Jean felt Dotty's hands and lips ignite the fire that engulfed her naked body. Everyone had gathered around to watch the mannish lesbian seduce the delicious little "femme" who wanted it no matter who gave it to her.
"Kiss me," begged Jean. "Kiss me ... where I want to be kissed." Here breasts rolled around wildly on her chest, the tips as sharp as pine cones.
"First--I'll beat you!" With that, the broad-shouldered bull dyke balled her fists and started punching the milky soft body of her beloved "femme."
Jean screamed as she felt the cruelty of the perverted lesbian. Everyone cheered and urged them to continue. They had never seen two naked girls making Sapphic love together. They crowded close as they watched Dotty's lips seize one of Jean's breasts, bite down hard, while her hands did other things ... LESBOS ... PEVERSIA....
CHAPTER ONE
I suppose every guy remembers his first time around. You know what I mean. The first time in the hay. How much plainer do I have to get?
I'm sure, too, that none of us ever forgets that first time, no matter who we meet and what happens afterward. It sort of sets the pace for each succeeding time with every other woman.
We had just moved to Baltimore and I was the new guy on the block. Being new, I was an object of curiosity, if not one of out and out fascination.
After the initial fights and cigarettes with the "rocks" when I walked past an alley at night, I was in. There was a real though kid in the bunch; his name was Jimmy Lowe, and he hadn't quite accepted me. He was stilly trying to see what I was made of.
Out of a clear blue sky one day, he asked me, "Hey, Artie, you ever had it--the heal way? Know what I mean?"
"How would you like to get it?" Jimmy asked.
I thought that was a pretty dumb question. Who didn't? I'd think about it until I ached all over and felt ashamed for what I did alone. I wanted to as badly as the next guy.
Forgetting my embarrassment and trying to appear nonchalant about the thing, I assured him that I did.
Looking at each of the three girls in turn, he asked, "Which one?"
One of the girls was Pat Cushing and I'd had my eye on her ever since I'd first come to town. I saw most of them on the streets, but Pat stood out. I couldn't help gawking at her high, upturned breasts with the nipples clearly visible through her too-tight sweater, and he r rounded, nicely jutting buttocks that just oozed the promise of joy when she walked. Her hair was jet black ... she had a wide, humorous mouth and brown eyes that claimed to know everything that there was to know. Except for a few freckles on her uptilted nose, I'd say she was close to perfection. She could love anything in pants until he pleaded for mercy. I wish I could do a little pleading. According to Jimmy's promise, I could have her if I wanted her; she sure wasn't protesting. She looked interested.
"Walk me home today. Meet at my locker, " she winked. We both worked in the same factory.
"OK," I gulped. "See you then." I walked away, feeling my legs trembling weakly under me.
Five o'clock couldn't come around fast enough. The clock on the wall just grinned spitefully, moving a fraction of an inch at a time.
Pat's house was a well-painted two story affair, with a porch running the whole width. There was porch furniture, a couple of chairs and a long rocking bench, the kind you don't see any more. The living room was neat and dark. All the drapes were closed.
"My old man's a traveling salesman and Mom works at the cabaret: day shift. She gets home about five-thirty."
"How long have you known Jimmy?" I asked abruptly.
"Oh, we've grown up together. Went through school ... we've done everything." She smiled knowingly. "Would you like a beer?"
Even though I hated the stuff then, I said, "Yeah, sure." I watched her walk to the kitchen, her rear-end swaying hypnotically from side to side, her thighs trying to fight their way through her tight skirt. Then I was thirsty.
She came back with the cold ones, and sat close to me on the sofa. When she leaned forward to set the glasses on the coffee table, I could see her breasts ... she was wearing a slip, but no bra. I leaned over to grab a glass, when somehow my hand found hers. She didn't bother to pull away. Instead, she leaned backward, taking me with her. In an instant, she was beneath me, grinding her hot body against mine, exploring every nook and cranny of my mouth with her tongue. My hands went to her breasts and the nipples became hard at the touch. Finally, we could stand it no longer; she pushed me away and without bothering to get up, unbuttoned her sweater and unzipped her skirt. In a panting voice, which thundered in my ear, she whispered, "This'll make it easier for you."
"Let's go," she said and started to pull off all her clothes.
There she was, completely naked, completely mine. My first time. I just looked at her body, which was quivering with unrestrained passion. Quickly, very quickly, I finished undressing and rolled on top of her, reacting instinctively. She reached for me to guide me in, and I thought that I was finished right then and there. Her hips and soft belly gyrated slowly in perfect time, grating against me, carrying me with her motions ... I was just rolling with the tide, feeling delightfully unbearable tumult beneath me. Letting her do all the work, being the loved, not the lover. It didn't last long, though. Her hands came crashing down on my buttocks, driving me into her up to the proverbial hilt. We both just lost our minds at that point, and started pumping madly, but together, always together. She was almost hysterical with bliss, moaning and writhing ... "Oh, baby ... Now, Now Please" We both exploded at the same moment, and gripped each other tightly as we began our downward flight back to reality. Her thighs were wrapped around the small of my back, and we just held on to one another, breathless, too breathless to talk.
I started to gently pull away, but Pat held on tightly with her arms and legs.
"You feel so good. I just don't want you to leave," she pleaded.
"Pat, it was wonderful ... I feel like a jerk for waiting so long." I meant it, though ... what had taken me so long? Shame? I guess that was it. I remember when we lived in Virginia, a girl everyone called Maxine had tried to make me. And I ran like hell, never so terrified in my life. Was I dumb But that's another story.
Finally, we disengaged and started to dress. We lit up cigarettes and sat back, completely relaxed. I felt like a rag doll, a limp doll with all the stuffing knocked out of it. The tranquility of youth on a warm spring afternoon, a tranquility I was to lose in later years. Yes, now life was complete ... I had been hurled into the world of "adult pleasures" by a girl no older than I. Let them laugh now.
I made a mental note to thank Jimmy tomorrow.
Pat, Pat, Pat ... images of Pat, in all her naked glory went reeling through my brain that night in bed. The crickets held their usual concert in Rock Creek Park, which was our back yard. The warm air came through my windows, the curtains billowed. And I tossed in fitful slumber, thinking of Pat and our afternoon session.
I always got to work by eight-thirty, in time to smoke a cigarette with the rocks. The rocks were a strong minority group. They were envied and detested by the others. We smoked on the grounds, wore tight Levis and tighter T-shirts. The girls wore tight-hip skirts and sweaters. "If you can see the nipples, it fits," we used to say. I hadn't been to any of the parties, but I heard that they were absolutely orgiastic.
"Hi, Jim," I hailed as I walked over and sat down next to him, lighting up a butt. He looked at me and smiled. If anybody could drawl a smile, he sure could.
"Hi you'self ... make out OK yestiddy?"
"Yep."
"Well, fine and dandy. Pat's a good ol' girl. We grew up in Kermit together, y'know ... went all through school an' then she moved here. Couple years later, we came, too. Good ol' girl." His look softened, as if he were back there again, shooting jackrabbits and tearing across the draws in the jeep.
"Jim ... when did Pat ... well, when did she for the first time?"
"Oh, I can't remember--but it happened! She don't look a lot different now than she did then. Rollin' in the hay wasn't nothin' new ... watched the livestock at it all the time. Her old man was out of town and she used to stay at out place with her mother. Gave it to her th' first time out in the barn. I'd come home from work and go to the barn to check over th' hay, 'Cause winter was comin' on. Pat came out to watch. She followed me over to th' stable and a couple of th' horses were goin' at it hot an' heavy.
"What're they doin'?" she asked me.
"Havin' a good time," I told her.
"What's so good about that? It just looks like hard work to me."
"Well, it's nothing you can explain" I told her. "You have to try it."
"How do you start? Do you just start doin' it, or do you begin another way."
"I'll show y' if you want me to, " I told her. "It really is a lark."
"Well, I don't know," she said.
"I took her back to th' barn, in case someone should come to th' stable to get a horse," he explained, "an' we went up to th' loft. She kissed OK, she'd done that before. I showed her how to get a guy worked up an' she liked it. Started pantin' like a mare, so I rubbed her all over, until she was squirmin'. I took her hand and put it on me an' she loved it. I didn't have to tell her to unzip my jeans and feel me bare. I didn't lose no time ... I peeled off her jeans an' pants and started workin' around until she was so wet she started to drip. By this time we were both moanin' and squirmin' until we couldn't stand it. I could feel she was tight as a cork, but she was so hot it didn't matter. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down hard and she started to hurt real bad. I started to move up and down and she forgot all about her pain. She just went wild. She was mighty sore for a coupla days, but we got right back into it. That was the first time."
"Jim, you got me in the mood!"
"Well, I think you have a good thing with her; learn th' ropes from her ... she can teach 'em. Then you'll try out on Dot an' Beverly."
"Boy, this is one time when I'll be sorry to see summer layoff come around and I don't mean because of the money." "Why, man, that's when we have our most fun. We go out to Dot's ol' man's cottage at th' beach an' really have ourselves a real wild ball!"
The work bell rang, and we got up lazily and walked toward the building. Another day of work at a monotonous lathe. But I liked seeing all the girls--especially Pat, who worked on the assembly line. When I passed her she turned around with a big, warm smile. "Hi, how are you? ' she asked.
"Fine, Pat ... how about you?"
"Great ... are you ready for another lesson this afternoon?"
"Why, sure." I wasn't blushing any more. Not from embarrassment, anyway. "What are you going to teach me today?"
"Yesterday, you learned how to float ... today you start to learn how to swim." She smiled in a way that made me dread having to go to my machine and work. Her eyes held a promise of excursions beyond my wildest expectations. So yesterday had been dull, huh?
CHAPTER TWO
Once again, Pat was waiting for me, all ready. She did everything efficiently. Again, we all but smashed our way through the human traffic and emerged outside, freed from the stifling factory. My Virginia days had endowed me with an appreciation for clean, sweet air.
It had stopped raining, so we decided not to take the bus to Pat's house. We had progressed no more than two blocks when it started to rain like buckets. We started to run at breakneck speed, sloshing water with our feet. The rain was warm, and the smell of fresh cut grass was strong.
We were thoroughly waterlogged by the time we arrived in Pat's living room. My loafers made a squishing sound as I walked across the rug.
"Take off your clothes and hang them in the bathroom. I'll bring you a robe."
I did as I was told, not asking who the robe belonged to; I wrapped it around me twice and the sleeves hung emptily below my hands. I really felt ridiculous.
Pat emerged in a bathrobe of her own, tied very loosely.
She brought us two beers again, and since there was full awareness on the part of both of us this time, we just sat quietly and drank our beer.
I slammed my glass down on the table with a finality, to illustrate that I was finished. I put my arm around Pat and she melted right in as we silently listened to the rain outside.
"I love the rain," she said. "It's so relaxing to listen to."
"It gives me the creeps ... I just get depressed every time I hear it or see it."
Her hand moved up my thigh and rested lovingly on my loins. I was immediately on fire ... I hadn't learned the self control that came from experience. Her hand moved methodically over me, until I was panting uncontrollably.
"Touch me there," she breathed. I did, to find that she was already moist, and that my finger just plunged home to the seat of her passion. Our tongues collided as we kissed. There was no caressing with our free hands. We concentrated entirely upon the cores of our mutual excitement. Finally, her other hand moved to my groin, and now they were both caressing me there.
"Pat, don't ... I don't think I can hold back," I pleaded with desperation in my voice.
She stopped, and the absence of her hands there was far more agonizing.
"Lie down," she panted, and pushed me on my back. Her eyes glazed feverishly, and her body was heaving spasmodically. She kissed me on the mouth, her tongue roved over the end of mine, and her teeth bit my lips with passionate abandon. I ran my tongue over the nipple of her breast and felt it become rigid between my lips. As I was kissing her, her lips moved to my chest, then my stomach. When she kissed my stomach, my abdominal muscles quivered involuntarily ... it was absolutely maddening. Her face moved closer and closer to the target, and her lips came to rest there. I felt a hot breath and then a slow, warm penetration of her lips. Instinctively, I grabbed her around the thighs and pulled her over me; she shifted until she was lying on top of me.
My hands played wildly over her smooth buttocks and quivering thighs until my lips and tongue caressed her moist passion. We were now giving one another the ultimate caress with our lips. We were wriggling uncontrollably, and soon she brought her head up and I heard a muffled "Now! Oh, now!" and her head was instantly back down again. We moved together, losing ourselves completely in this unequalled pleasure. My grand finale came, and I almost lost consciousness, so acute was the pleasure-pain. Our passion rose and fell away simultaneously, and for several moments we were too weak and spent to move.
"Show me how much you love me, now." Pat demanded. I just stared dumbly, not knowing what she wanted. "You know I love you, Pat," I said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Kiss me! On the mouth." Was that all she wanted? I took her into my arms and kissed her softly for a long time. She responded very tenderly.
"You're the first guy I ever did that for," she whispered. "I'm sure I've done everything else before but never what we just did."
"Why now? ' I asked. It was hard to believe that an experienced girl like Pat had passed a kick like this completely by the wayside.
"I always thought it was disgusting,' she explained. "The kids used to talk about it, and it just made me sick ... but today, with you, I couldn't help myself. I just suddenly wanted to try it. If you hadn't kissed me afterwards. I'd have cried."
"We could never do anything wrong," I told her. "Anything as wonderful as this couldn't possibly be wrong. Not with you, Pat." I squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she smiled.
"I'm glad I found you. I bet my father would even like you."
"I hope I can meet him one of these days." I hadn't completely shut my mouth when I realized how it must have sounded; like her old man might not make it back home. Her eyes clouded up, and I moved quickly to comfort her.
"I didn't mean it the way it sounded, Pat ... he'll come home safe and sound."
"I hope so,' she sighed. "I sure hope so."
I kissed her goodbye and headed for home. The rain had stopped and the walk to Nebraska Avenue was pleasant. It was good to walk when I had a lot on my mind.
I put out my thumb and as always, cursed the cars that streaked by, ignoring my silent plea for a ride. Hitching is a law of averages science, though, and eventually, a car stopped. An immense Buick convertible driven by a rugged, good looking guy wearing a barber's coat. I hopped in fast, so the cars behind him wouldn't start blasting their horns. "Where to?" he asked, guiding the car easily.
"Down to the bottom of Nebraska, if you're going that far."
"Going all the way to Wheaton."
He was going my way, so I leaned back in the seat and relaxed. I just wanted to think about Pat. But this jerk kept intruding on my thoughts with conversation. I really didn't hear what he was saying half the time; I just said "yep' and "nope" like my old man did when he wasn't really listening to someone's bantering.
When I felt a hand crawling up my leg, though, I woke up peal fast ... awfully fast. I moved away towards the door. When the guy saw that I wasn't playing, he started talking.
"Do you like girls?" he asked. I noticed now that he lisped. The guy was queer as a nine dollar bill.
"Sure I like girls; doesn't everyone?"
"I have some pictures at my place. If you want, I'll show them to you., they're awfully good pictures," he leered.
I was sorry for the guy and annoyed at him all at once Mad because he was trying to put me on the spot, and sorry because I figured most guys were like me ... just not about to play this kind of ball. Like an oasis, the bottom of Nebraska Avenue appeared.
"I get out at the stop sign."
I was half expecting him not to stop, but he did. I don't know what I'd have done if he'd kept on going.
I got home, and my parents were having their usual drinks. My mother didn't really enjoy it, but she kept my father company, and it was a chance for both of them to unwind and discuss the events that had occurred in their lives since morning.
"Hi," I said, slamming the front door behind me. It was really more of an announcement than a greeting. I collapsed into a chair and rattled off my day from nine to five.
"Why home so late?" my father asked. It was close to six.
"I played some ball after work. The game didn't break up until after five." This too, was true. We just had two different interpretations of playing ball.
Summer layoff at the factory began when the owner and a few of the foremen called everybody into the auditorium of the recreation building. They all made pretty speeches to which nobody listened, about how they had hoped to land a few contracts but it did not work out so they had to close down for the summer. No one really cared. In fact we were relieved to know that business was bad. It meant we would all go on unemployment workmen's compensation--and have ourselves a real hot time in the good old summertime.
When I arrived, everyone was already there. I'd gone home to put on a clean T-shirt. Pat brought me a beer, and its cold bitterness felt good after hitch-hiking in ninety-five degree heat. I was so sweaty that I peeled off my shirt, shoes and socks before sprawling on the couch.
Jimmy was sitting next to me; we had grown close recently, and talked about a lot of things, personal things that a guy like Jimmy usually didn't discuss with anyone.
"You cooled off yet? ' he asked.
"Nope. You dumb Texan. There isn't enough water in Texas to drink, let alone sweat," I said jokingly.
"Well, we do everything just a mite slower ... we take our time, but we get there."
"Well, maybe I'll slow down, too, and not work up such a sweat."
"That's the idea," Jimmy nodded approvingly.
Dot came over to bum a cigarette from one of us. I held the match for her, and she bent down. Her breasts just flopped inside her sleeveless blouse ... too hot to wear a bra. The fascinating thing about Dot was her size. She was so small, you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to have her in bed. She was four feet ten inches and weighed ninety pounds soaking wet. Yet every feature was nearly perfect. Dot was a true blonde, a northern Italian. Blonde and tan ... and built. Her hips were wide and melted perfectly with small, well-rounded buttocks. When she walked, those buttocks just begged you to follow, and put a hand on them Her voice had a hoarse quality that belonged in bed. I could never picture this girl with clothes on ... always naked, always in bed with me. Every guy wanted Dot, and she wanted every guy in turn. A perfect working relationship.
I blew out the match and said, "You're welcome." She hadn't thanked me, and I was always one for good manners.
"I haven't thanked you yet...."
"You will when you get around to it," I cut in.
"When do you want me to get around to it? ' Her face was flushed with anticipation.
"How about today? "I asked.
"Not in Pat's house," she answered. "She likes you." The truth was that I liked Pat, too, but I wasn't passing any of this up. My education was going to be as well-rounded as I could make it. "I'll leave about ten minutes after you do," I whispered. "Meantime you wait for me on the corner. We'll take a little walk down the bridle path in the Park."
CHAPTER THREE
When I hit the corner, Dot was there, sitting on the embankment of someone's front lawn. Her shorts were hiked way up, and I could see the shadows on the inside of her milky thighs. Dot had a thing for guys that were deeply tanned, and even though the summer hadn't really began, I was the color of burnt copper. The white T-shirt I was wearing made a good case in my favor.
I extended an arm, which she grabbed to hoist herself oft those beautiful hips that beckoned. In silent agreement, we started walking in the general direction of Rock Creek Park, which runs erratically all over Northwest Baltimore.
I knew the part thoroughly, however, and started walking towards a bridle path that was seldom used. For some unknown reason, it just wasn't popular among horseback riders. Never had I seen another couple around.
As we walked farther down the path, and more deeply into the woods, the trees became taller and more heavily foliaged. The sunlight soon became invisible except for an occasional ray no thicker than a pencil. We walked in semidarkness, holding hands. Soon my arm crept around Dot's waist, and she snuggled into me, our footsteps falling as one. Finally, I saw what I'd been looking for; a narrow, barely visible animal path that veered off the main bridle path. We turned in, and after another fifty yards, we sat down on some dried leaves and pine needles. We looked at one another knowingly, and just melted into each other, fused in a passionate embrace.
Her smallness felt good in my arms; her hands moved frantically over my back, and as her hot breath and tongue played in my ear and on my neck, her body ground against mine. What she lacked in size, she sure as hell made up for in lovemaking ability! Those mounds of hers were driving me nuts. I felt for the zipper in back of her dress and found that it was already more than halfway down; there was no bra to worry about. It simply didn't exist. Nor did the panties. Only that flimsy little dress that she just seemed to shrug off like a nuisance. Except for the ribbon in her hair, Dot was in glorious nakedness.
"Pretend we're dogs," she panted and knelt down on her hands and knees, her quivering, heaving buttocks facing me. Her loins were dripping wet, and the penetration was effortless and deep. I felt things inside of her that I hadn't felt in Pat. I cupped her breasts with my hands and rubbed her nipples with my thumbs ... as I did this, she swung her hips and buttocks in a circular motion, carrying me with her. The sensation almost caused me to lose my balance. Faster and faster, harder and harder she moved until she almost screamed. "Now, sweetie, do it fast!"
I could feel myself pulsate and throb as my passion ebbed away into this love machine of a girl.
When we were back to normal, we still didn't move. I still felt her wrapped around me, her muscles throbbing me where seconds ago had almost made her unconscious.
"Oh, that was good, Dot," I breathed.
"Could you do it again? It's nicer the second time; you have to work so damn hard for it."
The way I felt, which was exhausted, I couldn't imagine repeating the act any time in the near future. Dot had different ideas, though. She got up, reached for her purse, digging around until she found her tissues. She cleaned us both and wiped the perspiration from our bodies. We lay back, staring at the tree-tops and patches of sky. Gently, without emotion, she caressed me. Her mouth moved down to my manhood and gently, slowly her tongue bathed me there. I was completely relaxed, and felt myself gradually becoming aroused. I was wet with her saliva now, and her hands were kneading the insides of my thighs. I continued to lay back and enjoy this delightful, passive lovemaking.
When Dot saw that I was read, she gently lowered herself down on me, and again the supreme moment was fast and very deep. We moved slowly, languidly, not even trying to spend ourselves. I looked into her face; the eyes were closed, and a dream-like smile played upon her lips as she leaned back on her stiff arms, her hands flat on th ground.
I grabbed Dot's ankles, and pulled her legs completely together, and the sensations became sensational for both of us ... in seconds, we reached a high pitch, only this time, the climax was a hundred times more pronounced, her woman's trap clutched tightly around me. We arrived at the moment simultaneously, and Dot fell back in a dead faint. She had passed out from sheer pleasure. Never have I felt such complete exhaustion as I did then; but I've never regretted it, either. I was able to discover the limit of my endurance ... some people might even say prowess.--Slowly, we dressed; all we needed was to be discovered naked by a park cop.
When we were completely dressed, I brushed away a small clearing of pine needles until I hit dirt ... then we lit up and smoked in silence. I couldn't talk to Dot the way I could with Pat. She had nothing to say, and didn't seem to be interested in any relationship beyond a physical level. Just a body, capable of superior gymnastics. What the hell did I care, though? As I watched the smoke hanging heavily in the air, I thought of Pat. Pat who could make beautiful love, Pat who could comfort me and relax me, and make every physical act a beautiful thing.....
"How do you feel? ' Dot's question intruded sharply into my world of private thoughts.
"Tired ... and good. Real good," I said.
"What time is it?"
"Close to five," I answered, looking at my watch.
"I guess we better start back."
"Yeah. Getting to be about that time." We got up, and now the walk seemed long ... before, we were eager, our hearts pounding in anticipation of limitless ecstasy. Now, we were just going home.
When we emerged from the woods, the "Sun and the sky hit us with its sudden, blinding brightness. The semi-dark world of secret joy was behind us.
I walked Dot home, and again hit Nebraska Avenue, my thumb extended. I was picked up by the first car, this time without any hands on my knees. I ate a fast dinner, and went upstairs to lie down. I had an awful headache. The room was reeling crazily around me. I passed out, and slept until the morning sun biased me in the face. I hadn't even taken off my shoes.
How good to wake up to a singular realization: no work! I was rested, and now my thoughts turned to the universal problem of every 'ex-worker' during the slack summer months ... income What to do for bread? There was no work in town, so I hit on the idea of lawn-cutting. After dressing and eating, I went out and banged on a few of the neighbor's doors. By noon, I had six "contracts" lined up for the summer. I calculated rapidly and figured I was good for about thirty bucks a week. Now I'd have to sell my old man on the idea of cutting our own grass in exchange for the privilege of using our power mower and hedge clippers on my customers' lawns.
