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From: M1KEHUNT@aol.com
Subject: [April#20 Celeste RP] Feet Are Neat-by MIKE HUNT
You're not allowed to read sexually explicit material
like this until your 18th birthday.
Men's sexual performance declines after age 18.
I'm sure there's a connection.
Feet Are Neat - by MIKE HUNT
It was my first real job. I mean, I had cleaned people's yards and done
babysitting and stuff like that, but working in the shoe store was the
first job where I had to show up at a certain time and got a paycheck every
Friday. I had applied for 6 jobs before summer vacation and gotten 2 offers.
The other job had been in a fast-food place, but they were paying $.35
less per hour, so I chose the shoe store.
It was terminally boring, and for a while I wondered if I had made a bad
decision. At least at the fast-food place I'd be with other teenagers and
would see some customers once in a while. Ah well.
I'd been at work nearly a month when SHE came in. It was another dead
Tuesday in a dead store in a dead mall. I had just come back from lunch
and told Bill, the assistant manager, to take his. I knew he was meeting
his girlfriend at a restaurant.
"Take your time," I told him. "Nothing's happening here, anyway."
The real manager only came by on Fridays. He was in charge of nine stores,
and ours was the worst performer, something he reminded us of weekly.
There wasn't anything we could do about it, this mall was in a bad
section of town, and got no traffic.
Anyway, I was alone in the store when a nice looking woman in her 30's
came in. She walked around checking out the displays, picking up a couple
of samples. As she walked around, I got to see her from front, back and
sides. I had to say she was pretty nice looking, I mean for an older woman
and all. She had a decent figure, with a thin waist and nice chest. But
I especially noticed her legs, which were long, muscular, and tanned. As
she sat down I approached her and asked if there was anything specific
she'd like to see. She handed me three samples.
Women are funny about shoes, you know? They like to look and shop, and
admire and try on, and look and shop some more. Up until that day I liked
men shoppers better. They come in to buy. They try on one pair, maybe two,
make their purchase and leave.
I figured I was in for a half-hour of running back and forth to the
stockroom, opening boxes, and all. What crap. If I had only known what
lay ahead, I'm sure my attitude would have been better.
"And what size are you?" I asked, summoning my most helpful salesman voice.
"I really don't know," she said. "It keeps changing, as I lose and gain
weight." My sister was constantly dieting, so I knew what that was like.
"Well let's find out," I said. I pulled up my little salesman's bench
in front of her and slid it up until I was at the right distance to measure
her. I was sitting on the cushioned part of the bench, straddling the
inclined end with my legs. I reached out and took hold of her ankle and
slipped one of her shoes off her feet. Then I set her foot down on the
sloped part of the stool in between my legs. I was holding her foot in the
metal measuring plate when she began to twitch.
"You're tickling me," she said. "It's uncomfortable. Well, not
uncomfortable, just, ah, well, it tickles." I hadn't faced this before.
"Sorry," I said, lamely. "It looks like you're a 5, maybe a 5-and-a-half.
B or C." I wasn't too precise because I hadn't had much experience. Bill
had trained me to do it that way, since I didn't want to call out one size
and end up having to argue with the customer as I brought out other sizes
later. If they questioned me, Bill told me to tell them that some import
manufacturers ran their sizes a little smaller or a little larger than
American manufacturers. It was bullshit, but it sounded plausible, I guess.
I released her foot, and she clipped my thigh with her toes as she pulled
it back. I told her that she would have to put on some "peds" to try on
shoes, and we weren't allowed to have customers' bare feet in the shoes.
I walked over to the register and got a pair of the thin nylon booties.
Then I disappeared into the stockroom, and returned a few moments later
with her three samples in the correct sizes.
I handed her the peds. "Put them on me," she said. That was also new.
I'd never had a woman tell me to do that; they'd always just taken the
little slippers and put them on themselves. I didn't care.
Again I straddled my little bench. I picked up first one foot and put
the bootie on, then the other. It felt nice, holding this woman's leg in
my hand. I offered her the first pair of shoes. They were a pair of
sideless dress pumps with a single strap around the back. As I helped
her into them, I made some idle conversation. One of the questions I
asked was how many pairs of shoes she had.
"Oh, I don't know, 50 or 60, I suppose," she answered.
"Jeez, really? What do you do with all of them?" I asked.
"Some are for work and some are for play and some are for sports and some,
well, woman just love shoes. And I'm a woman, and I love shoes. My husband
asks me the same question all the time."
I said "I understand why. You must take over the whole closet." During
the entire conversation I was putting her shoes on, caressing her feet,
rubbing her soles, touching her toes.
"Besides," she continued, "shoes are sexy. You know? I mean they can be,
and they are, sometimes, you know?"
With my limited sexual experience I could say I had no idea what she was
talking about. But was I going to tell her that? Nooooooo.
She bent one of her knees and pulled her leg up, bringing the shoe closer
to her face. But as she did so, the front of her dress opened, and I got
a nice look up it at her shapely legs. I even got a flash of her panties
before she put her leg back down.
She got up and walked around in a small circle, examining the shoes and
testing their comfort. She walked over in front of a floor mirror and
looked at them again. The mirror was set on brackets at a slight angle,
to let the customers see the shoes more easily. She came back and sat down.
"So?" I said. "Want them?"
"I don't know. Let's try on the others," she replied.
I put her foot back between my legs on the tilted surface of the bench,
and began to take off the shoes. While she was up walking around, I had
what I thought was a bright idea. I had moved the bench a few inches closer
to her chair, so when her foot came to rest her knee was bent a little
more than before. If I just got my head down a little lower, I'd be able
to see up to her thighs.
I brought out the next pair, an all black spike high heel. Again I slipped
them on her feet, and again I managed to get her to flex her knees and
let me see up those beautiful thighs. From the corner of my eye I saw her
smirking at me, but I didn't think she really knew what I was trying to
do. Or maybe she did. Who knew?
She got up and walked around. As she did, her hands went to her skirt and
she hiked it up to mid-thigh. She wanted to see what it would look like with
a short skirt on, I guessed. I think these were what some women call their
"fuck-me" shoes. Apparently they were for a particular outfit she had.
She walked over to the floor mirror, still holding her dress up several
inches above her knee. She called me over. I got up and walked over to her.
"Here, look. These hurt a little on my toes," she said to me. I bent down
on one knee and began squeezing on the shoes to see how much room there
was in the shoes. As I did so, I realized that I was at the perfect angle
to see up her skirt in the floor mirror, especially if she continued to
hold it up higher than usual.
I worked and massaged her foot, all the while staring intently into the
mirror. God did she have beautiful legs, and I could see all the way up
to her crystal white panties. This was a trick I would have to remember
for use during the rest of the summer! After a couple minutes it became
obvious that she had made her decision. But she still wasn't tell me what
it was. "Decided?" I asked.
"Maybe later. For now, let's try on the last pair. None of these has been
perfect, so far, though I like them both. Come on, honey." I hated it when
older women called me "honey."
She returned to her chair, I to my bench. The third box contained a pair
of sandals with incredibly long tie-strings. They were intended to wrap
around and around the woman's leg, finally tying somewhere behind the knees.
The style was called "Gladiator", I guessed because the laces were
reminiscent of Roman soldiers. This was going to be interesting, I thought.
As I sat down, I pulled my bench in another couple of inches. I began by
putting the first shoe on her leg, then taking the ties and reaching around
behind her leg to thread the long leather strings around. By now her leg was
well bent at the knee, and my head was bobbing up and down, apparently
looking
for the best way to wrap the ties, but actually looking for crotch shots up
her dress. I was getting plenty, and it was beginning to have an effect on
me.
It must have taken three minutes to put on the first shoe.
I began lacing up the second. This time she plunked her foot down on the
inclined bench right between my legs near my crotch. I couldn't tell if
it was because she was trying not to bend her leg so much, or for some
other reason. It didn't matter, and it didn't make a difference. I still
got plenty of looks up her dress. When I was finished I looked at her face.
She was smiling broadly at me. At the time I didn't exactly know why. Now,
of course, I do.
She got up and repeated her trip over to the mirror. "Come on over here,
would you?" she said to me. Of course I jumped at the opportunity. But
it took me a moment to rearrange myself as I stood up from my salesman's
bench. I walked over to her, hoping for a repeat of my game with the mirror.
She gave me the opportunity.
"How do they look?" she asked. "I can hardly see anything with this stupid
skirt in the way. I should have worn something shorter today. I mean, look,
the laces come all the way up my calves..." She hiked her skirt up a little
and cocked her head to one side to look. "And I can hardly tell. Here,
let me look in the mirror."
She inched up the skirt a little more, then said, "Oh I know, we used
to do this in school after the nuns had checked our skirts for the proper
length." And she took hold of both sides of her belt and twisted it over
and over, rolling up the skirt around the belt as she did so. She must
have hiked it six inches, maybe seven, before she stopped.
"There. That's better," she said throatily. I was still crouched down,
looking in the mirror, trying to memorize that most beautiful sight for
later when I could beat off in the privacy of my bedroom. "Yeah, these.
Maybe the black ones. I'm not sure."
She went back to the chair to sit down. I went back to the bench. Now
her leg was bent, and her skirt was even shorter. I wasn't sure, but she
seemed to be much more careless about how she looked to me. All I knew
is that I was getting shot after shot up that skirt, and I was loving it.
I had almost finished removing these complicated sandals when she said
"Oh, I have to pee. Do you have a ladies room?"
"Not really," I said. "But we do have a toilet in the back. It's supposed
to be just for employees, but you're welcome to use it. It's not much,
but it works." I wasn't kidding. It was barely a closet with a bowl. But
at least we didn't have to walk the length of the mall to take a piss.
And at that point I would have done anything to keep her in the store.
I continued, "It's down through the stockroom, left at the phone, last
door. Here, I'll show you." We walked out of the customer area into the
stockroom, past hundreds and hundreds of boxes of shoes, just waiting for
the customer with the right size and wrong taste to come buy them.
"My god, look at all these shoes. Oh, a girl could just get lost in here."
I didn't know what she was talking about. Get lost? I mean it wasn't THAT
big. I kept walking and pointed out the door to the john. She went in.
A few minutes later when she came out, she said "Boy you weren't kidding.
It's claustrophobic in there. They sure didn't waste any space on something
as useless as a rest room, huh?"
"Well, to be honest, we don't usually close the door. And since it's only
guys who work here, we don't usually have to sit down. We just..."
She interrupted. "I get the picture. Well, thanks for the use of the
facility, and for the interesting commentary." She laughed. I couldn't
tell if she was laughing at me or with me. "Now. About these shoes?" She
pointed to the row upon row of shoe boxes. It was like she was a kid in
a candy store or something.
