"Impossible to do it!" Slim young man in front seat of the Volkswagen gasping into the girl's lap. He was trying to go down on her, nearly breaking his back. With a sigh he sat up. The girl, who was furiously jerking the man off as he twisted trying to get his tongue onto her clit, burst into tears.
"Oh, Tom."
"Well, it is impossible... and besides it's ridiculous. Here we are, legally married, with our own house, sitting in our own driveway, because we can't get hot for one another ha bed anymore. It's nobody's fault, but shit, we're thirty and we've been living together for 12 years. My god, what if a student should come by... or a campus cop."
"Then we have to split up," the girl said with tears running down her face, in a calm and controlled voice.
"O, Celie... I love you... "
"And I love you... "
"Look, we're clever people... just because we've tried everything with one another. Tried everything? Shit, worn everything out. Ten years is a lot of fucking... "
"And sucking and stroking... and... "
"We will find a way, Celie, trust me. Sexual boredom is one thing, love another... we will find a way."
- Two years later- "It was cold up there in the mountains, ten, five degrees and clear, and we slept out on the porch, moved the cot out onto the glassed-in porch and opened the window and slept with our heads out on the window sill, tightly wrapped in the blankets- Jesus, it was cold. Her body, thin and small underneath me. We clung to one another. Bright starlight and a quarter moon. She's very fair, black hair, cold blue eyes and in the winter light she shone like a ghost. Silky hair spread out on the window sill. Only where our bodies touched was there any warmth- the rest, ice. I suppose she was better off, small, totally underneath me, my cock deep in her, held deep in her by her closed legs, her head buried under my chest, her arms around my back; maybe the tops of those got cold, but I really covered her. Crushed her. One hand on the small of her back and the other holding her arse. So small that I could hold both cheeks all in one hand and my cock felt huge inside of her closed-in little body. All her muscles tensed in the effort of pressing as close to me as possible. I weighed her down, moving my pelvis, slowly, just enough to stir my cock locked deep inside of her. It was wonderful-the heat of her body underneath me while my back was slinging with the cold. My head was like crystal. If you had hit me with a hammer, I would've shattered. All this clear brittle cold on top and her hot pliant body clinging to me underneath. Hard little tits crushed under my chest, transferring their warmth. My cock moving slowly-deep in her, I kneaded her arse in my hand and doubled my middle finger. It was hard to bend it with the weight of both our bodies pressing down on the palm of my hand, but slowly I doubled it and worked it into the crack of her arse. Her muscles were held tight and I had to fight to work my finger in. Finally got the tip of it right on her asshole and drove it straight in. When I drove it in she relaxed her arse and thigh muscles all at once, just enough for me to get about a quarter of an inch of finger up her tight hole and to drive my cock in a little deeper into her other tight hole, and wham! we came. We lay there for a long, long time not moving, me still inside her, holding one another against the cold, looking at the stars. Well, that was the best part of it... "
"How about a more prosaic description, Tom, honey?" Celie, mouth half opened, licked her lips. They were sitting in Tom's office in the library. Door closed. They looked out of the big windows onto the manicured campus. From outside their upper halves could be seen. No one could see his hands busy underneath her skirts, or his huge erection sticking out of his tweed pants, her hand firmly grasped around the base. To anyone looking up from the campus, they would have appeared-as they were-the most popular and devoted young faculty couple, chatting between classes.
"She's four feet, eight niches tall and weighs eighty pounds. Perfect slim build, black hair all over, very white translucent skin, uses a lot of drugs, and she's smart." All the while he was talking his hands were beating a fierce rhythm under his wife's skirt. Her mouth was half opened and her breath was coming in short gasps.
"Do you think she's interested in making it a trois?"
"She hasn't thought about it. The point of the story is that she's pretty inexperienced. Certainly that was the first time she's had a finger up her arse. But she's smart and eager. I think that when I let her think up the idea, she'll go for it, You know, like all the girls, she has a 'crush' on you and she went to a good prep school. She must have made it with girls before. In fact, the girls here must make it with one another all the time. Remember when you were in college... "
While they were talking so casually Celie had come, was lying back, her legs quivering in the leather chair, holding onto her husband's cock for dear life. He looked at her lovely tan legs, bare even on this cool fall day, corduroy mini-skirt and a baggy old sweater-a costume that any of the coeds at this famous old college might wear. Yet, on her it looked infinitely hipper, sexier. Her body looked best naked, when the richness of its curves and depths could be seen. Yet even dressed, when to the unobservant eye she seemed somewhat chunky, to a connoisseur's eye... ah well, her dark hair cut short and tousled, her brown eyes flashing under dark eyebrows, a big nose, that took character to carry off. Somewhat square face. How she could move! Her flatfooted and Indian walk spoke volumes. He sat back and she sank to her knees and began nibbling at the base of his cock. He lifted her up.
"No. How can you tell me about what you did?" She grinned and got back in her chair and stroked his cock gently as she began to speak.
"Well, it's easier for you. All the nice unattached boys went away for the weekend. And the townies... bang, bang, bang and it's over. So I've been looking all over. Outside of pimply boys and so on, I settled for Mac and Nancy. I went over there Saturday night to watch the late show on television. I came over late to give them a chance to undress, but when I got there Mac was still dressed, pants and a shirt, socks, no shoes, but Nancy was wearing a sort of long jersey T-shirt nightdress thing. Sort of girly thing that looked incredibly sexy on such a big womanly woman. Her tits are huge and I could see the nipples through the nightdress and her big bush too. She was kind of unhappy that I was there. You could see that she was looking forward to being fucked. I guess they have the kids trained to let them sleep late on Sunday. She hid her annoyance and Mac was like really glad to see me.
"You know, he's always looked at me like that and I figured that he was ready to go along with anything. She was the problem. Well, we had a lot of drinks and smoked a lot and went to sit in the bedroom and watch the tube. They come on so arty sometimes. All they have in the bedroom is the big mattress and a lot of pillows. She was sitting at one end of the mattress with her back to the wall watching the tube, I at the other end, and Mac in the middle. By and by, Mac put his head down on her lap and stretched out, his feet pressing against my thigh. I rubbed it up against his feet to let him know how I felt and he started to work on her. It was dark in the room and we were all pretty drunk. He kept his head on her lap and put his arms around her waist. She sat there pretending to watch the tube and never turning her head towards me. He nuzzled away at her belly and now and then kissed her tits, making no sudden motions. He got his hand on the side away from me underneath her nightdress and worked it under her thigh and up between her legs so he could get his fingers into her twat. She sat there with her legs curled under her while he worked his whole hand up her cunt. He worked her up good, but she did not move, just sat there pretending to watch the tube and from time to time taking a sip of her drink. Finally he nuzzled his head down into her lap and began nipping and catching bits of her thigh and belly between his lips until he was really going down on her right through her nightdress, his fingers working inside of her all the time nice and rhythmic until she couldn't stand being still any more and her hips began to move in response to his probing fingers. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. Her hips began to squirm and then her legs began to contract and relax; at each contraction and expansion she would open her thighs and straighten her legs a little more and her nightshirt would work up a little higher over her beautiful large smooth thighs until I could see her big bushy taffy-colored mound out above his head and her legs were wide open. He lay at right angles to her, his head between her legs; his arm was still all the way around her leg and the fingers coming into her cunt from behind and he was licking her clit. I strained forward to see. Her large bright red clit was erect and he was licking it crossways, from right to left with slow, light licks of his whole tongue. Her mouth was wide open, her tongue lolling out and her eyes were tight shut. Her left hand, the one on my side, was on his head grabbing and holding a handful of his curly black hair. Here's a funny part. Her right hand was still holding her drink in that funny perfect-lady way of hers. I figured I had better get into the action now and went for Mac's fly with my head. I pulled the zipper open with my teeth and his cock popped out. A very lovely cock it is, too."
While she was talking she had been frigging Tom gently. She stopped for a moment and planted a gentle kiss on top of his erection. "About as long as yours, dear, say 7 1/2 inches, though not quite as thick. Circumcised, too, but the head is longer and summer than yours, instead of being thicker than the shaft, it's about the same circumference. A most edible cock; and I proceeded to eat. I just grabbed as much of it as I could down my throat and started to gobble. I gave him about two minutes of good gobbling and let go. He knew what to do. Quick, he dumped Nancy on her back and threw her legs over his shoulders. Her glass went flying. He shoved it up good and hard and ground away, no back-and-forth shoving, just grinding, shoved into the hilt, circular grinding against her clit, propped on his knees and grinding as hard as he could, putting the rest of his weight square on the flats of his hands which he plunked right onto her tits, flattening, squashing those big creamy tits under his hands as he supported his whole upper body with rigid elbows, heels of the hands right on the nipples. She screamed a couple of times and he screwed away. I got his pants off-well, I loosened them and let them fall down around his knees and got my head right in the space he had left for it between her upraised arse and his legs, and started right on her asshole. Big, wet, juicy licks all around till it was dripping wet, then gently probing my tongue up her hole. When I did that she came. Some sort of coincidence, dear? Do you know what time it was when you did your anal bit with that little girl? Whose name you forgot to tell me, by the way?"
"No, I don't remember." Tom was panting and answered with difficulty as his wife's cunning hand flashed up and down his throbbing cock. "Her name was Susan... "
Her hand beat faster as she resumed talking. "Well, Mac knew what he was doing. Nancy came with big spasms of the legs and thrashing but Mac kept her pinned down and pumped away. She was up on a plateau and was gonna come again any minute. I jumped up and around her and pulled her nightdress off from where it was bunched around her neck. I was wearing a skirt, so all I had to do was whip off my underpants and sit down on her face. My skirt tented over her whole face and hid her. I think it made it easier for her. I felt my slit press against her mouth. Her lips were tight shut and her whole body was shaking as Mac pounded away. All of a sudden her mouth gasped open and she took the whole front part of my sex into it, clit, part of the mons-a big mouthful-and began sucking away. As soon as she did it, Mac slammed his whole body onto her and they both went off. Vroom. Shuddering that wasn't human and all through the orgasm she sucked like mad at me.
"We lay there in a pile for a long time, but I knew that Mac really wanted to fuck me and I tried to make it easy. Bit by bit I worked over to him, getting my body pressed against him. We both had our heads on Nancy, down by her crotch, and as our bodies worked closer, I could feel his cock growing hard. We both licked at her thighs, I at one and he at the other. We started about halfway up from the knee and both licked our way up very slow until our faces and tongues met at her clit. We licked her clit alternately, our tongues meeting on each stroke, and our bodies moved closer, straining against one another. I lifted a leg high over him so he could slip it in while we both lay on our sides and we never stopped our slow licking, letting our tongues shake our bodies, as it were, moving slowly, in the rhythm, of our licking, lying on our sides with our heads between those marvelous womanly thighs. It was pretty lovely. She came too, with a deep suppressed shudder, and lay there unmoving. A little after that I left. They lay on the bed, Nancy with her eyes closed, but Mac looked good-bye to me. I left my panties behind. I thought having them there in the morning would make it seem a bit realer to Nancy."
Tom came as she finished her story and she dexterously pointed his cock away from them both so that the spouting white geyser flew onto the floor rather than their clothing. They sat still for a bit after this, breathing deeply. Celie sat up and shook herself. "Well, I'm going over there now. I promised to watch the kids while she went down to town to do some shopping. I really wonder how she'll handle it... Soon see."
"Yea, well, I have a class and a conference afterwards."
"With Susan?"
"No, with a big dumb blonde cow, but possibilities... possibilities... "
"See you at dinner time."
"See you." Walking lightly she left his office. Pretending not to notice a plump dark-haired girl who was sitting at a library table across from Tom's office door-who was always sitting there, watching with hungry eyes. Also pretending not to notice a large muscular but nervous-looking boy, sitting at the table behind the girl's, whose hunger was equally divided between the girl and Celie. Suddenly she turned and walked back to the table where the boy was sitting. She looked at him openly.
"Levy, isn't it? One of my husband's students?"
"Yes, Mrs. Green."
"How about doing me a favor, Levy?" She went on quickly, not giving the flustered boy a chance to answer. "I want to get a little grass as a present for Mr. Green. I know there is always a lot of it around the students. How about scoring for an ounce of grass for me. Here's twenty dollars." She fussed around in her pocketbook, giving him a chance to reply without having to look her in the eye. He mumbled and she ignored his mumble and gave him two tens.
"You know where we live? Right off campus, near the woods. Bring it over during the daytime-when Tom's on campus-I want it to be a surprise." Then she turned and walked briskly out of the library.
CHAPTER TWO
Celie walked out to the parking lot behind the library scuffing her way through the fallen leaves. She got into her shiny red Volkswagen and drove off campus and down a gravel road until she came to Mac's place set way back from the road among the pine trees. She pulled into the driveway and stopped, got out and walked up to the side door. Without knocking, she opened the door and walked into the kitchen.
The kitchen was, as always, bright and clean. On the breakfast counter a vase of asters. Everywhere warm yellows, polished chrome and enamel. The big picture window over the sink looking out on an old apple orchard. The trees now bare for the winter. Celie sat down on one of the stools and waited; a moment later Nancy came down the stairs and into the kitchen. Celie looked sharply at her. She was wearing a crisp clean shirt dress of lemon yellow. Like all her clothes, it fitted just a wee bit snugly over her rich woman's figure. The lemon yellow set off her peaches and cream complexion marvelously in the clear fall sunlight streaming through the picture window. Perhaps there was a little bit of a flush in her cheeks; perhaps she was breathing a bit shallowly. Her taffy-colored hair shining clean, like everything about her, was brushed back from her round face and caught behind with a rubber band- the ideal of the League of Women Voters-but perhaps breathing a bit deeply. Celie let her glance travel down from Nancy's face slowly over her full breasts and her waist that might have been considered a bit thick if it weren't for the marvelous rich curve of her hips flowing out from it, down over the hint of rounded thigh where the full skirt was molded against her rump. Then up again to her face quickly. Nan's smile was frozen, her mouth half open, her eyes as frank and friendly as ever. Her breath was definitely coming in short irregular gasps.
"Hi, Nan."
"Hi, Cel. Gee. You didn't really have to come over after all. The kids have gone over to the Robinsons for the afternoon." As she said this, Nancy walked across the kitchen to the stove, putting the counter between herself and Cel. "You want a cup of coffee?"
"Thanks."
Celie watched Nan as, with deft and practiced movements, she put the coffee up. Sparkling clean coffee pot, a minimum of wasted effort. Celie had always been faintly amused at Nan's housewifely expertise. Nan was a very good novelist, who had published three rather tough-minded books. To compensate for any threat her talent presented to her husband, who was a writer also-a poet, as talented probably as Nan, but since he was a poet, much less recognized, and certainly less successful commercially-Nan pulled this perfect housewife bit. She put two beautiful cups on the table. A creamer, also quite beautiful. Celie took her coffee black. A small bronze pill box, beautifully carved, containing some new sugar substitute. Nan had to watch her weight. Celie sat quietly, waiting until she finished fussing, brought the pot to the short counter and sat down on the other side at the other end, as far away from Celie as she could. They sat drinking their coffee, talking campus politics, books and the news. The tone a wee bit shrill. Too normal. Exceptionally, Nan was doing most of the talking while Celie sat and listened.
Celie kicked off her right shoe and reaching under the breakfast bar with her foot put it on the bottom rung of Nan's stool, stretching her leg so that it was extended between Nan's legs. Nan pretended not to notice and went on talking lightly. Her knees were bent, heels hooked on the same rung where Celie's foot now rested. As Nan talked Celie moved her foot closer to Nan's right foot, until its bare side was resting against her loafer. Neither of them made a sign as Celie's foot crept up and the side of her little toe began to brush rhythmically against the inside of Nan's ankle; up and down and around the protruding anklebone the toe brushed. Celie lit a cigarette and let the bare ball of her foot come to rest on top of Nan's shod toe. Her foot sat there lightly, the toes working so that the subtlest possible pressure worked through the leather onto the top of Nan's foot. Nan was talking animatedly about the latest schmuckery of the head of the English department, boss of both their husbands. She leaned forward and a wisp of honey-colored hair fell loose over her broad forehead. Celie glanced down at the open neck of Nan's shirt dress and saw the dark cleft of her full breasts moving quickly, a faint dew of perspiration gathering there. She slowly sat back and moved her foot between Nan's legs again and up along her calf, stroking lightly and persistently. Nan's conversation grew more and more animated and she leaned further and further forward as Celie leaned back, the collar of her dress falling more and more open. Suddenly Celie leaned forward and brought her cheek against Nan's. Nan stopped talking and they sat utterly still, cheek to cheek, the sound of their breathing filling the bright room.
Gradually their breathing took on the same regular beat, transmitted through the two smooth cheeks. Nan slowly began to turn her head. Her eyes wide open, unblinking, found Celie's eyes waiting; her lips found Celie's lips waiting. Over the coffee cups their mouths met, half opened. Another long pause, lip on lip, breath on breath, and Celie's hand went up to the back of Nan's neck and pressed her lips persistently onto her own mouth which was open, waiting and passive, waiting and open and in a gush Nan's tongue shot out deep into Celie's mouth. Her hands went up around Celie's neck and locked there while they savored their mingled spit, tongue to tongue, teeth grating against teeth. A long shudder passed through Nan's body. Their heads pressed closer and they both leaned forward across the counter straining hard to come into fuller contact but unable to let go of one another long enough to come around the counter. They were both standing up on the rungs of their stools, now pressed together breast to breast, fingers working Into one another's backs, mouths twisting and turning, tongues probing, lips sucking.
Celie's stool went over backward with a crash, but she clung to the other woman, pulling herself forward onto the breakfast counter. She scrambled onto it on her knees, knocking the coffee pot and cups flying, twisting and turning her body onto the counter and pulling Nan down on top of her so that they were both stretched out on the counter locked belly to belly, breast to breast, prone on the Formica top, rolling in the spilt coffee and cream, leg between leg, thighs grinding against one another's sex. Celie broke off the kiss, wrenching her head away from the larger woman's demanding mouth and gasped harshly. "Off, off, down on the floor." Nan obeyed and climbed quickly down, not letting go of the slimmer darker girl, pulling her with her, down onto her as she fell, scrambled, threw herself flat on her back on the floor. Nan avoided the other girl's embrace long enough to reverse the direction of her body and then she came down on her with her head between Nan's legs, her crotch square on the other girl's face, pushing and pulling, they shoved one another's skirts up and pulled thin material of panties aside-no tune to take them off-and their mouths found one another's sex-Celie's flimsy black lace bikini's gave with a loud rip under Nan's frenzied tugging and she slurped again taking a huge mouthful, sucking at it hard, taking all she could get deep into her mouth, her upper teeth, probing into Celie's curly dark mound while her tongue darted deep into her already sopping wet vulva. Celie-more expert-held the strong stuff of Nan's sensible white briefs aside and slipped her tongue lightly here and there around the outside of her cunt lips. Her other arm was around Nan's arse, pressing her body hard to her, crushing her tits into the softness of her smooth belly. She held the panties aside with her index finger and slipped her middle finger between the pink lips into Nan's vagina, spreading the lips so that the remarkable long clitoris could pop out, and lightly, ever so lightly, hardly touching, quick, little cat licks, slipped her tongue back and forth over the firm red protuberance.
A loud crunch of gravel.
"Oh, my gosh, there's a car in the driveway." They sat up and looked at one another's passion-swollen faces, lips bruised, clothes disarrayed, coffee all over. "It can't be Robby with the kids; it's too early... oh... I forgot... I called and ordered the groceries... " Nan blushed deeply. "That must be the delivery boy."
Sure enough. A big, long-haired, blond boy appeared at the kitchen doorway with a cardboard carton of groceries. A scholarship student whom Celie knew vaguely. Nan went to the doorway to block his view, while Celie looked at his big 18-year-old body thoughtfully.
"Tell him to bring them in here, Nan."
Nan cast a quick, scared look over her shoulder at Celie who was leaning against the kitchen wall, her shoulders back and her tits jutting forward through her sweater. Like a robot she opened the door and let the boy in. Her unfulfilled twat was twitching under the full yellow skirt, and she felt the juices dripping down her thigh to her knee. The smell of then seemed to her to fill the room. She stood by the door while the boy carried the heavy carton of groceries into the kitchen. He was a surfer type in build-this marvelous generation-six-foot-four and big-limbed, smooth sloping muscles, clear tanned skin and marvelous blond hair, worn conservatively short for a college student, to just below his ears. He moved his large heavy limbs with a somewhat adolescent clumsiness. Blue jeans and a sweat shirt, wide shoulders and narrow waist. Head down, avoiding the faces of both the women, he threaded his way among the puddles of coffee and cream and fragments of china. He put the cardboard carton of groceries down on the counter.
"Hi," Celie said from her corner of the room. He looked up at her and his head was stuck. He couldn't remove his eyes. "Come over here." His sneakered feet made no sound as he walked across the room stiffly and stood before Celie, with his hands at his sides. She reached her hands out and put her arms around his neck and plastered her body to him, moving her hips in slow generous movements grinding her crotch against his. He stood quite frozen. Behind his back Celie motioned with one hand for Nan to join them. She walked over and stood behind them. A perceptible motion was beginning in the boy's loins. The rest of him remained unmoved, dumbstruck. His young sex was clearly responding to this unbelievable sudden stimulation-the fantasy of every delivery boy coming true and in overbounding richness-beyond fantasy-and his hips began to thrust in counterpoint to Celie's persistent rotary motion. Nan reached her hands around from behind and undid his belt and the top button of his pants. Without interrupting the bump and grind of Celie and the boy, she jerked his pants down so that his cock, large and young and so hard that it almost arched back on itself, came free. Celie, with her hands around his neck, spread her grinding legs and started to climb up his body. First her right leg up. Nan grabbed it and held it high with one hand. Then her left so that she was supported with her back hard against the wall, her calves in Nan's hands, her breast against the boy's, Nan leaning against the boy from behind, thrusting him forward so that his straining hard cock came to meet the dripping mouth of Celie's cunt where it was naked in the shreds of her underpants. Celie settled down onto the cock with a deep grunt of satisfaction and the boy's hips jerked spasmodically and he shot off a hot young load deep inside her as soon as he penetrated her deeply, deeply, his own thrusting hips aided by the pelvis thrust against his arse, her tits crushed against his back, Celie's against his chest. He screamed-his first sound-as he came, and his cock stayed hard as a rock. Celie, with her legs still supported, moved, slippery and squirmy, impaled on his stiff rod, her arms tight around his neck, while Nan from behind set up her own motion, the pounding of her desire driving her to revolve her breasts hard against his lean young back, turning from her waist. Faster and faster they moved, the boy sandwiched between them, until Celie's legs jerked rigid in Nan's arms and flailed wildly in the spasms of the big orgasm. As her tremors subsided, her legs sank and Nan retreated, leaving the dazed boy standing there as Celie's lithe body disengaged itself.
The two women-none two gently-moved him away from the wall and pushed him down until he was lying flat on his back, his stiff rod standing up straight at right angles to his recumbent body. Nan quickly stood over his body, straddling him. Without bothering to pull her panties off, she jerked them aside roughly, exposing her twat and sat down hard right onto his cock. She let the full weight of her rich body drive her down onto him with a satisfied groan, revolving her hips in big slow circles that gradually developed into a pumping back-and-forth motion, driving his cock in and out of her, and with each stroke driving its full hard length against her clitoris with all the weight of her body brought to bear on that one sensitive spot. Her eyes were tightly closed and her hands tightly clenched into fists, her arms rigid at her sides helping to drive that joy rod harder and harder into her and out of her. The boy was rigid. She was fucking a statue, a hot pulsating statue with a huge young cock. Celie was still slumped against the wall, slack-mouthed, watching under half-lidded eyes as Nan rode the recumbent boy to a moaning screaming climax.
The boy was still lying there, staring at the ceiling. His hard-on had finally subsided. The two women stood over him. They lifted him up gently and sat him down on one of the stools. Nan knew what to do. Feed him. Homemade cake and milk and conversation gradually brought him out of shock. The problem was to bring him out without giving him delusions of grandeur. They talked with him in a normal tone, found out his name-Kevin-that he had a girl friend whom he fucked, but nothing like this. "She just lies there underneath me." As he ate, his woodenness disappeared. He worked for the Coop supermarket Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Nan arranged to have him deliver her groceries next Wednesday, and they saw him off just in time to clean up the mess before the children came home. When Betty Robinson brought the children back, they were sitting calmly in the kitchen talking.
The kids burst in in a swirl of excitement, the Robinson's kids mixed with Nancy's three-year-old twins. Betty Robinson was the same age as Nancy. Mid-twenties. Not as smart, a sort of coarse version of Nancy. Where Nancy was womanly and calm, Betty was fat and dull. Men, however, found something attractive about her. Tom had once explained it as a taste for the mud, though since Betty was from an old Philadelphia family, rode horses and raised dogs, he couldn't have meant it in any cultural sense.
The two women looked curiously at Betty's big soft body and wondered. She chatted breathlessly for a while and collected her children... As Nan stood at the door waving to Betty in her station wagon, the twins out in the yard waving to the Robinson kids, Celie came up behind her and, out of sight, fell to her knees and planted a slow soft kiss on her right buttock, swelling under the fine yellow cotton. Nan grinned a secret grin and reached behind her to stroke Celie's cheek.
CHAPTER THREE
Tom leaned on the lectern. He was an elegant fierce figure, today wearing slim tweed trousers and an un-matching tweed jacket of Edwardian cut, dark hair falling messily over his ears and his forehead, his beaky nose, dark eyes flashing-a tall elegant fierce figure. He puffed nervously on an unfiltered Camel held in his left hand, and his right hand was thrust deep into his trousers pocket, playing with his cock behind the tall lectern. He had always used his classroom as a hunting ground, at first-when he had begun teaching-unconsciously, displaying his personality to the rows of admiring girls. The first row of his classes was almost always all girls, miniskirts hiked up. Right now he could see three pairs of underpants and five pairs of eyes looking at him with what each thought was a private secret understanding. He talked about what he was interested in and flashed his contempt for the general run of student and teacher, giving each of the girls he had fucked or planned to, the impression that he was talking to her alone.
"It's ridiculous to read Chaucer in translation. The syllabus in this course calls for it, but it's a waste of time. As I will show you any fool can read him in the original. Those of you who are not interested in doing so, may cut class for the next three weeks. I will let you assign yourself your own grade. Those of you who want it, will of course have to buy an extra book, in addition to the idiot textbook. Consider the first twelve lines, from the famous Prologue, which even your text has the sense to give you in the original."
There was a rustling of pages as the class found the place. He waited for the rustling to stop and then, without looking at the book, began to recite the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales: "Whan that April with his showres soote The droughte of Marche hat perced to the roote, And bathed every veine in swich licour Of which vertu engendered is the flour; When Zephiruseek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye (So priketh hem nature in hir corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, He read in a high resonant voice, rounding the rich vowel sounds of Middle English to their maximum effectiveness.
