It was a fine spring day in the city, but Greg was tense. Outside his window the trees shook their leaves in the freshening wind, and old ladies walked' their dogs. On the sidewalk below, a girl in a short skirt weaved in and out of the slowly moving crowd, and Greg's eyes jumped to her. But no, it wasn't Cheryl. Besides, he chided himself, Cheryl would be coming from the other way-if she came.
Greg remembered every detail of Cheryl's anatomy. He had spent five long hours, slowly sipping bottle after bottle of beer, in a discotheque in the Village the night before. Every minute had been spent probing the erotic flesh of the girl in the caged elevated platform in front of him. The night's project had been to move up slowly, as patrons filtered in and out, until he finally had the best seat in the house-the seat right under where Cheryl danced, from which he could stare up at the sequined crotch, bouncing buttocks, and monstrously undulating breasts that squirmed and writhed in time to the music.
It was not often that a go-go girl turned Greg on. All too often they wore cardboard smiles, and repeated the same moves over and over in a bored fashion that accurately indicated their indifference toward their work. Besides, many of them had breasts that were clay-like and hard from injections of silicone and they could not bounce and move in a natural manner.
But Cheryl seemed to like her work. She seemed to enjoy turning people on. When he had first tried to engage her in conversation, she'd rebuffed him playfully. "Shut up," she'd said with laughing eyes, "you're just supposed to sit there and get a hard-on.
So he did just that. The more he stared at her, the more she danced to him. Finally, despite the meager sum in his wallet, he followed an old discotheque custom and tipped her a dollar. Then she danced over quite close to him, squatted down, spreading her legs to focus his eyes on the sequined band that covered the-he imagined-delicious lips of her cunt. Sucking in her beautifully curved and rounded stomach, she shoved her pussy at him again and again, till it was nearly in his face. He shot out his tongue and licked his lips, as if to tell her he'd like to tongue her slit. She laughed. Then, taking the dollar and squatting down till her knees rested on the floorboards, she looked around. It was quite late-nearly closing time-and Greg was the only customer on his side of the podium. No one could see them. Suddenly Cheryl yanked her G-string aside, and the generous folds of her salivating cunt stared Greg in the face. She squatted even further, and the folds spread. For just a second she let her little finger wander into the hole of her vagina. Then she tucked the dollar bill into her G-string and danced away. Greg was shaken. His genitals were warm with the sperm that oozed up in them. He was ready to shoot. He had a wild image of his cock exploding in his pants and washing Cheryl right off the stage. Seconds later she danced back and held her little finger under his nose. The odor of pussy was unmistakable. His tongue wandered out of his mouth in a communicative gesture-and before he knew it Cheryl's finger was in front of his face. He licked it, and the tiny taste of cunt juice made him wild to have her squat down on his face and bury him in the warm folds of flesh.
Then Cheryl was dancing on the other side of the platform. For the first time Greg noticed a gray-haired, well-tanned man in a business suit watching her intently from the bar. Cheryl shook her ass at him, and the man picked his drink off the bar and came to sit at a table on the side of the stage opposite Greg's. For a second he sat staring up into the same sequined triangle that had so intrigued Greg.
The gray-haired man was suave, and Greg figured that despite the color of his hair, he could be no more than forty-five. Expressionless, he sat watching the dance, and Greg suddenly knew what made Cheryl so attractive. She was not a professional. Her wide brown eyes and her long, straight black hair, her body that was perhaps a trifle too fat-although only in the ass, which Greg didn't mind anyhow-indicated that she was just a girl who liked dancing and liked sex, and who wasn't afraid to admit it. She had a clean kind of feel to her. Greg suspected that the gray-haired man saw the same things in her. Dirty old man, Greg thought, probably wants to fuck her because she reminds him of his daughter.
Suddenly the music stopped. The set was over. Greg wondered whether there'd be another one, or whether it was closing time.
"You coming back?" he asked, as Cheryl put on a flimsy robe and stepped down past him.
"Yes," she said, slightly more coolly than he would have expected. Then he saw the manager staring at them from the front bar. Was Cheryl's coolness a result of the fact that she was not supposed to talk to customers? Or was it because the gray-haired man looked better to her now than he did? He would certainly have more money.
Cheryl disappeared downstairs, and Greg stared into his beer for ten minutes until she returned. When she did, the gray-haired man was ready with a few dollar bills on the table in front of him. As Cheryl started to dance, he held one out to her. Her black hair fell down over her back as she squatted in front of him. Greg's spirits fell. She must give everyone the same treatment, he thought. A look at the old pussy for a buck.
The gray-haired man was talking to her. Greg tried to pick up the conversation. "What's your name?" The voice was low and calm.
"Cheryl," she answered. Then Greg's eyes, which were fastened to the crack of Cheryl's ass as she squatted, moved up to the side-strap of her G-string, where Cheryl was tucking the dollar bill in.
"Why don't you put it where the other one is?" the man asked.
"Because there's no room for it there," she said playfully to him.
"If I give you this one, where will it go?" he asked, holding up another crisp dollar.
"I don't know," she said.
"How about in the rear?" he suggested.
"All right," she agreed. She plucked the bill from his outstretched hand and danced around with it. First she lifted a breast and placed the bill under it. Miraculously, it stayed when the mound of flesh flopped back to her chest, pinned between her luscious tit and the smooth skin of her body. The gray-haired man applauded.
"What's your name?" Cheryl asked him.
"Stan," he said.
"Okay, Stan," she said. "In the rear, eh?"
"In the rear."
Cheryl turned her back on Stan and bent over till the tassels at the end of her pasties drooped nearly to the floor. Then she reached behind her with the dollar bill and, wiggling her rear in Stan's attentive face, gently pulled the G-string out just far enough to slide the bill into place-giving Stan, Greg thought, a very brief glance down to the bottom of her crack. Greg imagined the tiny round red spot of her asshole, and wondered whether Stan's gaze had penetrated that far.
Suddenly Cheryl danced away from Stan and over to Greg. She leaned down very close to him and wiggled her torso until her tits almost slapped him in the face. "Do you like my rear?" she asked, in a whisper so Stan wouldn't hear it.
"It's beautiful," Greg admitted. Cheryl smiled and danced away a bit. Then, under the guise of giving Stan the same tit-treatment she had given Greg, she leaned over in Stan's direction, spreading her legs and wriggling her ass, tightening and loosening the flesh of her buttocks as she did so. Stan stared at her tits and reached for another dollar. While he did, Cheryl reached both hands around behind her and, placing one on each buttock, spread herself wide. The tiny rope of her G-string strained tight. Then two fingers wandered over to Stan's dollar bill, which, pinned under the cloth, protruded from her cheeks as though she were passing it out. Grasping it firmly, she yanked it to one side. It took the G-string with it, exposing the depths of her crack from its top to the point where the bushy hairs of her cunt sprouted and stuck straight back at him.
Greg's eyes fastened on the gyrating reddish dot of her asshole, which miraculously began opening and closing in a sensual rhythm to the music. Greg, staring at the raw flesh, felt an almost uncontrollable urge to stand up and shove his tongue into it. But just at that moment Cheryl stood up and let go of the dollar bill. The G-string shot over into place snugly in her crack, and she commenced dancing as if nothing had happened.
Seconds later Stan was saying something to her. "What are you doing...." was all Greg could catch. And then, "A hundred dollars." Greg gasped. How could Cheryl-who probably earned twenty or thirty bucks a night here, plus tips-afford to turn down an offer like that? And, he found himself asking, why should she turn it down? He wondered for the first time in his life what he would do if he were in that position.
He only heard fragments of Cheryl's reply, but he knew she had turned him down! "Too tired," she said, "and besides...." a few words were lost, then, "don't go in for that anyhow...."
Suddenly the gray-haired man got up and left, forsaking a nearly full drink and almost stomping out the door. Cheryl danced over to him, shoved her buttocks toward him and wiggled them, and then, in what Greg would almost have called a pensive mood, said, "I can't figure people like that out."
All Greg could manage to say was, "I can't figure you out. You turned down a hundred bucks!"
"I've turned down a lot more than that," she said simply. "If I don't get really turned on by a guy, I don't sleep with him. Besides, what I told him is true-I am goddamned tired. This dancing really takes it out of you."
Greg sensed that there was a message in this for him too. He wasn't going to fuck Cheryl tonight. Suddenly the music stopped. This was the last set. Cheryl was leaving, and Greg didn't even have a phone number.
As she stood facing him and putting her robe on again, Cheryl quietly took Greg's dollar bill from her crotch and handed it back to him. He was about to protest when he saw that there was writing on it. "I don't take money from friends," she said, removing Stan's bills from her G-string along with a few others she had accumulated during the night and rolling them up neatly. Then she disappeared without a word.
Greg stared at the scrawls on the bill in the dim light of the bar. The spotlights on the dancer's cage had gone out, making the place almost black. "Walk me home?" it said, in a neat script rendered almost illegible by the wrinkles and dirt on the bill. "Stage door, down the alley, in ten minutes."
Greg's heart normally would have started pounding at a proposition like this. A girl who just a short time before had squatted in front of him and exposed her cunt to his ravenous gaze ... but now he had a different feeling. It was almost as if she really wanted to have company on the way home.
And that was the way it turned out. Greg met her at the stage door. She was dressed unobtrusively in dungarees and a dark blue turtleneck. She looked like a coed with her wide brown eyes, face devoid of makeup, unaffected, almost shy smile. They walked a few blocks through the vacant streets of the Village, till they came to a five-story brownstone.
"I don't know whether I can make it up the stairs," she said. "I'm suddenly so damned exhausted. You know I danced for almost eight hours tonight? I'm supposed to go twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off, which is brutal enough-but the other girl got sick and went home just after you got there....
"I saw her do a couple of sets," Greg informed her. "She's not you."
"Me or not, she wasn't there," Cheryl wailed in an almost girl-like fashion. "And I had to go twenty minutes on and ten off."
"Do you get extra pay for that?" Greg asked her.
"I damned well better. The boss is kind of a shit, if you'll pardon the language...."
"I've heard it before...."
"I thought you had. But he does need girls to work for him, and if I bitch enough I think I can get some extra out of him."
"How much do you make there?"
"Twenty-five a night," she said. "Pretty lousy, isn't it?"
It was strange. Greg was beginning to wonder whether he really liked being behind the scenes in a go-go girl's life. Earlier they had talked about how the adhesive tape she put her pasties on with some times irritated her nipples. This was hardly as sexy as watching her dance. But she was incredibly loose, easy-going, and free-spirited-which was why he had liked her in the first place. "Yeah, that's pretty low pay," he agreed.
"I don't want to stay at it for long, though," she told him.
"What do you want to do?"
"I play guitar ... and sing," she said. "Maybe I can get a few gigs in the little clubs around here. That is, as soon as I get enough bread together to get a really good guitar."
A thought struck Greg-a way to get together with Cheryl again. "Hey, can you work out accompaniments to songs-if you have the tune and the words?"
"Sort of," she said. "Yeah, I think so."
"Because I'm just learning how to play the guitar, and I wrote a couple of songs. But I don't know enough about music to work out the chords for them."
"Oh, I can do that for you," she said, as she turned the key in the front door lock and cracked the door open a little.
"When?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.
"I don't know," she said. "I usually get up around ten or eleven. I don't have much to do."
"Why don't you come up to my place for lunch tomorrow?" he suggested.
"I'll tell you what," she said, with a tired smile. "Call me tomorrow morning around ten and I'll let you know. I don't know whether I'll be able to walk then."
Greg wondered vaguely whether she would be able to do anything else-or, more important, whether she would want to do anything else. He had visions of Cheryl dancing for him in his living room, spreading her bare cunt wide open and letting him peer into its yawning cavern. He could see her wide sensual mouth closing over his prick and drawing at it insistently, sucking the sperm up from deep inside him. He could see her full, round ass wiggling tantalizingly in front of him....
He walked away. In the silence, he could hear Cheryl's footsteps clomping wearily up the stairs of the brownstone. The dull aching of an unsatisfied prick bothered him from the crotch of his pants. He wondered whether that prick would ever get where it wanted to be.
The doorbell rang. Greg snapped awake. He had been mesmerized by the sight of an immense tree waving in the wind while he'd remembered the events of the night before. Moments later, Cheryl was dancing in front of him. Was it a dream? He could hardly tell. Her immense brown eyes stared into his as he fastened his gaze once more on her crotch-this time covered not with the professional G-string, but with an amateur pair of bikini panties whose pure white showed the same cluster of hairs that he had seen briefly the night before.
Cheryl turned. The record on Greg's stereo revolved slowly, beating out a sensual rhythm. Boom, Boom, Boom. Cheryl's ass ground away as if it were pulverizing a cock between its generous cheeks. She turned around to shove her tits, encumbered only by a tiny bra, toward him.
"What a set," he said admiringly as she fingered them and teased the nipples erect.
"Thank you," she said. She approached him till her breasts were hanging in front of him, and then swung them gently toward his face. They bounced off like immense clouds, the nipples drawing hard little lines on his cheeks. "Suck my tits," she said gently.
The brownish-red puffiness of an aching nipple approached Greg's mouth. He opened wide, and in a moment was rolling the lumpy button around in his mouth, feeling its hard, tense texture on the inside of his cheeks, along his tongue, down his throat. Sucking Cheryl's tits was like eating foam rubber-the masses of them just kept coming. Pliable, soft, they oozed down his throat till he felt a nipple tickling him deep down. He made a swallowing motion and Cheryl groaned. He felt her hips gyrating, still in time to the music, more fervently now. There was a rhythm building up that he knew would only end with a climax. Could this be the same girl that he had walked home the night before, the girl with tired legs in dungarees and a turtleneck? Sheets of his music slid to the floor as he shifted his position on the couch. He felt fingers moving toward his crotch, teasing him to a phenomenal erection.
Suddenly Cheryl broke away. She was dancing across the room to the music.
"God, you have fantastic tits," Greg moaned as he collapsed back into a heap on the sofa.
"You seem to have a pretty good cock," she returned. "After I dance for you, you have to dance for me."
"Never did it before," he breathed, taking a drink from a glass of scotch he had poured for himself ages ago. "But I'll try."
Cheryl danced back toward him. There was a pencil on the table. She picked it up and played with it. Then she licked it. Then she turned her back to him and drew off her panties.
Greg sat, with his organ throbbing uncontrollably in his pants, staring at the shimmering buttocks that faced him. Cheryl looked over her shoulder at him. She squatted a little, and the buttocks spread. Between her legs Greg could see the pouting Bps of her cunt already beginning to drip with come. A drop fell to the floor.
"What would you like me to do with this pencil?" Cheryl asked.
"I don't know," Greg said in a stupor, transfixed by the sight of the total nakedness before him. He was breathing heavily. He wondered whether he could stand the suspense. Cheryl had him right where she wanted him.
"I think I'll stick it up my cunt," she said. Still dancing, she turned and her wide, big-lipped pussy stared at him, a panting mouth waiting to be satiated. He stared at the outer lips, and then his gaze meandered downward as Cheryl ran the pencil up her leg, leaving just the faintest traces of markings from its soft lead.
Cheryl mounted the coffee table in front of Greg, her buttocks spreading out flat on its shiny yellow-painted surface, and drew her legs up to her chest. "You like my juicy cunt?" she asked.
"I'm about to come in my pants," he admitted feverishly.
Cheryl started to ease the slim wooden shaft of the pencil up her pussy. It was covered with thick white secretions instantly. "Your cock is going to be in there in a minute," she said. "Your big, long, fat cock. Let me see your cock, Greg."
Greg drew his pants off slowly. As he did, the pencil disappeared completely into Cheryl's cunt. In a second it was out again. Staring at his cock, Cheryl drew her legs up even further, till she was almost lying on her back, and the loose flesh of her asshole came around into sight. Still undulating in time to the music, she took the slimy pencil and poised it at the entrance to the tightly knotted little opening. Then she began to ease it in slowly. When she had it in about two inches, she let go of it and, working her ass muscles, jerked it spasmodically up and down. Mesmerized by the jerking yellow rod that emerged from the delicate pink tissue that held it so firmly in place, Greg began to massage his organ, now grown to a huge mottled red.
"Shit, that really turns me on," Greg breathed.
"Me too," Cheryl said, staring up at the ceiling, massaging her now erect clit with one hand while she brought the other one back to work the pencil still deeper. "I want to get fucked in the ass."
"All right," Greg agreed. "Right after I fuck you in that ripe luscious cunt of yours."
"I don't know," said Cheryl, "maybe I'd better blow you first. I love all that hot come shooting into my mouth." At the thought of it, her lips formed an oval, as though they were sucking a prick. Greg gazed at them admiringly. He had noticed her wide mouth and full lips immediately upon first seeing her, and had wondered whether she knew how to use them.
"I know what I want next," said Greg, remembering his fantasies of the night before. "I want you to squat on my face, and rub that pussy all over me till I drown in come."
So they went into the bedroom, and Greg laid down on the bed. Above him, Cheryl prepared to let herself down and squash the thick stew of lips and clit and hair and thighs onto him.
She started down. He guided her. Just before she made contact with his waiting face, he ran his tongue quickly up and down her crack, tasting the sweat and Smelling-the odors of a female in heat. His cock jerked like a rocket ship about to take off. He grabbed the lower part of her left buttock as if it were a tit and sucked it into his mouth.
"Ooh," she squealed, "that feels good."
He bit down. "That's it," she said in a high pitched voice, somewhat surprised at the pleasure of the slight pain. "Hurt me ... hurt me more."
Greg bit down hard on the flesh of her ass, leaving a red row of tooth marks when his mouth came away.
"Stick your tongue up my asshole," she begged. Her hands wandered back and began pulling her cheeks apart, framing the growing pinkness of her expanding asshole in a sea of white jiggling flesh that strained for satisfaction. Greg's tongue followed the line of her crack once more, lifting when it came to her asshole and passing over.
"Oh shit," she begged, "don't tease me like that!
Greg's tongue continued down to where the slit of Cheryl's pussy began, and then licked little circles on the hairy sides of her cunt.
"Up my ass, up my ass," Cheryl almost screamed.
Suddenly, Greg drove his tongue into the hot little crevice and buried it deep in the tight, smooth opening. Just as suddenly Cheryl's hips jerked even farther apart, her hands yanking at her cheeks to spread them as far as possible. "That's it," she said, like a jockey encouraging a horse in the crucial part of a race. "Lick me up my ass! Ooh, that feels good!" Her breath shortened.
Then her own mouth began to come down on Greg. Cheryl hooked her arms behind Greg's knees and leaned down on him, bringing his knees up to his chest and exposing the bottom of his iron-hard penis, the silky sac of his balls, and the secret opening of his asshole.
As Greg shoved his curled-up tongue into Cheryl's beautiful ass again and again, he felt a pleasurable sensation coming from his own crotch. As he pushed his cheeks up against the cheeks of Cheryl's rear end, he felt her tongue working into his asshole. It was extraordinarily pleasing, and he began to rock.
The two of them were virtually cemented together, arms around one another holding on for dear life, tongues up each other's asses. They went on like that for some time, till the rhythm reminded Greg of the old hand-cars that railroad men used to use for repairs, of which each man took one side of a handle and they pumped alternately to get the car to move. Greg's car was really moving, there was no doubt about the truth of that. It was as if he was behind a big mountain of flesh. Above the mass of Cheryl's buttocks there was only the white ceiling, like the sky. The hole he entered again and again was a tunnel in the mountain, or a cave. And that was all there was-the mountain, and the cave.
After a time the rhythm began to slow down, and Greg became aware that Cheryl was probably ready t to be fucked. But he didn't want to fuck her yet. He wanted to get a taste of the cunt juice that he felt cascading down onto his chest.
"Hey, how about that cunt?" he asked, recalling their original purpose in coming into the bedroom.
"Just what I was thinking," Cheryl told him. "I want you to bite my clit. I want you to suck my cunt lips down your throat till you swallow them."
Then, without another word, Cheryl lifted her head and began working on Greg's cock. At the surprising first contact, Greg thought there was another woman down there, so much did it feel like his cock penetrating the outer layers of a cunt. But as Cheryl's mouth began to work on him, and as his cock began to disappear down her throat, as she began to make swallowing motions that closed her throat around him in waves, he knew it was a mouth. A big mouth, with sensuous lips, and an educated mouth, that knew how to give a blow job.
"You want me to shoot in your mouth?" he gasped, as the masses of her pussy began to descend on his face.
"Damn right," she said, removing his cock from her ever-working lips for the shortest period of time. "And I'm going to bring myself off on your face. After that I want you to fuck me in the ass, and then in the cunt, for a finale." Before he could give his approval to this plan of action, Cheryl was back down on him, and he had no choice but to meet the fat ass that shoved toward him with a hairy mouthful of pussy grinding into his lips.
Not that he minded. As Cheryl's motions began to rub her erect clit over his face, from his nose to his chin, and his overwhelmed tongue made some kind of effort to lick it as it went by, the juices started up from within him, and he knew it would not be long before he came. The wild abandon of Cheryl's moves was infectious, and in a moment he found himself biting at her clit. This brought forth a few playful nips on his cock, which he found at this stage to arouse him to even greater heights of passion. He was afraid he was going to come too soon, before Cheryl, and he wanted them to come together. He wanted to save his excitement for the peak of hers, so that instead of struggling bravely but uninterestedly under her while she brought herself to a climax by humping on his face, he could fuck her cunt with his tongue just the way he might with his prick, and heighten his own climax at the same time as he brought her off.
He tried mental tricks with himself to slow his excited passion. He thought of wallpaper and chicken coops and beef stew and green grass. Then he thought about cars and ice cream. But then Cheryl's rhythm was pounding harder now, and when he thought about cars he thought about Cheryl in a car with him, and he imagined them stopping and parking. Then he imagined Cheryl ripping off her clothes and tearing down his zipper, swallowing his cock and sitting on his face with her bare pussy-and he was right back to the present. And when he thought of ice cream....
There was no way to stop it. The come was on its way. Using his face as a wedge, he battered at Cheryl's crotch, driving his tongue into her cunt till he thought that her demanding pussy would tear it out by the roots. Her hard, stubby clit rubbed him all over in its insane desire for satiation, and he was lost in a slimy sea of cunt lips, pussy juice, asscheeks, asshole, hair. ,..
Suddenly Cheryl's thighs gripped his head like a vise and held on. He could tell she was coming-as he was. The thick juices made their mad way through him, from the dangling sac of his tingling balls up the tubes of his scrotum and out the end of his long-shafted cock, in an instant. Cheryl was almost blasted away by the force of the stored-up sperm, but she managed to hang on, swallowing the white secretions eagerly as her own orgasm sent her into a series of convulsions, and grinding away at Greg's face. They both finished together, and then collapsed, with Cheryl rolling off Greg like a beached whale, trails of come wandering off her cheeks.
CHAPTER TWO
Greg and Cheryl lay in the bed, exhausted, for. a long time. Then Cheryl got up and went into the bathroom. Seconds later Greg heard the shower running. Almost drowsily, he followed Outside the drawn shower curtain, he mumbled, "What the hell are you taking a shower for?" His voice must have betrayed his fear that she would leave now, without the other two events they'd planned.
"I always shower between acts," she said.
"Sex acts?" he asked amusedly.
"Especially sex acts," she said. "It wakes me up and makes me feel like going at it again."
