their sack like a brama bull (more than making up for his plebian penis, as he referred to `it'), she slid her hands down his hairy leg, tickling him as a decoy to get her hand to the floor. It worked. She tried to see through her wet strands of hair that hung wildly over her eyes, but it was still no use. But lady luck was with her. This time it wouldn't get away. Grabbing it firmly she picked it up out of the pool of backed up water waiting to go down the drain and rubbed it up along side his inner thigh, Shaped like a giant penis and a good five and a half inches in circumference to boot, she inched it up between his cheeks, wedging it from side to side for position until she felt it find his tight anus hole.
He knew what she wanted and lifted his right leg up on the marble half seat protruding out from the wall. Now only. seconds were left. Her mouth to mouth resuscitation was failing. Only a small miracle would turn the trick. His prick was going soggy between her lips. Once it fell out of her mouth, but she quickly dropped her lips and sucked it back in. Nothing was helping. Nibbling on it failed. Flicking it was a total bomb. Her last hope in her magic medical bag of tricks was her rectal shot of adrenalin. If it didn't work, the operation would have been a total success but the patient would have died ... in her mouth.
He stood facing the shower watching the water pour down on her back while she was on her knees sucking off his joint. Operation "Cock" had begun, but just for luck she crossed her ankles feeling that every little bit would help. A quick check of all systems -- his balls were being handled ok and his cock was being worked over -- and she shoved the carrot shaped soap as far as it would go up his ass. His body jolted under the shock. Blood poured back into his shaft. His testicles reacted to the shock by pulling up into their tiny cavities. As fast as she could move her hand, and by now it was getting tired, she pumped the soap in and out, up and down like a wild stallion when he humps his favorite mare. It was working, but if he didn't come soon her arm was going to fall off.
First, it trembled, sending vibrations along her lips. Then it shook, shock waves that exploded in her mouth into convulsions of pleasure. She felt his come rising up from his bag and race along the narrow tube heading for her mouth. She was only driven on to suck him off faster. Commmmmmmmmmm! Globes squirted out from his mushroom head buried deep in the dark cavity of her mouth. Salvos of white hot sticky sperm splashed against the back of her mouth and trick-led down her throat. Squirts landed on her tongue but she couldn't swallow fast enough to keep her mouth clear.
Just as the last blob left the slit at the top of his head and was flying through the air, he pulled his cock out of her mouth and opened the shower door and walked out. He was finished, at least for the moment, and wanted to dry off and rest. If he had waited two seconds longer she would have drunk his last ounce of come, but instead it landed on her lips and dribbled down her chin. She sat back on her heels letting the water wash it off her face lifted back into the stream.
Little did he realize how close he had come to being pronounced dead, she thought wrapping the towel around her waist, leaving her two globes dripping wet and covered in a slick coating of water. He offered her a cigarette as she snuggled up next to him on the couch. The two of them looked like twins wearing their matching robes. He pressed the third button from the left on the top row on the console next to his arm rest and his office became engulfed in a cloud of romantic music. Another button turned off all the lights, but one, a red one directly over head. The last switch closed the twenty foot long drapery cutting out the magnificent view of the sky line of New York.
It was exactly the same every time. If they didn't know better a stranger peeking in would have thought they had been married for over twenty years. Never did he say a word to her, nor did she ever volunteer small talk. She did the first time and was put in her place and learned her lesson. He simply smoked a cigarette or two, got his second wind and let her know he was ready by pulling open her towel and running his fingers through her pussy hair. That usually took five or ten minutes top. Anything longer would stretch out her hour appointment and eat into his various business appointments that were scheduled after-wards. After all, wasn't she only an appointment fitted into his already tightly scheduled and efficient day?
Like clockwork, she felt his fingers followed by the twinge that always vibrated the head of her at. Just once she would have liked him to eat her box and lick up her honey and let her sit on his head. Little did he realize that he turned her on. Everytime she went there and saw him in his suit, behind his desk, before they took their shower, her clit became erect and her pussy lips swelled up and dripped from lubrication. Just once she'd like him to throw her down on the couch and fuck the living hell out of her. To make love to her like a man, and not like a boy in a whore house. Just once ... but why have pipe dreams. She'd have a better chance being raped by a wild stampeding rhino, on Sunday afternoon in Central Park.
Hand jobs and head jobs were all he wanted. She would have gladly thrown in a flick on the house, but it wouldn't have-made a single bit of difference. So, why try to change the system, she thought, dropping to the shag rug propping her head up with the throw pillow from the couch. She watched him crush out his butt and stand up, leaving his towel behind. He was limp as a wet dishrag, but as soon as he saw her, it twitched and filled like a balloon. He stood over her head then dropped down on his knees slidding his prick into her mouth. Resting his hands on the floor he started pumping 'it' in and out, again between her rounded, tight, wet lips, till he came. There was no emotion, no feeling, just a convient depository, a quick release. She often wondered why he just didn't do it himself. Would save him money, not that it mattered, but just think of the time he'd save. All he had to do during a meeting was open his fly and cuff off under his desk without interrupting his conversation. He'd get his rocks off, and they'd be none the wiser.
But who was she to critize, her the national founder and president of the "WHATEVER TURNS YOU ON CLUB." Being cynical didn't become her and besides it was time to climb back into her habit and take a few laps around the beads for repentance.
The executive door opened. "Miss Jaslin, see the good Sister to the door. And -- oh yes -- arrange another meeting in two weeks. Make the time for 12:30 -- she's coming too early now for me!" Jim winked to the good sister, patted her on rump, when Miss Jaslin wasn't looking, and slammed the door shut.
Chapter Twelve
Cindy was a professional. She was turning tricks, producing an average weekly income of $1,000. At thirty-two, she had accomplished what few men, her contemporaries, had been able to earn. Or would hope in their lifetime to make. Her bank accounts were healthy and as far as her neighbors knew, she was a divorcee partly supported by her Ex in California and partly by a part time job in the city. No one knew exactly how she worked, though each had their own ideas of what company and what she did there.
Monday, Tuesday and Thursday were her days; She left at 7:30 AM and returned at 8:00 PM. Unusual hours to her neighbors -- but not that strange for New Yorkers who lived, played and worked in the most cockeyed city in the world.
Wednesday was her special day. She'd leave and tell her neighbors when they'd ask, she was going window shopping. "A weekly escape from the lonely life," she'd say. Smiling, carrying those books under her arms. No one ever asked, though Mrs. Williamfield, her next door neighbor, almost broke down and asked, but changed her mind at the last minute.
Cindy took her work seriously. Realizing like anything else, to be good at it, you must practice, and study. Though no one had ever given or received a degree in love making, or for that matter, had a final exam or an olympic tryout. Cindy had the equivalent degree of Black Belt or Life Master. She had spent years devouring books on human anatomy, physiology, physiologal psychology and psychology, not to mention every book she could get her hands on describing various sex techniques from every corner of the world. One summer she spent four weeks in the Near East studying the brothels that have been pleasing men's bodies for years. While there, she discovered the greatest sett secret of all times. So simple, it was and still is ignored by men and women alike.
The greatest sex instrument was not the breasts, cunt or even the massive, swollen male penis. No, the most sensative, most seductive was his brain. Since all pleasures are perceived in the brain, the brain was the true clitoris of sex. While everyone else concentrated on stroking the breasts, rubbing the clit, flicking the head of the penis with their tongues, Cindy started on the brain. First, seducing it, because where it went, the body was sure to follow. Every man and woman has the tools to make love to someone else, few know how to do it right, none raped the mind. That's why men and women alike, sought her out and had her make love to them. And kept calling her back again and again. Wednesday was also her day for Dr. Barrington. She had spent six months building a file on him and finally choosing him from a list of other notable shrinks. He was right, a gem, forty-one and very successful and very sought after by the ladies of his patient list.
He had been mixed up in a few socialite scandals, one ending in a divorce. Though nothing was ever officially stated in the press or in the courts.
It was so secret that he was unhappily married to the daughter of the late Multi-millionaire banker, Sol Abramsfield. It was also common knowledge that he married Jeanette, then twenty-two, for her money. He was the playboy shrink, and she was one of his first patients.
Trim, not an ounce of fat anywhere, only taut, lean swimmers muscles, Phil Barrington was a man's man. Especially to the ladies. It was common knowledge that many of his patients who came as often as twice and three times a week, had nothing wrong with them that a six inch dick in their mouth or cunt wouldn't cure. But with their husbands all struggling to be the richest men in the cemetery, Dr. Barrington was just the mental and physical stimulation they needed. He knew what prescription to write.
Phil Barrington was the perfect choice for her plan. If it was to work, time was critical. Patience, the patience of a saint was necessary. She had to earn his confidence before the trap was sprung.
Chapter Thirteen
WEDNESDAY ...
Dear Diary--
Saw Phil again today ... everything going as planned. This was my thirtieth meeting to date. Seems to be totally sold on my background, especially in grade school. Seems to think he's got a good idea where my problems lie. That doesn't say much about the science of psychiatry since it's all made up. Paid him $35 as usual. He seemed extremely curious and interested in my sex experiences while in high school and junior high -- didn't ask about grade school antics, maybe they're next.
* * *
I asked him if it was alright to take off my hood, said it was up to me. So far so good. I made a point to take it off slowly and shake my hair out. Caught him out of the corner of my eye taking it all in. He was looking at me as a woman for the first time, not as a nun. He's nibbling at the bait. Next Wednesday I'm going to start Phase two. Figure it should take a month or two.
Dear Diary--
Saw Walter at his office at 9:00 A.M. The guy's really weird. Blew him again while he was sitting on the company books. Ordered them in special. Next week, he'll probably want me to suck him off on the stock portfolio. Fat slob -- so many layers of flab, he needs a string tied to his short hairy dick just to find it. $50 cash. He says he loves me and wants to many me. Every week I play his silly game. And each week he threatens to do some-thing about his wife ... Fifth one I think.
Very much looking forward to tomorrow. Have meeting with Mrs. Lasiter at her apartment. She's new and a referral by Mrs. Bello. She's forty-two -- widowed -- wealthy and is tired of the young men who flirt around her. Want's a woman's loving ... who's better than me. Will tell you about it tomorrow.
Dear Diary--
Talked to Dan in town on business. Wanted to get together, but couldn't because of tight schedule. Would have been a ball.
Dear Diary--
Period due next Monday -- May have to cancel appointment on Tuesday and Wednesday. Got new pant suit size nine in blue. Splurged and got new sun glasses round, big wire frames. SEXY. Makes my blue eyes look bluer.
Chapter Fourteen
The hot sweltering summer sounds of the noonday traffic filtered up through the open window from the streets below. Helen Lasiter sat propped up on her bed, a cigarette clenched between her fingers, staring mesmorised at the white silk drapes rippling in the wind, listening with one ear to the shower water pouring through the open bathroom door.
Her face was expressionless, reflecting the physical peace that follows orgasm. Though her apartment was the pinnacle of posh luxury providing every conceivable comfort to soothe and pamper the mind and body, including quadrosonic sound and electrostatically purified air, she had chosen to open the windows and turn off the air conditioning.
Tiny misty droplets of perspiration blanketed her bronzed body. Her nostrils thrilled to the exotic scent of her own body odor. There was something exciting and provocative about the raw natural sense of her own physical being. Quite different from her customary cosmetic camoflauged veneer.
Her blond straight hair, normally tidy and well groomed lay, naturally unraveled down her back and across her shoulders. For the first time in a long time, too long, as she now realized, she felt like a woman. Accepted not for her wealth but for herself and the, pleasures she could offer to someone on a one-for-one basis.
Unconsciously her mind retraveled the road of time catching periodically on well trodden memories that hurt too deeply to be lingered on for too long. She slid her long slender fingers along her smooth body, riding atop the thin layer of moisture. She closed her eyes, her head slid back resting against the top horizontal bar of her brass headboard. Along in the brightly lit darkness of her mind's eye, she drenched herself in the lust of her own body.
Her finger nails skidded under and then across her breast. She sighed deeply, drawing in a deep gulp of air. Her mouth parted slightly. Her narrow tongue pushed through, sliding back and forth, moistening her parched dry full lips. She wedged her nipple between the arched finger nails of her thumb and first finger, fondling and squeezing it slightly. Her emotions guided her fingers like a computer. The pink sensitive flesh responded, wrinkling and erecting outward like a stallion's penis.
The shower water stopped. She heard the door open and close. Her heart skipped a beat. A stinging stacatto chill raced down her long slender body. She rolled her head to the left and opened her eyes. Frustrating seconds passed. The cold sounds of wet, bare feet on the marble bathroom floor caught her ear.
For a brief flash of time, she caught Cindy's reflection in the mirror reaching for a towel. Helen wanted desperately to call out, she desired and craved for Cindy's touch, but the words were frozen in her throat.
"Be right out," Cindy called out from behind the hidden wall, anticipating her unspoken words. "Just toweling dry my hair. If I don't, humidity will ruin it."
Helen butted her cigarette and waited, but she didn't have to wait long. Cindy marched through the door toward the window, toweling her long strands of wringing wet hair.
After getting out of the shower, her only concern had been her hair. Standing naked in the filtered sunlight, chopped up by the drapes, a small pool of water collected at her feet. She splashed her toes like a child finding a puddle on the side-walk after a summer rain.
Helen's pupils dilated as she visually explored Cindy's fin n, round flesh. Her eyes cupped Cindy's full up-lifted breasts and sucked lightly on those two enlarged nipples that had just, minutes before, engulfed her mouth. There was some-thing very exciting about Cindy's body that started Helen's cunt to swell and flow heavy with her syrupy juices. No man had ever awakened her lust so deeply. No man would. Cindy's firm round cheeks glistened in the sun. Helen satched water droplets trickle down her two long shapely turned legs topped with a candy cotton mound of thick red cunt hair protecting Cindy's delicate narrow ridges of pulsating flesh.
Helen found the words pouring out as if they were coming from a stranger. "Cindy."
"Mmmmmmmr
"Let me dry you off, OK!"
Cindy smiled and nodded her head, as Helen followed her across the room. Helen stopped inches away. Cindy heard her breathing, smelled her warm flesh, anticipating her touch. Each second heightened her anxiety.
Helen's soft cushion of hair pressed softly into - her cheeks. Helen's arms engulfed her around the waist. Cindy's nipples contracted. She closed her eyes. Now it was her turn. She was willing. Helen pressed her legs against Cindy's, her small girlish breasts thrusting into her back. She bit deeply into the nape of Cindy's neck inflicting not pain, but excruciating pleasure. Cindy's head shot back. Her own hands reached back grabbing two hand-fulls of Helens soft white cheeks, pulling her closer.
Helen's fingers arched. Slowly, calculatingly, she slid the nails up the inside of Cindy's lean thighs, inching ever so closely toward her treasure chest of hair.
Cindy felt Helen's patch of hair riding up and down the crack in her buttocks. It excited her in a strange way. The hair was gentle but coarse. They tickled and pricked her taut responding skin.
Their movements became one. Each anticipating the desires of the other. Behaving silently to the other unspoken wish. Helen stood four inches taller than Cindy. Cindy was long waisted while Helen made up for it in her longer proportioned legs. Cindy's shower water flowed into Helen's perspiration. The room was hot! They were HOT!
"Forget about drying me."
