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Hidden Journal:  The Blackmailer





NOTICE:  The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions
of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone.
For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN,
included in the release, "Hidden Journal:  First Files."

--Kellis.  Copyright 1998





File D9104160.ZEN

<Saturday, August 26, 1972>
    "Is that a full bladder or are you glad to be here?"
    She grinned over her shoulder at me, her hand behind her holding my
erection.  That hand was my last recollection before falling asleep and my
first on awakening.  The light was dim, early morning daylight seeping
through her blinds, but enough to register her twinkling eyes.
    "Eunice, how do you manage that?"
    "You don't think it's a reasonable question?"
    "The answer is <both>.  I mean, how did you know when I would awake?"
    Her body rotated to face me.  She is like a snake in such matters,
slithering around in the bed with minimum touches of feet and free arm.
She did not relinquish her hold on me as her face swung near.  Her breath
was wake-up rancid but very familiar after a summer of breathing it.  I
kissed her.  Her tongue answered mine.  I felt her free hand join the
first.
    She withdrew her tongue and said, "What makes you think I predicted
your awakening?"
    "You must have.  You were already holding my dick."
    She chuckled.  "The obvious deduction is that I woke you by grasping
it."
    "Yes, of course."
    "Of course <not>!"
    "I thought you just said --"
    "I said it was the obvious deduction.  This is the first full night
you've spent with me.  The fact is, my dear man, I've had possession of
your sweet equipment all night long."
    "Do you have to call it that?"
    "It <is> sweet!"
    "I understand that's a female euphemism for 'small!'"
    "Sometimes.  In this case it stands for 'cute' and 'precious.'  I
believe I've fallen in love with your foreskin.  I love to do this" -- I
felt her thumb on top of the glans while the other hand drew my skin over
it -- "especially with the tongue."
    "Careful with that nail!"
    "Oh, Harry, you <know> I'll be careful!  Besides, this nail is the one
I broke last week."
    "I'm sorry.  It's just that your nails are so wickedly female!"
    "I do try."
    "Didn't you say, 'all night long?'  Eunice, are you claiming you never
went to sleep?"
    "Oh, I slept.  But if there's a penis in the bed with me, I tend to
claim it.  As a child I slept between my two uncles for years.  They
encouraged me to play with my bedtime toys"
    "Whatever you found between their legs?"
    "Exactly."
    I thought about it.  "That went on for a good while?"
    "From five to sixteen, about eleven years."
    "It's hard to imagine how that must have been.  Did they never leave
you alone?"
    "Not very often.  I know what you mean.  I've talked to many other
women about their childhood.  The characteristic they most often report in
common is <loneliness>.  I was never lonely.  My uncles were always nearby
and always willing to hold me.  They were well educated men.  They tutored
me at home."
    "How in the world did they get custody of you?"
    "My mother sold me to them."
    "Wh-what?"
    "Cheaply, too.  I have never forgiven her for that."
    "For the act or the price?"
    "The price.  She accepted a mere $300.  She was a call girl when times
were hard.  I can understand her relief.  Still, I was a beautiful child.
My uncles made photographs of me when they bought me.  They admit they
would have paid twice that."
    "How old were you?"
    "When they bought me?  Four."
    "Do you remember your mother?"
    "No.  I remember the boarding school where she had consigned me."
    "How did they arrange the transaction?"
    "That was in 1934, in the depths of the Depression.  Mama was behind
on her bill.  I'm sure the school was glad to see the last of me.  My
uncles probably bribed the director, too."
    "They were wealthy?"
    "Moderately, from my grandfather."
    "See here, Eunice, apparently none of those men was actually related
to you."
    "'Apparently' is the correct word.  But they adopted me, all very
legal.  And they hired a housekeeper to see that I had feminine exposure."
    "Didn't the housekeeper object to you sleeping with them?"
    "Oh, she was very special and in no position to object even if she'd
been so inclined.  She'd been fired by her previous employer for seducing
his wife.  She was allowed to hire a maid of the same persuasion to sleep
with her.  I slept with them sometimes, mainly when the uncles had guests
who spent the night.  When I did, I missed my dangling play toys."
    "Were you jealous of the guests who spent the night?"
    "Not really.  They were all men, Harry."
    "Men!"
    "The uncles were homosexual.  They had no use for women."
    "My god!  Then why did they buy <you>?"
    "I was hardly a woman at the time!  But I haven't yet told you a key
fact.  They were not my uncles.  They were actually my half-brothers."
    "Aha!  Your grandfather!"
