Chapter 7
"I want to take you to my place and fuck you until you'll never want to be fucked by any other man again because I'm so good," David said to the attractive blonde woman on the bar stool next to him.
Around them were walls, floors, ceilings and a crush of people, all splattered with light reflecting off three massive crystal globes twirling above.
Helga Svenson gave David an attractively wide smile that bared a line of fine white teeth framed by pink-tinted lips.
"Really?" Helga asked, not laughing as she would have normally laughed had someone said what David had just said. Helga Svenson had, after all, heard about every kind of come-on anyone had to offer. And, it was hardly likely that there was any stud in existence (male or female) who could give Helga sex so spectacular that she would be spoiled for sex with anyone else. Still, it was always fun-on occasion-to surrender to such appealing fantasies. After all, there had been a time when Helga had been something other than the thoroughly jaded courtesan she now was. There had been a time when she had been fucked by a man and thought-oh, how innocent she had been!-that there was really a big difference between one fuck and another.
"I've got a big cock," David said. "And, I'm not one of these wet-behind-the-ears kids who don't know how to use the jackass pricks the good Lord gave them."
During his past few weeks of surveillance, David had discovered that Helga very seldom went home with anyone; but, when she did-or, so the scuttlebutt went-the guy was usually hung like a horse.
"Didn't anybody ever tell you that it's not the size of the sex organ but what a man does with it?" Helga asked. She gave David a more thorough once-over, decidding she liked what she saw. What she had here was definitely a man and not some kid or closet faggot posturing as one.
"Yea, but didn't I just tell you I know how to use it?" David reminded. "And while a small-cocked pro may have a big-cocked novice beat all to shit in bed-performance, no one-but no one-has got anything over on a well-hung stud who knows how to use the twelve inches anchored at his groin."
"Well, your invitation has certainly been tempting," Helga admitted, using the tip of her tongue to add' additional gloss to the veneer of slick already covering her pink lipstick, "but, I'm afraid I'll have to pass this evening."
"My loss," David said, giving a decidedly little frown of defeat.
And Helga liked the way David had the good grace to accept rejection as if he still didn't think himself any less of a man. Now, there were actually some guys-probably the majority, as a matter-of-fact-who would have come back with a hurt: "Your loss, baby!" Helga had no patience with men whose masculine facade could so easily be shattered. Probably because she had spent a lifetime catering to such individuals who paid her to pretend they were more of a man than they really were.
"Do you really have a big cock?" Helga bantered, once it was obvious David had no intentions of fleeing like a dog with his tail between his legs. David had turned to the large mirror behind the bar and had appeared to be temporarily engrossed in checking out the other likely candidates for his considerable charms.
When Helga asked her question, David turned readily toward her, as if to say: "Even if you do have other plans for this evening, I'm still willing to enjoy your conversation. I am, after all, confident enough of my eventually connecting with someone this evening that I don't have to be on the prowl every goddamned minute of the night for fear that I'll miss out on my one-and-only chance of scoring."
"Maybe I've done enough bragging, huh?" David suggested, giving a little-boy smile that didn't seem affected; although, he did know the appeal it usually had for woman. Of course, Helga Svenson wasn't any ordinary woman; but, that only meant that David was required to use each and every one of his tricks to bag her.
"Why don't I show you how sorry I am that I'm not going to get a firsthand look by buying you a drink?" Helga suggested. Actually, she tried to tell herself she really wasn't interested in this attractive young man; but, if she wasn't, why was she laying out these little tests in order to get a better look into David's head before venturing close enough to get a look at what he had in his pants?
And offering to buy David a drink had been a test, hadn't it? A test which David passed with flying colors.
"Scotch," he told her. Not saying that he already had a drink. Not saying that he never let women buy him drinks-he doing all of the buying. He simply accepted Helga's offer graciously, as if it were n big thing. Which it wasn't-at least as far as Helga was concerned. So, why did so many men continue to feel threatened whenever a woman began to infringe upon customary ceremony which had for so long (and wrongly, too) been delegated as the exclusive territory of the male of the species?
Of course, there was a certain kind of man who accepted drinks from women with just as much ease as David had just done. And Helga had met her share of those leeches in her time. Not that she had personally had anything to do with the stud services they offered lonely old ladies for a price. It was just that gigolos were a segment of that sexual underground of which Helga had been a part since she had been old enough to know what a man's cock was for and what a woman could do to get it off.