"I have. I've gone beyond that ... way beyond -- "
"How far?"
"Till when we'll be again together. Make it soon, Please."
"When ever you want. Call and we'll arrange a time. Call and-". Helen's finger fondled Cindy's cunt hair. Cindy licked her lips and sighed deeply. " -- and we'll play together," she added sliding her own hand around Helen's hips to her hairy box. Cindy's hair was cut short like a show girl and shaved, giving a clear distinct border. Helen's was full and bushy, reaching out in all directions engulfing her soft rounded triangle where her legs joined.
Cindy twirled her fingers around, making rows of curls. Helen was not so fortunate to have enough hair to be artistic. Instead, she ran her index finger to the top of Cindy's lips and entered, becoming engulfed in Cindy's swelling lips, surrounding her penis-like flesh like an octopus.
The day was young. Her body craved from starvation. And like a deprived infant she wouldn't stop until she'd had enough. Forty-two years without satisfaction had made' Helen a sexual glutton. She would never know when she had had enough! Nor did she care.
Chapter Fifteen
"I shouldn't. I'm sorry. I woke up in a cold sweat. I had no where else to turn. Please forgive me. I know I've done nothing wrong, that was a bad choice of words. But what was I to do."
Sister Bernadette listened to Dr. Barrington console her. It was 3:30 in the morning and she was fresh out of a bad dream. His voice, though obviously tired, was reassuring. She listened to his tone, ignoring the content of his soothing words, wondering all the while how he looked at that very moment. Was he naked? Did he have a hairy chest? Had she, in fact, woken him up, or rather caught him in the middle of a late night humping of his wife? If she did, his wife was mad, but she was glad. The old cunt probably gave it to him once a week just to keep the rust off. And probably never moved so she wouldn't mess up her hair.
"It was so bad. There were two of them this time. They did these things to me. Awful! I fought them. But they won out. It's a sin but I loved how they made me feel. I can't take it. I'm shaking ... quivering ... my night gown rubs against my breasts and I can't stand it. I woke up playing with myself. Please help me ... Do some-thing before I come apart at the seams."
Her voice was sincere. She could tell because he believed her. She was glad. Nine months had passed since she first started therapy and tonight she started taking the initiative.
"U-huh. Whatever you say, but I have to see you tomorrow. Won't take no for an answer. Promise me. I won't hang up 'til you say yes!"
Enough was enough. Don't over do it she told herself. Push your luck and you'll blow it. Cool it! Don't be a ham. Now was the time. Lay it on him and hang up.
"10:30, fine ... but ... uh ... don't know how to say this ... I know it's best to ... but I feel dirty ... I know I must let you know the dream ... well, how can I say it ... one of the men ... he ... ah ... he was ... Dear God in Heaven ... You!"
Cindy hung up. Smiled, looked over at the night light, caught the time -- 4:01 AM -- clicked the light switch and closed her eyes. She knew she'd sleep good, but hoped he wouldn't. If only she knew how right she was.
Click. Sister Bernadette's call hadn't woken him up. He had been reading in bed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had expected it. Sooner or later. It was a healthy sign that the patient had crossed the critical crossroad of ultimate trust. Most crossed. Some never could. Those were the ones he could never reach.
No, he wasn't surprised. The fact she clicked off as she did concerned him, though. What did it mean? Had she suddenly withdrawn from him? But why? Should he call her back? He looked at the phone, the monotonous tone irritating his nerves. Tomorrow is soon enough, let her get her head together tonight. He put the phone back on the receiver on his bedside nightstand.
His wife stirred, she was restless trying to find a new position. The call, like all her husbands late night calls disturbed her restful sleep. "Come on, will ya? Turn off the light. Put out that stinky butt and go to sleep. You're keeping me up."
He ignored her as he had been doing since they were married. His mind was preoccupied with Sister Bernadette. There was something different about her. Yes, even sexy. He was surprised and smiled to himself. He took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand next to the phone. Maybe it was her hair. He loved long hair, especially red hair. What was her body like like hidden beneath her veil of clothes? Were her legs long or short? He thought how much of a shame it was to waste such a beautiful body. He knew she was just hiding behind her own curtain waiting to be herself. It was evident. As clear as the nose on her face.
He was pleased at how well and how fast she was responding to his treatment. Since her very first day, she had been a challenge to him, forcing extensive reading and planning. It was almost as if she was psyching him out at the same time.
Oh well, tomorrow is another day. Mentally he clicked off his mind and slid down under the sheet. Reaching up, he turned off the light throwing the bedroom into total darkness, except for the light from the moon slipping in under the shades.
His wife tossed again, still trying to find that comfortable position. Her warm buttocks rubbed against his naked hip. Since they had been married, neither one wore pajamas. It all started on their honeymoon as a bet. They were touring the Bahama Islands on a charted yacht -- a present from her father. It was a hot night and they were taking a shower in the mini-stall. Completely lathered, they were experimenting, counting all the possible positions in the tiny area. After reaching eight screwing positions, she dropped to her knees and she sucked his massive joint into her mouth like a vacuum. She took his two swollen balls in her hands squeezing them gently as she slid her rounded lips backwards and forwards along his dick. Once she banged her head on the wall. He laughed. She opened her mouth to say "ouch" and drove her teeth into his joint instantly reducing it to a limp piece of putty. Try in vain, it would not respond. Everything she tried, failed. As a final effort, she swore she would eternally keep her body naked when they went to sleep so he could take her whenever he wanted. She would never say no! And it worked!
That was more years back than he cared to remember. The promise was kept. But the enthusiasm died shortly thereafter. He got more response from a piece of raw liver than he got from her.
He chuckled, remembering a joke one of his patients had told him about his own wife. "One night, we were having sex and I thought I'd hurt her." He remembered asking "Why?", with honest concern, not realizing he was being set up. "Be-cause she moved!"
He rolled over on his side, sliding his right arm around grabbing a handful of her tit. She jolted, half trying to free herself, half unaware of what was going on. Sliding closer, he wedged his joint between the cheeks of her buttocks.
"Stop it ... go to sleep ... leave me alone!"
He ignored her enthusiasm. Sliding his hand down over her stomach, she slapped his hand but her persisted and grabbed her hairy cunt. Her lips weren't swollen, they wouldn't respond. Her vagina, tight and dry, resisted as best it could, this probing finger.
The bed squeaked as she slid over on her back in a quick angry move that reflected her total annoyance. If she wanted to get to sleep, she'd get it over with as fast as possible. And do it now.
"Ok," she grumbled under her breath, pulling up her knees, spreading them as wide as possible. Her eyes stayed shut., Her head still rested to one side of the pillow. She was still asleep!
"Gee thanks," he mumbled under his breath.
"Watcha saaaa -"
"Forget it."
"Love you too, honey, wake me up when you're through."
Philip mounted her and reached down guiding his dick into her cunt. Her lips were dry. Her hole was tight and she groaned as he pressed in. He couldn't believe this was what sex was all about. He remembered getting more thrills cuffing his joint in the bathroom, looking at naked pictures of women when he was a kid.
Small thrust led to deep thrust, lubricating her vagina walls. Her rump started thrusting in unison with his jabs. `"Whoopy," he thought. "She's not dead after all. All is not lost."
She groaned. "Too bad you're missing it," he chuckled. "Ill tell you all about it in the morning." He grabbed two healthy handfuls of her ass, thrusting his dick as deep as it would go. He felt it hit the cervix.
In a little less than twenty seconds, he came, unloading his rocks as he usually did. Exciting, it wasn't Functional well, it worked.
After play, forget it. She didn't need it and he couldn't care less. He slid off, swinging his arm back over his shoulder, pulling out two tissues from the box on his nightstand. His hot come was just beginning to ooze down into her hairs when he wedged the tissue between her swollen lips.
The clock radio ticked off the seconds. He stared into the dark thinking about Sister Bernadette's bushy, hairy box. He was asleep in two minutes.
Cindy was intentionally fifteen minutes late for her appointment. She knew he'd wait out the hour. Keeping him off guard was the order of the day. Everything was ready in her mind. This was to be the big day she'd planned for so long.
Early that morning she'd gotten up, taken a shower, douched with a cherry-scented douch, put on Estee, and packed her habit in her big white box. She threw on a cotton shift and took the cross-town bus at the corner and changed in the women's room at the coffee shop five blocks away. With her luck, she would have changed closer to home and someone would have spotted her and blown everything.
She sat meditatively in his outer office as she was being announced. The receptionist put down the receiver. "You may go in now."
By the time she reached the door, Philip had opened it and was waiting for her. "Hold all calls," he said, closing the door.
"Why don't you sit on the couch today. You'll feel much more comfortable."
She nodded not saying a word.
He didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'm very glad you called last night ... really am." He sat at the opposite end of the leather couch waiting for her to speak.
Not wanting to let the silence linger, since she wasn't responding, he continued after clearing his throat. "Hey, I'm over here. Remember me? We've been seeing each other twice a week for-months now." Sister Bernadette smiled and lifted her bent head.
"I'm sorry ... really am ... the dream was too much. Especially about you . I'm ashamed that I told you." She paused, letting what she said settle in his mind. When she figured he was ready, she let him have it.
"But I came to realize one thing last night after I hung up."
"And what was that."
She looked him straight in his eyes. "That I want you! Not just a man ... not for ever, but for now."
Philip didn't say a word.
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Diary --
Give me a gold star and send me to the head of the class. Hook, line and sinker ... mission accomplished. Went better than I ever expected. All the arguments and pleading I had practiced for, expecting to have to use -- not needed. He was primed and ready!
For the record: Intentionally fifteen minutes late for appointment. Phone call night before worked like a charm.
He seemed edgy, more so than usual. I played my part to a tee; withdrawn, shy, head down. A touch of guilt in my manner ... not too much ... just enough. We sat on his couch directly across from his desk. He was like a high school boy on his first date. Tried to cairn me down. Explained that phone call was healthy sign, (wish doctors would erase word from their dictionary).
Both barrels. I let him have it. Nothing. He stared right through my eyes not saying a word. I didn't back down from his stare.
I slid beside him kissing him gently on his lips. Kissed him again and his lips parted, ran my tongue gently along the slip, flicking it up and down. He didn't move. Just stared. I could see the veins in his temple throbbing. It was working.
Slowly stood up, unhooking the back clasp and snap, took off the hood. Took my time shaking out my hair. Ran my fingers through it to excite him more. Bent over again kissing him ... letting my hair brush across his cheek.
Still nothing. Could tell he was struggling with himself. Looked like he was losing. Turned my back on him. Walked to the middle of the room, turned around and threw him a kiss. Began the world's first stripping performance in a nun's habit.
Every movement was slow. Just barely kept from stalling out. Idled at about an inch a second. All that was lacking was the music. Stared at his massive dick swelling, pushing to free itself.
I stood naked letting him drink in every inch of my body with his eyes. Gently caressed my breasts, slowly slid hands down my chest across my stomach ... ran my fingers through my pussy ... licked my lips ... stuck my tongue out, flicking it wildly in his direction. Stepped out of my habit and walked the three steps across the room, stopping my pussy just three inches in front of his face. R a n my finger t i p s through his hair ... gyrated my pelvis, teasing my bush, trying to force out his tongue. Arched back from the waist. Pulled his head forward into my thrusting pussy. He dropped to his knees grabbing my ass with both hands.
First his teeth grabbed a glob of hair. His tongue flicks out exploring my moist bee hive already flowing with honey.
For three hours we ate to our hearts content, fucked tool His hot come dripped out of my box, mixing on my hairs and then running down my leg.
He came five times. When he couldn't get it up the sixth time, I went down on him and flicked my tongue along the bottom of his dick, circling its head. Even sucked on his nuts. Nothing. Went around the world on him, tickled his anus with the side of my tongue, and he swelled up like a steel spike.
While it was hard, I. rolled him over on his back on the floor and shoved his joint into my anus.
The swelling inside felt like I was going to explode. He fingered me and we both came. His sixth, my fourth, quite a man ... sore!!
Strange fact. In two hours, didn't say more than two words to each other. Going back tomorrow ... More of the same.
Dear Diary --
Mr. Spivens made an appointment for a week from next Friday. Wife leaving on Thursday for Europe for four weeks.
Dear Diary
Jeanette Dickie discovered new way for me to masturbate. Great -- have to try it with Senator Schlick's wife since she gets her rocks off watching me make myself come. Simple ... stick vibrator in rectum, take nine-volt battery and run live wire across clit, then mount dildo platforms on the floor. Much rather eat her up with whip cream. Great road .. Shame she's a pervert. Oh well -- different strokes for different folks.
She told me her husband tries to eat her all the time. Let's him fuck her -- whether he wants it or not -- every Thursday night before she gets her hair done in morning.
Dear Diary --
Everything all set with convent. Contacted friend who covers phones. They know what to do should he call. On medical leave ... doubt if he'd call, knows I live off holy ground.
Dear Diary -
UP YOURS!!!!
Chapter Seventeen
From the shore, the plush fifty-seven foot cabin cruiser sat motionless in the sparkling water, bobbing like a cork in a rippled pond as the waves from a passing sloop, now off in the distance, slurped rhythmically against the massive fiberglass hull. On the fly-bridge, Philip stood be-side Sister Bernadette, now only clad in the bottom half of a dark blue bikini, her breasts full against his tanned flesh. For twenty minutes, they peered off into the distance waiting for that single moment when the sun first vanishes behind the other side of the world. The night air, hot up until 8:00 PM, took on a slight chill that Bernadette felt as the brisk wind brushed across her nipples, chilling them like ice cubes, transforming them into tight wrinkled little buds.
Phillip felt the sting of the cold air but stood fact, facing into the wind, letting his long hair feel the massaging fingers of the breeze. He was happy. Happier than he had been in years and he felt like telling the world about it.
just as the last rays bent over the horizon, Phillip turned to Bernadette, taking her in his two powerful hands and looked deep into her eyes. There was not enough light to see her beautiful nose, her high cheek bones or the fullness of her round lips. Except for the outline of her face and the twinkle of sunlight from ninety-three million miles away, he could see nothing, but still he saw everything: In perfect detail. Looking up at him, she just barely caught a childlike smile curling the corners of his lips. A man who had trained himself with much discipline to control his feelings, cover up his emotions, Phillip was showing in his own small way that he was a human being, at least for the moment.
He didn't say a word, just stood, his long arms engulfing her small frame in his powerful grip, holding on for dear life. Like a child afraid he was going to lose something more precious that life itself. This night was a very special night. It was the last night of his two week cruise to nowhere with Sister Bernadette. For fourteen days, he had disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean; fishing, swimming in the nude in shark infested waters, sharing the wildest time of his life with, of all people, a nun. The woman he loved. A fully ordained woman of the church. Taking her into his arms, he shook his head laughing out loud to himself. It had to be a dream he thought -- it had to be. He had done some pretty wild things in his life, but defrocking a nun, no it wasn't possible. Any minute now he knew he'd wake up and find out it had been a dream. Anything but the truth.
If only the Pope could see her now. He'd have a colitis attack right there on the spot ... not to mention a good old fashioned, traditional heart attack. Phillip could just picture the Pope standing in front of them both shocked at the new habit Sister Bernadette had replaced for the rather modest, longer version. He finally broke the silence with a long hearty laugh.
