Chapter 8

Ellen had an uncomfortable feeling of being watched, not that she felt a sincere repugnance of being seen in the nude, disliked the way he was doing it. Each time she shaded her eyes and looked directly into the glaring sun at the roof line above her balcony, she saw only the uncluttered regularity of the parapet wall and blinding ski beyond it. Yet, when she settled comfortably down on her belly for another few minutes of sun, this same, watched-feeling crept over her again.

She tried to ignore it. I'm completely alone, she told herself, and kept her face cradled on her forearm and thought of how her tan was slowly turning into a tantalizing golden color ... all over. No whiteness on her breasts or loins. Just like a bona fide nudist because she and Magnus were on the twelfth and top floor, and no one could see down into then-walled balcony unless he was on the roof. But the feeling was there again. He was watching. No mistake about it.

Without moving, Ellen tightened her body muscles, ready for the sudden twist where she could glance up and catch him red-handed, and like a coiled spring, she turned.

She imagined she had seen movement at the roof-line, yet she wasn't positive. The sun was so bright. It might have been a man's head backing away and out of sight, beyond her line of vision. For perhaps two minutes, Ellen sat there, brooding, wanting to call out something very improper and unlady-like. But, if it were only her imagination, then the people next door could hear, and wonder. She decided against it. Instead, Ellen stretched out on her back, baring her breasts and pubic area to the sun while she groped for her dark glasses and eye-pads and thought how very good it felt to be laying in the warm sun, Peeping-Tom or not. Ellen slipped the dark shades over her eyes and lay very, very still with slits of light making the roof line stark black against brilliant crimson of the sky. Almost immediately, a round, dark blob that could only be a man's head silhouetted against the sky violated the orderliness of her vision. Without moving her body, or covering it, Ellen took off her glasses.

When her eyes got accustomed to the light and she could see, it was a darkly handsome face with a wild crop of dark hair, brown skin, and the whitest possible teeth as he smiled broadly, returning her steady gaze. The voice, when it came, was deep and musical. "I was tired of the cat-and-mouse game," he said, "but it seemed the only way to get you to turn over."

Ellen licked her lips, idly flipped the corner of her towel across her pubic area, just in case it might annoy him. "I think you're damned rude," she stated evenly.

The chin propped itself on a cupped hand. "I liked you much better without the towel," he said sorrowfully. "Couldn't you leave it off while we talk?"

"Who says we're going to!" she snapped, still nettled because he'd interrupted her sunning. If he hadn't jerked back each time, like a guilty schoolboy.

"Let's say this is why I came up on the roof, so we could talk."

"There's always the apartment door," she reminded him.

The grin widened. "For paying guests of the hotel, yes. It so happens I'm not. I happen to know one of the maids, who knows where a certain key is kept. I waited up here for you yesterday, only .you didn't show. You went down to the beach instead."

"You still could have come to the door," Ellen maintained.

He shook his head. "Huh-uh. You could have screamed. Or called the house-bull who would have had me when I hit the ground floor. This way is safer. If you really cared about being peeked on, you'd have gone in twenty minutes ago, when I first started buggin' you."

"And I didn't, so you reasoned correctly that I wouldn't scream when I did see you seeing me naked." She flipped the towel aside. "Besides that, what else did you have to see?"

He was very interested and stared as frankly as any man can. "You damned near make me forget," he finally admitted. "But I did want to talk to you. Big Daddy left about forty minutes ago. For how long?"

Ellen knew he referred to Magnus, who had business in Coral Gables. He'd promised to be back in time to dress for dinner. "Long enough," she said.

"For me to come down there? Would you let me in?" he asked hopefully.

She stretched in a whorishly, tantalizing way, like a ravishing beauty would hope to compel her lover to clear the room in a single leap. "Maybe."

"Oh Jesus! Tell me yes or no!"

Ellen got up and went inside, through the French doors, and without saying a word.

In what seemed like seconds later, there was a rap on her door. She slipped into a knee-length robe, belted it, and turned the lock.

She recognized the hair and teeth more than the face because she'd been looking at it upside down and from an angle. He was roughly handsome, the kind that weathers well even in a hurricane-type of living. He wore a pullover sweater with an apache stripe, and beachcomber shorts. Around the tanned neck, a silver chain with whatever it carried hidden by the sweater. "Hi," he grinned. "I'm the hot cat from the roof."

Ellen supposed he was trying to be nonchalant, and she caught that little strain of uneasiness about him that told her he considered himself on very thin ice. And for no good reason she could think of. Ellen caught herself remembering one of Roy's pet phrases. As nervous as a bastard child at a wedding. The mans was very definitely nervous. She wondered why as she opened the door carelessly. "Come on in. You said you wanted to talk."