"Maybe I'll try it," Greg said.
"Come on in," Cheryl sang, "the water's fine." Greg's bathroom was quite large, with blue-tiled walls and blue curtains that tinted everything with their color. So when he climbed into the shower with her, Cheryl's body had taken on a slightly bluish tinge.
"You look like you've just been chiseled out of an iceberg," Greg commented.
"You look pretty colorful yourself," she told him, soaping his chest with gentle motions.
Greg relaxed. He stepped away from the water's stream and let Cheryl's fingers move over him, spreading the good smell of soap and making him relax even more. After a while he rinsed himself off and started on her. When he got down between her legs, she spread them, and he felt her slit opening slightly as he massaged it.
When he grabbed her buttocks in his "soapy hands, she turned around and presented them to him with her legs open even farther.
"You want the second act right here?" he asked. "That's right," she replied. "Right up my ass with that big cock of yours."
"You're all soapy," he protested.
"You're right," she admitted, "and if I get soap up my ass it'll probably itch."
"I've got some Vaseline in the medicine cabinet," he offered. "I can reach it from here."
"Good." With this Cheryl turned her back to the stream of water that still cascaded from the shower-head and spread her cheeks to let it wash down her crack. To Greg, seeing it out of the comer of his eye, it looked like a mountain stream flowing between white rocks, over one little red rock in the center, and then losing itself in a swamp of curly brown plants.
"You ever been fucked in the ass before?" he asked.
"Once or twice," she told him, "but never by a cock as big as yours." She took the jar of Vaseline from him and, massaging his cock to an instant erection, led him a few inches out of the water stream and applied a coating of the petroleum jelly to it. It sat there in the humidity, glistening and poised for the attack. "Have you ever fucked anybody in the ass?" she demanded.
"Once or twice," he said, in practically the same inflection she had used. "Turn around." She did, and he greased her hole, shoving a finger far down into it and finding it-for the finger, at least-amply loose.
"You ready?" he asked her.
"Sure," she said. "When you start fucking me, reach around and stick your hand in my cunt. I can have a double climax that way-with my clit and with my ass."
This sounded somewhat dubious to Greg, but as he began to ease his swollen organ-about eight inches, and abnormally thick-into the willing but barely adequate opening, he decided not to worry about it. Cheryl could have any kind of climax she wanted as far as he was concerned.
"Let's move back under the water," she suggested.
"All right," he said, "but let's not have any tricks."
"Like what?" she asked playfully.
"Like turning off the hot water in the middle of the fuck," he retorted.
"That might be exciting," she speculated. "Right at the climax ... I've heard of people throwing ice in their crotches."
"I've heard of people jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, too," he said. "No thanks. If I want my nuts packed in ice, I'll do it myself."
By this time the ass-fuck was progressing nicely. Greg had been afraid that doing it under the stream of water might make it harder by taking away from the lubrication, but he realized now that an asshole, unlike a cunt, has no natural lubrication, and that the Vaseline would hold up in water. The stream of liquid pouring over them regularly and soothingly added to the pleasure of the occasion, and in a moment-whether it was from the feeling of the shaft of his penis now buried several inches in her asshole or from the pummeling his fingers were giving to her clit-Cheryl started to groan and moan in a low voice that harmonized with the running of the water.
"Tighten up your ass," Greg asked.
Cheryl responded with a few grabbing contractions of her muscles.
"That's nice," he said, feeling the bite of the smooth walls of her rectum as it sucked and pinched his prick with pleasure.
"I never fucked in the shower before," Cheryl said, her voice infected with a slight note of surprise at herself.
"There's got to be a first time," Greg informed her, giving a hard jab with his cock to force it in another inch. "Unh," he grunted, as he shoved again. "How's that feel?"
"Okay," she said. "But most of the feeling's around the outside of the asshole, so it'll be better when you start going in and out a little bit and wiggling it around."
"How's your cunt?"
"Great. I could come in a minute if I wanted to. Your fingers feel fantastic down there. But I'm wait-mg.
"All right. You can really come with your asshole?"
"It's hard to explain," Cheryl said, reaching down under them while she talked to take Greg's balls in her fingers and juggle them up and down. "It's not like an orgasm when you're fucking, at least not exactly. I land of come with my whole body, and that's the center of it."
"Sounds good," he said.
"It is. Just keep playing with my clit and humping my ass, and you'll see just what happens."
Greg moved back just a bit and, taking his hands from Cheryl's cunt for a second, spread her cheeks so he could peer down at the connection below. The shaft of his cock, somewhat pink with excitement and exertion, disappeared almost incredibly into a tight also pinkish hole whose sides pulled out and became distended as he pulled himself out about half an inch. When he shoved in the opening pushed in too, almost collapsing on itself, like a puckered-in mouth. Cheryl squirmed with delight, and the water continued to gush over them.
Then Cheryl sat back into him suddenly, sending his Vaseline-coated cock deep up her ass. He almost lost his balance and fell into the two inches of water that had collected at the bottom of the tub. But he righted himself and wrapped his arms around her once more, this time with one hand on her left tit and the other buried in her pussy. Then he began fucking the tight little asshole-tight now that his cock was buried six or seven inches into it-in earnest.
Cheryl responded, humping away while she leaned up against the tiled wall beneath the shower-head, and occasionally reaching down between her legs to goose Greg's balls. After a few minutes the rhythm-controlled by Cheryl, since it was her job to coordinate the climaxes-began to pick up. Having shot one load into Cheryl's mouth earlier, Greg was not so fast this time, and as the water sluiced down on him and he felt the pressure of sperm start to build up again from deep within his genitals, he knew his orgasm would not be so hard to control this time. He would not have to slow it up. In fact, if the pounding of Cheryl's eager buttocks and the grim moanings that issued from her mouth as she went about the business of bringing herself to a climax were any indication, he might even be a little slow.
Suddenly, so suddenly he didn't even suspect, Cheryl came. Her whole body began writhing like a snake, back and forth, charmed by the rod inserted y in her appealing derriere and hypnotized by the patter of the water falling on them both. So violently was Greg wrenched back and forth by this new and rather weird whip-like series of contortions that he was caught unawares by it. His cock felt as if it was about to be ripped from his crotch, and his balls flailed against his thighs. He was on a bucking bronco, and he'd lost his balance.
"Oh, Oh, OH," Cheryl breathed, the volume of her exclamations increasing with every thrust. "Fuck me up my ASS!"
With that Greg regained his balance, and the feel of the desperate yanking of her asshole on his cock suddenly catapulted him to the heights of ecstasy. A swirling feeling like water pervaded his genitals, and suddenly a stream of sperm shot forth. Cheryl's climax was lasting a long time, and in the hysterical pleasures of his own Greg suddenly had the urge to shoot the sperm all the way up her, through her, till it came out of her mouth.
"Here it comes, baby," he practically yelled in her ear. The sound of her tits banging back and forth, first against her chest and then against the wall, echoed in the bathroom, and Greg suddenly realized that they were making as much noise as a herd of. elephants marching off the end of a tin bridge into a river. The water was flying everywhere, and even in its relative coolness Greg was starting to sweat. But the noise and the sweat meant nothing to him as his bizarre image of sperm shooting like a geyser up out of Cheryl's mouth drove him to a greater frenzy.
Suddenly the water turned burning hot. No, it was cold: freezing cold. Every muscle in Greg's straining body contracted like a rubber band, and the chill reached down deep into his loins, squeezing the last bits of sperm out of him. Cheryl, who had-in spite of Greg's admonition-turned the hot water off-gave a howl and crunched her asscheeks together one final time, sending a tremor of sheer delight climactically through her body, and sending Greg to one more, higher level of orgasm. Then, dripping and exhausted for the second time in one day, they disengaged, and Cheryl turned the water off.
"You bitch," Greg said good-naturedly, "who taught you that trick?"
"I never tried it before," she told him, "but I was getting kind of sweaty, and it seemed as if it would really end things with a bang."
Greg said, "It did. I nearly banged you through the wall. But seriously, that was a great idea-and a great fuck."
"I wonder if my asshole's going to hurt," said Cheryl pensively.
"I wouldn't think so," Greg told her. "Let me see it."
Cheryl bent over and spread her cheeks. Aside from a thin stream of semen that made its way down her crack, her asshole looked a little redder than normal, but otherwise fine. "Looks all right," said Greg.
"Does that have any bearing on how it's going to feel?"
"I don't know. Just try not sitting down for a while. Like a week."
"How about shitting? I'd look pretty funny if I didn't shit for a week."
"I guess you're right." They went into the bedroom and laid down on the bed.
"I am beat," Cheryl said softly, nestling in the crook of Greg's shoulder. For the first time in a while, Greg remembered the previous night at the discotheque. It was hard to understand how one girl could be so much like a chameleon-at one moment ravenously sexy, at another moment almost innocent looking.
"You're a pretty crazy person," he told her.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I can't figure you out. After you stuck your bare cunt in my face last night...."
"Right after you gave me the dollar?"
"That's right. After you did that, I thought you were either a nymphomaniac or for some weird reason really turned on by me. Anyhow, either way I figured you were ready to jump down off the stage and get laid right there."
"You thought you were going to take me home and fuck me ... is that it?" Her eyebrows raised in a slight smile.
"That's about it."
"I guess I was pretty hot for you when I pulled that bare-cunt trick," she admitted. "I've never done that before. Never even come close." j
"Not even to someone who's given you a big tip?"
"I've had guys give me twenties," she said. "Not here-in Boston, where I used to work. But they never got what you got. At least not while I was on stage ... and not unless I liked them."
"What were you doing in Boston?" he asked, interested in changing the subject.
"I was going to school. And studying guitar and singing."
"And dancing in a night club?"
"That's right."
"Must have kept you pretty busy."
"It did. Ran me ragged."
"Is that why you left?"
"No."
By this time they had revived slightly. Cheryl's last comment had a note of finality about it that made Greg feel as if he'd been prying. He wasn't sure the interest was entirely unwelcome, but there seemed to be something in Cheryl's past that he would have to ... approach delicately. He decided to play it cool.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked her.
"Sure," she said. "You have beer?"
"Two cold ones, coming right up." He bounced to his feet and walked into the kitchen. Rather casually, he said, "How did you like Boston, I mean, as a place to live in?"
This seemed to make her pause; deciding, he thought, on whether to talk about Boston the city in the abstract, or the Boston she had known and left.
"I guess it was okay," she said. Then, seeming to loosen up a little, "I had a few personal problems that made it a good idea for me to leave."
By this time Greg had returned with the beers. Saying nothing, he handed one to her and, admiring the almost Renoiresque turn of her hips, slipped into bed beside her. The silence was suggestive, empty.
"I don't know what makes me hung up about telling this, but I ... well, I had a Lesbian affair up there that didn't work out too well."
Greg was only slightly stunned. It didn't bother him in the least that Cheryl might have Lesbian tendencies. In fact, it stimulated him somewhat, made her a little more exotic. But, considering her very straight look at times, it surprised him-as if his faculty of character judgment had forsaken him, and he wondered why.
"What happened?" he asked. Then, thinking that he was perhaps being a little too blunt, "Not that it makes any difference to me...."
"I didn't think it would. It's kind of a weird story, really," she said, "and not very complicated. You see, in the place where I worked in Boston, all the girls used to change in the same place. Not only that, but you could hear the music coming from outside, and some of us used to practice new steps or moves in the changing room-"
"I see," said Greg.
"I thought you would. It all started when a girl named Judy came to work there. She was pretty big, and if anyone looked like a dyke, this was her. But she was a good dancer, and she really knew how to turn the men on. She was kind of cynical about it. Very cynical, in fact. But she made a lot of tips."
"And," said Greg, "she got to see all those other nice young things showing off their bodies and making sexy motions."
"Who's telling this-me, or you?" Cheryl asked playfully. "Anyhow, I had a good friend who also worked there. We'd met at the place, in fact, and we'd got to be quite close. Even before Judy came, Evelyn-that was my friend-and I had talks about Lesbianism, because Evelyn was beginning to realize that she had some interest in other girls."
"Like you?"
"We talked about that, and she said yes, she'd like to make it with me, but only if I really wanted to. I told her that I wasn't ready to, and didn't know if I ever would be, but that I certainly wasn't any less her friend because I knew she wanted me."
"Seems like kind of a strain on the friendship, though," Greg said, taking a long sip on his beer and gazing absently out into the park through a partially open window.
"Not as bad as you might think," said Cheryl. "Anyhow, when Judy came to work there, she made no bones about the fact that she wanted to make it with Evelyn-and with me, too."
"Sounds like an interesting triangle."
"Well, it wasn't a triangle ... at first. Evelyn and I had a long talk, and we agreed that if she wanted to she should make it with Judy, because Judy was experienced, and so on."
"It sounds like a high school science experiment instead of a decision to make love."
"You hit the nail right on the head," Cheryl admitted somewhat sadly. Anyhow, Evelyn went home with Judy one night, and she had a good time."
"What did they do?"
"I don't know in exact detail, but I know they spent a lot of time eating each other out, and I think I remember something about a dildo."
"Anyhow, the 'experiment was a success."
"The first one-yes. Judy wasn't all that great, but Evelyn was excited about the physical acts. The trouble was that after that she wanted me to make love with her more than ever."
"So what did you do?"
"I'm coming to that." Cheryl was becoming slightly nervous now, and Greg wrote himself a mental note not to push her any more. "Somehow Judy and Evelyn got to talking about me, and about how I didn't want to make it with either of them. So they hatched this scheme where I'd come over to Judy's house and watch the two of them make love."
"Hoping that would turn you on enough so that you'd join in?"
"I guess so. I don't know exactly what they hoped, but for some reason-maybe because the idea of making it with Evelyn was vaguely appealing to me-I went."
Greg sat there without a word, drinking his beer.
In a minute, Cheryl got up and walked across the room. Greg's apartment was on the sixth floor of an eight story building, but still, a naked woman standing in the window could .be seen by anyone in the park-or on the street, if she stood near enough to the window-who cared to look and who had average vision. Still, Greg said nothing, and in fact imagined with some relish the reaction of a casual pedestrian in the park who looked up to see Cheryl's enormous breasts and long brown hair in his window.
For a few moments Greg was afraid she wasn't going to go on. But his patience won out over his curiosity, and he continued to say nothing. Finally, she turned away from the window and took a few steps toward the bed.
"When we got there, we found that Judy had quite a beautiful apartment, and that she was an old pro at seducing young girls. We hadn't known this, because her figure was perfect and she looked young, but she was thirty-two. Anyhow, they sat me down on one chair and gave me a drink, and then started to go at it."
"Did it turn you on?"
"That was the trouble," Cheryl admitted. "It did. The thing was, Evelyn turned me on a lot-and Judy didn't turn me on at all. Judy had Evelyn dance for her, and strip down, and by the time Evelyn was done, my cunt was watering and I wanted to suck Evelyn dry. When I saw Judy begin to do just that, I couldn't help sticking my hand in my own panties."
"And when Judy saw you stick your hand in your panties?"
"She went nuts. She came over to me and started eating me like a crazy woman. If I'd been relaxed I probably would have enjoyed it. But I was a little uptight about Judy, and I froze."
"And I don't suppose Judy liked that too much."
"No. She got really pissed, in fact. She accused me of teasing her just to be nasty. I think she would have smacked me around-in addition to cursing at me-if Evelyn hadn't been there."
"Nice. What did you do then?"
"I took off. I think I started crying, and Evelyn came over and told me to calm down, and at that point Judy backed off a little bit. As soon as she did I was gone. I just ran for the door, bolted down the hallway, and practically fell down the stairs. I didn't even wait for the elevator. When I got out to the street, I just wandered around in a daze."
"I don't know why it upset you so much," Greg said slowly. "You must have known that girls-I guess I should say people-like Judy existed."
"Sure I did," Cheryl admitted, "but I'd never been involved with one before, and basically I'm very sensitive."
"And maybe you were feeling just a little guilty, too. Maybe you thought there was just a little truth to what Judy said," Greg speculated.
"I'm sure the reason for my reaction had a lot more to do with me and my psychological state at the time than it had to do with Judy," Cheryl admitted. "After all, Judy really wasn't unattractive. She was about five foot ten or eleven, which is pretty tall, and she had big hips and a sort of broad, coarse face. But her features were pleasant, and she had very long blonde hair that fell naturally into ripples. You know what I mean?"
"Yes," Greg said, trying to decide whether there was any hidden hint of admiration for Judy in Cheryl's description. Leaving the matter undecided, he went on, "I've seen girls with hair like that. It can be very attractive."
"And I suppose if I was as sexually frustrated as someone like that can get, I might tend to do a few things a little out of line myself once in a while."
Greg wondered when she was going to get to the point. He decided to help her, now that she was seemingly leveled off emotionally. "Maybe the basic trouble was that you were afraid of being a Lesbian yourself," he said, as gently as he could.
Cheryl looked at him sharply. "I haven't finished the story," she said. Then, somewhat more calmly, "That probably had something to do with it. But I don't think it was as simple as that. Because a few nights later, when Evelyn and I were working at the club and Judy was off, we had a talk about it. And while we were talking, the music was coming in from outside. We were going on in ten minutes or something, and Evelyn was practicing some new moves while we talked, because there was a guy there who was supposed to tip very well if he liked the way you danced. Like tens and twenties.
"Anyhow, Evelyn was going through this routine that was something like the limbo-you know, the dance where you try to go under a bar without your knees touching the ground?"
"Right," said Greg, "we used to love to get girls to do it, especially in bathing suits. Lots of times you split really wide, and sometimes it's too far for your bathing suit to stretch."
"That's right," said Cheryl. "Evelyn was practicing this, and I was staring at her, and we were talking about the events of that night at Judy's. Just in the middle of a big split, Evelyn started talking about how I'd got turned on by watching Judy eat her out. And just then she wriggled her hips, and her G-string stretched really tight, and suddenly I could see one of her cunt lips, and some of her soft fight blonde cunt hair."
Greg felt his rod starting to grow, but he said nothing. He imagined that at the proper time Cheryl would take notice of it.
"So there I was," Cheryl continued, "alone in the dressing room, remembering that night when Judy was eating out Evelyn's cunt and I was fingering my own pussy. I was staring at that cunt lip, and Evelyn knew I was, and she just spread wider, and started to sock it to me with every move she knew. After about five minutes she pulled the G-string off and came over and started grinding her cunt in my face. Then she rubbed her tits all over me, and then she turned around and spread her cheeks and her cunt at the same time."
"And you couldn't resist that," said Greg, giving a significant glance in the direction of his reviving organ.
"No, I couldn't. I just dove in with my tongue, and I was licking and sucking away...." she paused, almost as if to gain dramatic effect " ... when Judy walked in."
"Holy shit," Greg breathed, seeing the inevitable result in his imagination.
"That's an understatement," Cheryl said.
"What the hell happened?"
"For a minute Judy just didn't know what to do. Then she realized that I was making it with her girl friend, and I wouldn't make it with her."
"And that made her feel a little left out."
"Just a little. She let out this tremendous whoop, and literally dove on us. By this time Evelyn had undone my G-string, and it was kind of hanging around my thighs. I still had my pasties on, but that was it. And Evelyn hadn't put her pasties on yet-she was completely naked.
"But when I saw Judy coming in like that, I didn't care who saw my hairy little snatch-I was getting the hell out of there. And Evelyn, not knowing what to do, got the same idea."
Greg couldn't help it, he started to laugh. Somehow the sight of two virtually naked girls being pursued out of a dressing room and into a bar full of horny men by a crazy Lesbian was too much for his imagination to take. Fortunately Cheryl saw the humor at this point, and laughed too.
"We must have looked pretty funny," she said. "When Judy howled, everything in the bar outside stopped, and the patrons all turned toward the dressing room. Then Evelyn went running out, and I went running out-Evelyn with her cunt still dripping and completely naked, and me with my G-string around my knees, running as if I were in a sack race."
"Where the hell did you go?"
"Well, Evelyn was a little smarter than I was. She jumped behind the bar and hid there before Judy could get turned around to come after us. But I was more scared than she was, and I had a little more on," and here Cheryl started laughing in earnest at the memory, "so I ran right out the front door and into the street."
At this Greg cracked up. "That must have been a sight," he said, barely able to control his choking laughter.
"I'm sure it was," Cheryl giggled. "And the funniest thing was ... there was a kid out there, about eighteen or nineteen, who used to watch through the peephole that the place had in front. I ran straight into him, because he'd heard the noise and wandered over next to the door."
"So there was a bare-cunted go-go girl in his arms!"
"That's right," Cheryl said, "and do you know what he did?"
"What?"
"He lent me his jacket," Cheryl laughed, almost out of breath now, "and helped me pull my G-string up and fasten it! Then he drove me home!"
"That's too much. You mean this kid had been watching you through the front window all that time, and when one of you fell into his arms, he didn't know what to do?"
"I wouldn't say that," Cheryl corrected. Then she sat there smirking.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the average slob would have grabbed my pussy or something, right?"
"At least the average guy would have taken a good long look."
"That's right ... and the average guy wouldn't have got what this kid got, either."
"Ob, I see," said Greg, the light dawning, "he drove you home then he...."
"Then he nothing," Cheryl corrected. "He was so scared at having seen a real cunt that he didn't know what to do. In fact, I wasn't sure he would be able to drive his car, he was shaking so badly."
"So you took him in.", "That's right. I took him in, cooked him something to eat, danced for him, blew him, made him fuck me a couple of times...."
"Which by that time he didn't mind, I'll bet," said Greg.
"You're damned right he didn't-and he was a good lay, too. I really did things for that boy."
"So what happened after that?"
"Well, I couldn't very well go back to work at that place. So I called up Evelyn and asked her to pick up my last check. When she brought it over she told me about this place I'm working in now. Seems she knew the owner. She called him for me and got me a job right away."
"Over the phone?"
"
"That's right. Long distance. You should see Evelyn. She's really beautiful. Come to think of it, maybe you will see her. She was thinking of quitting and coming down to New York to work."
"Depending on how she gets along with Judy?"
"I guess that's part of it. I know she's really hot for me, and I wouldn't mind her moving in with me. She's kind of bisexual, and when we weren't going out with guys, we could make it with each other. It would be pretty good."
"Yeah," said Greg, rolling over and stepping out of bed to get another beer. "I'd like to get in on some of that action some time."
"You mean the three of us?" Cheryl asked, as if she had never heard of it before.
"Why not?" Greg responded. He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. As the sound of a beer can opening shot down the hall and into the bedroom where Cheryl lay, fingers wandering down toward the mound of her pussy at the thought of Greg's latest suggestion, Greg looked through the door to his living room, and into the park beyond. It was a lovely day, and although there was still one event-the main one-to go, he decided that he would like to go for a walk in the park.
"Hey, Cheryl," he called out. "Get dressed. Let's take some time off and go for a walk outside."
"All right," she said. Moments later she was standing in the hallway, buttocks trying to squeeze out of the tight confines of her bikini panties, pulling her short skirt up over her knees. "There must be something good to do in the park," she said cheerfully.
"Yes," said Greg, an idea already formed in his mind. "I think we'll find something."