I started on the Murphy lawn that day ... Mr. Murphy was a junk dealer who had cleaned up by buying all the scrap iron and metal that he could put his hands on after the war. He owned three yards and was just too busy to worry about his own lawn. Mrs. Murphy was a motherly lady who always had something to eat and drink. I liked her a lot; she seemed to care about everyone more than she cared about herself. Her son had died of leukemia ... had he lived, he'd be fifteen years old. Being young, she mothered me every chance she had.
I finished the front, and was dripping with sweat, cursing the gnats that flew into my eyes; I was anxious to finish the job so I could get in a couple of hours of swimming. It was just too hot to consider anything else.
As I was carrying the equipment to the back yard, Mrs. Murphy leaned out of the kitchen window and called me.
"Come in, darling, and get something to drink before you pass out."
"OK, Mrs. Murphy ... thanks." I put on my T-shirt and went in through the back door into the kitchen. She had made a gigantic pitcher of iced tea and a slew of cookies. She set everything in front of me, and sat across from me in the breakfast nook.
She looked at me adoringly as I gulped down the tea. "Not so fast, darling, you'll get stomach cramps; and I want a good job on the grass!'
"From me you get the best," I asserted in a business-like manner.
"You know," she said slowly, "when I was a girl growing up in the old country, my mother taught me how to sew. My father was very wealthy, and we had several servants as well as a cook. Every morning, my mother would give me a sewing lesson, and by the time I was your age, I'd made almost every dress hanging in my closet. I resented it ... after all, why should I use my hands, when my father could buy me all the dresses I wanted? Well, my mother made it very clear to me one day. She said to me, 'Hilda, you have to be good for something; if we were ever separated, you'd have to have away to eat and live." Four years later, my father's business was collapsed and we went broke. But we managed to save enough to come to the United States."
She paused, and looked at me with a concern that I couldn't begin to comprehend. She had seen so much, and I so little.
She continued, "I see American children with no worries; they go to school, come home and play. America is such a safe world for them to live in, yet the learn things before they really understand them; you're a young man and probably know all about sex ... what to do, how to do it, but no idea of what it means, what it really is...."
I became alarmed. This woman did know what it was all about. What if I told her about myself and Pat? The way I felt about her? Would she be shocked and tell my parents, or would she keep it a secret? I looked at her again ... this woman was not a busybody, nor was she a gossip. Her husband had more money than all the other neighbors put together, yet they lived modestly. They didn't belong to a country club like the others, whiling away their time on the golf course or at the card table. They spent their money on books, records, night school. They had no children, but every kid on that block had the Murphy's for a second set of parents and confidants. I decided to talk to her.
"Mrs. Murphy, I know a girl now...." and proceeded to describe my feelings for Pat and what we had done; not a blow-by-blow description, just the fact that we were physically intimate. I told her how I felt when I talked to Pat, or just being with her. I talked until there wasn't anything left to say.
"What can I say? ' she asked. "I can tell you that it's wrong, that it's dangerous ... that you're too young to know your feelings ... everything that a parent must say to her child. None of these things will change you, though. You are maturing, feeling things that an adult feels. Be careful, son, be very, very careful. Suppose you should make this girl pregnant? Or even if you don't, she becomes pregnant and she points the finger at you? What would you do ... how would you feel for the rest of your life? Suppose you were caught. Your parents would have to find out, and so would hers. Be very, very careful. And remember, that what you are doing is selfish ... you're indulging in pleasures without the responsibilities that go along with it. You're too young to be a husband and a father!"
"But do I love her, or am I just in love with sex?" I asked desperately.
"I think you are very, very much in love with sex; but I could be wrong. I can't look into your mind and heart ... I can only guess on the basis that you have a man's physical maturity but a child's emotional maturity. But be careful ... you'd better finish the lawn so I can get some things done around here." She patted me on the head and got up, more wearily than before.
That night, my heart pounded as I dialed Pat's number ..what was I going to say? Did she know about Dot yet?
The rings continued for what seemed forever, and I was almost ready to give up when Pat's voice, out of breath came over the wire.
"Hello?"
"Hello ... Pat?"
"Yes ... Artie?" Her voice was expectant, as though she'd been waiting for me to call. A warmth went through my whole body; she'd been waiting ... for me.
"Yeah ... how're you doin'?" I "Oh, OK, I was out in the garden, watering the tomato plants. How come you didn't call sooner?"
"I was lining up some grass-cutting jobs for the summer and had to do a lawn today ... I didn't finish until pretty late." "Why're you cutting lawns?" This struck me as being a pretty stupid question; for my health and a good suntan, maybe? What did she think?
"For money, honey ... you're dead without bread."
"Oh ... " It sounded as though she didn't quite believe or understand. I was annoyed.
"What do you mean, 'oh'?"
I thought ... well, that your folks had a lot of money! Now I was truly riled up. "Why? Because we live in a new neighborhood ... because we have two cars? If they did have all this money, what difference would it make? I'd still wanna make my own!"
"I m sorry ... ," she started to say, but now I was fuming. "Look, Pat, who's been talking to you? I thought that you knew me pretty well ... are your friends talking about the rich guy that you pal around with? I mean, just what the hell is the scoop?"
"No, no, nothing like that! Honest! I just thought that ... you didn't have to worry about earning money. Let's drop :he whole thing."
"Oh, no ... this is important, Pat. I feel differently about' you; I've never felt this way about a girl before, and if you're going to feel funny about me because I'm Jewish, it's so damn good." Without meaning to, I told her how I felt.
There was a short silence over the phone. I could hear her breathing hard, and the next thing I knew, she was crying. Immediately, I felt like a louse. It wasn't in her to feel the things I'd accused her of ... she was a Mrs. Murphy on the other side of the fence.
"Pat ... I'm sorry ... don't cry. I'm touchy. I guess lots of guys are. I know you don't think those things. Let s get together tomorrow night; we'll go to a nice air-conditioned move, OK?"
"OK,' she smiled ... I could hear her tears disappear, her frown change into a glowing smile.
"Seven-thirty tomorrow night?" I asked.
"Fine, Art ... Art, I ..."
"I love you too, Pat." And hung up, gently. Gently, as though the telephone receiver were her.
CHAPTER FOUR
At seven I went downstairs to the garage to get the equipment together. I had to start before the sun really became brutal. I dumped it all in the old newspaper wagon and headed up the street to Hewitt's place. Mr. Hewitt was a widower and worked for a department store. His whole life was wrapped up in world problems. It gave him something to get excited about.
He'd give me a beer when he was home, and we'd sit on his porch at night, listening to the crickets and the night-crawlers split the air with their incessant chirping.
"Reminds me of the Pacific," Mr. Hewitt would reminisce. "Birds would screech all day an' those goddamn things you're hearing now would chirp all night. Endless racket ... anybody who says the tropics are quiet hasn't been there. The only thing that was quiet over there were the Jap patrols ... bet your right arm they were quiet."
He had been through so much; four years in the Pacific,! his wife died of leukemia. Yet he was not a bitter guy; he was gentle and every kid in the neighborhood sat on his porch on summer evenings and spent hours just talking. He talked man to man; he'd been in the army too long to believe in the delicacy of the young male. He'd rib in a good-; natured way:
"On New Guinea we had fifteen and sixteen year old kids at the front; we were accepting lies then." He'd soften up, though.
"Good thing you're cuttin' lawns, Artie. I hope you never have to cut down human beings the way you cut down grass."
Mr. Hewitt had given me a key to his place, so that I j could drink a cold beer and cool off in his house when I was cutting the lawn. He just offered it to me one day when he was about to go to take a trip to his country place.
Just keep the sheets clean," were his parting words.
My predictions were rapidly becoming facts of life. By the time I had half the front of Hewitt's lawn cut, I was exhausted from fighting off gnats making banzai charges from the grass and my levis were soaked as though I'd been for a swim instead of working my bottom off on dry land; it was only nine o'clock, but the thought of a cold beer was mighty appealing, so I knocked off and went into Hewitt's back door. The maid was there that day, so she let me in. Since we knew one another, I just went to the refrigerator and opened a beer, which I gulped down in a matter of seconds.
I took my time with the second one, though; I sat down on a porch chair and turned on the radio and was greeted with the nine o'clock news and weather. I almost died of heat exhaustion when I heard the announcer blithely mention that it was ninety three degrees and that a possible 105 was expected. What a day I'd picked to work!
I heaved the cans into the garbage and went out front, determined to knock Hewitt's lawn off before noon. I ran the mower with the choke all the way out and ran row after row until the front was done; without stopping, I polished off the side, then the back and the other side until all the cutting was done. The grass was short enough to forget about the clipping and raking.
Hurriedly, I swept out the driveway and the front walk; after all, Hewitt was my buddy, and a stickler for perfection. I rang the bell a gain, and told Dora that I was through. She looked at the back yard and nodded in assent. She gave me another beer and paid me. Once again, I threw the equipment in the wagon and headed up to Sawyer s lawn.
By two-thirty I was through for the day and twelve bucks richer. I went home, changed into clean levis and T-shirt and walked down to Oregon Avenue to hitch a ride out to the pool, which was in Silver Spring. My mother had left earlier in the morning to play golf, so I had a ride home made. A friend of my mother's soon drove by and took me all the way there. I carried her clubs from the parking lot to the pro shop for her, and made to the men's locker room. By this time, I could taste the water.
I hit the water clean ... I swam right down to the bottom and stayed underwater for the entire length of the pool. The coolness of the water took away the headache, and I felt all the tiredness ebb slowly from my body as I began to feel invigorated and clean from the easy strokes through this aquatic paradise. When I surfaced, I turned over on my back and gloried in the beautiful cold of the water and the pleasing warmth of the sun. The white clouds floated silently by as I lay on my back and floated serenely along ."..bang! My head collided with the unmistakable rock-like hardness of another head. I flipped over and was amazed j to see Beverly, whom I hadn't seen since that last day at Pat's house.
"Bev, I'm sorry! Hope you're not hurt...." I apologized. "No, I'm OK, Artie; what're you doing out here?"
"My folks belong; I was cutting lawns all day, so I came j on out to cool off. It's over a hundred back in the city."
"I had no idea you came out here. How've you been?"
"Fine ... I might die from work, but other than that, fine." We swam the length of the pool together, and out of the corner of my eye I could see her body move gracefully, languidly through the water. She kept up with me, her legs effortlessly leaving a trail of foam behind her. When we reached the deep end, I hoisted myself up and out of the pool, offering my hand. She grabbed it, and I pulled her fast-but-gently out. I pulled her fast enough, though, for her to have to grab me to keep from falling back in the water. We clinched momentarily and looked into each other's eyes. That was it ... we knew that we wanted each other and that it had to be awfully damned soon.
I could feel a growing warmth in my bathing suit, and-without bothering to look-I grabbed a towel from a chair and began drying off, keeping it around my middle until the telltale sign slowly disappeared. She noticed, though, and smiled understandingly.
"Let's get a hot dog," I suggested, and started in the direction of the snack bar.
"Good thinking," she laughed, and grabbed my hand. It was warm and her thumb gently caressed my palm, unmistakable in its intended message. By this time, my mind was ten jumps ahead of my physical capacity to react. I was awhirl with schemes. Where around here can we go without attracting attention? Can I pull it off in time to catch a ride home with my mother? I was dizzy with all the mental gymnastics ... Beverly was sipping her coke and looking at me as though my mind were an open book to her; which it proved to be.
"Artie, have you ever seen the old slaves' quarters ... you know, the old wooden bungalow near the tennis courts? I heard that they used to keep about fifty slaves there during the civil war. Let's go take a look at it."
There it was. Simple as that, but my mind had been turning over too fast to hit upon it. No one ever went near the place and we could walk over there in our bathing suits without even attracting any undue attention.
"Sure," I said as nonchalantly as l could. "I always did wonder about that old place ... only I heard that they used to keep more like a hundred slaves there." Might as well make a good game out of it.
We each picked up a large towel and casually walked toward the tennis courts. There were a few people there running their silly tails after a little white ball. How could they do it in this atrocious heat, I wondered? Such a complete waste of energy. We made a show of watching a match for a few minutes before we continued walking toward the old building that was the club's single claim to the historical past. We had to walk through about twenty yards of trees. When I glanced back, I was surprised to see the tennis courts almost completely obscured. On the side of the old building, there was a wooden sign giving the dates ' of the slaves' residence there. It was a long, narrow structure, and looked to me as though it could easily have contained fifty people, if not more.
"The straw boss must've slept here," I said.
"Yes ... real plush, wasn't it?" Bev laughed.
"Yeah! Rustic and outdoorsy; for the camper who feels a oneness with Nature." We both laughed at the preposterousness of it all. I put my arm around Bev, her bare shoulder feeling warm to my touch. She looked at me for a brief moment before she put her arms around me. We became lost in a long, lingering kiss, our hearts accelerating their pounding as our bodies rubbed together, feeling one another's bare flesh. Gently, Bev shrugged her shoulders and her straps fell away, leaving her breasts contained loosely in her bathing suit top ... my hand reached in and pulled a breast out and she leaned back to make more room as I began to gently massage her rigid pink nipple. Leaning back farther, her hips and pelvis played madly against mine as I kissed her neck and her breast, bathing it with wet kisses. She was grunting and clawing my back now, oblivious to everything except my measured caresses ranging all over her body.
I unhooked her top and her breasts tumbled out completely, as though released by a spring ... I kissed them rapidly now, darting from one to the other and breathed hotly into the deep crevice between them. Still standing and kissing, we edged slowly over to the straw-filled frame and collapsed into it, on fire with longing. Her hand went into my bathing suit, pushing it down impatiently until it was down around my ankles; I kicked it off and as I did so, pulled the rest of her bathing suit off.
"Lie back ... I just want to look at you," she panted. Her stomach heaving spasmodically, her breath coming in short gasps. I lay flat on my back as she asked. She stood up and gazed at my body with loving delight, as though she worshipped the sight of it.
"Oh, Artie, you're so beautiful! So perfect ... Oh, Artie, I have to kiss you everywhere ... I worship it and I worship all of you." She fell down at my feet and ran her tongue up my legs, stopping tantalizingly at my thighs, kissing them slowly, then passing up to my stomach and kissing it warmly and wetly. She moved to my ears, kissing them in turn, playfully moving her tongue in my lobes. I just lay there, too excited to move.
We kissed again, her tongue moving everywhere in my mouth, tickling the inside of my lips as her hands strayed between my thighs. Again her head and lips moved slowly down my body until they came to rest on my manhood and lingered there until I had to pull her away, afraid that the final moment of bliss would come prematurely.
I massaged one breast and kissed the other until her pelvis began to move uncontrollably and she pushed my head down to the lower part of her heaving body. I gently bit and kissed the inner tender flesh of her thigh and gave a long, wet caress with my lips and tongue, starting at the small of her back and moving down the crevice of her fleshy buttocks and stopping at the seat of all her womanliness and passion. She closed her legs around my neck, pushing me down harder, deeper, until she groaned pleadingly for me to stop.
We lay side by side for several moments until our passion subsided to a controllable degree, and I gently lay on top of her as she lay in a jack-knifed position, her thighs resting against my shoulders, her muscular calves straight in the air above me. It wasn't necessary for any more love play.
We were so moist from one another's passionate kissing that I just fell into that warm cavity of pleasure, feeling myself being sucked into a soft moistness that quivered and pulsated with a hungry desire to consume, to be consumed ... to feel manhood deep within, resting therewith throbbing, heat-lightning passion. Her supple, tender thighs threw themselves around my shoulders and her body moved rhythmically with mine, slowly and deeply ... until she could no longer control her beautiful body and its movements.
"Take me, Artie! Hard! Hard!" she almost shouted.
"Ooooh, Art, Art; please, now!" I could hear my pelvis smash thuddingly against the softness of her buttocks as I drove in deeply, striving for completeness. Her arms flopped helplessly from my back to the straw, as though she had no real control over them. We gripped each other hard as we sensed the finality of our love approaching. Her thighs came down and I moved closer to her face, reaching one hand under her quivering buttocks to raise them, the other hand around her shoulders. She moaned, making a gagging grunt of pleasure as my passion streamed hotly into her, making her muscled buttocks jump with delight. Slowly we sank back to the world around us, our satisfaction complete and our desire for each other satisfied. "Hi," I whispered softly, kissing her lips gently. "Hi, yourself," she smiled, eyes half-closed with sheer relaxation. "Never, Artie ... never have I been loved so beautifully and completely; I'm getting excited all over again just thinking about it...."
"Bev, I am so shot that just the thought of doing anything energetic right now makes me want to go to sleep." Now I was beginning to feel the day's activities. I was limp with fatigue.
"Going home soon? Maybe I could ride with you."
"Sure. Where do you live."
"Less than a block from you."
"You mean I've had you in my back yard and didn't even know it?" I was incredulous. How was it possible that I hadn't known? I'd seen her in the factory all year.
"That's right, Art ... but you know now. And I hope I don't have to tell you where to go at night from now on."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Men always have a crack to make about women talking, but I never fail to notice how much they can talk as soon as a subject that interests them comes up," my mother said conspiratorially to Bev. I could tell that Mom liked Bev a lot, and I was sure I'd hear what a nice girl she seemed to be as soon as we got home. OK with me; for once I agreed. Our tastes in females usually differed ... vastly.
We dropped Bev off and I walked her to the door. "Well, when will I see you again?" she asked.
"The first minute I have free, I promise you," I told her. "I'm so busy cutting grass these days, and I seem to run out of energy later ... but maybe I'll be able to come around tomorrow night, if you're going to be home."
"Wonderful ... my folks are flying to Boston tomorrow afternoon; they'll be gone for ten days or so. Just the maid and I'll be around. What time do you think you can make it?"
"Around seven, if you're all through with dinner by then."
"Why don't you have dinner over here? We'll probably have fried chicken and corn ... that's my favorite."
"Sounds great! I'll be there." We said goodbye and just squeezed hands, since my mother was impatiently waiting for me. I turned around and headed for the car without looking back.
"She seems like a nice girl, Art. Doesn't she work with you at the factory?" My forecast was correct. But for once I was glad. It would be a novel experience to know a girl that my parents approved of, who wasn't a nobody.
"Yeah. She is a nice kid. We had a real good time out at the club today."
"Well, I'm glad we agree for once,' my mother said with a note of relief.
"Aw, Mom, you just don't know what a guy wants in a girl. She's either with it or she isn't." Were mothers ever young, I wondered?
"What makes a girl 'with it'?" My mother asked pointedly.
"Is she fun or is she a drag; is she easy to be with, does she like the things you like; and so on," I explained. My mother pulled the car into the garage, and I pulled the door down. We went inside and I lost no time heading for the shower. I was itchy as hell and couldn't imagine why. I certainly hadn't been in any poison ivy. The warm water felt good as the needles pounded themselves against my back. I bent down to pick up the soap and saw the reason for the itching. The straw from our bed of love had stuck to my back, which had been saturated with perspiration at the time.
My father came home elated. While he was mixing a pitcher of martinis, he was telling Mom and me about his latest office improvement.
"Well, I finally convinced Louis and Mike to put in air conditioning; it's the same story every summer. The girls and the bookkeepers sweat, and we get way behind in very-thing. I called a contractor the minute I got in this morning, and made a lunch date with him ... the four of us had lunch and Louie and Mike just had to listen. He told them that after two summers, the increase in office production alone would pay for the job ... after that, it was profit. They can air condition the whole place except the warehouse for two grand." Louie Cooper and Mike Arcade were my father's partners. For several years my father had been arguing this issue, and they hadn't wanted to spend the money, so he just brought the whole thing to a head.
"They start tomorrow ... it'll take three days to finish."
"Can the business afford it?" my mother asked, as though to burst my father's bubble of elation.
"Two grand is two grand; but we'll swing it and make up for it in increased business ... people will come to our place now. It's reaching a point where customers just won't come into a place that isn't air conditioned. Would you go to a movie tonight that wasn't air conditioned?"
"No, I suppose I wouldn't,' my mother admitted. "I just hope it isn't too much of a strain on you boys."
I interrupted at this point, eager to get the show on the road. It was after six now, and I had to get dressed and get over to Pat's by thumb power, not the most reliable source of transportation.
"Mom, how soon will dinner be ready?"
"Going out tonight?" my father asked.
"Yeah, got a seven-thirty date with Pat."
"Who's Pat?"
"A girl I know; she's a friend of Bev's."
My father was becoming exasperated by this time. "Who is BEV?"
"Oh, she rode home with us from the club this afternoon," my mother broke in. "She really seems like a nice girl." "Artie with a nice girl? Please, not in this heat!' my father pleaded.
"No, she really is very nice ... I was just surprised as you. You know her father, I think. Marvin Collins, the doctor. I think he's an internist."
"Oh, yes ... ' it was all coming back to my father now. "So why aren't you going out with her?" he wanted to know.
"I'm eating dinner over there tomorrow night ... but tonight is Pat's lucky night," I said, trying to make light of the whole thing. I was in no mood for a lecture on the type of girl I dated. They were all the same, horizontally speaking.
"Well, dinner's ready right now if you want it," my mother said kindly. Whenever the old man got rough, she always came to the rescue without ever disagreeing with him in front of me; she was too good a wife for that. But she was a damned good mother, too.
We finished dinner in silence. We'd discussed lawn cutting, golf, my associations and the anticipation of better grades from me next year. I had to split, or I'd be late.
"Excuse me or I'll be late for my date. " I took the steps two at a time and yanked my closet door open. Slowly, to prevent sweating, I put on a pair of my moderately tapered slacks and short-sleeved sport shirt. Clean white socks and polished loafers, taps and all, completed my outfit. As informally as I was attired, I still felt stifled after wearing levis and no shirt most of the time. Pat had never really seen me dressed in anything else, I suddenly realized.
I said goodbye, acknowledged the have-a-good-times, be-carefuls (whatever that meant), and don't-come-home too-lates and eased out the door. I got onto Nebraska Avenue and felt the wind of the first car that whizzed by. Whenever I was in a big hurry, it seemed as though the cars passed me up. It was more than fifteen minutes before a car finally stopped. I hopped in, told him my destination and fervently hoped he was going that far. It was always the same.
"Going to Tenley Circle, " he told me. Good; I breathed a silent sigh of relief and relaxed in the seat. He was telling me about his new car, an Olds Super 88.
"It's got everything hydromatic," he explained proudly. "Wouldn't give you two cents for any automatic transmission." The car was a real beaut, and fast. He took off from a light and I was thrown back in the seat as the car moved out with lightening acceleration. I couldn't wait for my driver's license; fourteen months seemed like an eternity to me. Not having wheels under me was quite a handicap for a guy my age.
I called my stop, wished him luck with his new car and started at a fast trot toward Pat's house. I'd just made it. I couldn't stand being late, not even for school.
I rang the bell and her mother answered, stepping aside as she invited me in.
"It certainly is nice to meet you, Art, after hearing so much about you from Pat."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cushing." She seemed very nice, and for a woman her age she was very well-preserved. I could see where Pat had inherited her looks from.
"Pat'll be down in a few minutes; a woman wouldn't be ready in time for her wedding, you know!' We both laughed because it seemed so damned true. She told me about Pat's lather and I told her about Mr. Hewitt, my buddy. She became animated with excitement.
"REALLY? ? He and my husband went all through the Pacific together. So Tom Hewitt's your neighbor?" She just couldn't get over it. "What's he doing now?" she inquired.
"He's with a department store or something, but he spends about two weeks a month at a country place," I explained. "Maybe he's looked up your husband."
"He hasn't mentioned it in his letters ... Tom's wife and I were very close, and they were always getting into trouble together."
At the sound of footsteps, I turned around to see Pat coming down the steps, her face radiantly alive with a warm smile. She kissed me with her eyes and caressed me with her upturned lips.
"Hi ... Sorry I kept you waiting,' she apologized.
"That's OK: it wasn't your wedding," I replied soothingly.