He licked his lips in a calculating way as he looked around. "You got it pretty nice here. These are the choice suites, facing the water and on the top floor."

Ellen sat in a chair. "The girl with the key told you this, I suppose."

He smiled again in the ready-made way he had, as if he practiced in front of a mirror. "Sure," he acknowledge. "She even got your name for me. Only I didn't like it. Ellen Opus," he repeated. "It sounds too much like God 'elp us, and I think you know your way around without any help. How about Goody-pants? No danger of him running in on us, is there?"

Ellen shrugged. "What if he did?"

His dark eyes warmed expressively. "For you, nothing maybe. For me, over to the tank. I'm a beach-bum, you see. I prey on respectable, paying female-guests, usually the over-aged ones. They don't likes me over in town."

"You in particular? Or your type?"

"My type," he answered.

Ellen wondered now if he'd spotted her as a hustler, and if he had, how had he been able to see it. "You're going to prey on me?" she asked curiously. "Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

He looked at her legs again, hoping for another peek if she moved them. "That'd be okay with me, Mrs. Opus, but that wasn't the reason I wanted to see you. I worked the bar night before last and saw you with Sugar Daddy, only you didn't see me. You were too busy watching the money-boys come and go. It was then I got to wondering about you, because you didn't look to me like a dame very damned stuck on the guy you were with."

This was definitely true. Since their arrival in Miami Beach, once the newness and luster had worn off, and with Magnus off on business nearly every day, the days had been hanging heavy for Ellen. In some respects, the nights too. For her, these warm, tropical evening were ideal for love-making. Hours of it. But sometimes, Magnus was too tired to make love at all. And when he did, it was only once and for not nearly long enough. She must have been looking just as bored as she felt when this part-time bartender saw her. "What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

"Jack Bohnert. Yours isn't Opus sure as hell."

"No. It's Carver. What else do you see about me?"

Bohnert took on some courage. He eyed her shrewdly. "You didn't scream out on the balcony. You don't wear rings. You're bored with Daddykins. I see you as a dame could go for some action."

Ellen's eyes narrowed. While she wanted a good screwing badly enough, she still didn't want him being rudely familiar. "What kind of action?"

"Why, helping me put the make on a rich, ripe couple I got spotted in a place down at Key Biscayne. I already got the biddy felt out, and she's dying for you-know-what, and I came up to see my little maid gal friend about taking care of the old man, but she wouldn't go for the idea. You're not good enough friends with Daddyo to be here on any basis except payola, so I'm inviting you to throw in with me and make some real change. This village is loaded, believe me!"

"How much money?" And she noted his big sigh of relief.

Jack Bohnert leaned forward confidentially. "Nobody drives down here anymore. They fly. On to Cuba, maybe, then back. But this pair rents a Caddy from Hertz, and she wears more ice than Tiffany's sells in a year. Millionaires, or I'm a queer."

"So?"

Bohnert spread his hands. "So they're Mama and Daddy. Devoted. I think they're Jewish, and those people don't play around easy, not if they're religious enough. But you take any couple where age is closing in. They get to thinking how they got it all made now. All except that one thing. That young they didn't enjoy quite as much as they might have, and there's damned few that won't at least take another shot at it."

"You're saying that you get the wife to compromise herself with you, and I get the husband to play around with me?"

Bohnert nodded vigorously. "Right! And the deal is, each keeps it a secret from the other, so we pick them separately by threatening to go rat on them if they don't pay off."

"Blackmail," she declared curtly.

"So what? It's an honest buck! They get their kicks out of it! I and another friend I used to have had a couple from Hartford going about six months ago, and that old lady liked to killed me, she wanted it so much. And this friend of mine made sure the old man had all he needed too, only she did such a good job of it he left the old lady and married her, which cut off my income. Up to then she was good for five hundred a weeks, and I earned every penny but that double-crossin' dame cut my water off. Fact is, I had to leave Miami Beach and lay around Galveston for a month or two until she finally got her another ho-daddy. But I was just sellin' you all this so you'll know it's got to be done so-so ... if you're gonna make any change. There's gotta be a lovely-dovey deal."

"I understand, nodded Ellen. "And each keeps what he makes?"

"Well," Bohnert said wistfully, "the dame's naturally got the edge because the gent handles the dough most times. Me, I'll maybe get some of her rocks. Not much cash, though. Maybe we could declare a partnership and split. Maybe that'd be the fairest way to do it."

"Why would I?" Ellen smiled amusedly. She was thinking how much of a stud he evidently was, since it seemed to be his only visible means of support.