CHAPTER THREE
The fresh air outside was pleasant, and the northern end of the park was surprisingly deserted. Cheryl and Greg walked the macadam paths for a while, talking and gazing up at the trees that seemed too green, too alive, to be growing here in the center of Manhattan. Once they surprised a couple making love in the bushes, and Greg caught a glimpse of a breast disappearing under a hastily adjusted blanket. Later on they passed a group of children heading downtown with their fishing poles. After a while, Greg picked a secluded spot under an immense, broad-leaved maple tree, and they sat down.
"So you think Evelyn might be coming to New York?" he said as they settled down in the thick grass.
"I don't know," Cheryl said lazily, looking up through the leaves. "In a way it would be better if she didn't."
"Why did you say that?"
"Did I tell you that I sing and play the guitar-that I might like to get some jobs in some of the little places' in the Village?"
"I think you mentioned something about it," Greg told her, marveling at the fact that she had once more become an innocent young girl with long brown hair and wide eyes, who looked as though sex was the farthest thing from her mind.
"Well, if Evelyn came, I think I'd have less incentive to go out and buy the kind of guitar I need, to go looking for jobs, and so on. After all, with her working at some discotheque and bringing home a lot of money-compared to what I'd be making, even if I could manage to find a job-and with her meeting all kinds of people there, I'd feel left out and impoverished. There'd just be a lot of psychological pressure to dance."
"I guess I can see that," Greg said. "By the way, what kind of guitar do you need?"
"I didn't mention this to you, but I put down a deposit on a Martin-a steel-stringed guitar-the other day."
"How much?"
"The deposit, or the guitar?"
"Both."
"Would you believe a twenty-five dollar deposit on a five hundred dollar guitar?"
Greg smiled, and then realized that his expression was patronizing, like that of a parent who finds out that his five-year-old daughter is saving up to buy an ocean liner. "How long do you figure it will take you to buy it?" he asked, as seriously as he could.
"Three weeks," she said.
"But you only make $25 a night-that's $125 a week."
"You're forgetting tips," she said. "And overtime, if I can squeeze it out of that creep. And then, I work six nights a week."
"I see."
"I figure I can live on my tips-I've got a very cheap place to stay-and put all the money I earn dancing toward the guitar."
Greg looked up through the tree. "And then," he said, "you'll become a famous singer."
"Don't be silly," she said. "I don't want to be a famous singer anyhow. I'm not that motivated. All I want to do is sing, and have people listen."
Greg was silent for a moment. "I think what I really like about you is the way you seem to change back and forth between being a woman and being a little girl. You do it so easily, so often-it's really charming."
"Little girl, eh?" repeated Cheryl with a gleam in her eye. Her gaze followed his up through the leafy boughs of the maple tree to the patches of sky that showed through it. Suddenly she leapt to her feet and, grabbing the lowest limb of the tree, was gone.
Greg never would have believed-in spite of her agility as a dancer-that she could have moved so easily and gracefully. In moments she was in the tree's topmost branches, where Greg, feeling himself an old man at times, never would have ventured. She sat there in her short skirt, white-banded crotch exposed to his upward view, rocking and shaking the branches.
"What the hell are you going to do up there?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Maybe some sun bathing." With that she pulled off her blouse. There was no bra under it, and suddenly her breasts were floating in the ethereal upper reaches of the tree, starkly white against its verdant background. From where he was he could see the brilliant red of the nipples which, as she rocked, were alternately silhouetted against the leaves and against the sky. Her breasts bounced like floating balloons, making it seem as though the air was thinner and rarer, the sunlight more brilliant.
Greg glanced around to make sure no one was looking. Then his gaze returned to Cheryl. Before he could speak or even think, she had stripped her panties off, and hung them, together with her blouse, on a branch near her. Now, as she rocked, the dark patch of her hairy cunt with its thick white lips turning to red at the opening of her vagina greeted Greg's intense gaze and fed it with passion for the third time in what was becoming; a passion-glutted day. To make things complete, Cheryl went through the formality of pulling off her skirt and even removing her shoes. The tree was beginning to look like a clothesline-but to that aspect of the proceedings Greg was paying little attention. His cock was starting to grow, and he was beginning to wonder how difficult it would be for him to climb the tree with a full-scale erection.
Before he could determine this, Cheryl started doing gymnastics. First she grabbed a branch with one hand, and leaned back from it with the other shoulder, until she was leaning fully back and her head pointed toward the ground. The flesh of her breasts drew them toward the ground, and the force of gravity made it seem as though Cheryl had three heads. She shook herself, and her breasts and hair shimmered and jiggled, the tits looking like glistening sacks full of some exotic liquid."
Next she righted herself and, hanging free by her hands some thirty or forty feet in the air, split her legs wide, enabling Greg to make out the full length of her crack, from the bunched buttocks to the nicely rounded stomach, including the crotch-splitting cleavage of her cunt and the still inflamed punctuation mark of her asshole. Greg had a brief fantasy in which he lay on the grass right where he was, erection pointing upward at that inspiring sight, and saw Cheryl dropping, fully split, out of the tree onto his magnified organ. He saw himself blasting her with come immediately on feeling the impact of her dripping pussy, and shooting her upward again-on a thick solid stream of it, till she was propelled once more to the tree branch, and hung on there satiated and dripping, more copiously than before, with the added burden of his sperm.
He took his cock out and lay down on the grass. Above him, Cheryl saw it and, splitting now between two branches, fingered her pussy. It was a bizarre sight, because from where Greg was he could see nothing but the bottoms of her feet, her ass and crotch, and the protuberances of her breasts above.
"Hey," Cheryl said after a few minutes, "you ever coming up here?"
"You ever coming down here?" Greg returned. You can't fuck in a tree, you know."
To his surprise, Cheryl answered, "I bet you can."
"Holy shit," he said, "if I didn't know any better, I might not think you weren't serious."
"What?" asked Cheryl in bewilderment.
"It's simple. I said you're nuts."
Above him, Cheryl was giggling, and now she was breaking off little bits of dead twig and dropping them down on him. Without another thought, he tucked his weapon back into his trousers and started climbing.
By the time he had reached Cheryl's level-without looking down, and without stopping for breath-she had positioned herself against a large branch that left the trunk a few feet below where she had been at her highest point. She was standing in such a way that with one hand she gripped another branch, a very solid one, and with the other-whose shoulder was wedged into a place where the trunk split-she was free to wave, to hold, or to grab.
Greg approached her without hesitating. Trusting her to support him somewhat, he rammed his organ into the depths of her pussy without a second thought-and then looked down. Thirty feet below, the ground with its waving grass and hard rocks in between met his gaze. It was only the insistent grasping of Cheryl's ravenous cunt on his organ, and the sight of the thick secretions of her pussy as they oozed out and decorated his cock, that took his mind off the dangerous and yet ridiculous, even humorous, height.
Cheryl's hips, pressed mercilessly against the rough bark by Greg's churning pelvis, responded eagerly, and drew his cock into the magic cave of her womanhood. He felt as though he was entering a whirlpool, up among the green leaves, with a slight breeze blowing. He wondered whether he would ever return.
Greg's balls began to bang gently against Cheryl's thighs, which, due to the fact that she remained standing, with her legs spread only slightly, remained close together. At his chest, Greg could feel the immense breasts floating and brushing gently against him, and although it had never occurred to him before, now the similarity between tits and balls seemed obvious. Both came in pairs; both were like sacks of skin containing especially delicate tissues. He did not pursue this weird perception further, either because he realized it would not hold up further, or because he was becoming interested in other things: Cheryl was panting and moaning and clutching him, trying to get his cock to enter her at an angle that would give her clitoris the most stimulation and yet would reach deep up into her vagina. Greg, gaining more confidence in himself, began to experiment. After a short time he found that a combination of a squatting thrust with a sharp upward jerk would give Cheryl just what she wanted.
"Oh, that's it," she moaned, among the symphony of slapping flesh, heavy breathing, and rustling leaves. "Keep doing that and this is going to be the tree-fuck of the century."
"It's already on the way, baby," Greg assured her. Then he felt her fingers reaching behind him, as her free hand groped for his ass and balls.
"That's great," he said, as her fingernails delicately probed the outer flesh of his asshole. "Get in there a ways and I'll nail you to this tree when I come."
In a moment Greg could feel the penetration of her fingers past the outer circle of his tight sphincter. He could feel them inside him, and it turned his guts to liquid.
"You like that?" Cheryl smiled a sensual, almost pained smile at him, as she tried to keep her balance and move toward her own climax and satisfy Greg all at once. In a flash, Greg thought how much more sensual all this concentration made it. It was impossible for the mind to wander, and the intense concentration-he almost laughed-connected with fucking in the top of a tree in a wooded section of a park made the whole thing seem much more exciting.
By this time Cheryl was picking up Greg's newly discovered pattern of movement and augmenting it with her own, which sent her cunt up and down, rather than back and forth. If she'd had time to think about it, it would have reminded her of a cunt on a hinge, automatically swinging its predetermined arch. But she didn't have time to think, she was too busy timing herself with Greg to shove the open mouth of her cunt straight at him, which she did by squatting considerably and grinding her ass as far forward as she could, and then snapping it back downward again with a violence that crushed Greg's thick cock up against her clit and sent spasms of excitement through her. It was all Greg could do to achieve deep penetration between the savage onslaughts of Cheryl's pelvic bone and her weak screams of joy.
They fucked along for quite some time, up there in the tree tops with Cheryl's clothes hanging around them, with the juices from her cunt darkening the bark, and the noises they made augmenting the wind and the gentle friction of the leaves. Once they heard someone walking along a path not too far away, and they stopped and froze. But the footsteps maintained their regular beat along the macadam, and, thankful for the slight rest, they resumed their intercourse.
By this time fucking was quite easy. They had established their positions, and were no longer afraid of falling. And the extreme wetness of Cheryl's pussy lubricated the shaft of Greg's pulsating prick until it felt like dipping a pole into the water. It was only the incessant crunching of Cheryl's hungry vagina on Greg's cock that continued to build him up toward the climax.
When it came, Cheryl's three fingers were buried deep in Greg's asshole, one almost to the hilt. Greg felt Cheryl begin to go into a series of uncontrollable convulsions that gyrated the loose floppy lips and smooth insides of her cunt in impossible directions. Like some kind of vacuum, her wide-open constantly sucking vagina drew the come out of him. His cock exploded inside her, blasting the walls of her cunt with hot sperm from its thrashing, bludgeoning head. Impulsively, she let go with the hand she had , been holding onto the tree with, and threw it around his back, raking him with her nails. Just then he gave a gargantuan thrust that, he thought, would send his penis straight through her, like a javelin or a lance, and bury it in the tree. At this Cheryl threw her legs up around him and began a long, pumping orgasm with her knees up around her chest, her buttocks pressing against Greg's thighs, and her asshole being beaten gently by Greg's balls as they swung around violently below, jerking with the jerks of his inflamed organ.
Finally they had finished. Greg started to come to his senses, and when he did, he realized with a rush that they were thirty feet in the air, among the branches of a tree, and neither of them was holding on! As he looked downward, Cheryl followed his gaze, and when they both saw how precarious their situation was, they nearly fell. It was only a wild scrambling for hand-holds that saved them. Then, realizing the humor in it all, they laughed hysterically. As they did, the vibrations shook Cheryl's panties loose from where she had hung them, and they floated lazily down to the ground below, sliding off leaves and catching momentarily on branches all the way.
"Time to go," Cheryl said with authority. Greg looked at her.
"I'm not sure I can move," he said.
"Sure you can," she informed him, and then she began tickling his stomach. In a second he was down the tree, stretched out on the ground, laughing and looking up at the ridiculous heights to which Cheryl had lured him.
"You certainly have imagination," he said. "I'll give you that."
""Thanks," she said, grinning coyly at him.
"Speaking of imagination," he reminded her, "you were going to help me with the chords to those songs."
"I assumed that was just a big hoax to get me up here so you could fuck me," Cheryl said, without sounding a bit condemnatory.
"Well, it was mostly for that purpose," he said, "but now that we've fucked....
"You may as well get some more use out of me?" she interrupted.
"I don't know whether I'd put it like that," he told her seriously, "I just don't want you to leave yet-and I do have these songs, and this guitar....
"All right," she said, laughing, "I was just giving you a hard time." By this time she had finished dressing again and adjusting everything, including the underpants she had recovered from the ground. So they returned to Greg's apartment. While Greg set about to make an early supper, Cheryl arranged herself on his couch with his several sheets of words and music in front of her and began strumming chords on his cheap $40 guitar. After half an hour or so they were seated at the table eating, and Greg was looking over the music.
"I used pretty elementary chords," Cheryl told him. "I don't know how well you play. If you want it jazzed up a little bit later, I'll redo them."
"These are fine," said Greg enthusiastically, realizing that what to Cheryl was a very basic arrangement would to him be something of a challenge. "Hey, would you sing a few things for me before you leave?" he asked.
"I suppose so," she acquiesced, "although I'm out of practice...."
"And my guitar is nothing to get excited about," he finished.
"For a cheap guitar it has good tone," she said. Greg was beginning-to be glad that he had insisted on her staying. Somehow it made things more sexy, if possible, to have these lulls in the action in which Cheryl turned so sweet and gentle and innocent.
In a little while they were sitting on the couch together, and Cheryl was singing to him. He was amazed at the penetrating clarity and overwhelming simplicity of her relatively untrained voice.
"
"I was once told by a very famous folk singer that I should never let a voice teacher mess around with me," she said. "I've followed that advice. But I'm afraid I haven't followed the rest of his advice."
"What was that?" Greg asked.
"To practice all the time, to sing all the time-to try to get the built-in training that comes from living in society out of my voice again."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, we all grow up with certain models that are presented to us as the way to sing. We unconsciously, or sometimes consciously, try to change our natural voices to conform to those models."
"Sounds like everything else in life," Greg observed.
"Everything else in society, anyhow," Cheryl admitted. "The trick is to recognize and strengthen the aspects of your voice that express you-your heritage, your ancestry, your geography-best. That way you find out who you really are when you sing, and you don't have to be afraid of accents or slurs or idiosyncrasies. You don't have to make yourself into a singing machine."
"It seems to me that there's a difficulty with that," Greg observed.
"What's that?"
"Well, if you've been brought up in a middle-or upper-class home all your life, you've probably been going to school for years and years-where you hear a bunch of educated, or trained, accents. You must lose yourself in them, and come out without any of the ancestral or geographical overtones that you might have had otherwise."
"That's true," Cheryl told him. "And that makes it harder, because you can't tell what's you and what's somebody else any more. The trick, according to this person, was to start from where you were-and if you didn't have an accent, not to fake one, just to be yourself."
Greg looked at Cheryl closely. "You sing beautifully," he said. "You should practice. You should get a job at a club."
"You fuck beautifully," she said, very seriously but at the same time with a twinkle in her eye. Then, "You should practice. You should get a job in a club."
They both laughed. Cheryl stood up. Greg stood up and escorted her to the door. He gave her a pat on the rump.
"Come see me dance some time," she said.
"I will."
"Give me a few days, though. I'm going to be all fucked out for a while."
"This is Wednesday," he said. "I'll come Saturday night."
"Fine. I wish I had a phone number to give you, but the people I'm staying with don't have a phone. If you want to get me, though, you know where I live."
Greg remembered the five-story brownstone.
"If you come to the disco, on Saturday and I'm not there, I may have found something at a club-singing. There's a guy I may be able to borrow a guitar from." Cheryl was out the door, pressing the elevator button. He couldn't get over it. The girl that stood before him was simply not the same girl he'd just spent a full day of wild sex with.
"See you," he said, in the same tone he might use in talking to his sister.
"Bye," she replied, with a simple smile. Then the elevator door opened, and she was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Greg waited impatiently for Saturday night. It was not as if he had nothing to do. But in everything he did, there seemed a trace of unresolved tension. Although the day full of sex with Cheryl had left him more than satisfied, it did not take long for his urges to regenerate-and as they did, they came into conflict with the image he had of the "other Cheryl." He wondered, not for the first time, whether the strange contrasts in her personality bothered her.
Saturday evening at about nine he got on the downtown subway. As the train pulled away from the station near his comer, he became aware of a growing sexual urge. He found his eyes wandering up and down the car, stopping to fasten on every nicely turned knee or calf. Suddenly it seemed as though the subway car. was a boxcar full of flesh for him to wallow in. All his indecisions and ambiguities of thought disappeared as he realized that he was going to see Cheryl dance again. The subway train seemed to race through the dark tunnels, plastering his vision with kaleidoscopes of color from the poster ads that raced by in the stations.
When he got off the train, he noticed a tall, slim girl with red hair and an extremely short skirt getting off the train at the other end. She was making for an exit that was inconvenient for him, but he could not resist hurrying down the platform in time to follow her through the turnstile and up the stairs. There was no one else behind them, so he followed her as she ascended, and when she got to the top he was rewarded with a glimpse of her rosy-cheeked ass twitching beneath her skirt, with the tight-fitting, almost transparent cloth of her sheer underwear clinging to the bunched-up flesh of her lower buttocks. It always excited Greg to see that little fold of flesh protruding from beneath a pair of underpants or hot pants. In a way it turned him on more than a completely naked female did. Now, with his rod starting to grow, he made his way toward the club where Cheryl worked.
When he first entered the dimly lit, smoke-filled bar, he thought Cheryl was dancing. There was a girl of approximately Cheryl's proportions, with approximately Cheryl's style, gyrating in the caged-in platform. But a second glance through the mist told him that it was not her. Assuming that she was taking a break, and that this was the other girl, he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.
Suddenly his eyes caught sight of a very beautiful girl sitting a ways down the bar, talking with the man Greg knew to be the owner. In an instant of almost psychic insight, he felt that he had seen the girl before. He knew she was familiar. Without reflecting, he picked up his glass and his beer bottle and walked down to her. The long auburn hair, the regular features, straight nose, clear blue eyes, delicately rounded chin, gave him the girl's name. He stared briefly at her somewhat small-breasted, lithe figure before speaking. "You're Evelyn, aren't you?" The girl turned, startled. Then, assuming him to be an old customer of the bar, perhaps a regular from the days she'd danced there, she admitted it. "Yes, that's right. But I don't remember you."
"It's not surprising," he said. "You've never met me. I'm a friend of Cheryl's."
"Oh," she said, somewhat surprised, shaking her head to clear the hair from her eyes and causing it to fall in a disarming stream about her shoulders, "do you know where she is?"
Greg was somewhat stunned. "She said she'd be here," he began. "I was...."
"But she's not here," Evelyn said. "Tony here says she got some singing job or something, and quit him last night. Kind of left him high and dry, too," she said, as though it was a minor irritation that didn't really matter much.
"That doesn't matter," said Tony, puffing on a thin cigar. "I got another dancer."
"So the question," 'reflected Evelyn, "is where she's working?"
Greg didn't know what to make of the situation. He'd counted on an evening of having Cheryl to himself. And as much as he was interested in experimenting with a three-way thing between himself, Cheryl, and Evelyn, he wasn't geared up for it tonight. He wondered whether to tell Evelyn about where Cheryl was living.
"I suppose we could go to her house," said Greg. "They might know there where she's working."
"You know where she lives?" asked Tony. "All I knew was that it was somewhere off Bleecker, down a couple of blocks."
"Yeah, I know the house," admitted Greg.
"Okay," agreed Evelyn, "let's go."
As they walked through the now-crowded streets of the Village, Greg was very much aware that he and Evelyn were looking each other over carefully. It was one of those situations where neither one knew how much the other one knew, and although Greg assumed that he had the upper hand-having been told about Evelyn's Lesbian affair and all its ramifications-he was a bit uncomfortable feeling Evelyn analyzing him and trying to decide just what his relationship to Cheryl was.
"How the hell did you know who I was?" Evelyn asked him as they walked along at a fairly rapid pace.
"
"Cheryl described you to me. She said you were very beautiful, and she said you might be coming down to New York one of these days. She also said you got her that job in the bar because you knew the owner, and you'd worked there yourself once. I guess I just put all that together subconsciously, and came up with a good guess."
"More than a good guess, I'd say," Evelyn commented, although without any suspicious overtones.
"Yes, it was pretty weird. It's the first time I've ever done anything like that."
"What did Cheryl tell you about me, anyhow?" Evelyn wanted to know.
Greg decided that he would tell her the minimum, and that if Evelyn wanted to find out more, she could ask Cheryl. There was no use in him getting between the two friends. "Only that you danced together in the same club in Boston, that you got to be very good friends...."
Greg became painfully aware that some of his behind-the-scenes knowledge had seeped in and colored his intonation of the words "very good friends." But all he could do now was pass over it, and parry the sharp look that Evelyn directed his way by some fast talking.
"She said she liked you a lot, that you'd helped her, that she'd learned some things from you...." It seemed as though every phrase he uttered had a double meaning that could be turned against him. Now, rather than keep on compounding his troubles, he changed the subject.
"Here's the house," he said, although they were still half a block from it.
"Where?" Evelyn asked, trying in vain to follow the vague pointing of his finger.
"Up there," he said. "That five-story brownstone there."
"Oh." Then, seemingly thinking of it for the first time, "Doesn't she have a phone up there?"
"No. The people she moved in with didn't have one." Then, realizing that he didn't know the apartment number, "Oh shit."
Evelyn was reading his mind. "You don't know the apartment number, do you." She said it as a statement rather than as a question.
"No."
Somewhat glumly, the two of them stood outside. After a few minutes of consultation, Greg yelled "Cheryl!" at the top of his lungs. But the dark house didn't respond.
"Let's go inside and see whether maybe she's put her name on a doorbell," Evelyn suggested. As they entered the narrow lobby, Greg noticed Evelyn's breasts bouncing free under her light blouse. It was strange that he had taken this long to see them. The blouse, which was back-lighted now, was suddenly transparent, and he swore that he could make out an erect nipple poking against the cloth. He wondered whether it was the prospect of seeing Cheryl again that had prompted such an erotic occurrence, or whether it was his own presence that had brought it about. Then he told himself, staring all the while, that girls' nipples came erect for any number of reasons, including friction from clothing, cold, and so on. He attempted to forget it, but kept staring with such intensity that Evelyn suddenly turned on him.
"Like these tits?" she asked directly.
He was speechless. Fortunately he didn't have to answer, because just then Evelyn turned to the rows of doorbells and name plates and found a note pasted onto the wall next to them.
"Here," she said, handing the note to him. It said "Greg" on the outside.
He opened it up. It said, "Borrowed the guitar I told you about, and got a gig in a little club. Come on over. I'll be a lot less tired after this evening's work than I was last time!" It was signed, "Love, Cheryl," and gave the address of a coffee house not far away.
"Does it say where she is?" Evelyn asked.
Looking over the note once more, Greg decided there was nothing in it that Evelyn shouldn't see, and handed it to her, believing that he would gain by the gesture of openness. As he handed it to her, he could swear that she purposely positioned herself against the light to read it, giving him another beautiful view of her tits.
"I know where this is," Evelyn said.
"So do I," Greg affirmed. "Let's go."
Six or seven minutes later they walked into the downstairs room of a coffee house, and immediately heard the crystal-clear strains of Cheryl's voice. There were only about a dozen people in the place, and when Cheryl saw them she stopped immediately.