"What?" she asked, puzzled. Her mother and I had a good laugh. We would get along fine, that was evident.
"Oh, nothing dear ... just a bit of advice I was giving to Art," her mother explained, still laughing. Pat just shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the whole thing.
"We're going to the Uptown, Mom ... we won't be home too late."
"Good, dear; have fun. It was nice meeting you, Art. Hope I see more of you."
The movie was terrific ... the hero was an American in Spain during the Spanish Civil War, a professional dynamiter who had been a college instructor in the states and came to fight on the Loyalist side. He met the heroine and they made love outside the cave in his sleeping bag while the other gypsy guerillas slept in the cave. He had to dynamite one bridge in particular to prevent the Fascists coming over with their tanks. In the end, he dynamited the bridge, triumphantly lying on a hill full of machine gun bullets, saying, "Adios, Maria; Vaya con Dios." The movie ended with the trumpets soulfully playing Spanish music. Pat was very upset with such a sad ending, I had moist eyes too, but had to defend the hero's death.
"Look, the guy had a job to do; he didn't have to go to Spain, you know! He hated Fascism, so he even fought with Communists, even though he wasn't one himself. He died for what he believed in."
"But, Maria ... what about her? What would she have to live for?"
"Her country ... the memory of her lover ... the death of the Fascists who raped her and shaved her head,' I said vehemently.
I put my arm around Pat's waist. "It was only a movie, Pat ... it shook me up, too, if you want to know the truth; but it was a story ... you and I are still here, and everything's really OK"
Walking home, we listened to the crickets, enjoying the sounds of darkness that travelled gently through the night air. We were silent, and yet knew that we were together, that our minds and hearts were bound as one.
We tip-toed up the wooden steps onto the screened porch.
I closed the door silently behind us, and we sat down on the rocking bench, sinking into the deep cushions. It was well-oiled and quiet, so we rocked back and forth, our arms around one another's shoulders.
"I sure love night time during the summer, " I said wistfully, wishing that it would remain summer year round.
"Summers were made for everything nice ... for us," she whispered gently. She moved closer, her legs tucked under her on the couch.
"Yeah, you're right. Maybe it'll always be summer for you and me, Pat...." I kissed her gently, feeling the emotion of it in the pit of my stomach. When it was over, she sighed as though completely at peace.
"Do you think we're too young to be in love, Art? I mean really in love?"
"I don't know, Pat. I don't think so. I know that I've never felt the way I do about you with anyone else....I know that what I feel inside me when I'm with you, or when I just think about you, must be love. I don't know what else it could be."
Oh, Artie, hold me ... just hold me and tell me you love me." I held her tightly in my arms and stroked her head, my throat tightening up. "I love you, Pat; I love you with all my heart."
"Oh, darling...." She couldn't say any more ... she felt as I did, too choked up to talk.
"I love you, Pat ... this is so wonderful ... love me with all your heart."
She moved faster now, her moist thighs sucking me in deeper, deeper, until the heat and the pleasure of our locked legs and grinding hips drew us to the brink of completion. "Oh, honey, you're so good," she whispered, moving with a rapid finality; our tongues were in wet unison as we were lifted to the heights of bliss. I could feel her muscular throbbing after it was over, exacting the last ounce of pleasure from our lovemaking.
"Guess what, Artie?"
"I couldn't in a million years," I teased.
"You taught me something tonight."
"What did I teach you?"
"Love ... how good it is when there's as much in your heart as in your body. It was never like this with anybody else."
"I know. You're all choked up with longing ... like you just can't begin to show your feelings completely, and no matter what you say, you just can't get it all out of you."
"Yes ... Artie ... do you think we could do it again? It was so good; I could just do it again and again with you. ' Her moist warmth was still there, and her legs closed tightly under me so that I could feel the throbbing desire of her cavity, and I felt the warmth of my own passion rising again.
"Yes, baby ... any way you want to. I love you so much."
"Just like we are ... only do it to me as though I'm a bitch in heat. Take me hard, and kiss my breasts the way you did before." She unhooked her bra and pulled her breasts out, offering them to my eager lips. I took one of those large, ripe, hard nipples in my mouth and nibbled at it while stroking the other. They were such beautiful things and it was so exciting to feel her excited frenzy and I fondled and kissed them.
I pulled her thighs up and let them rest against my armpits, driving madly into her, pinching her all over and grinding my pelvic bone against hers until she clutched my hair desperately. "Now, darling, now! Oh, don't stop!" she moaned, her hips gyrating in a circular motion that drove us both crazy with passionate longing for another beautiful completion. Again we bathed one another with the warm juices of our love and lay in each other's arms.
"Oh, you're perfect, Artie ... so good." She was crying happily, unable to believe that this pleasure had been ours and would be from now on.
"Pat, you've taught me the same thing I've taught you., from now on, we'll do everything, just to show our love."
"Yes ... I'll do anything you want me to, honey ... anything."
"And I will for you, Pat ... anything at all. I'll make love to you in ways that you never dreamed of," I promised fervently. "But not now," I added with a smile. "I'm exhausted; I don't know about you."
I kissed her gently, playfully pinched her breast and said goodbye.
"Good night, Artie ... call me soon."
"Good night, Pat. I love you," I whispered, my voice catching.
"I love you ... so very much."
We kissed again, and I never felt so lonely and empty as when I walked through the silent streets toward home.
CHAPTER SIX
There were hardly any cars on the road, and I was aware it was futile to try and catch a ride at three in the morning, so I just walked, lost in thought.
I thought of my relationships with the three girls that I knew, and as sure as I was about my feelings for Pat, I was still confused; I'd never been so messed up about anything in my life.
Dot meant nothing to me. She'd been a terrific lay, but I didn't even feel comfortable with her; she was just devoid of any feelings beyond a purely physical level. We didn't even talk ... just made silent, whirlwind love.
With Beverly, it was different We fitted together, had an easy, warm relationship that could probably blossom into something much finer ... how could I think of her in these terms and still feel the way I did about Pat? It was more than my young mind and uneducated emotional experience could grasp. I didn't even feel guilty as far as Pat was concerned ... it didn't bother me one damn bit that I was going to spend the evening with Beverly; who the hell could I talk to about this thing?
Mrs. Murphy? No ... as wonderful as she was, she could only look at it from a woman's point of view, could only think of Beverly as a nice girl, completely ignoring Pat as an individual. We had our differences, too....
Mr. Hewitt? He knew Pat's parents, so he certainly couldn't be objective; in fact, he'd probably raise hell!
Jimmy? He knew them all far better than I, and although he undoubtedly had a soft spot for Pat, could probably look at the whole mess with my point of view. I just had one easy lawn to do tomorrow, or rather later today, so I decided to give him a call ... we hadn't gotten together since the end of work, and I had promised to call him.
I set the alarm before going to bed, knowing damn well that I'd never make it out of bed under my own power, not with three hours sleep. I had to do the lawn early, before the sun and the bugs became unbearable. I don't remember touching the pillow; only the alarm jangling and not being able to believe it. I just went to bed, I thought fuzzily. But it was daylight ... the birds were chirping and the sun was shining in my eyes. It was time to get up. I felt hung over with exhaustion; my head hurt, my eyes ached. Stumbling to the bathroom, I swallowed some aspirin before even brushing my teeth ... oh, did I feel awful!
The gasoline fumes from the lawnmower cleared my head, and after an hour of hard work I felt better. I was just plain sleepy now. I finished the job in two hours flat, collected my dough and went home ... to sleep. The hell with swimming.
Four hours later I awakened, feeling fresh and completely human. I took a cold shower and was in a world-beating mood by the time I dried off and dressed again. It was time to give my boy Jimmy a call ... he'd probably be mad with me for not having called sooner.
After a few rings, he answered, and as soon as he recognized my voice, he became friendly.
"Well,' he drawled, "where yuh been keepin' yourself?"
"How you doin', Jim? I'm really sorry I haven't called....
I've just been busy as hell, cutting grass and...."
"That ain't all you been cuttin', boy," he cackled. "I know you've been busy ... you've been real busy!" He was broken up with laughter, and I was peeved. I couldn't do a thing without it being broadcasted, I thought disgustedly. "All right, you Texan mule, just what've you heard?"
"Oh, thisn' that, one thing an' another."
"That's a real answer ... look, since you know all about my life anyway, I have to talk to you about somethin'. You going to be around today?"
"Yeah, sure ... where you wanna meet?" He softened, knowing that I wasn't in a joking mood.
"Well, why don't you come over here? We can go to my neighbor's house and get a few beers."
"Sounds good to me ... be over as soon as my thumb gits me there."
"OK, see you in a few, then," I assented, and hung up. I dialed Hewitt's number to see if the maid was there; after an eternity of rings, it was obvious that she wasn't. I wandered aimlessly around the house, waiting for Jimmy. Get here! I cursed impatiently.
When the doorbell rang a half hour later I knew it was Jimmy.
"Come on in!" I yelled down the steps. He came in and I went downstairs to meet him.
"How've you been stranger?" he drawled. "You're lookin' good." He punched my arm affectionately.
"You don't look so bad yourself," I answered. "What've you been doing this summer to keep body and soul together?"
"Same thing you been doin' ... cuttin' lazy people's grass for 'em." We both laughed, feeling important and superior.
"Let's go up the street,' I said, leading the way. "We'll discuss the situation over a couple of beers." After we were settled on Hewitt's porch, I outlined my feelings to Jimmy, telling him everything and how I felt.
"Now I know how you feel about Pat," I concluded, "but try to look at it from my point of view. What should I do?" "I'm so choked up whenever I think about Pat, but I don't feel a damn bit guilty about Bev; I'm looking forward to seeing the girl!"
"OK, so like I said, you just have ta' spend time with Bev and see if you feel the same way ... until then, you're just spinnin' your wheels."
"I guess so, Jim ... thanks for the advice. What a goofball I must be, getting hung up like this!'
"In a way you're lucky, Art ... if you do get straightened out an' wind up with the right one, you'll have a real good thing."
"Why, Jim," I said in mock disbelief, "I didn't know you had any romance in your soul."
"Hell, we all do ... you're just all cockeyed about the whole thing, that's all."
I walked Jimmy to Nebraska Avenue and thanked him, promising to call soon, if he didn't call first.
"You know how to dial, too, so if you don't hear from me, pick up the phone and use the damn thing," I told him.
"OK, I'll do that," he agreed. "It was good seein' you, Art. Let's get together again real soon."
"Yeah ... and thanks a lot, Jim. I really appreciate it.
"That's what friends are for," he stated simply. I walked away so he could get a ride, thinking: there goes Jimmy Lowe, nobody's friend. All the guys at work were afraid of him, because he could kick the stuffings out of anybody walking, including me. Only I wasn't afraid of him ... I liked him and he knew it. I went back into the house and went to the ice box for a cold drink and chugged it down; I was tempted to eat something as well, but it was too close to dinner, and I didn't want to upset Bev. I slammed the door shut and decided to take another shower; it was truly hot, another scorcher.
I walked over to Bev's house in an elated mood. I stopped to pet the Murphy's dog, talk to some of the kids on the block and even spent five minutes or so playing catch with them. Throwing the ball one last time, I waved a general goodbye and continued up the street.
"Hey, Artie? What did you do with all my beer?" suddenly blasted in my ears with a sharp crack. Mr. Hewitt had returned from his trip. He generally shacked up on his way home.
"Hi," I greeted enthusiastically. I was really glad to see this guy. "I'll stop by later; I have a dinner engagement tonight," I said as facetiously as I could.
"Well, OK, but you'll drink water! You swiped all my beer!"
"Please, what will the neighbors think!" I said in mock alarm, knowing well that most of the neighbors were listening. Neither of us gave a damn, though. I continued on.
Beverly was picking some flowers in the front yard; she straightened up when she saw me and held them out to me proudly. "For you, lover. Laurels for the world's greatest lover!' She thrust them in my hands, giving me a quick kiss for the neighbors' benefit. We shared identical feelings as far as the neighbors were concerned; the hell with them.
"Shouldn't it be the other way around? "I asked, slightly embarrassed.
"Oh, no. The woman is always grateful for the affections of her man. Don't you ever read love magazines?"
"Every waking moment," I vowed with mock seriousness. "I can't wait to read the next one."
She pinched me playfully and I reciprocated by smacking her on her luscious buttocks. "I'm going to grab some of that, baby," I laughingly swore and grabbed one of her cheeks. What an ass! I could easily worship a piece of art like that.
We went into the house and Bev introduced me to Sadie, a jovial Negro woman who obviously enjoyed eating. She was as big as a house and twice as sweet.
"You like fried chicken, Art?" she asked challengingly, "cause that's what you gittin'!'
"That sounds great, Sadie. I love it ... but you have to have corn on the cob to go with it or else it just isn't right." She looked at me approvingly, nodding with obvious delight. "Now there's a man who knows how to eat! You come ovuh heah an' eat any time."
We sat down at the table and dug in. I was unusually hungry, so I ate three ears of corn and almost half the chicken with no trouble at all. Sadie was positively overjoyed.
The dessert was an apple pie that Sadie had made, and after eating two pieces of that, I was fairly stuffed.
"Sadie, that was a great dinner. My compliments to the chef!"
"Glad you liked it, honey."
"Someday when I'm rich you can be my cook. You'll have a huge kitchen and all you'll do is cook; anything you want. And I'll eat anything you make."
"That's a deal!"
Bev's knee rested against mine, alternating its pressure, and she smiled sweetly across the table.
"What do you say we go downstairs and dance for a while? Besides, I have some new records I want you to hear."
CHAPTER SEVEN
We danced over to the light switch. Bev turned it down very dimly. It was so dim, that I could see her perfectly but could see nothing beyond her. It was as if she were surrounded by an inky frame, the only visible trace of beauty in existence.
Her tanned flesh contrasted startlingly with her white breasts; she slowly began to undress, moving her body in time to the music, cupping her breasts with her hands in ritualistic offering. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were half-closed, the pupils dilated with lust. She danced in a swaying motion until she reached the couch where I was sitting, and in a slow downward movement, crouched until her breasts were brushing against my face.
Before I could respond, she danced quickly back, smiling suggestively. Wriggling her hips jerkily, she dropped her shorts and kicked them across the room without missing a beat. Stepping gracefully out of her sandals, she stepped flowingly to a small closet and upon opening the door, returned with a pair of high heeled shoes, stockings and garters. I was bewildered ... what the hell was she doing, changing her outfit? Slowly, rhythmically, she put the stockings and shoes on and came over to the couch. She undressed me slowly, whispering erotic promises through moist, hot lips.
"This'll be different, lover. I'm going to show you something real nice; oooh, it'll be so nice." She lay down on the couch, a perfect symbol of lust displayed lewdly in her and stockings, framed against a luxurious back-gold couch.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, "just look at me. Look at me and then just make me. Rape me!"
It was too much. I leapt on her and literally fell in up to the hilt, she was so wet with lust. I hardly even felt myself in her; at this rate, we could go on forever. I sensed that she wasn't too happy with the situation, either.
"Are you nice and wet?" she asked, feeling me to be sure. "Take me Greek style for a while, but save yourself," she panted. She turned around and bent over, her garters digging into her passion-soaked thighs. I took her as she wanted. She abruptly closed her legs and thrust her hips jerkily, moaning with pain.
"Harder, Artie, harder. Make me hurt!" She was begging for pain, and I was ravishing her with maddening joy, delighting in the feel of her buttocks indented in my belly. She moaned and began to cry, moving faster and faster as the pain increased. Finally, I stopped and gently pulled her around to face me. I kissed her breasts and rubbed her buttocks soothingly as I gently pushed her back down on the couch. I remained standing and grabbed her ankles, pushing her back so that she was slouching against the cushions.
Pulling her forward, I made my entry and she wrapped her calves around my back so that I could support her thighs with my hands. She lay there, a moaning, sobbing, pleasure-filled being, delighting in being ravished. I slammed against her raised buttocks until she cried with unbearable ecstasy. Without stopping, I lowered her legs and myself slowly, until her feet were on the floor, spread apart. I was relentless, determined to give this sex machine more pleasure than she could bear. I snapped her garters, hard, until she wriggled with the uninhibited delight of mixed pleasure of pain.
"Are you ready?" I asked, feeling a strange calmness and complete control. I could just go on forever.
"Anything you want, darling. I'm yours, just yours; beat me, use me. Love me!" I continued, now lying on top of her and pulling her soft thighs over my shoulders, pumping slowly and easily, feeling her every climax. She reached climax after climax, panting and crying and moaning.
"Love me, love me until I pass out," she moaned, becoming lewdly descriptive. "Throw it to me, Artie; show me how good you are."
I sensed that she was reaching a point of exhaustion and decided to look after my own pleasure. Slowly and tantalizingly I brought myself to completion, spurting my pent-up passion into my spent partner.
We couldn't talk or even smile at one another gratefully. We had literally tried to love ourselves to death. We lay as we were, until finally Beverly managed a weak smile and lifted a feeble arm to stroke my forehead. I smiled back, feeling delightfully drained and devoid of any tension.
"Next time we'll try for the hundred yard dash," I kidded.
"I'm glad you appreciate my services. Yours were certainly fine," I said tenderly, squeezing her hand.
"Artie, let's talk. I want to tell you something." There was a note of urgency in her voice.
"Sure, Bev. But let's get dressed first ... and you'd better get out of that damned outfit before I'm ready to go again!" While Bev finished dressing, I put some more records on, selecting as much Johnny Ray and Clovers stuff as I could find in the stack. They were the thing at the time.
I sat back down, lighting a cigarette and regretting it; my lungs were beginning to tighten up, and it was playing hell with my swimming. Bev had something on her mind, I knew, so I waited quietly for her to speak.
"Artie, I want to tell you about me so you'll understand."
"You don't have to, Bev; you're plenty good enough for me. You know that, don't you?"
"I know ... you're the kind of guy that takes people for what they are. But I still want to tell you."
"I'm listening," I replied, putting my arm around her gently.
"I don't know quite where to begin. I was always afraid of boys, afraid of their dirty talk and the way they would look at me. Then for my twelfth birthday, I had a party; I invited some of the kids in my class and one of them was a boy named Walter. He was bigger, more mature than the other boys ... I remember he had a deep voice and hair on his arms. Well, after the ice cream and the cake was eaten, one of the girls suggested we play spin the bottle. I was scared to death, but I didn't want to be a party-pooper, so I didn't say anything. I remember sitting in a circle and the bottle pointing at me when Walter spun it around, and everybody watching when he kissed me. Even though I was self conscious, it was nice; I enjoyed it. Pretty soon, somebody turned the lights out and he grabbed me, very roughly.
"He grabbed my hand and made me feel him and I remember how scared I was of its hardness and size; it felt so big, and it quivered when I touched it. It was fascinating to touch and feel; I couldn't understand why he was moaning and squirming until he reached down for me and began to caress me with his finger. I got that same feeling and be-for I knew it, we were going all the way. It hurt for a while, and I bled, but after a while it felt good, and when he was through, I hadn't had enough. I wanted more, but he just walked away ... he'd had his, he told me. I was very hurt." I continued to listen, saying nothing. I knew only too well how wonderful it felt to get a load off your chest. I lit another cigarette and exhaled deeply towards the ceiling with my head thrown back. She went on.
"From then on, no boy could give me enough. They'd stay on for a few seconds and just leave me dry. After a while I did it with older boys and they were a little better but not much. Once I made it with our milkman, who was much older, but he couldn't stay excited long enough to do anything. He tried hard, but he just couldn't keep up. It's been pretty much the same story, up to now." She looked at me meaningfully, and snuggled closer. I kissed her lightly and leaned back again, propping my feet on the coffee table.
"What are you trying to tell me, Bev? That I'm not the first? You know I don't give a damn about that. You're still a nice girl who I like being with and talking to."
"Listen, Art; I'm what the books call a nymphomaniac. I'm oversexed because of an emotional problem. It's all very complicated. That's why I need you," she said, clutching me emphatically. "You can make love to me the way I like it, and we get along like two people should. I mean, even now, after we're through making love, we're still together. You aren't bored with me."
This was getting ridiculous. I cut in sharply, "Bev, you mean a beautiful girl like you has never had a guy interested enough to stick around? !?" I just couldn't believe it, "That's the trouble; I know I'm pretty, that's why I have more boys running after me than I can handle, but none o: I them want anything except one thing, and they can't give me enough to even keep me interested. They have no imagination, it's the same old way all the time."
"Bev, guys are like that; even me. When I met you at the club the other day, I sensed that you wanted the same thin? I did. It turned out that I enjoyed you as a person, that ill was nice being with you and all that. But guys are just like that." I shrugged my shoulders resignedly.
"I realize that, Art, and I'm grateful for it, believe me!" "Well, what do you want then?"
She looked up into my face with the saddest expression! ever saw in my life. "You, ' she stated simply. "I think I know how you feel about Pat, and I don't want you to get scared and run from my grasping claws ... I just want you to know how I feel. "
"Bev, I'm so mixed up I could scream." I spilled my guts out, telling her how I felt about her and Pat, my conversation with Jimmy and the upshot of it.
"Do what Jimmy says, Art. When the time comes, we'll; all know it; keep being yourself. I'll be grateful for whatever you can give me. I'll be even happier giving you whatever I can."
Artie, you are a grade-double A louse, I told myself with genuine disgust. Here was a girl ready to go along with my every selfish whim, and I was tearing her heart out. I was doing the same thing to Pat, I was sure of it. And yet I hadn't felt guilty on Pat's account. But I did with Beverly; what the hell did it all mean? Would time straighten me out, or would I just go on being as mixed up as I was right now?
Reading my mind, Bev gently kissed me on the chin, saying "Be patient, Art. We all sucked you into this thing that day at work. You'd never been with girls very much before, I could tell. Give it time; something will happen and you'll just know when the real thing hits you ... whoever it's with."
"I feel like such a heel, Bev; I feel differently with you than I do with Pat, and yet I'm in love with each of you when ever I'm with you; you know what I mean?"
"Maybe you just love sex, then."
"Maybe. Although I really had the creeps with Dot, except when we were making love. But we couldn't even talk. I thought she hated me, almost."
"Dot's weird."
"What do you mean?"
"I've just heard things about her, but I don't know if they're true."
"Oh," I muttered, and dropped it. I couldn't care less about that broad. How could she make such frantic love with you and act as though she hated you? The hell with her. I can do much better.
"So I don't think it's the sex, Bev. Otherwise I'd be so called in love with her, too. Dot, I mean."
"We're together now, Artie. Let's just enjoy it. I'm sorry I upset you."
"I only hope someday I can be as good to you as you are to me," I whispered. Taking her in my arms and kissing her on the mouth, I rubbed her back comfortingly, rocking her back and fort like a kitten. She deserved so much, being as honest with me as she had, and not falling to pieces when I was equally as honest with her. Here was a girl you could spill your guts out to, even if it involved her. I was young, but I also knew that most women just weren't made of this stuff. She was a gem in every sense of the word.
When it was time to leave, I kissed her goodbye, feeling very choked up inside. I wanted to sleep with her in my arms, not to make love; just to hold and see the morning sun with her when we awakened.
"Someday," I intonated, "I hope we see the morning sun together." I turned away, and headed for home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As tired as I was from having stayed up all night, my mind was in too much of a whirl to permit sleep; this plus the heat and the fact that it was broad daylight just made slumber impossible. I decided to wait until tomorrow to call Pat; she didn't need an added catalyst in the form of Artie. Better that she and her mother be alone.
After tossing around for a while, I staggered out of bed and went over to the phone. After an endless number of rings, Jimmy answered sleepily.
"Hi, Jim?"
"Whaddya say, Art? Long time no see."
"Sorry if I woke you up, but something kinda important's just happened."
"What could be more important than sleep?" Jimmy growled.
With no further ado, I just let it out ... I'd been thinking about the thing too long to beat around the bush. "Pat's father got it."
