Chapter 6
Vera was reviving now that he had turned the shower onto cold. She finished rinsing off and they toweled. "You really are a lovely dirty old man," she said affectionately. Rod climbed back into his slacks and pullover. He glanced at the clock. Jesus!
Vera saw the gesture. "You'll be in time for your appointment with the bank president," she said with a grin. "Just tell him the girl from the switchboard at the savings and loan got here first and cleaned out your account."
Rod struggled for something to say. He knew and she knew but the rules of the game required him to make a passionate denial. "You're something else," he sighed.
"I know I am," she said with an air of cheery satiation. "And if there's something else left in you, you dirty old r man, I'm going to get it first."
For one panic-stricken moment Rod thought she meant it, then he realized she thought he'd come just as massively and explosively as she had. There was no point in letting her think otherwise. If only that goddam Rambling Rose with her mysterious urgent errand had not called up he wouldn't have minded having Vera around all day. She could nap for two or three hours and when they had rested they could pick up where he had left off and maybe this time he could come inside her lovely bitch-cunted blond body. He felt his cock start to rise at the thought. Hurriedly he turned away before she could see the bulge.
Vera looked at the clock and suddenly she was in a hurry too. "My god!" she exclaimed, "Is it really that late?"
Rod nodded.
"Got an appointment to fix my hair," she said, and kissed him on the way out.
Bemused by her sudden exit, Rod made the rounds of the apartment picking up bobby pins, a forgotten bra, all the evidence that he had just flushed a quail out of his bedroom. He surveyed the place with a silent prayer that he had not overlooked anything. Christ but he was tired. He decided to lie down for a few minutes. He was just stretching out when the doorbell rang. Sighing, he went to open it.
Rambling Rose was perhaps five years older than Vera. She was a well-groomed, expensively dressed woman in her early thirties who had worn out a couple of husbands before discovering that she was born for the rough and tumble of the commercial world. Now that she was out there every day working off her aggressions by putting people into houses they weren't quite sure they wanted and putting their commissions into her growing bank account, Rose had turned into a voracious lover who no longer ended each sexual connection with the spider like practice of devouring her mate. Not that she didn't come close to it on occasion. But Rod had stuff pricked her into giggling submission and his phallopuncture therapy had accomplished more than three fifty-dollar-an-hour shrinks had been able to do toward getting Rambling Rose's head back on straight.
"Hello, darling," she said. "I'm sorry to come bursting in on you this way but I just had to see you." Capable and take-over as always, she bustled in and closed the door behind her, snapping the lock. Without invitation or preliminaries she began shucking her suit.
"Well I -- uh," Rod began. But it was too late. There would be no fubbing off this eager woman today. Already she had shucked jacket and skirt and was down to bra and pantyhose.
Rose was more full-bodied than Vera. Her hair was dark brown and, like Vera, she was the same hair color top and bottom. Rose was an inch taller than the blonde, with three inches more waist and ten inches more of hips and tits. Every time Rod looked at the gloriously smooth skinned expanse of her ample femininity he was reminded of his first real love, the full-bodied mature Myrt whom he had worshipped from afar all that long hot summer when he had been fifteen.
He remembered how he had ached and yearned at the sight of all that feminine flesh bouncing and jiggling around Elton's store every time the clear skinned woman had bent to get him another penny candy or pack of gum or any of the countless errands he had invented to find an excuse to come back and look once more at her volcanic profile.
And now he was really looking at it staring straight at twin half globes that stared at him like the headlights of some carnate truck, twin nipples pointing accusingly at his staring eyes without any cloth in between: no dress, no shimmy, no brazier! There was nothing between Rod's staring eyes and Myrt's tits except a foot of clear lake water.
Involuntarily his mouth opened. He came up gasping and sputtering, half drowned. When he could breathe again Myrt was still there, still smiling. It didn't really happen, he told himself. I was just seein' things. Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe her shoulder straps had slipped off and she hadn't realized it. Should he tell her? Jesus, how could he say a thing like that? Maybe he'd better make sure first. He took a deep breath and resolved that, no matter what he saw or how surprising, this time he was not going to open his mouth.