"Men's on the right, women's on the left," I explained nonchalantly. "Dress
shoes and boots up high, casual shoes in the middle, sneakers and sandals
near the floor."
"Oh, a regular system," she said. She stood up on one of the little
salesman's
benches to reach the upper shelves. She stood up on it, on her tip-toes,
reaching for the dress shoe boxes. I stayed on the ground, trying to get
another look up her dress. I could see high up her thighs, but no further.
She started to wobble a little, and I instinctively reached out to steady
her. It was only after my effort that I realized I had one of my hands
on each of her hips, and that she felt warm to my touch. Steadied, she
stepped back down with her treasure, two more boxes of shoes.
"Let me try these," she said.
"Sure. Whatever," I replied.
I turned to walk out front, but she said, "No, we can do it here. Just
slide your bench over here. I'll sit on this carton. I'd like to stay among
the shoes." She was weird, I thought. Fine.
As she sat, I again took her leg in my hands and placed it between my thighs
on the slope of my stool. I bent her leg slightly, and as I dipped down to
pick up the shoe box, I was rewarded with a quick glimpse up her legs.
But I didn't see as far up as before, because I didn't get that flash of
white
panties that I was looking for. I was actually sitting back up, working on
the
shoe when I realized that was because she didn't have her panties on! She had
taken them off in the bathroom, and what I had seen was her bush.
I was finished with the first shoe, and ever-so-slowly bent down to pick up
the second. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I stared with all my
might as my eye passed the field of vision that would let me have a look
at that junction between her legs. I could definitely see her pubic hair,
topping off the nicest set of legs I had ever seen, including in the men's
magazines I had managed to hide from my Mom.
"Wow!" I thought. "This has to be the best summer job in the world!" Not
bad for a high-school kid. I slowly finished putting the second shoe on
her dainty foot, sneaking as many looks at that "Y" where her legs met
her torso as I could in the process. Reluctantly I finished, and she stood
up and took a couple of steps in the narrow aisle in the stockroom. We
had two floor mirrors at the far end of the aisle; they were replacements
in case the one in the showroom broke. It happened every once in a while,
since the mirrors would occasionally fall over. They were nestled together,
like shopping carts, just waiting their turn for the showroom floor.
Now she walked up to one to look at the shoes. I followed her. As I bent
down and began to "feel the shoe", I was treated to an upskirt picture
that was a sight to behold. I could clearly see her pubes, and I got my
first look at that crack between her legs. It was partly hidden beneath
her heavy bush, but I could still see her lips clearly at the bottom before
they disappeared into the thicket. She twisted and turned her leg to see
the shoe from all sides, which only had the effect of letting me see more,
then less, then more again. What a tease!
Finally she walked back over to the carton and sat down. She quickly
slipped off the shoes and said "That was nice. I mean, those were nice.
Now let's see how this fits."
I saw that she had selected a pair of shiny brown thigh-high boots. Sitting
back on my bench, I watched as she lazily lifted one leg up to try to put the
boot on. Her legs parted, and I was confronted with her incredible pussy just
a couple feet from my young eyes. I couldn't help but stare. She struggled
and
grunted, as she tried to pull the boot on. Her one leg was planted on the
floor. But her other leg kept waving higher and higher in the air as she
struggled to surround her foot in the soft leather. She might as well not
even
had a skirt on. With her legs so widely parted, I could see her cunt fully,
with the puffy lips now a slight pink, framed by her thick woman hair.
Up to that point I had always liked the more tasteful cunt pictures in
Penthouse. But this was like having a live Hustler model right before my
eyes...except that she was just a nice lady in my shoe store. But I was
staring between her legs and my young dick was getting a monster erection.
My reverie only lasted about 30 seconds or so. I pushed the boot on her
foot, and she put it on the floor. She lifted her other leg; I knew we
were going to repeat the process, and I couldn't wait.
I picked up her delicate foot and aimed the top of the boot at it. Holding
her
leg about mid-way between her ankle and knee, I slipped the top of the boot
on.
Easy. But now the resistance of the leather being slipped over her foot made
it
harder and harder (I mean tougher and tougher) (Well actually it also made it
harder and harder, come to think of it) to slip the boot on, but I pushed
from
my end while she tugged at the top of the boot from her side.
Again her one leg lifted to an almost perfectly horizontal position, and
I could see completely up her short skirt to that glorious pussy that now
held my full attention. Again I stared and stared, trying to memorize every
inch of skin, every fold of her cunt, every nook and cranny of her box.
I suddenly felt, more than saw, that her eyes were watching mine, and I
flushed a bright beet red, knowing that I had been caught doing something
naughty. But when I looked up, her eyes were averted, and I wasn't really
sure whether she had seen me staring or not.
Finally the boot was fully on (darn!) and she stood up. Another trip to
the mirror. I followed behind like a puppy dog with a new master, and again
bent down to assist my customer. I used the mirror as I had before to
look up her dress while she admired the shoes. After a few moments she
was done and walked back up the aisle to her seat. I watched from behind
as she walked and noticed what a great ass she had and how it sashayed
from side to side with each step. Man! What a piece. I would have done
anything she wanted at that point just to keep the thrill ride going.
Alas, it was not to be. As she sat down she said "I'll take the sandals
and the black high heels and maybe the first pair. Not these boots, though.
They're too small; they pinch." I was crest-fallen. I'd hoped she would
stay the whole afternoon trying on shoes.
"OK. Yeah, sure. I'll wrap them up," I said dejectedly.
"Help me off with the boots, would you?"
"You bet." I turned around and faced away from her, putting her one
outstretched leg between mine and pulled the first boot off. It was tight,
I could tell by how much force I had to apply to get it to slide off. She
withdrew her foot and inserted the other between my legs. I pulled on the
boot. Nothing. I pulled again. Nothing. "God, this one is tight," I said.
"Let me see..." I turned around and inserted my hand in the top of the boot.
I didn't really know what I was doing, as I hadn't faced this problem
before, but it seemed the logical thing to do.
My hand barely fit inside, but I could slide it down about a foot before
the boot narrowed and I couldn't get any further. It was her ankle and
instep which were causing the problem. Having my hand stuck down the boot
next to her velvet skin only made me more aware of how sensuous this
creature was. But I had a problem to deal with, which broke my horny
high-school concentration some.
I moved back and took hold of the lower part of the boot. I was now facing
her again, and holding her leg up high in the air. Her cunt was on display,
like some sexual statue looking me right in the face. I twisted the leather
from side to side, as though I was trying to unscrew a jar, and felt it
give a little. I twisted some more. With each movement, her leg swung
wildly, and her pussy bounced around on the carton in front of me. I
couldn't help but watch.
Finally I felt the boot begin to slip, and I yanked it off in one
accidental, and sudden motion. The "ped" went flying.
"Yow," she exclaimed. "That hurt."
"Oh shit," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I mean I'm really sorry.
I..." I was at a total loss for words.
"Ow, my foot hurts," she said. "Right here." She pointed to the instep and
the patch of skin on the top of her foot. It could see that it was reddened
from a minor abrasion, probably from the friction of the leather as the
boot had slid off. "Do you have any ointment, or anything?" she asked.
"No, not really," I said. My mind raced. This was a shoe store, not a
drug store. We had shoe polish, but nothing that I could use on the
abrasion. I picked up her foot and inspected the area closely. Again her
cunt came into view, but now I was preoccupied even though I looked. I
was afraid if she complained I might lose my job!
"Oh, that feels good," she said. I continued. "That's better. That's much
better. Keep doing that."
I took her foot and gently massaged it, gently rubbing my fingers over the
bruised area. She sat back and let me continue. She obviously liked it. Now
she
leaned back even further, and my apprehension diminished. I even allowed
myself
to relax as I looked up her dress and continued the massage. "Nice," I
thought.
Her head was now tilted back, and her eyes were closed. At least I think they
were closed. You know how you sometimes close your eyes almost all the way,
but keep just slits open at the bottom to see? She might have been doing
that,
but I'm not sure. She might have been watching me, but I wasn't going to let
that stop me from drinking in the view of her womanhood, with the pussy lips
even more puffy than before. As she twisted her leg from side to side, I
could
even see the cunt hole open and close just slightly. I wanted to stick my
face
right in, but I was afraid to make such a move.
I heard her sigh, and she said "Would you mind keeping doing this for
a couple of minutes. This is sooo relaxing. I feels soooo nice."
"Absolutely!" I'm sure she could hear the eagerness in my young voice.
"I don't mind at at all." I thought, "Are you kidding? I'll do this all
day and twice on Sunday!" I almost said it aloud!
She slid forward on the carton, and her skirt rode up even higher. It was now
completely up her thighs, barely covering the juncture of her legs. Of course
it didn't really matter, because with her legs spread and swaying from side
to side, I had a perfect view of her snatch. Still, it made this sexual sight
even more erotic as her skirt was so wantonly, yet accidentally pushed up.
As she slunk down, she moved herself forward on the box. And her foot
came up closer to my crotch. In fact, one of her toes brushed against the
material of my pants leg near my thigh. "That's wonderful. That's amazing.
I never would have thought..." she said. "You are quite good at this. I
ought to hire you just to come to my house and massage my feet. I've never
done this before, and it's so nice."
I couldn't have agreed more, but I kept silent. Then she moved further
down, and her foot made contact against my pant leg. It was a scant inch
from my erection, which had been at full staff for several minutes. As
I continued my ministrations with her foot, she flexed her ankle, and the
bottom of her foot rubbed against my dick.
"Oh, that's it," she said. I didn't know if it was a random comment, or
if she realized what had happened. I took firmer hold of her foot, and
held it where it was. My cock was throbbing. She slid forward again. She
was nearly at the edge of the carton she was using as a chair. If she moved
any further toward me, she would fall on her ass on the floor.
I moved a couple of inches toward her. My dick was now firmly pressed
against her foot, just my cotton pants and boxer shorts separated us from
skin-to-skin contact.
Her knee rocked from side to side, opening and closing my view of her
incredible gash, as her foot tilted back and forth, seemingly massaging
my engorged member through my pants. Her eyes remained closed, but now
I became sure she was surreptitiously watching me, and I felt her foot
purposefully rubbing against me. I returned my gaze to her cunt, and I
felt her grasp my hardness between her big toe and the next one. She had
me in a vise grip with her toes, and as she stroked up and down it was
only seconds before I felt myself on the sexual launching pad, beginning
the climb to the heights of passion.
