Chapter 17
At the Villa Pleasance, Burt was still very much part of the picture in the sense that he still lived in his bedroom study. But although Brenda's bedroom was directly connecting, the door had been locked on her side for the last few days. She had not summoned him to satisfy her needs during that time and he sensed that his days as the official whore-master of the Villa Pleasance were drawing to a close. Brenda hadn't cut down on his rum, and there was even pocket money on his table. She just acted as if she'd be happy if he took off without a fuss.
Burt was glad of the chance this gave him to charge up his batteries. He wanted to switch to Paula anyway. But as he set about generating a lust interest between them, he became discouraged. The more intimate he tried to get, the more regal and naughty Paula became toward him. Burt wondered what she would be like if he managed to become her steady hump.
Still, that hadn't come to pass yet and he was beginning to doubt if it ever would. He really didn't care. Sure, he would have to do something to keep body and soul together, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
Meanwhile, though, he had gained renewed interest in his book. The writing of it had never gone so well. Characters that had eluded him for months were now taking shape and form and coming to life under the typewriter keys.
He couldn't figure out why. At first he had accepted the obvious reason: Brenda was too busy to bother him any more and his time was his own. But it didn't hold water. All the time in the world couldn't have wrought such a major change. Time was a necessity but not a spur.
Nor was it a matter of a clear mind untroubled by thoughts of forcing himself to satisfy Brenda in bed. Because his mind certainly was far from clear. He was at the end of his rope, financially speaking, and that sort of worrying wasn't conducive to good writing.
Nevertheless, his work was going well. He finally had to give up puzzling over the riddle and just take his blessings as they came. There was an intangible something called inspiration that he had heard of and read about, but since it was indefinable he had never fallen for such drivel. At least not when it pertained to writers. Inspiration was supposed to come from love, but he knew guys who were in and out of love all the time and they were commercial hacks who couldn't write their way out of a paper bag. Nothing inspired those boys.
Besides, what was love. A crush, nothing more. That was what adults called teen-age love. But would a few years of added age make any difference? It was doubtful indeed. It was still merely a crush. More obsessive and more compulsive, but a crush just the same.
Strange, though, he didn't intellectualize it like that when his fingers were pounding the typewriter. His characters understood love better than he did. That made them very real. Their emotions were sincere. Although where their inspiration was coming from was even a greater puzzle.
Anyway, he wasn't going to stew about it. There was a pretty fair party in progress and he was free to circulate for a while. Paula was head-to-head in a corner with Diane, so he didn't have to hang around and light her cigarettes. They were discussing some private matter in hushed tones and he had gotten Paula's hint that it wasn't meant for his ears.
Brenda was overdoing the beaming hostess bit He had never seen her so radiant. He had almost flipped his lid upon hearing the speech she had made right after the bash was under way. Her words were unbelievable.
But she had said them. Out loud. To everybody. "Have a good time tonight, all you lovely people. This is my farewell appearance as the hostess with the mostest. My last party. So drink up and enjoy. I know St. Lazure won't be the same, but after tonight I'm going into seclusion."
Incredible. Burt just couldn't believe her. Neither did the rest of the crowd who had attended her soirees for years and years. Everybody thought she was kidding. Yet she didn't sound that way.
There was something different about Brenda. Somehow she didn't look like she was cock-starved any more. She didn't seem older and yet she had a kind of new maturity. Sometimes she looked downright motherly, even. Especially when she was with that young Pat Mills kid. So maybe it was true what she said about giving up being the head lady in the party circuit. Maybe she had turned over a new leaf.
Still, for Brenda to end her party-throwing days was more like turning over a whole new public library. If she actually carried out those loudly announced but unbelieved intentions, it could only be because of a miracle.
Burt shrugged it off. Another puzzle. The joint was loaded with them tonight Nikki, for instance, getting drunker than he had ever seen her before. Giggling and flirting and carrying on like a real character. She looked almost feverish.
He slipped through the mob, caught Nikki's arm and steered her out the door. There were other people catching a breath of air on the veranda, but the atmosphere was less raucous than it was inside the house. And far less smoky.
"Baby, what gives? What's come over you? Are you practicing to become an alcoholic?"
"Nope. Haven't you heard? I'm saying good-bye to St. Lazure. The party's over, you might say. Good song-tide, huh? Anyway, I'm going home tomorrow."
It hit him. Hard. Hard enough so that there was an ache in his gut. Suddenly all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place with oil-slick ease. He knew the answer now. He knew as much as the people in his book. The thought of not seeing this girl again was agonizing. Without her, he would never write another halfway decent line. He knew that all the talk about inspiration wasn't just drivel.
"It's a crush," he muttered. "An obsessive, compulsive-"
"Burt, do make sense, will you? Stop reciting poetry under your breath. Whatever are you talking about?"
"Love."
"How nice! Love is lovely."
"You're drunk. And I'm crazy. But I'm going to say it just the same." He seized her by both arms and held her motionless. "Listen, you little idiot. Listen to a big idiot. I'm in love with you, do you hear me? Nikki, I love you."
Her eyes became round saucers. Then they misted over. He bent his head to kiss her, but she wrenched out of his grasp and ran down the steps out into the night. He chased her. Caught up with her. Then he went through a century of pure pain as in a tear-stricken voice she told him who she was and what she was and why he was wasting his time falling in love with her.
He stood there and listened. A whore working her way through college. Was it possible? It was. She opened her purse and showed him the check. Fifteen-hundred dollars. Signed by Paula Jardine. She told him what it was for.
With the check in his hand, he waited for inspiration to tell him what to do. It did. He folded the check and slipped it into his wallet.
"We can get a nice little house in the suburbs with this as a down payment," he said. "You can finish school, and I'll finish my book...."
Burt's muscular arms embraced her tawny blonde femininity as they sank down on the soft, smooth turf in a secluded part of the garden.
Burt worked Nikki's skirt above her waist. She was wearing no panties and parted her gleaming thighs in eager anticipation of his stiff prick's entry.
Burt grinned as his huge cock thrust into her cunt
"Won't it be great doing this in our own bedroom, honey?"
Nikki managed to gasp "Yes!" as powerful loins sped his throbbing prick completely into the hot cunt between her expectant thighs. Burt's yearning dong drove into her vagina with vigorous, rhythmic thrusts which she welcomed with swiveling, weaving thighs.
Nikki's cunt began to churn spasmodically, she shrilled happily as blissful orgasmic release boiled through her body. Burt grunted as her uncontrollable twitching triggered his dick into a zooming rocket-like release, soaring into a supreme thrill union with her as he shot load after load of hot sperm into her vagina.
Later, as Nikki looked up into Burt's handsome face she murmured, "Darling, I never dreamt fucking the square way could be so exciting!...."
So, they squared away again.