But Helga couldn't really believe that David was merely a hustler. Still....
"How much do you charge? Just in case I am in the market the next time you come around?" Helga asked.
And, by asking, she was taking the risk of bruising her own ego, wasn't she? And just because Helga had erected a hardened shell around her, that wouldn't allow her hurt to show even if it did turn out that she was wrong about David, she could still hurt-way down deep. And, it was never a pleasant thought for any woman to find out she had faded to the point where men were assuming she had to pay to get a cock rammed inside of her.
David was in the process of giving Helga a very funny expression, as if he actually thought he might have misheard her there within the constant din of inane chatter that had a way of distorting every conversation.
"For you, it's free-any time," David said finally. "Mainly because by the time you reach the point where you have to pay for what I have to offer, I'll be too damned old and decrepit to deliver."
And Helga was suddenly thoroughly interested in David Miller for two very good reasons-not the least of which was the fact that Helga found him sexually attractive (which was no mean compliment, considering the gamut of men Helga had had selection of during her lifetime). Of equal importance, however, was the fact that Helga saw just how powerfully attractive David would be to any ordinary woman. And Helga was always interested in bringing under her wing that exceptional type of man who could attract women-really attractive women-to them like sugar attracted flies. Both Daniel Morrow and Jeff Gregory had that certain "something"; although neither of those other two men had it to quite the extent that David Miller so obviously had it.
Not that Helga had been out actively seeking recruits for her business on that particular evening. But when a prospect stepped up and almost knocked her over, she would have been a fool not to recognize him for what he was.
Helga motioned to the bartender and ordered the Scotch she had promised David. She then ordered herself another champagne cocktail. All the while, she kept her eye on David in the mirror, reaffirming her original suspicions that she had stumbled suddenly upon a very valuable commodity in her particular marketplace. At the same time, she was consciously aware of the picture she herself was cutting for the young man. And now that David had reaffirmed Helga's worth by ridiculing her suggestion that she might be open to paying for David's services, Helga was able to admit that she did look damned good for her age, considering she had been in the "business" for over thirty years.
Helga was blonde. In fact, her hair had always been one. of her best features among a whole series of good features. Her hair was the color of unripe corn silk. It was thick, with just enough curl to give additional body to the mane that framed her attractive (yes, beautiful even now) face. Her eyes were wide-spaced, blue as the sky was often described as being but seldom was. Her eyelashes were lush, her eyebrows kept well-defined with a very little plucking. Her nose was just right for her face, without being so distinctive that it called undue attention to itself. Her mouth was full and sensuous, with just a trace of natural poutiness which was complimental rather than detrimental.
Helga had a long neck that flowed outward into exquisite shoulders.
Her breasts, so luscious that they were often the first thing about her that any man or woman noticed, were not so large that they made her seem off balance or top-heavy. They were just right for her narrow waist and her nicely swelling hips.
Her legs, now crossed and tucked slightly under, but parallel to the bar, were long and shapely.
As a matter-of-fact, there were few men (leg-men or breast-men) who would not have found Helga Svenson still ravagingly attractive. It was because of her extreme good looks, however, that many an interested man was reluctant to approach and be shot down.
David, therefore, had built up points in his favor by just making his initial move. All that he had done after that had merely added bonus points.
Over a new round of drinks, these bought by David, the two finally got around to formal introductions. The two, then, danced on two different occasions, Helga turning down a third invitation from David (once again pleased when he didn't take her "no thanks" as a personal affront).
More than once, Helga had been tempted to succumb to the evident temptation to take David somewhere to check out the obviously excellent body beneath David's clothes. Helga had been given all indications, during the slow dance they had done together, that David did indeed have that foot of cock he had boasted about earlier.
"I hope you weren't offended when I suggested you might take money for sex," Helga said somewhere during the course of the evening.
"Not at all," David told her with a grin. "If a man is a good doctor, it's understandable that people assume he gets paid for his doctoring. If a man is a good bus driver, it's understandable that people assume he gets paid for driving bus. If he's...." and David gave a little shrug. "However, not every doctor, bus driver, or stud should make it a point to get paid every time, do you think?"
Directly thereafter, Helga told David-if he were still interested-she would like to take him home.