Sister B looked up in surprise and wanted to know what was so funny and why she was being kept out of the joke. Discrimination was not allowed on her boat, she smirked. The night had engulfed the sound between the north shore of Long Island and the southern shore of Connecticut. The stars began to turn themselves on and the lights from the houses and cars on shore looked like the handwork of thousands and thousands of fire flies scurrying through the night.
"Well," she demanded in a more serious tone, clearing her. voice for effect, waiting for his answer. Seconds passed and still no answer. The boat was pitch dark, there was no moon this night. The night was cold and distant. The only warmth she felt was the heat she absorbed from his hairy chest. Her ears, not distracted by her other senses, became free to explore the world around her, skipped from the seductive splashing of the waves to the drum like beating of Phillip's heart.
If there was a machine to stop all the clocks of the world, he would have paid any price, given up all his possessions to freeze these last moments in a time capsule of memory. Tomorrow meant going back to his wife, his practice, everything he hated, but had to live with. How strange he thought, to find what he really wanted in the one woman he knew he could never have. How strange. How strange that out of all the psychiatrists in New York, she had picked him. Maybe there was a God, a purpose, a meaning, a validity of existence to this fucked up world. Maybe, but down deep inside, as much as he wanted one, his rational mind denied it emphatically. All he knew was that for the many months he had known her, loved her, cared for her as he had cared for no other living person, life had been worth living.
But now was not the time to think, now was the time to love, tenderly, with every drop of love he had locked up within his swollen club of manliness trapped inside his swimmers trunks. He had to have her, possess her, eat her, lick her slit and munch into her mound of pussy hair. For what else was worth anything more.
A flash of light streaked across her body like a meteor bursting across the heavens. His right hand slid down her long narrow spine, slipped around her tiny waist, followed the rim of her bikini briefs and tickling her warm flesh. Wedging his fingers down between the wet clinging cloth, he stopped in her wet, sticky matted pussy hair. Instinctively, she did the same to him, repeating each move, stopping deep into his trunks as her long fingernails first touched and then surrounded his long dick. In the cold night air, it was hot and throbbed with every beat of his heart. Together in the dark, without saying a word, they fondled each other, arm in arm -- she handling the explosive primers that were slowly building for massive explosions deep within her flesh, deep between her long slender legs, hidden behind the best camoflage in the world.
She cupped his tight wrinkled testicles in the palm of her hand, squeezing slightly, testing to see how much pressure had built up to drive his come up the stem of his long swollen shaft, up through the mushroom head through that tight slit, squirting it deep into her long dark, slippery box. They were tight and drawing in close to his loins. Soon ... soon his hot come would be oozing down her legs, sticking to her hairs trying like a salmon to return up stream.
She couldn't wait. He was fingering her with his long middle finger and felt her honey trickling down his fingers. She squatted slightly and spread her thighs so he could get more than one finger in. Yes! Yes! Two ... Three ... Four ... She tore his trunks in the dark. At first she missed them, but feeling her way, she found the string, untied it and yanked the suit to his knees as she dropped to her knees. She took his swelling penis in her two hands, stroked it, squeezed it, tickled it from the hairy stem up the long trunk to the mushroom head. Guiding it up to her lips, she extended her long wet tongue and captured a drop of come resting between the tiny lips of his slit at the very top of his joint. Never had she seen or felt such a piece of meat.
Tonight was going to be one night he'd never forget. That she was sure of. Everything was going along to schedule. The trip on his yacht for the two weeks had been her stroke of genius. What better way to sell him her story hook, line and sinker. To convince him of her true split personality. To get him -- "Dr. Icicles" -- to warm up and fall in love. It could have only been done away from his office, the city and his wife. Two weeks alone and naked. That was more than even some married people get in a lifetime. But she knew she had more to work with because she had her head together and a body that would keep it there.
"Bend over and grab your ankles."
Dimetrious Galopolus had saved Cindy's ass more than once back when she was still nothing more than a neophite street walker. They had gotten to be good friends over the years, and whenever she could help him out she did. It had become a standing joke every time they met for De to welcome her with open arms, then spin her around and order her to assume the position -- his favorite.
Once a month, she went to his massage parlor on East 42nd Street off Eighth, got a message and balled ... on the house. She couldn't repay him enough with money for the times he gave her food and a warm place to stay, nor would he take it. Only once, in the beginning, she offered cash and his only reply was "the only people you can't but in this fuckin' world are friends and whether you like it or not, I consider myself your friend."
"Grab my ankles! You're lucky I don't grab the door and run," she said coming back at him with both barrels. She threw her arms around his broad shoulders and squeezed him hard. "Come on. Let's get out of the lobby before one of your customers takes me for one of your fast hand job artists."
De owned his own place and specialized in the very wealthy clientele. The neighborhood didn't reflect it, but just about every hour of the day chauffeur driven limousines dropped off and picked up some of the wealthiest people in the city. In the five years, since he had taken over the place, not one mugging or robbery had taken place within his establishment. You could leave a $100 dollar bill on the table, go away and when you came back it would be exactly where you left it.
"East of Eden" brought customers from all walks of life. Some rumors had it that some of the very biggest people in Washington made a point of arranging a special rub-down at their hotel. But of all his customers, Cindy was his favorite. Strict rules of the house, only he-was allowed to take care of her.
They walked along the side of the motionless pool that had been built to duplicate what the garden of eden must have looked like back when clothes were `out'! It was still early in the day and only two burly old gentlemen sat along the edge in their birthday suits attended by two young beauties clad only in fig leafs tucked loosely between their legs.
At the end of the pood, they turned left passing under a branch of a small tree with a big green snake coiled around the trunk. Written in big letters on a plaque hanging from the jutting branch was a sign every customer had to read before going in for their `rub down'. "IT WASN'T THE APPLE IN THE TREE THAT GOT ADAM ONTO TROUBLE, IT WAS THE TOMATO ON THE GROUND!"
De closed the curtain behind them as they entered his own private room, making her feel like she was back reliving genesis. If she didn't know better, Cindy almost half expected to see Adam and Eve sneaking behind the bushes munching on an apple.
Cindy immediately started to undress. De did the same and got a hard-on watching her unbutton then slip her blouse off and drop her levis to the floor revealing her slender, well turned legs, her rounded hips, her full mound of short well trimmed pussy hair and her firm full breasts. She saw that look in his eyes, that look she saw every time they got together, that look he was never able to put into words. There was an unspoken relationship. He knew what she was, but never once did he ask about or discuss her business. She too, knew what he was -- a homosexual -- but like him, she accepted and saw only the person and ignored the label. Labels can be turned in and exchanged, people can't.
He walked toward her, his long thin olive brown prick reaching straight for her cunt. She stood motionless looking up into his eyes, feeling his two strong hands pull her slowly against his muscular frame. Their lips met and parted slightly allowing their tongues to explore the others moist cavity. Cindy pressed her breast softly against his hairy chest, rubbing them from side to side. Her nipples responded and sent flashes of pleasure down into her hot box. Spreading her legs apart ever so slightly and standing on her tip toes, she invited his prick to slide freely in along her long narrow slit. Firmly in place, resting deep within her swollen lips, she closed her legs and slid forward and back riding his cock.
She felt the top of his cock rubbing her against her clit. Her box became bright pink, flushed with blood, lubricated with its own pussy honey. She was pointing her cunt for the mushroomed head dick playing at the front door, waiting to enter. Her body trembled and she knew she was coming. Racing to bring on her own climax, she rode him faster and faster, pushing down on his long hard shaft, rubbing its full length deep along her clit.
"Goddddddddddddl I'm commmmmmminnnnnnnggggggg!"
She screamed into his ear. "Squeeze me. Yeeeesssss!" He grabbed the cheeks of her ass, squeezing them in his two powerful hands. Pulling her even closer against his bronze body, he started nibbling on her ears. The tingling shivers of ecstasy sent her head shooting up and back. Her eyes shut, her long hair flowed from side to side as she wrestled in vain to escape his teeth devouring neck.
Her red hot tongue pushed her soft round dry lips apart and then spread a thick layer of slick saliva from side to side. She was there. Her come flowed like thick wine, running down her cunt lips, blending with her pussy hair, following the soft contour lines of her shapely thighs. Grunts and groans erupted from her mouth.
"Noooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!""
She came. No it was his turn. Released from his grip, she spun around, bent over, spread her legs and reached her hands back between her legs, grabbing hold of his nuts. They were enlarged. His hairy wrinkled scrotum was full of his come. She wanted it, all of it, every ounce of it shooting up her pulsating vagina. He placed his hands on her hips, and slid his cock into her drenched lips, past the matted halo of pubic hair. The contracting muscles lining her box grabbed his mushroom head drawing it in deeper and deeper. At last, his full rod was inside her twitching cunt. She played with his nuts, exerting a slight pressure to prime them for an immediate explosion. Arching over her back, he started humping her, pumping his cock in and out, driving it deeper and deeper with each thrust. Sliding both hands around her back under her arms, he grabbed her two swaying fits, and massaged them, squeezing them like putty. "Squeeze my nuts hard," he whispered in her ear. "Don't leave one single drop behind."
Cindy felt his two testicles empty their load deep in her cunt. She was coming again. With one hand, she squeezed and played with his wrinkled hairy bag and with the other she slid her first finger along her erected clit. Her nipples were swollen, her box kept taking every drop he shot, salvo after salvo up into her box. She matched him thrust for thrust, driving his shaft as deep as it would go, and then some.
"Give me more De. I need more. Harder, give me all you've got." The words were no sooner out of her mouth, off her lips, then she `shot her wad' for the second time. But she felt unsatisfied. She was away from him, not able to throw her arms around him and kiss him and hold him tight like a man. But that was the way he liked her and that was the way he was going to have her.
Like a souped-up, heavy weight sports car gearing down slowly from fifth gear to first, De kept humping her until he slumped over her back, out of breath and out .of come. Every time he got together with Cindy it was the same thing. Only Cindy made him feel this way, could drain him totally, at least for the moment. Not even his boy friends could satisfy him the way she did.
Cindy felt his heavy massive bulk pushing down on her and smelled his warm perspiration rolling down her back, mixing with her own. He had stopped moving, but she still felt his swollen joint firmly implanted deep inside her loins, still very much alive. She had an idea.
Together, but without saying a word, they dropped to the floor without disconnecting. His weight on her shoulders forced her to work twice as hard, but it was worth it. On the floor, she slipped off his joint, leaving him on all fours. Sliding around, she repositioned herself so her head was under his joint and his head was over her box. She knew that's what he wanted. Everytime, like clockwork, after he fucked her, he wanted to eat her. So what the gourmet wants the gourmet gets.
His joint was wet, slick and dripping with their come. She licked her tongue along its full length tasting the salty flavor that clung to her lips.
A jolt of electricity shot through his pecker with the first touch of her tongue. She began to play. First, kissing it, then licking it, then biting it gently but firmly like a boy biting a hot-dog, starting at the end and moving toward the base of his stem. She ran her fingers lightly over his tightly drawn scrotum slipping her finger back along the crack in his ass until she found his tight anus. He was coming back to life. Bending forward he ran his tongue up and down the inside of her thigh. Up to the edge of her pussy hair and then switching legs reversed himself, intentionally teasing her box. Chills ran up and down her cunt. She ran her tongue around the soft mushroom head topping his pulsating dick. Stopping at the bottom, she butterflied the sensitive membrane that triggers his ejaculation. Her flicking brought his own tongue down through her come soaked hair. She matched him nibble for nibble as she chewed at his roots and sucked on his nuts, while stroking his anus, probing for a weakness. In kind, he probed and found her back hole and first dip-ping his finger into her creamy white dripping box, he inched his lubricated dong into her tight hole.
She couldn't control herself. She slid her rounded lips back and forth, up and down, his dick matching thrust for thrust while her own finger exploring his anus, she paced him. Lick for lick, he explored down, around and in her swollen lips and inside her ass. She tasted droplets of his come sliding from his tiny slit atop his circumcized head as he scooped out of control, they fed upon themselves devouring everything in sight, stimulating each other till they couldn't keep up the pace. This time, they came simultaneously, together as one.
De captured his second wind and wanted more. Sliding off he rolled her over and lifted her to her knees. Too exhausted to help, she let him position her as best he could. Out of breath, exhausted and feeling no pain, she felt him once again hump her from the back as only a Greek knows how. But this time after he separated her cheeks, his dick, more alert now than before, shoved its way into her playful anus. She resisted his pressure, instinctively, but then relaxed and felt his full girth push back the taunt muscles and inch forward, lubricated by her come clinging on his dick. It was wild and different. And no one could do it better than De the Greek.
He was all the way in. She felt his groin flush against her rounded melon cheeks. She liked the way he felt and the way he smelled. It was different, verile and sexy. He began to pump her slowly while her muscles contracted engulfing his penis, he held on for dear life. Tighter than her cunt, it didn't take long to come from behind, again droping his limitless load.
Too exhausted to lay on the plush bed in the corner near the imitation waterfall, they flopped to the floor in each others arms, drawing their bodies tightly against the others.
"For an old cunt, you're not too bad."
"Old cunt," she screamed trying to pull out of his arms. "Old cunt, why if it wasn't for that splinter and gauze I wrapped around your middle leg, you would have been out of the fucking ball game back in the first inning."
He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her tenderly. "Now, now ... look who's getting sensitive about her age." Cindy looked up into his eyes and broke into a warm smile. She kissed him back, parting her moist lips so he could enter.
For minutes they said nothing, did nothing, just listened to the waterfall rolling over the rocks into the pool below. Content, satisfied, they fell asleep, but only for a few minutes. A knock at the door and a voicing announcement that the private pool was ready for them, woke De. Gently nudging Cindy, they got up and walked through another door at the opposite end of the room.
The door led into an olympic size swimming pool. Sand surrounded the edge making it look like a natural pool in the garden of eden. Palm trees lined the wall. Music poured down from hidden speakers in the ceiling. The lights were low and moody, the music was seductive, there was food on the sand awaiting them and they were alone.
"Come on," he smiled, taking her hand in his and leading her to the showers in the corner. Unlike ordinary showers, they looked like coconut trees. They stood under them and pulled the green vine hanging down from the branches. Water poured from the bunch of coconuts high above their heads.
Cindy pulled the chain like a kid with a new toy, as the water poured over their bodies. De picked up the bar of soap and lathered first him-self and then Cindy. He played with her, rubbing and sliding his body across her foamy flesh.
A stronger pull on the vine and another flood of warm water drenched them totally washing away the suds.
"Last one in the pool's a loose goose."
"You lost already!" Cindy took his challenge and broke for the water. De wasn't far behind. It took her just three seconds fiat to cover the distance to the cool circulating water.
Cindy surfaced and looked around for De. Still underwater, and undetectable, he tickled her feet and kissed her hairy box before coming up.
"No fair trying to influence the judge. You lost and don't try to change it."
A short official protest and De accepted his lot in life. He was, at least for the moment, a loose goose. He declined the offer of a plaque to be placed prominently in his office. "Thanks, your generosity is overwhelming, but no thanks."