Ten seconds passed. I looked up her skirt. She peeked out at me. Her foot
grasped me, and sensuously, if a little clumsily, stroked my cock. And
then I came, no, more like exploded in my pants. I grunted and groaned,
as wave after wave of ecstasy flooded my body, as I soiled myself, as I
pumped my cum into my underwear and down my leg, as my dick throbbed
between her toes, as I experienced my wild orgasm.
When the final wave was wending down, I opened my eyes to see her staring
directly at me with a huge smile on her face. She had enjoyed herself too.
But when I made a movement to approach her to perhaps return the favor,
she quickly stood up and straightened herself. Clearing her throat, she
spoke as though nothing had happened. "So like I said, I'll take the first
pair, and the heels, and the sandals."
"Sure, sure," I mumbled. I guessed recess had ended. It was back to
business. We walked out of the back, single file through the narrow aisle
until we reached the showroom floor. Still no other customers. What a
surprise. As I turned the corner, she looked down and saw the huge
spreading stain on my pants.
"Oh my, sorry about that," she said.
"Well, sorry about your foot," I replied. "I guess we're even." But I
wanted this customer to come back. I thought quickly. "Maybe I can give
you our frequent customer bonus," I said. "After you buy 10 pairs, the
next pair is free. But I'll just give you a free pair today, and you can
maybe buy the rest some other time. OK?"
She smiled. "Sure, if that's what you want to do."
"I do," I said. "I have the authority to do that." Of course I didn't,
and with my youth I didn't realize how stupid that probably sounded. But
I was trying to impress her.
I rang up the purchase and handed her a shopping bag with the three boxes
of shoes. As we were walking out of the store, she reached into her purse
and took out the panties she had taken off earlier in the bathroom. She
pressed them into my hand.
"Here," she whispered as we neared the doorway to the mall. "Maybe you
can jerk off in these tonight while you think about me. I'd like that."
Then she disappeared.
I did jerk off into those soft silky panties that night. And the next night.
And the next. And I carried them with me back to work every day hoping that
she would show up. I thought she'd like to know that I was jerking off
to the memory of her.
I never got the chance to tell her. A week later, they closed my store
and laid me off. I kept the panties for months. When school started again,
I took a shop class and turned them into a lamp.
No, just kidding.
* * * *
The stories of MIKE HUNT are true. Mostly. Usually. Well sometimes I have to
embellish or add some dialog, you know? This is another true story. Except
that it didn't happen to me. It happened to my best friend Jimmy Vertis;
he told me about the next day and we re-lived it (verbally, of course) many
times after that. Me? I was the schmuck who took the fast food job. The only
interesting thing that happened to me that summer was that I burned my thumb
on the stove while flipping burgers. I didn't think you'd want to read that
story. Anyway, I don't do torture.
For more stories written by M1KE HUNT, e-mail to Bannerboy1@aol.com.
Fans and flames to M1KE HUNT@aol.com. Please note that the 2nd
character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). M1KE is pronounced
"em-one-key", rhymes with "monkey."
The story is Copyright 1997 M1KE HUNT. You can distribute it for free on
computer bulletin boards and newsgroups, or at church on Sunday if you want.
For missing pieces and older stuff, try eli's archive at
http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm.
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From: cmndr@nym.alias.net.NOSPAM (Commander Jameson)
Subject: Repost by req.: "HEAT" by James Lynn (A+ story)
The HEAT
by
James Charles Lynn
1
On July 11th, the temperature in downtown Willyville topped
94 degrees, a considerable jump from the high of 78 the previous
day. The high pressure area that Bob Katt, the weather forecast-
er for TV station KNUT, had been predicting all week had finally
arrived. The sun sat hot and brassy in a sky devoid of clouds.
Bob Katt had predicted that the temperature would only increase
for the rest of the week, at least. The heat wave had begun.
Three days later the temperature broke 100 and everybody
knew the heat was here to stay. The air was hot and heavy.
Those unfortunate enough to be working outside or without benefit
of air conditioning groaned and cursed the sun, giver of all life
and bringer of all misery.
Skin became a much more common sight as uncomfortable humans
stripped down to the bare necessities, if not farther, in search
of some relief. As clothes fell away, so did inhibitions as the
human, the horniest animal on earth (who was actually capable of
becoming sexually aroused at the mere sight of the uncovered body
of a fellow human of the preferred sex! Imagine that!) began to
follow the urges that nature had imbued them and that they them-
selves had honed to a fine and wondrous art.
In other words, once the night cooled off, they started
fucking like rabbits.
But human nature can be a two edged sword, and while one
edge was sweet, the other was very bitter indeed. Hot weather
and its attendant ills caused tempers to flare where they other-
wise would have been held with discretion. Many great home
truths, which had been considerately unmentioned by friends,
lovers, relatives, etc., suddenly came out in full force with the
expected arguments and fights following. Frustration at the
endless discomfort caused human to strike out at fellow human in
a futile substitute for lashing back at the true source of their
aggravation, a safe 93 million miles out of reach. The local
constabulary spent a great portion of their time quelling these
arguments. Of course, being human and just as uncomfortable as
everybody else, their tempers were somewhat shorter than they
would normally have been, and guess who they took it out on?
Quite a number of offenders made their way to the local lockup by
way of the local emergency room.
But all of this was simply human nature, and none of it was
very serious, at least not on a grand scale. Civilization had
survived much worse. But on a personal level some of the catas-
trophes were very serious. Some lives were changed completely.
One such person who'd had his life changed by the heat was Harold
Sykes. And here's what happened...
---
The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the
bedroom with an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant
75 degrees. Perfect temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back
on the pillow with a satisfied sigh of pleasure not yet faded to
memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed between her knees, his
erection pounding almost painfully against his belly. The moon-
light spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly eyed
her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of
her orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the
wiry mass of her pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent
so much time carefully and artistically bringing her to a power-
ful climax. Whatever else you could say about his performance in
the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of the skills he
was especially proud of.
But enough wool-gathering (bad pun intended). Harold leaned
forward, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her. He
kissed her fully and deeply as he gently lowered his weight onto
her. For a moment they simply lay there, as he savored the full
body contact, the feel of her naked skin against his own. Then
he raised his hips and she gently guided him into her.
For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever
compare to the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust
deep, and her hips moved in response. His excitement towered to
new heights, and his balls ached for release. Take it slow, take
it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand along her side,
from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving.
He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythm, her hips moving
with his. Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her
hands moved along his back. Her breathing became short and
rapid, and Harold knew she was building to another orgasm. With
each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a new height until
finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too
soon...
Too late. He cried out as his seed shot into the warm
depths of her body. Face straining, he pumped again, one last
time, trying to squeeze what last little bit of feeling might be
left after that almost painful explosion of pleasure. Then he
collapsed on top of her, exhausted.
For an endless time he lay, gathering strength. Finally it
soaked into his sated consciousness that something was wrong.
Cindi lay beneath him wooden, unmoving. He looked down into eyes
that stared back with cold fury. "What-what's the matter?"
The anger in her eyes flared as she placed her hands on his
chest and pushed him off. Her strength was surprising, and
Harold fairly flew against the wall by the bed. Blinking back
stars, he looked at her in confusion.
"God dammit!" she yelled.
Frightened now, Harold could only gasp, "What...what..."
"You didn't even try to make it last!" Hands on hips, her
bare breasts jiggled fetchingly as she shouted. But Harold
wasn't exactly fetched at the moment.
"I sure did try! It's not my fault-"
"The fuck it isn't! You don't even TRY!" she yelled, "Two
pumps, a tickle, and a squirt and that's all you're ever good
for! I'm sick of it!"
What the fuck was this? It was hard to believe she had been
so intimate and caring a minute before. Miss Jekyll had just
turned into a raving Miss Hyde and Harold was far too stunned to
properly defend himself. "You mean to say you haven't gotten any
enjoyment out of tonight?"
"Ha!" She was gathering her clothes and putting them on
now. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might get a little
tired of being frigged and licked every single night? I want a
MAN, dammit! Not some little boy who shoots his wad five seconds
after he gets his pants off!"
He watched, unbelieving, as she stomped around the room.
This was the woman he had been so in lust with the last few
weeks? Was he really such a terrible lover? "Why are you doing
this to me?"
"You did it to yourself," she snapped. She was fully
dressed by now. Shouldering her handbag, she turned to him.
"I'm leaving now. Until you learn how to fuck, don't bother
calling me." Her pretty features twisted into an ugly ironic
smile, "Have a nice life."
And then she left. Harold stared at the door a long time,
his stomach churning along with his mind. Cindi had deliberately
set about to hurt him in the worst way she possibly could. The
only thought that kept running through his head was WHY?
The sound of a car starting and pulling out floated in
through the bedroom window. Somehow this sound seemed to bring
reality back into focus and his mind started working again. With
a snarl he jumped off the bed and ran to the window, throwing the
curtains aside.
He screamed something out the window, causing lights to come
on all over the neighborhood: "YOU FUCKING BITCH!"
He ducked back inside before anybody could see him, collaps-
ing back on the bed. Nothing was resolved, and some painful
issues would have to be dealt with in the near future.
But he had to admit that, for the moment, he felt a little
better.
The days seemed to grow longer, and if possible, hotter.
Bob Katt received the usual number of crank letters and calls
demanding he do something about the heat. He even went so far as
to run a videotape of an indian rain dance on his show. No such
luck, and the local indian community inundated KNUT with calls
demanding Bob's resignation for broadcasting racist material. A
couple dozen even went so far as to picket the station's parking
lot. It was noted by many that some of the placards bearing the
station's call sign, the N and the U were transposed, though
whether this was accidental or intentional was unclear. Bob was
beginning to wonder if it was time for that long overdue vaca-
tion. The station manager wondered the same thing.
The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society
(formed somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor's office
to temporarily modify the laws against public indecency so as to
allow the nudists to pursue their own version of 'personal free-
dom'. A story about it appeared in the local newspaper, and a
day later the mayor's office received over a thousand anonymous
letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80% of those
letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed.
There was no comment from the mayor's office about the whole
situation. Rumor had it he had snuck out of town for a long
overdue vacation...
---
For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over
him without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of
depression. At work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he
drew the blinds and sat in the stifling heat staring at a blank
wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on the street he would avert
his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at work spoke to
him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private world.
When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss
it as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart
ached and he spent long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi
might be with and what they might be doing and being certain that
she was having a far, far better time now than she had ever had
with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper and he knew that
over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.