"Now, cheap dramatics aside," he began talking in an inaudible mutter after the reading, his voice rising in volume only slightly. "Any damn fool... there are only three or four words in those twelve lines that are not in more or less common use in contemporary English. Holt in line six, eke in line five, jerne, etc. The others are all in use in some sense in modern English and usually in a sense close enough to the Chaucerian for you to be able to understand the word in context. After a couple of days of reading Chaucer, you will become used to the differences in orthography and pronunciation-many of which are just due to the editor's pedantry."
He began to explain some of the spelling differences and continued until he had discussed every word in the Prologue that appeared in a form different from its modern form.
"So... I will see those of you who are interested in reading this amusing poem on Wednesday... " The bell rang. Most of the students left immediately, the expressions on their faces closed. Five or six, mostly girls, crowded around the lectern. He answered their questions as briefly as possible, often instructing one of them to bring the point up during the next class, until only a dark, pouting, slim girl was left.
"What can I do for you, Miss Whelen?" he said perfectly straight-faced. She stood in front of his desk and spoke equally straight.
"I started to read Chaucer over the weekend, Mr. Green, and I wonder if I am pronouncing it correctly?"
He looked around and saw that the classroom was deserted. He reached over the lectern and drew one finger down her neck and slipped it under the collar of her green sweater. "Well, Miss Whelen, we're going to work on that in class, but seeing that you are so far ahead of the others, why don't you stop by my office-say Thursday morning-I'm very busy today-and we'll go over a few passages together."
He withdrew his finger and looked at the slim girl standing there, a huge load of books held to her breasts in both arms. "Say around nine o'clock, unless you're in class then?"
"Nine o'clock."
He fussed with his papers and books, letting the dark girl leave the classroom before him. Then he collected his stuff into a green and beige book bag, swung it over his shoulder and started across the campus for his office. He walked briskly across the quadrangle, his eyes darting here and there among the crowds of students hurrying from class to class, waving in greeting to a passing faculty member, stopping to chat in a strangely formal way-shaking hands-with a large stout bearded middle-aged man in a black suit with vest.
"We expect you for dinner Friday, Boris Pytorovitch."
"Will anyone else be there?" A slight thick accent. "I don't now, but we shall be able to amuse ourselves, I am sure. Till eight then."
"Till eight."
They shook hands formally and went their separate ways. Upon arriving at the library, Tom began to walk slowly and thoughtfully. He walked down to his office door. Nervously waiting outside it was a girl.
She would have been beautiful if she hadn't been fat. She was fat-not plump-fat, her features small and classical, pert nose, round blue eyes, rosebud mouth, her bone structure small and delicate, her skin fair and perfectly clear, her hair an angelic blonde mass of curls. But she must have weighed at least 175 pounds and she was no more than five two. Even so, her figure was not a mere sack. Her breasts stood out from her chest. There was a noticeable waist from which her hips rolled out sweetly. Her legs had curves. The right relation of thigh to calf; her arms too. All over-sized-a girl-but expanded. Milky white rolls of soft fat, ending in tiny delicate ankles and wrists. There was more than a hint of fear in her big moist eyes. Tom greeted her gruffly.
"Good day, Miss Monyihan," and opened his office door and walked in without looking at her, ignoring her, he sat down and began to take his books and papers out of his book bag and distribute them around his desk. She walked uncertainly into the office; he was fussing around his desk without looking at her. He said, "Sit down." He continued to play with his papers as she sat uncertainly in the leather chair alongside his desk. Again without looking toward her, he said, "Put down your books and make yourself comfortable." She was clutching the coed's obligatory double armful of books protectively to her breast. She looked around for some place to put them. His desk was covered with papers and books. Uncertainly she leaned over to put them on the floor, and he glanced over his shoulder to watch her little skirt of blue jean material, unhemmed, ride up over her fat thighs. She only shaved her legs up to just above the knees and there started a thick fuzz of pale yellow hairs, even on the backs of her thighs. He turned back to his desk before she could see him watching her. Again without looking up, "I think you had better close the door." Behind his back she got up and closed the heavy oak door and returned to her chair.
He opened his desk drawer and took out a typed essay. While she watched him eagerly, he reread the essay slowly, holding it away from him at arm's length as if it might infect him. He let it fall to the desk and swiveled his chair around to face her, stared at her for a long time with his mouth closed, his lips a thin cruel line; hands held fingertips together before him. As he looked at her disdainfully, her lower lip quivered and a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. Finally, after a long silence, he spoke.
"Don't say anything." The words came out of his mouth utterly cold. Each sentence followed by a long pause. "Don't try to defend yourself. It will just make it worse. There is nothing you can say. It was incredibly stupid of you to plagiarize that paper. Don't you think that I have read most of the books on the subject? It was very easy for me to find out the source." He observed with satisfaction the increased trembling of her lip and the single big tear rolling now over her round cheek. "There is no question of excuses. The only question is in regard to punishment." She was sobbing deeply now. Her eye make-up (her only make-up) running in black streaks over her white cheeks.
She gasped, "Please... "
"Here... get yourself together." He spoke brusquely and offered her a handkerchief and sat and watched her impassively while she dried her face and blew her nose.
When she had recovered she spoke, "Please do not report me to the honor board. My father... will kill me... I couldn't stand it... please... " Another tear welled up in her eye. He waited impassively until she regained control of herself. Her tears stopped and she sat there, quivering slightly.
"Well, I am very pleased to note that you make no effort to defend yourself. At least you are that honest." He paused for a while to let that sink in.
"Are you going to... report... me...?" her voice quavered.
He waited a minute, impassive, before replying. "That depends on you." Her eyes widened even more, but her lip stopped trembling.
"Come over here." She got up and walked hesitatingly over to the desk and stood before him. Without changing his expression of stern impassivity, he reached out his hand and, palm flat, put it on her right tit. It sank into the soft fat. Her breath caught. He took his hand off.
"You will have to be punished."
"Yes," she nervously licked her dry lips.
"Turn around." She did so.
"Pull up your skirt."
She stood stock still.
"Pull up your skirt." His voice was full of cold and distant authority. Her hands crept down to her sides and grasped the blue denim material and slowly pulled it up over her fat gleaming thighs and the broad expanse of her arse where the white material of her nylon panties was stretched thin -tight over the swelling of her twin mounds.
"Take off your underpants."
Nervously, her fingers catching in the material, she released the skirt with one hand and pulled off the panties. Then, knowing what to do now, she pulled the skirt up again and stood with her arse pointed to him where he sat in his swivel chair. The two big white mounds of soft jelly-like fat quivered as her body shook with suppressed sobs. Slowly he pushed his chair back and stood up. The girl's hands holding her skirt up around her waist were clenched into tight fists, white showing at the knuckles. Tom stood back and took in the sight. He glanced at the high windows to make sure that no one could see in. Then he slowly drew his belt from his waist. It was thick brown leather. Wide, an inch and a half. He doubled the belt; holding the tongue and buckle end in his right hand, he drew the doubled-up length slowly through his left hand, then swung it a couple of tunes in the air with an ominous swishing sound. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide with fright, then turned forward and waited.
"Ready?"
Her voice quavered. "Yes... "
His arm went back and paused, enjoying her scared waiting. Her buttocks quivering, quivering. Whack, his hand went forward, the belt went right across the two gelatinous white globes leaving an angry red welt. She gave a quick muffled squeak of a scream and the belt flew again, another red welt exactly parallel to the first. Now the strokes fell quickly and her muffled sobs became quieter, little tight jerks of her body quivering all over as she repressed the screams. The whole arse was angry red and pink. The belt flew around her soft fat thighs. Whack. Whack. Drops of blood appeared along the edge of the welts. Her legs were quivering down their whole length with unstoppable spasms. Dropping the belt, Tom walked around her and looked her over. Her face was covered with tears and she was biting her lips hard to hold back the screams. The remains of her eye make-up streaked down her face as far as her chin. He said, "Stand still." Her shoulders were hunched up and shaking, her legs quivering. She took a breath and bit down hard again on her lips and held the position.
Tom walked around behind her, unzipping his fly and letting his erection out. He stood directly behind her where she could not see him and then fell to his knees. His hands went around her and began to glide slowly up and down, fingertips only, playing on the soft surface of her thighs, up and down, working their way, brushing around to the insides of her thighs and up over her soft belly. Then the index finger grew hard and began to push, not too gently, into the soft flesh of her stomach. Started pinching, lightly at first, then a little more firmly, taking fingers full of the creamy fat woman stuff between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between the fingers, digging the tips of the fingers deeper and deeper into the soft inside thighs, poking and probing closer and closer to the little cunt, in its folds of soft fat. Then turning gentle again, brushing nails over the smooth surface, the flat of the hand softly massaging the curly blonde mound, while his eyes feasted on the red and bruised mass of that fat arse before him. Alternating, poking and pinching again, clasping his hands deep into her legs and around the girdle of fat till it was massaging the pelvic bones, moving his hands closer and closer to the center of her loins. They found their way to the cunt, the fingers groping in deep, deep, while his lips and teeth and tongue began to play with the pink and red softness of her beaten arse, kissing soft little kisses, blowing on the sorest spots, his tongue licking up a bead of blood here, soothing, gently.
Slowly his mouth worked over her arse while his fingers buried themselves in her cunt from which he could feel the rich juices of a fat girl running down all over his hands to his wrists. His mouth never stopped moving on her arse, wetter and wetter kisses, closer and closer to the crack. His tongue buried itself in the deep, deep cleft between those two soft masses, wetting it all thoroughly. His whole face was buried in the fat arse's deep crack and his tongue darting up the tight little hole. When he slobbered all over the asshole, without removing his hands from her cunt, holding her pelvis in position with his forearms, he stood up and slipped his thick cock into that soft wet mass. Slowly, savoring the creamy feel of the hot soft fat, he slid his prick into the wet asshole, felt the sphincter muscles' first fight. He shoved in, although a sharp scream of pain escaped her clenched lips. When he was two or so inches into her actual asshole, the whole length of his cock already grasped in the soft embrace of those creamy buttocks, he paused to let the muscles relax, as he knew they would, and jogged gently until he felt the tight ring of that last inch or so of asshole give way. Then, slowly but steadily, he pressed his pelvis forward into the cloudy soft fat, driving his cock up to its hilt, flattening the soft buttocks against his bony pelvis, burying his balls between the two mounds. His hands circled around her, held her in the position best for maximum penetration, both ring fingers and middle fingers deep in her twat. He caught her labia between his two thumbs, squeezing it tight, so as to pinch her clit hard between the lips and, suddenly tightening his arms, squeezing every drop of breath out of her body, he pounded his hips with maximum force again and again into her arse and with five or six tremendous thrusts brought her to a shuddering orgasm at the same moment that he shot his hot creamy load deep into her tight asshole. Tom was sitting at his desk again and Miss Monyihan was across from him.
"I hope I haven't given you the idea that I will tolerate plagiarism."
"Oh... no... " Miss Monyihan replied most emphatically.
"Well, don't let it happen again and we'll forget this. I am sorry that I hurried it along there at the end, but I'm very very hungry. I guess I skipped lunch today. I'm going to go home to dinner. I'd like to get together with you again sometime." He got up and saw her to the door. He was always amazed at the calm dissimulation the students could manage after a bout of sex. Probably due to their spending so much of their time faking out their elders. As he let her out of the door he glanced across at the dark girl who was always watching him and was amused to see that she wasn't feeling at all jealous of fat Miss Monyihan.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tom walked home through the fall twilight. His house stood on the edge of the school's forest preserve, where the first-year biology students spent long hours watching their ten-meter-by-ten-meter plots of forest floor. (It really was a rather good college.) Aside from the biology students and their teachers Tom had the woods to himself all week long; only on weekends, the kids would seek out every glade that offered a bit of privacy. He stopped on the edge of the forest and watched a mixed bunch of small songbirds, chickadees, titmice, nuthatches, searching through the bark of the trees, dry leaves rustling faintly at their passage, for the already dormant grubs. Cool weather and colored leaves. Always made him horny and hungry.
There was a crock of pate sitting in the icebox, aging, and he knew it would be ready to eat tonight. Celie would have some fresh baked croissants to smear it on. At her very worst, if she felt ugly and unloved, if a haircut was a disaster, if she started gaining weight, if she turned paranoid (all those beautiful girls reaching for Tom's cock!), Celie was a superb cook. Upon her lean husband and those most fortunate of his students, Celie rained apple pies, pan dowdies, Neapolitans, cream puffs, chocolate cakes, brownies, yeast cakes, cheesecakes, blueberry tarts, (in season) pates, chickens, roasts, stews, mussels, lobsters, big fish, little fish, black coffee and exquisite tea. Anise cookies without anise and with pot, hash brownies, fruit cake soaked in brandy, or her father's best whiskey, turkeys stuffed with chestnuts sodden with Grand Marnier. Celie could make the most anemic speed freak student eat liver cooked in bacon grease, take vitamins washed down with huge malteds, and keep them eating, until by Christmas, Easter or summer vacation they could return home the same healthy-appearing adolescent that their parents remembered.
To Tom's amusement and often despair, Celie would only fuck the skinniest young men at four or five or six in the afternoon and then, knowing their belly hunger, would proudly sit and watch them stuff down huge amounts of food with the same ferocity that they had shown before, trying to swallow her tongue or tits or cunt juice. She could drain any nineteen-year-old boy sexually to the point of absolute exhaustion-incredible feat-then derive almost as much (as much?) pleasure watching, with shining eyes, as the famished boy demolished plate after heaping plate of her magnificent food. The stock pot was always going on the back of the stove, and the meals were always serious, though irregular in the menus, i.e. two main dishes or no main dish, a meal, like tonight's, consisting only of pate (chicken liver, black olives and pecans that came out amazingly just like truffles) and breakfast rolls. The only unvarying feature of her dinners was the fresh green salads during the summer from her own garden. In winter she drove to a neighboring town where an Italian farmer raised hothouse vegetables for the nearest city. Among his endless rows of watery iceberg lettuce and pale tomatoes were a few tables of real vegetables, Boston and bibb lettuce, escarole and watercress, endive and midget zucchini, saved for a few favored customers and Celie, who since she never paid him any money and refused to think of her delightful hours with his thick brown cock as payment, was therefore rightly classified as a friend, who, along with his aged, black-clad mother, got the best of the special crop, fresh-picked, after he had put his pants back on, while Celie was still stretched, naked, voluptuous in the hot winter sunlight on the glasshouse floor.
Tom stepped into the hallway. As he heard the faint rhythm from their bedroom he automatically reached out to stop the door from slamming shut and then bent over, silently putting down his book bag and removing his shoes. For a moment, standing in his bedroom and seeing the bony arse of the boy covering his wife-for the second before his cock began to push at the zipper of his fly-Tom bitterly cursed, cursing Celie for not restricting her fucking to the days that they had hamburger for supper. But he was not a jealous man. The sight of his wife's body under the campus's most legendary eater presented a lovely picture. Johnny Jackson might have an unfillable stomach, but he was a beautiful boy. The last rays of the day's sun lit up his long straight hair as it fanned over Celie's chest. Johnny held one nipple softly in his mouth, one hand covered the other. His body lay relaxed over hers. Between Celie's legs Tom could see the mixture of Johnny's sperm and Celie's juices running down onto the sheet. Johnny's cock was still in her. The boy had fallen into a light contented sleep with a look on his face that could only be described by two words, triumphant and angelic.
Celie opened her eyes. Seeing Tom she instinctively pressed the boy protectively to her. For a second Tom felt a knife twisting in his heart; then she silently blew a kiss to him and let the radiance in her eyes sweep over the boy into her husband's face. Tom undressed, his hands clumsier than fear or passion had ever made them before. He knelt by the bed and kissed her, his tongue sliding over hers, his spit dribbling into her dry mouth. Tom got up, and taking a jar of cream rubbed his cock with the greasy stuff. He started to work the grease into Johnny's asshole as Celie, feeling the boy move, held him closer and pulled his mouth to hers. As Johnny felt the finger piercing his asshole he began to tremble. Celie felt his cock begin to slide out of her. She crooned softly, wordlessly, and rocked him gently. While Tom was still greasing the small asshole, Johnny's cock began to grow in her as his fear left him. Tom pushed in, matching Celie's gentle rocking movements. His hands ran along the sides of the pair under him, touching them both, Celie's hands grasped Johnny's cheeks as she felt his long thin prick with the added weight and push of her husband's movements behind it. Johnny's hands grabbed at her arse in return, pushing her up as he, without any motion of his own, felt his prick going further and further into the deep, pleasure-and-peace-giving cunt. Celie stopped her comforting rocking when she felt Tom begin a sure strong stroke. She lay still, feeling both men move. Johnny began to bite her neck and shoulders, ducking his head until he caught one nipple in his mouth. He sucked strongly, every now and then grasping the tit with his teeth, bit gently, and rubbing her nipple against the roof of his mouth with his rough tongue. Tom suddenly lifted his head from the back of the boy's shoulder, which he had been thoughtfully nipping. He raised himself off Johnny's body. His hands holding Celie's face were now supporting him arched over Johnny. With his cock spurting into the boy's arse as John's cock filled Celie's cunt with a deluge, the boy's cock staying hard while endlessly discharging. Tom holding her head so that he could watch her face, saw her eyes open to look into his and he said, "I love you. When do we eat?" Celie's laughter toppled Tom onto his side beside her. He held them both as they laughed at themselves.
Celie pushed Johnny off her, onto Tom. She stood looking at them both. Johnny was golden, smooth and at the same time fuzzy all over. Everything about him was long and narrow, his cock at rest looked like a thick pencil with a long well-sharpened point. His arse was better defined by its crack then by any curve. His face was at first glance too sweet to entertain any sexuality. But his lips were a bit too full and his eyes were an unexpected dark brown with a few laugh lines that were almost shocking on his smooth skin. The only person she knew who could compare in beauty to Johnny was Tom. His almost ugly face, narrow shoulders and hairy, pimply ass she thought the dearest, most extraordinary and lovely she had ever seen. She bent over to kiss him, but he held her away, silently forming the word "food" with his lips. Celie grinned and, still naked, padded away, Johnny's come running down her leg, leaving a trail for them to follow.
The two men, or the man and the boy, lay still, in the bed. Johnny's eyes still wide, fixed on the empty space of the doorway where Celie had gone. A faint trembling shook his body, but with a visible effort, he stopped and took a deep breath, holding the inhalation and then letting it out slow and measured. He put his pale golden arms behind his pale golden head and let himself sink back.
Down in the kitchen below they could hear the sounds of dinner being made. A rhythmic flurry of opening and closing refrigerator door, the clank of pots and Celie, singing to herself, snatches and bits of songs intermingled and unidentifiable. Finally the boy, without looking at Tom, broke the silence...
"Wow."
"Yeah... first time you've been buggered...?"
"Yeah... " the boy's voice hung in the air.
"Call me Tom, Johnny... "
"Yeah, the first time... and by you... Wow... give me some time to think it over... What is going on here... ? you know... I think I'm gonna freak out... "
"Bullshit, you had better stop putting me on... huh... ? I mean, that is really the advantage of making it with your teachers... that you don't have to play games with them any more... "
"Yeah, but well, look, a lot has happened to me just now... "
The boy turned over in his excitement-the young are always excited by the opportunity to explain their feelings-and faced Tom who was propped up naked on his elbow, looking at the slim, rather epicene body... when his eyes caught Tom's his explanation stopped in mid-air; mouth open, his body froze and he watched Tom's eyes travel up and down his body. He could feel the eyes of his teacher as they went over his skin; he was sure that where that gaze touched him it left a mark of pale goose flesh. A shiver went up his spine and he remained absolutely still. Slowly Tom reached out his free hand and rested it lightly on the boy's neck. He drew the boy to him, his body unresisting but trembling violently and placed a kiss on his half-open lips. A gentle kiss, undemanding, held for a long time until the boy, without any volition of his own, found his lips responding, his tongue all by itself probing out tentatively, responding for just a brief second, then withdrawing, his mouth shutting, his eyes shutting. Suddenly, Johnny felt Tom's cheek resting against his, the cheek of a man, at five in the evening, with a stubble of widely scattered but tough whiskers prickling against his own smooth cheek. He again found himself at first unable to react, then his head alone moving, automatically, tentatively, just once, he rubbed his own smooth cheek against the unfamiliar roughness. "Well... come on... " Celie's voice came from downstairs.
They sat happily, eating until they were full, quite naked. The food was incredible and both Tom and Johnny ate and ate and ate. Celie had a tendency to get fat and couldn't eat even one of the croissants. She was reduced to smearing her pate on hard Swedish crisp bread. She finished long before the men and sat watching them, envy chasing contentment over her face. Afterwards they gathered around the fireplace. Sprawled on the Persian rug with a big wooden bowl of fruit, cups of coffee, cigarettes and pot. The two adults leaned back on either side of the fire and watched John's face, flushed and shining in the light. The food they had eaten, the cigarettes and pot they were smoking had loosened John up so that he could no longer contain the flood of words.
"Why it was so good... I mean with Celie... Every kid on campus has hot pants for her, but they're afraid of her too. But I can understand why I felt the way I did when I was with her and after I screwed her, but not why Tom's prick in my arse felt so good. And I don't think I would've... I never would have been able to enjoy it if Celie wasn't there... and what a change... my feelings about Tom were so crazy, before he came in... 'cause I really dig him... you know he is the best teacher... Shit, the only teacher I have... the others are all like teachers, you know... some of them maybe are all right in their own thing, but they don't like- talk about anything... it's all so unreal... and I was fucking you, Celie... and thinking... that I loved you and I loved Tom and that it's really all right for me to fuck you because I love Tom... dig? But I was feeling like guilty and terrible too... 'cause I guess of all the bullshit that was laid on me when I was a kid... I mean you're not supposed to fuck the wives of guys that you like... and then like Tom had his prick up my arse before I knew what was happening and... I was sort of not letting myself think about what was going on... you know not letting myself think, but just feel. And his prick in my arse felt great, like I could feel it all the way through to the end of my prick and my prick was in you... "
He stopped speaking in a rush. Tom leaned back into the shadows and let Celie talk.
"Well... you sensed that we love each other... I mean Tom and me and you and me and you and Tom-"
"The Symposium." Tom's voice came from the shadows.
"Shut up, teacher!" Celie laughed, and continued: "You know if it was just lust, plain lust without love in Tom or me... you wouldn't want to go beyond just fucking me. It's a sure way to understand people, not fucking them but fucking and watching how they react afterwards. We had the new Dean and his wife to dinner a week ago. They are such colorless people, we couldn't feel anything good or bad coming from them, our feelings towards them were so absolutely neuter! We decided to drop over to then-place on Sunday. It was the dumbest thing we ever did. We made it with them both, sort of all right, but afterwards! They wouldn't look at us or at each other. She kept up a brainless line of chatter; he sat there with a grin that was a grimace on his face, with his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He's been trying to get Tom fired ever since, but won't say why or even show any animosity; he's trying to get him fired while insisting Tom is a nice guy. His secretary is a friend of ours. She says he is driving the president up the wall, and doesn't think the Dean will last out the academic year. Nothing good can come of fucking people you don't like. If there is a good feeling between people before, it will deepen, but you have to be careful."
They decided to go to the poetry reading. The student government had voted to spend some of its money for culture (they had a surplus of $16,000) and they had entrusted it to Sam Adams, because he taught Classics. This was the first event. Tom and Celie and Johnny squeezed through the crowded lounge. Students were sprawled all over the carpeted floor. The girls almost all wearing mini-skirts, sat cross-legged with their skirts riding up over their crotches. A poet. Their mouths were watering in a frenzy of purely cultural desire. Their eyes shone. Their hair shone. Clean and young and expensive.
They searched the crowd for friendly faces. Mac and Nancy were over on the far side of the room. They waved but it was impossible to get to them. Johnny saw his girl friend sitting in the front row with the culture hounds and hippies. She was talking busily with their friends. They squirmed through the crowd and finally found a clear space next to Barbara Adams, Sam's wife. Sam and Barbara Adams, who had two kids, looked like the archetypal faculty couple, bland and tweedy and healthy. Tennis-playing freaks. In reality they smoked dope all the time and were Celie and Tom's best friends on campus. At the front of the room there was a table where the lectern ought to have been. The table was filled with tape recorders, microphones, drums, amplifiers, and children's toy musical instruments, horns, drums, noisemakers. From the table a tangle of wire ran to what looked like every speaker in the entire college. The speakers were spotted all around the sides of the room. There must have been two dozen of them, one every few feet.
Sam came in, blond hair and rough tweed jacket, staggering, hidden under the weight of a huge bronze cymbal. Behind him came a smallish, intense, dark young man, carrying a brass hammer. Sam introduced-in his usual corny Ivy League style-the first poet of the cultural series, Mack Low; then he hunkered down behind the table so that he could get a good view of the girls under their skirts. The poetry started. Mack Low read in a low, musical voice, endlessly varied. The first part of the reading was very good, but got no response from the students who, instead of listening to the poems, kept looking at the equipment on the front table. Mack turned on three tape recorders. He had recorded his children screaming. Three separate shrill, discordant howls, repeated over and over blared from the banks of speakers. Mack Low leaned over a mike and yelled "DOOBEEDOOBEEDOOBEEDOO!" He seized another microphone and scraped with his fingernail, simultaneously bringing it close to the speaking mike and creating a wail of feedback. He attacked the huge cymbal with the brass hammer, rapped a tamborine directly over the spot where he had a contact mike taped on.
The students sat unmoving, not daring to show pain or displeasure on their vapid faces. If a poet was doing this it must have cultural value; it was their fault for not understanding. They all tried to look as if they found some meaning in the noise. Barbara had her hands over her ears. She was in pain. Tom asked her what the shit was going on. She didn't know. Celie, John, Tom and Barbara ran out of the room. Sam followed with bewildered agony in his eyes. Mack Low kept it up for a half hour, raising the volume higher and higher until all of the speakers were overloading and whining and buzzing. Sudden silence, then three crashes on the cymbals. Applause flooded the room. The five who had run away re-entered the room to find the students on their feet applauding wildly. Mack Low, dazed and unhappy, ran from their rapturous applause. Sam asked bun what he had been doing. The unhappy poet moaned and held his head until Barbara brought him three aspirins and a glass of water.
"Well," he explained, "I got so little response with my poetry, I wanted in some way to move those clods. Why didn't they at least ask why? I wanted to send them running out of the room, or have them throw something at me, or turn off my equipment. This place is a madhouse."