    "Right.  My mother had been his mistress.  Apparently she'd been
faithful enough that she had no trouble convincing him of his
responsibility.  I never heard the details, but she had a terrible row
with him.  He was in his late eighties, not a good time to indulge in
rages.  He had a stroke and dropped dead.  There she was with a swollen
belly and no enforceable claim on the estate.
    "But either he told his sons or they overheard some of the argument.
They knew the truth.  They didn't care for Mama or any other woman, but
they conceived a duty to rescue their half-sister.  Mama was a
cold-blooded tart, I gather, rather as I am, and made a deal with them.
She vanished and the school released me to my 'newly discovered' uncles.
They came for me in a motorcar, bearing a baby doll and a box of candy.  I
left happily with them and never regretted it."
    "Interesting.  So by seventeen you were too much woman for them?"
    "Exactly.  Their misogyny was related to the menstrual flow.  The
housekeeper had warned me of it -- presumably they'd said as much to her,
which is rather strange behavior itself -- so I was able to hide it for a
couple years.  Soon or later it had to happen, though, and in my sixteenth
year I bled in their bed.  Thereafter I slept alone or with the women
while trying to seduce the gardener.  They married me off before I got
pregnant and embarrassed them, or so they said."
    "Married you off!"
    "To a friend of theirs, a man who was happy with any gender.  Rather
like my nephew.  Apparently such attitudes run in that family."
    "Was it a major change for you?"
    "Not at first.  You won't believe this.  At seventeen, though I had
taken male emissions into my mouth and rectum at least weekly since age
four and lost my maidenhead at the same age, my vagina had been
inseminated hardly at all.  The uncles were very careful about that.  And
so was my new husband until my Fallopian tubes were tied."
    "He had your tubes tied?"
    "Just before my eighteenth birthday.  Six weeks later, when I was
healed, he put me out at rent."
    "Eunice, I --"
    "Don't think I'm complaining.  I cannot imagine the life of a typical
wife, restricted to one man except for such fleeting interludes as she can
steal!  Bernard made the arrangements.  He was careful to select clean and
careful customers, mannerly for the most part, though manners in a rich
man are never reliable.  For fifteen years I had a lovely, lovely time.
Those picture albums only touch on it.  I've been everywhere and met
interesting, powerful people.  I've been around the world twice.  Ah,
Harry!  That is the worst of getting old, having to accept such narrow
horizons after knowing no limit."
    "You're hardly an old woman, Eunice.  42, did you say?"
    "Ah, but consider this face in front of you, that you are willing to
smile upon.  Men can be so niggardly with their smiles!  I love you for
your generosity, Harry!  Even makeup won't hide these veins.  I mean, it
will, of course, but then the makeup looks worse than the veins.  I am
ashamed to show my face, except in places where it's unremarkable, such as
a school room."
    "Eunice, <I> would not be ashamed to escort you anywhere!"
    "Very gallant, Harry!  And thank you.  Wish I could reward you for
that declaration, but I believe we've already done everything that doesn't
hurt."
    I had to chuckle.  "Including a few I never imagined."
    "You could introduce me as your aunt, I suppose."
    "My very loving aunt, perhaps.  I'd claim you as my mistress, except
that isn't done."
    "If it's the truth you want, Harry, not your mistress:  your fist."
    "You've put my fist out of work this summer."
    "Entirely?  I'd like to believe that."
    "Since our first intimate encounter," I assured her, "I've not
masturbated even once.  I don't think I've even had a wet dream since the
first night after it."
    "You had a wet dream after our first encounter?"
    "Sorry.  It was after you introduced me to your <furo>."
    "Really?  I thought I dried you out thoroughly on that occasion."
    "Well, you did.  But you also stimulated my imagination powerfully."
    "No masturbation and no wet dream," she mused.  "I note another change
in you, Harry."
    "Which is?"
    "In June you would have said, 'Since our first fuck I've not jerked
off even once,' or something equivalent."
    "I admit your good opinion has become important to me.  By the way,
what happened to David?"
    "David?"
    "I meant to tell you:  I saw him jump to your balcony right after I
left you that morning."
    "Did you!"
    "Yes.  I wondered if you got his juice."
    She regarded me thoughtfully.  After awhile she said, "He had lied to
his mother.  She thought he was spending the night with a boyfriend."
    "So he spent it with you, did he?  You were a busy tart, considering
what you did that morning and what was waiting the next day."
    "No, Harry.  He left after an hour or so.  Young boys are funny that
way.  They have no well of experience to suggest alternatives.  Their
minds flit like butterflies."
    "Then you did get his juice!"
    "Too soon, I guess.  I haven't seen him since.  I haven't seen any of
them since.  Either they've left town or the young girls are occupying
them."
    "Not even Chip?"
    "Chip.  Yes.  Chip was here this week."
