Chapter 6

First of all, Ellen looked for a place to live. She had some rather definite ideas about this. First, she wanted to be alone. Secondly, the place she lived had to be a distinct improvement on the home she had left, otherwise her courage and determination might have failed her. And it had to be attractive.

Sedwick Village, by the time she got there in her search, filled her requirements, although it was more expensive than she had hoped it would be. An apartment with a single bedroom rented for two hundred dollars. The manager was a man, and by the very nature of his position, must have already had dozens of opportunities to take out the first month's rent in trade, and probably by girls fully as charming as Ellen Carver. She did not, however, extend this as a proposition. She merely told him about her financial situation, that after buying her plane ticket, she had only sixty-three dollars. This wasn't quite the truth.

But the manager of the Sedgwick Village relaxed his requirements of a three-hundred dollar deposit and one month's rent in advance, and accepted fifty dollars down with the promise of the balance in a week ... after Ellen tested the bed she hoped to sleep in that night, then slyly showed Mr. Ashworth, the manager, her inducement for his special dispensation. Automatically, it seemed, he opened his fly without taking his eyes off her cunt. It didn't take him long. Ellen felt a little cheated as she repaired herself in a gleaming tile bathroom almost seconds later.

The complex itself was new, one of the myriads of warren-like, extravagantly-designed apartment systems, usually from four to ten buildings containing up to sixty apartments each, three-levels high, accessible by outside promenades and stairways done in thick, unpainted redwood. The bus stopped at the foot of the hill, probably because there were too few deliveries this far out. Most of the renters at Sedgwick had cars ... all except Ellen. Until then, she hadn't realized how important a car could be.

In late-evening, the ridge above the construction area provided shade as Ellen carefully picked her way downhill toward the club her cab-driver had pointed out earlier. It was called the Cabana. Mrs. Ashworth, the manager said it opened at four.

Three cocktails later she had him in tow, a balding fellow in his late forties who confessed his wife was gone and that he was very lonely. Yes, he said, they lived in Number 6. His wife's mother had come down with Asian flu, a particularly virulent kind, and she'd be gone the rest of the week. His first name was Brian. He didn't give her the rest of it, and asked if he could sit at her table while they had dinner, which more or less amounted to a willingness to buy her a steak, about the only thing on the menu in the food line.

By the time it arrived, she had his background pretty well extracted. A partner in a certified public accountant firm. If he didn't have money, he at least had a good salary, so Ellen went right to work on him.

"I lost my husband," she stated brightly, as one too courageous for a sad admission. She didn't say how.

"You're all alone? You don't have a steady?" he asked hopefully.

"Not even a date. I tell you, I just got to town and already I'm scared silly, it's so big. And it cost so much to live here. But all the other places I looked at were so old and depressing. I wanted something new, something fresh, so I can begin forgetting."

Brian nodded understandingly. "They get all it's worth out here, alright. Me, I'd have settled for a place close in, but Celia insisted on this place. There's a golf-course over the hill. She plays a lot. She isn't very good, but neither are the other women she plays with."

"So with her gone, you're out looking for a good rime," she said pointedly, and very unexpectedly.

"I got lonesome after I came home. The place is so empty. I wanted to talk to someone," he explained defensively.

Ellen laughed again, bitterly. "Don't mind me. If I'm cynical, it's because I resent others having a good time, while I struggle on alone."

"You don't have to go it alone. With your looks, you could have guys waiting on you hand and foot."

"Would you wait on me hand and foot?" she asked sharply.

"If I wasn't a married man, of course I would!"

"How about tonight, with your wife gone?"

The accountant licked his lips. "How do you mean that?"

"I mean, I need money, badly. If you're married, and can't promise anything else, what am I worth to sleep with until morning, to do anything you want, any way you want?"

His eyes glittered behind glasses. "You're kidding."

"Anything you want," she repeated. "Anything you want."

He looked at her in a different way. "How much do you ask?" he countered.

"How should I know!" was her sharp reply. "I've never priced myself before because I've never been desperate before. If you're interested, make me an offer. I'll tell you if I like it or not."