The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a
co-worker for singing "Zipity-Doo-Da" one morning after announc-
ing his engagement. After explaining to his supervisor (and the
police officer) that he had been under a lot of stress lately, he
was awarded with a two-week (unpaid) vacation and the advice to
see a psychiatrist. Soon.
Instead he sat at home, watching "Love Boat" reruns and
drinking some horrible beer and lemonade concoction bottled in
New Jersey. Masochism was the word of the day here.
He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether
to use a sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone
rang.
The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him
from the fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to
answer the phone, as usual, to see who would be calling. The
rest of him said screw it, why bother?
Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to
the phone and yanked the receiver off the cradle. Placing it to
his mouth, he offered the most cheery greeting his jangled mind
could come up with.
"Go fuck yourself."
There was moment's hesitation before a familiar male voice
came out of the other end. "Harold! How ya doin'?"
"Hi, Tom," Harold sighed. Tom was Harold's best friend and
a devout hedonist, to boot. "I'm doing fine. Just don't feel
like getting out much in this heat, is all."
"Yeah, right," Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly
clear he didn't believe a word of it. "Well, shit, man, you need
to get out sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or some-
thing. And I got just the thing..."
Harold silently groaned and rubbed his temples. The only
thing he wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom's 'just the
thing' ideas was the last thing he needed right now. "Uh, look,
maybe later-"
"Later my ass!" The voice on the other end roared. "I know
what happened. Kelly told me." Harold's eyes widened but he
really wasn't surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to
everyone who would sit still long enough to listen. He tried to
imagine that Cindy was sitting in front of him instead of the TV
and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that sledgehammer.
Tom continued, "Shit, man, something like that would've
killed me. Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have
ever heard of. Nobody has a right to do that to somebody else."
"Yeah, I ain't too happy about it either. But I can't do
anything, so how about I call you later-"
"I ain't done yet." Tom interrupted firmly. "You've got to
get out of there and back into circulation. You stay in that
dark house much longer, you're going to do something stupid."
Harold felt a sudden shock. What had he been thinking? He had
twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the beer and
lemonade in his stomach began to churn.
"Look, Harold, I'm your buddy. It hurts me to see what
she's done to you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way
to do it. There's a party going on Saturday afternoon at this
place I know over in Squirrel Heights. Right off Wanker street.
The whole gang's gonna be there, along with a bunch of other
people I don't know. Lots of available girls, I hear. Hoping to
add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble."
Harold's voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge.
"I...I don't know..."
"Aw, c'mon. I want you there. You don't have to do any-
thing or talk to anybody if you don't want. Just soak up some
rays and good feelings. I ain't heard of anybody going away from
a West Side Party feeling bad."
"Well..."
"It's settled, then," Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prema-
turely. "I'll be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with
me. I know you don't drink, and I could use somebody sober to
drive me home. If I go home at all. If not, you can use the
car. Sound good?"
Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling
a bit better. Tom's nonstop talking had distracted him from the
full impact of the crisis, and his depression was beginning to
lift a bit. "Sure, why not? Should I bring anything?"
"Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe."
They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally
hung up, he felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long
ago. It was good to be reminded he had friends. Maybe with
their help he could pull through this depression and come out a
whole human being once again. But that was still a ways off.
In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to
the collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was
astonished to discover how much of that stuff he had drunk.
Thinking about it reminded him just how awful the stuff really
was. He hiccuped once and ran for the bathroom, hand over his
mouth.
He almost made it.
The week wore on and Willyville got even hotter, if such a
thing was possible. It also got weirder, and many had considered
that impossible, too.
During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost
town, as everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the
heat. Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in
the city, beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made
sense of a sort, after all, you don't even need to get inside the
house to steal one. Many a homeowner returned from work in the
evening to find a large hole in the wall where the family's most
cherished appliance once rested and subsequently broke down in
tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden brainstorm that
guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime wave. He
promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias
or slipped discs. When the anxious media questioned the chief of
police on this new tactic, he simply replied that the results so
far were "interesting".
In other news, weather forecaster Bob Katt had been suspend-
ed for appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and
nothing else. It seems the building's air-conditioning system
had been stolen the previous night (an impressive feat in itself,
considering that the compressor alone weighed half a ton) and Bob
had refused to work in a suit in the stifling heat. So he had
walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and up in
front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could
even think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very
bad form to yank him off the camera, so they simply let him do
his broadcast. Once he was finished he was greeted by a purple
faced station manager. Despite the indian pressure groups, Bob
was still very popular in Willyville, so he was not fired on the
spot.
Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue
vacation...
---
Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise,
surprise!). Harold was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn't
slept at all the previous night. His stomach was a tight little
knot and his heart would not stop pounding. He was having second
thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had never been a party
animal, and recent...events...had convinced him that he would be
very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he
thought about it, he was rather frightened of them. After all,
if he couldn't keep Cindi happy, would he be able to keep any
woman happy? And there would be lots of girls there, probably all
laughing at him. Why go?
Then he thought about his depression of the last couple
weeks. Tom had a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.
Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove
over to Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold
had lapsed into a moody silence, soaking up Tom's words and
saying almost something in return. If Tom noticed, he didn't
show it as he kept up a steady monologue all the way to the
house.
The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story
affair sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland.
The place was run by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wil-
burn, who believed in free expression of everything and threw
wild parties as often as the house's budget would allow. Some of
the parties were solely for the house's inhabitants, but most of
them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and most kinds of
drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard rumors
even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty intim-
idating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of
Tom's car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding
house looming over him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding
it, he knew he had made a mistake. He as much as said so to Tom,
who ignored him completely.
The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when
Tom led him around the back of the house. There must have been
almost a hundred people there, engaged in all manner of outdoor
activities. People everywhere, talking, yelling, running, hors-
ing around, just generally having a good time. A table had been
set up by the back door, and there was somebody serving booze and
food to an endlessly regenerating queue.
Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him
and was nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and
yelled for Tom, then his rational mind took over. What's your
problem? it said. You're an adult, you don't need a keeper.
So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.
In one corner a net had been set up for a volleyball game.
There was a team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering
group of people could be called a team. Harold stood off to one
side with a small group of spectators and watched. All of a
sudden his attention had been captured by one particular member
of one team.
She wasn't tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a
few pounds overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned,
made her all the more nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and
fell down past her shoulders. Her face was pretty, but not
spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold's attention was
what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had
split along the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini
top that struggled valiantly to hold up under the weight of
enormous breasts. Harold glanced around and saw that she had the
attention of pretty much every man in the crowd.
His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn't
help but wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He
imagined her long hair spread out over the pillow, glimmering
faintly in the moonlight, those magnificent breasts moving in
slow liquid motion as she arched her back in sheer pleasure, her
frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful orgasm...
Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told him-
self. Someone like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and
even if she didn't, why should she be interested in somebody like
him? He turned around and began to make his way back towards the
house.
Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again.
She was sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen.
When she landed, the overburdened top string of her bikini had
given way, exposing her for all the world to see.
He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard,
the aureoles colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in
his mouth, to feel their soft but firm weight in his hands. Then
he looked up and saw she was staring directly at him.
He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet
red. Why, he didn't know, because surely every other male here
was staring and thinking the same thoughts. She made no move to
cover herself, she just sat there, challenging him with her gaze.
Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd.
His heart was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their
release, ached miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept
his hands in his pockets to conceal it. He felt sick, and
ashamed. And he wanted to leave this instant.
But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he
felt there was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he
didn't know, but he somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark
had passed between them. Undoubtedly it was just his overworked
imagination, but...
He felt as if she wanted him, too.
Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willy-
ville began to cool off. People moved out of their stifling
houses (except for those who hadn't had their air-conditioning
stolen yet) and into their back yards. They brought TV trays,
TV's, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally prepared to enjoy
the night in relative coolness.
All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of
voices, televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises
of humans enjoying themselves outdoors. With one exception. In
Squirrel Heights, all was quiet. The place seemed deserted, in
fact. Virtually all human life in the area had gravitated to one
spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house, when night fell,
the real party began...
---
Harold Sykes hadn't left the party like he planned, although
he came awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the
crowd. But, in the end, the thought of going back to his lonely,
empty, stuffy house was just too much. So instead he wandered
around the yard, just watching the extraordinary panorama of
human activity taking place before him.
Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where
he just sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him
how he was doing.
"Better," sighed Harold, "I really feel better."
Tom gave him a wink. "You may be feeling better than that
before the night's over, old buddy," and sauntered off before
Harold could say anything.
Now what was that supposed to mean?
As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left,
spinning their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just
went inside the house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold
thought, although it looked to him like they had been boozing
more than adequately already. Harold didn't feel like drinking
very much, especially after his binge the other day. Drugs
didn't hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.
Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to
find he was alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the
back door.
The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of
voices and music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out
dim light from around a corner in the distance. Cautiously he
made his way down the hallway, hoping nothing solid was in the
way of his shins.
Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned
the corner he received the shock of his life.
The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light
was more than adequate for Harold to see what was going on.
There was about twenty to thirty people sprawled about the room,
all naked, contorted in every kind of sexual position imaginable.
And a couple that weren't imaginable.
Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost
amongst the moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on
the couch, in some bizarre group contortion that made them look
like something from another planet. One man sat moaning softly
in an easy chair with a hard-on that Harold would have sworn was
twelve inches long, at least. He watched in total amazement as
all twelve inches disappeared into the mouth of the coed sitting
on the floor between the man's feet.
The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.
He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the
rafters, some twelve feet above, a rope and pulley setup had been
arranged with a large wicker basket. Three people were in the
basket, which swung back and forth alarmingly. Harold quickly
moved several feet over, out from under the setup.
His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always
been limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy.
It was too much. He didn't want any part of this. All he wanted
was out.
Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest
door. He was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he
didn't want to see.
There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two
people were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting
astride his hips, moving up and down in sensuous rhythm. He
didn't know who the guy was but he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain
that had been mercifully submerged now rose to stab arrow-like
into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and their
eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and un-
pleasant glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she
turned her attention back to what she was doing. Her movements
became more frantic, and her moans much louder, exaggerating as
much as possible.
Her parting words rang in his mind: "I want a man, dammit!"
Well, fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and
ran blindly towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one
couple on the way (startling them into a premature orgasm) and
mumbled apologies as he kept going.
Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from.
Doors lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it
open, only to be rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced
and near tears from embarrassment, he pulled the door shut and
looked around desperately. And empty room, anything, just so he
could get out of sight and get his thoughts together. If he
didn't do it quick, he feared he might lost his mind. He had to
get away, somehow!
There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark
within. He paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect
no movement within. Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut
behind him and let the blackness envelop him as he sank to the
floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for who knew how long
before he finally calmed down.