    "Was he!  I'm surprised I left you the opportunity."
    "Anymore you're a night visitor, Harry."
    "A rather faithful night visitor!"
    "I don't believe I've thanked you."
    "Thanked me!"  I kissed her again.  "I'm grateful to <you>!  This has
been a very pleasant summer."
    "Yes, it has.  I hate for it to end."
    I withdrew my arms from around her.  "Excuse me, my dear.  You were
right about the bladder."
    She followed me into the bathroom, hitched herself up onto the sink
and used it as I used the john.  Despite her late start she finished first
and ran water into the sink as I flushed the john.  She wet her hands in
the warm water, scrubbed herself then me, as she has done before.  No
soap, just water.  She once claimed she'd rather taste piss than soap.
She patted herself dry with a towel but stooped and mouthed me instead.
    I asked her, "Can you guess what we've done that pleased me most?"
    "Mmmfh?" she snorted, looking up with twinkling eyes.
    "You'd probably say the first time in the <furo>.  And that was
fascinating, but what pleased me most was trotting around naked in the
moonlight with you hanging on my hips.  That was a wonderful idea!"
    She released me long enough to remind me, "You hadn't taken ten steps
before you ejaculated."
    "So we dripped!  I kept going didn't I?  I do love your giggle,
Eunice.  And then you started to come."
    Her mouth backed off again, "You <dropped> me, you devil, and then
fell on top of me!"
    "I know.  I couldn't help it I was laughing so hard.  I'll never
forget old man Trane, hollering out his window for somebody to shoot that
cat.  I didn't actually <drop> you.  I just let you down on your back."
    "At least you didn't stop thrusting."  She was chuckling with me,
looking up with twinkling eyes, her tongue swiping the head of my dick.
    "It's been great fun, Eunice."  I took her arm and urged her up.
"What's your rush?  We've got all weekend, you know.  Let's throw on some
jeans and go eat breakfast.  That new croissant joint serves eggs
benedict."


        *  *  *  *

    Daisy, of course, is out of town.  Again.  That's two weekends in a
row.  If it weren't for Eunice, I'd be getting on toward desperate.  Daisy
returns Wednesday, if she hews to her schedule, and we'll have the next
weekend together.  The cheese gets binding just after that.  <I> am due to
fly out of the country on Monday, the fourth, and be gone for up to <two
months>!  If my assignment were Europe or even the Far East it wouldn't be
so bad.  Willing pussy is available in both areas.  In the East it's even
cheap.  But where I'm going is Iran, a country with a medieval government
--
a king who actually rules! -- and the death penalty for adulterous women.
    The signals analysis program is ready for Beta Test, which is the
cause of my travel.  I am to supervise its installation in a secret Air
Force listening post near the Russian border:  interesting work with the
potential of a huge bonus if it passes all tests before the deadline.
    Over breakfast I told Eunice about the trip, leaving out the political
and technical parts.  Her response was not the sympathy I expected.
    "Two months!" she breathed, her face sagging.
    "At least you'll have your boys," I pointed out.
    "<Boys>!"
    I was surprised by her contempt.  It must've showed.
    Her eyes fell.  She chuckled bitterly.  "Excuse me, Harry.  Who is it
that believes in the turning wheel of life?  The Buddhists?  The Hindus?"
    "The Buddhists, I think."
    "Well, mine has turned half way around.  When I was about your age I
was paramour to the master of a girls' boarding school.  Until I came
along he had been playing with his charges.  Of course I jumped at a
chance to travel.  While I was gone they arrested him for statutory rape."
    "What happened to him?"
    "Mandatory twenty years.  I'm sure he's out on parole now, but his
life is ruined.  Fortunately the circumstances are not exactly parallel.
A woman with boys runs less risk than a man with girls."
    "How long have you been playing with the kids here?"
    "Oh, a couple years."
    "How do you recruit them?"
    She nodded.  "That's the problem.  I encourage the ones I fancy, but
the problem is that they won't keep it secret.  No matter how I bind them,
they find it necessary to brag.  So I go through a shake down period in
September and October, hoping to end up with two or three reliable
disciples, lucky if I can keep it below half a dozen."
    I shook my head.  "Eunice, it's too risky.  Word will spread.  I
remember only too well."
    "At least you don't condemn me.  Thank you for that, Harry."
    "I agree with your jury:  the lucky little shits!"
    She cocked an eyebrow.  "You had access to an older woman?"
    "No.  The incident I remember involved a classmate, about fourteen,
and I didn't hear about it until it was all over.  I cursed my luck at the
time, you may be sure."
    "Tell me."