"You mean killed?" he asked with disbelief. "An accident?"
"That's right," I sighed, "you catch on fast."
"How'd you find out?"
"Mr. Hewitt; he lives in my neighborhood. You know, the house we drank beer at the other day. He just got back from out of town and he heard about it. Happened on the road."
"Well, whattya gonna do?"
"What can I do?" I asked helplessly. "I thought I'd call Pat tomorrow. She and her mother will probably want to be by themselves for a while."
"If you give a damn about that girl, you'd better call right now, boy." Click. He hung up. I thought for a minute, trying to decide. Quickly, I snatched the receiver up and started dialing before I chickened out. What the hell was I going to say....
"Hello." It was Pat's voice, and obviously shaken with barely concealed emotion.
"Hi, Pat; it's me, Art. I know you don't want to see me now, but ... but if there's anything I can do, let me know, please."
"Artie, I've got to see you now! I need you so much. Mom's with Mr. Hewitt at his office, and I'm just going crazy by myself." Her voice broke, and I told her to hold on tight, I'd be right over. Whata jerk I'd been! She didn't need me! Artie, won't you ever learn?
I ran up Nebraska Avenue, stopping to thumb whenever a car approached. I was practically up to Connecticut Avenue when a car finally stopped.
"Looks like you're in a hurry," the guy observed.
"Yeah,' I said aloud. I remained silent When he hit Pat's street, I thanked him and ran, slamming the car door behind me.
I didn't bother knocking on the door; it was wide open, and the screen door wasn't locked, sol just quietly let myself in. Pat was lying face down on the couch, her body heaving. The poor kid was crying her eyes out, and I just felt helpless. What could I possibly say or do to make it any easier for her? I sat down on the edge of the sofa, putting my hand gently on her back.
"Go ahead, kid," I intoned softly, "cry your heart out. Cry until there's nothing left."
She remained there with her head cradled in her arms.
"Oh, Artie, what're we going to do? Mom's ready to die. I loved him so much, and we never had enough time together he just didn't have the time," she sobbed.
I stayed with Pat until around noon, when her mother came home. As soon as I saw her, it was apparent that she was under a terrific amount of strain; her eyes were red from crying and her face was drawn with haggard lines. She really looked like a fresh widow.
"Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Cushing?" I asked lamely.
"No, Art," she sighed hopelessly, "there really isn't." She patted my shoulder gratefully. Feeling that it was time to leave, I said goodbye and asked them to please call if there was anything at all that I could do.
Bev was taking a sunbath in the back yard; she was lying on a chaise lounge, her bathing suit straps undone to prevent strap marks. I moved quietly across the lawn and sat down on the edge of the lounge. When she opened her eyes and saw me, she grabbed my hand, which I squeezed; she sensed the desperation in that squeeze.
"What's wrong, Art?" Nothing, I thought wildly. What could be wrong on a hot summer day like today? It was simply too perfect a day for anything to be wrong. No, that didn't make it go away. He was still dead. Deader than hell, I concluded sadly. "Pat's father was killed. I was just over there," I said hollowly.
"Oh, those poor people," she murmured. I looked down at he r face, and saw that she really meant it; there were tears in her eyes. "I'm glad you were there, Artie. She needed you."
"Well, there's nothing more I can do. Let's forget it, huh?"
"Of course," she said, smiling understandingly.
"I guess it's too late to go for a swim," I muttered, looking at my watch. I peeled off my shirt; I wanted to feel the sun burning into my skin. Looking up at it, I could see its pulsating rays dancing around the white-hot ball. I lit a cigarette and settled back, making my mind a complete blank. I closed my eyes and thought of absolutely nothing.
"Artie, I heard about a party tonight. Maybe if we went for a while, we'd cheer up." My mind became operative again. Why not? What was I supposed to do, wear black crepe?
"OK. Maybe that's a good idea, Bev."
"We'll just see what it's all about; if we don't like it, we'll leave. Stop by around eight, huh?"
"Eight it'll be," I agreed, trying to force a smile. I gave her a quick kiss and playfully tweaked a juicy breast. Even in jest, I noticed her breathing became heavier; it didn't take a hell of a lot.
Hewitt was home. He was surrounded by rods and reels, and busy untangling some line. He looked up as I slammed the door.
"Well, it's all over but the funeral."
"When is the funeral?"
"The body ... what's left of it will be here day after tomorrow; the funeral will be on Thursday. I talked the women into going fishing with me for a week at Ocean City. The hell with moping, I told 'em. He wouldn't want that. So we'll drive up Friday morning. Wanna come along?"
"Thanks, Mr. Hewitt, but I don't think I should. It just doesn't seem right."
"Well, if you change your mind, you know you're welcome. It'll be a lot nicer for Pat if you do come, you know."
"I'll let you know for sure in a couple of days; maybe you're right," I agreed. Maybe it would be nice for her. I put a couple of rods in shape and said goodbye.
Bev looked positively beautiful! Her white dress was off the shoulder, revealing her tanned torso and outlining her voluptuous body. We embraced, kissing one another hungrily. We knew that we'd have a party one way or the other before the night was over.
When we got to the house, Bev introduced me to a few people, including the girl who was having the party. Her name was Jean, and she was the toughest looking bitch I ever saw. Her muscles were like that of a weightlifter's; I wouldn't want to meet this chick in a dark alley.
The party was in full swing. I said hello to Jimmy and Dot, who were sharing a pint of bourbon, mixing it with Coke. "Hi, Artie!" We clapped each other on the back enthusiastically, truly glad to see each other.
"Hi, Dot," I greeted.
"Hello," she answered coolly. What the hell was wrong with this broad, I wondered. Jimmy must've heard about this party at the eleventh hour and taken Dot in a pinch. They said hello to Bev. Jimmy motioned for me to follow him, which I did, snatching up a coke.
"Pardon us, ladies," I said, trying to be gallant, "a conference seems to be in order." I went with Jimmy into the next room and mixed myself a drink out of his bottle. We each took a gulp and he bummed a cigarette from me, lighting it with a kitchen match.
"I brought a bottle for you an' Bev; it's stashed in the medicine cabinet in the head."
"How much do I owe you?"
"Chalk it up to friendship I'm feelin' generous tonight."
"Well, thank you, friend."
"What do you think of Jean?"
"I think she could kick the insides out of any guy here, including you," I told him.
"Well, she's a dyke."
"A lesbian, you mean?" I asked, startled.
"That's right. You'd better stay with Bev. Otherwise, Jean'll probably try an' make her. Let's go back." I almost ran over to Bev and started to dance. It was a dirty-nasty-type R & B number, so we ground it out, feeling the music in our veins. When the next record dropped, we decided to sit it out.
I told Bev about Jean. "Stick to me like glue. If you have to powder your nose, lock the door."
"I know all about her, Art. She'll be rolling before the night's over, but it won't be with me."
I looked in Jean's direction. She was dancing with some guy, and neither of them looked particularly delighted. Her eyes were roving all over the room, as though she were looking for her quarry. She was obviously hungry.
Jimmy had disappeared. One of the guys told me he was in the bathroom heaving his guts out. The coke hadn't agreed with him.
Jean was with Dot, and they were speaking to one another with anxious gestures. Bev looked at me knowingly and I wondered how she knew so much. I sure didn't.
Someone had turned off all the lights but one, and the room had an eerie glow. Couples were kissing openly and one couple had already claimed the couch; the girl was squirming uncontrollably, her partner's hand under her hiked-up dress.
Bev and I decided to watch and keep dancing, preferring the public lovemaking to provide us with a stimulus. We'd simply leave when our time came.
We were the only ones dancing and certainly the only ones still standing. No one knew we existed.
"Turn me around and look in the corner," Bev instructed me with a whisper.
"Wow!" I almost yelled, "I can't believe it. " Dot and Jean were lying down next to each other, caressing and kissing passionately. Dot was lying back as Jean unhooked her bra with one hand, her other hand stroking Dot's thighs. Her head moved down Dot's body, kissing each rigid nipple alternately, then moving down to her navel and covering it with her lips. Dot was sobbing with uninhibited delight, begging her lover not to stop.
"Love me, darling," she implored, "kiss me there." We could hear quite well. Everyone was sufficiently involved with their own activities not to notice.
Jean slapped Dot viciously across the face several times and hit her in the belly with a large fist, her biceps rippling. Dot's skirt was pulled up over her waist, revealing her thighs and her belly. She grunted painfully, but her hips continued to lunge forward with obvious excitement and pleasure. She pulled Jean down to her, kissing her on the mouth and placing her hand behind her buttocks. Jean lifted her entire buttocks up with one arm and brought her head down between her legs, her wet tongue and lips sucking and kissing where Dot had wanted them to. Dot's hand found its way between Jean's sprawled legs and was working feverishly as Jean's hips thrust around in a frenzied circular motion.
Dot was approaching completion, and as she started to push the top of Jean's head down farther, Jean abruptly stopped, a cynical smile playing on her lips, her eyes glazed with lust.
"Do you love me, little bitch?" she purred fiendishly, caressing a breast and abruptly stopping.
"Yes, yes! Please finish, please!" she begged, crying.
"Only if you promise to be mine. Will you?"
"Oh, I promise! Please finish."
Jean smiled triumphantly and bent down, throwing Dot into a thrashing of legs and lunging of buttocks as the ecstasy of climax came crashing down upon her. Her hand continued working between Jean's legs until, with an almost dispassionate, but satisfied animal grunt, she too was satisfied. She pulled her dress down and got up, looking down at Dot's spent figure.
"Thanks, little one, she laughed. "You're kinda nice. Now watch me with one of the boys and I'll show you some good tricks." She walked away and returned with a little guy she'd found in another room. Evidently, he hadn't come with a date and was just sitting quietly by himself when Jean approached him.
She kissed him, bending down as she did so. She was quite a bit bigger, and if she hadn't been so determined, the whole thing would've been funny as hell. I was ready to crack up, but Bev clapped a hand over my mouth and gave me a warning glance.
The guy's tiny hands couldn't begin to cover those huge breasts that were as much muscle as they were sex, and he was having an absolute field day trying to arouse her gigantic appetite. She took the initiative and undressed him hurriedly, flinging his clothes across the room and undressed herself, determined to take this schnook kid by storm. She pulled him on top of her and guided him in, pulling his buttocks hard until the penetration was complete.
"Do you like me, Junior?" she asked sweetly, wiggling a little and then stopping.
"Yes, yes, I do," he panted, and kept going frantically.
"Not so fast, Junior," she said instructively, "it's much nicer when you take your time."
The little guy was just a toy to her. Her kicks were derived from being the dominant partner, not the physical rapport they were supposed to be sharing.
"Now, Junior, let me sit on top of you. It'll be nicer for both of us." She pushed him flat on his back and mounted him, lunging up and down slowly, methodically, as the little guy's arms flailed aimlessly with unchecked passion.
"Do you mind if I smack you around a little, Junior?" she asked, grunting a little now, and wiggled in such a way that Junior almost completed himself.
"No, do anything you want to," he panted desperately, "anything."
"Thanks, little one. You're sweet." Still moving slowly astride his worm-like body, she began to hit him with all her might, her passion increased with her violence. With bleeding mouth he continued to move frantically. She stopped as suddenly as she'd started, and asked him to hit her back.
His undeveloped little arms worked like pistons, hitting her as far up her body as they could reach, which was her belly. She grunted with pleasure, moving up and down, faster and faster. His violent smacking increased with the pleasure he was deriving from her frenzied movements, until finally, they pantingly drained themselves.
She got up without further ado, found her clothes and dressed herself. Walking over to Dot, who had been viewing the whole scene, she looked down at her triumphantly.
"That's the way to do it, honey. Make 'em remember who they screwed. Screw them, don't let 'em screw you." She walked away, her animal lusts completely satisfied. It became obvious to me how potentially dangerous an over-muscled, overpowered dyke like Jean could be. I sweated with the realization of it. I turned to Beverly.
"Is that why you said Dot was a weird one?" I asked.
"Yes. Dot will make love with anything that walks, whether it wears pants or a dress."
"She really seemed to enjoy this as much as she did that time with me," I said unbelievingly. The thought of myself making it with another guy nauseated me. I just couldn't see it.
"She enjoyed it more," she answered disgustedly. "She likes to be dominated completely, brutalized, not just made love to."
"Hey!" I said, suddenly remembering, "I'd better go check on Jimmy. He was sick in the head." I went to the bathroom and banged on the door. "Hey, Jim, you OK?" I yelled.
A weak voice replied, "Yeah, I'll make it." The door opened and he emerged, pale and shaky, but intact. I was relieved.
Finding Beverly, I took her arm and said, "Let's get the hell out of here." We walked out, gratefully breathing the fresh air.
CHAPTER NINE
We were silent as we strolled towards Bev's house, our arms around one another's waists. We had already begun to feel a mutual anticipation, now that we were alone and away from the orgiastic scenes still vivid in our minds.
Looking at my watch, I was surprised to see how early it was. It had seemed like an eternity at the party.
"Only eleven o'clock," I stated, looking at my watch again.
"Really?" she asked with surprise. "It seems so much later. "
Conscious of the bottle inside my sport jacket, I asked, "You want to finish this at your house or should I just chuck it?" looking in the direction of a clump of tall grass.
"Keep it in my basement. We can always drink it another time; we certainly don't need it tonight, though," she grinned at me knowingly. We sure as hell didn't, I realized. We were plenty steamed up already.
We went in the back door, tiptoeing quietly down to the basement so Sadie wouldn't wake up. While Bev took off her dress and put on a robe, I put some records on, all soft stuff. We lay down on the couch side by side in the darkness, kissing softly. It was wonderful being alone together; we were relaxed as we caressed one another softly, slowly, feeling our bodies touch.
I gently opened her robe and felt her soft breasts radiate their heat through my shirt. I kissed the deep, smooth crevice that separated them, smelling the heady mixture of perfume and musky female odor that Bev always seemed to have. I loved that smell; it was so much a part of her.
I bit her neck softly and kissed her ears, listening to her breath coming faster. She kissed me on the mouth, her teeth biting my lips tantalizingly and her tongue straying gently over mine. My heart began to pound with excitement and I felt myself growing with passion. I bent down and took a soft, buttery-smooth breast in my mouth and consumed as much of it as I could, sucking hard on the raised pink nipple.
Her hand reached down and slowly loosened my belt, then unbuttoned the top of my slacks. I heard the soft buzzing sound of the zipper being pulled down, and felt the ecstatic shock of her warm, nimble fingers softly touching me.
"Take off your clothes," she whispered. "I don't want you to wrinkle them." I did, as she helped me, kissing me all the while. We lay back down and pressed our bodies together, delighting in the warmth of complete nakedness. My leg went between her yawning thighs. I felt the consuming warmth penetrating my leg and radiating through my whole body. She was so warm, so exciting. So completely feminine.
Lying side by side, I reached her easily, her thigh resting under mine. We clasped our arms about each other's buttocks and drove as deeply as we could, showering kisses on one another's feverish bodies. We moaned together, delighting in our throbbing climax. Instead of letting ourselves relax, we kept straining against one another until our excitement was restored; we were not at all tired. In fact, we wee not at all tired. In fact, we were more heated titan before.
Whispering in her ear, I asked, "Darling, is it all right this way? Do you want it any other way?"
Gratefully, lovingly, kissing me, she squirmed teasingly. "Can we do it doggie style? It's so good like that," she panted. We untangled and she lay back down on the couch, this time on her stomach. I kissed her all over her back and buttocks. Thrilling to the touch of my lips, she opened her thighs invitingly; I kissed her thighs, flicking my tongue gently and rapidly between them and heard her moan delightedly.
Lying on top of her, I could feel her firm, quivering buttocks under me, and as I entered her moist valley of passion, she raised her buttocks until she was resting on her knees and elbows. I reached underneath and cupped her breast with my hand. She swayed her round hips side to side and I followed her movements with my own thrusting hips so that our movements were together.
"Oh, Artie, I can't wait," she groaned, "you make it so nice." With a final , driving lunge, we brought our passion to the brink of seismic eruption and spilled downward into that wonderful after-feeling, our passion so strong that we could smell its heady odor. She squeezed her thighs tightly together so that she could feel me even in cooled fervor, and delighted in it. We were soaked with one another and felt it delightedly when we embraced tightly.
"You're so good tome, baby," she said, stroking my wet forehead, "what did I do to deserve you?" She shook her head wonderingly.
"We're good to each other, Bev ... I want to tell you something, though, after we get dressed."
"OK, honey."
When we were sitting on the couch as though nothing had happened, I began, slowly. I'd made up my mind to settle this dilemma of Bev and Pat once and for all.
"Bev, I'm going away for a week. With Pat, her mother and Mr. Hewitt to fish. I want to fish for a definite answer in my own mind. Next week, I want an answer. For all of us."
"I'll miss you," she said simply, "but I suppose you have to do it."
"Yes, Bev, I do. You know I do."
"Thank you, Artie...."
"For what?" I asked, surprised. "For leaving you on a string and torturing us both?"
"No, for what I told you that last time. For being honest, and for giving me all you can. I told you I'd settle for as much of you as I could get."
"Oh, Bev, I groaned helplessly. I wanted to say, "I love you," but I knew I couldn't; not now. I kissed her, grateful for whatever made her what she was. She walked me to the door, where we kissed goodbye.
"See you sometime next week," I promised, and turned away.
It was after one o'clock, but Hewitt's light was on, so I walked over to the door and tapped gently. He opened it, a beer in his hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table about half gone. He was taking it pretty hard, but now he was in complete control of himself.
"I'm going with you,-if you still want me," I said. "Then come in; help me clean up the rest of the stuff." He poured out two shots of booze and handed me a beer. "About time you learned to drink like a man," he declared. His voice gave no indication of having killed half a bottle and nobody knows how many bottles of beer for chasers. His capacity was astonishing to me at the time, because I couldn't even pretend to be a drinker.
"Come by Friday morning about six; we'll have coffee and pick up Pat and her mother. Since you're a big man now, her first name is Helen. Mrs. Cushing is gonna sound pretty crappy after a whole week."
When everything was in working condition, I said goodbye and went home, going right to bed. I passed out immediately.
The day of the funeral was overcast, as though intentionally proclaiming that a person had died, and that there was grief in the world on this day. I put on my dark suit and went over to Hewitt's house to catch a ride. It was early, and he was ready to leave; he was a pallbearer.
The procession was to drive from the funeral parlor to the cemetery, where full military honors were to be bestowed on the late Mr. Cushing. Pat and her mother were standing over the casket, too cried out to sob audibly, but their faces were masks of mute grief. We all walked past the casket, paying our last respects. I noticed with morbid objectiveness that they had done a good job on the body.
I rode with Mr. Hewitt, Pat and her mother out to the cemetery; Pat had wanted me to ride with them. We sat in the back seat, silent, holding hands. Her hand gripped mine desperately for consolation. The rain came down in a misty drizzle and the windshield wipers whirred steadily, the only audible sound in the entire limousine.
The pallbearers carried the casket to the gravesite, and the chaplain droned on tonelessly about the heroics of Thomas Cushing, father and husband, soldier and citizen. It all had an ominous ring of solemnity.
I was real glad when it was over.
Mr. Hewitt and I sat in his kitchen drinking coffee and listening to the weather report on the radio, which promised idyllic conditions. This was unusual. It seems as though it always rained whenever I planned a trip to Ocean City.
The gear was already packed, so we simply took off like a bat out of hell and moved through the empty streets at break-neck speed.
Strangely, the women were ready; happily, they seemed to be looking forward to the trip in spite of their grief. I hoped that this trip would provide the therapy that Hewitt thought it should.
"Hi, Helen," Hewitt greeted Pat's mother with a friendly kiss, "I'm so glad you were willing to keep an old warhorse company."
"Tom, I don't know what we'd do without you," she said through tear-filled eyes.
"No more than I'd have done without you when my wife died," he said simply. "That's what friendship is all about, dear."
Riding in the back seat with Pat, I looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand in both of mine. She was much calmer today, and like her mother, seemed to look forward to a whole week in Ocean City. We were both excited about the prospect of being together for such a long stretch.
"Mrs. Cushing, do you mind if I smoke? "I asked, trying to be polite. I knew that he didn't give a damn.
"Please, Artie, why the formality?" she seemed almost gay.
"Thanks," I muttered, lighting up.
"And my name is Helen," she added as an afterthought.
"Thanks, Helen," I acknowledged, looking at her again. I now felt ten years older and she looked ten years younger. She was a good looking woman, I noticed with alarm. Her hair was jet grey and her face was smoother than Pat's; she was built much the same way as Pat, but she had maturity. Her breasts were large and sumptuous in proportion to her slender figure. I'd noticed the smooth, effortless twitch of her hips and buttocks when she walked. The tailored fit of her slacks accented the muscular roundness of her thighs to perfection. She was in her late thirties, I judged ... probably around thirty-sevenish.
The Maryland countryside changed visibly as we drew closer to the ocean; by the time we hit the Eastern shore on the bay-side, the smell of the salt in the air and the sight of the sandy soil and stunted pine trees put us all in a vacation mood. It was so clean, and the ocean breeze was cooling. It sure was good to get out of the city.
I had been led to believe that we were staying at a cottage. This place was more like a palace. There were six bedrooms, a huge living-room and screened porch. The kitchen was as modern as the one in my own house; dishwasher, disposal, the works. The dining room was very high-ceilinged and completely Victorian in atmosphere, like the old plantation homes further south. I noticed a TV and a record player standing nearby a short-wave set, which was used for weather forecasts and ship-to-shore reports on the best fishing spots in the ocean and the Chesapeake-Patuxent areas as well. The place was completely livable. In fact, it pretty much measured up to the private dream I'd always had of having a home within spitting distance of the ocean someday.
We unpacked and walked down the main drag to a nice-looking restaurant for lunch. Without asking any of us what we wanted, Hewitt ordered a dozen steamed crabs, jumbo size and a pitcher of draft beer. The waitress deftly wrote the order, and started to walk away.
"Keep the beer comin'!" called Hewitt.
I hadn't had crabs and beer since last summer, and these were elegant. Chesapeake Bay hard-shells are probably the best crabs in the world. These were huge and loaded with mean and spice. We all ate enthusiastically, cracking and digging like crazy. It was a lot of fun.
"These are marvelous," Helen said, "just yummy." Her rosy, full lips closed around a chunk of white meat. It was exciting to watcher her chew food. Everything she did was so sensuous even though she didn't seem to be aware of it.
After lunch, we went back to the house to change into our bathing suits. We each had our own room, so we split up to change. As we were ready to go, Helen told us to go ahead without her.
"I have a light headache, and I don't want the sun to make it any worse. I'll lie down for an hour or so and join you later."
"OK, Helen, let me get you some aspirin," Hewitt offered. He returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and a couple of tablets, which she accepted gratefully.
"Hope you are feeling better, Helen," I said. "Join us as soon as you can."
Pat kissed her goodbye and we left. We spread the blanket on the white sand, and kicking off my sandals, I ran toward the water.
"Last one in's a chicken!" I yelled, and I looked back to see Pat close on my heels. We jumped into the waves, delighting in the coldness and the salty taste of the ocean. I disappeared under water, found Pat's thigh and gave it a playful pinch. She jumped, thinking that a crab had pinched her, and I came up sputtering with laughter.
"You're funny as hell!" she exclaimed in mock anger, and gave me a face full of water. We swam out to where the water was up to our necks and embraced, pressing our bodies against one another. It was good in the water, and I was about to kiss her when her thigh came between my legs, goading me into a state of frenzy. We started to drift into deeper water, so we let go and swam back to shore, laughing. I'd cooled off sufficiently to let myself be exposed, although the memory of the contact was very vivid. We flopped down beside Hewitt who was sleeping, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. He lay flat on his back, his lean, taught body already showing signs of exposure to the sun.