Rod ducked his head carefully under water and -- oh golly, oh Jesus! It was true. He was a little farther away now but the water was clear and he could see the shimmery outlines of her whole body, legs and all. Her one piece wool swim suit was peeled and folded carefully down about her waist. Twin headlamps were radiating femininity toward him from the decapitated body he could see under water. Her head was invisible above the water but he could see her arms and her hands. They were reaching toward him, beckoning.
Oh Christ, oh Jesus! Did he dare? If he were to come close she would feel his face against the bare front of her body and then she would know for sure that he was seeing something, feeling something that he shouldn't. Would she get mad? Probably she would ask why he hadn't warned her that her top had slipped down instead of just staying down there staring at her. Why had he told her he could see under water?
If he'd lied, told her he couldn't open his eyes under water then maybe he could have gotten away with blundering into her 'accidentally', long enough to rub his cheek, dig his nose into that deep furrow between the twin mounds of femininity that adorned her smooth-skinned bosom. Her nipples were tiny, pink, shrunken to rock hardness by the cold water. She was still reaching toward him with her hands.
Suddenly he realized what she had said -- that nobody could see under water. Jesus, he abruptly realized, she knows she's bare. She wants me to come close and touch her! It was a revelation as mind blowing as that which had once stricken Saul of Tarsus blind on the road to Damascus.
Abruptly a whole new world of sensuality opened up before Rod's water dimmed eyes. Until now he had always assumed as basic that no girl could possibly really care about boys, no way could these lovely delicate creatures ever realize the devastating effect their bodies could have on a, boy's mind, how the mere thought of them could grow hair on his palms.
Rod had assumed that any joy to be extracted from girls' bodies would have to be stolen. Like any healthy and imaginative boy, he had dreamed up elaborate scenarios, subterfuges and games that went on for hours, sometimes days -- all calculated to lead a woman inadvertently to that magic moment when he would have a perfectly logical and legitimate reason for undressing her, for running his hands over her undraped softness and memorizing the feel of femininity so that later his cock could feel the fist that felt -- Years later he would understand that even in cultures that are totally devoid of an aesculapian tradition, little boys and little girls will always find some excuse to play 'doctor.' But this moment of revelation blew all that. Never in the wildest moments of free ranging fantasy had Rod ever envisioned a girl as more than a passive partner. And Myrt's hands and arms shimmering in the clear cool water were definitely active. Goldang, he thought, she actually wants me to come in there close and put my head against her and... and -- Gollyjesus!
Before he could chicken out -- before she could change her mind he lunged forward and fastened his lips over one tiny rock hard nipple. As he did it he realized he was being too bold, too hasty. Now she would get mad and bat him over the head with her fist. Now it would be all over and she would put her clothes on and go back to the store and they would never mention this day or even speak to one another again. But, he philosophized, she couldn't hit very hard underwater and it would be worth it just once to dig his face into this forbidden fruit that bulged so invitingly ripe before his famished lips.
It was soft; it was warm; it was wonderful. He put his arms around her to keep from floating away and kissed and licked her nipple. Under the warmth and stimulus of his lips it was growing, pulsating, throbbing vibrantly between his lips. He felt her arms come in close to push him away. Then dimly he realized she was embracing him drawing him in closer, deeper into the lovely twin pectoral volcanoes he had admired all summer.
His blood was pounding in his ears and suddenly everything was shimmery. For an instant he thought he was going to faint, then he realized he had been down too long, had forgotten that even a boy getting his first mouthful of tit has to breathe once in a while. He began to break loose. Abruptly her embrace changed and she was pushing him away hard, fast.
Rod broke the surface well away from the imperturbably smiling Myrt and when he had breathed a few times he understood what she was up to. Little by little he was learning the rules of the game. He could come as close as he wished underwater but before he surfaced, he had to be at a decorous distance -- just in case somebody happened to be peeking from all those bushes.