His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the
total darkness, that the room wasn't empty after all. After a
long moment, he finally summoned up a weak voice. "Who's there?"
There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he
was alone after all, when a soft voice answered "Are you all
right?"
Fuck NO! I ain't all right, you stupid...But Harold con-
trolled himself before replying, "I will be, eventually. In
about fifty years or so." He hesitated before the next question,
"Are you, um, alone?"
"Yeah." she replied, "I just wanted to be by myself. I
kinda outgrew the scene out front a long time ago. All the
interesting guys already have somebody. There was one guy, but I
think he went home or something."
Harold got up, a little unsteadily. "I'm sorry. Sorry I
barged in on you. I'll leave now."
"Please, don't," she said, "Unless you really need to. I
think we could both use someone to talk to."
Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh.
"Sure, why not?" After a silent moment, he continued, "Would you
mind turning on a light? I'd like to see who I'm talking to."
"Well," she began doubtfully, "you may feel more comfortable
without the light, but if you insist..." There was a click and a
flare of light exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily.
When he could open his eyes, he received the last shock of a very
long day.
Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the
volleyball game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the
bikini top, which lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes
screwed shut against the light, opening them a moment later.
"Oh! It's you!"
It took a moment for Harold to recover from his surprise.
He swallowed dryly and said, "So, I guess we meet again."
She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, seem-
ingly unconcerned over her partial nudity. She made no attempt
to cover herself at all. "I remember you from the crowd at the
volleyball game. When I lost my top I was embarrassed as hell,
but I was going to be damned if I'd let anyone see that. I saw
every male in the crowd was drooling, but when I looked around
and saw you...there was something else in your eyes. You looked
so incredibly sad."
"I didn't know it showed," Harold mumbled. "I
was...well...thinking just about the same thing as everybody
else." He turned red and averted his eyes in shame.
"Oh, I know that," she replied matter-of-factly "I've been
getting looks like that since I was twelve years old. I'm used
to getting stared at and hit on a lot, so I just learned to deal
with it without getting mad. Actually, it does a lot for my ego.
I don't know what it was, though, but you really stood out in
that crowd, at least to me. I've always been good at picking up
feelings."
"And you felt sorry for me," Harold said baldly. He should
have known he had misinterpreted that look. "When our eyes met
that time, I almost thought, well..."
She smiled and patted a place on the bed next to her. "Why
not come over here and sit down? You can't be too comfortable
all curled up in a ball in the corner."
Harold sighed and got up painfully. She was right. It
wasn't too comfortable. He sat on the bed about two feet away
from her. It took considerable effort to keep his eyes off her
chest. He was surprised to find his mouth had gone dry and his
heart was pounding. "Um, can I ask a question?"
"Sure," she answered.
"If you were so, um, embarrassed when you lost your top
earlier, why aren't you wearing it now?"
"Because it's uncomfortable. The damn string's been digging
into my neck all day and it's sore as hell," she lifted her hair
up and showed him a red weal as the base of her neck. "I should
have worn a nice, sensible tank top. And I was embarrassed
because I got caught by surprise. Otherwise I wouldn't have
cared. I'm not ashamed of my body at all. Does this bother
you?"
"No," Harold said quickly. Then he reconsidered. "Well, a
little."
"See?" she smiled, "I told you you might like it better with
the light off."
"Oh, not at all," Harold said hurriedly, "They're definitely
worth looking at," then he winced, realizing what he said. "I
mean, YOU'RE definitely worth-"
But she was laughing, a very pretty sound indeed. She waved
him off, "I know what you meant. I'm flattered, really. You
know, red's your color," she said, making Harold blush even
harder. "But that's nasty of me."
The talk died off and the silence stretched between them
like putty as they both sat alone with their thoughts. Finally
she said, almost shyly, "You know, I didn't entirely feel sorry
for you. You're not that bad looking." Harold looked at her
wonderingly. She moved over until she was right next to him.
"Don't get me wrong, you're no Tom Selleck or anything, but I
decided a long time ago that most of the really good looking guys
are too hung up on themselves to give a woman the attention she
wants. You seem really nice."
Her shoulder and hip pressed against his warmly. Her weight
on the bed pulling him towards her, her very presence, that oh so
luscious body, all burned in his mind like a red-hot firebrand.
Almost without thinking, he put an arm around her shoulders.
"And I think you're very beautiful. What else can I say?" His
other hand came up and froze, uncertainly. Her eyes locked on
his and without a word she reached up placed his hand on her bare
breast.
"Why say anything?" and she silenced any possible reply with
an open mouthed kiss.
He massaged her breast tenderly, feeling it's weight, it's
smoothness, running his thumb gently over the rapidly hardening
nipple. Her tongue darted playfully into his mouth, only to
retreat. Then it came out again more slowly and met with his,
intertwining in powerful intimacy that made his head spin. Then
she withdrew slowly.
Ending the kiss, he ran his open mouth gently down along the
line of her jaw, to her ear, which he explored, making her gig-
gle. He moved to her neck, taking a moment to kiss away the pain
of the weal there, before moving farther down.
Nor was she idle while he did this. Her hands ran along his
sides, up under his shirt, exploring. Then she reached down and
undid his pants, reaching inside to caress his blossoming erec-
tion with a light, tingling touch.
He had moved down to her chest now, and he roamed freely
with his tongue, using a feathery touch that made her shiver.
Around and around the curving softness of her breast, finally
centering on the fully erect nipple, which he plunged into his
mouth, sucking gently. Again and again he did this, finally
moving over to the other side. His hands explored her back, her
sides, her thighs, moving with smooth surety.
With a sigh she reclined back onto the bed, grasping the
zipper on her cut-offs and pulling it down slowly. The fabric
parted gladly, after straining all day to hold together, and
golden feathery pubic hair poked through the gap, glimmering
faintly in the light from the dresser lamp. She grasped the
sides of the shorts and pulled them down over her long legs,
finally kicking them off onto the floor. Harold was not sur-
prised at all to see she wore no underwear. With a great sigh
she stretched out on the bed, glorious in her nakedness. Harold
could only stare until she looked back at him and said,
"Well...?"
He hesitated for the slightest of instances. Something deep
inside his mind gibbered. This is just like before, it said.
Get out of here now. Get out before you humiliate yourself
again! Now, fool!
And he almost listened. Almost, until something much older
and stronger took control of his thoughts and squashed the voice
completely. All doubt disappeared as he stripped off all his
clothes, put the light out, and climbed onto the bed.
"Why did you turn off the light?" she asked in a breathy
voice.
"Why not? Habit, I guess," he replied, turning his atten-
tions back to her. Suddenly he stopped, "I just realized, I
don't know your name."
"I was wondering when you would get around to that." she
said. "I'm Julie."
"Pleased to meet you, Julie. I'm Harol...Harry." On a
moment of whimsy, he added, "Would you have dinner with me tomor-
row night?"
"Sure," she replied, "But right now let's fuck." And they
both broke up laughing.
But the laughter quickly faded as Harry returned to the
matter at hand. With his mouth and hands he continued to explore
the soft curves of her body, her hips, her navel, slowly, inex-
orably moving towards one definite spot. His fingers playfully
toyed with her pubic hair as he moved his tongue slowly up along
her inner thigh. Her breathing had speeded up noticeably as she
bent her knees and spread her legs. Harry settled himself down
with his face between her thighs. His fingers pulled aside the
labia, exposing the delicate folds of flesh within. Gently he
began to probe inside with his tongue.
Her breathing became even more rapid and her hips began to
move up and down in sensuous rhythm. His tongue explored deeper
until he found what he was looking for, the fleshy knob of the
clitoris. His nose pressed hard against her pube, he circled the
clitoris gently, over and over again. Then he would flick it
playfully with the tip of his tongue, then caress it warmly.
Her gasps became moans, first breathy, then louder as her
hips moved even more violently. She ran one hand through his
hair while pressing the other against her mouth in a futile
attempt to stifle the noise. "Oh God," she moaned, "That feels
so goooood..."
Harry would have said something in reply, but it was bad
manners to talk with your mouth full.
Not that it would be full much longer. Her moans had become
cries that she was powerless to silence. Her hips moved so
violently that he had a difficult time keeping his tongue where
it belonged and he held onto her thighs to keep her steady. The
more excited she became, the farther her clit poked out of its
fleshy covering, and the easier it was to torment it. Then her
cries suddenly silenced as every muscle in her body locked and
her hips rose high off the bed, carrying Harry with them. For a
timeless second she remained like that, every muscle quivering in
an explosive orgasm, before settling back on the bed with a
mighty groan.
Wow, he thought. Cindi never got off like that. Experimen-
tally he probed with his tongue again. She almost jumped off the
bed. "No! Stop, please...No more..." she pleaded in an exhaust-
ed whisper. Slowly Harry uncurled himself and crawled up to rest
beside her. He ran a hand along her skin, which was cold and
beaded with sweat. She rolled onto her side and threw an arm
around him, burying her face in his chest. She was shaking like
a leaf. He hugged her tight to him until the trembling subsided.
Finally she said "That was good." She ran a hand down to
his belly to his penis. His erection had wilted, and she began
to massage some life back into it. It was not long at all before
he was hard again, and she ran her fingers tantalizingly along
the length of his hard-on. She rolled onto her back again,
pulling him on top of her with surprising strength. "I want you.
Now!"
The little man spoke up in his mind again, telling him he
was walking into disaster, but Harry ignored it as she guided his
penis into her. He thrust deep, and she gasped. "Still touchy,"
she breathed into his ear.
He thrust again and again, in and out, as her hips moved in
time with his own. With one hand he supported himself while the
other ran along her side, feeling her body. Her mouth met his in
a deep kiss.
Too soon, much too soon, he felt the pleasure building. It
mounted higher and higher, until he knew he was going to come.
He rested for a moment until it died back, but it returned with
twice the ferocity as soon as he began pumping again. He tried
to will it back, to force it down, but the pleasure quickly grew
out of control. He groaned through clenched teeth at an explo-
sion of pleasure as his seed shot into the warm depths of her
body. She held him tight as the echoes faded and Harold began to
relax.
As the pleasure faded, fear replaced it. Now was the moment
of truth. Was she going to accept him or explode with rage? He
pulled out and lay down beside her, trembling slightly.
She noticed something was wrong right away. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he mumbled.
"Don't give me that. You just withdrew into yourself like a
turtle in a shell. What are you afraid of?"
He swallowed hard "I thought you might get mad.