We lolled in the sun, feeling its warmth, and becoming drowsy with lazy relaxation. Pat fell asleep, and I flipped over on my back, propping my head against my hands, looking out at the water. People were yelling with pleasure, and x the hushed roar of the ocean made me wonder how anyone could possibly live somewhere like the midwest, miles away from this beauty.
Digging around for a cigarette, I remembered that we had forgotten to bring them. I thought for a minute, then decided to go back to the house to get them. I got up and put on my sandals; Hewitt stirred, looked at me for a second and went back to sleep.
I walked slowly through the deep sand and finally hit the highway. The pavement made me feel as though I were walking on air after trudging on the beach.
I stepped onto the porch and wiped my sandy feet on the mat before going upstairs to the room. I found a pack and started to go back downstairs when Helen called me. "Tom, is that you?"
"No, it's me," I called.
"Oh, Artie, you back already?" she asked.
"Just came back for some cigarettes," I explained. "Pat and Tom still at the beach?"
"Yeah!" I laughed, "they're both sound asleep."
"Oh, that's a great way to spend a day on the beach!!" she said sarcastically.
"Well, you know how it is, " I kidded, "when you get old."
"Bring me a cigarette, will you, Artie?" she purred. "How's the headache?" I wanted to know.
"All gone. We'll have a cigarette and then we'll go to the beach." I held the pack out to her, and when she put one in her mouth, I lit it. She held my arm as she drew the light, and after I blew out the match, she still head on was looking at me knowingly. I felt funny. After all, I thought, this dame is Pat's mother. What am I supposed to do? Kiss her? Just stand there, or what?
She solved the dilemma for me. I didn't have to think.
"Artie, I'm going to show you what a woman is," she whispered huskily, and threw off the covers, completely naked. Her skin was the most perfect I'd ever seen. It was the kind that I wanted to literally bite into, pinch and squeeze ... revel in. Her large breasts jutted upward defiantly and eagerly, the nipples already hard with eager promise.
The muscles rippled smoothly over her legs and arms, and when her hand grabbed my wrist, it was strong and insistent. She guided my arm around her neck and pulled me on top of her. We kissed, her tongue working frantically and hungrily inside my mouth and her body worked evenly against my hips. Pulling off my bathing suit, she put her knee between my thighs, moving it methodically so that I could feel the warm flesh against my groin.
She was an experienced woman, and I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to hold my own with her; I was afraid that I'd be finished before she was even ready to begin.
She was ready now, though. She clutched my manhood and guided it deftly into the seat of her hungry passion, clutching my buttocks with both hands.
"Now, slow, sweetie,' she whispered, "Slow. Bit me on the neck when you think you're going to collapse." She laughed knowingly as though she knew little boys very well.
Her hips gyrated slowly, easily, and I just rode with the storm, afraid to make a move of my own.
"Just give me a little bit now, " she instructed and pushed at my hips so that I had to withdraw slightly. Arching my buttocks, I gave her the little bit rapidly, while she moved slowly and with perfect precision. Her eyes were half closed and a soft smile was playing on her pouting lips. She was in heaven now, being loved just the way she liked, with the thrill and the sensations lasting until the last agonizingly sweet second possible.
I bit her on the ear, afraid; her body immediately stopped moving, and we lay against each other, panting and straining not to keep up our passionate love-thrusts.
"How is it, Artie?" she asked almost conversationally.
"Wonderful," I answered, trying not to breathe so hard.
"Now, Artie," she explained, "I'm a pretty big woman, and you want to satisfy me, don't you?"
"Oh, yes! Sure. What do you want me to do?" I asked, feeling her thighs and belly quivering under me.
"Just lift yourself up a little bit," she cooed sweetly. I did, and no sooner had I wondered what the hell was happening, she slowly closed her thighs and stiffened her body until it was perfectly straight from her head to her toes. Her hands again reached for my buttocks and pulled me back down, hard.
"Now, slow as you can, honey," and this time her voice was pleading; she was had now, and I felt controlled because of this power that I had over her. Slowly, very, very slowly and deliberately, I thrust up and down, feeling her tightly around me, her closed legs trembling in an effort not to respond. All of a sudden, she broke loose.
"Oh, Artie, now! Fast and hard, please!"
I kept on, though, slowly, because this was the way to do it and I delighted in driving her pleasantly wild.
"In a little, Helen. When I'm ready," I smiled and kept on driving her crazy until she begged me to bring us to a crashing finale.
"Please, Artie, I can't stand it! It's so good, baby, sooo good!" she sobbed, and started to thrust herself frantically, locking her ankles around mine. I drove at her hard, listening to the sound of my hips crashing against her. She screamed with unchecked delight and trembled uncontrollably as our passion spilled onto one another's bodies; we held onto each other and panted.
CHAPTER TEN
We cooked hot dogs on the grill that night, Hewitt and I doing the honors while the women prepared the baked beans and salad. The odor of the charcoal was making me weak with hunger. I'd had an extremely active day, I realized.
When dinner was ready, we sat around the wooden picnic table in the back yard, eating with relish.
"I haven't had these in ages!" Helen exclaimed delightedly.
"You've never had them made by the terrible two," I kidded, indicating myself and Hewitt.
"Pat, do you think we're that great, too?" Hewitt asked jovially.
"Anyone who can make hot dogs like this has to be great," Pat agreed.
We all felt elated, now that we were here at settled. We had a boat chartered for tomorrow, and the bluefish and marlin were supposedly running great.
We threw away the paper plates and took a walk along the boardwalk, eating frozen custard and stopping in all the sucker-traps. I tried to win a stuffed animal for Pat, but fell short by several hundred points. The games were obviously rigged, I decided. We kept walking until we were so tired that we impulsively decided on a movie. We saw a comedy, real cornball, but we all laughed and emerged from the theater feeling much better. Pat and Helen were a million miles away from their tragedy, that was the main thing.
We had to be at the wharf by six thirty the next morning, so we decided to go to bed early. We all said goodnight and once in my room, I turned on the radio, hunting for some decent music. I finally settled for some hillbilly junk that was coming from a station in Cambridge. The Baltimore stations were full of static, and the static bugged me.
I lay back, smoking and thinking about the summer ... still another month and a half of it left, and I'd already packed half a lifetime into it, it seemed. I only had the one problem, but even that didn't seem to matter so very much, not out here, away from lawn-cutting, home and just everything in general. I'd never had a better summer, that was for damned sure.
Only the soft radio and the distant roar of the ocean were audible. The house was silent, and I was hungry. I crept downstairs into the kitchen, and when the light from the refrigerator went on, I saw Pat sitting at the table, going like hell on a cheese sandwich.
"Want me to fix you one?" she asked, getting up.
"Yeah, fine. But there's something else I want first," I replied, going over to her and kissing her. It had been all day since we'd really had a moment alone together. She kissed me ardently, running her fingers through my hair and biting my lip gently. We broke away smiling, and she got up to fix my cheese sandwich.
"Is there any beer?" I wanted to know.
"Are you kidding? Tons of it!"
"I'll have one" I decided. "No midnight snack is complete without beer."
We took our food and beer out onto the porch and listened to the ocean, which was no more than a block and a half away from us. We sat very close together on the couch, entranced by the sound. The stars seemed brighter the sky clearer, near the salt-smelling ocean. I really dug this nature stuff, I decided. What could a guy do to make a respectable buck in a spot like this, I wondered. Charter-boating, or be a writer. That would be nice, I thought. Writing in a well-equipped little shack right smack on the beach all year round. Even in the winter it would be the nuts, listening to the lonely pounding of the surf and the howling wind and not a soul on the beach. Baltimore and Washington weren't that far away when a guy wanted some city life. I'd have to ask someone about that. A writer could move around and live to the hilt; this was better than having a lot of money that you'd sweated out of a business. It just seemed dull when compared to a life of freedom.
"A kiss for your thoughts!" Pat whispered "I was just thinking how nice it'd be to spend my entire life near the ocean," I said wistfully.
"What would you do for money?"
"How's being a professional writer sound?"
"Wonderful if you can write."
"Well, I plan to find out," I asserted. "I should be thinking about a career anyway. That's what everyone keeps harping about."
"What brought all this up? '"
"The sound of that beautiful ocean," I sighed, "that big hunk of blue out there."
"My dad always wanted to be a soldier, it was his boy hood dream. He worked awfully hard before he got where he did." She spoke with pride, pride, pride in what her father had been, what he had done for them, for his country. Why else would a man go through two wars? They couldn't be stupid. It had to be something else, something far more than the average mind could understand. I groped for the answer, but I couldn't find it either.
I shook my head uncomprehendingly, the weight of it all too much for my young, undeveloped mind. The hell with it, I thought with a disgusted shrug.
"Pat?"
"Yes, Artie?"
"Do we really love ach other? I mean love each other in a way that would last forever?"
"What do you think, Artie?" she asked, turning her face up. .
"I feel love, or what seems like love to me," I stammered, "but I'm sorta mixed up, too."
"There's one way to try to find out,' she said softly.
"How?" I asked.
"Like this," she replied, and kissed me passionately. We kissed for a long time, feeling the heat of it.
"Pat, Pat," I whispered, "it's good being alone with you again."
Her breasts pressed against my chest, their warmth going into my naked chest and spreading through my entire body. I kissed her neck, biting the soft skin and listening to her moan softly.
"Artie, love me, please love me," she pleaded desperately.
"I want to, Pat," I answered helplessly, "I really want to." She undressed slowly and the moonlight glowed quietly on her butter-soft skin. She came into my arms with a rush as though trying to swallow me up in the feverish heat of her body. My hands followed the smooth outline of her back and ran down the projecting contour of her round buttocks as she ground and writhed against me with desperate wanting.
Frantically, harsh with urgency, she tore off my levis that I'd slipped on to come downstairs; I kicked them off, and our nakedness was complete. I bit her stomach and thighs passionately and heard her sharp exclamations of ecstasy as she writhed with pleasure, and when her hand found its way below my waist and rested there, grasping and caressing, I too felt the unbearable pleasure and squirmed.
I fell on top of her, pressing against her body; we strained until we could stand it no longer, and had to complete our act of love. I drew her meaty thighs up over my shoulders and ravished her hungry desire, slowly and deeply, feeling her vibrate with unrestrained joy. I took an eager breast in my mouth and bathed the rock-hard nipple with my tongue without altering my measured movements. She was clawing my back and squirming so frantically that it was difficult to hold her in position.
"Oh, Artie! It's so good!" she moaned. "Don't stop!"
I withdrew myself slightly, saving everything for the last, as Helen had taught me. I wanted to see if this rule were universally true.
It was. Her legs came down from my shoulders automatically, and her moist thighs closed tightly underneath me so that I lay squarely on top of every inch of her body. I drove at her hard, and although her body remained stiff and straight, the thrusting of her hips and buttocks threatened to eject me spring-like into the air.
"Pat, I can't wait any longer" I told her warningly, "it has to be now."
"Yes, yes! Now!" We smashed against one another in the final drive for completion, and the tightness of her closed thighs almost made me howl with the heightened sensations that I was feeling.
After we finished, we lay against each other, out of breath and happy. All this action was beginning to tell on me, but I didn't give a damn. If I had to die, this was the way I wanted to go, I decided. Any other way would be either too painful or too dull.
"Pat, you seem to improve with age."
"So do you; where did you learn that little trick?" "What trick?" I asked, pretending to be completely ignorant.
"The closed legs bit; it drove me wild."
"Well, you can imagine what it does to me." I pointed out.
"Yes, I guess it'd be really great for you."
"Sure it is. Just use your imagination."
Looking at the luminous dial on my watch, I saw that it was twelve thirty and we had to be up by five thirty in order to meet the boat.
"Hey, we'd better get some sleep!" I exclaimed, showing her my watch. "We have to get up early, you know."
"We can always sleep on the boat," she pointed out.
"Who came to sleep? Not me."
"Well, let's go to bed, then," she agreed, and got up. We went upstairs and kissed goodnight, turning away toward our bedrooms.
The sun was just coming up when Hewitt came storming into my room to awaken me.
"OK, rise and shine. Out of that bed!" he swore good-naturedly. Reluctantly, I stumbled out of bed and glanced out the window to find that the day promised to be a beaut. I looked at my watch and angrily noticed that it was only a quarter to five.
"What's wrong with you?" I growled. "It's nowhere near five thirty!"
"Well, for one thing, my snotty young friend, you hafta help me pack. For another thing, I have coffee all made, and thought you might like to join me."
"I'm sorry, Tom," I apologized. "I'm a louse before coffee."
"Accepted," he nodded with complete understanding.
! "Now move your ass and the girls can sleep a little later." I let the shower snap me into semi-consciousness, trusting and hoping like hell that the coffee would do the rest. I put on my sneakers, levis and T-shirt, grabbing a wind-breaker as I started downstairs. Halfway down, I smelled the aroma of coffee and bacon; now I was grateful for the early awakening.
The bacon was wrapped in paper towels so that it would come out crisp, and Hewitt was pouring the coffee when I sat down.
"Have some juice first," he offered, and poured out a I slug of tomato juice. I drank it, feeling my mouth coming alive and all the dead feeling disappear. The coffee snapped me to attention. It was the strongest I'd ever encountered.
"This coffee could walk under its own steam," I declared.
"You complaining about my breakfast?" he asked with mock indignation.
"No, just making an observation," I said soothingly. "You'd better have some before you throw a butcher knife at somebody."
"You're right, Art. I guess we're all louses before we have our coffee." He sat down and poured himself a mug of it, and drank it fast, in spite of its steaming hotness, I "When the girls come down, we'll just pour the juice and throw the eggs on," he outlined. "Meantime, as soon's you finish your coffee, we'll pack the car."
By the time the car was packed, the girls were down-I stairs, and Helen was pouring out the coffee and juice for , all of us, not realizing that we were ready for the bacon and eggs. We all sat down while she threw the eggs into the hot skillet; within minutes, we each had a plate with two beautiful sunny-side up eggs and several slices of perfectly dry bacon in front of us, and the toaster was in motion.
When we were finished, the girls did the dishes with lightning speed, and we piled into the car and drove off for the wharf where our boat and captain were waiting. The highway was buzzing with traffic, and every restaurant along the way was jam-packed with fishermen, captains and people coming in from all-night drunks.
Beach resorts were always jumping with activity which began with sunup, and Ocean City was no different. These people, for the most part, would be unconscious at this hour of the morning back home, but here they wanted to make use of every second of daylight.
We parked near the wharf, and started to haul the gear to the dock, so that it could be thrown on board in a hurry. Finished, we went into the coffee shop, had another cup a-piece and waited for our captain to show.
He was ten minutes early. He came over to our table with a cup of coffee in his hand, and introduced himself. "Hi, folks, I'm Bill Strong, skipper of th' Sea-nymph." "Hi, Bill," Hewitt said, standing up to shake hands. "I'm Tom Hewitt; meet Helen and Pat Cushing and Artie Rollins." pointing to each of us. We shook hands all around and made room for Bill to sit down. He was a handsome guy. Lean, almost angular, his blond hair hung below the clean white yacht cap that leaned at a jaunty angle on his head. His face and arms were blackened by the salt and the sun, and his deep blue eyes were gleaming marbles in contrast. He was wearing an old khaki shirt that was tapered and khaki pants, both of which had once been a naval officer's uniform. Hewitt noticed this and asked, "Were you in the navy, Bill?"
"Yeah, for six years, four and a half of 'em in the Pacific. "
"Really? Where?"
"Quiet, out-of-the-way spots ... you know, like Guadalcanal, Midway, Leyte Gulf. Not much action." He grinned sardonically.
"Well, I was in most of those places, too, Bill; so I know what you mean." He returned the grin.
"Well, anyway, I learned my profession in the Navy,' he shrugged.
Helen and Pat were getting uncomfortable with the conversation, so I hurriedly changed the subject.
"What'll we fish for today, Bill?"
"Well, I thought we'd take a run over to the bay and go for some blues,' he said. "The radio's been blabbing all night about 'em; Captain I know took a party out yesterday and caught twenty-five of 'em, all legal size."
"Sounds good," Hewitt mused. "What about marlin?"
"They haven't been so thick up here yet, " Bill explained. "Most of 'em are still swimmin' around in the Gulf; we'll keep the radio on this morning."
He walked out with us and helped us load the boat, which was a real beaut among fishing boats. It had a nice galley and four bunks; the decks were scrubbed and the paint was fresh. It was an immaculate ship. Bill later told us he lived on the boat most of the year; he even had a gas generator to run an air conditioner and the rest of his appliances when the boat was docked. It was a luxurious setup. The cockpit was up above, completely glassed in with slide-out windows; there was a tremendous leather captain's chair behind the wheel. On a table beside it were charts, maps and navigation instruments that I couldn't identify. A completely livable, self-sufficient craft.
For all it's bulk, the Sea-nymph was fast; its streamlined hull and twin Chrysler marine engines made it that way. It could easily hit sixty five or seventy knots and hold it indefinitely in deep water.
The girls were crazy about the ship and examined it thoroughly, complimenting its interior and furnishings. Bill Strong had a nice flair for decor.
Bill untied the boat from its mooring, pulled up the anchor and kicked over the engines.
Everyone went down to the lower deck to set up the lines and stack the food and beer in the ice box, except Helen. She stood quietly beside me, while I kept my eyes glued intently on the instruments.
"Having fun, skipper?" she asked good-naturedly.
"Yep. This is the life," I stated emphatically.
"About yesterday, Art...."
"Forget it, Helen. It was fun, and I hope we do it again sometime. ' I tried to put her at ease.
"Well, I don't want you to think badly of me."
"I take people for what they are, Helen, not for what they do. And you're an awfully nice person."
"Thank you, Art. You're nice to say that."
"I mean, it Helen. I'm not in a position where I have to spout a line of gas."
Bill came up and took the wheel from me, and was whistling happily.
"I just buzzed a friend of mine on the ship-to-shore," he grinned. "I'm gonna pull in and bring her along wit us. You'll like her."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Her name was Sylvia and she was a real red. It was obvious if you just looked at the white thighs above the short-shorts that she had on. She was plump, meaty, but had a nice figure. Her buttocks and breasts were prominent, straining against the frail clothes; when she walked, it didn't take long to see that she wasn't wearing any bra or panties. The way those things bounced invitingly and the way the shorts rode up her thighs ... all you needed were a pair of eyes.
Bill introduced us all around, and she eyed Tom and me appraisingly as she said hello. Her eyes lingered easily on Tom.
"Glad to meet y'all," she greeted with a smile. She was a Maryland Eastern shore babe with an accent that you could cut with a knife. "Maryland" became "Merrlin." it was a peculiar kind of speech that I'd noticed in people from Baltimore, but not to this extent.
"Beer, anyone? ' I asked, walking toward the ice box.
"All around," Tom assented. I opened them and started to pass them around.
Sylvia took one up to Bill, who was going at top speed toward Lookout Point, where the bluefish were reportedly running rampant. I watched her saucy buttocks and thighs undulate as she climbed the ladder. She'd be easy, even on an empty stomach.
When the lighthouse came into view, the ship slowed down, the motors stopped. Bill let the boat drift until the bow was facing in the right direction, and then threw the anchor overboard, the rope shortening up with lightning speed.
"Everybody bait up" he yelled down, and came nimbly down the ladder to pick up a rod. We cast out, and feeling the current hold our lines steady on the sandy bottom, we relaxed and waited.
"Watch my line," Pat asked, and walked toward the ice box, returning with more beer. The sun was well up now, beating relentlessly against the water, shooting its glaring reflection against us. The water was perfectly calm. Not even a ripple was visible; except for an occasional swish of water under the boat, it was silent.
Suddenly the rod went crazy in my hand. I put down my beer, and started to reel in until I felt the size of the fish. It was a big one and I had to play him gently or he'd break the line. He broke water, and we saw a tremendous flash of blue that quickly drove under again.
"You got a big blue" Bill yelled excitedly. "Play 'im slowly." I did, feeding him line and reeling in, feeding and reeling until my arms began to ache with the strain. I could feel him weakening as well, and with relief, sensed that it wouldn't be a hell of a long time before I could pull him in.
Bill was leaning over the side with the net and scooped him as soon as he was out of the water. He was a big one, all right. I was afraid to even estimate his size.
"Twenty-eight pounds," Bill said after weighing him. "A real beauty, Art. You did a nice job of bringing him in," he added admiringly.
We caught several more blues that morning, and when we had eleven of them on ice, we decided to eat lunch before pulling up anchor and heading for another spot.
There were cheese sandwiches with lettuce and tomato, fruit, potato chips, soft drinks and beer. Nobody touched the soft drinks. The beer and the heat was making us all pretty giddy. I realized that I was slightly dizzy. The radio was playing rhythm and blues, and Tom impulsively grabbed Helen and started to jitterbug with her. We laughingly got up and danced with them. Bill danced with Sylvia, grinding it up a little bit, and I saw out of the corner of my eyes that she rubbed her breasts teasingly against his bare torso.
We kept drinking and dancing, and the heat got worse and worse. We were all stoned out of our minds by now; it was unthinkable to move the boat, let alone hold a rod without fear of it dropping into the water.
"I don't know 'bout y'all," Sylvia drawled, "but Bill and I 're goin' down below to cool off. "She winked and grabbed Bill's hand to pull him along.
"C'mon, Helen," Tom coaxed, "let's go." They went, too, and Pat and I stood side by side with our lines in the water, but hardly intent on fishing.
"Boy, are they drunk" I said, laughing. I was drunk myself, and Pat was feeling very little pain.
"Let's go peek in on them," she suggested slyly, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
We went up top, and lay down, peeking through the hatch, which was open. It was quiet, and each couple lay on a bunk in each other's arms and drunkenly caressed one another. Sylvia was lying on top of Bill, a naked breast smothering his face. He was making loud noises with his lips, sucking on it as though it were an udder. The side zipper on her shorts was pulled all the way down, and his hand was buried inside, but they were so tight that he couldn't maneuver very well. He pulled them down around her ankles and her snow-white buttocks quivered spasmodically as he buried his face in her breasts and grabbed hunks of flesh from her thighs.
They rolled over, and she began to rip the clothes from Bill hurriedly, and I noticed the patch of shock-red hair surrounding her womanhood. As plump as she was, her body was beautifully proportioned; her narrow waist tapered into a pair of swiveled hips and nicely rounded thighs. Her nipples were as pink as a seashell, and they stood rigid with passion. Her arms were heavy and strong. She was a big woman, but completely female.
When she had Bill undressed, she sat on the bed and caressed him all over as he lay on his back writhing under her skilled hands. Those hands knew exactly what to do, their deliberate movements knew just when, where and how much to excite and titillate.
"Is it nice, Bill?" she cooed, kissing his thighs and working up teasingly.
"Yes," he groaned, "yes it is."
"Will you make me nice, too?" she asked, continuing to kiss his body.
"Yes, baby, I'll make you nice." She sat on his chest with her hand behind her, deftly caressing the seat of his passion, and moved slowly up until his face was submerged in that shock of beautiful red hair. He encircled his arms around her bulging thighs and kissed her hungrily, his lips and tongue working feverishly to excite her. She began to thrust back and forth, making a wet sloshing sound against his face. Her hand began to work harder and faster behind her, and they were wriggling with uncontrolled joy.
"Let's do it like this, honey," she sobbed, unable to move; his arms were gripping her thighs tightly. They sobbed together as they completed their lust, their bodies heaving with their caresses.
Sylvia got up and leaned down towards Bill's thighs, kissing him until he responded again, and this time he got up and leaned her against the wall and kissed her wet lips hard, squeezing her huge breasts. He entered her standing up, and they heaved back and forth, in perfect unison; their first completion made control an easy thing, and they stood face to face, smiling lustily at each other, while they thrust slowly and lazily back and forth.
"Let's do it on the floor," Sylvia suggested, starting to pant again.
"Who's up? ' Bill asked. Evidently they were old partners.