Greg was once more stunned by her appearance. He had come expecting to see the sexy go-go girl-at least earlier in the evening-and then had changed his expectations to the dungaree-clad schoolgirl he had walked home after she finished work the week before. Now he beheld a different, somewhat hard-to-understand Cheryl. She wore immaculate white pants, no shoes, and a see-through flowered blouse that flowed easily and lazily to her waist with a pattern of almost-antique roses. The impression was of a simple, naturally sensual woman, doing something-singing-that normally was not thought of as a sexual activity, and being very sexy about it. It wasn't the hard-driving, bump-and-grind sex of the go-go girl, but a relaxed, almost sylvan sexuality that made him think of long afternoons beside rivers flowing gently past, of fields of flowers, of barns full of hay with the late afternoon sunlight sifting through them. So complete was the spell cast by this apparition that the clanging, banging, rat-race pace of the city melted away, and left him alone there with her. The pink of her nipples, soft and pliant now atop the smoothly rounded bulk of her breasts, shone dully through the cloth. She sat calmly on a stool, lit by a single weak spotlight, legs crossed, looking at them.
"Hi," she said, as they made their way to the front, and the small crowd glanced at them, interested to see who had made Cheryl stop in the middle of a song.
By this time Greg had remembered Evelyn at his side, and allowed her to go up to the stage while he picked out a table and sat down. Evelyn greeted Cheryl with a kiss. There were a few whispers between them, and Greg could not help wondering what information passed about him.
Greg and Evelyn sat together at the table, listening to what seemed an endless set of songs that Greg, for one, never wanted to end. He and Evelyn talked between songs, but, like the rest of the audience, were perfectly quiet during the numbers. Greg began to suspect that Cheryl was extremely talented indeed-talented enough to become a big star. He found that Evelyn shared that opinion. He also found that Evelyn was extremely congenial. For some reason he had expected her to be cold and distant and disapproving. Perhaps it was the disagreeable image of Cheryl's experience in Boston, which certainly had not been Evelyn's fault.
At the end of the set, Evelyn clapped enthusiastically, and Greg followed suit. Then Cheryl set her guitar aside and came to sit with them.
"Hi again," she said, putting one hand on Evelyn's shoulder and the other in Greg's outstretched palm.
"You were great," said Greg admiringly.
Cheryl blushed. Then, almost too significantly, she asked, "How are you two getting along?"
Evelyn and Greg looked at each other for the first time that evening with more than superficial glances. Evelyn made a very subtle sucking motion with her mouth, that might have been the habit of an occasionally pensive person-or might have been an invitation to sex. Greg didn't know which it was.
"Fine," he said, "although we haven't had too much chance to talk yet."
"You should," Cheryl said, her words once more suggesting far more than they said. Then, turning to Evelyn, "are you going to dance at Tony's?"
"I think so," she said. "He asked me to start tomorrow."
Already Greg was thinking that he would like to see this girl dance.
"And where are you staying tonight?" she asked.
"I don't know," Evelyn admitted. "I was hoping you'd have some room where you are."
"I suppose we could work something out," Cheryl said hesitantly. Greg's ears perked up. Was Cheryl going to suggest that Evelyn stay with him?
"What's the matter," said Evelyn, "is the place pretty crowded?"
"Kind of. The couple I'm staying with-they're old friends of mine from high school-have another couple visiting them, and there are already people sleeping in bags on the floor."
"I've got plenty of room," Greg said, wondering how it would sound. After all, Evelyn had come to make it with Cheryl. Maybe she wasn't interested in male companionship right now, especially that of a male with whom she might be in competition for Cheryl's favors.
Cheryl looked at Evelyn, and Evelyn looked back, a sort of wry look on her face that was impossible to fathom. y
"I've got an idea," said Greg. "Why don't we stick around a while, till you're done singing, and then we'll all go back to my place. There's plenty of room."
"That's a great idea," said Cheryl enthusiastically, as if that was exactly what she'd had in mind from the beginning. "Only you two can leave whenever you want. I haven't practiced too much lately, so Em sort of doing the same songs over and over in every set and hoping the same people don't stay around too long."
Greg and Evelyn exchanged glances. Greg decided he'd love to have the chance to get acquainted with Evelyn, especially if that's what Cheryl wanted.
"You mean you're going to sing the same songs we've already heard?" Greg asked.
"Mostly. The trouble is that if you stay, I'll feel as if I have to sing some that I don't remember too well."
Greg was convinced. He looked at Evelyn. "Want to head uptown?" He felt a little odd in asking her, but she didn't feel odd in accepting. It wasn't until they were opening the front door to his apartment that Greg began to realize that he and Evelyn were going to fuck.
They went through the usual preliminaries, which Evelyn seemed to laugh at while participating in them. As he poured them drinks, she went to his record collection and bent over from the waist to look at it, raising the rear of her short skirt up to reveal the same portion of bunched-up flesh at the bottom of her buttocks that had so turned Greg on in the subway earlier that night.
Greg decided that the time for subtleties was past-that Evelyn was the kind of girl who would like everything hard, dirty, and out front. When she sat, laughter in her eyes, almost taunting him with a full view of her crotch between her well-spread legs, he went over and, setting a drink down in front of her, stared at the triangle of white cloth.
"I can't quite see your cunt lips through your panties," he said.
Without a word Evelyn reached down and deftly shoved the panties aside. Then, as he watched, she ran her finger up the slit of the pussy. It came away glistening, and the slightly pouted red lips stayed, showing themselves already lubricated with a generous dose of cunt juice.
"Would you like to eat this?" she asked, pulling her skirt up so the access was better.
"Is it good to eat with scotch?" he asked, pointing to his drink and sitting down opposite her.
"I don't know," she said, "I never ate it ... with scotch."
Greg saw that she was trying to make sure that he knew the score, whether Cheryl had told him or not.
Well then," he said, making sure she understood that he'd understood, "I guess I'll just have to try it, and see what it's like, and tell you."
Seconds later he was on his knees in front of her, and she was gently parting the clinging lips of her cunt. He watched as the lips, sticky with lubrication, gradually peeled off one another like ... he tried to think of an image. He thought of rose petals being peeled off a rose, wet with dew. But the rose petals were too inanimate; they were not alive, they were simply there, like cloth or cellophane. And the dew was too crystal-clear, too pure. No, this was a hot, seething, human cunt; from this range, more like an animal organ, a part of a cow or even a pig or a dog, than like anything connected with the human image.
Greg thought of a piece of adhesive tape next. It was stickier, but it was too white, and it was tough. But the tape image stuck, and finally just the right image came. Evelyn's cunt reminded him of the wide brown tape that was used for sealing packages, the kind with caramel-colored glue on it that you have to wet. Looking at Evelyn opening her cunt for him reminded him of making a mistake in placing that brown paper tape, of pulling it up again, with that greasy, sliding feeling and the wet gooiness of the glue. He wetted his tongue and readied it for entry into Evelyn's nether regions.
By this time Evelyn's fingers had picked out her own clitoris, and they spread the lips from the rapidly swelling little stub.
Greg came closer with his mouth, his tongue now winding and snaking its way toward its delectable target with enthusiasm. First he touched the tip of his tongue to Evelyn's clit. He licked the tiny protuberance up and down, then played with it as his tongue probed the intricacies of its delicate structure. He felt it sprout, almost like a growing plant, to greater dimensions. Evelyn took her hands away and moved them to her breasts, where she teased her nipples erect and began to pinch them almost violently between her sharp, long finger nails.
"Oh, Greg, suck my clit," she began to moan. "Suck my fucking clit and tongue my cunt."
By this time Greg was alternating between growing vicious attacks on Evelyn's clit and penetrating adventures of his tongue deep into her vagina. Evelyn's legs were beginning to draw upward, till finally she was lying on her back with her knees clenched to her chest. With her in this position, Greg could lick the full distance of her crack. He now turned his attention to her asshole. His nostrils opened to take in the base, pungent odors that emanated from her entire crotch-odors of cunt and asshole and of sweat in general that made his rod grow straight and hard in his pants.
Greg inserted the very tip of his tongue into the pink flesh of Evelyn's asshole. He made little circles on the puckered skin until it was beginning to relax. As soon as he saw the wrinkled brown skin begin to become smooth, he pushed a little harder, straining the muscles of his tongue to break through into the opening itself. When he did, the feeling of his tongue encased in that tight, frictionless tube sent a small gush of sperm out the end of his prick, spreading and saturating a patch of his pants.
"Shit," said Greg, "I came in my pants."
"Oh hell," breathed Evelyn on her back, "let me lick it off your cock."
"Stay right there," he said. Then he pulled down his pants and stuck his ass in her face, creating a sixty-nine with Evelyn's legs-and his head-trailing off the side of the couch. As he continued to pry away at her asshole with his tongue, opening it up and massaging every bit of it with his tongue, he felt her fingers like a little animal pulling his cock out of his damp underwear and licking not only it but also parts of his underpants where the most sperm had collected.
"I didn't shoot it all," he said when he became aware that she really dug the taste of sperm. "You can suck the rest out if you want to."
Evelyn decided she wanted to, and set to work, now with his balls in her mouth, giving him a warm swishing feeling that seemed to suck all of him down into those hairy sacs, and now contorting herself to ram his heavy cock down her throat.
"Oh shit," he said, as a finger worked its way up the channel of his own asshole, "am I going to shoot a load in your mouth."
"Go ahead," she said with a mouthful of testicles. "Just tell me when you're going to come, so I don't lose any of it."
For another few minutes Greg was lost in the folds of Evelyn's pussy, or deep in the orifice of her asshole. Evelyn was split wide open, as though she had no middle, but only a soft and penetrable place-or actually places-where she parted between the legs. Greg smeared her outer cunt lips out over her thighs, and stared at the inner ones, which were speckled with brown. They reminded him of oysters: smoked oysters, in fact, in olive oil. He took them into his mouth and sucked them, feeling their texture on the end of his tongue and driving Evelyn-to swallow his cock even deeper.
Then Greg split the inner lips and looked at the hole of her vagina itself. It seemed to be a flower like, spongy sea of flesh, the entrance to which was defined by a thin membrane with a roughly circular opening. At times the opening led to space-space, he reminded himself, that could be taken up by a cock. In fact, there was room in there for a very large cock. At other times the back walls of Evelyn's vagina pressed up against the covering membrane in front, and made it seem as though there was no room in there. As much as Greg attempted to reach to the bottom of her vagina, to lick her cunt walls, with his tongue, he could not succeed. But, as he shoved his tiring tongue into her pussy again and again, and, in this position, crushed her clit against his chin, driving Evelyn to even greater heights of ecstasy, he knew that she would come. Suddenly he wanted to stick his whole head into her pussy. He wanted to open his eyes and see nothing; he wanted to feel the oozing of the thick secretions of Evelyn's cunt, which were now covering his face, all around his head. He had a picture of his head up her cunt. His hair would be slicked and matted down by cunt come, and his face would be covered with it. Evelyn would be going crazy, with his body proceeding from her pussy and trailing out on the floor, all alive with moving, writhing arms and legs, and shoving to get into her deeper. She would be humping up and down, back and forth, jerking and twitching and bashing his head into her again and again.
But he couldn't begin to get his head into her pussy-and anyhow, Evelyn was getting pretty excited as it was. The hairy, pungent opening of her slit creamed up and down on his face, which he now could barely hold in the face of her counterattack. He felt he was dealing with some animate thing, as he began to realize that the rhythm and the tension in it was leading toward a climax. He began to sit on Evelyn's face harder and harder, feeling with satisfaction the hard jerking of her hands on his cock and the regular penetration of her tongue into the opening of his asshole.
"Hurt me," Evelyn finally breathed, as her hips took to heaving in great wild swells like the ocean. "Bite my clit," she said, "bite it off!...."
Greg raked her vulnerable thighs with his fingernails, and then brought his teeth down hard on Evelyn's clit. As he did, he felt a shock go through her, almost electric in its proportions. She arched her back suddenly, bringing her up to his face with the force of a punch. He was ready for her, and bit once more at her clit, understanding now that pain was opening a path to her sexuality that would not have been open otherwise.
By this time the couch was creaking, and Greg and Evelyn had already spilled both their drinks, along with most of the rest of the contents of the coffee table, onto the floor in their extreme passion.
"Oh, fuck me with your tongue," Evelyn begged. "Bite the shit out of my fucking clit," she said through clenched teeth. "Bite the hell out of it, bite it the fuck off!...."
Greg attacked again with his teeth.
"That feels Good!" she almost screamed. Then her rapid "Oh, oh, oh!" told him she was coming.
Greg felt the salty taste of blood in his mouth, but its pungency and smell and-as he drew away for another attack-its redness, did not deter him. He knew it was what Evelyn had wanted, and it drove him to greater heights of frenzy. She grasped his cock firmly in her mouth, and let him literally fuck her fine pink lips clear to the bottom of her throat. As he thought of it afterward, the thrust of his cock down her throat must have choked and gagged her, but at the time she said nothing, and as his balls slapped her in the face, hitting her eyes and nose with their saliva-covered bags, she only swallowed him down deeper and pumped her own cunt harder.
Finally Greg felt something let go inside him, and the floodgates opened to let a tremendous load of sperm surge out of him and into Evelyn's throat. At the same time as the thick white semen jetted into her, its force carrying it practically into her stomach, he felt her cunt smashing up into his face with incredible brutality, squeezing a climax out of him that tore her stubby red clit back and forth and threatened to rip it out at the roots.
Suddenly they both collapsed, completely spent. Greg, unable to make his muscles work, slithered off Evelyn's slime-covered body and ended up in a heap on the floor. Evelyn, practically pinned to the couch by the repeated thrusts of Greg's cock, stayed where she was and passed out in a coma of satisfaction.
Several hours later the doorbell rang. Greg, swimming upward in a dazed sea of semi-consciousness, staggered to his feet and went to answer it. He wondered, as he opened the door, how long the bell had been ringing.
"Holy shit, are you a mess!" Cheryl's surprised voice, obviously still fresh and lively, cut across Greg's stupor like a knife. He began to come back to his senses. As he did, he looked at himself in a mirror in the hall. His hair was tousled, his face red, showing, in fact, a few vague traces of blood from Evelyn's pussy, and his clothes rumpled. His eyes were bleary.
"You're right," he said. Then, in a vague attempt at a joke, "We were playing spin-the-bottle."
"It looks like you got hit with the bottle," Cheryl came back. Then, seeing Evelyn's still-unconscious and completely ravaged form on the couch, "I see you started without me."
"I hope you don't mind," said Greg, still somewhat incoherent. "It just sort of happened."
"Like a hurricane just sort of happens," Cheryl laughed. "Is there anything left of her cunt?"
"It was just a hole to begin with," Greg told her. "How could I have taken anything away from it?"
"If I couldn't see how myself," she said, parting Evelyn's cunt lips gingerly and peering at the damage. "That would sound like a good question."
Cheryl was still wearing the same immaculate white pants and flowered-print see-through blouse.
"Mind if I take off my pants?" she asked. "I don't want to get them dirty."
"Fine with me," said Greg, remembering the calm, easy feeling of Cheryl sitting on the stool in the club where she sang, and beginning to believe that perhaps his battered organ would be able to revive itself for a long, slow fuck with her.
In a short time Cheryl had her pants off, and draped them neatly over a chair. "Do you mind if I jerk off?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said, in much the same tone he would have used if someone had asked, "Do you mind if I smoke?" He sat there fingering his limp rod. "If I can get it up again, I might arrange to fuck you."
"If you can't get it up watching me jerk off," she told him, "you haven't got a cock left." Her eyes focused on his fat hunk of meat, which protruded like a white hose from the sprouting forest of black pubic hairs in his crotch. Then she went over to a chair whose ornate arms had carved balls of wood protruding from it. Taking a chair arm between her legs and putting one knee on the chair seat, and the other leg outside the chair arm with the foot firmly on the floor, she began to slide herself up and down.
"This fucking thing will feel pretty good up my cunt," she said, at the same time watching her breasts dangle down till their nipples rubbed on the cloth back of the chair and began to inflate with excitement.
The head of Greg's mottled peter began to expand, and after a while, in its pulsing, uncertain rhythm of growing and shrinking, began to look like the shield of a charging rhinoceros. In fact, all it was missing was the horn-or horns, Greg's memory giving out on him as to the exact number of horns on such animals-in order to be a truly terrifying jungle beast.
"You seem to be making a comeback," Cheryl observed.
At about this time, Evelyn began to stir.
"How would you like to stick that up my ass," Cheryl suggested, "while I keep on jerking off like this?"
"If I can walk far enough to get over there, I'll be glad to," Greg said. In a few seconds, lured by the churning of Cheryl's now rapidly moving buttocks, and by the sight of the ball of wood on the chair arm wrenching back and forth in her pussy, he managed to haul himself over to a position from which he could attack the moving target of Cheryl's ass hole. After several tries he managed to insert his cock into it and he was just beginning to smear the pussy juice from her now sloppy wet cunt up onto her asshole to make the going easier when Evelyn woke up.
"Wow," she said, easily as stupefied as Greg had been when he'd first awakened. But it took her less time to recover, and in a moment she had joined them and was lubricating the cock-to-ass connection with generous doses of her own saliva. It did not take long for Cheryl to determine that she would rather work out on Evelyn's face than on the solid wood of the chair, and in a moment she was lying on top of Evelyn on the floor, with Greg's organ still stuffing her asshole to capacity, grinding away on Evelyn.
Greg reached around and grabbed her tits. At first he massaged them in a slow rhythm that tried to turn down the tempo of the action. Greg, still a little bit behind Cheryl's rapid changes of character, was attempting the long, lazy fuck that he had envisioned after beholding Cheryl's performance in the coffee house. But Cheryl had brought herself up to Evelyn's frenzied pitch, and as Greg became fully alive, as he felt the juices start to flow again, he began to pinch her nipples and wrench her tits back and forth, exciting Cheryl to utter little cries of encouragement as her passion built.
Underneath them both, Evelyn's heaving breasts and ever-working tongue moved faster and faster. Occasionally, by peering past Cheryl's shoulder and down, Greg could catch a glimpse of the extended tongue as it dove into the mire of Cheryl's cunt lips and then pulled rapidly out for the next attack. It reminded him of the tongue of a snake as it darted back and forth. After a while, as Greg maintained his position and gazed intently at it, it seemed to take on the regularity of a machine, and he envisioned it as a drill press or a leather punch. Or perhaps a riveting gun.
After a while Greg began to realize that he could feel Evelyn's tongue through the thin membrane that separated Cheryl's vagina from her rectum. Evelyn was licking his cock down there, through the membrane! He could feel her tongue running up and down the back wall of Cheryl's vagina, traveling the length of his cock. As he looked at her, he could see she was doing it purposely, and at the same time her chin was grinding away at Cheryl's clit.
Suddenly everything exploded. Incredible as it seemed, it was Evelyn who went off first. Although she could not even touch her cunt, painfully damaged as it was after her earlier bout with Greg, she seemed to blow up in a churning orgasm that shook her whole body. Greg could tell she had been hungry for sex, hungry for Cheryl's cunt, and that the final attainment of her desire to possess and enter the soft, willing flesh of her friend's vagina had driven her wild, out of control. Now she thrashed around on the floor, her long, slim legs flailing back and forth, and moaned into the depths of the cavern whose insides she still chewed on passionately.
On top of her, Cheryl instantly picked up Evelyn's orgasm. Like a conductor of electricity, she took the charge into herself and magnified it, till her squatting form nearly mashed Evelyn into the floor, and her swinging, hard-driving pelvis threatened to tear Greg's cock out of her asshole. He fought to keep it in, holding her tits hard with his hands for balance and keeping his pelvis up against the cheeks of her ass.
Finally Cheryl came too, moaning in a long series of convulsive gasps that echoed through the otherwise still apartment. "Ob, fuck, oh suck me!" she cried. "Oh shit, I'm coming! Fuck my ass hard, Greg, I'm coming! . .
The tension in her voice split into a loud, ear-piercing screech as the final stages of her orgasm opened her cunt so wide that half of Evelyn's face disappeared into it. Suddenly Greg found his cock pounding down on Evelyn through Cheryl's body, and the combined force of the violent clenchings of Cheryl's asshole, plus the thought that Evelyn's mouth was down there somewhere, and that he was still feeling her tongue through Cheryl, tore a spurt of come out of his balls that shot in a stream up Cheryl's rectum.
"Oh, up my ass," Cheryl yelled, as she felt the come plugging her up and heating her insides, making Greg's cock squish in its own goo. "Wow!" she exulted, as he shot another load into her. She raised her buttocks off Evelyn's face for a moment, jamming it back onto Greg's cock to get the full benefit of his twitching organ as it carried him along, full of , its own desires now, deeper and deeper into her. Then, in one final motion, she descended again on Evelyn's face. At the end, she collapsed forward, tearing Greg's cock out of her asshole and trailing a stream of semen as thick as paste across Evelyn's gasping face. The three of them lay there in a huge stew of limbs, panting and moaning. From outside, a faraway siren echoed.
"Wow," said Greg, at a loss both for words and for the energy to speak them. He slid sideways off of Cheryl's prostrate form and rolled a few feet on the rug. Its thick pile comforted him, and he fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning, after a full night of tossing among a pile of naked limbs that had, with the greatest difficulty, been moved to his bed sometime in the middle of the night, Greg was startled to wake up alone. At first, remembering the ephemeral image of Cheryl on the stool in the coffee house, and the too-perfect beauty of Evelyn in the bar, he was tempted to think it had all been a dream. And the temptation grew when, casting about his room, he could see absolutely-no sign that anyone but him had ever been there. Gradually the unreality of the last few weeks began to take over his mind. For the first time in many years, he was out of work, and his empty days gave him an eerie, undirected feeling. He began to wonder whether he should look for another job. His last one had been as an assistant editor for a sports car magazine. Before that he'd done newspaper reporting. He could go back to that.
Then he became puzzled. Why had Evelyn and Cheryl left so early? He looked at the clock. Ten thirty. Well, not so early. But early enough for two girls who worked at night.
For a moment Greg had a weird premonition that he would never see Cheryl again. He intuitively felt that the bond between Cheryl and Evelyn was very strong, and as successful as their menage-a-trois had been the night before, he wondered whether it had been another of Cheryl's experiments. But somehow he couldn't see her as a straight Lesbian, shacking up with Evelyn every night, never having a good cock to get up her pussy. At length he decided not to worry about it. He would stop by the bar of the coffee house in a day or two and see what happened.
Greg was suddenly struck by an urge to get out of town. The summer was coming rapidly, and the heat and humidity were becoming oppressive. It was Sunday morning. He decided to go to the beach. A couple of hours later he parked his car in one of the mammoth parking lots at Jones Beach and wandered across the vast expanse of lined black top to where a tunnel led under a road. When he reached the boardwalk, he sat on a bench looking out at the calm ocean breaking gently on the pure white sand. Things seemed simple once more.
He spent the day walking up and down. He talked to fishermen, and examined horse shoe crabs and sea robins and even a few striped bass. He played a round of miniature golf, and then some shuffleboard. He went into the restaurant toward evening and had a lobster. It was extravagant, but as he picked the pure white meat out of the scarlet shell and' dipped it into the drawn butter, he felt it was worth it.
After supper, feeling somewhat poverty stricken after his day of indulgence, he considered whether to go home. But the wind was still coming in strong over the water, and now young couples were spreading blankets on the beach. Floodlights came on as the sun began to do down, and for the first time Greg really began to notice the constant flow of females in hot pants, in bathing suits, and in short skirts, that promenaded up and down the weathered-wood platform. The beach was dark, but the light from a ball field, and from the amusement areas, and from the boardwalk itself, crept out a short distance onto the rapidly blackening sand.