Because...because I couldn't last very long. I was premature."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, "That was fantas-
tic! I haven't got off that hard in a long time. What-" Sud-
denly an idea began to form. "Harry, what was it you were so
upset about when you first came in here?"
Harold told her about Cindi. It took much coaxing to get
the whole truth out, as the pain had not diminished after all.
After he finished, she was silent for a long time. Finally
she said, "I almost can't believe somebody could do that to
another person. Almost. I know Cindi. She's pretty fuckin'
shallow and self-centered. How on earth did you ever get tangled
up with her anyway?"
"I don't know." Harold said in a flat, lifeless voice. "I
used to think she was something special. I was in love. I
thought she loved me."
"I don't think the bitch knows what love is." Julie thought
for a long moment. "There's only one thing to do. We're going
to have to get you over this little problem of yours. And I
think I know just the person to do it."
Harold lifted his head up to stare at her outline in the
darkness. "You know somebody who can fix it?"
"This guy can fix anything. He knows more about sex than
Dr. Ruth. He'll know what to do. And then you can show that
bitch what's what."
"I don't know..." Harold began doubtfully.
"You don't have to know," she concluded for him. "I do."
They lay together for a long time. Finally she said, "Ready
for another one?"
"Another what?" Harold asked innocently.
"Come on, now. You've had plenty of time to recover." She
began stroking his penis, which was beginning to swell. "See
what I mean?"
He felt the heat returning as he caressed her breast.
"Well, if you insist..."
"Of course I insist. You know what they say."
"No, what do they say?" Harold asked as he moved on top of
her.
"It's usually better the second time around..."
And it was.
Sunday. Squirrel Heights. By noon, the temperature hit 100
degrees. The misery at the boarding house was more acute than
usual, as hangovers didn't mix with the heat at all. Also,
because about five times as many people as usual had spent the
night there, the place needed a good airing out. Especially the
front room...
---
Michael Wilburn was fifty one years old and solidly built.
Though balding, his hair showed not a trace of gray and there was
a mischievous gleam in his eye when he smiled that showed that he
had not yet surrendered to his years and probably never will. He
was handsome in an offhanded sort of way, and had an easy, outgo-
ing matter. He had once been an economics professor at the local
university, until he decided to apply some of his theories to the
stock market and found himself comfortably rich within a year.
Students who once avoided his classes like the plague now begged
him to return to teaching. He always got quite a laugh out of
that. Despite some trepidation when Julie had introduced them,
Harold was surprised to find he liked Michael almost immediately.
They sat at opposite ends of a study on the third floor,
Harold in a ratty old easy chair, Michael crosslegged on a small
pile of pillows. The air in the room was leaden, stiflingly hot.
The only light streamed in through a half-shuttered window and
striped the floor between them. Harold wiped sweat off his brow
every few minutes, but his host seemed affected not at all by the
heat.
Opening up to a stranger is always hard, but hope forced
Harold along. Haltingly at first, then more freely with
Michael's gentle prodding, he told the whole tale. Strange, but
it was much easier than the previous night he had told it to
Julie in bed. He began to wonder if maybe his manhood wasn't
really in question after all.
After Harold was finished, there was silence for a long
time. Michael sat with his eyes closed, digesting information,
perhaps. Finally, he spoke.
"I see your problem, but I don't think you do. Control is
not the real problem here. You, sir, are attempting to define
yourself by your sexual ability."
Harold gaped at him for a long moment. "I don't
understand."
"Simple. This Cindi person did nothing more than verbally
assault your abilities in bed. A painful experience, yes, but
not one that should trigger such a deep depression unless a
problem already existed. You are placing far more emphasis on
sex than is healthy for you. Tell me, how would you feel if I
told you Julie was married?"
Harold felt an icy hand clutch his heart as he shivered in
the sweltering heat. "She-she is? But what happened last
night..."
"Well, she's separated, actually. She had planned a recon-
ciliation last night at the party, but her husband never showed
up. She just learned this morning that he was in the emergency
room at Central hospital with a hernia. I believe the police
have taken an interest in the matter, for some strange reason.
All this could have had something to do with what happened."
And she had never said a word about it, while Harold had
blubbered all over the place about his own problems.
Michael interrupted his thoughts. "But you did not answer
my question. Does it bother you that she has a marriage she is
trying to reconcile?"
The words were like nails being hammered into Harold's
heart. "Well...shit. I guess it does..."
"Why?" Michael asked mildly.
Taken aback, Harold replied, "Well...after what happened
last night I was hoping I'd found...She's an incredible woman."
"Whom you've known only a few hours," Michael finished for
him. "What you found was a chance to redeem yourself, and, from
what you've told me, you've done that admirably. You've totally
disproved everything this Cindi person told you, yet still you
are not happy. You believe that gaining the ability to postpone
orgasm is the only thing that will confirm your manhood." His
next words were emphasized so as to avoid any chance of misunder-
standing: "Bullshit."
Harold blinked rapidly "I don't understand."
Michael sighed. "Harold, my boy, the only person in the
world who can confirm your manhood is you. What is the defini-
tion of manhood, anyway? I've heard many definitions, and few of
them have anything to do with sex."
"But..." Harold stammered, still confused. "You won't
help?"
Michael was about to say he didn't think Harold needed any.
Then he closed his mouth and thought a moment. Harold probably
wouldn't listen. Michael sensed something in this young man,
something he didn't see very often. Harold was obviously very
intelligent, as well as in a lot of pain. He could get a lot out
of life if he ever got the courage to crawl out from under his
rock of self-pity. All he really needed was the right kind of
guidance, and Michael never had been one to resist trying to
help.
"I may help," Michael said at last. "How far are you will-
ing to go?"
"Well..." Harold thought for a moment, more confused than
ever. "As...far as I have to," he finally replied.
Michael stared at him for a long time, taking his measure.
Finally, he sighed. "Very well. I have a vacant room you may
stay in. You will need to move your belongings there. The room
and board will be free of charge, at least for now." He leaned
forward again. "Your life is going to change drastically. Just
remember what you said."
Harold swallowed hard. He was no longer confused.
He was frightened.
Two weeks passed. They passed slowly, but hardly peaceful-
ly. The daytime temperature remained in the 100's, and things
were heating up in more ways than one:
The Willyville Nudist Society, despite warnings from the
police, persisted in their activities. Walks, swims, gardening,
any outdoor activity that could be was performed in the nude in
the scorching sunshine. After the first fifty busts or so, the
police decided it was a lost cause and just ignored the whole
thing. After all, they still had the air-conditioner thieves to
catch. The nudists were easy to spot even with their clothes on,
as they had tans so deep they bordered on sunburns. But then a
medical segment on the local news mentioned something that put
the whole thing into a new light...
Skin cancer.
Terror spread through the naturalist community as fast as
the phone could carry the news, and the next day the Willyville
Nudist Society disbanded, only to be replaced by the Willyville
Overcoat Society. That's right, every single one of the ex-
nudists were bundled up in long coats and large hats every time
they set foot outside. Within 48 hours the hospitals reported 19
cases of heat stroke. The doctors and nurses of the Willyville
medical community were beginning to wish they had the luxury of
taking long overdue vacations...
On a more positive note, the Willyville air conditioner
crime wave ended in a rather spectacular way. Elmo Burns had
taken a sick day from the sawmill and was busily enjoying X-rated
videotapes in the privacy of his own home (as was his constitu-
tional right) when he heard strange noises coming from the direc-
tion of the air-conditioner. Already suspicious, he pulled up
his pants, grabbed his over-and-under shotgun, went out the front
door, and snuck around to the back of the house. Sure enough,
there was a man standing on a short stepladder, trying to lever
the air-conditioner loose with a crowbar. Obviously, he thought
Elmo was away at work, overlooking Elmo's Ford 4X4 sitting square
in the driveway. Elmo figured that the subtle approach would
just be wasted on someone this dumb, so he announced his presence
by letting the would-be thief have it right in the ass with both
barrels at close range.
Elmo's shotgun had been loaded with hand-made shells con-
taining, not buckshot, but rock salt and bacon rinds, which had
been his daddy's solution for kids who stole crops from the
fields. The attack was not lethal, but the crook was still quite
immobilized (to say the least) when the police arrived. The
detective in charge of the thefts saw that a golden opportunity
had arisen to bring this mess to a halt once and for all. He
took the wounded thief downtown instead of to the hospital and
directly to an interrogation room. There, being held down on a
hard wooden chair by two burly officers, it took the screaming
thief less than fifteen seconds to decide to roll over on the
rest of his gang. Within the hour they were all rounded up,
along with a small warehouse full of air conditioners, which had
turned out to be a bit harder to fence that they anticipated.
The chief of police announced the news from the steps of
City Hall to a cheering crowd of over a thousand sweating theft
victims. But there was one small snag. Somebody asked when the
air conditioners would be returned to their anxious owners. The
chief paused for a second, swallowed hard, then confessed that
they would all have to be held over as evidence for the
trial--which was scheduled to begin in six weeks.
The riot that ensued would best be left to the reader's
imagination...
---
"Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." Michael crooned,
sitting crosslegged in the middle of the floor.
"Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." Harold aped,
sitting in an identical position in across from him.
"Repeat after me." Michael said quietly. "Owha..."
"Owha..."
"Tajer..."
"Tajer..."
"Kiyam."
"Kiyam."
"Now repeat the whole thing." Michael said.
"Ohwa...Tajer...Kiyam..." Harold droned, eyes closed.
Michael got up a bit stiffly, and said, "I'll be back in a
few minutes. Keep repeating this, a little faster each time,
until I return." and closed the door quietly behind him. He
limped down to the kitchen (that lotus position gets harder on
the knees every year) and grabbed a couple beers.
As expected, when he got back, Harold was not chanting.
Instead he glared at Michael with all the indignity he could
muster. "Very funny."
Michael sat in the recliner. "That, my dear boy, was the
Tibetan Mantra for Self Realization." He grinned, "Sorry, I just
couldn't resist. Besides, if you really were a jerk, you would
have still been chanting when I got back, and then I'd have
*known* there was no hope for you."
Harold glared a moment longer, then they both broke up
laughing. Wiping a tear from his eye, Harold said, "Still, it
was a cheap shot."
Michael leaned forward, offering Harold a beer. "Actually,
it was intended to illustrate a serious point. To wit: just
because you've fooled yourself into believing something, that
doesn't mean it's true."
Harold popped the top on the can, which promptly foamed into
his lap. "Shit," he grunted, looking around for a towel. "You
mean I've been wasting my time this last two weeks with all this
meditation stuff?"