    "Apparently a girl in the eighth grade was literally consumed by the
pleasure of her first sexual experiences.  One afternoon she took off her
clothes, lay down on the janitor's mattress in the school basement and
accepted the attention of nearly 100 boys, one after the other, until
midnight.  At least that many more were lined up for her when somebody
tipped her family and her father broke it up.  The word had spread like
wildfire through the school."
    "What happened to her?"
    "I heard she went to the hospital.  Of course, nobody would tell a kid
anything.  She never came back to that school.  I mention it only to show
how word of such things gets around among the kids."
    "How did <you> miss her?"
    "Stuck at home, sick with the flu, naturally."
    "And of course nothing was said to the boys."
    "I think a minister talked to the few they could identify.  The school
took no official notice of it."
    "You felt that you missed a great opportunity, did you?"
    "Certainly!  At fourteen opportunities for sexual release occur seldom
to never.  At least that's how it was then.  I gather the pill is
beginning to make a difference."
    "Yes, it is."  Her voice was sour.  "Some parents are putting girls on
it at thirteen.  They'll be on it until their twenties, despite the
doctors' warnings."
    "Not good to take it so long?"
    "So I'm told.  Of course, I've yet to take the first."
    I studied her.  "How concerned are you about your boys?"
    "I admit to a bit of worry."
    I leaned back in my chair.  "You can do several things."
    "Such as?"
    "You're a substitute teacher, right?  Tell them you'll no longer take
assignments at Christy High.  Or tell them you're taking a leave of
absence.  Or just quit.  The only reason you work is to find your boys,
isn't it?"
    "They're a powerful reason, Harry.  I can't depend on the luck of a
neighbor who needs me as ..."
    Her voice trailed off.  I said, "As I do?"
    Her eyes flicked across mine.  She took a deep breath.
    "All right," I continued.  "You said it yourself:  maybe your regulars
will find other companions."
    "Not Chip!"
    "Are you sure?  I thought he did all right with ... what was her name?
-- Cindy."
    "Cindy and her sisters under the skin can do better than Chip, and
they know it."
    "What's the problem with Chip anyway?"
    "Mainly I think he commands no respect.  Only younger boys will
follow him.  He has arrived several times with boys too young to catch
the balcony."
    "So he uses the bank-to-balcony route, too?"
    "Yes."
    I chuckled.  "An interesting concept in access barriers."
    "Access to <me>!"
    "That's what I mean.  What does he do:  knock on your sliding door?"
    "Yes."
    I shrugged.  "Don't let him in.  I'll put a bar across it."
    Again she took a deep breath.  "That might help in some cases.  David
forced his way into my apartment once.  But it's too late for Chip."
    I stared at her.  "Is he blackmailing you, Eunice?"
    "I'm afraid so."
    "He's only a kid.  Who'll take his word --"
    "He has a Polaroid of him and me."
    "In --  What's that Italian phrase?"
    "<In flagrante delicto>.  Exactly.  David took it on the graflex.
It's very sharp.  My veined face is unmistakable.  So is what we're
doing."
    "You have a copy?"
    "No, but I've seen it in his possession."
    I leaned forward, chin on fists.  "Have you tried to buy it from him?"
    "I made him an offer, yes."
    "What did he say?"
    "He agreed."  She sighed.  "I'll tell you the rest of it.  When he
showed me the picture, I, the trusting ninny, extended the money.  He
simply snatched it from my hand and ran away, keeping the picture."
    "Did he!"  I shook my head.  "How much?"
    "$100."
    "Recently?"
    "In early July.  Every week or so he demands more money.  He no longer
bothers to show the picture."
    "How much has he gotten?"
    "$500 altogether.  I'm terribly afraid he'll attract adult attention
with so much money."
    "Well you should be.  So now his interest is only money, is it?"
    "Oh, no.  One curious note:  <he> demands fellatio!  In the past month
I've tasted almost as much of his ejaculate as yours."
    "So he has learned to squirt?"
    "Yes.  He claims his first time was in my mouth.  I hope it's true.
If I could be sure of that, I'd forgive him everything."
    I had to laugh.  "Eunice, you're more than a little weird, you know."
    "Don't criticize me, Harry.  I'm putty around an erect penis.  Haven't
you noticed?"
    "I never tried to mold your putty -- not forcibly, at least."
    "How about your initial phone call?  I'll never forget it:  'What the
hell, Mrs. Hollowell?'"
    "Ah ...  You didn't construe that as <blackmail>, did you?"
    "Didn't I?"
    "Jesus Christ, Eunice!  D'you claim that I've been extorting sex from
you the past couple of months?"
    She extended a hand to clasp mine.  "Easy, Harry.  Certainly not.  If
anyone has taken unfair advantage between us, it is I."
    I shook my head.  "How do you figure that?"