There was a party but John went back to his dorm, Celie and Tom went home. Tom always slept curled around Celie. He whispered good night and kissed her shoulder. He closed his eyes. Not sleep but a bolt of pure lust shook him. He turned her onto her back and started to lick her face. He ran his tongue into her ears and nose and mouth with equal intensity. He licked her neck and chest and tits. Tom grabbed her tits and licked the front of her nipples. He took a tit in his mouth and sucked until she cried out in pain. He took the other tit to suck. Her hands flew over his body. Her toes caressed his prick and balls. When he started to hurt her nipple she shoved her big toe up his ass. He turned her over onto her hands and knees. He rammed his prick up her arse, then her cunt. She reached under and across her own body and grabbing his balls kept his prick in her cunt. Celie started to wiggle her bottom. Tom smacked her arse.
"Be quiet and let me fuck you." He sank his teeth into her shoulder. She felt his prick splitting her belly. She couldn't control her movements. She slammed into him with the same ferocity he was showing. She met him slam for slam, she dug her feet into the bed, she moved her ass in sinuous circles while helping and meeting his in-and-out rhythm. Tom shot into her like an electric current. Her head and feet jerked towards each other, carrying Tom, riding along on her back. Tom held her as close as he could. He gently kissed her lips and her bruised tits. Wet little kisses that eased the hurt. Celie realized that no sperm was running out of her. He had shot his load so high and so hard. Holding each other close, face to face, their legs intertwined, the old married couple fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tom had a nine A.M. seminar on contemporary erotic poetry. John Wieners, Philip Lamantia, Joel Oppenheimer, Gil Sorrentino. The course was a little controversial because so many of the contemporary erotic poets were homosexual, but it was very popular with the students. He had been gone for four minutes when Celie, still abed, heard the front door bang shut. Johnny, breathless, ran to her. He started to kiss her as he began to unbutton his shirt. He kept his tongue deep inside her mouth as his pants, socks and shoes fell off. He probed her gums and the roof of her mouth. He learned her mouth over and over as if committing it to memory. His hands ran over her body until he could draw it in the air. He spread her knees apart and studied her sexual apparatus, first with his eyes and then with his mouth. All with huge enjoyment. She lay quiet with her hands folded underneath her head. He gobbled up her belly until his tongue could probe the inside of her belly button. Then back to bite her thighs with a sucking motion of his lips until she started to feel a warm tingle all over. Johnny shifted to cover her with his warm golden body, his legs over head, his cock waiting for her mouth. She stroked from his asshole to his balls, pressing harder each stroke. She slid her tongue up his warm hole feeling a hot turd within. She kept pressuring his asshole with her tongue while her hands kept up a steady stroking. "Celie, I got to shit."
"Go to the bathroom."
He slid off her and went, pulling her along. He sat down on the cold toilet bowl. His prick stood up, arching over to touch his belly. She took it in both hands, and while he started to feel the turd move to the bottom of his asshole, she sat down on his long skinny cock. She grabbed her clit and pushed it against the hard base of his cock. He tightened his sphincter muscles as he felt his cock and turd rubbing through the wall inside her. He gripped the sides of the toilet seat as she rubbed her clit and fingers against him. Celie set up a small wiggle while twining her legs around his for support. John started to groan, his head lolling back like St. Sebastian. The turd started to push out. John screamed as uncontrollable spasms shook his body. The enormous turd fell into the water with an audible plop, as then-orgasm subsided. His cock, now limp, fell out of her letting his sperm, and Tom's from last night, run between their legs-falling on his turd in the bowl below. They took a shower together. He lathered his hands and knelt to wash her cunt. He washed the soap off. As he knelt in the rushing water to bury his face in fresh sweet-smelling crotch they felt a blast of cold air. The bathroom door flung open and the shower curtain was pulled aside. Tom stood there panting, fully dressed for class.
"I really do not mind... " he panted furiously, "I really am glad... as you know... to have you fuck my wife... but to have one of the few students with brains... the only one in that fucking course with any brains at all... to cut my fucking class and leave me to spend two hours with those idiots!!! While you are fucking Celie!"
The other two were laughing uncontrollably. "Put your fucking clothes on and get to class!" Tom turned and walked out of the bathroom.
The laughing couple dried one another off and got dressed. Coming downstairs they found Tom sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee.
"You don't really have to come to class. I dismissed the idiots. None of them had read the book. There was no point in talking to them."
"Well as long as I'm all dressed," Celie said, "I'm going out."
"I'm gonna have a cup of coffee, if I may, Celie?" Johnny asked. "I read the book and there are some things I really would like to talk to Tom about." The two men sat at the kitchen table and watched Celie leave.
"I am not too much in a talking mood, John," Tom said. "How about doing something to cheer me up?... " He looked at the slim boy; his long legs and slim hips in the faded blue jeans could have belonged to an adolescent of either sex.
John looked thoughtful. "Well, I can try... "
"Come into the living room." Tom got up and walked into the living room with Johnny following. He sat down on the couch and patted the space beside him to indicate that Johnny should sit there. Johnny sat down and felt Tom's arm go around his shoulder; his head was turned to Tom's, his eyes unable to leave his. Tom held his arm around John's shoulders and gently pushed his body down until his blond head was resting on his lap. The damp blond hair stuck moistly to his soft wide-wale corduroy pants. Johnny lay with his cheek on the soft velvety material, feeling through the material the male heat, feeling Tom's cock grow bigger and harder against his cheek. Tom's hand was resting lightly on his neck and he pushed his head down until it was on his thigh below his cock. He opened his eyes and saw the long bulge under the dark material.
"Revenge, revenge," Tom chortled... "I am going to teach you something... do you know John Wiener's poem?
All about desire strikes in the night, Lover moves to beloved, mouths close upon mouths, In dark rooms cocks bulge against trousers, A dull image, to the sexually uninitiated...
"I'm sorry Johnny, I couldn't resist teaching... you... "
Tom grinned and his fingers lightly played along the back of the boy's neck, stringing themselves through his hah", which was clinging together in strings, still damp...
"Open my fly."
For a while after this instruction, the boy lay still, then he squirmed around, lifting his body so that he could bring his hands to the fly. Slowly he unzipped it to reveal a bulge of white cotton, where Tom's prick was straining against his underpants. Without further instruction the boy reached forward, gingerly with the tips of his fingers, and freed the hard prick from the cotton. It leaped out and he stared at the dark swollen seven inches, veins pulsing, brown and knobby. He had been holding his body erect so that he could get at the cock with his hand, now his head sank back onto Tom's knees, his eyes fixed on the erect rod inches from his face. For a long while he stared at it, then without any motion of his body, his arms began to encircle Tom's waist, both arms went wiggling between his back and the upholstery while he held him firmly. Then slowly he began to move his head forward, deliberately, eyes wide open. When his head was an inch from the prick he stopped and laid his cheek against the man's lap. His tongue moved out, and the tip of it touched the base of the cock where it emerged from the fly in a tangle of dark hairs. Slowly with just the tip of his tongue he began to lick at the base of the cock, around the sides, back to the base, all around, his tongue growing wetter and wetter, he ran it along his lips and out again. His lips took the base of the cock between them and he began to gently nibble up it as if along a cob of corn, up halfway then down again to the base, then up again and this time as his lips nibbled, his tongue darted out and in, again halfway up and stopped and held there, opened his mouth wide and took the whole base and lower half of the cock in, deep, sucking on, from the side, slowly and deeply, holding his head back, keeping himself by an effort of will from moving up to the top and gobbling, taking his time, feeling Tom's hips squirming underneath him, Tom's right hand lock onto the back of his neck and the other digging into his shoulder.
Hearing the gasp of pleasure as Tom jerked and moaned, Johnny again moved his mouth down to the base of the cock, buried his lips in the softness of the white cotton-covered balls where they bulged out of the pant's open fly as Tom twisted and turned, rubbed Ms smooth, peach-fuzzed cheek against the hard length of the shaft. Sucking at the balls through the underpants, licking them, taking very, very delicate half nips with his teeth through the wet material. Then he turned his attention back to that rigid rod alongside his cheek, he rubbed against it the skin of his cheek, turning his head from side to side, letting it brush against his lips as his head turned, against his nose, rubbing it all over his face, against his shut eyes and his forehead. Now his head's axis was parallel to the cock, his legs were falling off the couch and onto the floor, his knees bent, arms around waist, in the classical attitude of the cocksucker, he began again to lick up the base-towards the top, now long licks, up, halfway up, three quarters, all the way up to the ridge below the head, slow agonizing licks, up to the head, repeated again and again, his tongue all the way out, licking with the rough back part of his tongue, his whole tongue pressed flat against the cock, with a convulsive movement he opened his mouth and plunged his head over the upright rod, taking it as deep-not very, first cock he'd ever sucked-into his mouth.
Tom threw his legs around the kneeling boy's neck and clenched them, his hands both entwined in the boy's long hair he immobilized his head between his legs and with the boy's willing assistance, his tight embrace around his waist, he began to fuck Johnny in the mouth with slow rocking pelvic thrusts. The springs of the couch squeaking and groaning, their whole bodies rocking in unison. Skin on Tom's knuckles white as he grasped the boy's hair, tight fists, tufts of golden hair showing between the fingers, turned inward to drive the boy's head ever closer into his pounding crotch. Now his pulsing slowed, his hips moved more sinuously, in circles, his head thrown back, the agony of passion as too came with great slow hot spurts into the boy's sucking mouth. His hips stopped moving and he fell back, holding the boy's head still on his lap, gently now, fingers feeling his smooth throat move as he slowly swallowed the warm come. The boy lifted his head off the cock and lay it on Tom's lap and they relaxed there, the boy kneeling at the man's feet, relaxed, the dark fingers playing gently through the long blond hair.
"My turn now," Tom said.
"No, I'm too proud of myself. I really enjoyed it. Wow... I have a new girl friend. I'm gonna go fuck her. Not that I need to fuck a girl now, you understand?" He looked up at the older man, who understood.
"Who is she?... "
"Susan K... you know that little thin girl from the Chaucer class?"
"I certainly know."
"You mean...?"
"Yes, I mean."
"Well... wow-"
"I took her with me when I went up to the mountains last weekend... I've been planning to introduce her to Celie. Look, Mac and Nancy are coming over here for dinner tomorrow night. They need a baby-sitter; why don't you two baby-sit for them and then after dinner, all four of us will come back there around eleven. We've just started a thing with Mac and Nancy. Who are really very sweet... and by eleven you should have Susan flipped out... She would love to be buggered... Your cock would be just the right size for her first arse fuck. She doesn't know that she wants to be buggered though and for chrissake, use plenty of grease... " While the men were on the couch, making plans, Celie had gone walking in the college woods hoping to find some puffballs to fry for dinner. She had been brought up in the city and had never really adjusted to country life. The woods were damp under her feet. Her sneakers went through the top layer of fallen leaves, sunk into the wet rotting mass of vegetation below. Her sneakers got caught in the mud. Her feet were wet, her sneakers impregnated with mud. Celie decided she didn't much like fried puffballs anyway and ran home. Everything in the house seemed damp to her touch. She closed all the window shades and drew the curtains. The school had provided a handsome supply of logs and kindling. A fire would drive the damp away. She arranged the kindling and the logs. She stripped a birch log of its bark to start the fire with. It was a great fire. At last she began to feel warm.
She took off her sweater, then her skirt. Celie had firm small tits, she never wore a bra unless her dresses would not fit without one. She stretched out on the Persian rug, near enough for warmth, far enough not to get roasted. Celie could usually control her weight. She had only two fatal foods that tempted her tune after time. She was a glutton for ice cream and toasted marshmallows. Guiltily she went to the kitchen and climbed to the top of the cabinet where she had hidden a bag of marsh-mallows from Tom. She wet the twig she had carried in with her. Happily she went back to her place in front of the fire. She threaded five marshmallows on the twig. She leaned forward to hold them the proper distance above the fire. She carefully turned the twig, watching them turn a light brown. At last, Celie was starting to eat the second one when someone knocked at the door. She peered through the window. Jimmy Levy had come with the grass she wanted to give Tom for his birthday present. She opened the door, standing behind it so that he could not see her until he was inside, then she threw the door shut.
Celie always looked sexy when she was naked. To the stupefied boy in front of her she also seemed like an actress in some incredible stag movie. She was wearing nothing but sheer nylon bikini pants, brown almost the exact shade of her skin. In her left hand was a twig piercing four toasted marshmallows, around her mouth were the traces of the first one she had eaten. Celie always kept the same calm that was hers in ordinary situations. She offered Jimmy a marshmallow. He was blushing frantically, but took one and ate it. Celie slid one up the twig for herself and led him into the living room. She sat down by the fire. She waited, not saying anything until Jimmy-to ease his embarrassment-had to pretend to accept the situation as ordinary, and sat down next to her.
"How about a taste before I decide if I want it." Jimmy rolled a joint with less difficulty than he thought he would be able. His pretense of ease had, he noticed, almost become the way he felt. Celie put it between her lips (she had already thrown the twig with its burden into the fire). Jimmy leaned forward to light it for her. She held his hand steady with both of hers as she lit it. She took a deep drag, drawing the smoke down, making a slightly funny face to force the smoke to stay in her lungs. She passed the joint to Jimmy. He performed the same ritual. They passed it back and forth until a small roach was left.
Celie carefully put it out between her fingers and laid it on the flagstone edge of the fireplace. She nodded, it was very good. She felt a little silly. The pot had loosened Jimmy to the point where he could look frankly at her body. Between the heat from the fire and the effect of the pot her skin looked moist and glowing. The top of her bathing suit had only covered her tits, not a bit of skin more than was needed to let her stay on a beach with liberal nudity regulations. The white of her tits, crowned with nipples of a soft pinkish brown, were thrown into relief, looking larger and more prominent than they really were.
"Tom won't be home for at least three hours. He had to go to Boston today."
"That's nice, I mean very nice, I mean great."
Having begun to talk, Jimmy felt compelled to continue, to explain himself to Celie.
"For two years, since you came here I've felt like a clinical example (he was a psych major) of hopeless frustration. Whenever I fuck a girl I close my eyes and pretend it's you. I've followed you around, constantly hiding in case you should turn around and see me. I even stole a pair of your pants off the line in back of the house when I knew Tom was in class, and you had just driven off. I was only sorry that I didn't get a dirty pair."
Celie, without rising, took off the pair she had on and held them until he gathered the courage to take them from her. He hurriedly stuffed them in his back pocket, never taking his eyes from the skin they had covered. The bottom of Celie's bathing suit, in proportion, covered as little as the top. Her dark pubic hair stood out from the thin rim of white skin surrounding her mound of Venus, Celie lay down on her stomach. The Persian carpet, colored in rich dark blues, reds and greens, formed an erotic frame for her body. The cheeks of her ass looked large and white and soft. She propped her head up in her hands and silently waited. Jimmy ripped every button off his shirt and the one on his pants. He kicked his shoes off with such force they flew into the center of the room. He carefully squatted down by Celie's ass and ran his hand, eagerly yet fearfully, over the humps of flesh. Celie stretched like a cat. She relaxed, the only sensation she felt was the stroking of Jimmy's hand.
After a long, long time Jimmy lay down beside her, pulling her onto her side. He pasted every bit of himself against her holding her tightly to him. His tongue slid between her parted lips, staying on the tops of her teeth for a moment, then plunging deep into her throat, he explored her mouth. The tip of his tongue felt around each tooth, it slid over and under her tongue, and caressed the insides of her cheeks. He sucked and swallowed her spit like a man dying of thirst. Celie then insisted on doing the same to him. He lay passively, only his cock beat involuntarily against her. She finished kissing him. She moved upwards, to offer him her tits. But Jimmy firmly held her still, with his hands on her shoulders, holding her flat on her back. His prick made a lunge, impelled by the force of his entire body. Celie raised her cunt into position, easing, opening the way into her vagina.
As he entered he lost all control. Celie joined him, her vagina throbbing, milking his orgasm. Jimmy lay sobbing, covering her body with his own. Celie waited till his happy sobbing stopped. She licked the tears from his face, swallowing each one separately.
He rolled off her, burying his face in her tits. She held him in the crook of an arm, offering him a nipple with her hand. He sucked like a baby kept overlong from its mother's breast. Celie looked at the strong body nestled close to hers. He was dark and strongly built. Barely six foot, with large shoulders and powerful arms and hands, legs and feet. His arms were long enough so that one hand could hold a breast easily, his arm stretched across the broadest part of her back. His prick, already beginning to rise again, was on her thigh. She knew, before she saw it erect, that it was larger than any size the word normal could be applied to. Jimmy's dark red prick seemed to have a will of its own. As it grew, while he kept sucking her tit, it set up a tattoo against her thigh. Celie thought he must be ready to screw again. But he, instead, reached across her body. He raised his head over her other tit to watch his tongue lick the nipple. Celie felt her nipples growing, they seemed to want to burst the skin. Her throbbing cunt took up the rhythm his cock had set on her thigh. Jimmy put his hands on the rug, raising himself slightly over her. He rubbed his cock up her belly, twisting it into the soft flesh. Jimmy felt her hands wandering over his back. She worked a hand between the cheeks of his arse and caressed his balls. Her other hand sent a wave of pleasure through him, as her thumb penetrated his anus. His cock entered into her for the second time in fifteen minutes. This time Jimmy was in complete control of himself. He sucked her throat, carefully choosing a place that she would have difficulty keeping covered. Still with his cock laying hard and still inside her be called to her to open her eyes.
"Celie, open your eyes. Celie, let me watch you while we fuck. Please. Please look at me, look at me while I screw you." Celie opened her eyes. He supported her ass with his hands. Very slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, Jimmy began. As he moved, his cock grew harder and bigger. Celie felt her whole self being filled. She surrendered herself. She became one with the feelings rising from her belly, her eyes lost in his, sensing his blood pounding beneath his skin. Jimmy never changed the slow rhythm he had started with. She felt the warmth spreading from her womb as the tip of his cock pushed against it. Down her thighs, to her knees, to wrap her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Not with a shudder, but with a long wave of warmth. They rode with it mindlessly. For a precious few seconds fused into one by the engulfing wave of pleasure. They lay wrapped in one another's arms. It had been the best kind of fuck. Their pleasure had been great and equal. He finally moved to slide his shirt underneath her, not wanting to stain the beautiful rug that had provided the floor on which their dance had been done.
Celie was astounded in the change from child to man that Jimmy had shown.
"What happened to the kid I thought I seduced?"
"It was fear. But not of fucking; my sister started me when I was fourteen and she was twelve. You seemed as hip as the guy who taught us. Only my sister Barbara, and Leslie, both taught by Max, have the same walk that you do. I never met any other women who always looked sexy. I was so afraid that the quality of your body would be a sham that I made you into a myth. Barbara tells me I'm too irrational. I guess I am. That's why I'm majoring in psych. Max taught us never to let fear rule our minds or bodies. I'm his one partial failure. That's who the grass comes from. He split to Samoa and grows a few acres. Barbara deals; she's a failure. She can't stand making a profit on people she likes. Every now and then she meets a hopeless rich fool and that keeps her ahead enough to operate... Anyway you're real. I feel a bit foolish for not finding out any sooner. I don't have to split because of Tom, do I?"
"No. If you'll stay and have supper here I won't have to worry about his coming home; he'll dig you being here. What I mean is that he might not get back till late, and Boris called to tell me he's coming for supper. Boris is funny, and he is very strong and doesn't like not having his own way. I never met anyone else who was straight on everything but sex."
"He always seemed so urbane and elegant to me, although I only talked to him once in the coffee shop. We talked politics. I was surprised that he agreed with me."
"He's only worrisome when he decides that the time is now for him to stick that salami of a cock up your ass. No playing, no greasing, suddenly he unzips and charges. He's no fag, but he only digs womens' assholes, the smaller the better. We've tried to get him to go to a shrink. But mostly they're fools and the standard sex interpretations seem way off. I wish I could find a man like Reich. I think Boris would dig that."
Celie made a pot of Hu-Kwa, She and Jimmy drank some tea and smoked another joint. Celie started to remove the meal's raw materials from the icebox. She climbed on her sink to reach a package stashed in a top cabinet. Jimmy walked beneath her to look at her bare snatch. He helped her down. Her bare feet slid down his chest until her arse was over his mouth. He let his nose and mouth become surrounded. He sniffed audibly and made a sound of satisfaction. He kept her aloft, supporting her only with his arms around her legs. He carried her, with his tongue deep in her asshole, back into the living room. The front door started to open. He gently bit her arse and let her down.
Boris' family had to flee when the revolution reached Bulgaria. Luckily they were educated far beyond the level usual for the country's great nobles. Boris started school in Geneva; his parents worked for the League of Nations. He went to high school in New York; his parents worked for the United Nations... He rented the ground floor of a huge house a half mile from the campus. His home was the repository for the things his family managed to take with them, sent after them and picked up along the way. Over the years the collection had become truly fantastic. There was the desk of his uncle-the king. A sofa and two chairs, covered in the original brilliant quilted yellow silk. The dark wood inlaid with mother of pearl and lapis lazuli, that a cousin had kept in the apartment he used as a whorehouse. Boris had Faberge eggs and boxes piled in cardboard cartons in his basement. He had given Celie his mother's court cape, sable and black velvet. He had a gold dinner service, flatware for twenty-four with serving pieces. He had a room done in cheap Swedish Modern from Geneva, another room done in New York apartment house gothic saved from his parents' UN period. His walls were covered with murky middle-European romantic paintings and three elk heads an old retainer had risked her life to get to them. There was a cabinet of glassware Magnificent crystal mixed with Woolworths. Two walls were covered with shelves loaded with the remains of the family's dinnerware, mostly gravy boats and plates too small or too large to be of any practical use.
Over this hoard, Boris presided as if he were still the master of the family's estates. He was a large man with a lordly manner. Shopkeepers, whose bills he never paid, sold him only their finest goods, at a sizable discount. He never asked for the discount; it was automatically given. Standing on a rainy corner at five thirty on a cold New York December evening, Boris, even in dungarees, had only to raise a finger for a cab to pull over for him... His sexual peculiarity came about through his grandfather's enlightened attitude towards his serfs. His grandfather, knowing how morally hateful was the droit du seigneur his ancestors never failed to take advantage of, decided he could keep his authority yet keep his conscience clear if he fucked the maidens up the ass, leaving the greater joy to the husbands he assigned to them. There was an immediate uproar when the neighboring nobles heard of this. They begged and wept, fearing the fabric of society would ravel at this tear in their old customs. They tried to murder him, but he was beloved and protected by his peasants, many of whom gave their lives in his defense. To defend himself when among his peers, Boris' grandfather insisted that he preferred the narrower passage. He pointed out that the writhings, tears and moans of the anguished maidens made a pleasant diversion of a task often looked upon as a dreary duty, a necessary social function by his fellow nobles, who were so depraved by that time anyway that they mostly leaned to the peasant lads, ignoring the lasses but for the one ritual penetration. So for the protection of himself, his family and his work force Boris' grandfather began to insist to his closest friends, even to his children, that it was the ass of a maiden that was the finest thing a lord could put his prick to.
Anyway that was the story that Boris told. Like everything else about him, it was so fantastic that it had to be true. In all other respects Boris was always right. He was as good a cook as Celie and prepared all sorts of truly exotic dishes that his family had picked up in their migrations. Vietnamese salads with mustard, rice and beets. Magnificent sukiyakis (it was Boris who had discovered the Italian vegetable man.) All these dishes were prepared with the proper utensils, which Boris would dig out from his enormous basement. Saki sets and hibachis, samovars, special pots for preparing couscous and spits for roasting whole sheeps...
CHAPTER SIX
Tom was on his way to Boston in the Cadillac, a huge four-door, 1941 Caddy with stick shift, that more than anything else had set him off from the straight faculty members. Its body was covered with small dents and varicolored splotches where he had patched rusty spots with whatever paint happened to be available at the time. The hinges of the hood were sprung and the hood was held by down by a length of bright yellow, inch thick nylon rope which was tied into a complicated knot around the hood ornament. If it hadn't been for this monstrous car, Tom and Celie could have passed; their other peculiarities, such as were known at least, could have been accepted as the permitted eccentricities of college people. But this car, plainly, unavoidably, argued that they were un-American to the core.
The huge slow-turning engine purred smoothly. It could get down to eight miles per hour in third gear without missing, and up to seventy miles an hour in second-as Tom had found out when a friend was driving-for an hour without straining. Its huge weight kept it flat on the road as it went through the complicated curves of the highway interchange at forty-five (thirty-mile maximum posted) and peeled off onto the highway, Tom's foot flat to the floor accelerating it up to a steady eighty, where he held it. Tom always drove well over the speed limit and for some reason was never stopped by cops.
He drove down the interstate into the heavy traffic of 128 and expertly cut through the traffic until he got to the turnpike extension into Cambridge, where he slowed down to 65 and kept in lane. As he drove he thought about the coming evening. "Boris to dinner. We'll need another chick. Easy enough to get a student, but have to keep B away from her butt. Poor Celie." He paid the toll and rolled into Cambridge. Up Mem Drive and into the Square by the back way. He found a metered spot by the Lampoon building and left the Caddy there without putting a dime into the meter. The car had Oklahoma plates.
He walked through Harvard Square to the library, digging the girls in their boots. Cambridge girls look like the most beautiful in the world while you're in Cambridge. Impossible to believe that there are more beautiful girls than these in the world. As a matter of fact New York girls are more beautiful. He went into Widener and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. Getting a key out of his pocket he let himself into a small room with only a number on the door. It was a manuscript library. The room was filled with an enormous seminar table. The walls lined with iron shelves holding boxes of manuscript. In one corner there was a small card file. The room was empty except for one graduate student-female, not a girl, her species wasn't human, it was all too specifically grad-student. He looked at her. Polished Harvard variety. Something of a snipper, beautiful short haircut. Mixed blonde and dark, probably an expensive dye job of some kind, cashmere skirt and blouse, matching burnt sienna. Long sleek legs in stockings, her boots-expensive-handmade-we, on the floor bride her. She sat with her legs curled under her on the chair, working with shiny wooden pencils, each with a sharp, sharp point. A typical Harvard snipper. If she knew that Tom was not a Harvard man she would have chilled the air down twenty degrees, but he had let himself in with a key, he was one of the elect. She lifted her face, behind her glasses it was polished enamel. Subtle make-up brought out each feature of her small, well-boned face. Tom nodded curtly and went to work.