For the first time all day, even Greg's unconscious memories of Cheryl-it was really because of her that he had come here, because of his search for something calm and natural and rhythmic to correspond to his more innocent images of her-began to fade, and he started to hear and see and feel in the present. He no longer wondered why she and Evelyn had left, or what they had done. Sufficient unto the day were the women thereof, and he decided to look around. He was sexually satiated; he didn't believe he could fuck if he were paid for it. But still, his eyes were trained to go in certain directions....
A mane of blonde hair swished past, veiling a tanned back. It occurred to Greg that it was too early in the season for anyone to have got a tan like that on Long Island, and images of Bermuda, Puerto Rico, Nassau, even the Riviera or Portugal, flashed into his mind.
In several moments Greg's imagination had transformed the boardwalk from a neutral gray-brown area crowded with hurrying forms to a gallery of sexy models showing off their figures for him. In quick succession his eye caught a girl-rather heavy, but with well-shaped legs-bending over in a short skirt to pick up a pocket book and revealing the pouch of her underpants that contained the full mass of her cunt; a middle-aged lady, quite beautiful and with an exquisitely lean, tanned figure, bending over in a loose bikini that revealed the hard, perfectly shaped forms of her smallish breasts down to the nipples; a young girl-perhaps sixteen-sitting indelicately on a step, legs spread, revealing the pouting lips of her tender young cunt as they pressed outward against the sheer material of her panties.
Greg was becoming hot and bothered. He decided to walk down by the water and cool off.
He had taken perhaps thirty steps over the sand when he realized that he had not left the sex-he had entered it. All around him, in the darkness that by this time had fallen in earnest, the beach was littered with what looked like great cloth blobs, contorting in all kinds of insane ways. He tried at first not to stare, but finally his hominess got the best of him, and he simply wandered among the beach-blankets like a person lost in a supermarket, trying to guess-and at times not having to use his imagination much-at exactly what the various motions under the blankets meant.
At first most of the things he saw were simply kissing, or petting. Occasionally a blanket would come loose and flop, and he would see a form, male or female, usually partly clothed, grasp it and pull it back. More than once the couple had their heads out in the open, with only their bodies concealed. There were even a few couples without blankets, but they confined themselves on the whole to necking and looking up at the star-studded sky.
Greg was grateful for the slightly freshened wind, which whispered gently across the sand, and for the increasingly noisy waves that washed up again and again, creating a blanket of sound to cover his own secret meanderings. In a way he felt like an invisible man, wandering among all these ostrich-like events, as though among a hundred private bedrooms.
He had been wandering for quite a while, and he had seen a few cases where the blankets bounced rapidly up and down in tiny isolated places, which meant that a woman was jerking a man off, or where the blankets bobbed up and down more slowly, moved by larger masses, which meant a blow job. The farther he got away from the main boardwalk, and the deeper the darkness got, the more bizarre the configurations became. Now he saw an obvious fingerfuck, in which a somewhat tight-fitting blanket showed the contours of the man's hand disappearing into the V of the woman's well-spread legs quite clearly. Almost involuntarily Greg's own hand went to his crotch, and he stroked his cock through the cloth of his pants. Somehow the sea breeze, which whipped through his shirt and threatened to impart the slightest chill to his now-tense body, roused him to excitement. It made his skin tingle, and made him feel free and relaxed and close to nature.
After a while Greg saw the female form heave violently. She was coming to a climax. Greg wanted to come with her, but, looking around, he decided it was too risky. If he wanted to do that, he'd have to go even farther out, to the edges of the cluster of blankets, to where there were almost no people and almost no lights.
It was fifteen minutes before Greg, feeling at once like an Indian scout and a dirty old man, came upon what he wanted. About fifty feet away from the nearest other couple was a blanket that was moving very slowly. As he approached it the first time Greg heard the pop of a beer can opening, and then the accents of a low, sexy female voice, followed by the husky tones of masculine laughter. He backed off for a while, till his eyes became more accustomed to the pitch black that the moonless night made out here where the floodlights of the boardwalk could not penetrate. As his vision started to come to him, he made out two heads protruding from beneath the blanket. He sat down to wait.
Five minutes later a beer can skidded on the dry sand, and the blanket flopped over the heads. Now Greg, being as quiet as he could, moved in.
At first he stayed about thirty feet away, standing up so that if they popped their heads out of the blanket he could pretend he was just walking by-and also so he could get a better view, a bird's eye shot from the top.
The session started slowly, with the twin lumps under the blanket intertwining till they became one, and rolling and heaving slightly. After a while they separated, and, as Greg backed off a bit, there were knees and elbows poking upward, going through the clumsy motions of undressing under the covering.
After this activity ceased, Greg sat down, and then finally lay down, and crawled closer. Finally, when he was about fifteen feet away, he could hear the voices under the blanket distinctly, and he stopped.
The female voice was already whining like a cat in heat, and Greg could clearly see from the way the figures were positioned that she was being fingered. He tried to guess how many fingers the guy had up her when, as though he had asked aloud, the girl told him. "Give me four fingers, Jake," she said.
"Four?" the voice under the blanket echoed. "You sure you can take that many?" The question was as much a challenge as anything else.
"If I can't take four fingers, what the hell am I going to do with that big cock of yours?" the girl asked.
"That's a hell of a good question," came the reply, and then there was silence, except for the struggling under the blanket to make connections. When at last the four fingers were inserted in the vagina, the man spoke up.
"You have a bigger cunt than I thought you had," he said.
"With the size of your cock, it better be big," said the girl.
"Hey, Doris baby," said the man back, "how'd you like to jerk on my prick for a while?"
"All right," she agreed. Then Greg was treated to a double set of actions, as the arms crossed over and Jake continued to shove into Doris's cunt while Doris played with Jake's dork.
The silhouette of the male organ that Greg saw was evidently of a cock as big as the conversation had led him to believe. When Doris's tiny fist was on the down-stroke, the cloth of the blanket still stuck up as though supported by a barber's pole.
"Shit, you are so huge," Doris breathed, half in admiration and half in fear. "You should have been a god damned horse."
"I think you're right," he said. "I actually fucked a mare once."
"All right," she said, "as long as you don't tell any stories like that any more."
After that Jake was silent. But Greg believed it was mostly because he valued the extremely passionate attentions of his present companion over the abstract truth of whether he had or had not in fact had intercourse with a horse. From the tone of his voice, as well as from the evidently mammoth size of his organ, Greg fully believed he had.
It was getting to be time for the main event. Greg seldom fucked a pussy without eating it, and he was surprised to see that his compatriot under the blanket did not share his preference. Jake knew what he was doing, though, Greg could see that. Just before the fuck began he wetted his finger with his tongue and dove it down to Doris's crotch, smearing the saliva into her cunt. Then he drove his hand deep into her once more, drawing up all the juices still hidden in the deep recesses of her womanhood and smearing them up and out to facilitate the entrance of his now-ready weapon.
It was obviously the first time Jake had ever fucked Doris. With a slight tremor; Greg wondered whether it was the first time Doris had ever been fucked. Her voice, in contrast to Jake's, sounded young in age, although old in sophistication, and Greg, who by this time had pulled his own cock out, mulled over the possibility that she could be a virgin.
Suddenly Doris's knees spread the cloth of the blanket out, and Jake's back rose to make a tent out of it as he straddled her. It was extremely strange for Greg to watch all this in such a veiled manner, but somehow it made it even more sensual than it possibly could have been had he simply seen it enacted on some well-lighted bed, say during the making of a stag movie. The very daring of the people who came down here to the sand, to fuck in a public place, was enough to excite him. When he thought of the little children and fat mommas who undoubtedly played over the same stretch of beach in the daytime, he nearly laughed. He wondered whether the humping bodies would leave an impression in the sand, like snow angels made by little children in the winter. He wondered, if they would leave such an impression, whether someone at the beach had the job of coming around early in the morning and raking away all the sand fuckers so that the little children could replace them with sand castles without having to ask their mothers what those weird-looking excavations were supposed to be.
Jake's cock was starting to ease into Doris's invisible pussy. Greg could tell, as he sat pulling his organ to bring himself up to the brink of a climax, where he intended to stay until Jake shot his wad, that Jake had pulled down his pants but not taken them off, by the jingling of his belt buckle that rang with a small, tinny sound through the night.
Doris began to groan. "Jake," she said, "It's too big. I can't take it."
"You can take it," said Jake's half gentle, half insistent voice. "If you could take four fingers, you can take my cock. You just have to relax."
"But I can't relax," she protested. "It's just going to hurt. I'm afraid."
By this time Greg was feeling just as he imagined Jake to be feeling-anxious not to hurt Doris, but impatient to get into the slick, vibrant confines of her pussy.
"Look," Jake said, "just grab it like this," he guided his cock into her hands, "and rub it a little. Then fit it into yourself."
"Don't push," she begged, alarmed.
"I won't," he said. Greg felt the immense restraint necessary to hold that charged-up cock right at the opening of that tight little cunt without plunging it home like a dagger.
"That feels ... good," she said, as Jake began to jiggle a little bit. Greg imagined that the head of his cock was poised at the opening to her cunt, stimulating the clit that waited there anxiously for attention. To Greg it was like an ocean liner nestling up to a flower that grew out of the dockside: temporarily the contact might be nice, but ultimately the ship could do nothing but crush the delicate little tissue.
"Now push it in further," Jake said, still patient but with a note of desperation in his voice that was beginning to grow.
Doris tried. But somehow, she just couldn't get it past the opening. He wondered whether there was a hymen. If she was a virgin, there could be. But if she'd taken four fingers up her pussy? Impossible. Still, something was holding up progress.
Jake tried a new tack. He fingered her tits with his hands, and stuck his tongue into her ear. She began to squirm. She was turned on. She was relaxing slightly.
A split second before Jake did it, Greg knew what he was going to do. There was just time for Greg to grip his own cock hard and wrench it violently before Jake started to ease up just slightly, muttered a few relaxed words that seemed by their tone to indicate that he was giving up for the time being, and then slammed the enormous length of his battering-ram cock unmercifully down on Doris's tender flesh.
Doris screamed; a piercing scream that could be heard, Greg imagined, for many hundreds of yards. But her scream was more from surprise, and from the idea of what had happened, than from the actual pain involved. Greg did not doubt that it had hurt; it sounded to him like Jake had busted a hymen. It was no big thing if done expertly, and Jake, in letting Doris relax slightly after having prepared her laboriously, had used a somewhat underhanded but seemingly effective method. Now, as the echoes of the scream died away, Greg crawled backward rapidly. Surely Jake would poke his head out of the blanket to see whether the noise had brought anyone....
Greg was scuttling backward so rapidly-he reminded himself of a frightened crab-that he ran straight over the man who had been lurking in the shadows just behind him. The contact astonished Greg, whose cock was still flopping in the breeze, and he barely managed to avoid letting out a scream.
"Holy shit," he whispered. Then, embarrassed at having been caught peeping, he was tempted to run-till he realized that whoever he'd run into had been peeping too, or perhaps even peeping at him while he peeped at Jake and Doris.
His first reaction was to look briefly back at the blanket, where Jake's head was beginning to emerge. His second reaction was to look at the person with whom he was completely entangled. As he reached his hand out to try and steady himself, it came up against soft flesh. A cock. The other guy had had his cock out too.
Jake's head was out of the blanket now, and he was looking around. Seconds later he had seen Greg and ... whoever Greg had run into.
"What the fuck?" he exclaimed. He had been expecting to see someone coming toward him on the beach, drawn by Doris's yell. Instead, he could barely make out the forms of two figures who had obviously been there for some time ... with their cocks hanging out!
Jake had not yet pulled out of Doris, and was somewhat reluctant to give up his hard-won position in the confines of her pussy. All the same, he wanted to know what the hell Greg and the slender, tanned, thirty-five ... ish ... man with whom he was entangled were doing watching him and his girl friend.
"What the fuck are you guys doing?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
From under him, Doris's whisper came: "Jake, who's out there?"
"No one, honey," he said, "just a couple of guys who were watching us. Looks like there was a jerking-off party too."
Doris was silent.
"Well," said Jake, as though he expected a full explanation. "Did you guys come together, or did you just happen to meet while watching us make it?"
Greg was taken aback by the question. There was sarcasm in it, but it was not the angry kind of sarcasm he would have expected. He felt very foolish.
A voice from somewhere above him spoke. He was still sitting in a disorganized pile on the sand. "He just ran into me," the man said, "trying to get away when the girl screamed."
"And where were you?" Jake demanded, looking somewhat ridiculous as he propped himself on his elbows and carried on the inquisition. Greg wondered briefly why he and the stranger didn't just split. Then he realized it was because Jake was not pissed off, Jake still had his cock in Doris's snatch, and they still wanted to see the thing consummated.
"I was standing in back of him," the man said. "Jerking off."
"Were you looking at us fuck too, or were you looking at him jerk off?"
"At him," the man said truthfully.
"Oh, so you're a queer, eh?"
"Homosexual," the man corrected.
Jake seemed inclined to reflect on this-very briefly. "Yeah," he said, "I shouldn't be too hard on it. After all, there were a coupla times when I was in the service...."
"Everyone has some homosexuality in him," the man said, managing somehow not to sound as completely absurd as he should have while giving a dissertation on a complex psychological phenomenon to a man who had his cock up his girl friend's cunt, not to mention the fact that his own cock had not yet been returned to its proper place, and hung, drooping now, from his fly like a flag on a windless day.
"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to discuss it now," Jake said. "But since you fellows are around, you can keep guard for us. I'm tired of having this fucking blanket over the whole thing. If anyone else comes, let us know. Meanwhile, you can watch and jerk off to your heart's content." With this he threw the blanket away with something of a grand gesture, and turned back to the fuck at hand.
"My name is Arnold," said the homosexual to Greg.
"My name could be the man in the moon," Greg replied, "for all the weird shit that's going on around here. But it isn't. It's Greg."
By this time Greg's eyes had wandered to where Jake and Doris, now lying exposed on the white sand, were fucking away. Doris's legs were pointed up into the air, lit only by the very dimmest of light from the boardwalk, and by the starlight that filtered in from millions of miles away. At the V of her crotch, Jake's monstrous organ was stuffed into her. It seemed out of all proportion to her slight figure. Her slim, almost skinny ass seemed barely enough to hold her up, and unlike the asses of most women who were being fucked-or simply sitting down, for that matter-it did not spread out. There was almost nothing to spread. It just dug into the sand, twin buttocks like hard round spheres which would not give an inch. Greg imagined the sand working up into her asshole as its cool grains were pressed and shifted by her weight, and by the weight of Jake on top of her.
Greg, taking his new job as watchman seriously, looked up and down the beach. There was no one in sight.
Then Arnold came up to him. "I have a lot of money," Arnold said simply. "I would give you twenty dollars if you let me blow you while you watch them fuck."
Ordinarily Greg would have declined the offer. But he was so turned on, and the whole night was so bizarre, that he never even thought of it. Perhaps it had been the liberalizing influence of the night before, and of watching Evelyn eat Cheryl out, but at any rate, he said, "Sold." In a second the money-which he would not have taken, except that Arnold had admitted that he had it to spare, and Greg really needed it after his extravagant day-was in his pocket, and his cock was in Arnold's mouth.
"Try to hold off as long as you can," Arnold instructed him, letting his cock, already dripping with saliva, fall from his mouth for a moment. "Tell me if you're close and I don't seem to know it. Then I'll stop."
Proceeding then and there, Arnold gave Greg the most fantastic blow job he'd ever had. Greg moved up very near to Jake and Doris, to the point where he could see and hear Jake's organ surging into Doris's tight-lipped little cunt and then drawing out again for another attack. With Doris's legs straight up in the air, the reddish spot of her asshole was like a moving target, a bull's eye that gyrated and opened and closed with the muscles that she used to control her cunt.
"Stop a minute," Greg instructed Arnold after a very short time.
"That fucking really gets you," Arnold observed, in between licking his balls and tonguing his asshole.
"It sure as hell does," Greg admitted. "Doesn't it get you?"
"Sometimes," Arnold told him. "I used to think of myself as bisexual, and I still occasionally try sex with women, but it never seems to work out." With this Arnold went back down on him, and the discussion ended, because after that Arnold had him figured out, and every time he would near a climax Arnold would stop automatically and take to licking his balls or his asshole again. The roughness of his tongue felt good on Greg's balls, and Arnold really knew how to ream out an asshole. In fact, his firm, masculine tongue was in many ways better than the softer, less definite feminine tongues that Greg had had up his ass before.
By this time Jake was nearing a climax, and he was starting to grunt. In order to help Doris come he had put his finger on her clit, but he had been too rough, and, getting the idea, she had replaced his with her own, so that she was now fucking and masturbating all at once.
Suddenly, almost without warning, Jake gave a tremendous grunt and shot into Doris. There was no room for the immense amount of come stored up in those balls to go, and so it squirted back out around the sides of his cock, spreading little droplets of white everywhere.
Arnold sensed that something was happening to the show behind him, and at once, with a few deep-swallowing pulls on Greg's cock, brought him to a soaring climax that was exhilarating beyond anything Greg could have imagined. Greg, unprepared for the intensity of the experience, nearly fell as his loins pumped furiously into Arnold's face. But Arnold, holding onto his buttocks with both hands-and in fact, Greg now noticed, massaging his asshole with a little finger-steadied him, and, like a complete professional, directed his sperm into the waiting cheeks, which absorbed it happily and swallowed it in great gobs.
After he had finished with Greg, Arnold proceeded to stick his tongue into the now-dormant junction between Jake and Doris, and lick up the cream that had dribbled, and was still dribbling, out of Doris's pussy.
Minutes later, when the final daze of all that had happened had worn off, Jake rolled over. Doris, who to Greg's surprise was not at all embarrassed about having fucked in public, rolled over onto her stomach for a moment, presenting them with a fine view of her ass. Seeing that Greg was staring at it, she spread the cheeks for him to give him another angle of her hole. Greg fingered his cock, and she fingered her asshole. Then she rolled over onto her back and sat up.
"I'm Doris," she said, her delicate little tits waving in the darkness. Greg could tell that although the tits were small, the nipples were large, and still erect. She fingered them also.
"You want a beer?" Jake asked them. Greg accepted. Arnold, sitting taciturnly to the side, declined. Jake handed Greg a beer, and then Doris. "Nice pussy she's got, huh?" he asked. Then, to give them a better look at it, he reached over and somewhat roughly parted the lips.
"Motherfucker," Greg breathed, "I'm going to shoot again in about two minutes!"
"Like pussy, eh?" Jake asked.-It was a question that required no answer. "I saw you admiring her asshole, too. Show him your asshole again, Doris."
Obediently, Greg would even have said enthusiastically, Doris flopped over and then came up on all fours, till her ass was sticking straight out.
"Relax," Jake told her. She did, and her asshole fell open, revealing a dark cavern entered by a very narrow little opening.
"I've been getting some fingers up that asshole," he said, "because I want to fuck it. But I figured first things first. Believe it or not, Doris is only eighteen-just turned eighteen-and she's never been fucked. That was her hymen I broke before, which was why she screamed like that."
All this discussion was carried on while Doris remained on all fours, ass presented to Greg, and he was getting it up again. His cock stirred, and then, as Jake slipped a finger into the willing sphincter to illustrate a point, it jumped to life.
"You know something," Greg said, wanting to get Arnold into the discussion somehow, "Arnold here gives incredible blow jobs. It was the greatest I've ever had."
Jake had a quick mind, and he got an idea. "Hey," he said to Greg. "Let me see your cock." Greg removed his hands from his organ to give Jake a dear view.
"Just about the right size," he mused. "It's pretty damned big, but not as big as mine. I couldn't get my fucking cock up Doris's asshole if I tried. But you could get yours up there. How'd you like to fuck her in the ass, while Arnold here blows me?
"Terrific," Greg said.
"Okay, let's go," Jake enthused, much the same way he might have said it if a group of his friends had agreed to go to a baseball game with him. "Only you'll have to tongue her open a little bit, because she's a little tight."
It took no time at all for Greg to work his tongue into the rather large opening of Doris's asshole, and get it open way up: far, enough, he felt, to get a cock in. So, while he mounted Doris from the back, like a dog, and directed his peter into her asshole, Arnold went down on Jake.
The greatest surprise of the evening, bar none, occurred when Arnold swallowed every inch of Jake's absolutely enormous peter on the first gulp. When he did, Jake let out a satisfied and astonished groan that got Greg and Doris off to an enthusiastic start. Greg, with one hand around Doris on her tit and the other groping around in the hairs of her vacant pussy for the clit that rose in its excitement to meet him, started pumping ever-harder, and in a moment was riding like a cowboy on a stubborn mule, trying to get it to gallop or at least trot. But Doris, who was in a position that made movement very difficult, could only wiggle her ass a little bit, and keep it open, while she took deep breaths of tense passion as Greg fingered her clit.
It did not take long for Greg to come. Watching the tight circle of Doris's anus gripping his cock like a rubber band, and seeing his cock pulling the flesh of it in and out, drawing out the delicate lining of her rectum and then plunging it back in again until half the skin of her rear end was up her delicious little crack, hearing her grunt and whimper in tune with the waves that broke behind them, he felt his organ reaching the end of her rectal cavity and bumping into something hard and solid. This was all he needed, and the come spurted out of him. As it did, he gave a yelp. All during the fuck he'd been saying, "Shit, do you have a nice asshole. Do you like to get fucked in your asshole? Can you feel my cock getting up there?"
"I can feel it in my throat," Doris had said once. And once she had requested, "wiggle it sideways, Greg, so I can feel it all around the outside."
Now, as he shot into her, he yelled, "Whoopee!" just as if he'd broken a wild stallion.
Greg came seconds before Doris did, and as the last twitchings of his penis died away in her ass he quickly yanked it out and plunged it into the already open and slimy folds of her cunt. Surprised, and ready to have a climax herself because of the intensive stimulation that she'd given to her clit-in which Greg had ended up alternating when she got tired of fingering herself-she reacted to the intrusion into her cunt with an instant orgasm that shook her from end to end. Her knees collapsed under her, and she fell to her stomach, yanking Greg down on top of her in a move that he thought would break his still-erect organ off at the base. But Greg stayed on his mount and the added stimulation that the fall had given to Doris' seething insides caused tremor after tremor to run down her body, till Greg thought that there was an earthquake in the sand, and he'd got his cock stuck in the top of a volcano. The boiling juices of Doris's cunt ran down his legs like lava, and the skinny ass bones he had so confidently parted with his organ not long before were now like great boulders in his flesh as they heaved and shook.
It was not long before Doris was still. Behind them, Jake was in the throes of his own climax, and Arnold was desperately trying to swallow his balls-which looked to Greg to be about the size of apples or peaches-along with the incredible dork that now lined his throat from top to bottom.