    "I know about the pressures young men feel.  I knew if I could ever
get you to have me once, you'd come back.  We got off to such an
unfortunate start over those clogged drains that I despaired of
succeeding.  When you called me after spying on the children, I was
thrilled.  My heart rate doubled, Harry."
    I had to grin.  "You were cool as a cucumber, Eunice."
    "I was taught to appear so when placing a large bet.  Apparently I
wasn't <too> cool for you!"
    "Definitely not <too> cool!"
    She smiled contentedly.  "Thank you.  Everything is more difficult as
one ages.  A woman too pantingly eager would drive you away and one too
reserved and unresponsive would fail to attract.  The knife edge is
between those extremes."
    I regarded her with interest.  "Most women seem to balance there
easily."
    "Because of their youth!" she exclaimed bitterly.  "If a young woman
is cold men pursue her as a challenge, if hot she is irresistible.
Without youth, however ..."
    She grinned brightly.  "But you don't want to hear about an old
woman's tactics."  Her hand stroked mine again.  "Harry, this is the first
time you've taken me out.  Have you noticed people studying us?  They
wonder if I'm your mother."
    It was Saturday morning and the restaurant was filling gradually.  The
clash of dinnerware and buzz of conversation gave us privacy although the
nearer tables were mostly occupied.  I had noted a few curious glances but
no more than you'd expect.
    "You're overly sensitive, Eunice.  For that matter, you <are> my
mother -- surrogate, at least.  You take care of me in some ways far
better than my real mother ever did."
    She smiled.  "On occasion you've called me 'Mom.'"
    I smiled back.  "I was intrigued by your plan for raising a son.  If I
were yours, would I have a 22 inch dick?"
    "Not unless you had a lot of older sisters.  One woman cannot attend a
boy that well, no matter how she tries -- though I certainly would have
tried."
    "You weren't pulling my leg about that Cuban superman?"
    "You do know he existed, don't you?"
    "Is he still alive?"
    "Well, I don't know.  Probably not.  I'd guess that having a penis
longer than Castro's is a capital crime in today's Cuba."
    I laughed.  "Castro's specialty is balls! ...  You'd've had me when
you were sixteen, I believe you said, in which case one of the queer
uncles would've likely been my father.  A different life indeed!"
    She shook her head.  "I seriously doubt you'd have become nearly such
a caring and tender man, Harry."
    "Tender?  Huh!  Is that a compliment?"
    Her eyes were level.  "I meant it so."
    "But I'd have at least a twelve inch dick?"
    "At least."  She smiled again.
    
    
    	*  *  *  *
    
    
    On the ride back I observed, "Your arrangement with Chip is unstable,
you know."
    She sighed.  "<Don't> I know it!"
    "It needs to be brought to a head."
    "Short of leaving the state?  I can't bring myself to do that, Harry."
    I grinned at her.  "<I> don't want you to leave, either!  I think we
can find a better solution."
    "You'll help me?"
    "Yes, I will."
    "Why, Harry?"
    "Because a threat to you is also one to me -- to my comfort,
certainly, and the pleasure I take in your company.  You're important to
me, Eunice."  I grunted.  "Sure hope that speech doesn't scare you."
    Her voice was low.  "I'm glad you need me a little, Harry."
    I cleared my throat.  "In regard to Chip ...  When do you expect him
again?"
    "Anytime.  He was last here on Monday.  He knows he's not supposed to
show on weekends, when all the neighbors are home and watching, so I
actually expect him this coming Monday.  This summer he typically arrives
about ten in the morning."
    "All right.  Could you hold him at your door -- tell him you have to
get rid of a visitor -- long enough for me to sneak over in the front, if
he comes when I'm not there?"
    "Yes, if he comes when you're not at work."
    "Well, then, here's what I'm thinking ..."
    
    	*  *  *  *
    
    Went out again this afternoon and bought a few special items designed
to give Chip a warm welcome.  If he returns.  Eunice is confident we'll
see him Monday morning, though she admits he can arrive any time.  He even
showed up once on a Sunday.
    I spent most of today with her.  Aside from the trip to the shopping
center this afternoon, I've been 24 hours in her company.  She is indeed
obsessed with dick!  Her hand, mouth or rectum enclosed it for most of my
visit, if you believe her claim of holding on to it in her sleep.  We
visited the <furo> twice and she washed it four or five times beyond that.
It's flaccid now and comfortable but I'm sure if it should rise it would
be sore.  Guess I'll read some more Anderson tomorrow and give it a rest.
    She's sucked a thousand dicks but never learned to ease off at the
climax!  Judging from Daisy's example, it's not the quantity, it's the
attention paid.  Practice is important but only with the right plays.