"Fifty bucks. Half down, half when I'm sure you won't run out on me, or scream." His mouth was open. He was definitely excited.

"Sixty," she haggled, just to prove she was desperate enough to ask for another ten.

"Let's go," he said.

Ellen extended her hand, palm up. For several seconds, he looked into her eyes, then slowly got out his wallet and counted out a twenty and a ten. Ellen stuffed them in her purse, made certain he had the dinner bill, and got up. "Okay," she said in her bright, determined way. "Let's begin the night."

First of all, he had her undress while he watched every move with glittering, expectant eyes. When he was satisfied about her appearance in total nudity, he had her lie on the bed while he furthered his interest in her very private anatomy. Ellen felt his hand shaking, heard his whispered awe-inspired comments to himself. "Holy Jesus! Holy Jesus!"

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Brian rose from his crouched position on the floor, and unexpectedly replied by shoving an inspired erection up her vagina. Ellen wrapped her shapely legs around his waist, pumped expertly through a dozen thrusts, and had him sagging on her. "God!" he panted. "You make it so real!"

"You really do miss your wife, don't you," she commented. "Now. About that other thirty dollars."

Brian got it for her, then undressed. He was better the second time, a little too possessive to suit Ellen, but he was clean and surprisingly muscular without clothes. She tried not to come, because she was sad and desperate, but had to give in at the last, and then Brian was beside himself. "Think of that!" he kept saying, when he held her against his chest afterwards. "Once out of a dozen times maybe Celia gets her nuts, and you do it almost the first time. How long has your husband been ... gone?"

"Too long," Ellen replied sadly. "It seems years, only it isn't. Months, I suppose. He wasn't himself for a long time."

"You didn't have anybody at all?"

"Just memories, and they're not enough. Will you feel badly toward me in the morning because I had to charge you?"

"God, no! Celia, even when she gets tight, won't ever let me see how she's put together. We never do it with the lights on either. I'd like to give you more, but she keeps a pretty close eye on our money. I couldn't explain away too much more."

"You don't really think I'm a whore, do you?"

He clutched her to him. "Oh, no! I wouldn't have touched you if you'd been one of those. You're just a girl having a tough time getting her feet on the ground, and I'm proud to be helping you."

"I wouldn't want anyone thinking that," Ellen said. "I'd give the money back first. This is going to help lots, Brian. I don't suppose you have any friends whose wives are gone, do you?"

"Well, not out here. There's a fellow at the office that isn't married. He's good-hearted, though, even if he is backward around girls. Would you like for me to tell him about you?"

"Why don't you?" she decided. "I've got to raise enough money for this deposit they have to have, and the rest of a month's rent. Then, I can look for me a job and start working."

Brian's friend was named Harlow Wilcoxon. He had, when their arrangements were finally decided on, a hundred dollars ... providing Ellen could overcome some of his very unnatural inhibitions. His mind was extremely willing, his body virtually unresponsive. She couldn't believe it at first, in bed with him, deliciously naked, her breasts pressed against him, a knee riding up and down on his leg. He remained tense—and limber, in spite of her expert manipulations.

"What are you scared of?" she asked softly.

He had insisted on total darkness. A futile reply. "I don't know. I ... never could."

"Can you, when you're by yourself?"

"I'd have gone mad years ago if I couldn't."

"Can you now?" she whispered urgently, her face in his neck, biting gently.

"I don't think so. I'd have to be completely alone."

"I'll go in the bathroom."

"And I'll know you're in there. It won't work."

"What do you think about when you're alone?"

"Girls!" came the agonized reply. "Beautiful, naked girls like you. And I'm going it. It's so easy then."

"You've never done it with a girl?"

"Never," Wilcoxon replied miserably.

"First of all, you're going to stop feeling sorry for yourself," she decided matter-of-factly, and got out of bed to turn on the light. She pulled at the sheet Wilcoxon had up around his neck.

Panic appeared in his eyes. "No! Don't do that!"

Ellen shrugged. "I'm mother naked. I touched you under the sheet. What's so different about my seeing you?"

"I just don't want you to."

"Why not?"

"It ... wouldn't be decent."