As Arnold's head bobbed up and down on Jake's cock, Greg lay with one of Doris's tits in his mouth, and was surprised to feel that the nipples, even after all Doris had gone through with her deflowering and then with her ass-fucking, could still make themselves hard and stubby. As Jake looked over and saw the naked forms of Greg and Doris on the sand, he began to throb and quiver, and Greg could tell he was on the verge of a monstrous orgasm. To facilitate matters, he grabbed Doris's leg and pulled it up, exposing the whole destroyed area of her crotch, which by this time was covered in the slime and semen that seeped out of her cunt and asshole simultaneously. The sight of such a wide-open cunt and such an enormously stretched asshole gave Jake all he needed to fire his weapon.
The force of Jake's ejaculation nearly knocked Arnold over, but he hung on bravely, determined to cling like a bulldog to the cock that was feeding him so much delicious come. His Adam's apple worked furiously as he wallowed in the waves of semen and swallowed them time after time. When Jake was finally done, Arnold relinquished the shaft of his purple-brown peter and licked up his legs and around his balls and up his hairy ass, determined not to miss anything.
When he was completely spent, Jake lay in the sand for a moment, and then, turning to the cooler that lay not far away, procured four beers. Greg accepted one gratefully. The cold foamy taste, chilly with a slight bitterness, edged its way down his throat, reviving him and making him aware of the rest of the night that hung like a shade or a curtain around them.
Greg glanced up at the stars, and for the first time that night, thought of Cheryl and Evelyn. He wished they'd been there. Not that it hadn't been an incredible-as well as a very weird-experience. But they would have added something to it. But then, as he stared at the horizon over the ocean and as his eye caught the dim lights of a boat-it must have been a fairly large ship, he told himself-that hung like orange lanterns just above the black of the water, he remembered the "other Cheryl," the Cheryl of the coffee house, and it occurred to him that while the go-go girl would have fit into this group perfectly, the pensive, folk-song-singing Cheryl might not have. And it was that one-now that he had thoroughly possessed the go-go girl's hard-driving, wrenching sex-that he was eager to get to.
His dream of a quiet day by a silently flowing river came back to him.
Out beyond where they lay, completely naked as they had become in the course of events, the sand dropped off slightly to where the ocean came rolling in. Suddenly Jake jumped up, shaking his beer in the process and causing a spurt of foam to well up and splatter on the sand. Its whiteness disappearing in a barely audible fizz of bursting bubbles was exactly like the sea foam that crept up the beach and hissed as it disappeared into the sand.
"Let's go for a swim," said Jake, and he proceeded to lead the way down to the water, his immense rod hanging down between his legs and dangling toward the sand, slapping his thighs now and then and making small noises.
"Great," echoed Greg. "Just what we need to cool off after all that hard fucking."
Doris was close behind them when Greg followed Jake's running, leaping form into the waves. She entered the water more conservatively, however, first testing its temperature with her toe. Greg surfaced twenty or thirty feet out, feeling the unfamiliar taste of the brine on his tongue and treading water easily.
"It's cold as hell," Doris complained, the hairs of her pussy silhouetted against the gray sand behind her as she put a toe forward to try the water again.
"It's chilly, but it's great," roared Jake behind him. "Come on in!"
It was at that point that Greg realized that Arnold was not with them. "Hey," he said in a somewhat surprised tone, "we lost our fourth!"
Jake was not surprised. "Where'd he go?" he asked, and then, "I guess he was a little timid."
"Too bad," said Greg between deep breaths. "He seemed to be a nice buy."
"And he gave a hell of a blow job," exclaimed Jake, blowing like a great white whale.
By this time Doris had edged her way in till she was wet up to her crotch, and the water was welling up and swishing around the tissues of her pussy and her asshole. Greg wondered whether she was cut or ripped somewhere, and then remembered the hymen. "Better watch out, Doris," he warned. "Your anatomy's been changed a little bit tonight, and the salt water can sting on an open wound."
"I guess you're right," she said, backing off a little bit. "The water hadn't quite got up there yet. That's too bad," she said mournfully, "because I was just getting ready to come in. I was just getting used to the water."
Greg was still wondering what had happened to Arnold when Doris changed her mind and launched herself out into an oncoming wave with a graceful noiseless dive. She came up, as Greg had expected, clutching her pussy. "Shit," she swore. "That (does sting."
"It'll go away in a minute or two," Greg assured her.
Greg floated on his back on the magical waves. Out of the comer of his eye the white surf pushed its way up onto the beach and then fell back. When the wind shifted, and when his ears rose up out of the water, he could occasionally catch strains of band music from the boardwalk. He remembered the band-shell set back in the dimes, and wondered who was playing there.
His thought returned to Arnold. Had he fled the beach, overcome by shame after his sexual desires had been filled, to drive back to the city alone and sit in his room wondering why he had been born-or made-homosexual? Had he wandered back up to the boardwalk satisfied and happy, but no longer interested in the people who had at least given him a chance to feel that way?
Or perhaps he was even now prowling restlessly among the still-immense herd of bobbing blankets, looking for new people to blow, or new orgies to watch.
Greg heard Jake and Doris getting out of the water. He floated there for a minute longer, with the entire ocean to himself. Many images mixed and mingled in his mind. The ocean was like Arnold's mouth on his cock, swirling around his whole body, caressing him expertly, relaxing him. It was like Doris's asshole, like Cheryl's cunt, like Evelyn's cunt. And then there was the foam that spread out on the beach and rapidly dried.
After a few minutes he paddled in to shore and waded up in the wet sand, amazed again, as he was always, at how the receding waves tore the sand out from under his feet and buried them in a hollow. On the beach, Jake and Doris were dressing in a leisurely manner, and Jake was opening another can of beer. Greg knew that it must be about midnight now. Time to pack up and go home.
CHAPTER SIX
During his leisurely drive back from the beach that night, Greg reflected on the events that had taken place. Fingering a small scrap of paper with Jake's phone number on one side and Doris' on the other, he wondered how the hell he'd managed to tie into such a group of swingers. None of them had seen Arnold after their short swim, and his disappearance remained a mystery ... until, emptying his pockets onto his dresser in his apartment, Greg found a crumpled-up twenty-dollar bill. Arnold's! He had forgotten about it completely.
As he regarded the twenty-dollar bill thoughtfully, he realized that Arnold's statement about his wealth meant that he was vulnerable-vulnerable to the same vicious threat that every homosexual, no matter how rich or poor, was vulnerable to: the threat of blackmail. Now it was no wonder to Greg that poor Arnold, after having had such a passionate session of sexual activity with three complete strangers, had fled into the night. He wanted to minimize any chance, no matter how slight, of being caught, photographed, or even clearly recognized. That explained why he had originally picked the darkest portion of the beach, and why he had stood masturbating behind Greg, as much as he undoubtedly would have liked to approach him, until Greg had bumped into him and made an encounter inevitable.
Greg had never done any serious thinking on the subject of homosexuality, either male or female, and he now realized that his vague prejudices were coming to light, and in fact being rapidly dispelled, by his experiences of the previous few days. There seemed nothing in what Evelyn had done, or in what Arnold had done, to get particularly upset about, and he wondered absently what the big problem with homosexuality in society was. In fact, he found his own urges beginning to stir, in conjunction with something that Arnold had said, that there is a little homosexuality in everyone. He remembered vaguely from a college biology class that human sexuality depended to some degree on hormones, and that each sex had a little of the other's hormones. That made sense to Greg. No one was "all male" or "all female," people were mixtures.
Now he settled back with a newspaper, still vaguely restless, and pored over it, wondering as he got to the classified section whether he should start looking for a job. He scanned the pages, but found nothing to his liking. Then he went to sleep.
When he awoke in the morning, Greg began thinking about Cheryl. But there was no way for him to track her down-aside from going to her apartment and waiting outside-and he could do nothing about seeing her. He decided to wait till that evening and stop by the coffee house where she worked.
Greg filled the morning and afternoon by pretending that he was going looking for a job. He stopped by several newspapers, a couple of magazines, and an employment agency. But his heart wasn't in it. He was thinking of Cheryl. The trouble was that he didn't want to admit to himself that he was thinking about her, that his whole day was essentially one of waiting-waiting till he could go to the coffee house that night.
At about four in the afternoon he was walking up Seventh Avenue toward the park, gazing vacantly at the faces that flowed by in the crowd. It was strange, he realized, how seldom he ever paid attention to a male face. Every time he went somewhere, his eyes picked out the females and looked them over. His peripheral vision would sight a bare thigh a block away before he would notice even the most unusual looking male, even if he happened to be standing not three feet from him. This realization came as such a shock he tried to make himself look at the men as well as the women. He noticed craggy faces, smooth faces, bearded faces; faces with hooked noses and with straight noses, with thick lips and with thin lips. He noticed lumbering walks and graceful walks. He noticed men who had springs in their heels, and virtually bounced off the sidewalk; and then he noticed men whose feet fell flat on the pavement and stayed there, leaden, till they were dragged up by heavy pairs of legs.
After a while Greg began to notice strange things about men; whether their pants fit, what lands of shoes they were wearing, whether their clothes were ironed or not.
Finally, he decided to determine whether all men were like himself, and noticed only women as they walked. What he found was not only true, it was hilariously true. He found that, on the whole, men were like mechanisms, and that any man in a similar situation was likely to move his eyes in a similar manner. Nearly every man he looked at was either staring blankly at the sidewalk, or gazing at some female somewhere, if there was one to be seen. The blank sidewalk gazes were mostly older men, tired men, dull men. The young men were absurdly predictable.
Greg stopped on a street comer. There was a tall, slim girl standing on the comer, waiting to cross the street. She wore hot pants, and they crowded up into her crotch and made her buttocks swell out of them in those delicious little rolls of flesh that Greg liked so well. Instead of staring at the girl, however, he decided to stand back and stare at the men. It was like watching a parade pass a grandstand. Every single man who was under the age of sixty-and most of the ones over-snapped their eyes right or left as they passed, to train them on that same exposed patch of flesh. If eyes could bum holes in things they looked at, this girl would have had a seared ass long ago.
The longer he stood there, the funnier it got. Some men went far out of their way to get a second look, and Greg began noticing that a few even crossed the street when the girl did, only to cross back to his side again a block further up or down. The funniest incident was when a pot-bellied man of about fifty, carrying a clumsy package out of which several large rubber-plant leaves waved ostentatiously, walked past the girl staring as hard as he could, turned after ten feet and came back to walk past her again, this time with his sweaty bulbous nose almost at the level of her crotch, and then crossed the street after, his eyes glued to her like a hound pursuing a rabbit.
After that Greg walked on, and everywhere he went, up to the park, over to 5th Avenue and back down a ways, it was the same. There were a few exceptions, but on the whole the motions of men's eyes were ruled by the iron law of sex.
Greg found it very easy to stare at men as they stared at women. It was so seldom that men looked back at him, it was laughable ... until he turned the comer down a side street next to a tall steel-and-glass office building, and ran straight into Arnold.
Greg did not know how he knew it was Arnold.
The night had been so dark at Jones Beach that there had barely been an opportunity to get a general feeling for one's companions-the way they walked, moved, their mannerisms. And certainly, of the three faces, Greg had seen Arnold's the least. But as the tallish, slim figure rounded the comer-eyes jumping to Greg as he did-there was no doubt in Greg's mind. The person he saw was distinguished, with a few streaks of gray in his otherwise quite dark hair, and delicate features that included a somewhat small, straight nose and thin lips. None of these details were things Greg had noticed on the beach, but he based his certainty-which was more intuitive than anything else-on a general feeling for who Arnold was, how he carried himself, and his general bulk and shape. Nothing that would have held up in court, but then it didn't have to. Without reflection, Greg blurted out, "Arnold!" and stopped as the man approached him.
Arnold, however, was not interested in being recognized. "Pardon me," he said, trying to brush past Greg without really noticing him.
"Hey, Arnold," said Greg, in a voice that sounded like that of a little kid, "don't you remember me ... from the beach?"
When Arnold gave him a directly blank stare, without that characteristic puzzlement that usually accompanies cases of mistaken identity, Greg was surer than ever that he had the right person. Without that encouragement, he might have been tempted to question his instincts, and let the matter drop. But Arnold was being so typically "New York" that he was completely transparent.
Greg walked along beside Arnold now, performing the difficult feat of whispering to him while maintaining a pace that Arnold meant to be too fast for him. "Come on, Arnold," he said, "don't be afraid. We're not going to hurt you or anything. Why did you leave so soon the other night?"
Still Arnold said nothing, although Greg got the distinct feeling that in his steadfast marching forward he was wavering in his resolve to pass Greg by "Listen," Greg said, "I'm sure your name isn't even Arnold. I don't know what the hell it is, and I don't care. I know you've got to be careful because you're a big businessman or something and you could be blackmailed, but we just want to be friendly. Jake and Doris and I-we had a great swim at the beach after you left, and we wondered what the hell happened to you that you took off like that." By this time they were approaching a large and famous hotel, and it seemed obvious to Greg that Arnold was going to disappear into it without a word. Before he could do that, however, Greg took a piece of paper out of his pocket and scrawled his name and phone number on it. "Listen," he said, trying to get some response out of the walking robot by his side. "If you want to come over to my place for a drink some time or something...." he hardly knew what he was saying...."give me a call. Maybe we'll have a party or something. I mean, if you don't want to it's all right too, but if you feel like it, you've got a phone," he ended clumsily.
"Do you know what the number is?" Arnold asked with wide eyes, his anxiousness betraying his calm exterior.
"Of course not," Greg said, happy to get a few words out of him, "I don't even know who you really are.
Greg didn't know whether Arnold was believing him or not. And at this point he began to wonder, since he wasn't a homosexual himself, why he was taking so much trouble over Arnold when Arnold obviously didn't care. Or did he?
Arnold came to the door of the hotel, and Greg stopped. As Arnold ascended the steps he turned his head ever so slightly, and Greg could swear he saw traces of a wary smile-friendly, but still wary, and seemingly above all amused by Greg's frankness-that flashed at him and then was gone.
Oh what the hell, Greg thought to himself as he made his way back uptown to dress for the evening, I made the effort. Now I don't have to feel so bad about "poor Arnold." Anyhow, he doesn't look quite so poor as all that.
Hours later, Greg walked up out of the subway in the Village toward the coffee house where Cheryl worked. He was apprehensive, and at the same time eager. Why had Cheryl and Evelyn left his apartment without saying goodbye, without saying anything, on Sunday morning? Why hadn't he heard from them?
When he walked down the steps to the underground cave of the coffee house, he was at once impressed by the absence of music-and of people. There were a couple of long-haired, bearded guys sitting in a comer smoking what was obviously a joint, and a few more people playing checkers at a table in back. Cheryl's stool rested against a back wall, and the sound system seemed to be in a state of confusion. Greg went over to the bartender.
"Where's that girl who was singing here last week?"
The bartender gave him a blank stare.
"Cheryl ... you know, the singer?" For a moment, looking into the bartender's somewhat bleary eyes, he wondered if the guy was stoned himself.
"Cheryl," the guy repeated. "Oh yeah," he said, "she went somewhere else. While she was singing in here last night some guy came in to listen to her. He was sort of funny looking-you know, sandals and dungarees, but with a bright red sports jacket on over them. Said he was from some other club, and would she start singing there tonight instead of here."
"Did he offer her a lot of money?"
"A lot more than we could. Too bad," the barkeep said. "She was terrific. Too good for this place, though. I wouldn't be surprised if she cut a record within six months."
"Holy shit," Greg said to himself. He'd known Cheryl was talented, but he'd assumed that her own lack of self-discipline would keep her from really going anywhere. But then, he really didn't know her, as he kept telling himself-which was why he was here, to try to get to know her better-and for all he knew she might be star material. She certainly had the voice and the presence for it.
"What's the other club?" he asked.
"I don't know," said the bartender. "To tell you the truth, I was pretty stoned at the time. It might have been any one of a number of places." Then he reeled off about half the well-known folk singing places in the village.
"Thanks a lot," said Greg, somewhat discouraged. As he walked out the door trying to decide what to do, he found himself trying to put his finger on just what made Cheryl stand out in his mind, what made him go after her with such diligence.
The only thing he could think of to do was to return to the place where he had first met her, and see whether Evelyn was in fact dancing there. If she was, Evelyn would surely know where Cheryl was. And even if Evelyn wasn't, perhaps Tony, the owner, or someone else would have overheard the name of the club. After all, Cheryl was a former employee....
When Greg walked in the door of the dimly lit bar, his first reaction was that he was going crazy. His second reaction was that perhaps he really was psychic, which to him would have been something like the equivalent of going crazy. It was another case like the one earlier in the day when he'd met Arnold on the street, although this one was more far fetched. This time he was recognizing a person he'd never seen before, much the same way he'd done when he'd first seen Evelyn. In fact, the whole encounter with Evelyn was practically being rerun: here he was looking for Cheryl again, she had changed jobs again, and he was running into another friend-or perhaps he had better say acquaintance, or even better, enemy-from Boston.
"Hello, Judy," he said.
The rather large girl with the wavy blonde hair falling thickly past her shoulders turned around. Her look was one of blank surprise, but Greg could see a certain nastiness lurking beneath it, and he was sorry he'd said anything.
"Hello," she said, to his surprise not unpleasantly. "Do I know you?"
"Not exactly," he said. "I'm sort of a friend of Evelyn's."
At this, Judy was silent for a moment. She stared into her dark-colored drink and stirred it. The ice cubes tinkled. "You the guy who's been fucking Evelyn?" she asked.
"Shit, I don't know," said Greg, not realizing till the words were out how idiotic they must have sounded.
Judy laughed, somewhat scornfully, he thought, but not without genuine humor. "You mean you don't know when you're fucking a chick or not?" Greg didn't say anything right away, so she continued. "Or is it that you know I'm a dyke and I'm hot for Evelyn's pants, and you don't want to make me jealous?"
"That might have something to do with it," said Greg, still in a state of acute confusion, partly because he could not remember whether he'd ever actually fucked Evelyn or not. "Or maybe," he added, deciding that at least a limited amount of honesty might be the best policy in this case, "it's just that to tell you the truth I forget whether I ever really got it into Evelyn in the usual way...." His voice trailed off.
"Or whether you just did a lot of other stuff with her?" Judy supplied the words, "and with Cheryl?"
At the mention of Cheryl's name, Greg could not help perking up his ears.
"Listen," said Judy somewhat impatiently, "I know that you and Cheryl and Evelyn have had a thing going, and I know that Cheryl must have told you all about that fucking scene in Boston where I ran them out of the club naked."
Greg could not help chuckling at that point, and to his surprise Judy did not get angry with his amusement. On the contrary, although she did not actually laugh, she seemed to smile slightly.
"It was pretty ridiculous," she said softly, almost gently into her drink. "I realize that now."
"But people do ridiculous things when they're horny," said Greg. "I know. I've pulled some pretty good ones myself."
Judy looked, at him gratefully. Greg made a note to the effect that, although she was big, her figure was perfectly proportioned, and that although she seemed masculine on the exterior, there lurked beneath the surface a kind of gentleness that he thought could be brought out with a cessation of the kinds of frustration that Judy undoubtedly had to put up with throughout her life as a Lesbian.
"You don't know where Cheryl's working, do you?" he asked her.
"Yeah," she said. "Down at the Hole in the Wall."
"Wow," said Greg, surprised to hear the name of one of the Village's best-known places.
"Yeah," Judy agreed. "She really has talent." She said this almost sadly, as she realized that her foolishness in Boston had probably cut her off from Cheryl forever, and that it would certainly make relations with Evelyn more difficult.
"You haven't seen Evelyn yet?" Greg asked her.
"I haven't seen shit," Judy said, "except Grand Central Station, the inside of the subway, a couple of blocks of the Village, and the bottom of this drink."
"How did you know to come here?"
"Oh, Evelyn mentioned this place a lot, and I heard that Cheryl had come to New York on Evelyn's advice. I figured they'd be working here."
"And what were you going to do when you were here?"
"I was going to worry about that when I came to it," Judy admitted. "I was just getting too damned horny-and lonely-in Boston without Evelyn."
"Well," advised Greg, "you better think of some thing to say to Evelyn pretty quick, because here she comes." Greg had caught sight of Evelyn's characteristic auburn hair and slim figure passing the window in the front of the bar. Now she entered the front door, carrying the tiny cloth bag that held her G-string and pasties.
"God damn ," she said, when she saw the two of them together. "What the hell are you two doing together?"
Greg winked quickly at Judy, and then, turning to Judy in mock surprise, said, "Hell, Evelyn, here I am trying to make some time with this nice piece of ass that I just happened to meet in here, and you come in swearing like a bitch. What are you talking about?"
"You mean ... you don't know each other?" Evelyn gasped.
"Never set eyes on each other till today," Greg said truthfully. "I just walked in here looking for you or Cheryl, and here this chick was."
"But I wouldn't say we didn't know each other," Judy picked up. "After all, we've been talking to each other for half an hour now, and you can get to know somebody pretty well in half an hour."
"Well ... I'll be damned," Evelyn exclaimed, looking at them skeptically and not quite knowing what to believe.
"You mean ... you know Judy?" asked Greg innocently.
Now Evelyn was stuck. She didn't know whether to admit knowing Judy herself and then have to explain the whole Boston bit, or whether she ought to simply assume that the two had met by accident and try to pry them apart and explain things separately. She certainly didn't want another of Judy's tantrums in the bar, and was about to decide to play dumb when Greg's suppressed laughter alerted her that her leg was being pulled. Just as she became suspicious she realized how absurd it was that Judy, who as far as she knew was a pure Lesbian with little or no attraction for men, would allow herself to be picked up by Greg.
"You prick," she said, flailing at Greg with her bag and giggling at how absurdly she had been deceived. "You no good son of a bitch...." She pushed Greg off his stool and pursued him, laughing all the way, to the back of the bar, leaping over chairs and tables and swatting him with her G-string and pasties.
"Shit," said Greg, who had finally taken refuge behind a table and barricaded himself in with chairs, "those god damned pasties hurt"
"They're supposed to, you worthless son of a bitch," Evelyn said. As a last resort she picked up a half-full beer that someone had left on a table a few hours before and emptied it in Greg's direction.
"Hey, Judy, help," he moaned, as the beer dripped down on him from the wall.
"Why should I help you?" she said, glancing briefly at Evelyn's calf as she tried to kick the table aside and get to Greg. "This is a great show. I wouldn't miss it for the world...." Then she turned her attention to Evelyn's thigh, and then her crotch, as Evelyn bent over double in her short skirt to try to move the table by hand.
Finally Tony came out from behind the bar with a cloth. "All right, girls," he said. "Let's stop bullying the poor guy. Besides, why do I need beer on my walls? I've got paint already."
With that Evelyn relented, and after ten minutes finally managed to stop giggling. "Damn," she exclaimed when she finally had a drink in front of her, "you really had me going." Then, thinking more carefully, "How are you two getting along, anyhow?"
"Pretty well," Greg offered.
"Yeah," said Judy. "I decided that scene I pulled in Boston was real bullshit. Hell, if you and Cheryl dig each other, you should have each other, and if Cheryl doesn't dig making it with me ... she shouldn't have to. I decided jealousy was just too much trouble."
Evelyn, who must have suspected in the beginning that Judy had come down from Boston to make trouble, seemed relieved.
"Anyhow," said Greg, "when are you going to dance for us?"
Evelyn looked at the clock above the bar. "I'm not paid to start for half an hour yet," she said, "and I'm damned if I'm going to dance in this joint for free."
"Well then tell me something," Greg said, "where the hell's Cheryl?"