    Too much of a good thing is too much, though as I think I've said
before, lechery is hard to cloy.  Eunice is the best thing that's happened
to me this summer, but I wonder how long it can go on without something
coming loose.
    

<Monday, August 28, 1972>
    "Harry, there he is, coming down the bank!"
    I looked at my wristwatch:  09:54.  "On time," I observed, grabbing
the bag and slipping behind the drapes drawn back from Eunice's sliding
glass doors.
    A last glance at her mottled face noted fear and worry.  She begged,
"You won't hurt him, will you?  Please tell me one more time you won't
hurt him!"
    "A few bruises, maybe, on wrists and ankles."
    "But no cuts or broken bones, please, Harry?"
    "No cuts or broken bones.  We've already discussed this, Eunice."
    She took a deep breath.  "Please don't forget it.  He's on the
balcony."
    I had called my boss and told him I needed a day or two to settle
certain personal business before leaving the country -- no more than the
truth.  He wanted to trade me this coming Saturday and maybe Sunday, too,
until I made him admit he had nothing for me to do anyway.  I was doubly
glad of the boy's appearance.  Now I wouldn't have to argue for Tuesday.
    A rapid tattoo of knuckles rattled the glass door.  Its weather
stripping probably needs replacement.  I watched Eunice approach, my eye
pressed to a carefully adjusted rift between the two pieces of drapery.
    She took a deep breath and opened the door an inch.  "Hello, Chip,"
she said with just the right amount of exasperation.
    His hand must have darted into the gap.  The door slid back forcefully
enough to thump against its stop.  The boy shoved into the room, pushing
the woman back with his body.
    "Quick!" he exclaimed, spinning about as soon as he was inside.
"Billy saw me duck through the hedge."  He slammed the door closed while I
marveled at the distinct deepening of his voice since I heard it three
months ago.  He added, "Where's the cord for these drapes?"
    In an inspired bit of misdirection, Eunice moved to his left despite
knowing that the pull cords were located on the right -- that is, behind
me!  He turned to follow her, having already departed from our script of
likely behavior.  In seconds he would expose me.  Waiting any longer would
void our whole plan.
    Saturday afternoon I had bought a beach bag made of heavy black cotton
impervious to light but not air, closed by a drawstring in metal eyelets.
I raised it high, holding its mouth wide by wrists passed through the
string on either side, and pushed myself through the opening in the
drapes.  He doubtlessly caught the unexpected motion in the corner of his
eye and started to turn, but his reflex was too slow.  The bag snapped
down over his head.  I pulled the drawstring loops, tightening the bag
under his chin, and tied them behind his head in a quick overhand.  By
this time his hands were approaching his neck, as expected.  I simply
caught his wrists in my hands, turned palms out, and using all my superior
strength, forced them around, down and behind his back.
    Eunice had withdrawn the first handcuffs from the pocket of her
housecoat.  She closed them easily around his wrists while I took one step
partly around him.  I spun him to the side, away from the glass door, and
with a shove tripped him over my extended leg.  Down he went, saved from
smashing nose into floor by my arm under his shoulders.  Next I aligned
his legs so that Eunice could apply the second handcuffs to his ankles.
    Ironically both sets of handcuffs were plastic, bought Saturday in a
toy store, released by pressing a button on the hasp.  If you don't know
the button is there, however, and can't see to find it for yourself, they
are just as effective as the equipment hanging from a cop's belt.
    The final step remained.  I forced the two sets of handcuffs together
behind his back so that the short chains overlapped.  I had replaced the
flimsy plastic chains with heavy wire chains, closed on the shanks with
pliers.  A few turns of bailing wire, again produced from the housecoat
pocket, bound the handcuffs together.  Chip now lay face down on Eunice's
carpet, effectively hog-tied.
    Not that he lay quietly.  He twisted and tugged, trying to free
himself, screaming hoarse threats and imprecations.  His voice was muffled
inside the bag but loud enough to worry us if either of the other two
families in that building had been at home.  We had watched the last one,
Mrs. Rider from the apartment above me, depart presumably for work at
08:30.
    I blocked his attempts to roll over and over across the floor.  Each
oath or scream was necessarily preceded by an intake of breath, collapsing
the bag around his head.  In short order his words became simpler.  "Help!
I'm suffocating!"
    This we had anticipated.  Eunice leaned down close to his head and
called very distinctly, "You will if you don't settle down."
    When she had repeated it twice, it finally seemed to penetrate.  He
quieted except for gasping attempts to breathe.  I forced him on his side,
loosened the overhand knot and pulled the bag away from the back of his
head, fanning it like a bellows to replace the stale air.