They swam and played and talked, about them-selves and where they were going. And most importantly where they came from, since it was a basic element upon which their tomorrow would be based. De was Cindy's only friend, and Cindy was De's. Most people consider themselves lucky if they have many acquaintances, but they were thankful that they had one good friend. Someone they knew was there all the time, whenever they needed them. And they had proved it numerous times over the years.
Finally, water logged and wrinkled, they called it quits and climbed out of the pool, walking dripping wet across the white sand to the massage table underneath three sun lamps. Cindy flopped down on her stomach as De pulled out the oil tray from a compartment under the table.
Warm circulating air sweeping the room dried the water droplets clinging to their nude bodies. It felt good to get back to nature and get away from the helter skelter existence just on the other side of those palm trees. But to Cindy the outside world didn't exist. Only this immediate moment comprised her entire existence.
He kneeded her muscles, massaged her limbs, oiled her skin and massaged her neck and scalp with a vibrator. She rolled over on her back and he repeated his gentle touch that lulled her almost to sleep.
He was trimming her pussy hairs, getting rid of those odd sized ones and shortening the bushy mound hanging between her legs when he figured it was time to show it to her.
"Close your eyes."
"Huh? What for?"
"Don't give me any `what for' close them!"
She obeyed and slammed them shut,. covering them with her hands like a small child playing hide and seek. What did he have in mind? She heard noises. He was opening and closing some-thing, but what?
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," she screamed feeling the sliding thing between her legs.
"Whatever you do, don't open your eyes."
"But, but -- "
"But nothing!", he insisted, instructing her to lift her legs and spread her knees. She did and immediately felt his lips kissing her cunt. "Thought I'd throw that in just for good measure at no extra charge."
There were three pieces or three somethings he was working with. Yes, there were three. One, long thick, and hard, he slid all the way up her cunt. The second, about the same as the first, she felt inching into her anus. It was only about half as thick and half as long. The third, on the other hand layed flat running at the bottom of her slit across her clit.
"If we're playing twenty questions, I know it's not animal mineral or vegetable, so what is it?"
A switch went on and she suddenly felt her body explode in a sea of erhilhrating vibration. Her cunt, anus and clit were being massaged and vibrated and played with all at once. Oily lubrication, not her own, flowed from her with the vibrators exciting her even more. It was hot and slick. He turned a dial in his hand and the vibrations increased. It was too much for her to handle. She lifted her ass high in the air, balancing her weight on her heels. She was coming alright and she felt like she was being fucked by a wild stallion. She grabbed her breasts, squeezing her nipple buds between her thumb and first fingers, exciting herself even more.
Her first orgasm exploded like a cherry bomb, strong and powerful. She wanted to relax, but the thing wouldn't let her. She was at its mercy. Seconds later, she tightened and erupted again. Still the thing excited her already over-simulated clit, cunt and anus. Her muscles, already fatigued, her mind totally blown, reeled again to the convulsive throws of her third, equally exciting orgasm. Two many could she take? She had to find out.
De turned it off and watched her slide her legs forward lowering her ass back on the padded foam rubber table. Motionless, too tired to say a word, but drenched from the pleasures that engulfed her total being; she felt that `thing' being slid out of her loins.
"You can open your eyes now, if you can."
"I couldn't if I wanted to," she panted fighting not to come down from her mental high. "Feel like I'm three feet off the ground. And me afraid to fly."
"It's my own invention. Do you like it?"
She opened her eyes. "Like it," she gasped "why I love it or should I say it loves me."
"Pm going to be using it on some of my favorite customers, but I wanted you to be the first. A maiden flight so to speak," he chuckled under his breath.
Cindy looked it over, held it in her hands. It was made of rubber arms, two jutting straight up and the third straight forward, perpendicular to the other two. "It might not win a beauty contest, but I sure as hell could use one for myself."
"So be it, I'll see that one is delivered before the week is out." He responded explaining the mechanism and how it operated.
He finished her massage and they both got dressed. Lunch was served on the beach by his bronzed buxom nude waitress. They took their time eating the shrimp cocktail, the Maine whole lobster and Cindy's favorite dessert, Strawberry Shortcake.
"Now what," Cindy asked, falling back on the sand stuffed to the gills.
"Thought you'd like to see my girls in action. You just might pick up a few pointers or have a couple to lay on us."
"I'm game."
"If you're ready, I'll show you the new two-way mirrors I had installed. My customers think it's a new way to get the most of their girls."
De led her around the pool back into his private office and through a secret door that swung open behind his book shelves. They walked one behind the other along a narrow passage way lit only by a series of single bulbs overhead.
They walked about twenty-five feet then made a sharp right, stopping in front of a mirror. Inside, on the other side of the two-way mirror, they watched a balding old man in his fifties being blown by a tiny Japanese girl with long straight black hair. Her pussy hair had been shaved off and they were both completely naked. He sat on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide apart.
De turned to Cindy. "Would you believe he's a Federal Judge. Just last week he convicted and sent two porno film makers to jail for two years. Little does he know that we're filming what's going on right now. Look over there." She followed to where his finger pointed and saw the tiny hole the camera was shooting through.
They walked a few steps to the next window and watched two young men blowing each other. "The guy on the right is in the DA's office. I supply him with the best men in New York. Pays through the nose, but he always gets what he wants even if I have to go to Europe to find him. Married and has three kids. You see his picture in the society columns just about every other week!"
At the window, Cindy froze. She listened as De told her all about the guy being raped by the three young girls, probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. As young as they were, they knew which end was up. They work as a team surrounding his body in a sea of creaming pussies. "This one you probably never heard of, though he's a big psychiatrist. Park Avenue clientele is his forte. Been mixed up with a few guys wives though nothing was ever proven." As she heard Phillip's name mentioned, her heart skipped a beat, but she made a point of showing nothing.
"And what do we have over here," Cindy said walking away nonchalantly looking into the next window. De read from his mental dossier word for word describing the background of the man screwing the sheep. Cindy heard his voice, but didn't listen to what he was saying. Her mind was back with Phillip. So, this is where he went today. His secretary mentioned he had a special appointment at the hospital on the island and wouldn't be back all day. Good thing he didn't spot her in the lobby or accidentally bump into her in the corridor. That would have blown everything. Regardless of what she would have said, he wouldn't have believed her. All the time and effort would have gone down the drain. But she was glad she knew.
"... and his father comes in twice a week -"
Cindy apologized, she had to cut short her tour. She did have to be going, but said she'd like to finish the mirrors next time. "Of course," he agreed sorry to see her leaving. "Just let me know when and I'm your humble servant." De took her hand in his and pressed it gently to his lips, kissing it delicately as only a European can. He brought his eyes back up to hers and stared deeply.
"I know. I feel the same way. And," she concluded, "I always will." She touched her body to his and opening her mouth ever so- slightly touched his round full lips to hers, exploring his mouth with her tongue.
He walked to the back entrance and watched as she blended into the endless sea of people scurring to make a living off the bottom of their sea of air on this planet they called `home'. The outside world disgusted him. It was impure, dirty and disgusting. He had to slam the door and keep them away from his own clean little world he had created. He spent his entire days in the garden of eden, sleeping there at night It was his home. The only, reality he cared to ever know any more. For a brief minute, he thought about Cindy, but quickly put her out of his mind. Roger was coming and he had to get himself ready for his appointment. He missed Roger. Roger was his favorite. There wasn't anything he wouldn't and didn't do for him, in bed and out.
Chapter Eighteen
Cindy woke up the next morning dripping from a wet dream about De. She looked out the window and decided it was time she went away for a trip. It was raining, she was tired and be-sides she felt it was smart to let the hook sink deeper into Phillip's ass by not being so readily available whenever he wanted her. To let him think about her, to wonder where she had gone, what she was doing, and to realize how much he missed her and needed her ... and how much she had become a habit in his life. And besides, who said nuns weren't allowed a two week vacation.
She was impulsive and her mind was made up. She got out of bed, threw on her favorite robe and went into the kitchen to find yesterday's New York Times. Pulling it out of the garbage from under the tomato juice can, she put up the water for coffee and sat down opening up to the travel section. Hawaii? No, too expensive and besides she'd already been there twice., South America? That was out too. She hated mosquitos. Ah, she found what she was looking for, the Virgin Is-lands. Tearing the ad out of the paper, she poured the hot water into the cup, added one teaspoon of Cremora and two teaspoons of sugar. Ahhhh, did that taste good. She put her feet up on another chair and day-dreamed about the trip. As soon as she was done she'd call and make her reservations. Uh-Ohl What cover story would she tell Phillip? She'd have to be very careful since she hadn't mentioned anything about going away. The sudden news might shake him up too much. Oh, well, she'd think about it for a few minutes and come up with an answer after she finished her shower and then call him.
Finishing the last swallow of coffee, she washed the cup out with hot water and stacked it into her dish washer. Since it was full, she added a cup of soap and turned it on. Today, normally a work day, had been scheduled with Mr. Restler at the bank, but he had cancelled. She already had every-thing scheduled down to the last detail. First her shower, then a quick call to Phillip and then the entire afternoon was going to be used exclusively for catching up on all the soaps she'd been missing on TV.
She walked back into the bedroom, threw her robe on the bed, took off her men's pjs she always wore, tossing them in the laundry, then stood in front of the full length mirror on the closet door. Every morning rain or shine, she did her exercises. It was the only way she found to keep her body tight and wiry, especially since she had a tendency to put on a few pounds without batting an eye.
Hands on hips, begin. Upppp ... downnn ... upppp ... dovvwwwnn ... upppp ... The deep knee bends done, she kicked her arms out to the sides and started in on her jumping jacks. Twenty-four of them out of the way, she shifted into high gear with five minutes of running in place. She burst out laughing watching her boobs flop up and down in the mirror. If only her `studs' could see the hard work and diligent exercise she put in to insure she stayed the best piece of ass in the world. It wasn't only for the men she worked out. Hardly. As young as she was, there were too many young chicks who were still in the prime of life who could give her a run for her money and her men. And when it came to business, she made sure she stayed one up on her competition.
After four minutes of jogging, she was ready to drop. Her lips were dry as parchment, her legs kept forgetting they were supposed to keep her body up and her lungs couldn't suck in the oxygen fast enough. Forty-five seconds to go, she wanted to quit in the worst way, but she wouldn't. Thirty seconds and counting. She was moving on pure guts, nothing else. Fifteen seconds seemed like an eternity. 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1. She collapsed into a stupor on the bed. Boy, was she out of shape. She couldn't catch her breath. That did it. Out go the cigarettes. The way she felt, a wet dishrag was in better condition. Not resisting the temptation, she shut her eyes, feeling the beads of perspiration roll down her face. What the hell, she thought, I'm in no hurry. I'll take the shower in two minutes.
Yep, she sure could use that vacation. And she had figured out what she'd tell Phillip, too. She'd keep it nice and simple, with the teeniest flavor of intrigue. Let's see ... something unexpected had come up at the church and they needed a representative to handle it. And she was appointed. It would take two weeks and there weren't any phones where she'd be. And besides, it would be good to get away and do some thinking by her-self, especially since her trip on his yacht. Her story was believable and knowing Phillip, she knew he'd fall for it.
Besides, after all the time they'd spent on the boat, two weeks back, and all the time they'd seen each other in the interim, the smartest thing to do now was to get away ... to drop out of sight. In some respects, things were moving too quickly. And she was getting a bit concerned how he'd been talking lately. Nothing she could put her hand on exactly, but the tone of what she felt in her gut, told her he was .doing some heavy thinking about his old lady.
He might be talking one way about how he feels about staying married, but something quite the contrary was coming out the other side of his mouth. And the one thing she didn't want, the one thing that would blow her plans sky high was him wanting out with his wife and in permanently with her. That kind of shit, she didn't want or need. Going away and giving him the impression that she had to do some thinking on her own, would give him the idea that maybe, just maybe, she wanted out. And knowing how he felt about her now, he'd be willing to do anything she wanted to keep it going.
Enough mental gymnastics. This was a rest period, not a skull session. She switched off her mind, diverting her attention to the full length mirror on the ceiling. It was during moments like this, alone, in the nude, that she psyched herself up to instill the mental sex appeal required to match her body. She watched as she felt the cool sweeping breeze from the window air-conditioner flow across her damp firm breasts and her bushy mound of pubic hair filled with droplets of water. She tried to look at her body as a man would. She wondered what it would be like making love to herself. To be a man. To suck on her soft breasts and squeeze her tiny nipples between her fingers, rolling them gently with oh, the slightest pressure. Then, to stick her fingers into her slit and play with her clit with the gentleness of a child. Just thinking about it excited her mind and tantalized her body. She wondered what it would feel like to spread her legs and rest her body in her saddle, inserting her swollen prick between her lips deep into her slippery box. Oh, she made a point of masterbating two or three times a day. She believed in the sensuous women theory that sex takes practice, and not half assed practice either.
It was impossible to find the answer to the questions she found herself constantly asking her-self during times like this. How could she ever find the answers. She was a woman. She felt as only a woman feels. Never would she be able to know what she was not meant to know. For as the, old saying goes "If my God wanted my grandmother to be my . grandfather, he would have given her balls." Cindy never knew who made it up, but her only answer to that statement was ... maybe he did!
Balls or no balls, she was homey. But that was nothing new, she was in a constant state of horneyness. She had to stay away from old coke bottles. It was an ancient disease that had only one cure. She slipped her fingers down into her pussy rolling the hair into tiny ringlets. Did that feel good. Her nipples responded forming tiny buds pushing up. She took one nipple in her right hand and slid it between her thumb and first fingers. Her lips parted feeling her thick, hot tongue dance back and forth with its tip flicking tickles of pleasure down her spine. First, starting slow, she fingered herself until she felt her lubrication pouring down her fingers like honey. Finger-fucking was the next best thing to the real McCoy. She managed to get four fingers in when she lifted her rump off the bed and grunted as the ripples of electricity charged up and down her legs and pussy as she came. She scooped up fingers full of her own come and brought them to her lips. In order to love herself, she must know herself. Not as she knows herself, but as men know her.. Best to know yourself as they do is the essence of a mistress. First, she smelled her own floral bouquet. She was sweet and delicate. A few drops across her lips and the slick taste of passion was burned forever into her mind.
Her exercising and her own love making were too much. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. Two hours later, she awoke to the flashes of lightning outside. She took her shower and dried her-self off. Instead of throwing on a towel or getting dressed, she walked around nude, enjoying the brisk, refreshing air pouring into the apartment.
She called the travel agency and made her reservations. She was booked to leave tomorrow night on a 747 out of Kennedy. It was a package deal with all meals and accommodations included at the newest hotel on the island. OK, one down and one to go. She picked up the phone and dialed Phillips private office number. She let it ring because she knew he was often tied up and couldn't come directly to the phone. By the tone of his voice when he picked up the phone, she knew he was in a good humor. With him and his up and down moods, she never knew how she'd find him. Two calls within a few hours would often times find two different people on the other end.
"Well, hello stranger," he said as soon as he heard her voice. "What brings you to these parts on such a beautiful shitty day?"
When he was mentally turned on, there was no one funnier or more fun to be with. But when he was down his own mother would disown him.
She knew exactly what was going to happen when she told him, so she laid it on him right off the bat. just as she predicted his doctor jacket personality took over, and he sounded worse than the rain storm outside.
"But why? I don't understand."
