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don't remove the author information or make any changes
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The Heat
by James Charles Lynn (no address provided)

***

Murder mystery or man comes into his own? Harold, an 
introvert, has a premature ejaculation problem and 
tries to make up for it by being the best he can at 
foreplay. Some women just want to be fucked hard and 
long and some appreciate a man who is good at 
foreplay. (MF, huml, rom)

***

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 forecaster 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!) And began to follow the urges that nature had 
imbued them and that they themselves 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 otherwise 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 catastrophes 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 moonlight 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 
powerful 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. "W-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, 
collapsing 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 vacation. 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 freedom'. 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 announcing 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 something. 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 
anything 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 
prematurely. "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 hiccupped 
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 
suspended 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 Wilburn, 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 intimidating 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, horsing 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 
himself. 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 
Willyville 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 nights 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 co-ed 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 
unpleasant 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. Red-faced 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 
lose 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 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 
controlled 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, 
seemingly 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 its weight, 
its 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 giggle. 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 erection 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 
surprised 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 
attentions 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 tomorrow 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, inexorably 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. 
Experimentally he probed with his tongue again. She 
almost jumped off the bed. "No! Stop, please... No 
more..." she pleaded in an exhausted 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 explosion 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 
fantastic! I haven't got off that hard in a long time. 
What-" Suddenly 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, outgoing 
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 
cross-legged 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 
reconciliation 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 misunderstanding: "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 definition 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 
willing 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 
peacefully. 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 naturist 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 constitutional 
right) when he heard strange noises coming from the 
direction 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 
containing, 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...

"Oooooh..." Michael crooned, sitting cross-legged in 
the middle of the floor.

"Oooooh..." 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 concerned about."

"Oh? And just what problem is that?" Harold asked 
suspiciously.

"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 ability 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 drily, "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 travelling downward, 
from her shoulder-length auburn hair to small, pert 
breasts contained in a red tank-top too long, tanned 
legs, very well set off by her rather brief white 
shorts. 

Suddenly, 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 sexuality 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 herself 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 
drily. "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 resenting 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 
recliner. "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 problem." 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, 
maintaining 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 intensely 
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 
altogether. 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 consciousness, 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 
solution 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 towards 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, cheering 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 
feathered. 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 thunderclouds, 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 moonlight 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 
powerful 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 
miserably and his dick felt like it had been rubbed 
with sandpaper, especially around the base. He turned 
over to Cindi, who was lying on her back with her legs 
still apart, eyes glazed, mumbling incoherently. He 
began to wonder if he had done her permanent damage.

It was another fifteen minutes before she returned to 
reality. 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, 
pulling 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 something 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 unbelieving. 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 celebration.

The people partied hard and long into the night, as 
temperatures 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.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 78