    When he was breathing easier, I tightened the bag again and Eunice
made her second speech.  "The bag isn't quite air tight.  I have confirmed
that one can breathe through it by taking deep, slow breaths.  This means
you must lie quietly.  Stirring around causes panting, which you can't
afford, Chip."
    "Wh-what's going on?" asked the muffled voice.
    "Just a moment," Eunice answered, bending to undo his shirt buttons,
following to open belt and fly.  As she released the shirt I pulled it
over his shoulders, then his jeans below his knees.  The T-shirt went over
his head and the jockey shorts followed the jeans.  Five seconds after the
last button he was naked, all his clothing compacted about wrists and
ankles.
    "You bitch, Eunice, what're you doing to me?"
    I had asked her how she would respond if he called her names.  "He
does anyway," she had answered, shrugging.  Now she surprised me by
leaning down and smartly slapping the cheek under the black bag with her
open hand.  She said sternly, "You will speak respectfully to me, Chip."
    That silenced him briefly.
    In his shirt pocket I found a notebook, the kind with many tear-off
pages in a folding binder, so large as to be tight in the pocket.
Significantly, no pen or pencil.  I riffled through it.  Aside from a few
cryptic sequences on the first sheet, probably telephone numbers, all the
pages were blank.  Except for the next to last.  A photographic print with
the matte finish typical of Polaroid had been cut cleanly by scissors to
match the page size and glued onto the page.  Originally in four-by-five
graflex format, according to Eunice, it had been trimmed about by half,
but the trimming had been strategic.  Both boy and woman's facing profiles
were readily identifiable in one corner of the image, that part of his
dick not buried in her cunt barely visible in the other.  Her legs were
drawn up and crossed over his back, thereby affording the unambiguous view
of their junction.
    Holding it open, I passed the notebook to the woman.
    She gasped.  "Chip, you bad boy!  You have ruined that photograph."
But she smiled at me in delight.  Her next breath was visibly easier.
    "Wha'd'ya mean, 'ruined?'" he demanded.
    "Trimmed it down to fit this dinky notebook," she retorted.
    "Give that back!"  Again the hog-tied body twisted and turned.  "God
damn you bitch, give that back!"
    Eunice sank to her knees beside him.  Her hand flashed out and
grasped the youthful scrotum.  Immediately, as if a switch had been
thrown, the body stilled and the demand changed in mid breath.
    "Oh, god, don't!  Don't mash 'em!"
    "Then watch your tongue," the woman retorted.  He quieted.  Apparently
she had eased the pressure but her hand continued to enclose him.  Her
voice became reasonable.  "I don't want your notebook, Chip.  Of course
I'll return it to you.  But this picture is <my> property, after all.
Suppose you tell me who has seen it besides David, you and I."
    The boy lay silent.  I saw her hand twitch.  "Tell me who, Chip!"
    "Ah, uh, just the boys," he answered hastily.
    "Which boys?"
    "Besides David?"
    "Don't play stupid, Chip, or I'll have to hurt you."
    "Please, Eunice, don't mash 'em!"
    "Then tell me who."
    He named several boys, including the putative Billy.  She wanted to
know the circumstances.  According to Chip, they had passed it around at a
"circle jerk."  I was mildly amused to see that she required no definition
of that arcane phrase.
    "And I showed it to my grandpa," the boy concluded.  His voice
contained an element of calculation.
    "Did you!" exclaimed Eunice.  She looked at me, eyes widening.
    I curled my lips in disdain.  Her eyes narrowed.  "And what did
Grandpa say?"
    "Oh, nothing...  He, uh, he wanted to know who the woman was."
    "And you told him it was your school teacher?"
    "No.  I said it was a woman on Billy's paper route."
    "I see.  That was smart, Chip."  Her free hand joined the busy one.
    Finally the boy asked, "Who's with you?" -- giving Eunice the cue for
her third speech.
    "I've been wanting to talk to you, Chip.  That picture of us could so
easily fall into the wrong hands.  And you wouldn't give it back to me.
So I had to get some help."
    "Help?  Wh-what kind of help?"
    "There's a gang in this city, Chip, a gang of very bad men.  I did
some work for them once, so I knew how to reach them.  But I hated to do
it.  They're killers, Chip.  They'd think no more of crushing you than you
would of a beetle on the sidewalk -- actually less;  you might want to
play with the beetle.
    "It's a good thing you had this picture with you.  If you hadn't, they
would have taken you home and ransacked your house.  If your family were
there, it would have been just too bad for them.  And you.
    "The man who helped me says that the right thing to do with you is
take you for a ride to the bridge tonight and throw you over the rail with
a couple of cinder blocks tied to your handcuffs.