"Do you like to go swimming with girls?" she asked when he had stopped gasping.
Rod was still breathless. Before she could change her mind or go changing the rules of the game halfway through like girls were always doing, he took a final deep breath and dived again. This time, to hold himself down he got his hands around her ass. With his face buried in her tits, he struggled to make his breath of air last as long as he could, feeling frantically, memorizing the soft-firm roundness of twin globes through the scratchy wet wool of a one piece bathing suit. His hands slipped down to the smooth ivory of her thighs.
It was the most mind blowing experience Rod had ever encountered in his brief fifteen years. And the truly mind-blowing part of it, he suddenly understood, was not that he was finally nuzzling a pair of firm warm tits, cupping a woman's ass in his hands, running his hot little hands up and down the backs of her thighs. That was mind boggling enough but the part that really threw him was that she was not asleep; she was not unconscious; she was not tied up or facing any of those mysterious 'fates worse than death' he was always reading about in the pulp magazines. What was really warping Rod's fifteen year old awareness was that this lovely woman whom he had admired all summer was not some Mata Hari with a foreign accent. She was not seductive or evil or clad in the impossibly revealing garments he had seen on magazine covers. Instead, she was a perfectly normal American woman and she was letting him do it!
She wasn't just letting him, he gradually realized. She was inviting him. Why good golly gosh, she must like it too! Well how about that! So women liked to have boys put their hands in all the places boys wanted -- at least Rod wanted to put them. By gum, he thought, I bet she fucks!
Suddenly, no matter how unbelievably nice it was to rub his hands over her ass and his face in her tits, Rod had to come up for air. She felt his struggle and suddenly he was being propelled backward until he surfaced a dozen feet away from the imperturbably smiling face that still emerged from the water, seemingly separated from all those forbidden and lovely goodies he was seeing and feeling underwater.
He was half drowned, and so excited that he had nearly swallowed water. Standing tiptoe on the bottom, he breathed deeply and struggled to calm himself. Jesus, his prick was so stiff even in this cool water that he knew if he touched it he would go off. He could feel it pressing until the front of his one piece wool swimsuit was standing out like Omar's tent. He wondered what would happen if she were to see it. Did she know about hard-ons? How could he explain it if she didn't?
"Well, you see, when a guy looks at a gal and starts thinkin' -- " That would never do. "A man falls in love with a woman and -- " Jesus, that was worse! He had been about to continue, " -- and they decide they want to start a family -- " Christ! What if she wanted to start a family? Was he old enough to get married? He'd have to quit school and maybe get two paper routes...
He had caught his breath. Before he could become entangled in verbal traps -- before she could change her mind on him, he took a deep breath and bent his knees until he sank and could swim under water toward her irresistible bareness.
This time he missed and came in low, his nose plowing squarely into her navel which was barely exposed by the folded-down one piece suit. He expected her to pull him back up into fit territory but instead her capable hands captured him and drew him into her smooth, gently rounded belly.
Now that was funny. Rod had never thought a woman's belly could feel that good. His cock was throbbing and thumping unmercifully as she drew him in until his mouth and nose were digging into the smooth softness of her belly. His chin was caught in the scratchy wool of her bathing suit. He suddenly realized this was probably the best chance he would ever get in his lifetime to verify his suspicions about a woman's crotch. Would it be two hairless pouting lips like old Antoinette's had been at six? Or would it really have hair on it like a man's, like all the boys insisted? Or had Antoinette merely been the victim of some freak accident that had cut off her cock and forced some doctor to do a rather neat job of tucking the ends in? For all Rod knew his lady love might have a cock down there.
Did he dare try to find out? What the hell? She hadn't made him stop yet. Cautiously, he began trying to get his hand inside the waist of her tight fitting one piece suit. Her hands came from around his neck and suddenly he knew the game was over. This would be where Myrt drew the line. Then abruptly he realized she was not stopping him. She was helping. She was pulling the wool swim suit down over her ample hips.