"Told you. Please understand. Some things came up at the church and I have to go away. Really, it'll be good for both of us. Give us a chance to be by ourselves and think. OK?"
The best thing to do was to hang up and get out of the discussion as fast as possible. She said she had to run and promised she'd send him a card and call. His voice sounded like it was dragging on the floor when he said "Good bye." She hung up and smiled to herself. Things were going on schedule. The time was ripe and she'd lay the bomb on his head when she got back. He'll be so homey he won't question a thing, she thought. And besides, the time she's gone will be just the ammunition to prove her story. The phone call proved it to her once and for all. He was hooked and what bothered him on the phone was not the fact she was going, but that he finally realized he was hooked. That's what hurt him the most.
She looked at the clock on the dresser. It was already 11:35 and she hadn't done all the things she had planned. There was shopping to do, the apartment had to be cleaned and three appointments that had to be cancelled and rescheduled. She'd take care of them after lunch, but she had to call Mr. Bishop. It was time for his appointment. He was the weirdest client she had. For the last two years, he had been paying $100 a week just to call him up and talk to him over the phone. When he first called having been referred, she thought he was off . the walls, but since he promised to send her the check first and he did, she called. She didn't know what he looked like, just recognized his voice. The calls lasted as long as he wanted, but normally never more than fifteen minutes.
The first time she called the line was busy. She waited a few minutes and then redialed. Three times it rang, then an old man's voice said "Hello." It was always the same game they played in the beginning.
"Can you talk," she whispered into the mouth-piece.
"Yes, I am alone."
"Are you dressed?"
The old man's voice quivered as he said "no." He sounded like a small boy who had gone out in the garage. with the little girl next door and got caught with his pants down playing `doctor'. The phone remained silent for a few more seconds and then he added, "I've been waiting here for you to call."
"I wish I was there with you now," she said sounding as kittenish as she could. "Why won't you let me come over and be with you and make love to you. You know I need you to make love to me."
"You know I'd like you too, but I can't. I explained it to you the last time, remember?"
Yes, she remembered. Remembered that he gave the very same answer last week. She wondered what his hang-up really was. About the only thing she had been able to track down on the old guy was that he is a widower, loaded, too. One of the few guys who actually made money during the depression. Had one child who was killed during the second world war. His third wife divorced him two years ago and walked away with a fucking bundle, as did number one and two. She felt sorry for the old guy because instead of spending his money he was saving it for tomorrow ... and at his age there frankly aren't that many tomorrows left. And the ones you get you take advantage of them. She had tried to tell him that, but he didn't listen. All he wanted her to do was excite him on the phone. Nothing more. She did and made a fortune using her mouth. Unfortunately, there were more interesting tricks she could do with her lips, but as a wise old homey philosopher said: "different strokes for different folks."
"But I can't help it. I want to come over and touch your body and look at your long hunk of manliness. I want to kiss it and have you shove it between my legs and make me explode inside."
Each time she called it became more difficult for her to say those words. He was old, old enough to be her father. From his voice, she had drawn a mental picture of a wrinkled up old timer who the world had passed by. Once productive, now he rotted away no longer capable of fighting the world on equal terms.
She had seen some sickies, some real butes. Guys that should have been locked up in a funny farm and had the key thrown away. But as sick as they were (and who was she to be talking) they were young and had healthy bodies. When she was in bed with them, she was concerned only if that pig sticker jutting up at her was going to make her cream. She wanted to suck out every last drop of come and swish the white stuff around her mouth and swallow it slowly and enjoy it slither down her throat. She didn't care if some shrink was going to declare them `non compus mentous' or that their IQ was minus 45. Fuck no. She was only concerned if she turned the trick well enough for them to want to back for more.
She just couldn't see herself in bed with this guy. He didn't have enough bread for her to let
him eat her out. She shivered at the thought.
"Please, let me come over and let me sit on your head. I want to feel your tongue licking my clit. I don't want those young men. They're children. I want a real man. Someone who's lived and knows how to make a woman feel like a queen."
He started to talk but couldn't catch his breath. She shook her head and rested it in her right hand. He was jerking off. "I -- I -- You make me feeeel, so good," was all he could get out before he hung up the receiver.
She sat staring at the phone until the continuous buzz jolted her mind. In all the years she'd had hinges on her heels and went down for bread, this old fucker was the only dude that ever got to her. She'd had bucks want to kill them-selves if she wouldn't marry them. Husbands had divorced their wives, sold their business because of her. Fifteen guys jumped her and raped the shit out of her after one had set up an appointment in his apartment in the village. It had been part of the occupational hazards of her business and she had bounced back each time. Til now. And she didn't like it. Business, fucking and sucking and eating were one thing. But let your feelings interfere and you're heading down the river feet first.
It hadn't stopped raining. She looked out the window at the thick rain clouds for a few seconds then walked to the mirror. Maybe it was a good idea she was taking a grip. Staying on top of Phillip was keeping her hopping. A few days in the sun will get all her marbles calmed down.
She turned to get dressed and again caught her reflection in the mirror. The old man flashed across her mind. In forty years what would she be like? Old and wrinkled turning tricks would be a small miracle. Would she be alone? NOI She didn't like thinking like that. Every time it rained her mind played tricks and started her thinking too heavy thoughts. And all it did was depress her. Here she had gotten up happy and anxious to head to the Virgin Islands and now ... FUCK IT, she wasn't going to get a heavy head, not if she could help it. She had too much going for her. She grabbed her snatch, gave it an affectionate squeeze, winked at herself and took her shower. It would be a first in her professional career, but she made a mental note that when she got back she was going to cancel the old man.
Chapter Nineteen
Dear diary --
Having a fucldn' ball. Water siding, swimming, surfing, deep sea fishing. You name it and I'm doing it. Spending a small fortune on clothes but it's worth it. If I keep it up, I'll have to double Phillip. Wonder what he's doing? Been a week already and knowing him, his cock must be dragging for lack of pussy. Oh, well, his old lady's getting a work out. Too bad though ... the way she sleeps all the time, she's only getting half the action from her cock hound. Have to remind my-self to bring him back something. His wife could probably use a pussy heating pad. Probably forgot what it was for. Sent Phillip a post card via you know who. Not quite the thing Sister B would send but I thought he'd appreciate it. On the cover it shows a fisherman wearing fishing boots up to his chest, standing waist high in water. The copy reads "even a fish wouldn't get into trouble if ..." You open up the page and it reads "if he kept his big mouth shut." It's the same picture, but now you're also looking under water. The fisherman's cock is sticking out and a fish has most of it in his mouth. I crossed out fish on the cover and wrote in `nun' and inside crossed out 'his' and inserted 'her'. It'll give him something to look forward to. Poor guy. Like Portnoy he's probably cuffing off in his tiny bathroom in the office. Can see it now. Mrs. Whatshername is pouring out her sex fantasies, making sure to cover every detail of the sinful things her homey perverted husband wants her to do to him, not missing one drop of the orgy.
Then out of the clear blue, he excuses himself, steals a copy of Playboy from his top desk drawer and tiptoes to the head for a hand job. If only he knew what I have in store, he'd be thankful for the right hand God gave him.
Enough about the shrink. Arrangements for re-turn flight are confirmed. Went to the Airlines desk at the hotel. My lucky day. Met the coolest hunk I've ever seen. Native. Tall, dark and handsome. Blue eyes to boot. Got a body to boot. When I walked in he was standing in front of the counter talking to another couple. WOW. Did he have a joint. Underneath those tight white slacks I swear it looked like it hung to his knee. He swims, has his own boats ... and loves to fuck. Been seeing each other every day for the last four days. He doesn't ever let you forget he's all man.
Been picking me up every night after work. After an exciting dinner, we go to a different spot on the beach. During the day, I lay in the sun. Don't move a muscle. Every fifteen minutes, a giant spatula flips me over and I work on the other side. At night I fuck ... and fuck ... and fuck ... and fuck. Don't know where he gets his stamina. I know it's not the one-a-day tablets. I've been taking two every morning and he runs me into the ground. He thinks I'm a school teacher from Queens. Gave him my address.
I'm layin in bed, and it's morning and I should be out under the sun now, but I can't move. Sore as a bitch. He worked me over good with a capital G last night. He picked me up in his tiny MG. Weather was beautiful. Drove along the ocean 'tit we reached a fork in the road and turned right, following a sandy narrow path. Parked under a-palm tree. Took our clothes off. Ran down the soft sand into the rolling surf. No one was around for miles. Only lights came from stars and yachts anchored off to our right at Point Lookout. Moon had even gone to bed and left us alone. Opened up bottle and ate cheese and crackers on blanket. Laughed. Got drunk. Fucked. On a one to ten scale. I'd rate him 9.9!
Was right. It did hang down to his knee. He should have it registered as a dangerous concealed weapon. Never lied to you diary, but it's the truth. Couldn't get the fucking thing all in my mouth. It was thick and hot and scrumptious. More than a mouthful. He shoved it up my cunt and I wrapped my legs around his chest and he started humping me ... FUCKIN A-OK! Drunk as a skunk, I came and scratched the hell out of his back. Drew blood. Good thing he wasn't a hemophiliac. Wouldn't have had enough blood left to keep it up. Surprised he didn't have a hernia schelping it around all day.
That was the first time. He comes, shoots his wad and I come too. There I am sounding like a candidate for the nearest oxygen tent and he's stiff as a board, down on his knees eating my snatch. ( Knew the cheese and crackers weren't going to hold him all night.) He licks my thighs, nibbles on my lips, pulls my short and curlies out with his teeth and for dessert licks up our come rolling back down my slit. WHAMO ... I pop my cork before I could say "Simon says you may!"
That was the second time. Talk about female nymphs! He sweeps me off, lifts me into his arms and carries me down to the cool water and throws me in. The cold water did wonders to my tits. Should have seen water steam around my cunt. Back into his arms, back up the beach down on the blanket: Must say the guy's got one good thing going for himself. A good strong heart. Everything starts spinning. He ends up on the bottom. I'm on top and we're having another mid-night snack. (Better check how many calories we ate). His tongue is as long as Philip's. Now, now, mustn't be nasty.
That was the third time. Takes out a joint. First me. Then him. -Then me. Then him. Then me. High as a fucking kite Know what they say about girl who fly upside down ... have crack up (bad joke) ! Then he starts halucinating. Thinks I'm a dog. Before I can straighten him out, I've got my ass up in the air catching a cool breeze and my face is resting on the ground. Talk about a stuffed feeling. Pumped me twice in my box to lubricate the full length of his shaft then ... "back your ass against the wall, here I come balls and all." Shoved the God Damn thing in my ass so deep I got a terrible after taste.
That was four. Five, six, seven and eight. I don't remember too good. Came FIVE times! Some sort of record. They should make a monument of his balls and prick and put it in Time Square so all those midnight cowboys can eat their hearts out.
He wasn't built like a man ... he was slung like a ceramic deficatory.
Dear diary --
Heeeellllpppp! Wish you were here!
Chapter Twenty
"Yah ... yah ... little higher , . your tongue ... faster ... Oh my God ... don't stop ... deeper ... squeeze my breasts ... harder ... bite me ... suck me honey ... It's coming ... I can feel it ... your tongue, it's flicking my clit ... I can't take it ... you're fantastic ... I'm hot ... my ... lips are dry ... I can't keep my eyes open ... my heart's pounding ... I'm shaking ... my legs won't stop ... I want all of you ... can't get enough of you ... Oooo ... What was that? ... Do it again .. . Beep going ... Oooooo ... Shove it all in ... I can take everything you can give me ... Mmmmmm ... you are all man ... take me ... Do anything you want to me ... eat me ... suck me ... pull out my pussy hair with your teeth .. . bite my nipples ... fuck me in the ass ... yesss .. . yesss ... yesss ... faster ... I'm exploding ... I can't take it ... more ... deeper ... jab ... It's here ... Oh my God I'm exploding ... I'm commmmmmmming ... You feel like an elephant ... Now ... stick your dick in ... fuck me ... ram me so I can taste it ... Squirt your cream into my honey hive ... pump ... prime your joint ..."
Phillip Barrington drenched in his own sweat, grunted like a savage animal as he humped Sister Bernadette. The tingle in his dick intensified as he kept pumping his driver into her sticky box al-ready drenched with his come and her pussy juice.
A fast explosion, fingernails digging into his back and it was all over. He collapsed from fatigue resting his head between her tits. Her legs kept their tight vise lock around his waist, contracting and expanding, trying to drive him on.
They laid on each others limp bodies, puffing heavily like two old steam engines. Each tried to talk, but found it impossible not being able to catch a good breath of air.
"Ca -- can't--can't go on -- on like this!", he said, rolling over on his back.
"Fuck we can't.''
"Now, now. Eh -- what kind of talk is that for -- for a woman of the cloth? Shame on you."
"Oh -- oh kay. Repent sinner, take confession. And for -- for repentance take communion now. "EAT ME." Sister Bernadette broke into a hysterical laugh, lifting her legs straight off the ground at a forty-five degree angle, spreading them wide. She held her ankles with her hands.
Phil sat up, swung around facing her uplifted box, knelling for business. He hesitated. "Wait," he exclaimed. "I'm not Catholic."
"Eat your heart you." Sister B slapped her legs shut and rolled over on her stomach. "You blew it. This is pretty hairy business. Next time, do what the famous commercial says ... "Eat out tonight."
They laughed.
"You know something," Phil laughed staring up at the ceiling, squeezing her hand, "considering I've never fucked a woman of the cloth, you're the best nun I've ever had. If they're all like you I'm taking up a new residence and a new habit."
Her voice sobbed. "Phil -- "
He sensed a distinctive sound in her voice. A sound he had heard before.
"It's been over a year -- eighteen beautiful months ... the most exciting, fulfilling eighteen m o n t h s o f my life ... but I'm scared. Phil," her voice lowered with her eyes, "I think I'm pregnant!"
His face jolted back in shock. His mouth opened then closed. His eyes, normally happy, panicked. "Thinking has nothing to do with it. You either are, and in that case, I'll get it aborted or you're not, and in that case there is nothing to worry about. Right?" The cool dude role didn't fit him at all. If she was, he was in trouble and he knew it. What nun would have an abortion. It would be as stupid as giving the Pope a gross of rubbers for Christmas. And actually expecting him to use them.
"When will you know?"
"Went to the doctor this morning, before I came to your office. Results will be ready tomorrow at two." She curled up her nose and tried like hell to force a smile to make him relax. "Think maybe we both ought to say a prayer for the rabbit."
It was funny, but Phil could not get up a hearty laugh. Just a half-hearted chuckle. He had to think. Be alone. He pulled up his pants and walked to the desk. Flipping the page, he stopped suddenly and looked surprised. "I've got an appointment in ten minutes. Get dressed fast and slip out my back door."
Sister B didn't say a word. Put on her habit, for the first time, turning her back as she dressed. She sensed his hidden rejection. "I understand. I'll call you when I know. But if I am -- never mind," she concluded, and walked out leaving the door ajar.
Fear raced through his mind. He hadn't felt fear since he was in the service. What the fuck could he do. He kicked the door shut.
Think naturally he kept telling himself. "The fucking bitch," he mumbled under his breath, pulling a glass off his bar shelf in the short wall to the left of his glass top desk. "Fucking cunt!"