    "You're not stupid, Chip.  I know you can learn.  I've persuaded him
to give you one last chance.  But only <one> more!  If you come near my
apartment again, or even say more than 'Hello' to me at school, he'll come
back and take you for that ride.
    "Do you understand?"
    "Y-yeah."
    "Say, 'Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Hollowell.'"
    "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Hollowell."
    She held the notebook close to his ear, commanding, "Listen!"
    In the silence the tearing paper was loud.  She handed me the closed
notebook.  I returned it to his shirt pocket.
    "You have your notebook back," she reported.  Her hand rubbed him.
"One more thing:  where did you get this tattoo on your belly?"
    I had noticed it:  a somewhat stylized drawing of a vagina with lips
pulled open, in pink with a crown of black hair, about three inches tall
altogether.  It was a relatively new decoration;  all the scabbing had yet
to come loose.  Obviously it was professionally done.
    "Do you like it?"
    "Where, Chip?"
    "At the county fair.  It cost $150!"
    He was proud of the money.  Eunice's eyes flashed at me.  We knew
where a large part of his windfall had gone.
    "And I got laid, too, by a <real> whore!" -- which accounted for a lot
more.
    "Thanks for the compliment," Eunice retorted dryly, stepping back.  I
noted his equipment and almost asked her if she was loosing her touch.
The small, coverless glans was withdrawn nearly to his belly.
    But the script called for Chip's exit.  We began by pulling his
clothing back around to its proper locations.  Eunice redid buttons while
I closed fly and belt.  I released the catch on his anklets and raised him
to his feet.  He staggered but stood straight before the door.  I checked:
no one was visible in hedge, bank or balcony.  I nodded to the woman and
held his wrists securely while she removed the bracelets.
    She said while I yet held him, "I'll make you a present of that black
bag.  The drawstrings are in a loose knot behind your neck.  You'll have
to reach back and untie them.  Now I'm going to shove you out on the
balcony.  Watch your step.  Run away as fast as you can before <he>
realizes you've gone."
    I threw open the door as she shoved him forward.  He stumbled on the
sill and pitched forward, breaking his fall with his hands.  I slammed the
door shut, snapping the lock, and Eunice immediately pulled the drapes
almost closed, leaving a one-inch gap.
    Staring through it with one eye, she reported, "He's sitting up...
There!  The bag is off.  He's looking toward me, blinking."
    She pulled the drape wider, peered ostentatiously over her shoulder
and made shooing motions with one hand.  She smiled.  "That did it!  He's
over the rail like a rabbit...  There he goes up the bank, looking back to
see if you're coming."
    She let the drape fall.  "Oh, Harry, it worked!"  In a second she was
in my arms, kissing me all over the face.
    We sat with drinks at her roller-equipped kitchen table and rehashed
the little adventure.  She wanted to dwell on every incident.  I teased
her about her failure to pump him up.
    "Oh, it was getting hard," she protested.  "I really thought I might
get one last ejaculation from him."
    "That's not how it looked when you let it go."
    "Well, no.  I should have put him off when he asked who was helping
me.  At that point I had a handful."
    "Your gang of bad men scared him, did it?"
    "I'll say!  It shrank like a pricked balloon and his testicles
withdrew halfway into his belly."
    We both laughed.  She asked pensively, "You don't believe he actually
showed it to his grandpa, do you?"
    "No.  He'd like to brag, but that would involve real risk to his gravy
train.  Still, suppose he did.  If I were the grandpa, I'd've thought
'lucky little shit.'  Since the cops haven't asked you to explain, you can
assume his grandpa agrees with me.
    "Here's something else:  You're acquainted with all the boys he showed
it to, aren't you?"
    "Yes."
    "Again unlikely.  Chip couldn't control that crowd.  If he showed it
to anyone, it'd be the younger boys, the ones who can't reach your balcony
yet.  Seed for your crop a couple years out."
    "Harry, it is so reassuring to hear your analysis!  How can I ever
thank you for this?"
    I grinned.  "Oh, we'll find a way."  No issue of a "sitting duck" in
this case!
    One thing is certain, however.  The little shits' luck has to run out.
If Eunice keeps this up, sooner or later she's bound to get hurt.  Bad.
And I with her if our close association continues.
    Everything has strings attached.  But strings or not, I'll have to be
a lot older and weaker to turn down such willing pussy!  Though in fact
it's more than pussy.  There's not much edification in the friction of
mucous membranes.  Mrs. Eunice Hollowell is a fascinating person in her
own right.  What she has seen and done, where she's been, what she thinks
of it all:  I would enjoy her conversation even if she were a man.  She
has a wonderful past.  But her future seems limited to that of a
substitute fist.  By her own choice.  Too bad for her but goody for me!
    Of course the main thing she isn't is Daisy.



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