"Not at all. You are becoming quite adept at controlling
your voluntary reactions and senses. You haven't complained
about the heat here at all for the last several days." Now that
Harold thought about it, he really wasn't feeling the heat at
all. Michael continued, "In fact, I've never seen anyone advance
so fast. No, I'd say you're well on your way to conquering your
ejaculation problem. It's your other problem I'm really con-
cerned about."
"Oh? And just what problem is that?" Harold asked suspi-
ciously.
"I think you know what I'm talking about. Your insistence
that you define your sexual abilities by the ability to postpone
orgasm. I think you're going to find that that doesn't mean very
much in the real world. What you're really lacking is confidence
and self-knowledge. You need to know your capabilities and trust
in them in order to BE capable. Being able to have intercourse
as long as you like is a fine thing, but you're going to find
that not that many women are going to be impressed by that abili-
ty alone."
Harold was shaken. "You mean this isn't going to solve my
problem?"
Michael rolled his eyes upwards. "At last he begins to see
the light. I talked to Julie the other day and she says-"
"You've talked to her?" Harold interrupted anxiously.
"Where is she? How's she doing?"
"Calm down, calm down. She's doing fine, she just has a few
things to work out. She actually called to see how you're doing.
Apparently that night you shared together has affected her as
strongly as it did you."
Harold's eyes became dreamy "Wow."
"Anyway," Michael continued dryly, "as I was saying, Julie
commented that your abilities were quite remarkable. Yet you
persist in believing that you are inadequate, just because one
person told you that you were. That shows a very serious lack of
self confidence. Do you see what I'm saying?"
Harold thought it over a long moment. "Maybe...but how do I
get this confidence?"
"You have to know yourself," Michael concluded. "And doing
this is not the easiest thing in the world. You have to go out
and do things. You have to explore. If you just sit around
being a mass of untapped potential then you will never know what
that potential is. You cannot be confident in something you do
not know."
"Okay," Harold said, a bit confused, "so what's all this got
to do with what's going on right now?"
"I'm glad you asked. I think it's time we tested some of
that potential right now." Michael got up and opened the door.
"Diane," he called. A moment later one of the most stunning
women Harold had ever seen in his life walked in. "Harold, this
is Diane. Diane, Harold."
Diane offered her hand and Harold took it briefly. "Hello,
Harold," she said, in a low, husky voice. She stood about six
inches shorter than he did, and had a lithe, well-proportioned
body. Harold felt almost helpless to prevent his eyes from
traveling downward, from her shoulder-length auburn hair to
small, pert breasts contained in a red tank-top to long, tanned
legs, very well set off by her rather brief white shorts. Sud-
denly, self-consciously, he jerked back up where her beautiful
hazel eyes met his in a penetrating gaze. She slipped her hand
from his and walked over to the window, hips swaying just the
right amount to hold his attention captive. Then she turned back
to him and stood there, one hand on cocked hip, fixing him again
with that gaze.
Harold swallowed hard and shoved one hand in his pocket, to
conceal the bulge that was growing there. There was nothing
physically remarkable about this woman. All her power and sex-
uality was in the way she moved, the way she held herself. As
Tom had often said: "It's not what you got so much as how you
show it." A wave of pure lust swept over Harold. He wanted this
woman more than any he had ever seen in his life, yet her self
assurance frightened him, as if telling him this was more woman
that he could ever handle.
Then Michael cleared his throat and the spell snapped.
Diane relaxed and became a mere mortal again, leaning against the
window frame and grinning like someone who had just played a
grand joke. Harold felt as if he had been doused with cold water
from the inside out and the bulge in his pants quickly receded.
He swallowed dryly. "That's...some act."
"Thanks," she said, her voice now quite ordinary. "I always
get a kick out of doing that. Before I came here, guys used to
ignore me in droves. Now I can get 'em drooling any time I
please. I don't do it very often, but it's nice to know that I
can."
"Diane came here about four years ago," Michael said, in his
best college professor voice. "Her circumstances weren't all
that different from yours, in fact. She felt she had all kinds
of faults and deficiencies, but her biggest problem was that she
simply didn't know herself. Under my guidance, she quickly
learned who she really was and what she could do." He turned to
her and asked, "What was it you were doing before you came here?
I forget."
She appeared to ponder it for a moment. "Oh, yeah. I
almost forgot about it. I was waitressing down at Ptomaine
Palace for minimum wage and living with this guy who would slap
me around because he said sex with me was 'boring'. Finally the
fucker ran off, leaving me with a lease I couldn't afford to pay.
My fondest fantasy is to track him down someday and put his ass
in the hospital." A feral gleam suddenly appeared in her eye and
Harold felt a chill running down his spine. "Anyway, after the
landlord threw me out a friend introduced me to Michael. After
hearing my story he gave me free room and board for as long as I
needed it, and lectures every day. After a while I quit resent-
ing it and started to really listen to what he was telling me.
Now, in a couple months I'll be starting my junior year at the
university with a major in Engineering. And I owe it all to
Michael."
"Bullshit," Michael growled, sitting back down in his re-
cliner. "You owe it all to yourself. I just gave you a kick in
the ass that got it started. No excuse for letting yourself go
to hell like that. None at all." He paused for a moment. "Do
you still want to do this?"
She looked Harold up and down appraisingly. "Sure. Might
be instructive all around."
Harold suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. And a
little worried. "Um, somebody want to let me in on this?"
"Well," she said, walking over to Harold, "Mikey and I had a
little talk last night, and I had this idea to, you know, prove
just how far along you had come in conquering your little prob-
lem." She placed a hand on Harold's shoulder and traced it,
feather light, down his shirtfront to his belt buckle, which she
hooked a finger into and tugged gently.
Harold swallowed hard, wondering just how far he had gotten
over his head here. He looked over at Michael. Michael, who had
winced visibly at "Mikey," simply looked back and said nothing.
No help there.
So he turned back to Diane. "Um, you mean here? Right
now?"
"Sure," she said, tugging on his buckle again. "Why not?"
Then she was rubbing up against him, her arms around his
neck. Their mouths met in a long, breathtaking kiss. Harold's
cock was as stiff as a railroad spike, and it didn't help that
Diane was grinding her hips against his. She broke the kiss and
ran her tongue slowly along Harold's jawline. Planting little
kisses along his neck, she slowly slid down his front, maintain-
ing maximum contact with her hands a body all the way. When she
was on her knees, her face level with his crotch, she began to
work at his belt buckle.
Oh, jeez, Harold thought, as he looked around frantically.
Michael was still watching, only his expression was intent.
Harold got the distinct feeling he was being *studied*.
Diane got Harold's belt unbuckled, undid the snap, and
pulled the zipper down. A white bulge immediately poked through,
as his erection strained to be free of his shorts. His pants
fell to his ankles with a jingle of change as Diane placed a hand
on his covered bulge, massaging it gently while she looked up
into his eyes. Harold already felt waves of massive pleasure
surge up from his groin. She put her mouth over the tip of the
bulge and exhaled gently. Harold clearly felt the heat of her
breath on his cock, and moaned imperceptibly.
Then she grabbed the waistband of his briefs and began to
slowly pull them down, uncovering his erection inch by agonizing
inch. The pounding in his cock was matched by the pounding in
his head as he felt the elastic drag down along the length of his
penis.
Then he was free, his cock standing stiffly erect for all
the world to see. He glanced over at Michael, but Michael didn't
seem to be as interested in the action as he was in Harold's
face. Then Harold forgot all about him as Diane extended her
tongue and ran it up along his cock.
Then, without warning, she plunged it into her mouth. All
the way in. While Harold wasn't exceptionally large, he had
still never met a woman who could deep throat him before. The
feeling was nothing short of amazing, as the warm, slick wetness
of her mouth enveloped his entire cock. The feeling was intense-
ly erotic, and Harold closed his eyes with a moan and rolled his
hips as he prepared to explode into her mouth.
A sudden, hard slap rocked his face. Shocked, he opened his
eyes to stare at Michael, who had bounded off his chair and stood
just behind Diane. "Harold," he said quietly, "if you ejaculate
in her mouth, she will bite your penis off."
At that moment, he felt a brief, sharp pain at the base of
his cock as she dug her teeth in very slightly, just as a hint,
before resuming her sucking with double the intensity.
Cold horror gripped Harold's heart. He had been a fraction
of a second away from coming before Michael slapped him, but the
slap had brought him well back from the edge. Still, Diane's
oral talents were nothing short of extraordinary and it would not
be very long before he was back again. She slid his cock in and
out of her mouth while lightly caressing his balls with one hand.
The other hand slid between his legs and began to tease his
asshole with a finger. Already the pressure was beginning to
build as Harold frantically thought of a way to stop it.
In the midst of panic came a voice of calm. Your training,
you idiot! it said. That's it! Harold replied. He began to
repeat the mantras Michael had taught him over and over in his
mind. Slowly, the real world began to fade into the distance as
he entered a trance. The sensations beneath his belly eased to
the point where he could contemplate them or dismiss them alto-
gether. His heart slowed and his pupils dilated as his mind
entered an alpha state. Within an amazingly short time he became
pure ego, floating in a sea of peace and serenity.
After what seemed a brief yet endless time his hindbrain
became aware that something changed and he resurfaced to con-
sciousness, gazing at Michael's gently smiling face. Harold
looked down and saw that Diane had stopped, and was sitting at
his feet, massaging her jaw.
"Jeez," she said, "Thirty fucking minutes. Nobody's ever
outlasted me before." She looked up at him ruefully. "Mister,
you are nothing short of amazing."
Laughing, Michael clapped Harold hard on the back, almost
making him trip over his pants. He quickly pulled them up and
refastened them. "Well, my boy," Michael said, "I guess I'd
pronounce you cured, at least by your own standards."
Harold stood there, amazed. "I...guess I really did it. I
never thought I would."
"I had no doubt," Michael said. "You have found one solu-
tion to your problem. Not the best one, in my opinion, but a
solution all the same. With practice you shall find others, I'm
sure."
Harold helped Diane to her feet. He looked her in the eye
and asked, "Would you really have...?"
She just smiled and said nothing.
Harold gulped and looked over at Michael. "Would she have?"
Michael just shrugged. "Beats me. And I suppose I should
know if anybody would. After all, she's my wife."
Harold's jaw dropped open. It stayed that way for a moment,
until Diane reached up and gently closed it. "You look cute when
you're shocked," she admitted. Then she gently tugged him to-
wards the door.
"What are you doing?" he asked, still flabbergasted.
"I think we can find a more suitable place to finish what we
started..."
"But...but..." he looked over at Michael helplessly.