"Oh shit," Evelyn said, in the manner people use when they've just remembered something they were supposed to do. "Cheryl's been trying to get in touch with you. I promised to try to call you this morning, and I forgot."
"Judy says she's working at the Hole in the Wall," Greg mentioned.
"That's right," Evelyn affirmed. "She was working in that other place-the place where we saw her-the other night, and this guy comes in, a really weird looking guy, and spends the whole night there. At the end of the night he offers her a job at his place, and it turns out to be the Hole in the Wall. He really went ape shit over her. In fact, that's why she couldn't call you herself this morning."
"What's she, shacking up with this guy?" Greg asked almost bitterly.
"That's pretty funny," laughed Evelyn. "The guy's as queer as a three dollar bill."
Greg glanced over at Judy to see whether the insulting terminology had bothered her, but then, realizing that Evelyn certainly had nothing on Judy as far as being sexually straight was concerned, decided that within the group it was all right.
"So where is she if she isn't in the sack?"
"At the guy's recording studio. Turns out he also has a pretty healthy share in a record company. They're testing her out."
"Son of a bitch," Greg said, hardly believing his ears.
"Don't get too excited," Evelyn said, "she's not a star yet. In fact, the guy says she'll have to do a lot of work if she wants to make it big, because although she has a great natural voice, she needs a lot of work."
"All the same," Greg said, "that's really something."
"It sure as hell is."
"By the way, what's this guy's name ... the owner of the Hole in the Wall?"
"Sam Shaw," Evelyn informed him.
"I've heard that name before."
"So have I," Judy said.
"He's a kind of marginally famous guy," Evelyn said, sipping her drink slowly. "Partly because he's quite a character, which is intentional and partly because he has a tremendous eye ... or ear, I guess you'd say ... for talent."
By this time it was time for Evelyn to change into her G-string and pasties and get ready to go on. "Why don't you two come down to the changing room with me," she suggested, "and get me warmed up a little bit for the show?"
"Son of a bitch," Greg said. "Why didn't you suggest that before?"
"Because I need to be warmed up," she said, "and not worn out. I'm a working girl, you know." So Greg and Judy followed her delicately twitching ass down the stairs to the small cubicle that the go-go girls changed in.
When they got there, Evelyn was firm. "Now listen," she said. "What I'm going to do is tease the shit out of you two, and then go upstairs. I want you to know that before we start."
"What the fuck's the good of that?" asked Greg. "Makes me dance like a bitch," she said, "and besides, after you've watched me dance a few sets you can go back to your place and get it ready for a party."
"I'm having a party tonight?" Greg asked. "First time anybody's told me about it."
"First time I knew about it myself," Evelyn said, stripping her skirt off and presenting her cunt, clad only in a pair of bikini panties, to them.
"I kind of wanted to go over to the Hole in the Wall and see Cheryl," Greg protested.
"Fine," Evelyn agreed, "you stay here and watch a couple of sets, and I'll wriggle my pussy at you a few times and sock you in the face with my tits. Then you ambulate over to the Hole and catch a few of Cheryl's numbers, and tell her she's coming to a party at your place afterward. Then you go out and buy a shit load of booze ... and then you go home and get things ready."
"Like what?" asked Greg.
"The first thing I'd suggest is borrowing a few beds from your neighbors. After that, I don't much care. Get some potato chips or something."
"I see. It's going to be one of those parties."
"You don't like those parties?"
"I must admit that I've never been to one," Greg said. "Much less given one. But I'm up for anything."
By this time Evelyn was completely naked, and loosening up for her first set in the caged platform upstairs. First she kicked her leg high into the air, showing the golden hairs of her crotch, through which the pink lips of her pussy could be seen, already glistening with a slight dose of pussy juice. Next she squatted down, so far that her cunt parted slightly from being bunched up, and the lobes of her skinny buttocks hung down loosely, almost dragging on the floor. In this position her crack was very deep, and it almost looked as if someone had taken a cleaver and tried to work his way up through her ass from the bottom to get to the red, raw flesh of the cunt whose ovular shape now confronted them, mottled with pinkish and grayish skin in layers, and broken by a hole that now opened quite clearly for them to see.
By this time Judy's passions were more than aroused, and she had stuck a hand up under her own rather short skirt and pulled her panties aside. She started to moan, and rub her slit, completely oblivious to-or completely uncaring about-Greg's hungry stares in her direction as well as in Evelyn's.
By this time Greg's cock was throbbing, and since everyone else was jerking off in public, Evelyn had allowed her own finger to wander to her clit, and she was massaging it to life now with vigorous strokes that matched Judy's in rhythm. Greg decided that he could do it too. He pulled out his cock and began to smear the tiny droplets that appeared at its head down the shaft and up again, lubricating himself for a smooth ride, when there was a perfunctory knock on the dressing room door, and Tony's voice called out, "Ok, Evelyn, show time!" , Evelyn took a few more seconds to dangle her tits in Greg's face, and split her ass open to Judy, and then she slipped on her G-string, made two loops of tape and deftly placed her pasties on her nipples, and opened the door. Together, Greg's eyes and Judy's eyes followed her up the stairs.
"What a piece," Greg said, realizing after he had said it that his tone and inflection were exactly what he would have used if Judy had been a male.
"You're not kidding," said Judy, seeming not to notice. Then, turning to Greg, "I think you're about to give a hell of a party."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Greg stayed at the bar and watched Evelyn dance one set. But after that, despite the fact that his pants were half full of cream, he was restless to go see Cheryl. Fortunately there were few people in the bar, and Evelyn was having no trouble dancing to Judy, although Judy's rapt stares and Evelyn's obvious overtures to her caused not a few comments among the other patrons of the bar. Finishing his drink, Greg got up. "See you around two, right?" he whispered to Evelyn between numbers.
"Right," she said, her skin glistening from a very light sweat. "Hey," she said, "tell Tony to turn the air conditioning up a little bit. I'm sweating like a fucking pig."
Greg gave Tony the message on the way out. Moments later he burst out the front door of the bar, walked past the plate glass front window in which he could see Evelyn dancing in her cage, and made his way toward the Hole in the Wall.
When he got there, the place was packed. It was silent as he first made his way toward the front, but just before he reached a point where he could see, Cheryl's voice burst into song all around him. The sound system was far better here than in the other place, the acoustics were far better, and the pure tones of Cheryl's voice surrounded him, bathing him in their sensual music. He was practically lifted through the crowd, and somehow came down to the side of the small stage, and quite near to her. A waiter came up and helped him squeeze into a chair up against the wall, and he ordered a drink.
It took about two minutes for Cheryl, whose eyes scanned the crowd as she sang, to see him. During that time he sat astounded at what seemed to him a perfect vision of the Cheryl he had seen before at the coffee house. She was dressed in exactly the same clothes-white slacks and flowered see-through blouse-and she was sitting on the same kind of stool. When her eyes met his they lit up and she waved at him with the hand that was picking out runs and melodies on the guitar as her voice lilted through the smoke-filled room. He could tell from the way Cheryl kept glancing over at him that she was glad he was there, and his vague fears that once she had gained this-admittedly relative-success she would ignore him were no longer a problem.
Greg could tell that Cheryl had practiced quite a lot in the short time since he'd heard her last, and, staring at her as she took a deep breath and hit a high note with ease, he could tell it would not be long before she smoothed out the slight imperfections in her delivery. Meanwhile, Greg found himself staring at Cheryl's right breast, which rested comfortably on the body of the guitar as she hugged it to her. He wondered what she would be like at the party. In fact, he wondered, despite Evelyn's orders to tell Cheryl she was coming, whether she would show up.
But after the set was over, Cheryl came directly over to Greg's table and gave him a big kiss. Sam Shaw, waiting patiently at her shoulder, had to wait a minute while Cheryl greeted Greg. "How are you?" she asked, her breasts practically bouncing in his face.
"Fine," he said, "but not quite as good as you. You're making some pretty fast progress!"
Cheryl shrugged it off. "Did Evelyn get you this morning?" she asked.
"No," he informed her, "she forgot."
"How do you know she forgot?"
"I went to the bar-Tony's-and met her there. And guess who I ran into at the same time?"
"Who the hell could you rim into that I'd know?" Cheryl asked, now aware of Sam over her shoulder.
"Try Judy," Greg said. He did not have to wait long for the impact.
"Judy!" she practically screamed, "what the hell's she doing here?"
"She came down to make up," Greg said.
"She came down to get into Evelyn's pants," said Cheryl hotly.
"There's no doubt about that," Greg agreed, "but she says she's sorry for that whole scene in Boston ... and now, are you ready for this? We're having a party at my place tonight."
"Holy shit!" Cheryl exclaimed, "with you and me and Evelyn and Judy and who else?"
"I forgot to ask," Greg admitted. "The party was Evelyn's idea."
Cheryl was starting to calm down a bit, and Greg remembered what she'd once said about possibly being able to turn on to Judy if only she'd been more relaxed. He knew that had a lot to do with Judy's attitude, which had changed quite a lot by now. Having digested all this, Cheryl turned to Sam. "Sam, I want you to meet Greg. I think I've told you about him. Greg, this is Sam." Greg shook hands with Sam Shaw. A somewhat bulbous nose, thick curly sideburns, and a face that had once been severely attacked by acne greeted him. The features, Greg noted, were not unattractive, except perhaps for the nose, and Sam had a certain presence, a certain self-confident but not overbearing manner, that put Greg at ease. If he was "queer as a three-dollar bill," as Evelyn had said, he certainly concealed it well. Greg supposed that he didn't have to send out signals. What Sam wanted he probably got, judging from his looks. Greg absently wondered how Sam would get along with Arnold.
Cheryl and Sam had a few words about some technical details. Then, just as Sam was beginning to wander away, Cheryl turned to Greg. "Can we invite Sam to your party?" she asked.
"I don't know why not," he said, "except that it might get a little wild. Evelyn told me to prepare by borrowing some beds from the neighbors."
That didn't seem to stop Cheryl, and Greg guessed it wouldn't stop Sam, because Cheryl turned quickly and called, "Hey, Sam, want to come to a party tonight?"
"What time?" he asked.
"Two o'clock or so," Greg told him.
"Fine," he said. "Where abouts?"
"My place. You can come up with Cheryl after she's done, I guess. She knows where it is."
Cheryl turned around and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Her breasts brushed against his arm, and her blouse fell forward so that he ended up staring unabashedly at her fully exposed nipples. "They still look good to you?" Cheryl asked.
"What do you think?"
"I think you'd better have a king-sized portion of hot cock waiting for me when I get to your party," she breathed. "And I want it right in the middle of the living room floor."
"With everybody watching?"
"I don't care what they do ... watch, fuck, suck, or what. I just want lots of room, that's all."
Greg's cock jumped. After all the various events of the day, he had been a long way from sex. Now, instantly, he was close to it again. "I'll see you up there," he said. "I've got to go buy some booze."
"Okay," she said. "Listen, maybe Sam'll bring ... a little something. You never know, but it's likely." Greg didn't know exactly what she meant by a "little something," but he wasn't going to spend time wondering about it. He finished his drink and left.
By the time he got home with a case full of assorted whiskeys and beers and things, it was nearly midnight. Sitting by himself with two hours to kill, he thought of Doris and Jake. Would they be up for a party like this? He thought they would. He took his little piece of paper out of his wallet and dialed Doris's number. Jake answered the phone.
"Hey Jake, this is Greg ... you remember, from Jones Beach?"
"Shit yeah," Jake responded, in his customarily rough tone. "What's up, man?"
"Having a little party up here tonight. It's startin' a little late, because a couple of the girls work. Thought you might like to come up with Doris."
"I don't know," Jake said. "What kind of a party?"
"Wild," Greg answered. "At least, if I know these girls."
"You mean like sperm on the ceiling?" Jake asked, warming up to the idea.
"I mean like cunt on the couch," Greg replied. "Groovy," Jake said, his rough voice crooning. "Ass on the elevator ... blow jobs in the bathtub...."
"Buggery in the bedroom," Greg continued.
"Sodomy in the cellar," Jake roared.
"Son of a bitch," Greg yelled, "am I ready for a gangbang!"
"A group grope. A circle jerk. A daisy chain," rambled Jake.
"You know the address?" He gave it to him. "Come over right now if you want to."
"Should I bring anything?"
"Yeah," Greg said. "Doris' pussy, piping hot."
"We're on our way."
Ten minutes after his conversation with Jake, Greg's phone rang. He expected it to be any one of a hundred people he knew, but it was none of them. It was Arnold.
"Hello?" said the voice on the other end of the line. "Is this Greg?"
"Yes, it is," Greg said, his psychic powers giving up on him entirely. "Who's this?"
"Well, this is Arnold," said the voice, and immediately-although he almost fell over on his chair-Greg knew that he should have known. That combination of firmness and maturity, with the undertone of uncertainty, could have come from no one else.
"Yeah, Arnold," Greg said, settling back in a chair. "Hey, I'm glad you called. I was afraid you'd be afraid."
"Well, you've got to trust somebody sometime," Arnold said. "And you sounded like a good choice." Arnold got right to the point. "You said that maybe I could come up to your place and have a drink with you sometime." The voice was getting bolder now, and Greg began to recognize it as one that was accustomed to doing business over the phone, to making decisions and plans rapidly and efficiently. "I wondered if you really meant that."
"Sure I did," said Greg. "Listen, you can come up right now if you want to. The thing is, were having a party in a little while."
"Who's we?" asked Arnold. "Are you married?"
"No. There's me, and a girl who sings down in the Village, and a couple of go-go dancers, and the owner of a club down there ... and then if you'll believe this, Jake and Doris."
Greg could feel Arnold's composure starting to disintegrate again, but this time in a different direction, at the mention of Jake. His memory of Jake's enormous cock must have remained extremely vivid.
"Jake and Doris are on their way over now," Greg said. "Why don't you come up?"
"What kind of a party is it going to be?"
"A pretty wild one," Greg ventured. "One of the girls is Lesbian, and another sort of leans that way. The club owner from the village is gay, and the rest of us...." He hesitated a little...."are somewhere in the middle."
Arnold wavered.
"Listen," Greg said, "I don't want to put pressure on you. I'll give you the address, and if you feel like it, come on up. Just don't come after two-thirty or so, because we probably won't open the door for anyone after that."
"All right," said Arnold. "Thanks." Then he hung up.
By two o'clock, Arnold had not shown up, and Greg was beginning to assume that he wasn't going to. Jake and Doris had arrived at about one, but Greg had resolved not to start anything until the rest of the people got there, so the three of them busied themselves with ice cubes, glasses, and ash trays. Doris made some onion dip. "I wonder where this is going to end up," she mused, as she placed the bowl of it on a coffee table in the living room.
At two, others started arriving. Judy and Evelyn were first, and since Judy had been watching Evelyn dance for so many hours, it was all Greg could do to keep them from stampeding into the bedroom and going at each other before the rest of the people got there. Cheryl and Sam followed soon after, bringing, it turned out, another very weird couple. The guy's name was Sid, and the girl's Melanie. The guy was incredibly tall and skinny, and Greg wondered whether he wasn't gay. The girl was of much the same build, except that her tits, encumbered by no bra, bounced around her work shirt like yo-yos. Greg made a note of the fact that they were the first breasts he'd ever seen that could accurately have been called "titties." He thought to himself that one could probably suck them half way down one's throat, and then decided he'd have to try it out before the evening was over. Then he had the weird thought that perhaps that was how they got into that shape in the first place.
Everyone was there, and everyone was joking around. Sid grabbed a bottle of beer and literally poured it down his throat. His Adam's apple bounced up and down like the part to some machine.
Melanie wore a long, filmy skirt along with her work shirt-one of the odder clothing combinations Greg had ever seen-and when she stood in front of the fight, Greg could see the silhouette of her ass perfectly. Then she turned, and, seeing Greg staring at her crotch, realized what he was doing.
"Hey, you can really see through this thing, can't you?" she said.
"You sure can," Greg affirmed.
"If I stand right up against the fight," Melanie said, "you should be able to tell something very interesting."
"What's that?"
"Look." Then she adjusted the fight so it was directly behind her crotch, and spreading her legs, stood in front of it. The outline of her pussy came through clearly. Hairs streamed down blurring the outline, looking for all the world like a beard.
"You're not wearing any underwear," Greg observed.
"Correct!" said Sid behind him. "You win the hundred-thousand-dollar pussy!"
"Hey, that would be great for dancing," said Judy, who'd just come up to Greg's side.
"You think so?" asked Melanie. Greg put on a record, and Melanie danced in front of the fight.
The gyrations of her hips were slow and steady, like an Arabic dancer. Her cunt moved under the cloth like a living thing, and Greg could have sworn that he saw its loose flesh wiggling and squirming and opening and closing by itself.
Gradually some of the other girls-Evelyn first, then Judy, and finally Cheryl-began to dance in front of the fights. Evelyn's long, lithe body swayed back and forth like a tree in the wind. Judy's heavier frame went into a series of grinds that made her cunt look like a cement mixer. And Cheryl began pumping her cunt in and out, shaking her tits around, in the same way she'd done for Greg that first night in Tony's bar.
In the middle of all this, the doorbell rang. Greg looked at his watch. Two twenty. He went to the door and gazed out the peephole. It was Arnold.
"God damn," he said to Jake and Doris, who were standing somewhat aloof from the proceedings and waiting for things to get started, "It's Arnold!" They rushed to the door and greeted the latecomer as if he were a long-lost brother. Arnold's original skepticism was swallowed up as he realized that nobody was recognizing him as a rich businessman or financier; that everyone was eyeing everyone else's body, and watching the girls as they danced. Arnold took a chair and did some eyeing of his own as the pricks started to sprout like newly planted com.
Melanie was leading the way. For a girl who was in a group she knew nothing about, she was not bashful. In two or three minutes Greg could see that she was working herself into a frenzy of sexual excitement. She began to finger her tits through the work shirt. Then, still gyrating her hips in an incredible, slow rhythm, she reached her hand behind her back and then through her legs to catch the front of her dress. Slowly she pulled handfuls of the filmy material through her legs, gathering it in back, and bringing it up tight against her pussy.
As soon as the cloth began to creep upward toward her cunt, it began to become damp from the secretions that were pouring out of her. She began to moan, and the other girls stopped dancing or stepped aside. Melanie was the central attraction.
As she began to go into the most sensual part of her act, Greg caught a glimpse of Sam Shaw out of the comer of his eye. Sam was producing a great number of tightly rolled joints from his pocket and distributing them like penny candy around the room. When one got to Greg, he lit it. The room was already smoky, and the air carried the odor of burning rope. Sam took a toke to the other side of the room, and Greg smiled at him. The smoke curled out of Sam's nostrils. Greg lit his own joint and took a deep puff. In seconds, he was up and away, floating somewhere above, somewhere below, somewhere behind, and somewhere in front of where Melanie was doing her thing.
Somebody handed Melanie a joint, and she took it in her free hand. After one immense toke, she returned it and went back to her work.
By this time just about all the filmy skirt was through her legs, and she held it tightly so that it pressed up against her cunt. In fact, as the secretions from her pussy saturated the cloth and rendered it completely transparent, it was plain to see that the rope of cloth had in fact parted and penetrated the cunt lips, and Melanie was riding it just as you might sit on a thin rail. Now, jerking off on the rope of cloth, she wrenched her hips violently back and forth, a glazed look in her eyes.
Moments later she turned her back. First she removed her blouse, baring the wide expanse of a perfectly white back. Then she began to pull her skirt up. Slowly, teasingly, her grinding buttocks came into view, and in his stoned condition Greg stared at them as they rubbed sensuously together. He imagined the elastic little point of her asshole, and the lubricated bounty of her pussy lips, rubbing back and forth just out of sight.
Then Melanie turned back to everyone. Judy, Greg noticed, had pulled up her skirt and taken off her underpants, and Evelyn had moved over now to. where she could stick her fingers up Judy's cunt. In a short time Judy had reciprocated, and her finger was glistening as it pumped in and out of the raw flesh of Evelyn's skinny but ravenous cunt. The light hairs of Evelyn's pussy were similar to the light hairs of Judy's, but there the similarity ended, with Evelyn's cunt being spare and lean, and Judy's being full and almost fat in its intricate folding and twistings.
By this time Melanie was tossing her torso back and forth, and her tits were swinging as if they were on the ends of strings. She approached Jake, and the long tubes of her tits, crowned by nipples as yet soft, battered his head. He stuck out his tongue, and Melanie dangled her tits on it, one by one, till the nipples were erect. Then, impulsively, she stripped off her skirt, revealing her cunt now absolutely drenched with secretions, and put the equally drenched skirt over Jake's head.
The smell of pussy juice was mingling with and starting to overcome the smell of marijuana in the room, and Greg felt as if he were taking a bath in it. Suddenly Cheryl was by his side, and without hesitation he reached his hand up under her blouse and began milking one of her big tits as if he were milking a cow. She began licking his neck, then his ear, and finally began pumping her tongue into his ear as if she were fucking it. This made Greg's legs drift open. Doris, across the room, saw this, and wandered over to lower Greg's zipper. "Care for a blow job?" she offered.
By this time Jake had taken Melanie's come-drenched skirt and placed the wettest part of it over his head, until he was looking through a gauzy curtain of fight cloth at the world, completely plastered with pussy juice. The tip of his tongue, which had just caressed Melanie's extraordinary nipples to fullness, now ran up and down the cloth, extracting the cunt come from it as best it could.
Melanie reached down now and undid Jake's pants, just as Doris was undoing Greg's. Jake's cock leapt from its imprisonment like a guided missile, nearly stabbing the surprised Melanie in the eye. When she saw its size, she lowered herself onto it gradually, taking as much of its shaft into her mouth as she could. But as much as she could was only half, and she had to retreat from Jake's veritable tower of flesh in defeat. Almost sadly she let the shaft fall from her pursed lips, took it between her tits for a moment, and then let it drop.
Greg, whose cock was being licked by Doris now, glanced over to where Arnold sat in a comer. Greg saw Arnold's mouth puckering involuntarily and realized the intensity with which Arnold was staring at Jake's cock. He had done it on a beach full of people, although the people were very far away, and the beach was black. Would he do it now?
"Hey, Arnold," he called out, "Why don't you show her how it's done!"
Arnold was just finishing a joint, somewhat to Greg's surprise, and his eyes looked wide. For a moment Greg thought he'd made a mistake-that Arnold was too taciturn, too shy, too afraid, to risk anything in public. But then, across the room which had by now begun to dissolve into a kaleidoscope of stripping bodies, he saw Sam parting Sid's cheeks and preparing to enter him from the rear. He glanced significantly over at the spectacle of Sid's cheeks, covered with hair, drifting open, and of Sam's thick, blunt cock attacking the obvious practiced asshole. As long as there was other gay activity around, Greg figured, Arnold would be more likely to come out of his shell and start sucking cock.
Then, in order to make Arnold feel less in the spotlight, Greg turned his attention back to Cheryl, whose tongue was still working up and down his neck and into and out of his ears, and to Doris, whose smallish mouth was trying vainly to encompass the dangling, half erect mass of his rod. The marijuana was beginning to lift him higher, and he took another toke on a joint that was being passed around. Then he saw Melanie, still dancing, now completely nude, take a candle and begin to work it up her cunt.