"You, this time," she answered, dragging him eagerly down. He mounted her big body, and her thighs clamped around his buttocks, crashing into them spur-fashion, goading him to drive in harder and deeper. His hands came under her writhing buttocks and lifted them off the floor and he drove forward; she screeched with delight, pounding on his buttocks with her heels.
"This is good," she moaned; "Bill, I can't wait." Her voice rose to a crescendo. "Bill! Now, Bill!"
He rammed against her as hard as he could, the impact of flesh audible to Pat and me, who were upstairs, watching with fascinated curiosity. Sylvia kicked her thighs in the air like a thrashing horse, and grunted contentedly as she felt the afterglow of the climax spread through her body. They lay there together and closed their eyes, lost in slumber.
Meanwhile, Hewitt was getting his with Helen. Her two delicate hands were buried between his thighs and she watched them stroke his throbbing manhood, delighting in the sight. She sat astride his chest with her back to his face, bending over every now and then to give him a tantalizing kiss or brush with her tongue. His hands were feverishly caressing her back as she continued to concentrate on the center of his passion and watch like a child would a brand new toy.
"Tom, you 're so big," she shrilled with delight. "Is it all for me?" She squealed like an excited little girl.
She moved her body down farther and clamped her thighs teasingly together around him while her hands ran up and down his legs.
She was an experienced woman and sensed that he had reached the limit of control, so she turned around and faced him, lying on top of him. They lay there for a moment until the throbbing subsided somewhat, and now Tom worked Helen over a bit.
He ran the palms of his hands over her breasts, until the nipples filled with pounding blood. He kissed her body all they way down, and finally rested his lips where hers had rested on him. she was no longer the dominant one now. Her excitement overwhelmed her and she bounced up and down with heated frenzy, knowing that she liked to watch, that this was the thing that excited her beyond belief, he mounted her quivering body, her head against the wall. He held his body at an angle, resting on outstretched arms so that he was away from her torso. She watched, watched hungrily their centers of passion together the way he moved in and out of her. She watched the whole act with child-like delight, squealing.
Her delight changed to desperation as he hurriedly thrust himself at her. She clutched at him hungrily as their completion spilled onto one another with volcanic force, their bodies now entwined like tangled branches from ankles to neck.
Pat and I were crazy with passion. We softly lowered the hatch door and locked it. Preliminaries were absurd. We were plenty aroused already. We quickly lay down on the floor, and I pulled off her shorts, leaving the rest of her clothing intact. She lowered the zipper on my levis and we took each other hard and fast. It was different this way, and that made it exciting. Her legs closed under me to feel the ultimate pressure of contact and penetration and we grunted with satisfaction. It was unusually short, but extremely good. The peep show had made it that way.
Just as Pat was pulling her shorts on, Bill and Sylvia walked in, their arms around each other. They noticed our state of dress and laughed.
Sylvia eyed me with naked lust. She walked over and put a hand on my thigh. "Would you like to make the scene with me?" she asked.
I looked over towards Pat for a reaction of some kind, but she was already eagerly kissing Bill. Without saying another word, I took Sylvia into my arms and buried my tongue in her parted lips. This was a different feeling, I realized. She was big, as big as I was. She was a pile of woman. To satisfy her would take something.
She gently pushed me onto the floor flat on my back and sat down on top of me, slowly lowering herself until the deepest possible union had been accomplished. She leaned back on her plump arms and closed and opened her fleshy thighs teasingly, allowing me to experience the ultimate in physical joy. Thrusting up and down on me with beautiful precision, she commanded," Hit me, baby, hit me hard!" It was a pleasure. Something perverse in me went off like a bombshell, and I hit her with my fist, sinking it into her soft belly. The harder I hit her, the harder and faster she thrust, like a piston. She groaned and screamed aloud with unabashed pleasure. "Give it to me, Artie Give it all to me" I pulled her juicy breasts and she fell completely on top of me, her legs apart. We heaved together, locked in embrace. Her hands lifted my buttocks easily, driving me deeper into her tormented valley of passion, and we all but passed out at the same moment, our mutual joy rising and spilling over in a white-hot flood of ebbing passion.
When we docked two hours later, Tom took out his wallet to pay Bill for the day. "are you kiddin', Tom?" he asked incredulously. "Not from friends"
"Thanks, Bill. Say, why don't you and Sylvia have dinner with us tonight? We even have two extra bedrooms, "he said, and winked knowingly.
"Well, thanks. I am getting a little tired of this boat."
CHAPTER TWELVE
We ate dinner out that night, after the boat was secured and the fish cleaned and frozen. We'd given quite a few away to save ourselves cleaning and storing. Everyone had showered and put on good clothes. Now we were sitting in the Shell, a restaurant on the bay side that was famous for its clams and oysters. We drank beer and greedily devoured steamed clams with drawn butter, Cherrystones on the half shell and oysters. They weren't at all filling so we consumed an amazing quantity of them.
"How would a nice air conditioned movie grab you people?" Bill asked, scooping up the check that the waitress had gently deposited upside down on the table.
"Anything decent playing?" Helen inquired. "We saw a stinker last night."
"We'll get a paper," I suggested, and got up to get one from the cashier. The listings were for every town on the Eastern Shore as well as for Ocean City and Rehoboth Beach in Delaware.
"This one looks good," Pat said, pointing a finger at one in Ocean City. It was a drama with Marlon Brando. Who didn't like Brando in those days?
We all agreed. Bill paid the check, and we piled into his convertible, a brand new Cadillac. He thundered down the single lane road leading to Ocean City and the car moved effortlessly along floating over the bumps and chuck-holes as though they didn't exist. It was a sweet automobile.
We parked the car in front of our house; Bill put the top up, closed the windows and locked the car. We walked the two blocks to the theater, divided into couples, holding hands. I was with Pat, and she was quiet tonight. Something was on her mind.
"What's the trouble, Pat?"
"This afternoon."
"Are you sorry?"
"No, it was a ball. That's what's worrying me."
"If it was a ball, why are you so worried?"
"I just didn't realize that I was that much of a wanton."
"Enjoy it, Pat. You can't live forever, you know."
"I guess you're right, Art. It was delightful, wasn't it?" Her eyes began to glaze with lust. She was ready right now! Suddenly, the movie didn't appeal so much. It'd be much nicer to find a nice spot on the beach and rolling in the sand a little.
For some reason that I'll never be able to discover, Beverly crept into my mind. I wondered if she'd have participated in something like that of today. She was a nymphomaniac by her own admission, but she had a streak of loyalty towards me that Pat evidently lacked. Once I committed myself to Bev, if I did, I'd have to stick, I realized. Somehow, I felt sure that she was waiting for me when she could have everything that wore pants. Pat and Helen were lots of kicks; should I give all that up? Two women to make love to whenever I wished? I'd have to think about it. The question was whether or not I was ready for a lasting, responsible relationship with one girl who was certainly ready to give everything up for my sake. I made a mental note to decide once and for all by the time I hit the city.
The movie was a groove. Brando was a motorcycle cat who didn't give a damn about anything except that machine he drove ... and women. I personally couldn't see the "sickle" bit, but I could see the preoccupation with women. This was my kind of flick.
We all enjoyed it, we discovered as we discussed it afterwards. It was certainly far superior to the one we'd seen the night before.
We walked along the boardwalk, and when we came across a shooting gallery, the three of us tried to persuade the women to wait while we tried our luck.
"Aw, c'mon, what for?" protested Sylvia. "Y'all have done enough shootin' today." We all laughed.
"We'd like to see how good we are from a vertical position," I explained.
"Somebody's pretty good at that, too!" Sylvia drawled, eyeing Bill.
Tom gave the guy at the booth some money, and picked up a rifle. Taking careful aim, he squeezed off eight shots in rapid succession, hitting all the targets but one. "I'm rusty," he said disgustedly and handed the rifle to Bill. The guy loaded it, and Bill fired more slowly, but only hit two targets.
"I oughta run and hide," he said with mock embarrassment.
I chose another rifle, and took an agonizingly long time between shots. Wham! The first moving duck disappeared with a clang. I hit him right in the center. I wound up hitting six out of eight, which was phenomenal for me. I hadn't fired a gun half a dozen times in my life. Tom was truly amazed. "Boy, you're pretty good!" he exclaimed with pride. After all, I was his boy.
We walked on, playing pitch, wandering into stores and generally doing the whole boardwalk between the theater and our house. At Eighteenth Street, we turned off and walked across the highway to the house. It was after twelve, and we'd had quite a day of it. I suddenly realized that I'd been up since a quarter to five; I was exhausted.
I passed out like a light. I remembered not one thing, not even my head hitting the pillow. I slept like a log.
The next morning, I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and saw that someone was in the shower. I assumed it was Bill or Tom. The women wouldn't be up this early. I was wrong, though. Pleasantly wrong.
It was Helen. She pulled the curtain aside and stuck her head out provocatively, smiling.
"What are you doing up so early?" I asked
"I thought we'd take a shower together," she purred.
"Oh? Before coffee, you mean?" This sounded crazy. I wasn't even awake.
"Oh, you'll wake up fast enough," she assured me. "Come on in, the water's heavenly."
I stepped into the shower after locking the bathroom door. The water was good, but she was even better.
She soaped us up completely, until we slipped teasingly against each other when we embraced. It was lewd as hell. She caressed my manhood with a soapy hand ... I didn't even feel the penetration. It was so complete, though, and so deep, that she caught her breath. We were lying down in the tub, letting the water pound on us with its warm, needle spray.
"Wake me up nice, Artie. Give me some soap." She kissed me on the mouth, her full lips brushing against mine. Her hips were moving in small circular motions, because of the confined quarters of the tub. My mouth closed on a slippery-smooth, rock-hard nipple. Being thoroughly awake by now, I drove into her until I was sure I'd hurt her. But no, I could never hurt a sex machine like Helen. She jus t couldn't get enough, no matter what. Our soapy bodies kept slipping, which made the whole thing all the more delightful.
"Are you ready, Helen?" I asked, feeling as though I were going to drown.
"Oh, no Artie, let's wake up first." she said coyly, thrusting with just the right motion and intensity.
We kept on, until Helen got a bright idea. "Get up, Artie. Let's dry off. ' We wiped off the soap, fondling each other as we did so, and got out of the shower, leaving the water on. Helen sat on the edge of the tub, her thighs spread apart in invitation.
"Take me like this," she instructed with panting breath. "I like it this way."
I moved in between her, crouching down and resting against the tub with my hands supporting me. The summit was more difficult now, and the sensation was considerably increased. I took her slowly listening to her cries of ecstasy that were barely audible above the rushing water of the shower. I bathed a breast with my tongue, and she lunged her hips at me wildly, completely out of control. We spent ourselves with a last savage thrust and got back into the shower again. I had finally done something besides stumble before morning coffee.
When I came downstairs, everyone was drinking their coffee. We ate, and discussed whether we'd spend the morning on the beach r the boat. We finally decided on the beach, preferring to be in the ocean rather than on it. We gathered up the blankets and all the rest of our equipment; Bill filled a gallon jug with a fifth of vodka, the rest grape juice and crushed ice. Being glass-lined, the stuff would stay cold for a good many hours.
We ran across the highway, dodging traffic and finally found a suitable spot to spread the blankets. It was low-tide and the strip of beach was extremely wide. The sun hadn't been up long enough to heat the sand so it was nice and cool. I left my hooded windbreaker on, letting the breeze blow into my upturned face; it would be hot enough later. We drank out of the jug and I was surprised to taste only grape juice. It was just like breakfast. Mild. Painless. I had several in rapid succession.
"It's too cool to swim right now," I said. "Who wants to hunt for seashells? '"
"Aren't you a little old for that?" Tom asked.
"I guess not, Tom," I grinned. "I still dig it."
In spite of Tom's bitching, he was the only one who had the least desire to come along. We left the others and started walking down the beach, letting the water lap around our ankles. Low tide was the best time to hunt. The water had receded, leaving a wealth of shells in its wake.
"The last time I hunted for shells was in Honolulu in forty two," Tom Hewitt said wistfully.
"What were you doing that for?" I asked. "I thought you were fighting Japs."
"It was right after Pearl Harbor," he explained. "Our outfit hadn't shipped out yet, and being a married man, I really didn't have anything else to do. I thought I'd collect enough to make a necklace for my wife."
"Did you?"
"Yeah, but not with seashells."
"What with, then?"
"I found a dead tiger shark on the beach, so I took his teeth."
"I'm sure she loved that," I observed with a little sarcasm. I couldn't really imagine a woman going for a necklace of shark's teeth.
"She did, as a matter-of-fact, " he said defensively. "She wore it quite often."
I noticed a tremendous conch shell lying at the water's edge, and darted over to pick it up. It was perfectly formed and well colored. This would be for Bev if I could avoid giving it to Pat.
"That's a beaut," Tom mused.
"Well, let's find another one for you." We eventually found more than we could hope to carry. We had walked about three miles already, and decided to turn back.
"Artie, can you keep a secret? "
"You oughta know better," I answered indignantly. He knew damn well that I was close-mouthed.
He cleared his throat nervously before he spoke. "I want to ask Helen to marry me." I was dumbfounded. Thunder-struck. Surely he had all his marbles, and I knew he was no fool. She was fun, but what did he want to marry her for?
"So?" I asked, waiting for the rest.
"So, what do you think?"
"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Tom?" I was concerned now, because he was deadly serious.
"A guy is never sure, Art. There's no such thing as a guarantee in life."
"When do you plan to ask her?"
"As soon as it's decent and proper. I know she'd have apprehensions otherwise."
"Yeah, I suppose she would."
"It isn't as though I'm asking a stranger, you know. I've known this woman for a long time ... she's the widow of my best friend."
"Do you love her or just feel sorry for her?" I wanted to know.
"It's hard to say," he said. "I'm not quite sure, really."
"Then I think you're a fool, Tom. You've gotta be sure about a move like this. Even I know that," I said emphatically.
"Well, I'll let it ride, then. Just wanted to sound you out on it." He smiled gratefully and we sped up the pace a little.
"Now I've got one for you," I said, intruding on his reverie.
"What's that?" he asked.
"What does a guy do when he's hung up on one girl, and another girl's very hung up on him?"
"Be specific, so I'll know what you're talking about."
I was. I told him the whole story, even my first thought when I spotted the conch shell. "That's the story," I concluded.
"When you get home, you tell this Bev that she's the one, and you somehow tell Pat the truth."
"Obviously. But it's not easy."
"Who said it was? You still have to do it, though."
"Pat's such a nice kid, though. I hate to hurt her any more than she has been."
"I know, Artie," he said with real understanding. "The truth almost always hurts, but it's always best to be truthful. Hell, you know that. I don't have to lecture you." We finally came into sight of Bill and the girls, who were thoroughly smashed from the vodka. They were giddy with laughter.
"What do you say we go for a swim?" I suggested. It would almost certainly sober them up.
"OK," they assented gaily, and got up, running crookedly toward the water. Once they were in, it was like a shock treatment. They demanded that I join them, since it had been my idea in the first place. With a running leap, I came splashing in, and after the initial horror of suddenly being enveloped by cold water, it was pleasant. I liked water on the cool side anyway.
We splashed around, until Bill, Tom and I swam out together, not racing or hurrying, just swimming to loosen the kinks. I flipped over on my back, and was amazed to see how much distance we had already covered. We kept going, though, until we caught a gigantic wave that carried us more than halfway back to shore. When the tide rose a little more, there'd be good surfing.
We ate lunch on the beach to take advantage of the weather, washing it down with vodka and grape juice. It wasn't long before we all got high, and looking at each other in bathing suits aroused our ardor to the point of a mutual decision to go back to the privacy and coolness of the house. Giggling, we gathered up the stuff and wobbled toward home.
I was dizzy. The terrain spun around like a Ferris wheel. Pat had to take my arm and steer me the rest of the way.
" 'Scuse me, folks,' I giggled. "Gotta sleep it off." Stumbling up the stairs, I aimed for the bed and made it, landing with a thud. I closed my eyes and felt the room spin around sickeningly. I opened them again until the nausea subsided; I kept it up until the futility of it all drove me to the bathroom, where I quickly and deftly heaved my guts out. What a relief! Now I could close my eyes and get some sleep.
I was awakened by raucous laughter coming from the next bedroom. Trying to ignore it, I closed my eyes again, but it was useless. Disgustedly, I forced myself upright to see what it was all about.
I looked in and couldn't believe my eyes at first; I was prepared for just about anything, but certainly not this! There's no end to the surprises in life, I realized. Anything can happen. see how much distance we had already.
Sylvia lay on top of her and they embraced, rolling from one side of the bed ecstatically, kissing each other's lush breasts, their hands buried between the other's invitingly opened thighs.
They lay down side to side, their heads hidden between each other's shapely legs, the moans of joy muted by walls of delightful flesh. Writhing and squirming, they reached the end of their strange journey simultaneously, and lay back panting and smiling contentedly.
Looking up, Helen saw me standing in the doorway.
"We got each other started, Artie, You think you're man enough to finish? Both of us? "There was naked lust in her eyes now. Helen also seemed excited at the prospect of a nice switch party, me being the switched. I fell into the spirit of the thing willingly. "Who wants to go first?" I asked, looking at each naked body.
"You and me first, Artie; I'll be good to you," Sylvia beckoned. I got between them on the bed, surrounded by soft woman-smelling flesh. I took Sylvia's rosy breast in my mouth and caressed it wetly, as Helen grabbed my hand and placed it against a bulbous nipple. I turned toward Helen, kissing her eager breast and caressed Sylvia's.
Sylvia rolled over on her stomach, and Helen followed her example. Their gleaming, round buttocks quivered with anticipation, each waiting hungrily for my entry between their invitingly wet thighs.
First I leaned against Sylvia, entering and thrusting until she was almost completed, then withdrew and entered into Helen's awaiting center of passion. She squirmed under my driving hips, and when she was almost there, I stopped and turned back to Sylvia again. She heaved back at me, grunting and sighing until I felt her spent passion spilling over with lava-like warmth. She lay down, contented, and watched as I re-entered Helen's quivering body. I completed myself with Helen, and as we spilled into one another, she emitted a descending sigh of relief. It had been good, deliciously degenerately good. And I was good, I realized with alarm. I had finished off two women who knew more tricks between them than I would ever learn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The women went to sleep, completely exhausted. I trudged downstairs to get a cold beer.
I found another game going on between Pat, Tom and Bill. It seemed like National Orgy Day. My morbid curiosity prompted me to watch while my physical exertion disqualified me from active participation.
Pat was mounted astride Bill, her hips gyrating with passionate abandon, while Tom looked on with naked lust illuminating his flushed face. The prostrate Bill was lying back with closed eyes, completely passive and rejoicing in Pat's adept movements. Her large breasts bobbed up and down, dancing eagerly with the rest of her body. She was gasping with uncontrollable frenzy.
"Come here, Tom!' she commanded.
In a daze, Tom walked over and stood in front of her and over Bill's prostrate and oblivious body. She reached out with a greedy hand.
"Bend down a little and close your eyes!" she demanded, but with a pleading note in her trembling voice.
He did as she asked, and embracing his buttocks for support, she swallowed him up completely, making him swoon with pleasure. Her head and flowing hair thrust in a bobbing motion, with the same cadence that her hips and wide buttocks thrust up and down upon Bill. She was almost unconscious with the joy of loving and being loved, thrilled with the knowledge that her body was capable of sending two men into rapture at the same time. She was no longer the Pat I knew, with feelings and emotions. She was a pagan goddess of lust, bent upon the single purpose of spilling her lover's passions into every tantalizing crevice of her hot body.
She moaned, making a muffled sound as Bill spilled his passion into her yawning cavity of love, and in complete exhaustion, passed out where he lay.
Her arms gripped Tom's buttocks harder, drawing him closer to her hungry lips as she caressed him with a knowing tongue. Her lovely profile moved faster now. Tom's hips moved with her. They sighed together as she took everything out of him. He kissed her on the lips, grateful. "That was good, Pat. Are you OK?"
"Yes, lover," she answered with a smile.
"Bill's conked out completely,' he observed.
"Yes, I don't know how Sylvia stands it." She was still the sex machine, thinking in terms of endurance rather than intentions. "How's Artie? ' Tom asked off-handedly. "Artie's good; he never fails."
"He's worried about you, you know."
"What for? I keep him happy. "Her degeneracy made her incapable of thinking beyond a purely physical level.
"He thinks you love him," Tom laughed cynically. "He doesn't want to hurt you."
She threw her head back in a peel of laughter. "Is he still on that kick?" She was no longer the dependent female that I had known just a few weeks ago. "We're good to each other, that's all! He knows how to move me; he's nice in the hay. Let him love someone else, as long as he gives me a feast now and then," she chuckled.
It really didn't hurt in the least. Oh, I'll admit my ego was slightly dented, but she did a perfect job of making my mind up for me. I tip-toed upstairs and closed the door in my bedroom. Fishing through the desk, I found some typing paper. Impulsively, my emotions spilling over faster than I could write, I scrawled out a letter to Bev:
My dearest Bev,
Ocean City has been grand. The weather has been perfect, the fishing great and the water even greater.
Bev, I do know one thing for sure; looking back over the whole summer, I've been a fool not to see it all in the first place. You were the one who has been so concerned for my feelings and problems. You were the one who would be true to me no matter what.
I love you, darling ... I'll be faithful to you no matter what. This I promise faithfully.
See you in a few more days.
Love and kisses forever, Art
I sealed the envelope and went downstairs out the back door, heading in the direction of a drug store to buy a stamp. I bought the stamp, and with my heart pounding, dropped the letter in the mail box. I glowed with the thought of Bev's reaction to that letter. How could a guy be so dumb? With all my playing around, making love with Bev had been more thrilling, more satisfying and emotionally gratifying than I could describe. She had been willing to wait for me, and I realized with sense of awe that she would've given me everything, even if I gave her nothing in return. I really didn't deserve her, I thought sadly.
I had a coke at the fountain to kill time. Lighting a cigarette, I swished the straw around in the glass absently, letting the cigarette burn down unnoticed. Oh, Artie, you are such a stupid idiot, I thought, shaking my head with mental disbelief.
I walked back to the house, my feet dragging. Now I just wanted to get back home and see Bev. I was like a lovesick calf, and I wasn't a bit surprised or ashamed. I stopped in a novelty store and bought a nickel post card with a picture of a beautiful white beach on it, and scrawled a note to Jimmy. I had to do something with the extra stamp! Dear Jim, Having a blast ... wish you were here! Coming home soon. Please call Bev and tell her I'll see her Saturday night.
Your long-lost buddy, Artie
I chucked that in the mail box, feeling better now. My footsteps lightened as I came through the back door, letting it slam loudly, so everyone would know that I was here. Everybody was in the living-room watching the end of the ball game and drinking beer. The game was in its twelfth inning, an unusually hot game. Baseball generally bored me unless I was playing.
"Hi," I greeted as I bounced into a leather chair, popping open a beer can.
"Ssshh!" Tom voiced with impatience I was annoyed at being given the cold shoulder so I had to wait until the game ended, and Bill heaved himself out the chair to turn off the television. We were all bored now.
No one had the energy for amorous adventures.
The sun was down, so the beach was no longer an attractive thought. What do we do now? was the burning question of the moment.
"I'm gonna take a walk down the beach for a while," I announced. "Anyone care to join me?" I really couldn't care less, but I had to be polite to my friends.
"I'll go with you," Pat said, getting up from the couch.
"See you around, " I assured everyone, and we walked together toward the beach.
Sundown is beautiful on the beach. The big red ball of fiery heat sinks slowly into the endless expanse of ocean. Looking out at this endless expanse, I wondered what people on the other side were doing at this time of day. Or was it night for them? It was such a big world, I thought. So big that people standing on another shore thousands of miles across that endless stretch of blue water didn't even know that I, Artie Rollins, existed. Nor did I know any names or faces over there. Surrounded by this gigantic body of water and limitless strip of sand, I thought of Pat and myself as meaningless little specks, no more significant than a grain of sand under our feet. What a big, big world; and I hadn't seen enough of it to matter. Tom Hewitt had seen a good deal of it. So had Bill. Yet they were no different than I.