He got the box of Newman manuscripts down from the shelf without consulting the index and spread them out down at the other end of the long table. Getting his copy of Newman's works out of his book bag he sat down and began another long afternoon of collating the first draft against the published version. He noted the variants in the margin of his text. The two scholars worked in silence for about an hour, then the girl sat up and stretched. She pulled on her boots and took a pack of Marlboros from the alligator shoulder bag lying on the table alongside her work. She looked at Tom. He got up and joined her and they went out into the hall and down the stairs. Standing on the marble stairs by the main reading room they smoked their cigarettes and played scholarly one-upmanship. Tom knew the right people. (He also knew the wrong people, but did not tell her.) "Well, back to work." They walked down the dun corridor toward the small elevator that led from the main floor up to the special collections floor. Tom watched the fine, high-class hips move under the cashmere and wondered what she would think of Boris.
Back in the manuscript room, Tom opened the door and held it for the girl to walk in, withdrew the key and closed the door behind them. It was late afternoon and the light coming from the courtyard of the library was gray and colorless. The room was utterly silent. As the girl walked to her chair the swish of the nylon underclothes under the soft cashmere was very loud. He stood by the door and watched her kick off her boots. The flash of the dark band of the top of her stockings. He walked over to her chair and stood behind her. She began to bend over her work ignoring him. He put his hand on her silky hair and entwined it in his fingers. He turned his fist twisting the short silky light hair in his fingers, her head turned, her mouth half open, fine well-formed lips. He pulled her erect in her stockinged feet; her head came up to his chest. He took his other hand-his left hand-and put it on her arse. She was wearing, under the cashmere, a slip that felt like silk, and a panty girdle of some kind. He felt the hard elastic of her arse. He slowly moved his hands in circles over her arse, rubbing the soft fuzz of the cashmere against the smoothness of the silk underneath, pressing her hips against his hard cock.
Her eyes looked up at him expectantly. Her mouth half open. "Shit, you sure do wear a lot of underwear, baby." She grinned, trying to be hip. He swiveled around and sat down in her chair, pulling her down onto his lap. Her arms went out around his neck, and they started kissing. She was very experienced, too much of a leader. Her back was stiff, how could it be otherwise in that girdle thing? Tom decided that this girl was very suitable for Boris. He ran a hand up the smooth nylon of her stockings, they fitted perfectly. The difference between a Harvard graduate student-female and all other graduate students-female. His hand found the smooth skin above the top of her stocking and caressed it firmly. His finger worked its way under the elastic and cloth, and found her wet little hole, already pulsing. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She was one of those girls who come when you kiss her. He closed his mouth brutally over hers and manipulated her clitoris for a couple of seconds. Whammo! She came, as easy as falling off a log. Her mouth broke away from his and she gasped like a stranded fish. Slowly she subsided, snuggling into his neck, murmuring: "Oh thank you... thank you... " He let her grow all warm and snuggly then, without warning, pushed her off his lap onto the floor. She fell with a bump. His hand was tightly wrapped in her hair again. He pulled her onto her knees and at the same time stood up and unzipped his fly. His cock flew out in her face. She was on her knees on the floor, stockings ruined, runs starting up from the knees. His cock was in front of her face, his hand entwined in her hair was hurting her. His cock throbbed in front of her face.
She took it in her mouth and began to suck, slowly, mechanically. He pulled her erect again, turned her around, one hand went around her, all the way from the right and grabbed her left tit, held it hard, twisted it. She felt it growing hot and hard under his hand. The nipple strained through the layer of elastic, the layer of silk, the layer of cashmere, grew sensitive under his twisting hand. His other hand pulled her hips against him. He pressed his chin hard into her back, forcing her to bend over. While her arse was slammed up against him, he pulled up her skirt. Her arse was glued to his crotch, grinding and pumping, twisting and turning. His other hand now, the one that was not on her tit, was tearing at her underclothes, shoving the skirt and slip up, up, rumpling them around her waist. Now pulling at the tight elastic of her panty girdle, his fingers worked their way with difficulty under the waistband of the stretchy stuff and he pulled it down, down till it was bunched and twisted around her thighs holding her thighs together, pinching the soft flesh of her thighs. Her stockings hung in baggy ruins around her legs. He entered her cunt from behind. Holding her around the waist, bent over, he slammed his cock into her. Holding her tight, his hands raised her up off the floor, bent over, stuck on his cock. His hands locked around her waist and lifted her up entirely, He carried her over to the card catalog and lifted her half onto it, she grabbed it with her hands and hung on, her feet six inches above the floor. Her legs locked together by the elastic band of the rolled-down girdle, her cunt exactly at the level of Tom's cock. He released her with his hands and let her hang onto the cabinet while he rolled his hips with virtuoso ease, twisting and turning this way and that, playing curved arpeggios on her dripping vulva. Instead of increasing the beat, slowing it, slowing it. Each stroke bringing a whole wave of complicated warmth rushing from the tips of both of their toes through their entire bodies, opening vistas, universes, endless ages of sensation, that doubled on themselves and opened her vistas beyond. Until the room and world turned incandescent and soft with the gush of his juice deep into her pulsing twat.
They left the library together. In the Cambridge dusk, as the couples and groups of college people rushed through the Square with the excitement and expectation of the young and vital, shining in the gathering Boston gloom. And, unfortunately, said good night, for the girl, whose name Tom never learned, had been frightened by the depth and extent of the experience, unlike, fantastically unlike any other sexual experience in a life that was not at all inexperienced, good night and good-bye and she went back, safe, frightened to her husband or boy friend. Tom stood in the Square and cursed. He didn't have to go home to dinner, he could call on Cambridge friends, or go over to Boston where he had many friends both on Beacon Hill and in the junky bars of Boston-the most horrible junky bars in the world-but he felt that something was going to happen-he couldn't imagine what-back on campus tonight or perhaps tomorrow-if he stayed in Boston. He felt obscurely that he would miss something-he couldn't imagine what, but he had hoped to bring someone new, someone somewhat different from the narrow spectrum of students and faculty-home to dinner. Though on second thought, this type, was perhaps, not all that different. He walked to where the car was parked, glumly and slowly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
What Tom was precognizant of, afraid to miss, was the strike. It broke out the next day, just before Saturday lunch.
Tom came running home. His face was flushed, he was out of breath. "Hey Celie, look at this." He handed her a mimeographed sheet of paper. The kitchen help was striking the college.
"They've only been getting one and a quarter an hour. Even the old-timers aren't getting sick pay, vacation or overtime. Things would have gone along like that if Fink, the manager, hadn't fired a woman who slipped and sent a tray of glasses breaking on the floor. She's been working here for two years, ever since her husband's arthritis got so bad he couldn't work any more. Fink lost his temper when she started to argue with him and slapped her. And we've been busy with all sorts of causes not wanting, perhaps, to see an evil we might be able to do something to cure. There's a picket line around the kitchen. Why don't you join it and try to get whoever passes by to march with you? I'll go to the dorms and make announcements. It'll be great to actually do something and be able to see tangible results. They have to win. The whole situation is archaic. Hey, call everyone you think will join us on the line."
Tom ran out. Celie got busy on the phone. She went through the faculty phone list. Celie became more and more dazed as she became aware of the fear or indifference of most of the faculty. Even those teachers safe with their tenure, some with the fame and income of books and texts, said no, the administration would not like it, no-it was none of their business, no-Fink was doing a good job and his food was the best they'd ever had in a school cafeteria, and most horrible, no-those people were getting paid all they were worth, if the woman was careless she deserved to be fibred.
The only faculty members who were on their side were the oddballs. The Jews. Negroes. Even the very straight Chinese Professor of Economics. The fags. The art teacher Paul Harrap, a Swede. The foreigners and their friends, Mac and Nancy, Barbara and Sam Adams.
Celie howled to Barbara Adams. Barbara said she'd meet her on the line with her kids, and what else did Celie expect from such a bunch of motherfuckers.
Celie changed into her riot clothes. Comfortable pants and heavy boots, a jacket that had large pockets with zippers to close them so that she wouldn't be encumbered with a pocketbook. She felt pretty silly; this wasn't Chicago, but better to be prepared for the worst. Money, keys, identification, and hide the pot just in case. In case of what? She felt foolish enough already, might as well take care of all contingencies. The college doctor was a fascist fool who had left England because he couldn't make enough under socialized medicine. Celie called Doctor Perkins, a young obstetrician that all her friends used. Hurrah, he said, he would pack an emergency kit and be ready to come if she called. She called the union office in Cattleboro; they weren't interested. Cursing violently, she ran out.
Paul had his sketching class switch to lettering posters. Only five kids out of twenty-three agreed to do this. Celie met them on their way to the kitchen. Paul was very upset. They knew they lived on an apathetic campus. Nether Celie nor any of her friends had realized how bad it was. The thirty striking kitchen workers had, by the time Celie reached them, only doubled their number. They looked pathetic marching around the beautiful circular building. The college could be useful for a standard illustration of the New England College. Walls of ivy, duck and goldfish in the pond, a well-tended central green with elms so far saved from the blight-flowers, trees, dark grass and a clear blue sky above. The students were mostly from the richest suburbs of New York and Boston. One girl from Dallas flew home every weekend in her daddy's plane. The students were, for the most part, sure that Utopia was now. Since they knew no other way of life than their own, according to their experiences they were quite right. Some had never seen a slum. Many were for the first time, at college, meeting people, except for their own servants, who did not have as much as they had. To a few it was a shock, talking to the scholarship students, seeing that their teachers lived on a different level than their parents. Most of them closed their eyes, dosing their ranks protectively, doing well enough in class, but forgetting again for all time. The few who came alive were the rewards of the teachers, who would have dried up or left without them. Of course these were not the brightest kids, their cleverer sisters and brothers went to Harvard or Swarthmore. But these kids were not stupid, they were simply not bright enough to see through the system. They were the good kids of their generation.
The oldest cook had been elected spokesman for the group. George had lived in Cattleboro all his life. He was as insulated as any of the students. He was proud of being a cook and so was a good one. He earned more than the others. Until recently, his family had gotten along all right. One of his children had gotten very sick and in two days George had gone through his savings. He and his wife made too much for Medicaid. They did not fit in any group that was eligible for public assistance. The town hospital had no charity ward. Their doctor stopped charging them; he was the only one. George had been going about in a daze. Fink's behavior had crystallized his thoughts, awakened him to his rights and needs. Since Tom had the reputation of being a radical, George decided to ask him and Celie for advice. The campus cops had already told the strikers to leave the grounds. Fink was in the kitchen setting out cold meat and cheese and bread for supper. Tom pointed out to George that if they left, the school would hire a new staff. They had to occupy the building before it was locked. George talked to the others; they were afraid it would be trespassing. Tom talked to the faculty and students on the picket line. They liked his idea and entered the building. After Celie described to Fink what she personally would do to him if he didn't get out, he left, running a gauntlet of jeering strikers. Johnny called the local papers, Celie called Lew Shwartz, the only lawyer (and the only Jew) in town, who agreed to defend them. The workers, except for the women with small children at home, joined them. Celie called the dorms to tell the students there would not be any food served in the cafeteria until the strike was over, or they were forcibly evicted.
If the president had waited until the early morning hours he could have opened the doors for the cop:, and had them all dragged out before anyone knew what was going on. He was an impulsive man. There was a large crowd of students hanging around to see what was going to happen when every cop who operated out of the three towns surrounding the school showed up, sirens screaming. Hearing the sirens, teachers and students came running. Seeing the president about to unlock the door for the billy-swinging local cops, one of the girls, a silly girl madly in love with Tom, screamed "They'll kill them." A few faculty members and many students, catching her panic, made a wall around the building by adding their bodies, a living fence to be overcome. One of the three black faculty members was in front of the main door. The chief asked him to move, but he did not. The chief put him under arrest for obstructing justice; he called two men to drag him off. As the cops took hold of him, the black students, until then not thinking themselves bound in any way together, charged the police line yelling for him to run. Tom quickly opened the door, taking advantage of the confusion to pull him in. A few of the radical students had remained outside in case of emergency. They began to talk to the people around them. They explained the logic, the economics of the workers' demands. The stimulation of the situation made the students more amenable to thinking than they usually were. When they took a voice vote, the ayes for support were thunderous.
Again, if the administration had waited, ignoring the crowd, it would have broken up. They would have gotten cold and hungry and gone off to eat or they would have become bored. The police, under administration orders, came towards the students with their nightsticks held at right angles to their bodies, hoping to move the crowd until it broke up. The kids charged into the line of approaching police. All the resentment the local people felt against the snotty rich college kids came alive in the police. They clubbed and prodded with great elan. They kicked the fallen, they smashed out at faces and punched groins. The dean of women saw the daughter of one of the state's senators standing, in shock, with a broken nose, her face covered with the blood running from her scalp. She ran to help the girl, getting Mace sprayed in her eyes as a reward. The president of the college stood speechless, helpless. He could not move. The police chief used his transistorized bullhorn to try and call off his men. The local pressmen were having a field day. The campus photographer had her camera broken, her arm dislocated trying to protect it. Celie had called Dr. Perkins who drove up in the Cattleboro ambulance, its siren adding to the uproar. Lew Shwartz was standing well away, taking notes. Knowing each cop from childhood he wrote down who was doing what; they would not be able to argue about his ability to name each cop. The kids led by the black students started to sit wherever they were. That was it. The forces of law and order just stood there; the chief ordered them to their cars. Into a reporter's tape recorder Dr. Perkins complained to the president and chief of the unnecessary and brutal violence he had seen, and suggested a staff psychologist for the police force. He and his two aides did what they could. Two more ambulances were summoned. Seventeen students, six in serious condition, were taken to the hospital. The battle field cleared after the police left. A group of shocked faculty and militant students surrounded the president.
Tom and George had been helplessly looking through the dining hall's windows for most of the time the rioting was going on. Celie's practical nature asserted itself when she realized that the school administration would want to forget the whole incident as soon as possible. She realized that the best time to bargain for a new contract would be as soon as the president got his wits about him, enough of them to be able to sign his name. She called the roomful of people together to write a new contract. As the last cops left, Tom was finishing copying a duplicate copy of the workers' demands. They only asked for what they deserved. A straight weekly salary, time and a half for overtime, double time for Sundays and holidays. Health insurance, sick leave, two weeks vacation and a pension plan. George brought a copy to Lew who added the necessary legal terminology, checking to make sure that the college could be held to it in court. The president signed gratefully, happy to have the whole business over and done with. Hoping by being reasonable to exonerate the administration, to separate the administration from the excesses of the police.
All those who had been hurt recovered quickly. The S.D.S. sent an organizer to the campus the next day. As a result of the stupidity of the men in power, the campus was opened to radical political thought and activity. The small radical contingent swelled its ranks. The students, in general, became easier to reach in the classroom. A lesson had been learned. Something good had happened.
"Nancy, want to come over for lunch and meet the S.D.S. organizer?"
"Sure, the kids are at Mac's parents for a week. I have a deadline to meet. Right now I'm stuck and was hoping for a diversion."
Nancy came a bit early, wanting to question Celie before Morty got there. Celie gave her all the impressions and factual information she had.
"The novelist at work? All right. I don't mind being pumped for art's sake, when the artist is a friend. His name is Morton Feinbloom, he loves to explain that his father changed it to Fine, he changed it back legally when he was twenty-one. He graduated from Harvard last year with a B.A. in economics, says poli-sci is too imprecise. He is a middle mesomorph, in good shape; no, I haven't fucked him yet. I don't know if I want to. Tom hasn't fucked him yet either, he doesn't know yet if he wants to. He is too tan for this time of the year. Tom says Man-tan, I say sunlamp. His hair is long, but not too long. He keeps on frowning, quickly clearing his face as if he constantly had to remind himself not to frown. He always wears very clean work clothes. I want to ask him what kind of soap he washes his clothes in. Maybe he never gets any dirt on himself."
"You don't like him?"
"I don't know, he's very nice. Maybe too friendly and open. I'll bet he doesn't fuck, or not very much-enough for health's sake. Susan told me she tried and got a lecture on exploitation on the campus. I get the feeling that he's looking for something, but doesn't even know what it is. A rich kid playing poor. He doesn't realize that his teeth give him away. Wait till you see those beautiful teeth. I'll bet they're all capped. He makes me uneasy, because I feel so ambivalent about him."
"There he is walking on the grass towards the house."
"He has a very straight walk, Celie, forced, too precise."
Morty came in and the introduction was made. Morty told Nan how much he enjoyed her books, how necessary he thought good books were; they often added a dimension to reality. Morty wouldn't eat meat. Celie fixed him a plate of eggs with seaweed and cheese. He ate everything in sight, explaining that the meals at the school didn't offer him enough that was tasty; he'd been hungry since he arrived and too busy to spend time going to town to buy food. Making a joke of it Nan asked him if he thought the revolution began in the bedroom.
"In that women are exploited workers. They have the job that must be done, a job you can't goof off at if you love your kids and husband. Tied to their loved ones until they are old enough to leave home. Of course this goes only for the middle- and lower-class women. The rich ones often get in the doll bag, thinking their only function is to look good to their men. And the creative women, like creative men, can't be put in any category, can't be assigned any pattern of behavior. By agreeing to share a man's bed for any length of time a woman puts herself in an exploitable position. We at S.D.S. watch our brightest prettiest girls disappearing into the suburbs. They think that they've found a way to ignore the struggle. Their brains drop out with the first kid. They become copies of mothers they knew were evil and hated. It's very sad."
"I don't think I've atrophied, and Nan hasn't."
"That proves my point, you haven't any kids, and Nan is a writer."
"Is that why you seem afraid of girls?"
"I guess it is, although I've never thought it out before. They make me uneasy, now I half know why."
"You've also said that girls use men to do their struggling for them."
"More to be pitied then censured."
"The girls also change their men," said Nan. "They absorb their energies providing for them and their kids."
"The kids are the men's too."
Celie asked if he really believed that. He frowned while answering her, forgetting to clear the frown for the first time.
"No, I guess not. My mother ran my life until I got out of school. She said my not going for an M.A. was going to be the death of her. I try not to see her, she scares me."
Celie and Nan looked at each other, they couldn't help laughing.
"We're sorry, but you're the classic case. You take yourself too seriously. I bet you're really afraid of sex. You look too clean. I'll bet you think that sex is dirty."
"I fuck around a bit. A man has to."
Again Celie and Nan laughed at Morty. Celie's mind was filling with pleasant thoughts, about how she and Nan could help the boy. She glanced at Nan. As if she could read Celie's mind Nan nodded. They went into the living room. Nan, glancing at her watch, said she had an errand in town. When Celie saw her to the door she told Nan to wait an hour, then come back. Nan agreed.
Celie sat close to Morty, put her hand on his shoulder and asked him if he enjoyed fucking. He looked away and started to stammer. Celie turned his face towards her.
"Yeah, sure." Celie asked how much time he spent on each fuck. "I'm usually very busy, I don't like to waste time on things that aren't important." Celie kissed him and he responded to her kiss, opening Ms mouth to her tongue, but not moving his. She put a hand over Ms prick; he tensed up immediately.
"Are you afraid? Have you really ever fucked? Maybe you're very small and ashamed of it."
"I am not very small. I'm not afraid of you or fucking or a combination of the two."
"Come upstairs with me."
"No! What about Tom?"
"He doesn't mind. Besides which, I'm not a slave. Please come."
He stood in the middle of the bedroom, wooden, while Celie, very matter of factly removed her clothes.
"Hey baby, look at me. I really look pretty good for my age."
"I didn't mean to imply... You're really beautiful with your clothes off."
"Are you just going to stand there and gape at me?"
He started to carefully remove his shirt. He didn't pull at the buttons. He took a long time unbuttoning his shirt. He carefully hung the shirt on the back of a chair, going back to fix it when he noticed it was hanging a bit crooked. He sat down at the edge of the bed and began to untie his sneakers. Celie preened in front of a huge mirror that was placed on the wall at the foot of her bed. She waited patiently. She let him stand up and take off his pants, not making a movement towards him. Naked, he just stood looking stupid. Celie wondered if he realized that his prick was ready, even though his head wasn't. She lay down. He jumped on top of her ready to fuck. Celie closed her legs as tight as she could.
"I thought you were going to let me fuck you, wanted me to."
"I want you to make love with me, not to me-love not fuck."
He sat down. Celie pulled him down beside her. His prick had deflated. She started to kiss his toes. She kissed each toe, then sucked each toe, running her tongue between them. She worked up his legs with kisses and caresses of her tongue. He stayed stiff. She began to feel a relaxation in his tenseness when her mouth reached his thighs.
He tried to force her mouth over his cock. She wouldn't. She moved her body up over his until their mouths were even. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was in pain. She started to kiss him, lips closed. She held her mouth on his for a long, long time until he parted his lips to send his tongue between her lips. She let him force his tongue through. He finally put his arms around her, his tongue lying quietly in her mouth. His hands began to feel her back and then her ass. One of his hands caressed her face and shoulders. She slipped one hand between them and touched one of his nipples, He began to stiffen, the tenseness returning. Celie let her hand lie motionless, covering his nipple.
Again a long wait before he started to relax. She moved the hand lying between them, wiggling her ass-just a little bit. She moved her mouth to his chest. She sucked his other nipple. He groaned, and she sucked harder. Her hands ran up and down his thighs, touching his balls. Celie rolled over, pulling him on top of her. His eyes still tightly shut he took a tit in his mouth. He sucked while his hands ran over her. He put a hand between her legs, feeling her moist cunt. Awkwardly he felt the parts of her cunt. Still sucking, his hand found her clitoris and he gently began to rub it between his fingers. Celie pushed herself so that she could take his cock in her mouth. He started to fuck her mouth. She pulled her mouth away. He turned around, eyes still shut-squeezed shut. Celie put her legs around his back, raising her cunt into position.
With a moan, cock deep in her hole, he stayed still. Before he could start what she knew would be a frantic slamming, Celie made a gentle roll with her hips. He lay passively, letting her hips work. His pelvis involuntarily began to move slowly in and out, his prick sliding in and out. Celie gave herself up to their rhythm. His lips found hers, his tongue slid onto hers. His cock kept the same steady in-and-out until she tightened the muscles of her vagina. He came with a steady spurting, matching the contractions in her cunt.
"Oh god... I wasn't there... I didn't do anything... I was moving without any thought, my mind was in my cock... I never felt like that before. Celie, come away with me."
"It can be like this every time, Morty-with anyone you fuck. You have to let your body rule your mind sometimes, we've been trained to think too much, never to trust our bodies. It wasn't me. It was you and me that made it good. You can do it for yourself and whoever you want. Nan should be here soon; we'll make it together."
"Oh Celie no, are you crazy...?"
"You can't even protest with any real feeling; you're hooked on sex, honey."
Morty discovered the mirror hanging in front of them. He watched himself, studying his face. He watched himself suck Celie's tit. He delighted in seeing Celie's face taking on a sexual thickness. He caressed her face, letting his thumb slide between her teeth. His fingers learned the inside of her mouth, her nose and her ears. Celie arranged their bodies so that he could watch her sucking his prick.
Nan entered, naked. She crept out of sight, to the bed. Celie was running her teeth gently up and down his cock. Nan stuck her tongue up his asshole. He started to jerk away, but his heart wasn't in it. The two women rang all his changes. Nan covered his face with her heavy boobs. His senses became submerged in the women. Wherever he was, he was surrounded by the women. He licked Celie's cunt while Nan sucked his balls. He watched them lick each other's cunts, his prick rubbing over both of them. Nan sat on his prick. Celie licked her ass, sending her forefinger up his hole. Morty took one of Nan's tits, holding it in his mouth, squeezing it gently. Celie took Nan's tit from his mouth. She lowered her cunt over his face. He gobbled her while her hand squeezed his nipples. His hands frigged Nan's tit while she moved up and down on his prick. Noises came from his throat. Celie and Nan leaned across his chest to kiss. The three moved as one. He watched Celie's ass, so close it almost pressed his eyelids shut. Nan started to wiggle as she moved up and down; they came together. Morty felt it would never stop. The warmth of their orgasm spread a flush over their bodies. Celie had never seen Nan look so lovely. Her heavy body sank on Morty's chest. Celie held them both.
Celie heard the front door. She got up, quietly closing the bedroom door. She left them sleeping. Tom looked up as she started down the stairs. She put her finger in front of her lips telling him to be quiet. They went into the kitchen. Celie told him what had happened.
"That boy is sure lucky today," Tom said. "Mario stopped me as I was driving by the greenhouse; he was on his way here with some goodies. He was in a hurry, a delivery to make in Providence, so he was happy for once, not to have to come out here to give them to you himself. He said that it almost hurt him to pick them so young. But that it gave him great pleasure to give you something no one else could."
Tom emptied his book bag over the sink. Mario had been princely. There were baby green peas, yellow squash, tiny lettuces, the youngest of pickable carrots, red salad bowl lettuce and two perfect, huge ripe tomatoes. "Wait, the best is outside." Tom went to the porch. He returned with a huge gardenia plant, covered with sweet smelling flowers.
"I think Mario feels shy away from his vegetables and flowers. You're only his second woman. He's never loved anyone but his mother before. I think his gratitude and affection overwhelm him."
Celie lifted the beautiful plant onto the table. There was a note propped against the stem, held by a bit of green wire. As Celie read it her eyes began to glow with happiness. "Tom, he's going to get married; he thanks me and says he'll always love me too."
"I feel as if I have won two battles against the forces of evil today. It's amazing what a little love mixed in with the fucking will do." Nan came in, ready to go home. "He's still asleep, I think I'll get back to work again. Hi, Tom. Oh! Mario finally sent the gardenia. He told me all about it. He's been hiding that plant for months, waiting until all the flowers would be out... Bye."
Celie washed the vegetables with great care. The pale colors of the vegetables glinted wetly against the white porcelain of the sink.
"Did you have a good day, Tom?"
"Yeah, but dull except for Anne. The madness that makes a thing that's never been fucked into a dean of women! Never had any strong physical sensation her whole rife until the goddamn strike. Ever since that creature got sprayed by Mace she's been cornering me to tell me about her latest revolutionary insight. She's just as crazy and uptight as she was before. She's just changed sides. A female Stalin, what a creep! She thinks the kids ought to be forced to run the school themselves. Finances, admissions, you name it and she'll say the kids ought to do it themselves. She thinks the only unimportant thing is what they learn in the classroom. Maybe she's right. But she can't think in any terms other than must do, forced to do, the right thing to do, ugh. Her latest ideas have been turning to sex. The only sex that woman has ever had any connection with is the breeding of her goddamn sheep dogs. And I know she sends them to a stud farm for that. My god, I feel sorry for her, but I don't like her. She realizes she can't do her job because she doesn't understand the girls' feelings about the boys. To prevent any of our students from getting into the same bind, she thinks that they all should be required to fuck once during the four years they are here. She's already started to program the computer to pair them off. There are fourteen extra girls, but she figures the fourteen strongest, healthiest boys ought to be able to manage two girls in four years... "
"The nightmare of a mad cartoonist."
"At least," said Celie, "we can laugh at her now. She used to be such a dark creature. It's an improvement. I think she's headed for a nervous breakdown. I'm sure they could never find anyone else as awful to replace her. Things are getting better all the time. Our little bit of action is sure making waves."