"Harlow," she said patiently, "you've got to understand that our customs are pretty silly. You kill a person in a public place, with a thousand people looking on, the state hires you a lawyer and listens to a plea of temporary insanity. But just try screwing in public and see where you wind up ... and fast! Now there's not a thing wrong with you, physically. It's all in your head."

Wilcoxon, who was neither a good-looking nor a bad-looking fellow, kept the sheet pulled tightly around his neck and looked hopefully at Ellen, as if she :would eventually discover the panacea he so desperately wanted.

Determined to keep the hundred dollars, Ellen placed her hands on her hips and looked beyond the helplessness in his expression, trying to see through to a cure, at least a temporary one. "If it's because you think you're little, forget it," she suggested. "The best piece I ever had was with a guy that had a short, stubby dick." This wasn't true. Because he was unusually shriveled from his nameless fear, Ellen couldn't tell much about the performance size of his penis, except she though it could very easily be smaller than average. She thought the reference might touch on his problem. "How much have you got when it's up and mad?" she asked, smiling.

"I never measured," he replied, averting his eyes.

"Come on! Every guy has! At least, everyone I ever talked to. How much, Harlow?"

"Almost six inches."

"Hey! That's a beauty! Every home should have one!" Ellen sat on the edge of the bed, next to his legs. Suspiciously, Harlow tightened his grip on the sheet, and suddenly. Ellen had a peculiar feeling she knew what the trouble was about. Innocently, she straddled the sheet-protected body with her knees, leaned down so her face was directly above his. Harlow swallowed with some difficulty.

Ellen said, "When we were little kids, my brother and I slept together, and on mornings when we didn't have to get up, we'd lay there together and tell each other what we dreamed about. Then, first thing you know, we'd be trying to push each other out of bed. He was bigger than me, but I always won. You know how I won?"

Big-eyed, wondering what was going to happen next, Harlow shook his head.

Before he could stop her, Ellen caught the top of the sheet, stripped it down enough she got her hands in the small of his back, just above the pelvic bones, and tickled furiously.

The reaction was explosive. He fought for her wrists, crying hoarsely, struggling like a bear in a trap, only Ellen's body seemed to always be in the way, and her strong fingers kept digging into the extremely sensitive flesh, and the hoarse protests got to be laughs that come of tolerable torture instead of delight. Their bodies threshed back and forth across the bed with Ellen hanging on for dear life, until finally Harlow slid off the bed in self-defense with her on top, and he was laughing by then with this wondrously soft woman in his arms. Ellen kissed him long and passionately, and felt the long-awaited response forming against her groin. Without breaking the embrace, she shifted slightly, tipped his penis in her slit with a delicate touch, and deftly wormed it in. Ellen felt a justifiable thrill of achievement, and Harlow came in a flurry of eager hunches.

They talked about it afterwards.

Ellen said, "I wasn't kidding about my brother and me. The only thing, we got too big to be playing together half-naked, and he got hard one morning. I was big enough to wonder myself, and we were about ready to try it when my father walked in. Now tell me what happened to you."

"I got caught peeking at them in the act. He beat me within an inch of my life."

"And told you only grown-ups had any business doing things like that," finished Ellen. "I didn't get whipped. My brother did, though. It was all his fault, because it's men that take advantage of women," she laughed. Ellen turned on the pillow. "Feel better now?"

Wilcoxon stretched comfortably while he hugged her with one arm. "Are you interested in a permanent arrangement?"

"Like marriage?"

"Or something that might grow to marriage."

Ellen though rapidly. "I've had all I want of being tied down for right now," she finally replied slowly. "I think I could like you, though. Could you help out on my rent?"

"For what?"

"It depends on how much you help."

"What if I pay it all?"

"Then you get it all," she said matter-of-factly.

"Sold," replied Wilcoxon, and happily buried his face between her breasts.

For the next five months, Harlow paid her rent at Sedgwick Village. In return, he enjoyed what he referred to as "house privileges" on the nights Ellen designated as those where she wouldn't be "busy." And these became increasingly fewer and further between as time went on, even after she found her first job.