Pat broke into my silent reverie. "Are you mad?" she asked quietly.
"Of course not," I replied. "I know how it is now, and it's OK with me."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. I only wish you'd told me to my face, but other than that, I'm not angry."
"I didn't think it was necessary. I thought you knew." "I suppose I did," I smiled, and hit her on the buttocks playfully.
"I'm not capable of the kind of love you want, Artie."
"It's OK, Pat, honest. Let's just have fun."
"You're a nice guy, you know that?"
"Glad you think so ... who was it that said nice guys finish last?"
"I don't know, but it isn't true. You're lucky."
"Yes, I am," I agreed, thinking of Bev.
"Let's just be good friends, huh? And have fun for the rest of the time we're here?"
"Sure," I agreed, "why shouldn't we?"
Her arm came around my waist, and we continued down the sandy stretch, happy now that we understood one another. Strictly kick for another three days. Why not? In three days, I was going to be faithful Joe; I didn't doubt it for a moment.
We had reached the dunes, where no one came very often. This was the most deserted part of the beach, due to the fact that it was so far from the boardwalk and that the under tows made swimming impossible. We were completely alone here.
"Let's have a little fun, right now," Pat whispered, and turned her face up to be kissed. I embraced her hard, pressing my lips forcefully on hers, leaning her back slightly. She pulled me into a dune, and I lay on top of her grinding hips, working my tongue into her parted lips, feeling her warm breath. Her large, soft breasts squashed against my chest, heaving rapidly with mounting excitement. My hands roved over her body, massaging her thighs and fleshy buttocks, squeezing the cheeks and digging into the deep crevice that separated them. I decided to excite her verbally; as I continued to caress her, I asked huskily, "How do you want it, baby?"
She moaned, excited beyond words over the prospect of delving into yet another variety of erotic excitement. She hesitated as though trying to decide as I took a ripe nipple in my mouth and bathed it with wet kisses.
"Can we make it Greek?" she panted.
"Yes, baby ... but first do something for me."
She didn't need any instruction. Her head went eagerly between my thighs and gave me the supreme caress, her tongue and moist lips working feverishly. I gently pulled her away and nudged her on her stomach; she raised her white buttocks, thighs parted in invitation. Wet from her delightful kisses, I made it the way she wanted me to, and at the same time placed a finger in her valley of passion. Moving my hand and hips at the same time against her writhing buttocks, I felt her tremble with pleasure. This was naked animal lust. It served to heighten the pleasure for both of us. The tightness of her buttocks made me groan with delight. She was good, a thoroughbred pleasure machine that knew no limits, no sense of guilt or misgivings.
"Now put it where it belongs,' she pleaded. "Finish me off, Art!"
"Not yet, sweetie, "I teased, "let's make it last a while." I re-entered her moist, hungry valley and caught my breath as I felt myself being drawn vacuum-like into its deepest reaches.
Thrusting slowly, feeding her more and more of myself with painful slowness, she sobbed with uncontrollable desire.
"Please, now, Artie!" she begged.
"Just a little longer," I told her. I was the dominant partner now. I was going to drive her insane with her wanton appetite. I slowed down to a barely perceptible movement, sliding in and out of her torrid body, leaving a trail of unbearable sensations. Now I was going to make her faint. "Close your legs," I instructed, and as she did, I thrust deeply and withdrew slowly until she swooned with a shrill sound and collapsed. As she lay in a dead faint, I ravished her, completing myself in her limp body. I lay where I was, without moving. She came to with a start.
"I must've fainted. It was sooo good!"
"Yes, but I want more," I demanded, pinning her down with my body. I felt myself being aroused again, and started to thrust wildly, grabbing her fleshy, wet buttocks. I kept on working hard to reach a climax.
"I'm so sore, Artie," she complained.
"But isn't this what you want, baby?" I asked sweetly. "To be loved until you can't stand up?" and kept on thrusting, oblivious to her pain.
"Please stop, Artie." She was moaning with pain.
"What will you do to make me happy?" I demanded.
"Just stop ... you'll see." I withdrew myself and waited for her to make a move. She smiled, and reached into the purse that she'd brought along. She withdrew a bottle of baby oil that she used for getting a suntan.
"Now this is going to be real different,' she cooed, moistening her hands with the oil. Her hands moved to the deep crevice that separated her breasts and in seconds it was glistening with the clear liquid.
"Now lie down on your back," she prompted, and as I complied, she lay on top of my hips, and placed her two melony breasts on either side of my throbbing passion, which rested in her oiled cavity. I felt the feverish warmth of her flesh enveloping me there, and watched her as she squeezed her breasts together with her hands and moved her body in a slow, sliding motion over my manhood.
It was delightful. She teasingly brushed me with a nipple, her hand cupped between my thighs, feeling me vibrate with approaching climax. Timing it perfectly, her moist mouth came down upon me and received thirstily the outpouring of my passion. Never had I felt such acute physical sensation. I relaxed as the throbbing subsided into calmness.
"See, Artie, wasn't that nice?" she asked coquettishly.
"Is there anything that you don't know?" I asked. What an imagination she had!
"Nothing that I can't learn," she said with a laugh.
We started walking back, and I noticed that Pat had difficulty; I'd really given her a good working over. She was walking as though she had a football between her legs, and it looked so inviting that with a little coaxing I 'd have been willing to take her again!
When we got in a safe swimming are, we went in the water until it was up to our shoulders. I pulled down my bathing suit and cleaned off the baby oil and sand. Pat winced in pain.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"It stings!" she exclaimed, looking down below her waist.
"I'm sorry about that," I apologized.
"Oh, don't be. I always wanted to get more than I could possibly stand." we both laughed, and waded toward the beach. Dusk had risen, and we headed for home in silence.
Everyone else was upstairs. I was sure that Pat would be sleeping, after our workout together. What the others were doing, God only knew. I really didn't care at this point. I was grateful for the chance to let my mind concentrate on the one thing that mattered to me-Beverly.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I woke up in my chair, greeted by a test pattern on the screen. As usual, I had fallen asleep with the television, just like an old man, I thought disgustedly.
I flicked it off, and returned to the chair, lighting a cigarette, watching the smoke drift lazily toward the ceiling. I felt rested and wide awake. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was almost six o' clock. I went to the john and brushed my teeth, washed my face and combed my hair. I decided to have some breakfast out.
I walked over to the breakfast joint we frequented occasionally and sat down at the counter. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Hello, Artie."
It was Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, my neighbors. It was good to see them.
"How long've you been here? ' I asked.
"Two days. When are you leaving?" Mr. Murphy spoke.
"Day after tomorrow," I replied. "I'm going back with Mr. Hewitt."
"Well, hurry up," he laughed. "Our lawn looks terrible since you've neglected it."
They brought me breakfast, and we talked animatedly throughout the meal. They were exciting people to be with, spilling over with knowledge and ideas. I admired them very much.
"So, bum, beachcomber," he intoned as he looked at my tanned skin and yellowing hair, "you'll be back at work in September. Have you thought of your future?"
"A little," I replied. "As much as a guy my age should."
"So, what is it going to be?" he asked with a merry crinkle in his deep set eyes.
"Promise you won't laugh?" I asked cautiously.
"What's to laugh about a person's future?"
"Well, I'd like to be a writer someday."
"Have you ever tried to write before?" Mrs. Murphy asked.
"A little," I admitted.
"Have you tried to have it published?"
"No." I sounded pretty stupid to myself.
"Why don't you? You know, Art, you don't miraculously become a writer. You become a writer by writing, and the time to develop yourself is now."
"A guy needs something to write about," I declared, trying to defend myself.
"We all have a story in us, but most of us don't have the ability to express it on paper. Find someone to help you, to encourage you. Don't listen to people who tell you it's a silly notion, because if you have any ability at all, it'll pay you, but you have to work hard at it."
"I don't know any writers. Who would I find to help me?" "You must have a girl. Let her help you. She knows what kind of person you are, what your thoughts are. You don't need a writer. You need somebody who cares about you and knows you."
"I never thought of that," I nodded slowly in agreement.
It sure as hell made sense. If anyone could help me and understand my desire, it was Beverly.
"How about spending the day with us?" Mrs. Murphy invited.
"Wonderful," I replied. It would be good to do something different for a change. I excused myself and called the house, telling Tom that I'd bumped into the Murphys and was going to spend the day with them.
"I'll be home this evening," I concluded, and hung up.
Returning to the table, Mr. Murphy was helping his wife on with her sweater. It was still rather cool at this time of day. "Where to?" I asked.
"We thought we'd drive over to the bay and rent an outboard and just do some nice, quiet fishing."
"Fine," I agreed. It sounded great. A whole day with people who didn't have constant sex on their minds, why, it'd make a new man out of me.
We drove over to the bay side as far as Salisbury. Mr. Murphy bought some sandwiches, a six pack of beer and some soft drinks for his wife. We eased into the rowboat, and I went toward the rear where the engine was mounted and pulled on the starter rope several times until it caught with a roar. I eased us out of the pier, guiding skillfully into the open channel and speeding up until the stern dipped into the water, the bow raising up at a dramatic angle.
I knew this area of the bay pretty well, and headed for shallow water where the croakers usually fed. This kind of fishing would be nice and relaxed, plain old bottom type. No chumming or trolling. I slowed down as we approached the shallows and cut the engine to let the boat drift around.
I heaved the anchor overboard and waited several seconds before saying, "OK, we can fish now; just bait up and drop your lines over on this side," pointing to the side where the tide would pull the lines away from the boat rather than underneath it.
"You're quite a skipper,' Mrs. Murphy beamed.
"I used to hot rod all over Lynhaven Bay down at Virginia Beach," I explained. "Runabouts, speedboats, cruisers, you name it."
"Well, you're a good captain," Mr. Murphy agreed.
They were somewhat overwhelmed by anyone who could handle boats and fish with any degree of skill at all. I felt a little proud of my knowledge, which I could thank my father and uncle for.
I put some crab meat on the end of Mrs. Murphy's line, a bloodworm on Mr. Murphy's and some grass-shrimp on my own. "This way we'll find of what they're biting on."
I explained, "if they're biting on anything at all."
It didn't take long to find out. My glass rod bent loop-like and the drag on the reel made aloud clicking sound as the line went reeling out. This was no croaker, I decided, unless I had two of them; I'd rigged the lines with two hooks.
We were in a school of rockfish, and I had a beaut fighting my line, playing it out for all he was worth. I landed him with ease, and instructed Mr. Murphy to get him with the net as I pulled him out of the water. He was well over a foot long, so we dumped him in the galvanized tub we had filled with water.
The fishing was a total success We hit several spots and had good luck in 11 of them. When the tub was filled to capacity, we had no choice but to head back to shore.
We rounded up a couple of boys to clean the fish for us, and went into the bar for a beer. It had been an uneventful, wonderfully refreshing day. I felt like a new person.
We ate dinner in Ocean City and they dropped me off on the boardwalk. I thanked them and promised to attend to their lawn as soon as I got home.
I walked into the house, pleasantly tired from a day of fishing. Everyone was seated in the living room drinking beer; the television was on, but no one was really paying very much attention to it. They were just drinking their beer and discussing the possibility of some deep sea fishing on our last day at Ocean City.
"We'll have 'ta catch some small stuff first, for bait," Bill declared. "Marlin don't go for bloodworms or crab-meat, you know."
"So we'll catch small stuff; the way they're biting, how the hell long can it take?" Tom asked impatiently.
I put in my two cents. "Why don't we get up at dawn so we have enough time to make it worth our while?"
"That goes without sayin'," Bill said. We agreed to get up at five and start the engines no later than six; with any luck at all, we'd be fishing in three or four hundred feet of ocean by nine thirty or ten.
"How'd it go today, Art? ' Sylvia asked in a friendly tone. "Real good," I replied. "Just did some nice easy fishing in the bay near Salisbury."
"You mean you didn't sink the boat?" Bill chuckled. "Well, maybe I'm not an admiral like you, Bill, but I can sure as hell handle a small boat without much trouble." "You handle big ones OK for an amateur, too," he conceded.
"Thanks, skipper. Coming from you, that's a real compliment." It was, too. Bill had a reputation for being one of the most able captains along the eastern seaboard.
We turned in early, and I hit the bed gratefully. A day in a small boat with no shelter from the sun had knocked me out, sun worshipper that I was.
We jumped the gun by a half hour the next morning; we were up at four thirty and roaring away from the pier by five thirty. Our bait catching expedition was immediate. Strange feeling, though. If we'd been fishing in the bay, we'd have howled with delight over our good fortune. We were pulling in bluefish by the carload; but hell, this was just bait we were catching. Knowing this, it was nothing more than a chore.
Bill had rigged the lower afterdeck with swivel chairs equipped with belts. The mountings were on the deck, but very often Bill would remove the chairs and store them below. They were expressly for deep fishing. We had changed our equipment as well ... now we were outfitted with steel rods and six hundred-yard locking reels holding line that resembled rope. It was five hundred pound test, which meant if anyone had the good fortune to latch on to something that was heavier, he or she had better be good.
Bill idled the boat down, and we strapped into the chairs after we cast out. I had a ten or twelve pound bluefish on the end of my line, very attractive bait for a big baby.
Deep sea fishing can very often become a waiting game, a war of patience and nerves. We waited for a long, long time. Suddenly Bill asked, "Anybody in the mood for catching sharks?" and pointed in the direction of several pairs of dorsal fins smoothly gliding above the water. Those things would hang around all day if they tasted any bait; they'd follow the boat from here to hell.
Bill came up again with two army carbines, each loaded with a curved twenty round clip of ammo.
"When they get near the boat, start blastin',' he told Tom, handing him a weapon. They were moving fast, now, smelling the bait. I quietly instructed the girls to haul in their lines, since we'd have to move anyway. As they were doing just that, the rifles started. Single shots at first from Tom, until he zeroed in, and then pushing the lever on full automatic, he blasted away, the bullets pelleting the water like giant raindrops. A couple of sharks turned over, exposing their heads turning the water red with their blood. They were hammerheads, possibly the ugliest shark there is to behold, looking like evil symbols of savagery. That was all we needed; the other sharks closed in on their comrades to devour them. We pulled up anchor and hauled-ass out of the area. They'd be too busy and too full to bother following us.
"There's a good stroke of luck for you," I said sarcastically. Pat and Helen had been slightly terrified, although Sylvia had tried to calm them down. She was used to this sort of thing, knowing Bill and having been reared near the ocean.
We finally settled in another spot and again cast out and waited. This time we kept the rifles on deck. The lines were about a hundred feet down, the rod handles secure in the sockets in the chairs.
Suddenly Tom's line grew taut and his rod began to bend like a coat hanger. A large blue streak jumped out of the water, his wet dorsal fin glistening in the sun.
"A marlin!" Bill cried excitedly. "Don't lose him!"
He was gigantic, almost Gulf variety. He fought for his life, diving under, swimming at such speed that the reel screamed. Tom had no choice but to give him line.
"Now lock the reel!" Bill yelled in his ear. "Pull in a little!" This was where the skill and judgment came into play; it's a natural tendency to let the fish run like hell with the line, for fear that he'll break it if you attempt to lock him and pull in. And this is true; he can easily get away at this point, if you don't know what you're doing.
But Bill knew very well what it was all about; he instructed Tom, who reacted with rapid-fire precision; he knew how to react. He was in that sort of business.
The marlin was visibly tiring now as a result of steady giving and taking on tom's part. Finally, he allowed himself to be pulled up to the boat, where Bill expertly lashed him alongside to remain in the water.
"I'd say you have at least three hundred pounds, there, Tom."
"How long did we fight him?" Tom asked, out of breath.
Looking at his watch, Bill replied, "Almost two hours. " The time had flown; we were all so engrossed in the action that time had taken a flying leap.
Pat caught a baby after a while; Bill estimated around seventy or eighty pounds. He fought like a little tiger, though. It took over an hour to land him.
It was about two in the afternoon, but we'd had it.
The sun was glaring wildly, bouncing off the water into our faces; the deck was steaming, the tar between the boards melted. We had a better than average catch, and had to weigh the fish and take them to a taxidermist for mounting.
It was after four when we pulled into the harbor. We weighed the fish on the scales, and Bill proved almost uncanny in his estimate. Tom's fish weighed three hundred and thirteen pounds and several ounces. Pat's weighed seventy six pounds on the nose. We called a taxidermist that Bill did business with, who came by with a truck to pick up the fish.
Taking addresses, he said, "I'll ship them to you early next week."" Tom paid him in advance, collecting a receipt and thanking him.
A shower never felt so good! Clean clothes never felt so good! I'd felt amazingly cruddy ad sweaty and hadn't realized it with all the excitement.
"Let's really celebrate," Bill suggested. "It's your last night here, so let's end it up with a real bang!"
This was completely agreeable. We decided to eat in style, ties and all. A suit felt peculiar, not to say uncomfortable. The girls were delighted, though. They spent an eternity putting on make-up and evening dresses. They were awfully sharp when they finally came downstairs. We had been waiting for them, drinking gin and tonic, and Tom and Bill were discussing the possibility of joining hands in the charter boating business when the former retired from work.
"You're still a young man, Tom. You're up for full retirement in sixteen months, right? And you'll be forty-one? What do you plan to do? Work in your flower garden?" Bill coaxed. They had hit it off together immediately, and had many qualities in common. It was apparent that they'd make a swell team.
"Bill, let me think it over, huh?" Tom pleaded. "I've got more dough than I need saved up right now, and I'll be collecting over two bills a month after I retire, so there's lots of things for me to consider. I can travel, or I can go into real estate...."
"Real estate? !?" Bill howled. "You'll dry up and get old in a year. I can understand the travelling, but not real estate. Not you, Tome! You're too active a guy!"
"Well, let's discuss it at dinner."
We all had another drink, and piled into Bill's Caddy, streaking over to the restaurant. It was real posh, head-waiter, finger bowls, the whole bit. So was the check. Bill and Tom split it, tip and all, which came to close to fifty bucks. We enjoyed it thoroughly, though. The food was manna from heaven, done to perfection and the service made us feel like royalty.
We danced for a while in a nice joint that Bill went to occasionally, had some more drinks and went home.
Drunkenly, Helen said, "Let's have a farewell that none of us will ever forget!"
"Yeah, let's!" Sylvia shouted enthusiastically, and followed suit with Pat damned close behind.
"We'll play a game," Sylvia decided, leering knowingly at us.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sylvia's game consisted of everyone lying down in the living room with Tom on the outside, Sylvia herself next to him; then me, then Helen, Bill and finally Pat. We were all lying next to one another, side by side.
"Now, Tom," Sylvia explained, "you go down the line, starting with me, then Helen and Pat doing whatever you want. Then it'll be Artie's turn and then Bill's. We'll see what happens," she giggled.
Tom rolled over to face Sylvia. He kissed her ardently, and a large hand found an even larger breast, cupping it and fondling it. He moved his face to the other one and took the pink nipple in his mouth, biting it nibblingly. Her breathing became louder as he kissed her rounded belly and the insides of her reddish-white thighs. She was starting to breathe hard, now. He abruptly left her with a smile.
Moving over to Helen, he immediately submerged his head between her tawny legs and gave her a long and enthusiastic kiss of ultimate intimacy, until she began to squirm in ecstasy.
Pat was heated from watching, and when Tom placed her hands on his enlarged passion, she clutched it eagerly, kissing and wetly caressing him there, her long hair spilling onto his legs. With a gasp, he left and went back to his original position.
Sylvia was on fire when I mounted her awaiting body. I penetrated her parted thighs and closed them, thrusting gently, teasing, delighting in her soft moans of joy; she threw her arms around me and tried to keep me pinned, but I forced myself out of her grasp, taking a perverse sort of satisfaction in leaving her there.
Helen's heels were kicking the floor uncontrollably when I reached her. Standing over her, she rose to her knees and clutched me around my hips, her soft breasts pressing against my legs. Slowly bathing the insides of my thighs with her fiery tongue and gently caressing my knees with her grape-like nipples, her lips finally came to rest on my throbbing sex. I felt myself being slowly swallowed by that eager wet mouth. Methodically, she thrust her head back and forth against me, pulling abruptly away when she sensed my approaching completion.
"Now you're ready to give Pat what she likes," she panted through her drooling, ruby-red lips.
Pat was lying on her stomach, her body quivering. I used her Greek fashion again and rested my hands on her shoulders for support.
I forced myself away, and now Bill stood over Pat and bent down to kiss her breasts, which were absolutely stony-hard with passion. Lost in his caress, he was surprised when Helen's hand grabbed his and placed it between her dripping thighs, thrusting herself back and fort and emitting animal-like grunts. His other hand moved between Pat's legs and eagerly administered the identical caress, as Sylvia came over to him and clutched the center of his passion, placing it between her deep breasts.
Helen grabbed him eagerly, pulling him on top of her and screamed with desperate joy as he entered her awaiting thighs and thrust himself against her with loud, slapping sounds of flesh hitting flesh.
Pat had found Tom, meanwhile. With a shrill cry, she sat on him and moved slowly downward, moving methodically in a circular, swaying motion. He returned the thrusts and they rocked together towards overflowing completion. Sylvia wanted what I'd given Pat.
"Give it to me Greek, and I'll show you how it's done," she promised with a panting voice.
She moved into position and I penetrated her bulging buttocks with a gasp. They were beautifully tight, and their soft, warm plumpness pressed against my hips, heightening the pleasure. Her thrusts were gentle. In fact, she hardly moved her hips at all. With tightly closed legs, she flexed the muscles that lay beneath the mound of softness, alternately tightening and loosening the pressure that encircled my heated passion.
"Oh, Sylvia!" I groaned. "I can't hold on much longer."
"Just finish me like this, honey," she prompted, gently, and reached for my hand, placing it in the more conventional channel. I stood still as her trained buttocks muscles strained on my passion; my hand moved in her rapidly, until her hips began to thrust involuntarily.
It was indescribably delightful. The sensations of completion were multiplied a thousand times as her buttocks whirled frantically in front of me. Her moist passion showered gratefully over onto my hand as I erupted into her hungrily grasping white-hot buttocks. If this was perversion, I was strictly for it. The pleasure was phenomenal.
The orgiastic feast was over. We were panting breathlessly, the lovemaking had taken the starch out of us. It was time for bed.
Pat climbed into bed with me, and as we lay down, her hand fondled me gently, absently, waiting for me to become sufficiently aroused. When I finally did, she kissed my ear and whispered into it with hot breath, "Artie, can I get it straight, one last time?"
"Persuade me," I replied, grinning in the dark.
Believe me when I say that she did. All I did was lay there like a zombie while she worked me over with hands, mouth, tongue, breasts and body. I was persuaded.
"Lie on top of me, please, Artie? Normal-like. It's been a long time since we've made love that way."
I turned over and gently lay on top of her, letting her guide me slowly into the heart of her passion. We lay there all night, thrusting from time to time and then lying still, until it became so agonizing that we flooded into one another, blissfully completed in our act of lust. We slept like that th rest of the night. When morning came, we took a shower, and I made love to her standing up.
Before I finished, she pulled away. "I want to kiss you goodbye, Artie. Let me swallow you," she pleaded, and knelt down, grasping my buttocks. I blissfully poured my passion into her last kiss. "Would you kiss me goodbye, too?" she asked meaningfully.
I did. She moaned, running her fingers through my hair and thrusting with the joy that shot through her body. We had said goodbye, Pat-fashion.
I shook hands with Bill and kissed Sylvia goodbye, more like a good buddy than someone I'd made love to.
"Tom, keep in touch," Bill admonished. "Let me know about what we discussed."