"You don't have to!" he said hastily. "It was just an idea. I'd settle for a thousand bucks in ice, and some pocket change, for a month with the old broad. It wouldn't be a bad take, not for me."

Carelessly, Ellen crossed her legs. Jack's eyes had followed the movement, and she saw his tongue slide across his lips. "You say you've already approached the woman?"

He nodded. "Enough I felt her up in the elevator and she panted like a winded bull when I got her unwrapped offa me. The lady is definitely hot for the hero's touch."

She smiled again. "Are you man enough for the assignment?"

His brown eyes met hers very squarely. "In all the places I went, I always got an invitation back."

Deliberately, Ellen unbelted her robe, tossed each lap aside. She uncrossed her legs in a challenging way. "See if you can get one out of me," she purred.

First, Bohnert locked the door, then peeled off his striped sweater, and finally, his shorts. His penis was huge and brown as he fingered it to life, watching Ellen closely. "Texas rules?" he asked softly.

She nodded, growing intensely excited, like she hadn't for months, since her days on the farm. "Texas rules," she whispered, watching his prick firm.

He saw this and walked forward, until it was inches from her face. "Daddy Sawbucks can't cut it, can he," he stated.

Ellen shook her head, hypnotized by the nearing brownish-red head. Magnu's was so pink and pointed. Bohnert's was blunt and gigantic. With a helpless cry, her mouth closed over all she could take in it and her beach-comber partner grinned at the ceiling, thinking how very simple they all were. A good, hard dick wassail it took nowdays. Gently, he put both big hands on Ellen's cheeks to encourage the eager, swabbing tongue, then moved down to her magnificent breasts until he felt it was time for a change in the routine, then he knelt between her anxious, quivering thighs and drove an expert tongue up and down her genital cleft until Ellen moaned in anguished longing. It was like old times for her when he carried her to the bedroom, bedded a heel comfortably on each broad shoulder, and drove his enormous prick in to the hilt. She came immediately in shuddering, wrenching sobs and almost fell in love with him on the spot. For the next hour, and almost without stopping, Bohnert made bruising, satisfying love in the way that told Ellen it was probably the sum total of his best accomplishments. He knew how to ride her heavy, to gorge her cunt with prick, and extract from her a nearly continual, quivering orgasm. Ellen was hopelessly caught up in the total enchantment of being with a real man again, beach-bum or not At that moment, it was for her the only worthwhile thing in the world. Coming! Clinging through the relapse. Then finding another gathering thrill, and coming again. Over and over she cried out his name, covered the broad, sensual mouth with passionate kisses, bit his tongue gently during the height of her thrill, and gave without reservation the very best that was in her to give.

"I can't hold it anymore!" Jack finally gasped. "I gotta come or bust my balls!"

Ellen found still another thrill, gripped her legs tightly around his waist, and pushed and twisted her cunt at him with renewed energy. "Go ahead!" she panted. "Let me have it, Sweetie!" She was drunk with longing all over again.

Bohnert set his toes against the foot of the bed and drove his thick, heavy shaft at her as if the act should be punishment rather than pleasure. Ellen groaned with ecstasy and bowed her back so her hips rode inches away from the bed. Frantically, she sawed on the huge, swollen prick for still another moment of delight.

Jack grunted like a laboring animal and clutched the pillows with his big, broad hands. Every fiber in his body was bone-tight with anticipation as with one slamming stroke after another, he teased his orgasmic sensations closer and closer to the surface. With the nubile, slippery cunt so delicately, gorgeously hot, he had the feeling that his coming would be more violent than a volcanic eruption, and for him, it was. It growled and rumbled in the very bowels of the beginning. It boiled higher, then higher yet, out of the depths and toward the broad, unlimited surface of freedom.

Pressure climbed steadily higher. The pleasure deepened, spread like grass fire in a wind and commanded every nerve ending he had. The lava steamed, bubbled, rose higher and higher in the orifice, until finally the screaming explosiveness of it shot violently upward and smothered every cell of his body in an incomparable rapture while huge jets of the boiling liquid shot out into the void and ran in huge, uncontrollable streams down the side of her wet and suddenly tired cunt. With a sobbing, shuddering cry, Bohnert made the sexual separation and fell off to his side of the bed.

Jack shook his head and yawned. "It takes a lot of cooperation to cook up one like that. For a hustler, you've got a lot of sentiment."

Ellen smiled to herself. "Not always. I just happened to need a good time pretty bad. When it comes to business, they don't get anything like what you got."

What if we happen to like one another and team up together. Would you want a little fun now and then?"