Celie ground some black coffee beans, filled the perk, made their coffees. Tom drank a cup, sitting at the kitchen table, watching her fix supper. She had two red snappers to grill for her and Tom, and three potatoes to bake. She got out some chicken fat rendered with onions, to put on Tom's and Marty's potatoes. She crumbled feta cheese into her salad bowl-a rosewood bowl, rubbed maroon over the years. All the vegetables Mario had sent got cut or torn and thrown into the bowl. A little oil, a little vinegar, a pinch of sugar, salt and pepper, stir together. Cut the bread, take out the butter, supper was ready. Enter Morty right on cue.
"Uh... uh... in Tom."
"It's cool, Morty."
"Uh... yeah."
They ate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was late at night. The library was closed and dark. Only Tom in his office. Finally he covered his typewriter and sat back. He stretched and got up.
He walked through the dark library, turning on lights wherever he went. He looked in each one of the students' little carrels. Some of them were assigned to students writing honor theses. He looked through the papers and notebooks left in each carrel, especially looking at the doodles on the endpapers and the last few and first few pages of the notebooks, carefully searching for private letters which were often left in the carrels which the students felt were more private than the rooms, most of which were doubles.
Nothing new of interest tonight. He went back to his office, shutting the lights off behind him, carrying a stack of magazines he had gathered in the current periodical room. The Nation. The National Review. The American Journal of Philology. Orthopsychiatry. The American Sociologist. Folklore. Paris Match. He sat down in his office and lit a cigarette. Began to go through the magazines.
Growing bored, he threw down the magazines. Turned off the office lights, opened his desk drawer and took out a telescope. Bushnel, thirty power, mounted on a short tripod. He set up the tripod on the window ledge. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he began to scan the windows of the dormitory opposite. The powerful telescope brought him right into the dormitory rooms. It was a modern dormitory, built with federal loan funds, bare and functional. The big windows filled the entire wall of each bare cubicle. The students were very ingenious in their decorations, converting the peas-in-a-pod similar, concrete-block cubicles into warm interesting spaces with the simplest of materials. Bottles stood on most of the window ledges. "Dead soldiers." With dripped candles in some, dried grasses, flowers from the little flower man who appeared at the edge of the campus with his truck three times a week.
Tom moved the glass slowly from room to room. On the third floor, directly opposite his window, a brightly lit room with the curtains wide open. The girls' floor. The girls were often consciously or unconsciously exhibitionistic. Ever since he had begun to teach at colleges he had noticed it. Had seen hundreds of girls parading before their dormitory windows in underwear or nothing. He focused his telescope on the lit room and waited.
The dark girl who usually sat across from his office came into the room. He gave a little start. She stood in the middle of the room, looked out the window towards his office. Her face was so close he could touch it. It was touchable, full of yearning for him, with a certain hopelessness and a certain pleasure in the hopelessness. The girl was wearing a gray T-shirt, marked "Property of Williams College-Athletic Department". Her wide young breasts poked heavily through the material. She threw herself onto the bed and lay there. Presently she got up and looked at herself in the mirror. There was a standard bureau with a mirror in each room. She stood in front of the mirror and regarded herself carefully. Then she pulled the T-shirt over her head. She sat down in front of the bureau and let down her hair. It was long and dark and heavy. Picking up a hairbrush she began to brush her hair with slow and regular strokes, regarding herself closely in the mirror as she did so. As her arm raised in the slow stroking of her brushing motion the black hair under her armpits stood out, startling against the white of her brassiere. Her tits were young and heavy, and swelled up into two high white mounds where her bra pushed them together.
She brushed her hair for many minutes. Then she stopped and put down the brush. She stood up and reached behind herself and unhooked the bra. Her full globes fell out and she threw the bra aside. She started to massage the borders of the tits where they bad been held by the elastic bra. Through his powerful telescope Tom could see the faint red lines left by the elastic around the soft whiteness. She pushed heavily with the heel of her hands, in from the outside, massaging the red lines out. Her hands went underneath the heavy globes and they fell forward, hiding her massaging hands. Huge young tits. With upturned nipples. Her hands made slow languorous circular motions against her rib cage under the heavy tits. Her thumbs went out to the sides of the tits while the flats of her hands remained buried under the heavy roundness. Her shoulders arched and moved as she, heavily, slowly massaged and soothed herself. Tom watched her thumbs move more and more from the sides out onto the actual tits. Moving in slow circles, massaging gently, her thumbs moved closer and closer to the nipples. Her hands closed, till she was squeezing her tits, gently but firmly, between her thumbs and the sides of her index fingers. Her hands clasped around her own rib cage again, slipped up onto her tits, until she had covered her own tits with her hands, was grabbing them roughly, squeezing, milking them, her eyes fixed on the brightly reflecting mirror, her back hunched with passion.
Her right hand was creeping down her body and her left was creeping across. Now she was holding her right tit closely with her left hand, her left tit crushed under the forearm. The hand was squeezing the left tit from underneath, while the thumb moved back and forth across the nipple. Her right hand was creeping down her belly, slowly and reluctantly, her upper arms clutched tight to her sides as she rocked from side to side with passion, as her hand slipped under the waistband of her skirt. (In his dark office, Tom had his cock out and was jerking himself off very slowly.) The girl's eyes started to close, but she forced them open and looked at herself in the mirror as her hand groped under her skirts and found...
At that moment the door behind her slowly opened. The engrossed girl did not notice it. Another girl-undoubtedly the roommate-stood in the doorway. With a quick glance she took in the scene and closed the door silently. She stood by the doorway without moving, watching the dark girl. The roommate was the antithesis of the dark girl in build and coloring. Tall and angular. Short blonde hair. Square face, flat chest, long bony legs. Her flatness and straightness would have been grotesque in an older woman. But with the youthful coloring and movement, with her angular coltish grace, she was quite attractive. Her eyes fixed on the dark girl whose hand was frantically beating under her skirt. Both girls dressed much alike. The same blue denim short skirts and bare legs. The dark girl's legs round and rich, the blonde girl straight and clean. Tom watched with bated breath as the blonde girl watched the dark girl. As the dark girl's passion grew her eyes screwed themselves shut. Her legs tensed and straightened, her hips began to drive to assist her flailing hand to bring her to where she wanted to be.
The blonde girl watched the dark one's eyes dose; and kicked off her loafers. On silent bare feet she moved across the floor to behind the dark girl. Now watching herself in the mirror, the blonde girl stood immediately behind the other-who twisted and turned and flailed at herself. She leaned over and slipped her hands under the dark girl's arms, firmly grasping her by the tits. The dark girl opened her eyes and looked up at the blonde face of her roommate looming over her. Their mouths sought one another hungrily. With the kiss the dark girl came-and sat still. Both held the position for a moment, then broke. Their lips moved but Tom could not imagine what they were saying. The dark girl got up and they stood facing one another in front of the mirror. Their eyes fixed on one another and the dark girl began to unbutton the blonde's little round-collared blouse. She was wearing no brassiere. She didn't have to. Her tits were very, very small and hard and firm. But they were there. She was a girl. They were the tits of a twelve-year-old, little swellings, pointing out away from one another. The two girls in their skirts stood and faced one another.
Then they slowly began to take off their skirts.
The dark girl was wearing those stupid underpants. Tom didn't know what they were called but he hated them. They were like Bermuda shorts made of flowered nylon. Defeated the whole purpose of a skirt so far as he was concerned. On the dark girl's full round hips they looked absurd, especially, hanging as they were, the elastic at the waist loosened by the frantic action of the frigging she had just given herself. They stripped down entirely and stood next to one another before the mirror. The ultimate contrast. One all lines, angles, light, planes, a graceful figure by Giacometti; the other full, dark, round-dark bush against white belly. The thin girl's scanty bush disappeared against her golden loins. They devoured one another with their eyes, then turned to the bed. Taking with them a tall thin wine bottle, wrenching the candle out of its mouth. Bottle, girl and girl, they fell into the bed. The lights went out. Tom cursed.
He ran out of the library, his cock throbbing against his pants. He wanted those fucking girls. Could he get into the dormitory without causing a fuss? There were a lot of square kids on campus. What the fuck was that dark girl's name? Maybe... things were less uptight since the strike. But he didn't want to make unnecessary waves. If he just walked into the dorm without asking anybody anything, as if he knew where he was going... but he didn't know. He panted across the campus, stood in front of the dorm. Shit! There were two kids sitting on the dorm steps. Friend or foe?
It was Lynn Whelen, the smart girl from his Chaucer class. Who was she with? He slowed down. No sense trying to break into that scene. It would just freak them out. Lynn saw him coming. She sat on the steps. The other figure got up and went into the dorm. Better and better. He had run out of the library without a coat. The night air was cold. He was shaking. He walked over to the steps and sat down next to the Whelen girl. Looked at her. Very thin, but big tits.
"Hi."
"Hi." Shit, she did have big tits. Almost unnatural on such a thin girl. They were beautiful. Under her sweater she was wearing a bra. He could see her nipples standing up ha the cool air. He let his eyes run down over her tits and wondered if she had any dyke tendencies. He had always suspected it. Her hair was short and dark. Square face and full sensual lips. Slim, sum, slim hips, narrow shoulders and those lovely big jugs.
They sat without words. The stars over the campus were bright in the fall air. Tom was shaking. His cock was throbbing. He did not want to be seen walking away from the dorm with the girl. There must be dozens of unhip eyes on them now.
"What are you doing out so late?"
"Taking a break. We're working on the play. Dress rehearsals tomorrow. I am doing the costumes and a couple of bit parts."
"Waiting for Lefty, you mean?"
"Uh huh... "
"The strike... huh?"
"It sure has changed everything... I'm sorry I never got up to your office... " She was shaking too. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself around the waist. Her hugging arms lifted her tits.
"Are they rehearsing now...?"
She nodded. "Can I come down and watch...?"
They walked down to the theatre together. This was cool. The lights in the art building threw bright reflections over the pond from which a cold mist was beginning to creep, distorting the reflected light into tall columns of luminous smoke. The Arts Building was brand new and fantastically well-equipped. Like so many colleges now they had a super professional light board and sound system in the theatre, lifts on the stage, and so on and so on. The excellence of their dramatic performances had fallen off rapidly since the acquisition of these toys. The performance of Waiting for Lefty was going to try to do without the shit. They would operate in a bare auditorium. House lights and no others. With one mike attached to a portable PA system. The play was written for, and worked best with, limited resources.
Tom hoped that the self-conscious limitation of resources would convince the students to abandon the Arts Building. He had been trying to teach how creativity was related to limitation of shit. Ah well. The best thing about the performance was that a lot of the kitchen and buildings and grounds staff were going to take part in it. The play (he thought that Sam Adams had suggested it to the students) was going to be the celebration of their new-found community. Tom cursed himself. He found that he was talking a mile a minute. Lecturing. He always hated himself at these times. He was talking because he was interested in what he was talking about, but his flow of analysis and wisecrack, quotations, parallels, was being converted by the wide-eyed and adoring little girl into wide-eyed adoration. "Head fucker... head fucker... " he muttered.
Tom's balls ached. He walked gingerly, cursing himself. Everytime I get blue balls I start to talk. Shit. What am I doing?
They got to the auditorium. Lynn started to sneak the door open quietly so as not to disturb the actors.
"Hey, no... let's go up to the projection booth and watch from there."
They climbed up the narrow stairway to the light booth. It was dark and deserted. Below them the actors were working over the movements. The director, a student, sat in the middle of the house with a megaphone. Sitting in the row behind him, the faculty drama boss-a stupid faggot, hated by all the kids, but a personal friend of the president. He always wanted to do Broadway plays... This was the first play that the kids had managed to pick for themselves and to get their own director for. The faggot sat with compressed lips, saying nothing.
They leaned over the window of the dark projection box, looking down at the hall below. Close together, Tom's arm around her shoulders. The hall was brightly lit, all the house lights up. They were invisible in the gloom of the projection booth. Tom let go of the girl and turned to lock both of the booth's doors.
They embraced and Tom marveled at the richness (of the lovely titties. Deep and warm and soft at front, the side muscles hard and firm, holding them. His hands ran up under the sweater in back and over the slim back, feeling each vertebra standing out hard, the curve of the spine into the sum arse, with just a coat of firm muscle to give it the form of a girl's arse. Two little hard humps under his hands. He held her gently to him savoring the richness of her tits and, holding firmly to her arse, slid down to his knees. He slipped his head under the waistband of her sweater and into that warm tent, slid it up the column of her slim belly, his lips brushing the smooth skin until he buried himself in her breasts. The whole world was closed under the sweater except for those marvelous tits, pressing and smothering his face. The dark warmth slightly moist under her sweater. The clean young girl smell, nuzzling between them; he turned his head buried in her cleft and kissed this side, then turned the other way. His head kept moving back and forth; her arms went around his head-pressing him to her, holding him deep in the soft warmth.
Under her sweater, still on his knees, head still deeply buried, deep, he murmured: "Take off your jeans... uhmm... " He felt her hands undoing her jeans and slipping them and her underpants off with one quick motion... "My fly, my fly... " She didn't need his urging. Fumbling slightly, she undid his zipper and with gentle, warm, fingertips helped his cock out of his pants. His lips found her nipple under the sweater and sucked deep. His mouth opened wider and wider and he sucked as much as he could of her rigid tit into his mouth, sucking gently. His head moved in small circles, rubbing the smoothness of the other tit against his cheek, against the whole side of his face while, his hands on her buttocks, he leaned backwards on his knees and guided her down, never letting go of the mouthful of tit, guided her down onto his upright cock.
Her slim legs were wet down the thigh with her young girl juices and still his cock was too big for her tight little hole. She was a small girl. Her tits were misleading. Her arms around his leg, she sat down, was half pulled down, gently, slowly onto his cock. Her legs went around his arse and locked there. His hands slid up to her waist. His cock was in her five inches, probing against the tight rink of the cervix, stretching the smooth mouth of the vagina which trembled and contracted.
Holding hard to her tit with his lips and sucking mouth, he swayed from side to side on his knees gently... Down below in the theatre the actors... twenty or thirty of them were yelling... "STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!" His hands on her waist began to drive her further down onto his cock in time with the angry chant of the players, in counterpoint to the slow, voluptuous swaying of his hips, which, at each sway, caused his mouth to pull hard at her sucked-in tit, stretch it and jerk it wildly as his hips swayed wider and wider from side to side. His hands pushed her down harder and harder... "STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!" rose the insistent chant. She was yelling now too ("STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!") as his cock drove deeper and deeper into her. He felt it penetrating. Felt the elastic walls of the vagina stretching, the cervix stretching; incredible amounts of moisture were flowing from the walls of her pounding cunt as it stretched to take his huge cock. It drove in deeper and deeper until he felt their mounds scraping together, hard bone and rough hah", her curly hair rubbing hard against him, lubricated by her plentiful juices. He locked her with his hands almost meeting around her thin waist, her arms now jammed, hard, doubled around his head and-kneeling-their bodies plastered together, mouth to tit, going to groin, he circled on his knees, making great insistent circles. Swinging her body around, sucking hard and deep in time to the swing of their bodies, the pounding of her wildly contracting cunt, the chanting of the cast... "STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!"... until they both exploded, merged into fragments of consciousness, cascading through the air like the fire fountain of a sky rocket, flaming bits falling through the dark air, merging into, turning into, tall columns of colored incandescent fog of pleasure, of sensation, of pure rhythm.
Still as statues in the same position, turned to stone by the intensity of the pleasure, sleeping. In a coma. Tom still on his knees. His cock still in her. His head resting softly under the dark sweater on the dark warmth of her breasts. She held his head and rubbed her cheek against his hair through her sweater. Held him now gently. Down below, the lights in the theatre were going out. The actors were leaving for the night.
CHAPTER NINE
"No politics tonight, huh?"
Mac looked around at his friends at the dinner table. Celie and Tom and his wife. They only filled up one end of the big table that he had bought from the college when they refurnished the classroom buildings.
Celie smiled. "This party was supposed to be held Hie night of the strike... Not that the strike hasn't been the best thing that ever happened to this dull-arse college... "
"Uh... uh... that's politics Celie," Mac said. "You got us the most beautiful baby-sitters. I wanted to stay home with them myself."
"They'll be there when you get back."
"If I have any energy left."
"We're having raw oysters and a raw spinach and mushroom salad, with a raw egg in the salad dressing."
"Christ, can't you two think of anything but fucking?"
"I was planning an elegant, cooked meal, but Barbara called and asked me if I could watch the baby for a few hours. She doesn't get out much."
"I asked her if she didn't get bored," said Nan. "She told me that she's busy observing. When that baby stops being such a problem she's going to write a book about us-a dirty book."
"Well," said Tom, "I saw her this afternoon! She'll have to write herself into it."
"I am tired of all this gossip. When Tom and I get back to New York I am going to busy myself with worthy causes. There's nothing to do around here but fuck, eat and sleep. I loathe the country."
"The city's changed a lot. You'd be fighting the dirt and noise."
"It's worth it. Everyone is so much more awake, aware and alive."
"Celie, my love, since when have you stopped liking to fuck, eat and sleep?"
Celie brought out a huge platter of oysters. Mac sniffed the plate as she passed by with it. "Smells like cunt to me." Tom brought out some gold. They decided to get stoned before eating. Celie welcomed the idea, the slippery, slimy bivalves were appearing less and less palatable to her. Tom owned a pleasantly shaped non-ornamental water pipe. They passed it around.
Nan had never smoked much of anything. She got high faster than anyone else. She took up an oyster in its half-shall, sprinkled some lemon on it, dropped a drop of tabasco over the drops of lemon and... "Ah... Gulp... What a groovy taste."
"Tastes like cunt to me." Mac grabbed for another one. Tom, and then Celie each swallowed an oyster. They sat marveling at the slippery feelings the oysters left in their mouths. Making funny, slippery noises while their mouths were filled with oysters.
It turned into a friendly contest-who could make the most oysterish sounds. Nan won with a slurp that seemed to slide down her belly. Celie asked her how she ever managed to get such a sound out. "I thought of eating Johnny," she said. It broke them up. They sat on the living room floor, finishing their supper and discussing the students.
They had seen so many kids come and go, so few who were without guilt about sex. Nan said, "I think that's why so many girls don't get coils, or take the pill or even use a diaphragm. When they get pregnant they think that they are getting what they deserve. Since they're aware that to their mothers they were a necessary evil they think of all children in those terms. To them having a baby means the end of youth and fun, the taking on of a great burden."
"They all fuck," said Tom. "Some just because it's the thing to do. It's awful how few really let themselves enjoy it. By the time they get to college they're lost. For all the sophistication they exhibit I think they'll foul things up like their parents did."
"I simply don't, and never will, understand how people can approve of war and put down sex." Mac was on his favorite lecture topic. "We've been talking this over before; all we can do is agree with Reich and call it emotional plague. Shit... it's nice to be able to pin a label... What the hell!"
"Sometimes it makes me take myself too seriously," said Celie. "Every time I screw a kid I think I'm saving the world."
"You are!" Mac looked thoughtfully at Tom. "I've never been screwed. I buggered a bit in the army, never could stand the idea of being buggered. I've become a bit obsessed with it; the feminine part of my nature has been too repressed. It was Johnny who first attracted me tonight, but it's Tom's prick I've been wanting to feel up my ass. Oysters, talk and the weed, I feel freer of learned restraints now than I ever have before in my life."
Mac reached to Tom, who was sitting next to him and took his hand. "Fuck me, Tom."
Tom put his arms around Mac and kissed him on the mouth. Nan and Celie moved into an unobtrusive corner. They sat leaning on each other, watching. Both Tom and Mac were shoeless, dressed in turtlenecks and dungarees. Tom stood to take his clothes off. Mac watched, his eyes never leaving Tom's groin. Mac rose, and removed his shirt. Tom went to him and opened the waist and fly of his pants. Both men were very erect. Celie had tiptoed to the bathroom. She slid a jar of grease close to Tom. Tom bent to kiss Mac's asshole. He slid his tongue in and out while his hands clasped Mac's cock, holding him around the hips. Mac's feet melted. He sank to the floor, pulling Tom over with him. Mac squeezed Tom's body to his, their cocks rubbing against one another, their tongues filling each others mouths. Mac's breathing filled the room. Mac lay there still, fearing to move. Tom moved away, gently stroking Mac's face, then running his hands along Mac's side, Tom turned him over. Tom took a fingerful of grease. He started to grease Mac's asshole. Mac tightened his muscles for a few minutes. Tom quietly stroked his greasy forefinger in and out until he felt Mac relax. He twisted his thumb into Mac's ass, twisting both fingers up as far as they would go, while greasing his own cock with his other hand.
Nan and Celie sat, forgetting to breathe, watching, aware of the wet feeling between their thighs, their hands lying still in their laps. Tom quickly but smoothly plunged his cock into Mac's ass. Mac lifted his hips off the floor in a violent bucking motion; he came. Mac lay prone on the rug again. He reached his arms behind himself around Tom's back, holding him close, turning his head to rub his cheek against Tom's. Tom started to move as gently as he could. He was very excited, but he wanted to wait till Mac grew hard again. Tom rolled them over on their sides, Mac facing Nan and Celie. Nan undressed, watching her husband all the while. Tom started to move a bit in and out. Mac moved with him. Mac's cock grew again. He took his arms from around Tom and held them out. Nan walked over, standing like a queen and a whore at once. She fitted herself to Mac. His body, steadily moving with Tom's, molded itself around her. His prick filled her cunt, his arms held her close, clasping her tits.
Celie was enjoying the role of spectator. Three people, all of whom she loved, moving in perfect rhythm, moving slowly, sure of the outcome. They were taking their time, grooving with each other. Celie moved quietly over behind Tom. She watched her love, glad of the chance to watch his back. His hips moved so beautifully. He was sometimes awkward walking, running, moving about day to day... He was never awkward fucking. His body never jerked, never made an unnecessary movement. He slid imperceptibly from one level of movement to the next. Tom's whole body began to follow the in-and-out movement his hips had started. He was a wave gently rolling to the shore. Celie watched him making a crescent around Mac, coming as Mac shot into Nan. Tom rolled onto his back, leaving Mac and Nan close together. Celie slid her lap under Tom's head. She stroked his damp hair where it fell on his forehead. He turned to press his face into her, holding himself tight to her. "Voyeur," he whispered.
"I never had a chance to watch your back before," Celie said. "It's the best part of you, almost."
They sat watching the fire, digging one another. Drinking black coffee and small glasses of dark Barbados rum. Celie had to remind them that she and Tom had promised Johnny that they would all come over to Nan's and Mac's. Tom pasted a silly leer on his face.
"Wonder how he's making out. I plowed a straight furrow for that boy to follow."
They laughed at him, "Don't be so conceited."
They fussed over leaving. The fire screen for the fireplace. Bundling into sweaters and coats. "Take the rum with us." Plenty of cigarettes. Out in the cold country air they stamped their feet and watched their breath hang in the air. Look at the stars. They joked and argued over who was to go in which car. Tom took the Caddy. Celie went with Nan in her car. Mac drove the big car. "Jeesus, it's like a truck." They drove slowly through the deserted campus. Once Tom and Mac stopped to watch the bright blue eyes of a coon by the side of the road...
The women were waiting for them in the driveway. "We wanted to give them time to get ready for us." The gravel crunched loudly under their feet in the cold air. On entering the kitchen door there was a loud silence. They shucked their coats as Susan came running in. She was clearly wearing nothing under the skirt and blouse. Her hah: was mussed and bright pink spots stood out on her pale cheeks.
"Any problems?" Nan asked.
Susan spoke to Tom, "He tried to fuck me up the ass!" Then she stood horrified at what she had said in front of all these people. Her eyes darted, scared, to Celie. At the same time, scared as she was, she was dragging Tom into the living room with the rest of them following. Johnny was sitting in the most comfortable chair in the room. To Susan's distress he didn't seem a bit apprehensive. She looked up at Tom as if he had failed her which, according to her standards, he had. Celie grinned a huge grin. She started past Johnny into the guest bedroom. Shedding shoes and sweater and skirt as she went. Johnny followed her, imitating her intentions; i.e. removing his clothes on the way to the bed. Mac and Nan were beginning to giggle. Tom, still held by Susan, felt it would be impolite to giggle, so he tried to look somber.
Susan was beginning to feel unreal. The people with her were behaving too strangely for her comprehension to gather and digest. The others stayed in the living room. Johnny had left the bedroom door open. From where Susan was standing she could see almost a third of the mattress. Johnny was swarming over Celie. Susan was beginning to understand that she was watching a tableau staged for her, also that there were smiles and giggles directed at her, at her expense. Through the door she could see Celie's long tan legs, wide spread, and between them, reversed, Johnny's head, devouring her cunt. His hands wrapped around her thighs. Tom pulled a chair, reaching with one foot, drawing it over to where he was standing. Holding onto Susan with one hand, he pulled down his pants. Raising her skirt-she was indeed naked underneath-he sat her down on his naked lap, enjoying in advance her embarrassed squirming. He held her firmly but gently and soothed her slowly. She was turning her head from side to side, seeking first Tom's eyes, then Mac's, then Nancy's, trying to find some explanation for this scene that would fit in with her preconceived notion of these faculty people.
In the bedroom, Johnny had forgotten all about Susan. They could see his head bent over Celie's cunt, his eyes watching her. They could hear his voice begging, whining, pleading for Celie to frig herself. "Please Celie, jerk yourself off, Celie. Let me watch. I've never seen a woman do herself... I wanna watch, dear, please... " Susan and Tom watched Celie's hand find her own clit and begin to stimulate it. Susan's squirming was wilder and wilder, her eyes were fixed on the half-open door. Nan decided that too much attention was being paid to Susan, besides which she had not yet screwed Tom. She walked, naked in front of Tom. "Let Mac have her." In the bedroom Celie started to moan. Tom rather urgently dumped Susan and walked into the bedroom with Nancy. He pushed her down across the foot of the bed where Johnny was now screwing Celie. Susan, as if irresistibly impelled, her cheeks still red hot, came into the bedroom, followed by Mac. She stood at the foot of the bed watching the two screwing couples. Mac came up behind her and slipped into her cunt from the rear. Susan squealed. Mac leaned on her until she fell, face down on top of Celie and Johnny. Johnny had by now lost all interest in Susan by any orifice. He pulled Celie out of the tangle and propped his back against the nearest wall. Celie sat down on his prick, her back to his chest, and watched the action on the bed. Mac had a thick cock, thicker than Tom's, and Susan was ungraciously emitting a series of shrill noises. Mac, ignoring (except for his cock) Susan, leaned across her to suck at Nan's tits. Susan didn't want to; she was thinking that she didn't like any of them any more but-she came. Mac's cock shot its load and slipped out of Susan's cunt. Tom and Nan were still gentry fucking. Mac started to lick Tom and Nan, trying to squeeze his tongue into Nan's cunt together with Tom's prick. Susan was watching Celie and John. Celie held her arms out to the girl. She slipped off the bed and came over to Celie, cuddled into her lap. Celie pushed Susan's mouth down over a nipple. Underneath them Johnny started to fuck as hard as he could. Susan began to realize she was having a ball. She squeezed Celie's tit, milking it into her mouth. The room smelled like a fish market. With many sighs and moans they all shuddered with the force of their orgasms.