"I will," Tom promised, ' 'and be sure to lock this place up when you leave ... if you leave. The place is yours as long as you want it. "
We all shook hands and kissed, waving our final farewell as Tom backed out of the driveway.
The drive home seemed interminable. I hoped that Bev and Jimmy had received their mail and that Jimmy had called her. It had been a hell of a vacation, all right. Now it was over. I was ready to devote myself to one girl, and commit acts of love, not just animal lust. It had been fun, though, and certainly educational. I wasn't the same Artie Rollins that I had been two months ago.
We took the girls home, helped them carry their baggage into the house and said goodbye. Tom promised to call Helen the next day; I didn't promise a damned thing.
Driving home, Tom was whistling softly, happier than I'd seen him in quite a while. "Well, Mr. Hewitt, you're on top of the world today," I noted.
"I have every reason to be," he replied. "A week's vacation under my belt, a woman who I happen to like on tap and an offer for a beautiful set-up after I retire. Sure, I'm on top of the world."
"Good," I said simply, and drifted off into my own private world of thought.
"Have you solved your little dilemma? ' Tom asked. "Yep."
"Which way?"
"Bev's way. "
"What made you decide?"
"Easy," I explained. "Bev had the whole story, but she was willing to wait. Pat, who was supposed to have loved me madly wanted orgies, and didn't particularly care who they involved, as long as they involved men. Bev wants me for what I am, though God only knows why; and no one else. All this plus my own feelings for her add up very simply."
"You've really thought this thing out, haven't you?"
"Yep. What about you?"
"I've come to the same conclusion you have, only at the moment I have no second choices. I've decided to just have as many kicks as I can, while I can. If the right one ever comes along again, I'll do as you did."
"We both learned a lot this trip, didn't we, Tom?"
"We sure did," he agreed with a long sigh, "we sure did."
When we pulled into his driveway, I helped him unload the rest of the stuff and had a couple of beers with him. He called the store to check in and hung up with relief evident on his face. "No messages, no orders ... just take it easy for a while."
"Good. I'm gonna check in at home, Tom. I didn't even send a post card while we were gone."
"OK, Artie. See you soon, huh? It was great fun."
I unpacked my suitcase and heaved most of its contents down the laundry chute, all except for my suit, a tie and a pair of shoes. I showered and put on some khaki shorts and a clean T-shirt. With pounding heart, I picked up the phone and dialed Bev's number. Sadie answered.
"Hi, Sadie, this is Artie. How's the fried chicken?" I greeted her.
"How're you, Artie? When'd you git back?"
"About a half hour ago," I replied.
"Well, Bev went out to the club to swim. She'll be back in a coupla hours, I imagine."
"Will you tell her I called?"
After several forevers, the phone rang, and this time it was Bev. "Hello," I said using my telephone voice; noncommittal.
"Hi, Art. Guess who?" Bev asked. Her voice was breathless. She was as excited as I was.
"Bev, it's good to hear you again. How've you been?"
"Sitting on pins and needles waiting for you to come home!"
"Same here," I agreed sympathetically.
"Artie, thank you for your letter; it was sweet of you to write."
"What do you mean, 'sweet'?" I asked indignantly. "I meant it. I couldn't think about anything else. "
"I know honey. Neither could I; when will I see you?"
"How about tonight? I really should eat dinner here, first night home and all," I said.
"Yes, you should. I'll see you right after, though?"
"Yes, unless the world stops or something equally as drastic." She blew a kiss over the phone, and I returned it, hanging up gently.
It was good to see my father again, too. He listened enthusiastically as I told him of the fishing incidents. He was ready to pack up and go to Ocean City when I was through.
"I hate to leave so soon, but I have a date with Bev tonight."
"That's as good a reason as any," my mother acknowledged happily. She definitely approved of Bev.
I ran over to Bev's house. Ran like a bat out of hell. Even that took too long. She was at the door before I could ring the bell, and as we rushed into each other's arms, I knew that I would've gladly galloped across the country to see her. We clutched one another desperately, too overwhelmed to say anything for several minutes.
"It's good to see you!" I exclaimed. My voice caught with the emotion that was in my throat.
"Oh, Artie, baby, I missed you so much!" She was crying with happiness, and I could feel tears beginning in my eyes, but I fought them back.
"C'mon, let's go inside, " I suggested, "or do you want to give the world a peep show? "Laughing, I shoved her inside and shut the door behind me.
Sadie was in the living room reading the paper, and as I walked in, she put down the paper and greeted me enthusiastically. "Welcome back, stranger!" She came over and squeezed my hand warmly. "Now maybe this pest'll leave me alone." She smiled. If Bev ever really did ignore her, she'd wither away with grief. Bev was her own as far as she was concerned.
Bev and I excused ourselves and went downstairs to 'our' basement. We sat down on the couch and I leaned back happily, putting my arm around her tanned shoulder.
"Just let me look at you," I said, holding her away from me. "Bev, I can't lie to you and say that I behaved while I was gone. I didn't. I did things that I still can't quite believe, and not just with Pat. I guess I was weak; I know I was wrong. But one thing came out because of it."
"What's that, Art?" she asked softly. She was taking it, trying to understand, even though I knew that it hurt her terribly to hear this.
"That I love you," I answered, grabbing her hand. "That I love you, and that there's no one else. And that I'll be as faithful to you as a puppy dog, so help me. You're it, Bev, and I've been a selfish fool not to have seen it all along," I finished with a sigh.
"Artie ... I'm lucky. It worked out my way; I don't know what I'd have done if it hadn't. But you did the right thing. Please don't feel guilty any more. Let's just be together and happy that we are."
"Bev, do you know the Murphys on my street?" I asked. "My parents know them very well. They like them a lot," she replied. "Why do you ask?"
"I bumped into them down at Ocean City. Took them fishing for a day, and we talked about something that's been on my mind quite a bit lately."
She was listening, intent on my every word, my ever gesture. I continued. "I saw that beautiful beach, Bev, you know the lonely part, a distance away from the boardwalk? Well, it brought things to a head inside me. I saw a cozy little shack on that beach, and myself inside it with gobs of paper and a typewriter. I saw myself as a writer."
"Artie, that's wonderful!" She kissed me with delight. "Well, I told them that I didn't know any writers who could help me or look at my stuff. Mr. Murphy told me I didn't need advice, I just needed to keep writing, and that I needed inspiration from someone who would bring the things out of me worth writing about. It made sense to me, Bev." We came into one another's arms and kissed for a long time. There was going to be so much to write about, from now on. "I love you Bev."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We turned on some soft music and broke out the bottle that Jimmy had given me at the dike's party. We had saved it for a special occasion, and this was it. We got some glasses from the bar and I poured a little bourbon into each one and filled them up the rest of the way with water and ice. We clinked glasses.
"Here's to us," she toasted, and we took a gulp. Neither of us really enjoyed booze with water that much, but it was good just to have something to drink for, something good and wonderful.
The music played on softly and the level of bourbon in the bottle slowly descended towards the bottom. We were sitting in total darkness; only the glow from my cigarette was visible.
I squashed the but out. The silence between us was charged with feeling, a sense of complete communication, even though we weren't actually talking. There was the sensation of two hearts and minds in complete accord with on another. How could I ever commit this beauty to paper, I wondered.
"Bev, I'm happier right now than I've ever been in my whole life. Just being alone with you tike this is wonderful." She took my hand gently and placed it on her breast.
I could feel it pounding rapidly. I left it there, gently soothing. I felt an overwhelming tenderness toward its softness and beautiful smoothness.
She kissed me again and I pulled her against me, feeling her heart beat against my chest as I ran my fingers through her hair and gently massaged the back of her neck.
"Artie, did you do anything unusual at Ocean City?" This struck me as being a hell of a question at this point. "Unusual, how?" I wanted to know.
"Different ways ... in well, you know. Making love." "I did things that I hadn't done before. Not with you or anyone else. But it wasn't really making love, Bev. It was just animal lust."
"If you did them with me, would it be making love?" Her voice was tense with excitement.
"Anything I did with you would be because of love, Bev. I desire you so much because I love you, besides the fact that you're just plain exciting in a physical way." "Do those things with me, then, Artie. If they were good physically, I want you to know how wonderful they can be when there's real love. Please, Artie, just do whatever comes naturally," she pleaded.
I loved her easily, almost soothingly, caressing her firm breasts, kissing them all over and tasting their sweetness.
I didn't undress her all at once. I made love to her breasts and shoulders and felt her writhe with delicious joy.
Slowly, I unzipped her shorts and pulled them down, leaving her panties on, putting my hand underneath to feel her warm belly and tantalize us both with the one remaining barrier between our love. Those silky, thinly transparent panties hugged the most beautiful molded hips in the world.
She rolled over on her stomach so that I could kiss her back and pull off the panties to kiss her buttocks, linger with my lips between the soft cheeks; I kissed the backs of her thighs and she responded eagerly, parting them so that I could kiss her hot woman's love, which I did, delighted with its soft hairs against my face, the smell of female desire drifting into my senses.
"Oh, Artie, darling, kiss me there forever!" she groaned.
She was still lying on her stomach, her legs spread-eagled to admit my eager kisses. Her buttocks raised up, and I ran my tongue from her moist valley straight up the deep line between her hips, feeling her throb with uncontrolled joy.
Bev got up and forced me into a sitting position on the couch; kneeling on the floor in front of me, she returned the kiss, lingering with her lips, consuming me-with her fiery tongue. This was pleasure beyond my wildest dreams. It was with Bev.
She lay back down again and I lay on top of her, quickly entering the moist valley of her desire and almost losing control as she squirmed beneath me, sending her hips to and fro with eager response.
"Do one of those things with me, darling, " she whispered hoarsely.
"I will, like this, baby," J answered, and raised myself enough to push her warm thighs together. The sensation almost killed us both with joy. She grunted sobbingly, and clutched my buttocks to bury me completely within her unsatisfied desire.
"Oh, honey!" she exclaimed happily. "It's like we never did it before ... it's so good!" She thrust savagely now, continuing to hold onto my hips so that I couldn't give any ground. We heaved together as one being, as one heartbeat and went sailing tumultuously towards our star-studded climax together.
We lay together without moving, knowing that there would be more, much more. "Darling, I love you so much," she whispered, smiling up at me. She was completely happy, entrenched in her role. Making us happy.
"I love you, Bev," I answered with a gentle kiss on her lips.
"It was magnificent, darling. I like your style," she chuckled lewdly. Lewdly, but in a loving way; it was thrilling to hear her loving lewdness, because it was for me, no one else. We had so much together, so much to look forward to.
Her thighs still tightly closed, she squirmed slowly beneath me, and more quickly than I dreamed possible, we were again afire with heated passion.
"Something different again, please, Artie," she whispered. "It'll be different for you this time. You'll see."
Moving within her slowly, I kissed her gratefully. What a one-in-a-million chick!
"Bev, did you ever do it Greek?" I asked huskily.
"What is it?" She didn't know.
"It's different," I promised, "but you might not like it."
"Try it, honey. How else will I know?"
I withdrew from her seething, moist thighs and turned her over on her stomach. She was completely supple, like putty willing to be molded into any shape. Which she certainly was. Willing.
I pulled her legs apart and lay on top of her back, feeling her warm buttocks throb against my belly. I entered her slowly so as not to hurt her, and placed my hand between her thighs, filling her up completely.
She panted with a rush of breath, a loud sobbing note in her voice.
"Bev," I asked, alarmed, "do you want me to stop?"
"No!" she moaned, "Don't ever, ever stop! It's delicious."
Instinctively, she clamped her wet, shapely thighs together and thrust her buttocks into me with short, hard strokes as I thrust my hand between her legs with identical cadence. She moaned. She cried. She laughed.
She was beside herself with the newness, the perverseness, the beauty and the feeling of our lovemaking. We were both beside ourselves with the newness, the perverseness, the beauty and the feeling of our lovemaking; it was brand new for me. The past didn't count a bit. The eager body beneath me contained a heart and a soul, and was my whole life. I loved her.
"Artie, let me feel you ... right here, just like this."
"When you're ready, honey. Together. From now on, everything together."
"Ready!" she cried. "I'm ready! Let me feel you, darling." Her buttocks quivered, the muscles playing in smooth ripples as I completed my volcanic passion within her waiting body. She heaved under the rapid movement of my fingers, feeling her own completion of desire spill outward. Where had I been?
"Oh, Artie, that was so wonderful. Thank you for showing me a different world."
"We've brought each other a different world, Bev. It'll always be wonderful from now on," I promised.
In the aftermath of passion, our nakedness pressed together in silent joy made us secure and at peace with ourselves. We had begun to share one another with an intimacy equalled by few people in this world. In our bodily nakedness, our souls and hearts and spiritualities became naked as well. We talked, side by side, interrupting the flow of conversation with an occasional gentle kiss. Daylight began to press against the closed curtains.
"It's time for breakfast!" I exclaimed. "We've spent the whole night together like this."
"Yes, darling ... our dream has come true, remember?"
"Yep. I sure do." I remembered, all right.
We had watched the sun come up together. That had been our dream. "There's a shower down here," Bev said. "Would you like to take one? Together?"
"Always together," I reminded her. We hopped in the shower and lathered one another's bodies up with soap. Full of soap, we embraced and laughed as we slipped and slide against our flesh.
With the shower echoing loudly in our glassed-in chamber of love, I took her again. I lay down in the tub as she sat on top of me, gently thrusting up and down. Our moans echoed softly together and when I pulled her lathered thighs together, our moans rose to cries. Slowly she manipulated her body, determined to give her lover the ultimate in pleasure; our climax was gentle, full of prolonged joy.
We dried each other, rubbing vigorously with the towel. Finding an extra tooth brush, she handed it to me, smiling.
"See, nothing but the best. Even a toothbrush goes into the deal."
"I'd be a damn fool to stay in any other hotel," I agreed and kissed her pink lips.
We had breakfast, waiting for Sadie to say something, but she didn't. She behaved as though everything were as it should be, as though everything were right.
Which it was, definitely.
"How about going to the club today?" Bev suggested.
"I'm for it," I nodded. "Have they missed my charming presence?"
"Who cares, you conceited slob? I have, isn't that enough?"
"You'd better believe it is, baby. More than enough." We laughed, happy as a couple of empty headed kittens.
We went over to my house to catch my mother before she left. She was drinking her sixth cup of coffee when we came into the kitchen.
"Hello, Mrs. Rollins," Bev greeted politely. She was ready to brazen it out as though nothing had happened. I wasn't quite so confident.
"Hi, Mom," I greeted, trying to muster a smile.
"Hello, kids! Artie, why didn't you call?"
She'd left the hatch open. I breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Mom, we were listening to records and just fell asleep. The next thing we knew it was morning; I certainly didn't plan to stay out all night. I'm sorry to have worried you. Does Dad know?"
"No, lucky for you. Please, don't ever do that again; call me before you fall asleep."
"OK. Could we ride out with you today?"
"Sure. I'll be leaving in a half hour or so. You kids had breakfast?"
"Yes," Bev assured her. "Sadie gave us one of her usual feasts."
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll make the bed and get dressed. "
I had a thought; since we had a half hour to kill, it would be a good idea to let Bev meet Tom if he were awake. ' Let's go," I announced.
"Where are we going?"
"Don't ask questions, woman. Let's go. I want you to meet a friend of mine."
We walked up the street. I banged on the door, which flew open immediately, and there stood Tom in his bathrobe. He was all set to fly a stream of profanity when he saw Bev. "Well, hello," he said, stepping aside. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"To plain good luck," I answered. "Bev, this is Mr. Tom Hewitt, but if he's in a good mood this morning, he'll let you call him Tom. Tom, meet Bev."
He shook her hand warmly. "Young lady, I've heard a I lot of good things about you. Why are you wasting time on this creep?" He glanced at me with a gleam of vicious humor in his eyes.
"Because this creep is the light of my life," Bev stated simply.
"Well, he's a light in my life too," Tom acknowledged.
"although who knows why."
Bev and Tom talked about various things, immediately at ease with one another. They were good friends, and Tom knew that things were as they should be.
"Artie, you did the right thing. I'm awfully glad. She's a wonderful girl," he said as we stood up to say goodbye.
He yelled after us. "Don't come around any more unless Bev is with you!"
"He sure likes you, ' I said as we went to meet my mother.
"I like him," Bev acknowledged. "You have a good friend in him."
"Yes, I do. The best."
When we got to the club, the pool was practically empty. It didn't start to become crowded until noon during the week. We went to our separate lockers and changed rapidly eager to dive into the cold water of the pool.
I was already in the water when Bev came downstairs from the ladies' locker room; she stood for a moment at the edge and made a clean dive into the water, cutting it without a splash. She was a hell of a fine swimmer. We splashed and swam around, delighting in the refreshed feeling of the clear water and the warm sun. It was wonderful being together. It didn't matter what we were doing or where we were, just so long as we were together. This was happiness. There would never be anything else but this to look forward to, I decided.
"You hungry?" I asked.
"Very. Let's get something to eat, OK?"
"Just what I had in mind, dear."
We ambled over to the hot dog stand, got a couple apiece and an ice cream soda, something they called a black cow. As we ate, I looked across the golf course, remembering our first passionate meeting.
"Remember the slave quarters? "Bev asked with a wistful sigh. She was thinking along the same lines.
"I was just thinking about it," I admitted. "I was sure worked up that day." I looked at the whiteness of her breasts trying to force their way out of her bathing suit top, getting worked up again.
"How about another visit? ' she asked, winking knowingly.
"Why, I thought you'd never ask," I laughed. "C'mon."
We found our old overseer's room again. The sight of it stirred us sufficiently. I felt the familiar warmth coursing through my body into my loins. I pulled off my bathing suit and stood there, watching her delight in the sight of my nakedness. She watched hungrily, standing still for several minutes before walking over to me, standing inches away, slowly pulled off her suit. We embraced and she seized my manhood between her thighs; she closed them and slowly rocked her body back and forth.
"Show me another trick, darling." She panted with excitement, hungered for my body to ravish hers.
We kissed one another's trembling bodies eagerly, feeling the vibrant warmth with our lips and tongues, until finally I was lying on top of her, my head between her thighs. Greedily, we entwined our lips around our seething centers of delight and remained so, slowly and methodically giving and receiving those kisses of ultimate stimulation. My hands were clutching her fleshy thighs, holding them apart, trying to keep their frantic kicking under control. Her arms consumed my buttocks and I could feel her tongue and pouting lips consuming me eagerly, joyfully adept with the knowledge that they were pleasing me with their touch.
When we felt completion approaching, we stopped and lay there heaving with passion. As the sensations subsided, we resumed our kisses, allowing our buttocks to thrust gently and softly to the movement of our happy tongues.
Her thighs were clasped tightly around me, but I heard her muffled plea.
"Darling, can we finish just like this?"
For an answer, I accelerated my movements and she responded by completely submerging me within her eager lips, her tongue flicking about me with tickling joy.
Her thighs struggled against my arms as they began to flail about, her passion oozing hotly as it erupted with joyful release. She made little moaning sounds as all my desire and lust spilled over into her. We both passed out.
When we came to seconds later, we were elated. This had been the most wonderful union between us, as far as loving experimentation was concerned. We enjoyed experimenting with sensual diversions. It only increased our deep inner love for one another.
"Artie, did we faint?"
"It was so good, it was too much."
"Oh, no," she protested, "never too much! I want to go the limit with you, hon."
"We will, Bev. But I want to tell you, when you don't like anything, let me know."
"When you stop," she said, clutching my manhood and kissing it possessively, "I won't like that. Now show me something else."
It was amazing. I just had to listen to her suggest some thing, listen to the panting eagerness in her voice and I was ready. She really moved me.
I picked her up and told her to wrap her thighs around my waist. As she complied, I reached my hands under her buttocks and held them as her arms encircled my neck. We met like this, and she kissed my ear, moaning as I thrust against her and pulled her buttocks to me simultaneously. It was fast, but the epitome of sensational feeling. We enjoyed it because of the rapid completion. There was something completely animal about it that we both appreciated. "Again," she whispered.
"I'm not like you, honey," I pleaded. "I'll have to wait for a while. I have to recuperate."
"Not with me. I'll stand away from you and lie down; I'll mention two little words and you'll be ready," she promised.
She walked a few yards away and lay down, her yawning thighs facing me. I stared admiringly at the perfection of her naked body, rejoicing over the wonderful fact that it was mine, all mine, and that it was begging to be smothered time after time any and all forms of sensual delights.
"Love me," she commanded, and wriggled invitingly, letting me watch and listen to those words, spoken with love and undisguised desire. Again, she said it, and thrust up and down as though I were already consuming her with joyful abandon.
"Love me, Artie, love me!" I shivered as her voice rose to a desperate pitch. I was on fire; it was as though I hadn't made love for weeks. She excited me with her squirming body and promise-filled demands.
I fell on top of her and took her hard, slapping her, pinching her and thrusting until a lesser woman would have protested with agony. I realized that I was ravishing her.
"That's it, baby!" she coaxed. "That's the way I want you to have me. Hit me, hurt me!"
I did. I hit her until she turned blue and the more I hit
. her, the more she erupted into crashing climax, her thighs becoming pleasure drenched. It was good. I loved her and I was making her happy, feeling her erupt time after time, helping her release all the sick nymphomania, once and for all, so that she could be a whole woman.
It took a long time. A lot of hitting and ravishing. Finally I allowed myself to reach a climax.
"Artie, I'll never scare you like that again," she promised. I sighed with relief. She was cured. Now she would be just sweetly and healthily oversexed. The mania, the insecurity and destructive urge was gone.
"You're OK, honey," I comforted, taking her into my arms.
"Thanks to you, Artie ... thanks to you."
I wondered if a psychiatrist could have done as well.
We kissed tenderly, happy with the knowledge that from now on we had no fears. Just togetherness, with our share of ups and downs, but a lot of joy in between. Everything was going to be fine.
It had taken me a summer of unlimited joys and animal lust to discover normal love and regard for a woman beyond the physical level. It had taken a summer of selfishness and desire to experience the ultimate in sin to discover the remarkable truth about physical love.
The fact that sin with one woman was a beautiful expression of love with another.
I sure had come a long way. People were animals, really. When the barriers were lowered, healthy bodies responded with animal joy to the opportunity of wading in sin up to their necks.
I was a healthy body. I also contained a love-filled heart within its breast. I was a man. I had given myself to a woman. "Bev, I think I have an idea for a book." "Really? Tell me about it," She prompted. Her face was radiant with love and gratitude. This chick was forever.
"It'll be about a guy who fools around for a summer with gobs of women. All kinds of inner turmoil and that sort of thing, and in the end it happily resolves itself because one of the women loves him and he finally discovers that he loves her."
"If sounds like a nice story, Artie."
"Yeah ... will you help me put it on paper?"
"You know, I'll try, darling, but I'm not sure if I can."
"Why not, honey? You already wrote the story. It's about you and me. If it weren't for you, it never would've happened."
"We both wrote it, lover."
"Then we have to put it on paper together. Fair's fair."
"OK. You have a deal."
We stayed in the pool the rest of the afternoon, enjoying the cool water and the warmth of our bodies, the sound of our laughter. Happiness is a beauty of its own.
We walked in the park that night, and for the first time in my life, I saw the beauty of the trees, enjoyed finding shapes in the clouds.
"There's a cloud that looks like a dragon" I exclaimed, pointing toward it.
"Your imagination is as wild as...."
"As wild as what?" I asked.
"As wild as the love and happiness in my heart," she said softly, holding her face up to be kissed.
"You know, Bev, it may sound corny, but if we were older, I'd marry you right now."
"I can wait. As long as I have you in the meantime."
"When we go away to college, we'd better go to the same one, huh? I'd probably flunk out if I were away from you too long."
"Baby," she promised, "we'll eat together, study together, laugh and cry together, make love together ... we'll do everything together."