Michael just shrugged again, palms up. "She does as she
wishes. And I wouldn't have it any other way. You have passed
an important hurdle today, and a difficult one. You deserve a
reward. Enjoy yourself. Both of you."
Harold was silenced, at least long enough for Diane to drag
him out of there and to his well-earned reward.
And what a reward it was!
In order to prevent an armed revolt by the citizenry, the
mayor did the only thing he could. He promised to drop all
charges against the air-conditioner thieves on the condition they
would return all the stolen property. They hastily agreed,
considering that an armed mob waited outside the building to hear
their decision. Since there would be no trial, all the air-
conditioners were returned immediately to their sweating, cheer-
ing owners and the mayor became a guaranteed shoo-in for the next
election.
The chief of police, who was recuperating in the hospital
from a concussion sustained during the previous day's riot, went
on record saying he would live just as long and die just as happy
if he "never heard the word 'air-conditioner' again."
Though the thieves managed to save their lives by returning
the loot, there was still a slight feeling of resentment against
them in Willyville. Since the police had no reason to hold them
anymore, they were thrown out of the station and right into the
arms of the raving crowd.
Within the hour, the entire gang had been tarred and feath-
ered. Julie's husband was among them, and Julie herself took
great pleasure in assisting with the tarring and feathering, but
not before getting him to sign the divorce papers. She watched
as the gang was run out of town on a rail, Elmo Burns assisting
with his shotgun and a generous supply of his "special" shells.
A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away absently.
An unpleasant chapter in her life had just closed, and she knew
better things lay ahead.
The next day, Bob Katt, fresh from a long vacation in the
Yukon, returned once more to the KNUT Newsroom. Since the studio
air-conditioning had been restored, he was appeared fully
dressed, bringing the best news Willyville had heard in a long,
long time. The high-pressure front that had been stagnating over
the whole area for the last five weeks had finally weakened its
hold and a storm front was moving in, bringing massive thunder-
clouds, rain, and COOLER TEMPERATURES!!!!
A massive roar rose over the town as every man, woman, and
child cheered. Bob was later nominated for sainthood by the
local church. He politely declined, saying that one Church of
"Bob" was enough...
---
Harold knew the moment of truth had come. There was no
denying it, and putting it off would only make things worse. He
had talked to Julie, who understood completely. Diane said, "Go
for it!" Michael objected, saying that Harold was still placing
way too much emphasis on his sexual ability, but acquiesced
eventually when he saw just how determined Harold was.
There comes a time when one has to face one's fears, either
to defeat them or succumb forever. But to avoid the test is to
avoid oneself. On this even Michael had to agree.
Harold swallowed hard, picked up the phone, and started
dialing.
---
The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the
bedroom with an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant
75 degrees. Perfect temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back
on the pillow with a satisfied sigh of pleasure not yet faded to
memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed between her knees, his
erection pounding almost painfully against his belly. The moon-
light spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly eyed
her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of
her orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the
wiry mass of her pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent
so much time carefully and artistically bringing her to a power-
ful climax. Whatever else you could say about his performance in
the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of the skills he
was especially proud of. It used to be all he was proud of.
Harold leaned forward, placing his hands on the bed on
either side of her. He kissed her fully and deeply as he gently
lowered his weight onto her. For a moment they simply lay there,
as he savored the full body contact, the feel of her naked skin
against his own. Then he raised his hips and she gently guided
him into her.
For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever
compare to the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust
deep, and her hips moved in response. His excitement towered to
new heights, and his balls ached for release. Take it slow, take
it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand along her side,
from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving.
He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythm, her hips moving
with his. Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her
hands moved along his back. Her breathing became short and
rapid, and Harold knew she was building to another orgasm. With
each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a new height until
finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too
soon...
And then he remembered. The mantra began to slowly run
through his head, and he felt the pleasure fade as he began to
distance himself from what he was doing. His whole body seemed
to shift into an altered state, one of total control.
Beneath him, Cindi froze for a moment, perhaps in amazement
that he hadn't come yet, and then she became fluid again, moving
and twisting in synch with his own movements. Her breathing
became rougher and louder, first becoming gasps, then cries.
Harold continued to pump mechanically all the while. Cindi
wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into his back.
Her hips bucked and humped, grinding against his pubic bone with
every thrust. Finally, her body tensed as her moans became a
breathless shriek of ultimate pleasure as her orgasm ripped
through her. Gasping, she begged Harold to stop, but he wasn't
listening, and a moment later she felt herself building up to
another orgasm. Once again her body locked and she squeezed him
hard enough to bruise ribs as the pleasure exploded in her, twice
as powerful as before. By now Cindi was beyond amazement and in
nirvana. And then she felt herself building up to a third...
Forty mind-blowing minutes later, Harold decided to release
the hold he had on his senses and ejaculated, pumping his seed
into her with a rather disappointing spasm that might technically
count as an orgasm. He pulled himself out and flopped on the bed
beside her, exhausted. His back and stomach muscles ached miser-
ably and his dick felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper,
especially around the base. He turned over to Cindi, who was
laying on her back with her legs still apart, eyes glazed, mum-
bling incoherently. He began to wonder if he had done her perma-
nent damage.
It was another fifteen minutes before she returned to reali-
ty. She promptly rolled over and clamped onto Harold for dear
life. "Oh, God!" she gasped hoarsely, "That was unbelievable!
How..."
Harold grinned, trying to pry himself loose so he could
breathe. "Oh, I've learned a few things."
"I'll say you have! Jesus, I'll be sore for a week! I've
never *ever* had a ride like that before."
A cool breeze suddenly blew in through the window and they
both fell silent, in respect for nature's sudden benevolence.
Then Harold got up and began to pull on his clothes. Cindi
continued talking, oblivious to everything but herself, as usual.
"You know, I really didn't mean to be so hard on you before, but
what's a girl to do? I mean, it's the man's job to satisfy her
and if he can't do it...well..."
"Uh huh," Harold said, zipping up his pants. He began to
look about for his shirt.
"Anyway," she continued, "I thought maybe if I gave you a
little incentive, you might find some way to shape up. And boy,
did you ever! All those guys I saw after I left you...they
couldn't hope to match what you did tonight."
"Izzat so?" Harold said, finding his shirt hanging on the
curtain rod. "Lots of different guys, huh?"
"Well...you know," she said coyly. "they really didn't mean
anything to me anyway. They were just random flings, even the
guy you saw me with at the party. I always, well, cared for you
somehow. You have this sort of stumbling, immature charm that I
always found appealing. You just needed to do some growing up
and I'm so glad I finally decided to make you do it."
"Yep, you sure made me do some growing," Harold said, pull-
ing on his shoes. "In fact, that was precisely what I wanted to
show you tonight."
"When you called me this morning and said you wanted a
chance to show me how much you improved I was, well, a little
dubious. In fact, I called Frank and Tony and kinda set up a
backup date in case you...frustrated me again." She closed her
eyes and sighed luxuriously. "But you sure didn't. I've never
been so satisfied in my entire life."
"I'm glad to hear it," Harold said. He was fully dressed
now, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "This was just some-
thing I felt I needed to do. But now-"
"I know, I know." she interrupted. "You want us to get back
together again. You are so predictable! Well, until tonight I
really wasn't sure, but maybe we could work something out. It
couldn't be exclusive at first, at least not for me, but a few
more nights like that and you might just convince me to settle
down...Hey, are you all right?"
Harold seemed to be suffering from a choking fit. Finally
he took his hand from over his mouth and it became obvious that
he wasn't choking at all, but laughing. It was a full minute
before he was able to bring it under control and talk again.
"You...you really are something else, you know that?" He had
another fit of giggles and Cindi watched him, confused and unbe-
lieving. He continued, "You really think...after all that...that
I'd still wanna..." and off into another burst of laughter.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, confused. "You
distinctly said this morning you wanted another chance! I
thought-"
"Well, I'm sorry that was what you thought, because it
wasn't what I said. I wanted to prove something, both to you and
to myself." Suddenly he was sober and serious again. "And I
did. That was all I really wanted to do. You might as well make
a date with Frank and Tony for tomorrow night, because as far as
I'm concerned, we have no reason to see each other ever again."
Cindi stared at him, aghast. "What the hell are you talking
about? You're in love with me, you fool! Don't you think I
couldn't tell?"
"Old news, my dear." Harold got up and went to the door.
"Tell you what: if you ever learn to think about anyone but
yourself, give me a call. Maybe we can work something out..."
and with another burst of laughter, he was gone.
Cindi got up and ran to the window without dressing. Not
caring if anybody saw her, she leaned out and yelled, "Bullshit!
You still love me and you know it! Admit it!"
Her only reply was the sound of a car pulling away and
slightly demented giggles drifting on the wind, mixing with the
distant rumble of thunder.
---
At 11:04 PM, the first lightning strikes were sighted over
the forest north of town. After five weeks without rain, the
woods were dry as a tinderbox, and the forest service immediately
summoned all the regular and volunteer firefighters they could
muster out there. The temperature dropped below 75 degrees for
the first time in thirty-six days.
Thirty minutes later, black, murderous storm clouds drifted
over the Willyville area, filling the sky with a spectacular
lightning display. Thunder shook the town to its foundations as
virtually everybody in town came outside to watch from their
porches or doorways.
By midnight the temperature dropped to 65 degrees. Harold
and Julie watched from the front porch of the boarding house as a
single drop of water spattered in the dust at their feet.
Approximately one minute later the skies opened up with all
their fury. Quarter sized raindrops hailed down in a torrent,
quickly drenching everything in sight. The Forest Service
needn't have worried. It was as if the sky gods were trying to
make up for so many days of drought by drowning the poor, hapless
town beneath them. People whooped and hollered in the streets,
mindless of the soaking they were receiving. The hospitals would
admit 14 pneumonia cases before the weekend. But right now, even
the (off-duty) doctors and nurses were joining in the celebra-
tion.
The people partied hard and long into the night, as tempera-
tures quickly plummeted. They bottomed out at 50 degrees around
2:30 AM. This news was greeted by hoarse and ragged cheering.
People were catching colds already.
On the boarding house porch, Julie shivered, delighting in
the chill. An arm circled around her shoulders and she looked up
into Harold's eyes. Without a word, she led him into the house,
past Michael, who looked on with bland approval. Michael himself
had a beer in one hand and his other arm was around Diane's
shoulders. Pretty soon, they would be going inside as well, for
a more private party. It was indeed a time for celebration.
The heat was finally over.
-- CJ
Remove the .NOSPAM in the address to mail me. No files by e-mail!
I don't write any stories. I'm just a reader, and sometimes a reposter.
--
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