"Probably every night ... if we lived together," she mused, already thinking how it would be. "But I don't need a pimp. I don't even want one. I can run my own business."

"But you need a good fucking every day or two," he reminded her through a yawn. "What'd be wrong with teaming up with a guy that could give you one?"

"Nothing, if you paid your own way But I wouldn't support you with what I made on my back, so get that out of your head right away."

Slightly injured, Bohnert said, "I wasn't thinking about pimping. What I meant was, I could work the dames while you worked the Daddies, and when we found a likely-looking couple to take on, we'd be together and ready to go. That's what I mean."

"Where are you living right now?" Ellen asked unexpectedly. "I mean, not when you're sleeping out, but where you get your mail?"

"Well, I don't get very much mail, but I got a sorta dive over in Hialeah with another dandy about like me. It's not very nice," he admitted ruefully. "Things has been pretty slow for me lately. I been gettin more stuff than a guy needs, but it just happens it didn't pay off good, you know?"

"A string of charity work," supplied Ellen.

"Yeah! Charity work!" he agreed. "I mean, I laid pipe the best way I know how and had the dollies puttin out appreciation in High C, but singin' don't pay union dues or the Blue Cross. At a buck a stroke, I'd be retired by now."

"What does your friend do?" Ellen, asked, thinking she had Bohnert's situation pretty well in mind.

"Well, I wouldn't tell everybody, but he sorta waits on guys that cruise around in convertibles at night not lookin for dames, if you know what I mean."

Ellen did. "He makes them pay him?"

Bohnert nodded vehemently. "If you got the root ... and he has ... and the stomach ... which I ain't ... to entertain the gentlemen, there's more money in that than ridin' for the lonely hearts. Only thing, my way is a lot more fun ... for me. Just so the dame ain't wrinkled. If she's got wrinkles, I don't go because I know the moon won't come up that night," he confessed.

Ellen said, "I always heard that a stiff prick had no conscience," and she fondled his.

Bohnert took her hand away, regretfully. "This one does. But I got to save something for this lady tonight, just in case," he explained. "And I'd have to be eager, you know?"

"You've got a date with her?" Ellen wanted to know.

"Not exactly. But I got to let her see me makin moon eyes at her, like I'm gonna die if I don't split that hairy gash of hers with my glorious rope. You know? Keep her aware I'm interested. I can't make no play until I can get the old man off on something else, which is why I need you."

"What's their names?"

"Felix and Reva Wolver. He's about fifty-two or three. She's right on the mark, maybe. They don't look bad, neither one. When I felt her up in that elevator I got me a good bone-up, she's that attractive. And she had my zipper open. Two more floors, I'd a speared her standin up, so help me!"

"When do you want to make your move?"

"Hell! Tonight, if we could! But everything's got to be aces and ready. Somehow, you'd have to know Wolver and have him know you, and it could be fast work."

Ellen yawned. She felt incredibly good. "I couldn't get away tonight anyhow. I want to settle up with Opus first, leave him satisfied and with a good taste in his mouth. How do I get in touch?"

Unusually big, broad, and strong-looking in the nude, Bohnert found a register slip on the vanity and wrote his telephone number on the back. "I'm not home much," he said. "You might have to try several times."

Ellen nodded. She found herself wanting him again. He saw it in her eyes, and stood indecisively, fingering his big, brown penis. "What if I catch Reva by herself, and she won't have it no other way?"

The sensuous blonde made her legs wider and slowly raised her hips up and down. "You won't. You can avoid her."

Bohnert moved closer. His prick was firming fast. "Yeah! I could always say I was scared. I could say, we gotta wait, darlin. Until I know-he won't catch us. I could say that," he almost whispered, enchanted by the pink slit she flaunted with two fingers spreading the lips apart. "Christ, but you know how to hurt a guy," he groaned, and leaned into her to set the big, blunt head in the exact pinkness she had shown him. With a huge, satisfied sigh, Bohnert made them one, very deeply.

Ellen said, "I'm better than Reva could ever be. Make me feel it, Baby. We've got about a half hour."

Seconds later, she purred, "You're damned beautiful, Jackie, and we've got all night if you want it that way."

He didn't. He was finished and gone nearly an hour before Magnus Opus got home, warm and tired.

Ellen, perfumed and bathed by then, mixed him a cooling highball, sipped it while she listened to his day, and wished whole-heartedly she were starting off on her grand adventure with Jack Bohnert. Instead, she would dress, go out to dinner, then come back for an hour of gin rummy before they went to bed, when Magnus would enjoy a light, affectionate intercourse, then turn over on his back and go to sleep.