They lay in two heaps-Tom and Mac held in Nan's capacious arms, head to head on her breast. Celie and Johnny and Susan were in a heap on the floor. The older people were exhausted. Johnny was contented between Susan and Celie, but Susan still felt somehow unfulfilled. She watched the dozing bodies, admiring the lines of grace, the expression of perfect pleasure and perfect freedom that proclaimed itself in each curved limb and clean skin texture. But her hips moved uneasily under her. She still squirmed somewhere inside and rubbed her little round butt in a circular motion against the rough texture of the rug. She licked her dry lips and whispered to Johnny.
"John... "
"Uh-"
"John, I guess... uh... After all... I would sort of like to be fucked up the ass... "
The others, hearing her voice, lifted their heads. They drew together into a little circle with Johnny and Susan in the center.
"I'd love to, Susan, but I'm kinda... well... do you think... you could get me excited?"
Johnny lay back and grinned sleepily up at Susan. She looked round at the circle of faces around them. She saw no help there, but plenty of friendly encouragement. She looked down at Johnny and pursed her lips, considering the problem.
"Do you have any grease... Nan?... Say... like oil... and a dinner knife?... "
When Nan came back with a bottle of glycerine and a butter knife, Susan took them and squatted down alongside John. "Roll over on your stomach." When he had rolled over, she poured a small puddle of oil between his shoulder blades and began working it in with the flat of her hand. She rubbed it in till his shoulder glowed pink. She then moved down to the small of his back and repeated the oiling and rubbing process. Then his legs, one at a time. Finally she poured a small puddle of oil directly at the base of his spine, above his arse crack. She worked it into each buttock, rubbing vigorously, then down into the crack. A little more oil. She rubbed it all around his asshole, then slipped her forefinger in the hole for a minute. Withdrew it quickly. She reached for the knife. Using the sharp edge of the dinner knife she started to scrape the oil off. Starting at his neck she scraped down, with short quick scrapes. Wiping the blade off on a piece of discarded clothing she had picked up (Nan's slip actually) after each stroke. She slowly worked down to the small of his back. Then she started working up the legs. Up the back of the legs, scrape, scrape, scrape. To the sensitive spots behind the knees. Johnny was plainly excited. His back arched and his breath exhaled explosively with each scrape. She was working on the insides of his thighs and his hips had begun to twist and turn.
"Shush, lie still, I still have to do your front... " He turned over. It was plain that she had succeeded. His cock was rigid. With a great effort he lay still while she repeated the process on his front. First his neck and breast, rubbing the oil in, delicately scraping it off, scraping into the little hollows of the collarbone, around his breasts and very very lightly over his nipples. He was moaning. His hips jerking wildly, fists clenching. Tom and Mac moved in to take his hands and restrain him gently... Nan and Celie took his feet. Susan moved down his rib cage. Rub rub rub. Smooth oil. Scrape. Down to the very edge of his pubic hair. Rubbing with hard circular motions. Then she began to scrape his belly. Very lightly... The four really had to restrain him... Susan moved down till she was kneeling alongside his cock. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on it, reaching behind herself at the same time-where Johnny couldn't see-and greasing her asshole generously. Then she began to drip the heavy oil all over his cock. Very slowly. One drop at a time she let the viscous stuff drip down onto the red, tight-skinned head of his rather narrow cock. He was twisting and turning in the grip of the four. His breath torn from him in ragged gasps. The touch of the knife to the shaft of his cock, down by the base, very gently just held there, brought a scream, a long drawn out animal scream; that type could not be reproduced. Mixing all the vowels... shaking the room. She held the knife there and so slowly, barely perceptibly began to draw it up the length of the shaft. She drew it half way up. Then with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Johnny's eyes were still shut she got up and squatted over his body, exactly in the low squat of a woman shitting without a John.
She put one hand on each of her cheeks and spread her arse as wide as she could and sat down with one hard motion right on his rigid cock. At the same moment the four who were holding him released their grips. With a snarl, his arms went out around her, slamming her body to his. He rolled over so that he was on top, pinning her small white body to the floor. She screamed in pain as he drew his cock back-just by moving his pelvis-keeping the weight of his chest and legs pressing down on her-drew it back until all but an inch of it was out of her arse, then slammed it into its full length. She screamed as he drew it back, but as he slammed it in, she hissed-an unbelievably loud hiss-proper to a goose, not a girl. He held it in her for a moment and she screamed... " Oh... Oh... It hurts... It hurts... " Johnny drew it out and hi. Again and again now, pounding hard. With each out-stroke came a scream of pain; with each in-stroke a hiss of pain. Harder and harder and louder and louder, until her screams of pain were transmuted-by what change it was impossible to tell-into screams of pleasure. She was panting: "Oh it hurts... It hurts... It's good!... It's good!... Aaaaagh... " She started to come-and came again. Again her mouth wide open, lips drawn back over her teeth, her breath one long scream of pleasure-agony, eyes opened as if she were being shocked by millions of volts of electricity, her spine rigidly jerking again and again until she seemed to melt, turn all soft and receptive, her arse muscles turning soft, presenting a welcoming, grabbing cushion to his pounding pelvic bones and rigid rod. Her screams turned into deep moans of pleasure and joy and gratitude. Her hips began to revolve underneath him, to pick up the beat, arse still all soft, her thighs flexing softly in and out, to reinforce the gently rhythmic contractions of her sphincter muscles, which milked, sucked at, drained, warmly, gently, lovingly, his wildly spurting cock.
As Johnny collapsed on top of her, there was a round of soft applause from the onlookers. When she had recovered her breath, Susan explained: "The oiling business is Greek. I mean ancient Greek. Mr. Adams... " She blushed, "... I guess I mean Sam Adams... taught me... "
CHAPTER TEN
"The play, Tom. Are we going to have a party after the play?"
"At Boris'. A big party. We'll go after the cast party. Everyone we like."
"Oh shit-Boris... Will I have to let him fuck me up the arse again? Or maybe Susan?"
"Susan would dig it I guess, but she couldn't handle it."
"Remember the asshole is really very stretchable. And she's probably been doing a lot of arse fucking since last week... "
"Well we'll ask her, but I think that Boris has a girl of his own... You know that big, wide girl who's always wearing horse blankets and Army boots?"
"Oh Tom!"
"Well the horse blankets are an exaggeration. But she does have a cape she made herself out of an old gray Navy blanket by just cutting a headhole, and the Army boots are real-unbuckled. She's always clopping around in unbuckled Army boots. Really looks like the archetypal peasant. Mother Russia herself, broad face, light brown hair in two long braids, build like a Percheron... "
"Well I guess I've never seen her. I guess I would remember... but she does sound as if she can handle Boris. I'll call him and make arrangements. We'll make it a supper, with something hot and plenty of good wine. Maybe Nancy will help. Let's see Nancy and Mac, Barbara and Sam, Johnny and Susan, Boris and his Horse Lady... what's her name?"
"Elsa."
"Oh no... too much... that makes... "
"... uhm... ten, including us... "
Then Tom remembered someone else.
"There's a girl in the play I want to ask, name of Lynn."
"And that dark girl who's always sitting across from your office. And we must by all means ask the boy who watches your office-Jimmy Levy. He's watching for me. I told you about him... and Morty the S.D.S. guy-"
"Well... that makes four more... no, five... no, six. If the dark girl comes, her blonde roommate will probably come too. Let's hope so. Sixteen. Enough. And if we run into anyone at the play... Say, plan for twenty-four... thirty... It would be a good idea to make some sort of maryjane food... or maybe a couple of lands of... "
"Leave that to Boris and me... We might want to be cool at the party. It's awful big. Keep the sex in the bedroom."
"Well have to talk about it. That's the sort of thing that can get out of hand."
"What's to be afraid of? With all of us in it, if anything happens we can just lie. Deny the whole thing. Eight faculty members, straight-faced... Shit... they'd have to get moving pictures to make anyone believe what goes on anyway... "
Nancy and Boris and Celie and Barbara fussed for two days, rushing to Boston and Providence for goodies. Placing special orders with the local grocer, consulting Mario out at the greenhouse. On Friday, Tom and Boris drove into Boston to the big North Side liquor store which had the best supply of wine in New England. The ancient Italian proprietor, shirt-sleeved and simple, (He owned a chain of eight stores, all managed by sons and sons-in-law.) got up from his chair when he saw Boris come in and greeted him respectfully. They bought half a case each of Wente Brothers Pinot Chardonnay and Louis Martin Pinot Noir. Six assorted bottles of grand cru estate-bottled claret. A bottle of fourteen-dollar Otard cognac, pale straw yellow, two bottles of Calvados. One each of Framboise and Grand Marnier. And six bottles of California-Buit, Paul Masson. Some of the wine and liquor were to be used in the food. The owner gave them the ten percent case discount on everything and then an extra ten percent because it was for Boris, then an extra five percent because it was a party. After they were through on the North Side they drove to Beacon Hill. Now Boris waited in the car while Tom went into one of the rows of red brick rooming houses on a narrow, sharply sloping street. After half an hour Tom came out.
"We'll have to wait for a while... always such a hassle, these Boston connections... but he can get us everything... hash... some speed... cocaine... mescaline... acid... You know, this is going to be the party of the year. Do you think we ought to ask the society reporter from the Cattleboro Daily?"
Boris was getting excited about Celie's ideas about party food. Celie insisted, and the other women agreed, that only food that didn't require eating utensils should be served. Boris was for huge amounts of food that would require his whole set of golden tableware. Of course Boris never wound up doing the dishes. In fact Celie, as the only childless woman, always had that chore to herself; none of the others could stay that late at night, or had time to come back the next day. Boris ranted, raged and finally wept, but the women were adamant. He insisted that they were going to make his house look like it was set up for a Bar Mitzvah buffet. Celie pointed out that they would be having non-kosher foods. This brought a laugh from Boris. The women had won. To soothe Boris Barbara suggested a pot of Chinese hot and sour soup, to be served as a pick-me-up late, late at night. Boris was delighted. He loved to show off his ability as a chef. For the rest, he walked out leaving the planning to Celie, Barbara and Nan.
Crab meat and tomato-horseradish dip, caviar, chopped, hard-boiled egg whites, chopped onion, a little lemon and soekland pumpernickel to spread it on, bagels and lox and cream cheese with chopped scallions mixed in, small potatoes and zucchini stuffed and baked, cherry tomatoes, baked clams.
Tom walked in, angry. "All you do, Celie dear, is screw little boys. Couldn't you move yourself once for me?"
"Go get one of your girls to fuss over you Tom, if you really think I don't do enough."
"Come on, honey, how about those steamed pancakes with the meat filling that you have to roll up yourself before you eat them?"
"Only because they fit our condition. Go away." Cream puffs for dessert. Celie would bring her usual contribution of fruit cake made with maryjane and brandy, and pot candy. For breakfast the next morning they didn't expect too many people. Nan offered to make some roast beef and corned beef hash, and partially cook it. Barbara would bring a large brioche, a couple of dozen eggs, plenty of strong coffee. Breakfast was planned for.
"I guess that's enough," said Barbara, "Well, if people are gonna be drinking we want the food to look as good as possible. We don't want any of the kids to drink on an empty stomach."
Barbara and Nan laughed at Celie. Celie had small capacity for booze. She always underestimated the students' capacity for strong drinks. Most of them seemed to have wooden legs.
The day of the play it snowed. First snow of the New England winter, wet and fluffy and sticking to the tree trunks on the windward side, weighing down the branches. Rounding the bushes into white humps. It was still coming down in heavy, slow flakes at eight o'clock as the campus community-faculty, students, workers-made their way across the campus. The lights on the paths turned into huge auroras, the snow reflecting and refracting the light. The voices of the crowd approaching the theatre from all sides were muffled by the snow in the air, but still they seemed loud since the snow on the ground muffled even more the passing cars and trucks. The industrial background completely wiped out. Laughter and loud yells as the students ferociously snowballed each other and the faculty, at least the younger and more popular faculty members.
Tom and Celie arrived in the lobby of the Arts Building covered with snow. Through the door in a rush with a few snowballs flying into the astonished lobby after them. They shook out their clothes and stamped their feet, looking around for their friends. Nowhere in the lobby. Up in the auditorium they saw them. Taking up the entire front row. Mac and Nancy and Johnny and Lynn and two girls with Johnny, looking very friendly, startling square-faced redheads, certainly sisters, almost twins. Susan and Morty and Barbara and Sam. No Boris, no new Boris girl friend, he never came to plays. Always threw parties afterwards. The friends yelled and waved to Tom and Celie, who made a slow and noisy progress through the crowded house, stopping to talk with other friends, inviting a few more to the party (the dark girl and roommate with wine bottle), chatting and joking. Tom disappeared backstage to look for Lynn, make sure she was coming and tell her to bring anyone from the cast party who she thought would be OK... The friends boiled in their row of seats, to the delight of the students on the whole, and the secret envy and hatred of many of the members of the faculty. Barbara spotted Mario the vegetable man sitting very properly in the audience with his new bride so a noisy party seat-hopped over to say hello and be introduced. Most of the audience were still sitting rather quietly-with the exception of the row full of friends and the members of the cast who were spotted throughout the audience; some of the English teachers who knew how the play opened were making an effort to be noisy, but unconvincingly- The union committee filed on stage. A stagehand brought out a mike and a portable powered lectern and began to set it up with much buzzing and feedback and testing under the watchful eye of the union boss's bodyguard. When it was set up the hoodlum tested it. The hoodlum was made up to bear a striking resemblance to the Dean of Student Life. Those who knew the play began to sit up. They looked around to identify the characters. The union boss, smoking his cigar, was made up to resemble the president of the college. The president/boss got up and walked to the mike. "All right, you mugs, shut up. Quiet down there...!" The audience sent up a restive growl and the yells began to come from the actors around the hall: "Where's Lefty?... Where's Lefty?"
The play raced through its simple story, clearly and effectively. The make-up none too subtly pointed out the analogies. The college doctor playing the sanctimonious nazi. "It's my job; personally I have other feelings." Fink the cafeteria manager. All were in the play. The ending came with its inevitable division. All the students, younger faculty, non-academic staff, the working people from the town were all on their feet, waving their fists in the red salute and yelling and yelling until the rafters shook: "Strike strike strike strike!" The row of friends climbed up on their chairs. "STRIKE STRIKE STRIKE!" Throughout the audience the yellers followed suit. Delineating all too clearly the distinction between those who joined in the ending and the administrators and company men, professionals and cops who sat tight in their seats, applauding, trying to turn what was happening into something nice and safe-"art." No connection with the world, safe within a frame, a stage.
Mac ran up to the stage. He undid a large bundle. Seizing one end of it, a member of the cast seized the other, and they unrolled it across the stage. All the actors took hold of it. It was an enormous silk screen print. A FREE UNIVERSITY IN A FREE SOCIETY. The first great motto of S.D.S. In flaming red letters. The mouths of the cast were moving. The yelling subsided as the audience saw the cast, holding the banner, begin to sway from side to side in the familiar rhythm of the anthem of the "movement." Shivers ran up the backs of those who knew. Tom, who had been in the anti-bomb-shelter demos of the fifties, Mac who had been a freedom rider in the early sixties, those who had been to Central Park, The Pentagon, Chicago, Memphis, all felt their hair stand on end as the words, familiar to many, easily picked up by all, rolled out...
"We shall overcome some day."
There was a hush. The audience broke up from an audience into groups of friends who looked at one another with sober excitement. Those who had participated in the "play" looked one another in the eye with the enthusiasm of shared pleasure to come. Shared pleasure. There was an extraordinary sexiness in the room. Those who had stayed out the play turned gray, then translucent, then, without leaving or motion, just disappeared.
Tom and Celie spilled out onto the campus in the midst of a friendly crowd of thirty or forty. The snow had stopped and the moon was out. The reflected moonlight on the snow was as bright as day, though not at all like day. The crowd hurried through the snow to Boris' house. It was freezing. Crystal crust was forming on the deep snow. About a foot had fallen. From the highway there came the distant sound of a snow plow. They got to the parking lot and with much yelling of directions and shifting of people from car to car got everybody loaded aboard and started out careening and skidding through the deserted roads to Boris' house. In Tom's Caddy somebody produced a bottle of brandy that was greedily passed around. Everybody was hungry for strong sensations and the burning of the quick swallows of brandy, the sudden warmth in the stomach exactly corresponded to the mood. A joint was produced and passed around. Tom came to the turn-off from the state road to the dirt road that led to Boris' house. He set the Caddy into a wild skid and made the turn sliding on four wheels, corrected the skid and waited a minute on the side of the road for the other cars. When he saw the first of the others begin to make the turn, he pulled into Boris' driveway.
They burst into the house in a flood of laughter. It was beautiful-as always. The food was set out in golden china bowls of swirling design and bright colors. Chinese, Japanese and Russian vases overflowed with chrysanthemums; pompoms and carnations were set everywhere. The wine was set out on a sideboard with two huge candlesticks and dozens of glasses of every shape and quality. Above the sideboard a dun icon looked passively on the scene. The fireplace was glowing and in the background-Aretha Franklin. The most energetic-mostly students-immediately broke into dancing, shedding their coats as part of the dance, one of them dancing over to the phonograph and turning the volume up to maximum. There were four AR speakers hooked into the system. Other guests gathered around the wine and the food. Helping one another. Shouting happily in the din. One crowd around the food, another around the wine and a third around Boris and his new girl friend who was attracting more attention than anything or anybody.
The horse blanket girl was wearing violet crushed velvet bell-bottoms that fit perfectly over her arse, sweeping down into an incredible length of leg. Or, top a clinging black nylon jersey turtleneck. She was perfect. And over-sized. Six foot tall, correspondingly broad and wide and with an ideal figure. Narrow waist. Swelling, perfectly formed arse. Long, elegant legs, generous, upjutting tits (no bra-in fact, on close inspection, no panty line under the skin-tight fit of the pants on her arse). Her hair was unbraided and flowed down her back in a light brown wave...
Tom was on one side, Mac on the other. Cursing out Boris with loving hatred and envy. Suggesting to Elsa that they could provide more normal pleasures if she ever got tired of Boris' monomaniac perversions. She was glowing with the virginal, pure health of a girl who has been getting a lot of sexual satisfaction. In the next room the lights were dim. Later this was where the couples would begin making nests for themselves among the coats piled on the yellow silk furniture which glowed in the dim light. Now it was where the dope smokers were smoking dope. The only illumination in the room came from a single candle, by which was set a Faberge box full of joints, a piece of hash, knife and hash pipe, a small incense burner and supply of multicolored cones of various incenses. A small group was gathered around the candle, the glowing tip of a joint could be seen going from hand to hand.
The party whirled on. The food was eaten in great messiness. The wine drunk. Drugs passed around Many people brought either drugs or booze. There were constant additions and subtractions as people left to sample other parties or arrived or returned, with strangers or old friends who were greeted or ignored. Around two o'clock a major contingent left to join the cast party and the living room seemed half empty in the sudden change from panic to crush. The music wore on and the dancing wore on. The dancers were growing hot and beginning to shed clothes. Boris brought in a light organ and plugged it in. Strobes and black light projectors appeared Music wilder and wilder. The assistant professor of anthropology arrived-a beautiful "high yeller," the college's show nigger-with a tape of real South African dances. Four weird plucked instruments, steel band like drums and penny whistles. The tape was put on and the dancers, bit by bit, took on the tall straight backs of Watusi warriors-and the fluid hips.
One girl stripped down to bra and panties. Many of the boys had taken off their shirts, the jerking muscles of their torsos gleaming with sweat, hips gyrating wildly to the perfectly swinging and wildly exotic beat. A voice entered, singing repetitively in a high falsetto that split the backbone. Tom was dancing with Elsa. He was stripped down to the waist but she still, except for her shoes, was fully dressed. Strands of her firm brown hair were sticking to her damp forehead. The hot velvet was clinging tightly to her thighs. Stained through. At the thighs and the crotch the thick warm material was wet through with her sweat and juices. They were dancing back to back now, rubbing butts slowly and voluptuously to the beat of the strange music. Through his pants Tom felt the wet material of Elsa's pants, steamy, sliding against her flesh. He hurried her out the door and onto the porch. The moon was directly ahead of them and the whole landscape was bathed in a pure blue light, brilliantly reflected from the snow, stranger than any of the configurations of the pulsing light organ inside. They stood and looked at the broad white expanse. The whole front garden was a single white sheet of snow, its crystallized crusts gleaming with uncountable laughing pinpoints. On the side of the garden the snow had been trampled by the feet of the guests, but this whole expanse was untouched... They stared at it hungrily... Tom muttered: "Define a coolie."
Elsa looked at him. He was taking off his pants, staring out at the garden all the while... She started to take off her clothes in the same dreamy way, eyes fixed on the shiny white sheet...
"I... you tell me."
"A quickie in the snow."
They stood there a moment on the cold porch holding hands and shivering as their overheated skin began to absorb the frost. The sweat drying quickly on their naked bodies. They plunged off the porch and ran into the middle of the virginal white garden. They screamed and fell, holding on to each other and rolling over and over in the icy fire... Screaming in the midst of the incredible chill, Tom's cock found its pocket of warmth and he thrust it in for the heat. They were both screaming at the top of their lungs, shrilly, now in time to Tom's frenzied lunges to drive himself deeper into that pocket of warmth in the world of cold-to which Elsa responded with close cleaving hips, swinging her hips in glad cooperation, trying to gobble the rod of heat that had plunged into her frozen vitals. They soon came in a shower of crystals. An orgasm that seemed to take two hours. Falling in slow motion in the un-worldly light. They jumped up and ran around to the side door of the house. Rushed in through the kitchen where a few clenched couples started at the sight of their naked, snow dripping figures. Through the darkened back part of the house into the downstairs bathroom. There was another couple, clenched in an uncomfortable looking sixty-nine on the hard tile floor. Tom and Elsa ignored them and jumped into the stall shower and turned it on. Cool at first, then gradually warmer and warmer until they were both standing exhausted and breathing deeply, arms around one another's neck more in support than anything else, unable to see each other in the steamy cubicle filled with a flood of rushing, scalding water. (Boris had the best possible plumbing.) They were both laughing weakly. The couple who had had prior claim on the bathroom left in a huff... As they went through the open door Tom and Elsa called in unison: "WHAT'S A COOLIE?" And dissolved into helpless laughter again. Tom's desire was growing hard again. He realized as they stood there, arms around each other's neck that this girl was tall enough to fuck standing face to face. He slid his pelvis forward and slowly slipped his cock up into her vertical cunt. It was incredibly wet with her juices, his juices, the hot steamy water rushing over the joined organs. They began to fuck slowly and consciously. Suddenly a blast of cold air. The shower door was thrown open. Boris stood there and grinned at them affectionately.
"As long as you leef the bag door for me," he cried, throwing open his fly and letting his cock fly out. It was an extraordinary organ. Average length, more than twice average thickness, perhaps, almost, never measured, they had never got him to agree to measurement, but it looked a good three niches in diameter. This huge yam-shaped object was red and ready. And without a further word Boris stepped into the shower fully clothed and with a practised yell aimed, thrust his bulbous cock directly into Elsa's asshole.
"My god... hell tear her apart," Tom had time to think, before he felt those magnificent, statuesque buttocks accept the thick cook-like a baby swallowing a lollipop-with a smooth expert twist of the thighs. Her cunt immediately contracted as the excess space in her gut was all taken up by her stuffed lower intestine, stretching to accommodate Boris. This wonderful warm-wet gooiness was suddenly squeezing Tom's joint in a fantastic series of syncopated spasms that continued and amplified as Boris' cock found its way entirely into her butt. Tom was brought to instant orgasm by those wild spasms; spurting wildly-his come flying up into his own face-he collapsed onto the floor of the shower stall.
Tom came to on the floor of the shower seconds later, his head whirling. He was lying between the spread legs of the lovers who had apparently paused long enough for Boris to strip. Elsa was standing in the shower, her back half bent, her straight arms propped against the wall. Boris was planted solidly on his feet behind her, hands on hips; he was pushing his sugar beet in and out, never missing a beat. Above Tom's head, Elsa was wildly twisting her hips in counterpoint to Boris' steady beat. Her full tits, hanging down, flew in circles.
Tom scrambled out between their legs and ran naked out of the bathroom. He returned a moment later with Mac. Mac stripped off his clothes and insinuated himself between Elsa and the wall... without interrupting then: buggering... How could he?... Mac slipped his cock into her dripping cunt. The same incredible spasms were still shaking that wetness. He started to fuck as fast as his flexing knees could drive his pelvis up and down. Beating as fast as a bird against a window pane, into the steady inexorable rhythm of Boris' thrusts. In only minutes Mac had come, but Tom was now back in the bathroom with Johnny and Morty. They were stripping to take Mac's place... By now a crowd was gathering... The girls were starting to crowd in too... Celie and Nan led the way...
The craned their necks to see what was going on in the circle of naked men.
"Oh shit!... New girl gets all the cock-"
"Oh Nancy, don't be defeatist. There are lots of lovely boys left. And besides, isn't it nice that Boris has found a way that he can get with the rest of us. She is some girl... In fact, if the men get tired of her front end, I wouldn't mind a little taste... " Nancy glanced around nervously at the student couple who were trying to crowd over their shoulders to see a piece of the action. She blushed and the two girls worked their way out of the press. They wandered through the pot room where there were half a dozen couples and one threesome in various postures of intimacy on the floor and furniture... Back in the room with the food there were still plenty of dancers and even plenty of eaters, drinkers and talkers... The door was open and there were people out on the porch. Celie could see the glow of a joint in the shadows at the far end of the porch. She wandered to the door...