Fucking a patient for a little extra TLC was one thing. So, if they got pregnant, abortions were simple enough to arrange. Unwanted pregnancy ... emotional stress. Short stay in the hospital and the husband's kept in the dark.
A pregnant nun. Trouble, nothing but fucking trouble. His mind raced with ideas none of which were practical or legal.
He walked barefoot across his deep pile white carpeting to the window and looked down at the ant-like movements of the people scurrying along, hundreds of feet below.
He had come too far. He had too much. This plush office. A $75,000 plus practice and it was all teetering on the ledge outside his glass pane window.
First swishing the ice around twice with his finger, Phil poured the Bloody Mary down his throat.
"You fucking dick, I ought to cut you off." He blared out unconsciously looking down at his zipper. "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Stay out of strange places. Especially holy boxes."
He shook his head in disgust, nothing to do but to wait it out. Sweat it out, like he had done a few times in the past. For a brief second, he thought it might help if he said a prayer. Then remembered, he tried that once and it failed. He ran his free hand back through his hair and shook his head.
"Fuck!"
"After you Sister." The elderly well abed red-headed man wearing overalls stepped back leaning all his weight on his cane in his left hand.
Sister Bernadette smiled her holy smile, nodded at the old man and walked into the half-full car. "Lobby, please," she instructed the young elevator operator; more preoccupied with figuring out the crossword puzzle in the folded newspaper, resting in his lip, then watching the numbers flash sequentially as the car stopped at each floor, dropping to the street floor below.
9-8-7-6-5-4-She stood motionless as if in some self-imposed religious prayer position. Eyes glazed, she stared at the back of the tall blond-headed boy directly in front of her. Her hands nervously fidgeted with a small, white delicate lace handkerchief. 3-2-
Her face was blank. To a passerby, she was just another -- if there is such a thing -- nun, going about her spiritual mission. Her eyes, shallow, lacking the warmth a few touches of eye shadow would make. Buried deep in her habit that always looked too big, it was hard to tell a single relevant, true fact about Sister Bernadette.
She was a figment of the imagination that had become reality. Cindy just minutes before, had proven this to herself. Phillip had fallen hook, line and sinker for her plan. Everything had gone better than she had hoped in her wildest dreams.
As the elevator doors opened, Cindy, looking out at the world through the eyes of Sister B, closed her eyes for a split second reviewing the series of terrified, panicked expressions that flashed across Phil's face while she was laying the bomb.
Months of research, romantic meetings in his office under the disguise of therapy, complete re-search had caught her a pigeon. The thought ' that Sister Bernadette might by lying ... that Sister B wasn't even a real-life nun, was unfathomable in his mind. "She was just too fucking clever for him to catch on," she thought to herself.
"Main Floor," the elevator operator blurted out, realizing the door were opening and he had reached his destination. "Watch your step." He buried the crossword puzzle page into his back pocket. His floor supervisor had warned him about reading or doing puzzles. Get caught again and he'd be fired. He needed the bread so he played the silly game of elevator roulette when the door opened in the lobby.
The rush of warm air hit her squarely in the face, as she walked out into the humid, human congested street. She stopped just outside the main door. The sun's glare forced her to squint; she put her hand into her hidden personal pocket and pulled out wire-framed sunglasses. Beads of perspiration began to collect along the rim of the stark white cloth covering her forehead. Cindy had the lenses up to the sun, found the smudges on the right lens and put it to her mouth, blowing her breath over the top and bottom of the blue glass. A quick wipe of the hanky and she was ready to walk. Turning her head back and forth to get her bearings, she decided to head right and walk slowly along 56th Street. Her free hand grabbed the Crucifix chain and started to make laps around the beads. The act was unconscious.
People hurrying for lunch and shopping jossled her without so much as a "sorry" or "forgive me." One woman caught her body sideways as she ran out of a head shop laden down with packages. Cindy had to control herself from punching her out. She would have if she didn't have on the habit.
Just as she made the corner the- light turned from green to yellow to red. "DON'T WALK" flashed on and off from the opposite side of the street atop a metal street sign.
The voice came from in front of her. "She was the best piece of ass I ever had. Never would have thought she'd suck me off ... out of sight. Had the hairest cunt I've ever seen. Said she loved me. Says that to all the guys ... Makes her feel better in the morning. What the fuck, I played along and my full nuts were the price I payed."
The young boy talking didn't notice Sister B standing directly, behind him. The chubby boy he was talking to caught her out of the corner of his eyes and kicked his buddy in the ankle to shut him up. "Fuck off, will ya. What's up your ass. Stop kicking me or I'll deck ya!"
The light changed and Sister B watched them both start across the street, the second boy finally explained why he had kicked so hard. The first boy's mouth dropped open and he looked back at the nun standing on the curb, the rushing crowd bumping past her.
Cindy waved and started across the street. The two sixteen year olds took off like bandits disappearing into the mob on the opposite street corner.
Down the street, a left, up three blocks then down the steps into the Seventh Avenue Subway and straight into the womens' room.
The first two stalls were being used. The third was empty but the toilet bowl was clogged with papers and had obviously overflowed. She opened the door on the fourth stall, walked in and locked in the door behind her.
The bathroom was hot and smelled of sweat and overflowed toilets. The other doors constantly opened and closed, as feet walked in and out. She heard the door to the first booth open and the toilet flush.
Graffiti covered every inch of the bathroom walls including her booth walls. Immediately above the toilet paper holder she found one that said, "P sucks dicks but prefers hairy cants." Interested pussys were asked to call immediately ... day or night. Dark meat was preferred.
The subway bathroom was the best possible location to switch clothes. People came in and out regularly. Hundreds of them. Chances of anyone spotting her were nil. Every day before and after each session in the city with the good doctor and her own clients, she stopped off to dress and undress.
She pulled off her habit, pulled jeans and a stretch blouse out of her big gag and changed. She let her hair down and threw on some beads for the final touches.
She opened the door and walked quickly to the mirror above the dirty sinks. Hair neat, sunglasses resting high on top her head. Her jeans resting low on her hips. Bare flesh protruded between her cut off blouse ... just enough but not too much. She was, after all, a divorcee, not a tramp. Mustn't give her neighbors the wrong idea.
Her hands fussed with her hair. She stepped two steps back, smiled in the mirror, winked and walked out heading back upstairs to catch a cab to her apartment. She hadn't planned any appointments for the rest of the day and her diary had to be filled in before she forgot. And besides tomorrow was a big day.
Cindy took two steps at a time, racing to the sunlight above filtering down through the smog, silhouetting commuters with expressionless faces racing for their trains, not acknowledging anyone else's presence.
Just as she reached the top step a hand reached out from the downward racing mob, pinching her from behind on her ass. "Hey," she screamed. Cindy straightened up and stared down into the dark. No one stopped. Everyone ignored her scream as if they were all deaf not wanting to get involved.
She barely heard the voice in .the crowd, but she knew it was for her. "Till we meet again." She thought she saw a hand wave but she wasn't sure.
"At least the fuckers got good taste," she thought to herself. "Any other time that feel would have cost you your left nut."
"Hey TAXI." A bright brand new yellow cab pulled up, screeching to a halt from sixty miles an hour, stopping just inches from her feet. She jumped back, opened the door, gave the young driver her address and slammed the door as the tires screeched off, cutting to the far left lane -- eight lanes over -- ignoring the other cars.
Cindy sat back, said a little prayer for the drivers safe journey and took out her diary.
Chapter Twenty One
Dear Diary --
Fourth down and one yard to go -- everything went better than expected. He was totally shocked ... All my plans were foundless ... never attacked my credibility ... don't think he will. Got him by his cute short and curlies. He knows he's trapped. What can he do? I'm a patient. He's not going to, he can't repeat any patient-doctor privileges. I'm a nun, any leakage would destroy him professionally. Abortion is obviously out be-cause of religion. His nuts are beginning to tighten. Playing it cool. Won't rush my call tomorrow, will play it humble. Don't want him to even possibly think he's being taken. Everything must be his idea. The longer he stews in his own juices, the better.
Dear Diary --
Bought three new nylon bikini panties. Seymour Lerner comes in his pants just watching me walk around in them. (Was referred by Peter). Went to his office yesterday -- plush CPA office in lower Manhattan. Had me take a shower in his private bath wearing panties. He scrubbed me and washed me completely. Never seen a dick so small ... looks like a kids. He had me jerk him off with my feet. Got his jollies off fucking me in the ass. Forty-five years old, married to bitch of a wife who won't blow him or even let him eat her, two kids both in college. If these broads only knew they were keeping me in business they'd shoot themselves. Hope they never learn.
Dear Diary --
Heard from Tinuny today. He's having fun living with folks. Wants me to know why he can't live with me. Says Daddy and his new Mommy come see him just about every weekend. School is OK. Says he loves me and wishes we were all living as a family like we once did. How do you tell him that his Daddy walked out on us. That I'm not fit to take care of him. That his Daddy picked me up in a bar and fucked me for $20 and did a very stupid thing. Came back and fell in love. I was stupid enough to fall for it. Three months later I got pregnant and two weeks later his old man tells me he's not in love with me. That he loves his best friend and they run off together. Both leaving their wives and two-and-one-half kids. How do I tell him? I don't! The only living I can make is what I do best. Satisfying men. Right now I have to take advantage of every good year. Soon, I'm going to be too old. Too many younger ones going into competition. Got to make it big and then get the fuck out with all the money I can. Doesn't take much fucking to start looking your age. There are always, better, younger pussies right around the corner who'll do it for less. One thing about my profession -- doesn't come under wage price freeze, doesn't include any old age social security benefits.
Dear Diary --
Lois took Wilderbrand away from me ... that bitch knew he was mine. Must have really thrown him a mean block on the house. Heard from the grape vine he's setting her up in her own apartment. Bitch. Hope her box rots away. He always said he wanted me to be his exclusive ... liked the idea of having a head job whenever he wanted it! At no extra cost. No professional ethics.
Dear Diary
Masturbated four times last night -- getting better faster. I can feel the difference with the new technique, makes a world of difference. Shaved my box, trimming the edges and shortened length. Looks much better ... normal bush makes me look like a college sorority girl. I itch ... Maybe I can sell my hairs by braiding them into love fertility charms.
Chapter Twenty Two
"Get it up, God damn it."
"Let me sleep, will ya? I'm pooped."
"Pooped, my you know what! You sit on your ass all day long listening to the fucking frustrated wives talking about their lovers -- and don't think I don't have my doubts about you dipping your pen in their inkwells -- and you tell me you're tired. Get your click up or I'm going to tape a pencil around that shriveled up joint of yours and stick it in myself. Every other night you can't get enough of my box. Bitch like a frustrated bull that I don't move. Well, pump it up and let me show you a few tricks of my own. You might know which end is up, but only I know how to get it up there."
Why was it only when his wife was high, did she wave her beaver around anything long, thick and hard? Phil was half drunk from the cocktail party, and too uptight about Sister Bernadette to get his rod to do anything other than hang limp and play dead.
The last guest had left just a few minutes ago. And already his normally prim and proper wife, or as he jokingly referred to her as "the other half to the ball and chain," was already stepping out of her gown and heading for his zipper. Phil swung off his formal jacket, playing like he was a bull fighter. She didn't think he was funny and to prove she meant business, turned out all the lights, leaving only the one single lamp on the table next to the sofa.
"Let's go to bed?"
"Fuck you," she whispered, unhooking all those snaps to her bra and dropping it to the floor.
"Thought that's what you had in mind."
"That's only part of the fun ... I've got some goodies -- a bedtime snack for you!"
Jeanette reached over and picked up a half full bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table in front of the reclining chair next to the gun rack. She put the bottle up to her breast and emptied the champagne across her nipples and poured the last quarter of the bottle down her panties. She stood wabbling in front of him, rubbing her fleshy breasts, smearing the sticky champagne all over her body, on her waist and down her thighs.
She took his hand in hers and guided it into her pants running his fingers through her matted hair. "Suck me ... eat me ... lick me :.. fuck me ..."
Phil didn't move. She dropped to her knees, her finger grabbed his buckle, the hook followed and then the zipper. His pants and underpants were yanked down to his knees. She took his erected penis in her hands, exploring it with her long nails. Her. nipples hardened, she flicked his joint across her raised hardened nipples and they wrinkled. With one single swish of her tongue, she moistened her, lips. Her eyes dilated. Her heart pounded. Holding his swollen dick in one hand, she stroked his hairy sack hanging low below his uplifted shaft.
His toes began to curl. Her long slender fingers slid slowly along the rim of the mushroom head of his dick. It swelled up like a balloon. His hot come began to bubble deep within his large testicles, building pressure to drive it squirting to the surface like a gusher.
But then, like always, it happened ... thump. She collapsed to the floor like a dish rag ... dead stone drunk. It was nothing new to Phil. Not once did she last long enough to get his joint in her mouth. Her anti-climax of the evening was always to leave him high and dry. Then, while she was out, he'd prop ha up on the couch and have a quickie and shoot his load. In the morning, she never remembered what had happened. And when she asked he'd simply laugh and tell her and she'd say, "You're kidding, aren't your, in her sweet innocent voice.
Looking down at her limp snoring frame, he just smiled and raised his hands skyward. "Why should this night be different from all other nights," he asked. His dick erect as a bull, he paused a moment and then answered. "It shouldn't, but it is!"
The phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, Phillip just listened. His face showed no emotions, as he reached across his desk for the last cigarette in his pack of Kents under his note pad.
Casually, he patted each pocket for his favorite gold, engraved butane lighter. He stopped at his front right pants pocket, stretched back in his desk rocker, extended his leg and pulled it out. Striking the ignitor, he brought it up to the tip of his Kent. A two plus pack a day smoker, he knew he was killing himself, but, "what the fuck," he used to tell his former associate, who never smoked a cigarette and dropped dead at his desk, "we're all going to die, just a matter of time."
Inhaling deeply, he slid his Ben Franklin reading glasses up into his hair and rubbed his tired overworked eyes. His eyes closed, he blew two perfect smoke rings that hung motionless over his head.
It was 4:30 PM, and his day was just beginning after having already consulted six patients, and talked with another one who recently moved to the coast and kept up his sessions via the phone.
Too tired to use the ivory ashtray right by his hand, ashes dropped into the plush carpeting. He had made a small wager with himself early in the morning on the way to work that Sister Bernadette would call at 3:00 PM. He lost as he usually did when he bet with himself and owed himself $50,000. Good thing he wasn't pushy about payment.
Sliding his chair back on the plastic runner, he put his feet onto the desk and loosened his tie. Normally a very stylish, in-dresser, he hadn't taken much interest in his choice after he showered for work. Matter of fact, he didn't sleep well, either. Most of the night his mind was trying to figure out a way to handle the good Sister. The only resolution he reached was in the future he'd keep his dick where it belonged. In his pants, tucked neatly away.
Sister B was crying her story in his ear. Never one for sobs, unlike his mother who could turn the tears on like turning on a faucet. He `tried to concentrate, he really did, but it was no use. He just couldn't keep his mind glued to the one sided stream of words pouring into his ear. His mind began to play tricks on him. He listened to each word, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. The words came faster and faster. Each word accelerated, running to the next, bumping into the next. Disappearing into an endless sea of sounds that once had some relevance, some meaning, but now for an instant, took on the physical form of a multi-car chain reaction accident, losing touch with the reality they intended to describe.