Right next to Greg, where the love affair between Judy and Evelyn had since sprawled itself, was a bottle of beer. When it became obvious to Greg that the candle, which slipped up Melanie's greasy cunt as if it were a match, was not going to provide adequate stimulation for her, Greg called out, "Hey Melanie ... take this!" He was too tied up to go get the bottle for her, but she saw it and retrieved it herself.
Melanie offered the candle, smeared with cunt juice, to Arnold. To Greg's surprise, fie took it, and seemed to savor its pungent aroma. Then he sucked it into his mouth. It occurred to Greg that if Arnold hadn't already had a profession-whatever it was-he could have made a respectable living as a sword swallower.
Meanwhile Melanie, now in possession of the beer bottle, began to ease its tall, slim neck into herself.
The bottle was still practically full, which was why Greg had suggested it. As it disappeared into the juicy, squishing red lips of Melanie's cunt, into the morass of pink flesh, she squatted.
The whole apartment had become a heaving sea of drug-augmented sex. Bodies were coupling with bodies everywhere in the weirdest configurations, and like the surface of the sea, the arrangement was always changing, with groups forming and reforming. Now Judy had let go of Evelyn's cunt, and had positioned herself behind Melanie for a better view of the beer bottle as it eased its way into the channel of her vagina. As soon as Melanie had the bottle most of the way in, Judy moved closer to her and started licking her asshole.
Meanwhile, Evelyn had moved around in front of, Melanie to examine the long, narrow breasts that hung down from Melanie's constantly gyrating chest, and had discovered the trick that Greg had imagined earlier: She had sucked one of the tits down her throat whole, and it looked exactly as if she had bitten off a big hunk, if not all, of it. She hung on it like a bulldog, while Jake nosed up behind her and inserted his tongue into her slit. While Jake was lapping away at the stew of cunt lips and clit that sat steaming in front of him, Arnold finally overcame his reticence. Although he had to climb over a copulating couple-Sam and Sid-in order to do it, he made his way over to where the tempting log of Jake's cock dragged on the floor and began to eye it closely, finger it occasionally, and finally give it a few preliminary licks.
By this time Doris had forsaken Greg to go over and watch Sam bugger Sid, perhaps with the idea of being next in line if Sam wasn't too prejudiced against women. After all, she must have figured, an asshole is an asshole, and she still remembered the thorough treatment that Greg had given her at the beach with relish. So Greg was left alone with Cheryl.
Greg wanted to fuck Cheryl, but he wanted to be able to watch Melanie's seemingly endless show at the same time. With the weird distortion of perception that the marijuana induced, it seemed that Melanie had been humping the beer bottle for hours. Now Greg made Cheryl get down on all fours, dog-style, with her wide-open cunt sticking up in the air like the cunt of a female animal in heat. Cheryl was in fact whining like a cat, and wriggling her ass back and forth in anticipation, making the lips of her cunt slime against each other and squeezing blobs of white cunt juice out of them. Greg dove into her pussy head first, and came up with a face full. Then he licked up and down her crack, feeling the tight little opening of her asshole expand. He was so familiar with Cheryl's asshole now that he could almost describe every wrinkle in it, as well as every fold and color of her pussy. Cheryl pushed her ass back on him, and he repeated an action that he'd done before with her, taking one big hunk of buttock in his mouth and swishing it around, and then biting down, and then doing the same to the other cheek. Then he buried his tongue to the hilt in her butt hole, tonguing her smooth rectum with everything he had.
After the preliminaries were over, he surfaced and rubbed his cock up and down her crack to wet it with saliva and cunt juice. Just as he was about to ram it home into the tempting cunt before him-which was as wide open in anticipation as a set of open garage doors waiting for a car-he glanced up at Melanie. Cheryl was also looking in that direction, and what they both saw was quite a sight. Judy was still up her ass and Evelyn was still sucking her tit, and Melanie was about to come on the bottle. As she did, smashing down on it so hard that for a moment Greg was afraid it would break, she shook the contents of the now-warmed bottle hard, and it surged up like come out of a dark brown cock, welling into her vagina and filling it with foam. Instantly Judy shifted herself so that her open mouth caught the beer and pussy-juice mixture that cascaded down from Melanie's pubic hairs and dropped from the thick lips of her cunt. Judy swallowed and swallowed, until she had taken almost the whole bottle of beer. Then Melanie, exhausted for the moment, sank down onto Judy's face, and let Judy clean up the remaining mess with her tongue while she rested.
At this point the room grew silent. Although Arnold did not realize it until relatively late, everyone was looking at him. He was naked now, and his own cock, relatively small by most standards, was hard as a rock, wiggling up and down. None of this was amazing. What was amazing-to everyone, that is, except Jake, Greg, and Doris-was that Arnold's mouth had completely engulfed Jake's monstrous prick, the one that Melanie hadn't been able to get down on halfway, and that Arnold was making Jake's eyes glazed with ecstasy as he bobbed up and down on him.
Now, in order to add to Jake's pleasure, Evelyn left the collapsed form of Melanie. Going over to Jake, she announced, "I've come to sit on your face."
"You do and I'll come in two seconds," threatened Jake.
"Is that all right with you, Arnold?" Evelyn asked.
Arnold was completely red by this time, and breathing copiously through his nose in order to keep his prize fully down his throat at all times. He nodded his assent. Greg could clearly see that while Arnold was loving every minute of his blow job, he couldn't very well keep an extremely fat, long cock down his throat all night, and something had to happen. So Evelyn started to let herself down on Jake, and Jake's loins started to heave.
Just then Sam, across the room, got up from Sid's prostrate body. The sudden move alerted Greg, and he glanced at Sid in time to see a sleepy expression on his face and a thin trickle of semen filtering out of his fucked-over asshole. Sam, however, was ready for another challenge. He leapt over to where Arnold was struggling with Jake's prick and, taking a bead on Arnold's own erect organ, went down on him in a minute.
Arnold, somewhat surprised to find himself being blown while he was giving a blow job, became more excited. This, plus the luscious lips of Evelyn's cunt splattering and smearing on his eager face, was enough to make Jake shoot his load. As he did, Arnold, his body shaking uncontrollably from his victory over Jake's cock, shot his own load into Sam's mouth.
"Oh shit, Sam," Evelyn gasped as she rode Jake's tossing face and felt his tongue licking her insides, "give me some of that fucking come."
Sam, who had not like Arnold swallowed the proceeds of his enterprise, but had stored it up in his bloated cheeks, obliged, spitting a stream of semen out in a shower all over Evelyn's naked and glistening body. Evelyn, under the influence of the pot she'd smoked and driven crazy by her overwhelming sexual desire, felt the droplets of salivated sperm falling on her, and clutched at them with her fingers, desperately smearing them all over her body, over her breasts, whose nipples she pinched mercilessly, onto her face, where she shoved it into her nose and smeared it over her cheeks and into her hair, down into her cunt, and over Jake's face as he ate her out, around to her back and down to her ass and then up into her asshole.
"That feels so fucking good," she said, when she'd plugged her own asshole with a fingerful of come. "Who's going to fuck me, goddamn it, who's going to fuck me?" Then, rolling off Jake and onto the floor, she laid on her back and held her legs up and apart with desperate fingers. The aperture of her cunt was three or four inches wide-or at least it looked like that from where Greg was-and everyone in the room knew that as thin as Evelyn was, there was only one cock there that would come close to satisfying her. Jake knew it too.
"Somebody else fuck her for a minute," he said, trying to get his limp organ to revive. "I'll have this fucking piece of meat jacked up and ready to go in a little while."
Evelyn looked at him with a pained expression, and then around the room. "Oh, fuck me," she moaned, "who's going to fuck me."
"Give me a minute and I'll fuck you through the fucking wall, baby," Jake said. "But I just shot about ten tons of prime quality come into old Arnold's lower intestines, and I'm no fucking machine."
At that, surprisingly, Sid came forward. Greg decided, as Sid mounted Evelyn bravely, that he was truly bisexual. His organ was like the rest of him-long, but thin-and it was completely erect. He was fucking Evelyn because he wanted to.
Greg had been holding off of Cheryl for a while, massaging her tits as she stayed on all fours, with a cunt as open as that of Evelyn. Judy had crawled over to suck Cheryl's tits, and Cheryl, still wary after her bad experience with Judy in Boston, had taken a moment to decide carefully whether she wanted Judy's attention. But now she was convinced of Judy's good will and intentions, and her sexual urges were coming back. Greg rammed his cock to the hilt in her wide-open pussy, expecting to knock her down flat and make her cry out with the impact. Instead, his organ disappeared with barely a trace. He looked down to see whether he'd missed and run it up alongside his stomach, but there it was, socked into the tight, wet pussy to the hilt, with Cheryl's flesh glistening in an elastic circle around it. He moved back and forth, and Cheryl stirred.
"What've you been doing, fucking elephants?" he asked, as he tried to let her know he was there with a few quick jabs.
"Only you." she said. "But I've never been this fucking horny. Just start fucking the shit out of me, and I'll know it."
So Greg, watching Sid hump Evelyn out of the corner of his eye, began a rapid rhythm that soon brought forth a response from Cheryl, a slow, periodic motion of her ass that rubbed her cunt up and down and sideways on the shaft of his hard-working peter.
After a while Greg and Cheryl were really into it, and Judy, anxious to get to Cheryl's cunt somehow, had moved up under them to the point of connection, where she began sucking Cheryl's exposed clit and licking up and down Greg's cock as it moved in and out.
"Oh, Judy baby," moaned Cheryl. "Suck my fucking clit, baby, suck that little prick right the fuck off, off, off...." Then she degenerated into a series of moans, and after a while, somewhat louder said, "Can you get your fucking hands on my tits? Pull those tits. Pull the shit out of them." And, as Judy nibbled on the little pink stub of her clit with her lips and teeth, she yelled her approval, "That's it, Judy baby ... when we get done I want to eat your pussy out until there's nothing left of it ... Judy," she cried. "I want to eat your fucking raw smelly juicy cunt. I want to eat your CUNT I"
Greg thought at first that Cheryl was yelling at a deafening volume, but in a second he heard noises that were louder coming out of Evelyn. "Not enough," she said, as the narrow rapier of Sid's long penis ran its full length into her, and his balls smacked against her skinny ass. "I need more cock," Evelyn was crying. But Jake, whose cock was being worked over now by Doris, hadn't maintained an erection yet, and there wasn't another straight man around. To his surprise, Greg saw Sam preparing to lend his organ to the effort.
"I haven't been inside a woman in about twenty years," he said, with obvious surprise that his prick was still erect after he had decided to try it.
"Bullshit," breathed Doris, "you're not that old."
"You're right," Sam agreed. "But it was five years anyhow. You take everything I say and divide it by four, you'll come out pretty close to the truth."
"You want me to divide your cock by four?" Evelyn asked from her position on the floor.
"No, I want to divide that immense cunt of yours by two," he said. "Hey Sid, prop her up a little bit."
He helped Sid follow his instructions, till Evelyn and Sid were fucking in a face-to-face sitting position on the floor. Then Sam snuck up behind Evelyn and, to the utter amazement of all, slid his cock into Evelyn's cunt from behind. Now Evelyn had two cocks up her slit, and it was more or less full. There was very little movement, but she couldn't complain about size any more.
"Wow, this is a bitch," said Sid, who hadn't been able to shoot his load in Evelyn's pussy yet. "Your cock feels fantastic."
"Your cock feels pretty good too," Sam agreed as he gave a shove and ran his peter up the length of Sid's inside Evelyn's now stretched hole.
"I feel like you two are fucking each other inside me," Evelyn complained.
"I didn't know you were interested in anything except sheer volume of penis material," Sam joked.
"Motherfucker," Sid said, "I'm going to shoot in a second."
"Oh no, you don't," Evelyn yelled. "You're not going to come and leave me up here like this!...."
But by this time Doris, with some aid from the incredible spectacle on the floor below her, had managed to resuscitate Jake's weapon, and there wasn't one person in the room who didn't agree-that Evelyn's insane desires required the heavy artillery. Consequently, Jake got up and, coming around in front of Evelyn at last, smacked her in the face with his meat.
"Holy fuck," she gasped desperately, "Give it to me ... fuck me with it "
Sam and Sid, encouraged by the sight of Jake's newly inflated cock entering the battle, began to bring themselves off. Fucking each other as well as fucking Evelyn, they pumped away as hard as they could, and in a matter of thirty seconds, Sid gave a triumphant yell. "I'm coming!" he said. "I'm going to shoot!"
Sam, trying valiantly to synchronize his efforts with Sid's, now reached for his own climax. But it was not until Sid's face grew bright red, and his skinny body seesawed up and down insanely, that Sam began to make it.
"There it is," Sid yelled, as the come poured out of the end of his red-hot cock and into Evelyn's ever-demanding cavern.
"I can feel it!" shouted Sam. "Holy shit, son of a mother fucking bitch, cock-biting whore, I can feel that dirty asshole come all over the fucking place, I can feel it!"
And then Sam himself went into convulsions, so that in addition to being stuffed up by two separate cocks, Evelyn's cunt was being tom in two different ways by two different simultaneous orgasms within it.
"She must have an iron cunt," Cheryl breathed underneath Greg.
"You're damned right she does," said Greg, remembering previous episodes. The simultaneous fuck of Evelyn had heated up Greg's genitals, and he could feel the boiling sperm inside him surging to get out.
"I'm right on the edge of a climax," he confided to Cheryl.
"Shit," she said, "Can you hold it there?"
"I think so," he said. "I'll have to pull out for a while, and play around the outside."
"That's cool," Cheryl agreed, working her own body more feverishly now, trying to catch up to Greg so that they could come together.
By this time Sid and Sam had withdrawn their cocks from Evelyn and collapsed onto the floor. Jake was standing in front of Evelyn, teasing her with his cock. Arnold, now recovered from his incredible feat, laid down on top of Sid first, then Sam, licking among their pubic hairs, down to the onion-like sacs of their balls, and up along the shafts of their cocks, to salvage the slightest remnants of cream that clung to them. Doris, meanwhile, went down on Evelyn, who was breathing hard but still far from satisfied.
"That's it, Doris baby," clean me out. Lick the come out of my cunt with that long tongue of yours. Ream my asshole while you're at it," she encouraged, lifting a leg to give Doris better access.
All this time Greg was working his way slowly back into Cheryl. Looking down at the coupling, he decided that Cheryl's cunt-or parts of it-reminded him of an oyster: a smoked oyster on the outside, and a raw one on the inside. But with more color, and with lots of pink. He slid his cock in and out, feeling every inch of the delicious friction, of the overwhelming tightness, of the interior action that Cheryl was providing him by expanding and contracting her vagina. Greg was tip-toeing along the edges of orgasm, still waiting for Cheryl to catch up, when Jake attacked Evelyn.
There was no other word for it. Jake knew that, despite the size of his rod, it would not satisfy Evelyn if he just stuck it in and let it lay there. So he tore into her like a pile driver with all the violence he could muster.
At first Evelyn was pinned to the floor by the monstrous hunk of meat. It was just so big that it skewered her, and for a moment, till her cunt adjusted to being completely full, she could do nothing. It was then that Jake started ripping unmercifully at her, banging his log into her till Greg thought he was going to break her backbone on the floorboards. The sight of Jake's angry, savage cock disappearing into Evelyn's outwardly slim hole reminded Greg of attempting to bury a telephone pole in a mole hole. Gradually the opening gave way, stretched, and Evelyn, despite the sheer physical beating she had taken at first, regained her original ravenousness.
By this time the clenched couple, looking more like a pair on a wrestling mat than two people making love, were rolling over and over on the floor, fighting over the control of the shaft of flesh that connected them. Jake never noticed when his back rolled into the edge of a sofa, even when a tack, whose head protruded slightly more than it should have, scratched his skin and let out a tiny trickle of blood. Nor did Evelyn mind-or notice-in the least the numerous times that she rolled over ash trays or other objects on the floor before scattering, stoned people could get them out of the way of what turned into the main event.
While Greg and Cheryl were fucking, Judy decided that Melanie, sitting on a chair at the far end of the room, was a better target for her affections, and began to make her way toward her. Before she could get to where Melanie's slightly rounded stomach, with just a hint of fat, sloped down to her mound of pubic hair and then to her available pussy, Jake and Evelyn rolled into her and sent her toppling. Greg was afraid that Judy, stoned and perhaps a little drunk as well, would be irritated by the sight of her erstwhile lover being so violently fucked by someone else-and a man, as well-and would pull another stunt like the one he'd heard about in Boston. But apparently Judy was as reformed as she'd claimed. She fell into the tangle of limbs joyfully, bounced off as the insane fuck clanked away from her like some out of control jalopy, and regained her footing, laughing all the time.
"Let's see if we can come when they do," Greg suggested to Cheryl.
"All right," she agreed. "Just keep fucking along at about that pace, and see if you can get your hand on my clit." Complying with her request, Greg reached down and was not surprised to find Cheryl's entire nether region bathed in the thick secretions of her bottomless cunt. Like a blind man in a swamp, he made his fingers ooze among the slime until he had found the hard projection of her clit, and then gave it a thorough rubbing while he continued to hump the shit out of Cheryl from behind.
From the sheer noise of Jake and Evelyn's fuck, it was becoming obvious that a climax was near. Greg stared at the pair as they fought and clawed and bit and scratched their way around the room. Finally Jake struggled to his feet, clinging to Evelyn's fight frame. His rod jutted out from him like a steel beam, and Greg could only imagine what havoc that would play with any normal pussy having the misfortune to be impaled on it. But, even as she was virtually lifted by its mass, Evelyn was still cursing that cock and demanding more out of it. Her back heaved till Greg thought her shoulder blades would split out of her skin, and her arms yanked like great springs that were smashing her down on that weapon again and again.
"Come on, you bastard," Evelyn swore, "bring me off! Give me a fucking climax with that piece of shit you call a cock!"
At this Jake broke into a furious spurt of action. Lifting Evelyn up, he smashed her down on his cock until Greg thought he was going to split her in two. Again and again he lifted her and bashed her down, like someone who is trying to break an unbreakable thing on a sidewalk. The whole room, the whole building, the whole city, seemed to come together right there, seemed to be hanging on the inevitable moment when the violence of Jake's attacks would overwhelm Evelyn's desires, when the immense bulk of his cock would penetrate to wherever it had to in order to satisfy this maniacal lady, when the tension of the evening, built up by so much sexual activity to this incredible climax, would collapse in a tumbling heap and fie smoking on the ground in a wreck.
The pace was so fast now that to Greg it was like a carnival ride, in which the whole world blurred, and you simply closed your eyes and went with it, till it stopped. His cock had been buried in Cheryl's insides so long that he thought it must be pickled, yet it was still hard and firm, and he was still on the edge of orgasm, and Cheryl was still sucking him with those incredible moves.
Jake and Evelyn were still erect, still fucking the shit out of one another, still fighting, still battering the apartment to the walls, when Greg felt his climax start to go. Involuntarily he let out a yell that turned the atmosphere to liquid, and launched into a maniacal series of convulsions that carried over to Cheryl and set her off.
The yell pierced the atmosphere of the room, and tripped something in Jake's head. Wildly he started spinning, carrying Evelyn with him, her cunt closed over the treasured load of his cock. He began knocking into things just as Greg's sperm began to rise up and swell in his balls, and just as that magic point of no return was passed somewhere deep down in Greg's genitals, and the sperm started on its ecstatic journey, Jake reeled into an end table and began to fall.
In any other situation Greg-and everyone else-would have been worried, would have tried to catch Jake and Evelyn, would have been afraid. But in this situation, it was as if Jake had intended them to go down, and to go down hard, falling. Jake's body careened off the end table, and seemed to hang horizontally for a moment in the air, with Evelyn's attached to it and stiff trying to become more so. Just at that moment the come blasted out of Greg's cock, burning the end of his organ with pleasure and ripping into Cheryl's already convulsing vagina like water from a fire hose. Cheryl let out a piercing yell that added to the echoes of Greg's, seconds before, and began flailing wildly, trying to pull more of Greg's cock into her.
As Greg was ramming Cheryl from the rear, giving her everything he had and watching her ride it to a series of orgasmic waves that carried her on and on, Jake and Evelyn, fucking in midair, caught the edge of the sofa. That cushioned their fall, but on his way to the floor Jake's foot shot out and hit a standing lamp, sending it crashing to the floor in a symphony of scattering glass.
As the glass shattered, or almost at the same time, Jake's immense balls let go their load, and Evelyn, squirming now like an insect on the end of a pin, expelled all the air in her lungs and then took in a searing breath. As Jake's come hit her and raced like lava into the deepest niches of her cunt, she slammed herself on the floor, let out a bloodcurdling screech, and pounded Jake's back with her fists. "I'm coming, you cocksucking prick!" she screamed. "You made me come, you motherfucker." With this she gave herself up to a pounding, grinding series of grinds and shoves and bumps that must have lasted a full minute. At the end everyone was quiet. There was nothing else to do.
For many minutes the place was like a village the morning after a tornado. People meandered around picking things up, sweeping up glass, emptying ash trays, getting more drinks or smoking more dope. There was quiet conversation, and a few people shifted their places. On the floor, Evelyn closed her eyes and bathed in the come that dribbled out of her cunt like water over a waterfall. Jake managed to pull himself upright and get a beer into his quivering hand. The others sat around calmly.
Greg took a long while to put himself back together. For a long time he hardly knew where he'd been. The edging along the brink of orgasm, the perfect timing with Jake and Evelyn, had been just too much. It had all worked perfectly.
Then his mind started looking back over the party as a whole. In a way, it was a fit consummation to the previous weeks and months. It brought together a whole series of accidents of coincidences, that had somehow chosen him, and put them under his control. He felt as if he'd taken nature and helped it, made something more perfect out of it.
Cheryl was lying next to him, and he wondered whether she felt as satisfied as he did. He thought of her, of her troubles with Judy, and of Judy's own troubles. He thought of Evelyn, and her trip to New York. He remembered how that little trio had come together, and then seemingly faded away, and of how he'd gone to the beach and found-completely by accident-Jake and Doris. And then there was Arnold. Greg was perhaps happier about Arnold than about anything else, because he felt he'd given Arnold a chance to express himself as he really was, with no fears and no hangups-perhaps one of the few chances Arnold would ever have. He wondered vaguely what Arnold really did for a living, but then realized that he preferred not to know.
Finally, he remembered meeting Judy, seeing Evelyn again, and getting back together with Cheryl. It was somehow appropriate that Sam, so much more relaxed and natural-probably because of his kind of work-as a homosexual than Arnold, would have come to the party, because he represented Cheryl's future in a way. And what a surprise it had been to have Melanie and Sid show up-and to have Melanie, a complete stranger to him, start things off!
Greg was very sleepy. He was aware that the vague equilibrium that he now felt might be gone ' the next day. But as he lay there with Cheryl's head on his arm, hearing the ghostly echoes of her voice and feeling the presence of her infinitely complex personality, he was not sure that equilibrium was that important. What was important was his circle of friends, and Cheryl, and the future that this point of rest would make possible. His apartment, so empty just a few weeks before, was now like a camp in the wilderness, full of comfortably resting bodies who had all done what was important to them-which was what they wanted to do. Greg liked the feeling. Seeing that Cheryl had dropped off to sleep, he closed his eyes and tried to match the tempo of his quiet breathing with hers.