Out on the porch two boys were sitting cross-legged on the ground and arguing over a bottle of brandy, their breath steamy, in the cold. It was Kevin the delivery boy and Georgie, a boy from the play. He was always called Georgie, never George-a big, ungainly, wide-hipped boy, ugly, but so intelligent and funny and graceful that his unwieldy and bulky body was beautiful-beautiful because in spite of all its lack of qualifications for the part, it had become the expression of a brilliant spirit. He was pure Cyrano, and had a reputation as a stud. In a short while the four found themselves with the bottle of brandy in the small isolated cubicle of Georgie's parked hearse. Surrounded by the stillness of the snow. All over, the party was going to bed. Passing out in heaps on the floor. Some in the midst of animated conversations. Most in one another's arms. After Tom and Mac had left the crowded bathroom, where the scene went on all night almost, they wandered around a bit searching for their wives, finally concluding, correctly, that they had found lovers for the night, and did not want to be disturbed. The two men found the redheaded sisters and by the time that their wives were switching lovers in the closeness of the snowbound hearse the husbands were tracing freckles over bodies with considerable interest.
When she woke in the morning Celie's breath frosted in the chill air of the hearse. She slowly and carefully worked her way out of the tangle of bodies and quickly pulled on her clothes. She rushed across the few yards of snowy yard on bare feet. The smell of coffee fresh on the morning air. In the kitchen Boris, the perfect host, met her with a cup of hot steaming coffee. A beautiful handleless Japanese farmer's ware cup, crude porcelain transmitting the heat of the coffee to her trembling hands.
She huddled near the stove while Boris fussed with bottles and squeezed oranges.
"Here." He handed her a glass. "Fresh orange juice, champagne and cognac... Drink it. It will clear your mouth and warm you up besides. Then... " He leered. She shrugged.
"Well, eef you will not let me into your shapely arse for old time's sake, my dear, I suppose there is nothing to do but make breakfast for these weaklings. Perhaps we can re-instill some life in them yet."
The second installment of the party was, as always, better than the first. All the people who were left were either close friends or real party people. They came awake slowly around the fire, looking out through Boris' window at the birds sauntering around the feeder, bright in the snow. The chickadees coming right up to the window, the bluejays scrabbling for the sunflower seeds. A pair of cardinals came. Many cups of coffee with brandy. Gallons of Boris' orange juice concoction. Nancy produced the hash (i.e., the corned beef hash,) and the party was on again. Elsa was the center of all eyes. Her amazing transformation called forth universal admiration. She had been hiding. Looking for the right man. And Boris was the man... who had let her bloom for them all. They passed her around the circle in front of the fire. From man to woman. They all ran their hands over her big happy body and she responded like a petted cat. Stretching her great length and purring and giving herself freely to them all in turn and in combination. One great polaroid from that party that they all treasured ever afterwards, of Elsa lying naked on the laps of (from head to toes) Tom and Nancy and Johnny and Mac. Tom is kissing her mouth. Nancy is sucking delicately at her tit. Johnny has his head buried between her thighs. Under a huge tan bush. And Mac is sucking the big toe of her right foot. Later in the day she sat for three hours on Boris's lap, impaled via her arse on his thick cock and skillfully met the needs and desires of all who came. Sucking dicks and tits and fingering and giving herself to the eager exploration of loving fingers and mouths and pricks. Late in the afternoon, with much grease and care, and after exacting terrifying oaths to be careful, Celie-to general applause-let Boris bugger her. Just this once to see if Elsa would mind. While Tom gave it to Elsa through the rear. (She really didn't get much out of that, being used to Boris.)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The week after the party, Tom had to go to New York to see his draft board. He left Monday evening, hoping to get in a day's research at the New York Public Library on Tuesday before the meeting on Tuesday night. Tuesday morning Celie woke up feeling a bit strange. She got dressed, thinking a little fresh air would clear her head. She set off across campus heading for Nan's. Jimmy found her wandering around aimlessly in back of the bookstore. Although the temperature was below freezing her coat was unbuttoned, and she was in a sweat. He asked her how she felt. She tried to reply, but her words were unintelligible and incoherent. Jimmy was a very strong boy so he lifted her under her arms and knees and carried her home.
He undressed her, feeling the heat rising from her skin. She had a fever of one hundred and four. Dr. Perkins came at Jimmy's urgent call. There was only one way to efficiently get her fever down. He left a syringe and instructions for squirting crushed aspirin and water into her asshole. Between squirtings Jimmy was to rub her body with alcohol and water, half and half. There was no way Tom could be reached. Jimmy left word wherever he could. Jimmy worked constantly for an hour. He rubbed her with the alcohol solution, pumped the aspirin in through her asshole, tried to force sips of juice down her throat-and was rewarded after an hour by Celie';. coming to, her fever dropping to one hundred and two and a half.
"My god, what happened? I ache all over."
"I found you wandering behind the bookstore in a daze. The doctor's been here, said you probably have the flu. You better drink some juice; I haven't had much luck forcing it down."
"Oh that tastes good. How long have I been lying here?"
"It's about three hours since I found you."
"I hope you won't catch it."
"Not a chance, I am abnormally healthy, honest injun, cross my heart and hope to die, boy scout's honor-"
"Were you a?... "
"Never! I haven't had a cold since I was four. Turn over, it's time for more aspirin up the ass."
"Hey, what have you been doing while I've been lying here in your power?"
"Dr. Perkins left a syringe and instructions. I've been pumping aspirin up your asshole. I am to continue the treatment until the fever is down to one hundred and two. You've been so hot all the water has been getting absorbed. Come on, after all I've been doing nothing else for the past hour. Besides, it's sort of sexy. Now that you're not so sick I'm getting hard just thinking about it."
"O.K."
"Now try and hold it in. Are you cold?"
"No, I feel warm, hot."
"I guess you can turn over now, if you want to."
Celie turned and stretched. The fever lent an attractive, although hectic-seeming flush to her skin. Jimmy, keeping to his routine, started to rub her with the alcohol and water. He started at her shoulder, rubbing the skin briskly with his hands. He had been too worried to enjoy it before. Now he felt her skin less hot, more naturally alive under his hands. He rubbed down between her tits, covering each one with a hand, rubbing hard around the base of the tits and, in a straight line, rubbed down to her belly. With a circular motion he covered the area between her pelvic bones, skirting carefully the sensitive area of the mound of Venus. He rubbed her sides, from under her armpits, into the curve of her hips, over her hips to massage her thighs and legs. He rubbed the soles of her feet and every toe. He turned her over to rub her back.
The poor boy was beginning to feel very lustful but Celie had fallen asleep. Jimmy called the doctor, who officially declared Celie OUT OF DANGER. Then he ran to the tiny grocery a block away and stocked up with fruit juice and soup and ice cream. He wasn't gone for more than thirty minutes. He put the groceries away. He felt weary from the strain; he had never had the responsibility for a sick person before. He took his shoes off and lay down, careful not to disturb Celie on the other side of the bed.
Celie woke him a few hours later. She had started to go to the bathroom but her legs wobbled when she tried to make them move. He carried her into the bathroom, and back to bed. He took her temperature again-below one hundred and two at last.
"I got some soup. The doctor said you should have some, and a glass of juice. Pineapple, orange or grape?"
"Grape."
He went downstairs to the kitchen, heated a can of chicken soup, and brought two bowls of soup and two glasses and a thermos of cold grape juice upstairs. Celie couldn't even lift a spoon to her mouth without spilling. Jimmy fed her patiently.
The phone rang.
"It was Tom. He'll be home by three a.m. I told him not to rush, that you were all right, and that I had everything under control."
"You couldn't have said anything more calculated to make him rush home."
"I don't quite get the scene between you two. I know it's a good one, but I don't really get it."
"Well we've known each other since we were ten, and we've been screwing since we were fourteen. And screwing no one else until two years ago. We got to feeling incestuous, or we felt like brother and sister more than like lovers-or even husband and wife. It got boring; so boring we couldn't make it Wanting each other but knowing too well all the changes and their variations. We decided there had to be another factor, other factors in our relationship. And that we had to do something to change our responses and the way we saw one another. Sometimes one of us gets a little jealous. We agreed to drop anyone that the other one objected to. Just ask, no reason needed. So far, neither of us has asked. In another year or two we'll start having kids. We get along so much better than we did. We'll cool it and make babies. I don't know how we could have stayed together if we hadn't started fucking other people."
"It sounds so sane to me, I can't quite believe it."
"We are both very, very smart."
"I think you need a cover, it's getting cooler. Will this sheet be enough?"
"Just right. Could I have my hairbrush? It's on the dresser."
Jimmy brought Celie her hairbrush. He sat behind her, propping her up on his chest. She had a beautiful hairbrush. It had a rosewood handle, bristles of some stiff light brown stuff that almost matched the color of her skin where it was still tanned. He brushed her short hair, taking pleasure in the feel of the smooth wood, carved to fit a smaller hand. He watched the light bristles going through the darker brown of her, until her hair started to crackle. He dropped the brush, then being able to put both arms around her. "How do you feel?"
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."
"Promise you won't move. Let me do everything. You're still pretty sick."
"All right."
Jimmy stood up to take his clothes off, and got into bed. Celie still felt hot. His hands left paths of coolness over her body. He kneaded her aching thighs with his mouth, trying to grab the muscle with his teeth, leaving puddles of saliva to evaporate and cool. She told him how good it felt. He tried to wet her, every bit of her, with his spit. But his mouth got stopped by her hot nipples. The heat making them strange, but wonderful to suck. He couldn't, wouldn't let go of the hot nipple. He sucked as if he expected warm milk to gush into his mouth. He twisted himself until his cock slid into her hot cunt. It was marvelous. Wherever he touched her he felt hot. His cock was wrapped in her hot cunt. He was afraid to move. His hand played with her burning clitoris. He begged her not to move. Finally leaving her tit to whisper into and lick the insides of her ears and to suck on her thick earlobe. He tried to soothe her body with his hands, stroking, but that made her want to move even more. He kissed her mouth, feeling her hot tongue darting through his lips, leaving trails of heat in his mouth until it felt aflame. Her thumb forced into his asshole. He felt the heat reach up into his guts. He was surrounded by her heat. Jimmy lost all thought of who or where he was. He wanted to penetrate into her hot regions as far as he could. Like a madman running into the desert. He shoved a finger into her ass, feeling his own cock behind the burning wall. He slammed his cock into her. He moved it out, only to be able to try to force its way further in. His mouth pressed so hard against hers that his teeth broke through her skin. He tasted her blood on his tongue, trying to suck more from her bruised lip. She met his thrusts with equal force and passion. They met with an orgasm that left them drained of thought, weak and unable to move.
As soon as his passion subsided Jimmy jumped up, fearing to discover her fever had risen. It was up to one hundred and three. He refilled the syringe, and squirted its contents, once again, into her ass. He fed her spoonfuls of cool juice. He rubbed her sweaty body with a thick towel. Celie was beginning to think that there were definite advantages to being sick, this time at least. She felt good, but strange, like taking mescaline. Nothing seemed to have a hard edge, and the colors were wonderfully bright. But Jimmy driven by, not remorse or guilt, but by love, became super-nurse. He got the fever down, bringing back hard edges and dulling the colors that she saw.
"Let's start over."
"Oh no, nothing, nothing, not your lust or my own, nothing could make me fuck you again. Not until you're below one hundred and one, at least. But what a fuck... "
"Fever is better than drugs."
"We could start a fever fad."
It was funny. Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, holding Celie's hand, the two of them laughing.
"We could market sugar cubes with flu virus."
"Or capsules of different strengths, one hundred one and up. Visions guaranteed with the higher fevers."
"The deluxe version, packed with a vial of crushed aspirin, a syringe and rubbing alcohol, mixed with water ready to use."
"Don't forget the thermometer. Or super deluxe with your own inflatable doctor."
The door slammed. Johnny came running breathlessly up the stairs, calling Celie's name.
"The guy at the store told me he thought you were sick. Are you OK? Hi Jimmy. It is hot in here. I'll take my clothes off too."
Celie was feeling better and better. She decided that the deluxe kit, female version, would have a boy or two in it, fag version also.
Jimmy was explaining how he had found Celie, about the doctor, and trying to call Tom, about her fever, everything but how they had fucked. Celie was amused. Johnny insisted on doing something for her. Even though she felt much stronger Celie let him feed her a cup of juice with a teaspoon. Johnny found the linen closet and came back with dean sheets. Jimmy held her in his arms while John fussed over the bed, smoothing every wrinkle, tucking the edges in tightly.
Jimmy went to make some coffee. John sat, idly smoothing her hair back from her forehead and looking reproachfully at her until she couldn't help laughing at him.
"I didn't know I was sick, so why should I have called you to come take care of me. Besides, you couldn't have carried me home from behind the bookstore, and besides which you are too excitable to have behaved calmly."
"I suppose he was naked... "
"What sort of bullshit is this? We had a magnificent fuck! I will describe it in detail if you want me to. All other facts aside I hear that you've been screwing Susan constantly? Tom said that you always seem to be in the hole he's headed for."
"All right, I know, male chauvinism and all that. But I feel, I know that I understand intellectually otherwise, but I feel you shouldn't fuck anyone but me-students anyways."
Jimmy came back grinning. He had heard most of their conversation.
"No you don't. Get away from her; her fever isn't down enough. It shoots up after fucking."
"You otta know, spoilsport... "
Johnny stuck his tongue out at Jimmy with a beautiful raspberry noise.
"I'm going back to sleep. Why don't you children do some homework or suck each other off or something."
Celie turned over, falling instantly asleep. Jimmy got up to take a shower.
"I'm sorry if I was rude. I just felt hurt that Celie hadn't called me to take care of her, and jealous when I saw you naked."
"It's OK. The whole campus knows how stuck you are on Celie. Let's follow her second suggestion."
Jimmy made a lunge and Johnny ran into the bathroom and bolted the door.
"Per chrissakes, why is everybody always grabbing for my cock?"
"I know you meant it as a rhetorical question, but I'll tell you anyway. You are a very pretty and smooth boy, although a little skinny. And don't forget that there aren't many uncircumcised cocks around, at least not among the middle class. That alone would make you a sought-after rarity. Don't you enjoy being sucked off? Am I repulsive?"
"Look, I like you and you're not repulsive, but I don't dig the scene. Can I come out? Will you leave me alone?"
"Sure."
Jimmy let him come out of the bathroom and set-tie himself with a book, on the floor alongside Celie's bed. Jimmy pretended to have lost interest in Johnny's cock. He gave him time to relax. Then Jimmy pounced. He held John's mouth closed with one hand. The weight of Jimmy's body on top of John's immobilized him. Johnny put up a valiant and silent struggle but Jimmy was too strong and too heavy for Johnny to be able to budge him. Jimmy caught his cock between his teeth and started to bite. Johnny thought better of fighting.
Jimmy lay with his prick pressed against John's chest. He started to gently suck John's cock, knowing that any other love play would be taken as a true insult. He slid his mouth up and down, retracting the foreskin with his lips, not putting his mouth over the head until he felt the other boy beginning an involuntary response. Then he started to suck the head, taking as much of the long prick in his mouth as he could, holding Johnny dose with his arms around his ass, one finger sliding from asshole to balls. Jimmy started sucking harder and John began to move his hips, caressing Jimmy's ass and fucking him in the mouth. Johnny felt Jimmy's prick grow harder on his chest. He pressed the other boy's ass as hard as he could against him, leaving marks where his fingers gripped the flesh of Jimmy's ass. His cock was rammed down Jimmy's throat, each time more of it entering the mouth and feeling Jimmy's lips pressing. They came quickly, nothing special in the way of orgasms, but good. They grinned at each other.
"Celie always said it was the best way to cement a friendship."
Celie woke up to the darkness. Her starched, shiny white curtains gleamed in the weak light of the bedroom. She looked at the two boys, sitting and reading across the room. Their images were reflected in the mirror hung at the foot of her bed. The mahogany frame of the mirror turning their images into a picture. Jimmy, broad and dark contrasted with Johnny's smooth whiteness. They were opposites in almost every detail. Johnny's skinny white prick was supported on his thighs by the smoothest whitest balls she had ever seen. Jimmy had a thick bush of wildly curling hair framing a thick ruddy prick, the circumcision scar gleaming redder.
Celie realized again how lucky she was. She had a magnificent husband who loved her and two beautiful and youthfully virile lovers. And with no complications. How many thirty-year-old women had such luck? She felt marvelous, all the fever gone.
Johnny had put an eggshell-colored sheet on the bed. She knew how well the off-white set off the brown-ness of her hair and eyes, and the olive of her skin. Celie snuggled into her brown blanket, turning on her side to face the boys.
"How do you feel?"
"Wonderful, healthy, but a little dry from all that alcohol you rubbed into me."
"Where's the cold cream? Johnny and I can take care of that."
They divided her in half, the long way. Jimmy on the right, John on the left. They rubbed the heavy unscented cream into her skin. Their hands leaving gleaming flesh as they moved from shoulders to chest, never stopping until they reached the skin of her thighs. Johnny stopped to kiss her crack, sending his tongue flicking across her clitoris. Jimmy kept on rubbing the cream into her thighs and legs. When he finished he tapped John's shoulder.
"Come on, lover."
Celie groaned with pleasure, stretching her arms above her head. Taking pleasure in the flat skin across her stomach, and her shiny tits, flattened and pulled high, their pinkish brown nipples gleaming from the cream. She turned over onto her stomach. They both started to cream her back, each on his own side. It was clearly Jimmy's turn, as they worked downward, to kiss the hidden places between her legs, and the cheeks of her ass. Celie scooped three fingers into the cold cream jar pulling John to her side as she did so. She started to grease his skinny prick, already extended to its incredible eight and a half inches. Her hand encircled his prick, rubbing the grease up and down. As she rubbed he lay down beside her, cradling his cheek on one of her tits, holding the nipple between lip-covered teeth. His hand felt her eyes, and ears, and he slipped a forefinger up her nostrils, loving the inside of her nose, feeling her breath ride up his finger.
Jimmy stood watching them. His cock curling up towards his navel. He hurt from desire. The white mound seemed to leap up from her brown body. He lay on her other side, his prick entering her cunt, acting with its own will, almost unknown to him, as his mouth grabbed her other tit, trying hard to suck it into his throat. John, never releasing her nipple, thrust his cock up her asshole. Celie lay, holding them both, in absolute bliss. Her body was surrendered to the feelings they imposed on it. She was afraid to move, having reached that point of happiness beyond anything but tears. Tears for the brief few moments. Celie started to contract the muscles of her vagina. She practised this whenever she was driving; it kept her alert. She was very good at it; she had, except during orgasm, complete control of her vaginal muscles. It became a reflex action, her vagina and ass muscles contracting together. The three of them were joined through the wall separating her ass and cunt. Their limbs were intertwined. No one moved. Only Celie's actions of her muscles milking their cocks. Her feet and shoulders lifted off the bed, trying to meet as her whole body was taken over by the force of her contractions. She screamed as she felt the indescribable warmth of a perfect orgasm spread up and down from her vagina, clothing her in a wave of pure pleasure. Johnny held her tightly, both hands pressed into the flesh of her belly, clutching rhythmically as he squirted into her bowels. Jimmy caught her head, bringing her lips to his, invading her throat with his tongue. She could feel his sperm shoot into her, meeting John's in some definite, yet mystical place, mixing and becoming part of her before the sperm would start the journey running down her thighs. Perhaps the three of them fainted, or simply fell asleep, worn with the violence of their passion, seeking a time of rest, out of time, to make tight the memory of their communion. The boys' cocks, soft now, slipped reluctantly from the sheltered places of her body. After a while, immeasurable, they began to stir.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It had been a damp fall, it was a wet winter. Cattleboro was built upon a swamp. Only during a record drought was the lawn in back of Tom and Celie's house anything less then Springy. Time after time Tom would dress warmly, take his binoculars and set out for a bit of bird watching in the woods, to be turned back only by the soggy depth of the forest floor and the constant drip from the trees. The birds, except for the pigeons and the grosbeaks were all under cover, only the yellow of the grosbeaks adding a bit of color to the dank landscape. Tom had built a feeding box on top of the sill of their dining room window, and the bright yellow of the male grosbeak signalled the passage of the familiar and welcome visitor.
Celie often sat by the window, munching sunflower seeds while watching the birds cracking theirs outside. It became her constant preoccupation, watching the yellow birds, searching out their color.
Both Tom and Celie felt pale. They tried vitamins for weeks, but obviously what they needed was sunshine. Enviously Celie watched the rich students go off for long weekends to the Caribbean. Usually content with Tom's salary she felt a pinch of shrewishness as these students returned bronzed and beautiful, so healthy looking. She tasted the sun on a boy's skin, wanting desperately to get some for herself.
Northern winters are usually a joy. The pond would freeze over, and they would spend days making circles on its smooth surface. The crisp snow would crunch underfoot. The sun would shine, glinting off the snow crystals, turning the pond into a rainbow. But this winter the temperature stayed above freezing. There was no snow, only a constant drizzle. Not even a good healthy rain, but a continuous drip mat worked its way between Celie's clothes, running down her neck whenever she dared to go outside. Celie tried the artificial sun of the tropical bird house of the Cattleboro Zoo, but it made her weep with despair. The gloom seemed to penetrate into the artificial paradise. The birds hung, songless, on the branches of the morose trees that had been transplanted for them. The animals, usually romping outdoors in large pens, huddled in the lee of their shelters, rejecting their food. One polar bear, filthy from the muddy rain, stood for hours ponderously shaking his head back and forth in front of the bars of his cage, every now and then banging his head on the bars, seeming not to care if he hurt himself. Celie went home feeling more depressed then when she had left. She had actually empathized with a male polar bear, and a crazy bear at that.
She found Tom studying a folder, humming happily to himself. Their tent was laid out at his feet, with a supply of candles and the suitcases containing their summer clothes.
"Angel," he said. "I have found that there is a camp ground on St. John. I just called, and this is their slack season. We leave tomorrow, we'll just make the luggage allowance, if we can sneak our clothes on board in two book bags."
"Money," she said, "air fare."
"I just sold my soul to a publisher of dirty books. And you thought I was screwing all those nights I stayed late at my office! You ought to be ashamed. I was working frantically to send us South."
Celie started laughing hysterically. She had thought Tom had fallen in love with someone else, he had been so secretive about what he had been doing.
"I don't believe it Tom, I don't. It sounds too perfect. Tomorrow?"
"Observe," he pulled an envelope from his pocket "Tickets, Trans-Caribbean, from Logan at 9 A.M., and I even have travellers' checks... Unknown to you, my sunflower, I have been to Boston and back three times delivering parts of the manuscript and collecting the gelt."
"Whoopee!"
Celie arranged for Johnny, who was staying on campus to work on a paper, to stay at their house for the week they would be away.
She went through their clothes ruthlessly, taking only two bathing suits each, one pair of pants and two shirts for herself, the same for Tom. They would wear better, or at least more formal clothes and ram-coats on the trip. Two towels and two pairs of rubber sandals, a toothbrush, hairbrush, comb and toothpaste, soap; that was it. They had a beautiful draw-tight nylon tent that weighed eight pounds. She packed a few pots, and some of the black coffee that Tom liked in a canvas bag.
"Celie, don't forget the suntan lotion, and the bug-off stuff."
"We don't have any left; I guess we can buy that stuff down there. I feel like dancing in the streets, if there were any around here."
She grabbed Tom's hands, leading him in a mad dance around the house. "Hey, what's the name of the book?"
"The Barbarian. A motorcycle gang attacks a town, the leader falls in love with the local first-grade teacher, a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. She leads him to the paths of righteousness. Of course there's an awful lot of sex and violence before he's saved. I console myself with the moral ending."
"Oh, Tom, it's too much... "
Celie collapsed, laughing. She couldn't stop. She laughed so much she got hiccups. She laughed until she was sore.
"You aren't using your right name?"
"I certainly am, do you think I a coward be?"
"You're putting me on."
"Yes."
"What's the name you're using?"
"I blush to say it-Ezra Elliot."
"Tom, you have no shame."
"None at all."
Celie was unable to answer that. She packed their stuff. Everything was ready to go in twenty minutes. They were too excited to eat. They prowled around the dank, dark campus for an hour, then decided to visit Barbara and Sam. As soon as they got in the door Barbara yelled her congratulations. Their ten-year-old son, Solomon, waited until they were all drinking coffee before completing Tom's disgrace. He sauntered over, very casually.
"Hey Tom, how did the publisher like those parts I helped you with?"
The three other adults at the table jumped, all spilling their coffee. Tom tried to explain, while Solomon gleefully held the fifty dollar bill Tom had paid him.
"Well, first of all I needed some inside dope on the public school scene-if you could enter the schools whenever you wanted, how much freedom the kids had, how long the teachers had off during the school day. Then Solly looking over my shoulder, decided I didn't know enough about motorcycle gangs. He'd just seen The Wild One on the rube. He decided that my descriptions of the gang weren't fierce enough so he wrote them over-better. What are you going to do with the money, Solly?"
"Oh shit, my mother will grab it the second you walk out."
"No she won't, she'll grab it right now."
Barbara made a lunge, disengaging her son from his money. Celie was roaring, together with Sam. Tom was blushing furiously, Barbara was standing bewildered, and Solly went back to reading Tom Swift.
Sam looked sternly at Tom, "You corrupter of little... " was as far as he got. He was turning red from laughing so hard, and Celie's hiccups returned. Tom didn't know whether to sink into the ground or laugh with them.
The next morning dawned as miserably as had all the others lately. Boris pulled up at seven-thirty to drive them to the airport.
"How did the publisher like Solly's bits?"
"How do you know?"
"Solly told everyone, except his parents and Celie."
"I'm ruined."
They loaded their gear in the trunk. Boris drove like a maniac. They made the hour trip in forty minutes. Boris hunched over the wheel pretending he was coming in first at Le Mans. Boris handed them each a small parcel before leaving. On the plane they opened them; Celie's was I Was a Teenage Pimp at a Gay Bar, Tom's Beat Me Daddy'O. Boris always knew exactly the right thing to do.
The plane pulled into St. Thomas in a blaze of sunshine. They stood at the bottom of the ramp just feeling the sun. They had to take a bus across the island to the ferry slip. Everywhere people looked bright and happy. The street looked miraculously clean. Celie stayed in a happy daze until they got off the boat and started to trek with their belongings on their backs, to the campground. In a sweat, they found Mrs. Smith, the manager, who pointed out their site on a map, giving them a copy. Celie bought suntan lotion and bug-off from Mrs. Smith's small store. Their site was right on the beach. Not another tent to be seen. They threw off their clothes and ran into the ocean. Everything was just perfect. The water was cool, the air hot. Tom found a spot where he could stand, his head only out of the water. He caught Celie as she floated by and without ceremony sat her down on his prick. She folded her legs around his waist. She hung, weightless, from his prick. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his salty mouth. The gentle waves rubbed against them. Tom did a happy shuffle, jogging Celie up and down as he moved. She nestled her face against his cheek.
He moved up to the edge of the sand, feeling her weight more and more as they left the water. He threw them both down where the waves could reach them on the longest swing of their arc onto the shore; it was just like From Hers To Eternity except for locale and casting-Celie and Tom in St. John instead of Kerr and Lancaster in Hawaii. Celie felt the sand rubbing her back, and Tom's cold wet body on top. She held his balls while he fucked, until she caught his rhythm, moving her hips to meet his and grind against them. They took possession of each other's mouths.