Motionless, his eyes frozen on some distant nondescript point in space, his mind aborted itself from his body and began to go back in time. Like a motion picture running backwards, first slowly, and then gaining speed, as the film overcame inertia, Phillip's mind sped back through the years, more years than he cared to remember. Flashes of time lost, forgotten and buried, re-burned themselves into his mind with the same intensity and emotion that first racked his body. Beads, tiny droplets of perspiration oozed up from the pores lining his hairline. When and where would this one-way trip end?
At first the flashes occupied no more than a fraction of a second. But each time he returned back to his office and then cut back to yesterday, the flashes became longer, more visible, more real. The people and incidents took on form and believability. Where, first, they were merely silhouettes viewed off in the distance through a fog, they quickly came into focus ... more real than the moment of time he now occupied. He became confused. Which was the dream -- which reality? Where did one start and the other end? He had no choice anymore. He was no longer the captain of his ship. He was merely a passenger along for the trip. Going wherever his mind took him.
As quickly as the flashback started, it stopped. He saw himself sitting on the side of an unmade bed in a very posh apartment. It was obviously late at night. He was naked. Beside him, sitting Indian Style, smoking a cigarette, was the most beautiful blonde he had ever seen. Her hair, parted down the middle, hung straight, breaking over her shoulders. Her flesh was bronzed and very soft. She obviously had a suntan, but there were none of the usual tell-tale marks left from a bathing suit. Her breasts were huge, like two melons, ripe for the picking. Her eyes were a deep royal blue, she was obviously taller than most girls because she had long slender arms and legs. The slit of her pussy was pulled apart by the way she was sitting and he couldn't help staring at her pink swollen lips that hid beneath her mound of blonde bushy hair.
He tried to look around the room to get his bearings, but, except for the two of them, every-thing else was fuzzy -- out of focus. She was talking to him, but he couldn't make out the words. Something was wrong because tears welled up in her eyes, began rolling down her cheeks. Her hands trembled while she talked, trying to let out all the emotion that was obviously locked up in-side. Just watching her, not knowing what was going on, seeing her sitting in the scattered light coming from what was obviously the bathroom, he felt panicky. The blood surging into his long, limp shaft hanging motionless between his legs -- trapped, cramped, unable to breathe. He couldn't take his eyes off her tits. Her bright red nipple buds were tight, wrinkled up and very hard. If only he could suck on them, slide his tongue across their raised tops. If only -- .
That's who it was!!! Damn it! Why hadn't he remembered right away. How had he forgotten her? She had been so much a part of his life for almost a year. Laney Snipes, Mrs. Thomas Alvin Snipes, the wife of New York's most prominent Supreme Court Justice. It seemed like only yesterday, but it was yesterday! Why did he let her go? It had made so much sense then. He was single, just starting his practice, known as the up and coming shrink to watch. It would have been easy to take her away from her schmucky husband who also just happened to be a lush and homosexual. It had made so much sense then, but now -- now his reasons, though vague and still untouchable in the back of his mind, fell apart. No longer able to hold water.
No longer was he an outsider movie patron looking in through a keyhole of time. He was there reliving every touch, every word. He felt like a late night TV viewer who just clicked across the dial trying to find something exciting to occupy the lonely hours ahead and running across a movie he had already seen. But because of the lack of anything else, sat back absorbing himself in a plot he already knew.
Her flesh quivered. Goosebumps coated every inch of her perspiration drenched body. Any minute he expected her to come apart at the seams. Without warning, she grabbed his head, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to her waiting nipples. Screaming, she begged him to suck them, bite them, pinch them-do any-thing to them. Why wasn't he moving, doing something. He was limp, lifeless like a mannequin. Following, not leading. His lips, locked shut in a vise grip, were turned away, resting on her succulent tits.
Again and again she begged. Demanded that he take her. Make love to her. Unsuccessful, she fell back onto the bed, raising her knees, spreading her legs so he could get a good clear view of her pussy. Giving no resistance, she pulled his face down into her hot box, wet and waiting. Still nothing. He would not, did not respond. It was as if he were dead. She circled his head with her thighs, locking her knees behind his neck, forcing his tongue into her bee hive of nectar.
What was wrong? She demanded to know. Why before, and now nothing? For months on end he couldn't get enough of her. Sneaking out of his office to see her. Meeting at private beaches. Making love in the cool wet sand. "It was O.K. then," she screamed, "but now, now that I'm pregnant with your child you won't touch me."
Was she scum? Dirt? What? Hadn't he told her he loved her? Wanted her? Well, she had made up her mind to leave her husband and be his wife. Bear his -- their--children. Still he sat motionless, showing no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. She demanded he say something. Any-thing. She screamed like a tormented caged animal who had always been free, but suddenly found itself trapped where all along, it had thought it was on safe ground. Out of desperation, she ran her fingers back through her matted strands of hair.
A staccato right hand push knocked him to the floor. Inside, she knew she was cracking apart, but outside she wasn't sure how- much showed. She ran to the full-length mirror mounted on her closet door and looked to see if anything was left. At thirty-six, she had the body of a twenty-one year old college girl. She was the envy of all her friends. Everyone wished they had her body, everyone except her husband who preferred their husbands to hers.
To her friends, she was the ideal, perfect wife. Married to one of the most exciting men around. She exemplified the good life, a big house, wealth, travel, you name it. She was sitting on the top of the mountain and she wanted to get off before she jumped.
But if she was so lucky, why had she found it necessary to go to a shrink after having fifteen affairs in the last two. years? Her friends thought she was going because it was the in-thing to do. Only those people who could afford it, ever went. Why did her husband spend more time with his work than with her? Why of all marriages, should hers, (considered the marriage of the year), go sour.
Sitting on the floor and watching from the side-lines at the same time he was able to read her thoughts as she stared at herself full length, in the mirror. For five minutes she tried to find the answers she knew weren't there. Then she turned and faced him, her eyes red, swollen and glazed with a mask of panic. She spoke slowly so he caught every word. "Do you know what you're doing to me? Do you really? If you don't, say something, I'm going to run through that fuckin' window ... do you understand me?"
Not waiting for the answer, she knew would never leave his lips and afraid he'd just walk out the door, she ran to him, dropping to her knees, she took his tangling piece of meat in her hands. She drenched her lips with her own saliva and shoved his mushroom dome deep into her mouth, sliding the shaft between her puffy lips. She could feel it hitting the back of her throat. Her fingers stroked his limp sack slung beneath his dong. Nothing! He was still limp!
Her open hand crashed across his face. Pain, sudden white blinding pain flashed before his eyes as she followed the first blow with a knee directly to the groin. Followed by a knuckle punch into his testicles. He couldn't catch his breath.
Phillip hated what he saw. He was watching the side of himself he couldn't stand, but had to live with. That part of himself that even he couldn't understand, though he had spent his life trying to dissect it and put it back together, but failed. The motion and direction of time reversed in midstream, giving into the tug of war raging in his brain, driving yesterday back into the vaults of his mind, replacing it with the happenings of now.
Somewhere off in the far corners of his mind he began to hear Sister B's voice. Loud and clear. It became more dominant, her voice erasing the pictures in his minds eye. Forcing it to break up and dissipate, losing finally, all form ... and traces of ever having existed.
Yesterday once again went back to where it rightly belonged, though it's silent, invisible influences would be felt through the ripples of time. Today took its rightful place. Now Sister Bernadette needed him. But he wasn't sure he could handle her.
Phil switched ears, having learned years ago during Medical School that it gave him more miles of listening per session. "Uh -- huh," he dropped in every few minutes, re-emphasizing what ever she was saying at that moment. He wondered when she'd stop. Long ago Phil had learned the best thing to do was to let them talk it all out. Made them feel better when they were done. He sensed she was slowing down.
Reaching forward, he flicked a long ash into the circular ivory ashtray by the phone and cleared his throat. Now was the time to add his own two cents worth, he figured. It had to be now. Nun or no nun, no one could talk for that long, she had to come up for air soon.
"Hold it!" he interrupted in his professional voice that stopped her dead in her tracks. "Right now, before you do anything, take a tissue and blow your nose. Then take a deep breath." He paused, and chuckled as he heard her blow her nose. "Good." He continued, "What's over and done with is in the past. The problem before us is what is. to be done."
This was going to be tougher than he thought. How do you tell a Nun to go away and have an abortion. A married girl or even a single gal was no problem, but a Nun! It just wasn't kosher. Over reacting at this time would only tip her over the deep end and possibly force her to do some-thing drastic. Not to mention fuck him up professionally. The AMA Ethics Committee frowned on affairs, though they looked for the most part, the other way, unless they got dirty -- realizing that they were an occupational hazard. Shrinks were only human and it was more than likely a female patient would fall in love with her psychiatrist.
Knowing Sister Bernadette as he did, being blunt was the best approach to take. He started to explain what he had in mind when she interrupted and said she wanted to leave the Church and marry him after he divorced his wife. She knew he didn't really love her. Phillip got annoyed. Why is it these broads always thought just be-cause they had an affair with him, he hated his wife, was unhappy at home and only they could keep him and his long dick happy and not out wandering?
"Now you can stop that right now, you knew the ground rules from the day `One'. I made sure you did." It was a calculated risk to be harsh, but he felt to be anything but authoritative would mean sudden failure.
"I know how you feel. Terminating your pregnancy is paramount. You must get away. Tell them you've got problems with your family at home and will be gone at least a month. They won't, I'm sure, give you any grief," he said pausing for a response. The phone was dead. That was good since it indicated she wasn't fighting him, so he continued. "I know a Doctor in Dallas, an old roommate from Medical School. I told him all about you. No questions will be asked. I've saved his ass a few times. For the record, you were raped." Again he paused, still silence.
"I know how you must feel. You should feel that way. Even though you're a Nun you were first a woman and these womenly instincts, though subdued, can never be relinquished. They lay dormant just below the skin. Deny them now, and not only will everything we've accomplished reverse back, but something more important, in-side, your will to live will die. And if you recall from our very first session. Thou Shall Survive -- the lost eleventh commandment and the most important, the one that takes precedent over all else must be your guiding light."
"You're right, Ill do what ever you say. I put myself completely in your hands," a soft voice holding back a dam of tears, whispered into his ears.
"Good," he reassured her. 'Two more things. I think it best you not return to therapy with me when you return. I will give you another psychiatrist to see. He knows the situation -- that you were raped -- and will be able to conclude what we start-ed. Second, I'm giving you $10,000 to tide you over. Go on a spending spree, buy whatever you want. Give it to the Church, to charity ... It's up to you."
The money had been a stroke of genius . giving her money and her accepting it would protect him from any possible repercussions, should she ever think about getting greedy. She could never claim rape if I could prove she accepted money. Her accepting the bread would dilute what ever story she could concoct and stabilize his story, should it be needed -- that it had been an affair, not a rape of a woman of God.
"I'll leave an envelope with a cashier's check for you with my secretary. You can pick it up anytime tomorrow. I'll have all directions and instructions . . : Leave for Texas as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the more difficult the operation." Now, for the hard part, please don't see me again. You know how I feel about you." He hoped he wasn't laying it -on too thick. "It'll be better all the way around."
Phil could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks and it started to get through his thick hide. "I love you, Phil and I always will. There'll always be a special place for you right below the skin and ..." she paused, sniffing and also catching her breath, concluded, "I'll never let it die." The phone clicked in his ear.
The room was silent, empty and lonely. Phillip was uncomfortable He needed people around him. He needed people like a fish needs water. But was afraid to show it! Some, any contact with other living people regardless of how long or short it lasted. He buzzed his secretary after checking his watch. Scratching his ear, he spoke silently into the speaker, "I'm running a bit slow today, send in Mrs. Gilmore." And, then almost as an afterthought he added, "Please."
Chapter Twenty Three
Dear diary --
This is the last entry I will be making regarding Phillip. Money's in the bank. Everything went well. One scarey moment, but handled it OK. Went back to pick up the bread. He had said he didn't want to see me or talk to me again, but as I was leaving he buzzed his receptionist telling her to send me in. Didn't want to but that close to being in like Flint didn't want to blow it.
He was nervous. Wanted to know how I was feeling and that all my plans to see his doctor friend were made. Said yes and started to leave telling him that I. thought it was best that we not punish ourselves like this. Told him he was the one who decided this way was better and I finally felt he was right. Stood staring at each other. As I turned to leave he ran over, took me in his arms and started to kiss me. Told me he had been wrong and he did want to keep seeing me. That's all I needed. He didn't mention anything about divorcing his wife though it looked like he might.
Now that I was pregnant, what did it matter if we made love one last time. He tried to make a joke out of it but it went flat. Wouldn't let me out of his arms. Didn't know what to do. Had money in my purse and didn't want to lose it. Told him I was leaving and I didn't want to ever see him again after today. And if I did I would personally tell his wife and write a letter to the ethics committee of the American Psychiatric Medical Association. Told him I had made a mistake. A terrible mistake to fall in love with him. He knew how I felt, but it was wrong, wrong from the start. He just stood there and listened, his face distorted with hurt written all over it. He under-stood. That took care of tomorrow. He knew I meant business and would call, but my little speech didn't help me one damn bit there and then.
He promised me, begged me on his knees to let him make love to me one last time. If I did, he would never bother me, or talk to me, or call me, or write to me ever again. He would even give me his complete records of my case to prove he meant business. As far as he would be concerned I never existed. Didn't know what to do. Would I be better off staying and playing or just leaving? Couldn't make up my mind. As I stood getting my head together, he opened up his file drawer throwing my thick folder on the desk.
Took the folder, and looked at it in my hands. If he had only known it was a wasted document.
Looked at him then back at the folder, playing it to the hilt. Finally, threw it down on the desk and unhooked my habit, letting it fall to the floor. Made up my mind that this was the better way. He dropped to the floor throwing his hands around my ass and shoving his mouth in my cunt. Squatting slightly and spread my legs so he could stick his tongue in and flick my clit. He went to town. Dropped to the floor and wrestled off his pants. He was as firm as ever. Sucked his meat. My mind flashed back to seeing him through the two way mirror at De's. Went along but just wasn't with it. Tried not to show it. When he was ready to came he swung me around and lifted my legs over my head so they were almost touching the floor. Spreading them apart as far as they could. Told me to hold them there. Then he flopped all his weight down on my slit, smashing his prick into my cunt. He was not gentle or tender. He rammed his joint so deep, pain erupted inside my stomach. Thought he tore some-thing. He only cared about himself and how he was feeling. I could have been a piece of wet liver. But if that was what he needed to get me out of his system, fine with me. He came, got off and told me to suck his come off his penis. Sat up and blew him, first licking his slippery white cream and then playing with his balls. Wanted to squeeze them in my hands and wreck him up bad, wanted to, but didn't.
When he came, asked him if he was finished. Said he was through and told me to take the file and leave. He'd kept his part of the bargain.
Wrote letter to his doctor friend telling him I wouldn't be coming. As bad as it was for a nun to get pregnant it was even worse to have an abortion. To take a life was an even greater sin. And one sin was enough for now. Told him I was going away to a special home the church sent me to. Told him I had told the church what had happened. That I had been raped and that I would not commit a sin. I knew the story would get back to Phillip as I'm sure it finally did.
Dear diary --
Called the old man and cancelled our arrangement. Just couldn't hack it. Money was good, but it just got to me. Told him I was leaving town and gave his name to Marie. Owed her one.
Dear diary --
Got a letter from the hunk in the Islands. Says he's coming up to New York for a vacation and he'd like to see me. Should be interesting. Will be here at the end of the month. Not much time. Better get going on my exercises so I can handle him. If he's going to be here for two weeks, got no choice.
Dear diary --
Helen Lasiter called and wants me to join her on her private yacht. Taking a small trip through the inland water way to her home in Florida. Told her I'd love to go. Will pay whatever extra charge there is. Good bread. Whole week all to herself will cost her $1500. Said yes and told me she wanted to buy me a new wardrobe while we're there. Will be getting back in a few days to give me the dates.
Dear diary --
Period started today, right on schedule. Thirty days to the hour. Another week not working. Oh, well, being self-employed and working only three weeks a month has some consolations. Will have to start drawing on my unemployment insurance.
Dear diary -
Up yours'
Chapter Twenty Four
'Now just relax and tell me what's bothering you."
"Doctor, I've been having these dreams over and over and over again. It's driving me crazy. They won't stop. Please help me. Before I come apart at the seams."
"Tell me about the dream! How long have you had it? Don't leave out any details."
"Well ... I've had it for almost two years ... in it I'm always the same person ... a lost woman making it with men and women ... in it I'm a nun! ... a prostitute disguising myself as a nun so I'm not detected ... imagine me, an atheist, a nun ... It's so real, sometimes I get confused ... I get all mixed up ... Can't tell what is real and what's the dream ..."
The words rolled off Sister Bernadette's lips as she sat watching the somewhat subdued shocked reaction on the face of the short, totally bald, but very renowned (and wealthy) Freudeian psychiatrist. She had learned much from her experience with Phillip, especially how to and how not to react with your shrink. With Phillip everything had been trial and error. There was just so much she could get out of books, but now with Dr. Van Braden, she had a wealth of knowledge to draw upon.
She chuckled to herself as she began, once again, her trying story of those terrible night-mares. The years of agony. Frankly, she had looked forward to todays appointment. For the last six months, following the completion of Phil-lip's escapade, she had taken the money and run, so to speak and traveled in Europe. It had been a great rest for a job well done. And besides, she needed the time to thoroughly investigate candidate number two. She had learned a lot and found herself looking for a slightly different personality than Phillip s. Phillip was too young, not quite as stable as she had anticipated. A slightly older man, in his fifties or even early sixties was better. By that age, she had concluded much of their fantasies about themselves and life would have been neutralized and put in perspective, not to mention their marital situation. A shaky marriage could backfire in her face. A secure husband and wife situation would not in and of itself negate a bit of hanky-panky, but rather such a relationship would and could be handled properly and kept in the correct perspective.
Van Braden passed every requirement with flying colors, and then some. In addition to his age, wealth and marital situation, he was not the best looking man in the world. Far from being ugly, he lacked the sex appeal and charm that clung to Phillip like a thick cologne. It was always there and he was always aware of how women thought of him. Van Braden on the other hand was quiet and. on the shy side. More of the father confessor image than the lover.
As with Phillip, she had called him the end of last week and told him she had to talk to someone before she cracked up. At first, he had insisted that though he would like very much to help her, he was over booked and didn't feel he could give her the time and attention every patient deserves. But, as soon as she mentioned she was a nun, his attitude changed. He immediately withdrew his alternative offer of suggesting another very competent psychiatrist. When she had investigated possible subjects, she had intentionally looked for a Catholic, and it paid off. While Phillip was not a catholic, she felt that a catholic shrink would have been a definite help in developing a secure relationship. And besides, the only other criteria she insisted on before she chose `him' was a doctor who had a daughter approximately the same age. It complicated things a bit and prolonged her selection, but when she found out about Van Braden's daughter being in a mental hospital that clinched it and besides he didn't know Phillip -- different patients and friends.
Van Braden didn't waste time with preliminaries but rather started immediately asking questions about those dreams. Sister B read her lines like a pro but her mind wasn't all there. It kept drifting between the Criss Cringle man with the well-trimmed beard sitting across from her, well-protected behind his thick mahogany desk and chair, rocking back and forth jotting down notes, and the time she spent with Phillip in Miami.
She hadn't thought about those seven days since they happened. It could have been the subconscious coincidental relationship of some-thing she had just said to something that happened in Florida, but what did it matter. She was walking with Phillip in the warm salty surf heading North on the sandy white beach in Fort Lauderdale a year ago.
The college kids had all left for the day and except for the life guards perched high in their "crows nests" every three hundred feet along the beach, they were all alone. The warm water splashed against their ankles and the wet sand oozed up between their toes. Arms around each others waist, they walked silently like two young lovers, watching the sea gulls and nuclear sub-marines from the naval base at Key West, one-hundred and fifty miles due south, surface and dive into the crystal clear blue ocean.
It had been one of many weekends and weeks that she had managed to take with him and it was obvious that he was falling for her, though he hid it from her and himself. The trips were always rationalized as therapy sessions though all the therapy was down between the sheets.
It was the last night of the convention, and they were leaving on separate flights early the next morning. They had promised themselves that tonight was going to be a special night, one they'd never forget. So far, the entire day had been perfect. They had talked and played and now they were going to make love.
Sister B answered Dr. Van Braden's next question and found herself scratching the back of her left hand. It hadn't started to itch but it was the spot where she had cut her hand on a shell buried just below the surface on the beach that night. A faint hair-line scar was still visible. Spotting it, she smiled and continued pouring out her heart.
Just as the sun finally called it a day, they made a right turn away from the water and walked the thirty feet up to their beach towel and radio. The air had suddenly turned from warm to cool and now to chilly, but they decided to stay in their suits and count the stars. They stretched out on the double beach towel, Sister B on her back, Phillip on his stomach, propped up on his elbows looking down at her. The life guards had posted their "No Life Guard On Duty" signs and taken off for the numerous gigs that gave Fort Lauderdale its reputation. Only the periodic beams from passing cars threw any light on the pitch black beach.
"Penny for your thoughts," she asked not really expecting an answer.
At first, he didn't say a word, just bent over and kissed her on the lips.
"Now, now, that isn't fair. You have a decided advantage and I've got a decided disadvantage. You can see and I can't fight back."
She remembered him laughing out loud throwing his arms around her pulling her close. Their bodies, covered with goose bumps from the night air, touched and he rolled her over on top of him. He kidded her about the fact that if she ever wanted to give up being a nun, he'd hire her as a blanket. She got the gist of what he had said and decided she'd pass this one by without saying a word. And besides she had a good excuse to overlook his two edged humor. His cock bulging up against his trunks was wedged right along her slit. Remembering a good defense was a strong, aggressive offense, she went to work biting his neck and tickling his armpits.
"No fair," he screamed. "Foul. You're disqualified for illegal use of hands."
"Illegal use of hands, why you invented the foul."
They wrestled over one another. First, Sister B was on the top and then Phillip ... and then B ... and then Phillip. They kissed and tickled and hugged and played like school kids in the dark. The blanket was somewhere off in the dark in that direction or was it that way. The sand stuck to their skin and flowed into their suits, but she remembered they didn't care.
Finally, exhausted and out of breath and totally busting a gut from laughter, they both gave up, each declaring themselves the winner and still world's champion. Phillip called out in the dark asking where she was. "Don't know about you, but I think I look like Mr. Sandman."
"Me, too."
He used his humor as a simple direction finder. Homing in on her voice, he circled around behind her and crawling silently on all fours entangled her with his arms like an octopus. She wrestled free and squirming in the sand threw herself on top of him. She found his mouth and kissed him passionately with her tongue. He swung his legs up around her waist, locking his ankles around her waist. His prick was as hard as rock and she slid her cunt lips back and forth along all nine inches.
He laughed. "So this is how it feels from your end. Frankly," he whispered in her ear, "you're the first woman I've ever let dry fuck me." He paused and then added "and that's the truth."
She pushed down harder forcing his shaft deeper into her cunt. His powerful legs tightened and she felt herself getting more of his penis. She liked being on top, being the aggressor. And obviously, Phillip liked it, too. He unhooked the clasp holding the top, and by sliding the shoulder straps off, one by one, threw the tiny cotton piece into the dark. Propped up on her hands, she let her tits hang free, sliding across his chest. She felt his mouth flick first the right and then the left nipples. Her nipples were hard and wrinkled and she loved the way he made them feel with his lips. He sucked in quick short draws sending chills down her back. She kept dry fucking and humping-him as he reached up and fondled her dangling globes between his hands.
With one tit between his lips, he reached around her and slid his hands down her back until they caught the edge of her bikini resting below her hips, just on top of her crop of pussy hair. She lifted herself up on her toes so he could slide the tiny piece off, too. The air on her naked flesh felt cool. Even though, it was now cold, she felt warm and comfortable. After he pulled her bottoms off the last leg, he dropped his legs to the sand so she would take his off, too.
She was back on her knees and his legs were back around her waist. She loved the way his hot shaft felt rubbing along her slit. There was nothing to keep them apart. His prick was rubbing back and forth across her clit. She was drip-ping wet with her come and he was ready to drop his load.
She lifted her hairy box and let his dick pop up. Reaching down, she took it in her hand. It was hot and swollen and she felt slick droplets forming at its head. Spreading her legs apart she slid it into her cunt, between her swollen, pink red lips. She sat back down shoving it in, taking all he had to offer. Her heart pounded and she pumped her box up and down his penis. She was still resting on her hands so he could squeeze her breasts in his hands. He was coming and so was she. The faster she pumped the harder he squeezed her nipples between his fingers. She loved him to pinch hard when she was coming. He countered his thrusts with his own. The top of his shaft was in constant contact with her clit driving her on, faster and faster. She couldn't get enough of him. She grunted and he groaned. They were coming. She pumped faster and faster giving him everything she had so he could give her everything he had in his swollen nuts. And he did.
She felt his come trickling out her pussy opening and drip down into her wet mound of hair. Totally exhausted, she dropped down on his chest. He threw his arms around her holding her tightly in his arms.
"I love you."
She didn't know what to say. It was the first and only time he ever said it. She remembered how she felt when she heard the words being spoken softly in her ear. What would she say? If it was a natural by-product and nothing more, of the moment, to say anything would also be trouble. Either way it could be big trouble. She remembered how she debated with herself during those precious seconds. The decision to pretend she hadn't heard anything was the only way to go. And it seemed to work. He dropped the subject.
They got up and ran into the sounds of the surf and washed the sand off their bodies. It was fun rolling and wrestling nude in dark, feeling the sand and the water exciting their bodies. It was different to lay in the water and feel it break across her boobs as Phillip mounted her and shoved his prick between her legs. Lifting her legs and bracing them wide in the sand, the water splashed against her ass and his as he humped her till he came. It was exciting when he rolled off into the night and let the ocean pour into her cunt, cleaning away his white sperm. The surf flowed in and out ... in and out playing gently in her clinging strands of pussy hair.
His hand reached out from the dark, falling gently on her arm. She took it and walked back up the sand. They found their blanket and Phillip dropped down. first disappearing into the beach.
"Sit on my head."
She caught his head from the stray headlights from a passing VW and stood over it spreading her feet wide. Slowly, she lowered herself till her cheeks rested on his chest. His hands guided her box till her wet hair met his lips. He separated her lips and she slid forward slightly wedging her folds of flesh and clit into perfect position for his tongue. He wasted no time and began licking and sucking and flicking her erect, hot protruding clit. It was her magic button and he was turning it on. He was eating her box out and was playing with her tits at the same time. She couldn't just sit there and do nothing. She reached back and grab-bed his erect penis in her hand and started jerking him off. The faster he flicked his hot tongue across her clit, the faster she stroked him. It didn't take long before salvos of hot come squirted up ,like a gusher, landing on her hand and back on his mushroom head and dripping down into his pubic hairs.
His tongue was sending charges down her back. Her box was quivering and primed to explode. He knew what she wanted and swung her around so was still getting his mouth in her muff and box, but now she was able to suck on his joint. She slid her back deep into his mouth and he wrapped his legs around her head shoving it down on his cock. It was all in, with the head of his cock tickling the back of her throat. They sucked and ate and nibbled and EXPLODED! Without moving, they rested and started in all over again until they came again!
She remembered how she rolled over into the sand spreading her arms and legs so the wind would cool her off. She remembered how he reached out and mounted her again. She remembered .. .
"Sister Bernadette, Sister Bernadette, are you alright."
Dr. Van Braden's voice brought her back to his office. "Sister Bernadette, you looked like you were miles away."
She left the beach and tried to remember where she had left off. "I-ah, I was back in one of those dreams again. They come and go. I have no control over them," she mumbled as she brought a hanky up to her eyes. She blew her nose, then looked straight into his eyes. Eyes that had obviously seen much grief, frustration and despair for almost half a century. They were set deep and somewhat buried behind bags underneath his lower eyelid that made him look many years older than he actually was.
"Can you help me ... really help me," she asked, begging to have an honest answer. "Tell me the truth. I can take it."
He dropped his pencil on his note pad and took off his glasses, sticking one ear piece into his mouth, so he had something to munch on. He thought intensely for a few minutes to make sure his words were right. Each word came out slowly and distinctly, showing the careful thought and reasoning he had drawn upon. He laid it on the line. It was obviously too early to accurately get at the cause of her problem or problems, but "yes," with much co-operation and mutual work, he was confident he could help her, but it would take time. She mustn't be in a hurry. It had taken her, her entire life to get to this very moment, she can't expect to get rid of a few cobwebs over-night.
He could tell he had gotten through to her by the way she had calmed down. "I'll set up an appointment with you in two days." She nodded her head confirming his plans and smiled.
As she got up to leave, she placed his hand in hers. "Whatever you feel is the right thing to do, I'll do." She paused for a minute letting the impact of her words sink in before she spoke again. "I'm placing myself in your hands, completely." And then almost as an understated after thought added looking again into his compassionate eyes, "body and soul."
She thought about Phillip as she waited in her habit for the elevator. How strange she felt finding her mind continuously returning to him. She didn't know why but she just knew at that moment that she would never stop thinking or caring about him. He had been the first and the very first always have a special place set aside exclusively for them and no others. And unlike the followers who reach out in that continuously growing line eventually disappearing for the moment into eternal obscurity, Philip's memory would stay fresh and alive, forever frozen in time in her mind, forever looking down her shoulder as she took communion between the sheets.
She had made one almost fatal mistake with Phillip that nearly destroyed. everything, including herself. While she was fooling Phillip she was also fooling herself. Looking back she now knew that she had loved him ... maybe even wanted him. Had she stayed longer, she might have -- but why think about that now. It was over and she had learned her lesson: wine and holy water don't mix!
The elevator doors parted like the waters of the Red Sea before the Israelites. Staring at Dr. Van Braden's office directly across the hall, she mum-bled under her breath, just loud enough so everyone in the elevator thought she was praying. "The lord works his wonders in mysterious ways," and then just as the doors slammed shut a cherub voice from a small boy standing beside his mother, thinking she finished her prayer yelled out, "Amen sister ... AHHHHHHHmen!"