They came as a wave washed up to them, the shock of the cool water making them more aware of each part of the whole orgasm. Their minds shocked to an added intellectual awareness of what their bodies were doing.
They set up their beautiful green tent, then put on bathing suits. Celie covered Tom, who burned more easily then she did, with a coating of suntan oil. They did nothing but lie in the sun, every now and then rubbing more oil into each other, until Celie began to worry about Tom's burning. She got him a shirt and a hat and his field glasses.
Celie's skin never burned. She lay flat on the beach soaking up the sun while Tom sat at her side with the field glasses, describing the play of the dolphins leaping over the waves, and the strong beats of the gulls' wings as they swooped over the sea to feed. Later they walked up and down the deserted beach looking for their supper, Celie munching the broad flat fronds of seaweed that she found. They found some coquinas, which made a delicious broth although the flesh wasn't very tasty. The stars leapt out of the dark clear sky when they lifted their eyes from their fire. Celie spread a sleeping bag under them.
"Celie, I arranged for Sam and Boris to give my exams, and mail me the papers. We can stay until February. Sweetheart, I think it's time."
"I know. I didn't even bring the pills with me, Tom. I hope we don't have seven at once; it happens sometimes after taking the pill for a while."
He pressed his face into her belly, knowing that this was the night that they would fuck for a child, for the continuance of themselves, for the gathering of their love, its power forming a new being. Tom felt as if he were starting on a great adventure. Celie rugged at his hair, pulling his face up to hers. Tom held her ass toward his prick. He entered her slowly, nervously. He watched her face, frightened by her expression. The moon sent its light in a concentrated beam, onto her face. She was no longer lover and wife, she was something else, someone darker and deeper and more beautiful than Celie could ever be. Her eyes gleamed with the joy of a fanatic. She held him close, yet was apart from him. Tom shook the mysticism out of his head; he was dreaming, he was simply fucking Celie. But no, he was actually planting his seed. What a corny thought. But he was, he was.
He started to dig deeper, deeper, his cock went to her womb, burying the head of his cock in the hard membrane of her womb. Celie was murmuring "My love, my love," over and over into his ear. She felt his cock splitting her insides, he filled her so completely she couldn't breathe. The roar of the sea filled their ears, took over their heads. Tom fucked and fucked until he felt his prick would burst. He was afraid to let go. What an awful responsibility he was taking upon himself! Did he have the right to shape another man? Celie held him as close as she could. She was shaking from the power of her unreleased orgasm. She screamed into his ear, knowing and sharing his fear, but desperate with longing.
"Give it to me Tom, Tom, Tom, my love-" Her desire was stronger than his fear, it swallowed him. He felt the same primitive longing, the image of their child filled his mind. His tongue found hers, he filled her mouth. His cock lunged, out and in, in, so deep. As if an electric current had, at that moment, been sent through their bodies. Their pleasure was so sharp it bordered on pain. Three times the sensation took possession of them, not changing in its intensity...
Celie woke up with Tom still on top of her. Her body felt numb. She giggled at the thought of last night's emotions, ending up with her feeling numb. She pushed him off, waking him up.
"Hmmmmmmmm, c'mere."
"Tom, it's all still in me; I mean none of your sperm ran out. Good omen."
"Sit down, put your lap under my head. We better get into town for some calcium and vitamins."
Tom stuck his tongue between her closed thighs, licking her clitoris. She relaxed back onto the sand, her hand pressing his face against her. He wiggled three fingers in her vagina, his tongue licking hard, and rapidly. He waited till he felt her vagina start to mildly contract, then quickly moved up her body, rubbing himself against her until his prick entered her cunt. Celie moved her hips in a small circle, winding up with a bump of her bones against his. Tom circled his pelvis with hers, his cock pulled, stretched from side to side as they rotated. They kissed each other with huge slobbering kisses. Tom licked her chin, holding it entirely in his mouth, releasing it to lick her neck. He collapsed, his head on her chest, his prick hanging limp between her legs.
"Celie, I'm gonna piss on you."
"What the shit... "
"I love you right now more than ever, but I also feel a little nasty. It's hard to explain. Maybe I resent you being able to really have a baby; anyway J want to cut you down. Come on, if you don't let me I swear I'll hold you down, even if I have to hurt you to do it."
Celie lay face down on the sand.
"Oh no, turn over. I want to piss on your face, and I want you to watch me do it."
She turned over, frightened. Tom had never been so vehement before, neither had he ever overtly displayed such anger at her. He stood astride her body. He held his prick to direct a yellow, hard stream of piss all over her belly and chest and face. He looked triumphant, watching his piss splash over her tits and run into her mouth. He shook the last drop of urine on her. He pulled her up, he took her into the sea to wash her off. He kissed her, mute thanks. They talked about it all morning. Tom could never really explain. Celie accepted the incident as over, and necessary to Tom, therefore not unpleasant and just as necessary to her.
They spent four weeks doing not very much. One day they spent seeing all the air-conditioned movies. In spite of Celie's vigilance, Tom had gotten a bad burn. They went to St. Thomas only once a week for supplies. The campground had fresh water showers, the small store that Mrs. Smith ran carried most necessities. Four days it rained, but the sun-shine after the rain dried everything within an hour. Tom rented a fishing pole, and caught almost all their meals. He bought a pedometer and chased Celie a mile up and down the beach every day, having heard that pregnant women should walk at least that much-daily. His students' papers arrived, reminding them of time and work and the lousy Cattleboro weather. No-one else ever came to their beach. They forgot about bathing suits. It was a perfect vacation. They got thin and sleek. The top of Tom's head turned gold, Celie's copper. They talked about changing their scene when they got back. The last day came unexpectedly, time had gone by so fast. Tom took his last bass from the ocean, a very large one. They wrapped it in tin foil and buried it under their fire. The taste of a freshly caught bass, especially when you've been living outdoors, is something else. They chewed slowly, trying to fix the taste in their minds. They had been there just long enough. Another day and they would have begun to feel bored. They had fucked morning and night, and some days in between. They made it in the ocean, floating, wrapped around each other, letting the waves shove them back and forth, learning to keep the peak of sensation alive, to balance on the edge of orgasm without becoming self-conscious. Celie gained even more control over her vaginal muscles, until she could squeeze Tom's prick from limpness to orgasm. She would sit on top of him, stuffing in as much of his resting cock as she could, not letting him move, delighting in her ability. Watching him closely, looking for the changes, waiting for the moment when he would pull her down to him, and take over.
Their stuff, which seemed so heavy when they carried it from the ferry to the campground, seemed much lighter now. They were truly beautiful with the glow that can only come from perfect health. They took their last trip on the little ferry. They boarded the plane; vacation was over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
During the vacation, bored, Nan and Mac decided to try a seduction on their own. They missed Celie and Tom and Johnny and Elsa... Anyway they just wanted to. They discussed it at length. Boy or girl. Who should it be. They settled on a girl, 'cause it was easiest to set up the scene with a girl as a baby-sitter. In fact Mac had, like all fathers, made it from time to time with baby-sitters. Hasty scenes while driving them home. It was one of these they settled on.
The local Unitarian minister's daughter, who often sat for them during the summer when she was home from the State University, and their normal baby-sitters from the college were not available, was their choice. She was a typical preacher's daughter. Dissolute as all get out. She had first made a pass at Mac when she was thirteen. During her thirteenth summer, almost every Friday and Saturday night, she gave Mac very skillful blow-jobs as he drove her the two miles from his house to hers... She was now seventeen. Nan wanted her. She was seventeen and lovely. Pale and black-haired. With a slim, pliant, virginal body. The sort of unselfconscious, innocent pliancy of the hips that only the very young and the very experienced can ever achieve. Long-waisted and medium height. Glowing with health and vitality on a diet that consisted entirely of greasy hamburgers, malted milks, sperm and LSD, the American college girl's diet. Her serious committed madonna-like face, vital fast-burning eyes were set off by her few (three) acne pimples. Two on her high, proud, left cheekbone. The other, right in the middle of her serious, square (and smooth and white and small) chin. The pimples turned Mac on tremendously. She also wore braces. Not the elaborate wire-and-rubber-band-and-steel-cap-with-hooks kind that she had first put on at fourteen to Mac's horror... but a single line of silver wire which ran across the perfect whiteness of her upper teeth and was joined by two slim rubber bands to hooks on the rear-most lower molars. Mac revealed with some shame the reluctance he had felt about allowing her metalled mouth to touch his tender pride three years ago, and looked forward to making what amends he could with this comparatively unintimidating equipment. (Actually he was very excited at the idea of a blow-job with braces... ) The night arrived. Hope appeared, slim and sexy in shorts and T-shirt under an old raccoon coat that stretched down to her ankles. They left her happily stretched in front of the fireplace. Bless the college for being chichi. Her nipples poking through the cloth of her shirt most suggestively.
Nan left the small party early. Dinner at Sam and Barbara's. She took the car. They would give her an hour, then Sam would drop off Mac without coming in. She pulled into the driveway. The snow on the ground muffling the sound of her tires. Something made her turn off the headlights; she wanted to sneak up on Hope. She let herself in the kitchen door quietly and slipped off her shoes.
Hope was lying on her belly in front of the fire. Her round little butt in the tight shorts was wriggling in the air. One hand was hidden underneath her. The other was propping up Mac's book of dirty Beardsley etchings, the nursery daisy chain series. The girl's dark hair was unbound and hiding her face. Nan moved around the room to get a better view. The rapt girl never noticed her. Her eyes were fixed on the page held inches from her face. Her mouth was half open and her tongue ran nervously to the corner of her mouth. Underneath her, her hand was busy, as could be seen from the rhythmic jerking of her whole arm. She caught a wisp of her black hair in the corner of her mouth between her teeth and chewed on it violently; her arm jerked faster and faster and her hips pounded up and down against the floor. She closed her eyes and dropping the book with a jerk, slammed her hand to her own breast and clutched a tit, squeezing and twisting it violently.
"Too easy," muttered Nan, shedding her coat. She tiptoed till she was standing over the prostrate girl. At her feet. Not noticed at all. She saw that the girl's T-shirt (too tight anyway) had worked up, and three inches of slim, jerking back, the hollow groove running up her young spine, could be seen. Nan looked down at the young body writhing at her feet. Milky skin. The shorts came mid-thigh. Just right to flatter slim young legs with lean thighs. Her arse was hard and protuberant. Young, so young... Nan threw herself down on her tits, squashing against the hard pounding arse, her legs in their nylons locking around the slim naked legs. Her mouth went to the exposed base of the girl's spine. She gobbled a big mouthful of smooth sweet skin and sucked as hard as she could. Under her, she felt Hope's loins explode into a battery of cataclysmic shudders.
Hope jerked around as soon as her fury subsided. She held her body rigid as she looked at Nan whose head now rested on her smooth belly where her shirt had pulled up. Nan cradled the scared girl gently in her arms and moved her lips expertly over the taut young belly. She kissed around and around the navel and then down to the waistband of the shorts exactly where the hook was. She moved her lips sideways along the waistband. She felt Hope's hand which had been rigidly knitted into fists at her sides come to rest on her shoulders and push her gently down toward the twat. Nan took the waistband of the pants in her teeth and pulled until the snap came free. Then, nuzzling around with her head in the covered crotch she caught the tab piece of the zipper between her teeth and lifted up to unlock it. She took the material again and pulled it away from Hope's body until the zipper was forced open. By nuzzling her head hard into Nan's belly and mound, she pulled the pants off, leaving her underpants, beautifully clean white lace bikinis, to bring out even more clearly the startling whiteness and opacity of her skin. Nan pulled the pants free with her teeth, moving her body down the girl's legs, letting her right tit slide heavily down against the girl's right leg. Then she squirmed up the body again and laid her head, mouth down, on the dark bushy mound. Clearly outlined through the white lace. She nuzzled the mound gently through the material while her hands moved up onto the girl's bony rib cage toward her tits.
She felt Hope growing rigid again as her soft hands moved firmly over the warm skin towards her two little tits. At die same time the skin on the rib cage grew even tauter as the tits erected themselves. Nan's fingers slid around the tits and onto Hope's shoulders. She felt the girl feeling her need. Turning her body subtly, reaching her tits out to Nan... Now she slid her hands down off the girl's shoulder and covered her tits with them. Her hands easily covered the tight little things which trembled and pounded beneath them... Imprisoned birds is the old metaphor... With a hotter than human metabolism, fluttering. The hard little nipples two pips of smooth fire, burning Nan's palms with pleasure. She let her hands rest there and began nuzzling a little harder at the girl's crotch. Then with a sudden movement she shifted her grip, her arms going around the girl, her body sliding up and covering her like a man. Her thigh grinding between Hope's thighs. One arm around her back, the other around her neck, she pressed the girl to her, demanding and hard, and set her hard lips on the girl's frightened mouth.
Hope's mouth hesitated, but her squirming hips were driving her sopping wet vagina hard against Nan's thighs, the clinging of her belly to Nan's belly. Her arms went unconsciously around Nan's neck. Nan forced her mouth against Hope's tight-shut lips. She forced the lips open, pressing her own against them, then opening, forcing her tongue between the open lips and over the teeth with the curious cold taste of the metal wire, its coolness adding further excitement to Nan's probing tongue until the twisting girl opened her teeth and greedily and gladly gave in. Gave her tongue, her spit, eagerly, like the first time. It was the first time exploring the mouth of another girl. Tasting the spit and the soft, soft lips against soft, soft lips. The kiss lasted and lasted. But Nan wanted to go further with this girl before Mac came back... She had purposely worn no underpants. Just stockings and a garter belt and a full skirt that easily went up over her ripe thighs. She soothed the girl with soft darting caresses of the face and neck and gradually disengaged her arms, squirmed around on the floor, never letting her arms leave the clinging tweed-covered crotch impassively. Nan got out a hand, she disengaged her head and pulled her body a bit away from Hope's, then she reached down and pulled Hope's panties off, shoving them as far down as she could, finally getting them off one leg and leaving them around the other ankle. She spread Hope's legs and gazed down on her pale pink young cunt framed in its jet-black hair. Shiny drops of lubrication were evaporating now that it was freely exposed to the air. Nan leaned over and blew softly on the little pink lips. Then she reached behind herself and with one smooth fluid motion pulled up her skirt, revealing her strong rounded legs, incredibly sexy in the heavy white nylon stockings and black satin garter belt. Her huge mass of taffy-colored hair running up onto the smooth, rounded woman's belly. Agape, clit protruding, bright pink, strong-smelling full-lipped vagina. The same motion continued in a smooth arc, as she plunged her tongue between the girl's lower lips, and threw her body over the girl, capturing her head between her strong thighs, and clenching Hope's head into the rank sweetness of her crotch. Nan's experienced tongue immediately sent the girl into paroxysms of pleasure that were transferred into an inspired love-sucking at the other end. Her lips instinctively finding Nan's erect clitoris and sucking it gently and longingly. With perfect contentment.
A baby at the nipple. Like some come home... She sucked it like a very small cock. Trying to swallow it deep into her mouth, holding it between lips softly curled back over her teeth, and running her tongue back and forth and around the tip. They were beginning to work together. Nan having to be careful not to over-excite the younger girl's sensitive clit, while Hope was finding Nan's sensitive spots.
They explored the depths and fringes of one another's holes with their tongues. Nose now deep in arse Nan tried to plunge her tongue as deep into the vagina as she could, forcing her face hard, the lips spread out, wet and slimy against the corners of her mouth. Now Hope's tongue ran light around the engorged lips of Nan's hole, between the inner and outer lips. In front of the clit back and forth over the sensitive little cavity that houses the urethra hole. They were building their own rhythm. Their own music. As complicated as any of the Goldberg Variations. A two-part fugue. Building and rebuilding on itself. Adding layers of complication, of sensation, and growing faster and harder and more gentle. They were passing through their third long shuddering orgasm when Mac returned.
He walked into the living room on stockinged feet and stood at the door sardonically. When he got to the door he leaned there and burst out in a grieved tone.
"Well, shit, it looks like I'm not needed here at all."
Nan clenched Hope's face between her legs to give her time to adjust without facing Mac. She looked up at him from between Hope's legs.
"Oh come on Mac, I'm sure that you can think of something to do if you try hard enough."
Mac squatted down and kissed his wife's lips. Then barely turning his head, he placed a kiss on Hope's nearby cunt. The girl jerked and shuddered, but held on tight to Nan's waist and returned the kiss by way of Nan's clit. Mac grinned as his wife's eyes transmitted him the news of the response below. And ran his hand over Hope's smooth arse.
"OK if I ask Sam in? Barbara has that bug and is fast asleep. Boris and Elsa are still over there keeping an eye on her and the kids. Poor Sam. He's been baby-sitting and nursing for a week!" The question had been directed at Hope. She slowly emerged from between Nan's legs and met Mac's eyes.
"You mean Sam Adams, the classics prof?"
He nodded. Hand clenching naked buttock.
"Wow, something has changed this campus... Well, I guess the more, the merrier."
"Nan will explain... I'll go get Sam. He's sitting outside in his car."
When the men came back, the two girls were not to be found. They couldn't yell for them for fear of waking the kids, so Mac toured the house. He found the bedroom door closed. When he tried it, it was locked. Nan's voice came through it. "Go away. Let's have a little fucking elegance around here. Go make some tea and what not. We need refreshment. We'll be coming down soon."
Mac reported the news to Sam and they set about making tea. They had some of the smoky hu-kwa. Celie's invariable Xmas present to everyone. It was, so Celie bitterly claimed, the best lamsang souchong available in America. She often went to visit the importer in his one-room office down on the Boston docks with the intention of showing him how much she liked his tea, but, probably luckily, had never found him. Its hard smoky fragrance now filled the room. Mac lit the candles on the big round dining table.
He and Nancy were a bit freaky about possessions, and had collected a lot of good country furniture and refinished it themselves. This table was of some fruitwood, knotty and red in the candlelight. Mac set out the tea in the blue Japanese pot and four cups. The two candlesticks and a bowl of mixed pom-poms. White and gold and violet. A bowl of fruit. Delicious apples and navel oranges, very dark brown Bose Pears and a few kumquats with their leaves still attached. Ivory-handled fruit knives, and linen napkins. The white linen napkins looked incredibly sexy against the dark wood gleaming in the candlelight. He sat down with Sam and they passed a thick joint rolled in dark brown licorice paper back and forth, the sweet smell of the pot mingling with the smoky musk of the tea.
They heard the women come downstairs. Nan entered first. She stood at the doorway leaning slightly to one side to let the men admire her. She had washed and perfumed herself. Very very lightly; a clean fruity perfume that didn't clash at all with the mixed scents already filling the room, the fruit, the tea, the pot. She had kept on her white stockings, opaque but unfigured, smooth over her swelling legs, and was wearing in addition only a black silk slip. Very short. Coming down only to the top third of the thigh, slightly split on the side to show a gleam of the black satin garter belt. It was a straight sided slip that molded itself smoothly over the rich lyre of her hips and up the column of her trunk to where her full tits-without bra-pushed out of the almost-too-tight, well-too-tight top. She had let down her hair and brushed it till it shone honey-colored ramparts in the warm light, flowing down over her shoulders and framing her serious oval face. Nan stood in the doorway, leaning against one side. Hope joined her and leaned within the protecting circle of her arm, her head resting on Nan's shoulder.
Hope was wearing a shirt of Mac's, a very fine shirt that he had gotten in Italy the summer before, of fine-spun long staple white cotton. Smooth, silky in texture, as light as lawn but more opaque. Her shiny black hair fell down around her face and over the collar. You were not certain that you could actually see the darkness of the nipples through the fine white cloth. But the thinness and fineness of texture outlined every detail of the two pert little points. The shirt came down just to the bottom of her arse and as she moved smoothly across the room to take her seat between Sam and Mac her little butt twitched slowly, shaking the material aside just long enough to reveal a flash of red. Her tight small arse was covered by dark scarlet stretch bikinis. Mac gave thanks for modern stretch materials. The same panties that tautly went over Nan's womanly arse, fitted snugly on the little girl's charming butt.
The women took their places between the men. They both sat curled up in their chairs, legs underneath them (massive carved chairs, collected from an apartment house lobby in the Bronx and refinished). Sitting with legs curled underneath threw the women's curves into high relief by putting their weight off-balance. Nan's soft milky globes bulged over the top of the black silk, the dark valley between them growing deeper and shadowy. The girls sat straight, self-contained, drinking their tea from cupped hands. Enjoying looking good. Enjoying showing off their bodies for the men. The material of Mac's fine white shirt fell away from Hope's jutting young tits in catenary curves as she sat, weight thrown akimbo. She held her intricately patterned cup in front of her face and spoke over its rim to Mac, her eyes dark pools over the candle's flame.
"Did you tell Nancy all about us?... "
"Well, not everything... "
"Did you tell her about the time I had the braces put on... "
They grinned secretly at one another. The men were impatient, but willing to restrain themselves to looking for a long while. They drank two pots of tea and smoked another joint. Mac sliced up one of the ripe sugary pears and passed the slices around. The girls sat in their chairs, arching their backs and stretching like cats. Dipping their tea and nibbling at the slices of pear. Licking their fingers. The candles were halfway burned down. They sat in silence. Nan was the leader. She reached out and took Sam's hand where it lay on the table. On the other side Mac was holding Hope's hand. Nan looked at Hope and, without letting go of Sam, she reached out for Mac's free hand. Slowly the girl did the same and reached for Sam. They sat quite still until Nan broke the circle, stretched and said: "Well... to bed... "
The girls led the way arm in arm, the men following them slowly up the stairs to the bedroom, admiring the interplay of balanced roundness against balanced roundness as they moved, as much a pair of goddesses as is given human imagination to desire, up the stairway. They got through the bedroom door and got it closed but could not restrain themselves long enough to get to the bed. The men had opened their flies on the stairway and as soon as the door closed, Sam grabbed Nancy and Mac grabbed Hope. There was a hurried ripping and pulling of clothes and the two men threw the two women to the floor and forced their ways between legs... Mac with instant success. The small girl was putty in his hands. He grabbed her to him with one hand around the waist; the other went to the waistband of her panties right above the left buttock and ripped it away. His body forced hers down to the floor and with no further show of resistance her legs swung up to clasp his waist as he drove his cock home into her tight little hole. Nancy put up a fake fight. Her legs were tight together. Ankles crossed and locked. And she was covering Sam's face with sweet kisses. Her hands doing funny things under his shirt at the base of his spine. Murmuring: "Such a hurry, such a hurry... Take off your clothes... No, you have to take off your clothes first... mmmm... " All the while Sam's hips were blindly stabbing against her closed thighs, his knees were trying to force their way between her locked legs. Finally he reached a hand down and squeezed it, with much struggling, between her squirming locked thighs. When he finally got it in, he irresistibly doubled it into a fist, the hard knuckles finding slack in the woman softness, even though she tightened her thigh muscles to the utmost, until he was able to seize two fingerfuls of the soft flesh of the inside of her thigh and cruelly, hard as he could, pinch it. She shrieked and opened her thighs and his cock went up into her, his hands slid under her soft globes and he lifted her hips up towards him. His body was all a rigid bow. His legs tight. He was resting on his toes and his breastbone, which was securely propped on Nan's deep bosom. With each forward thrust he slammed his whole body down on her womanly softness, driving the breath out of her, till she screamed and moaned with agony and pleasure. Then, still stroking with his whole body, he slowed his beat. Drawing his cock almost all the way out of her gripping vagina, then sliding it in slowly, slowly, till its full length was buried in the moist warmth; then he ground his hard pubic bone with all his weight against her sensitive clit, the rough hair scraping against the most receptive parts of her genitals. She was screaming continually. A high-pitched animal wail. Sam's beat picked up speed again. His body locked against hers now along its full length, his pelvis moving separately in blind instinctive deep thrusts...
Alongside them Mac had stood up, holding Hope's slim waist in his hands, holding her impaled on his cock, her legs locked around his waist. He was jumping up and down into the air. When his feet came down his arms slammed the slim girl, her hair flying wildly, ever harder down onto his cock. He was jumping higher and higher and faster and faster and Hope was beginning to scream too. Wild short whoops, involuntary, expelling all her breath as he came down and slammed her yet harder onto his cock.
Nan and Sam came first and were there to catch the other two as they came down, both screaming, from Mac's last leap. Shuddering, uncoordinated, both screaming... Afterwards in a pile on the bed, they wondered how they had avoided waking the kids... "That was," Nan said, "the noisiest, if not the wildest scene, that this bedroom has ever seen.
It's a miracle that the kids didn't come in."
"Would it really have been so bad if they had?... You know that's something we really have to think out... What we've been doing during the last few months really throws that shit in a different light... "
"Well dear they're still a little young... But I know what you mean... Shit! If orgies are so good... or rather if loving orgies are so good, then incest, if it is loving... well, we really have to think it out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There's a beautiful, beautiful field. THE END. NO END. Programmatic. All that long and, it turned out, glorious Spring. The snowdrops, crocuses and jonquils appeared in their succession. Dogwooods and redbud and the early witch hazel, yellow and mysterious. Tom and Celie gradually withdrew. Nan and Mac took their places. Holding torches. A graduation. Once, Mac asked Tom about grades for the students one happens to be fucking.
"Well, what have you done about them so far?"
"Nothing. Haven't had to do a thing about them. All the kids in my classes that I've been making it with are doing A work."
"What do you mean by AT' "Mostly, anyone who is serious about what I'm serious about it. Who treats important questions as important questions. Helps me to learn... Oh, I get it."
"Right. I've been doing it for years and all the students I've made it with have always done A work in just that sense, I am careful to pick students who I know won't freak out if I fuck 'em or if I don't. But what can break the bullshit barrier faster? I mean, they know sex is real and important, and not because someone has told them it's important. They feel it. A big thing. And they know you are real. Quick enough they drop their classroom masks and really listen."
"Yeah, and they know you. That you exist, what you are really like, and they can see that it's really you getting all excited about whatever you are excited about, and that it's just not teacher ego shit."
Celie grew round and glowed. Elsa was the star of the Spring. There were spring scallions and the first asparagus and, since this was New England, fiddlehead ferns, a great delicacy. They parted on the grass of the old, sports field, covered with bluets, small flowers with four fragile bluish white petals and a yellow spot in the center, also called piss-in-the-beds or Quaker-ladies. Celie sat on the flowers easily; her center of gravity was low. In the field the naked figures of friends, colleagues and students, a scene from some improbable mythological fiction. Vivat Academia.
Nancy sat down alongside Celie. "You know... before... last fall, things were getting pretty strained between Mac and me."
