Chapter 8
After all the prolonged agony of adolescence he was finally emerging into full blown adulthood faster than he had ever believed possible. In one afternoon he had been transformed from a gaping wisher into a gasping, half drowned doer. After suffering the will-she-or-won't-she agonies of the boy too inexperienced to know that, approached properly, just about every woman will, Rod had abruptly ducked his head beneath the mirror like surface of the lake and entered a Through The Looking Glass world where nothing was quite what it seemed except the wonderful warm soft firmness of Myrt's bare fits.
And now he was about to see for himself, unless he got so excited he stirred up mud from the bottom he was going to settle for once and for all what women had between their legs -- whether it was a cock, a pair of bare pouting vertical lips like 'old Antoinette had possessed at six, or if it was really true like all the boys insisted, that girls at a certain age grew hair just like boys.
He had swum underwater toward Myrt's full fashioned tits and missed his mark, digging his nose into her navel instead. And instead of panicking and pushing him away when he tried to get a hand down into her half peeled off bathing suit, she was actually helping him -- pulling it down farther.
If he didn't watch it Rod knew his mouth was going to fly open and he would half drown again before she managed to get that scratchy wool down past the fine firm roundness of her belly. He struggled to hold himself under water in front of her. He had taken in so much air he kept trying to float. He let out a little and still he kept rising. He swam downward and got his hands on her knees. He didn't want to interfere in any way with the unveiling of that lovely monument to eroticism that was slowly uncovering in front of him.
It was hard to see and he guessed he'd kicked up a little mud. He tried to hold still, gripping Myrt's knees while slowly, maddeningly, she tugged and pulled, working the snug fitting wool of her one piece suit down past her belly and suddenly - Goldang! It was true. He could see hair. He wanted to put out his hand and touch it but he was afraid to do anything that might interfere with the gradual unveiling of this holy of holies. Slowly, tantalizingly, the wet wool slid downward past the gentle swell of belly until he could see the beginning of twin grooves that came together gradually in a vee that had to end at her crotch. The space between the twin grooves was filled with hair the same color as on Myrt's head but, unlike the hair un her head, this hair had not lost its curl no matter how wet.
He waited, holding his breath, straining his eyes for the first hint of cunt. It didn't come. M the wool swim suit moved lower, practically to where the twin grooves came together there was still no sign of any secret slit. He realized those crude stick figures drawn on toilet walls had to be all wrong. There was no way anyone could walk up to this woman and stick anything into the front of her. He realized now those drawings had to be wrong. But even more, he realized he couldn't hold his breath any longer.
Still playing by the rules she had set up, he pushed away and swam three strokes before he could stand it no longer. He surfaced, gasping. It took him longer to catch his breath this time. Finally his eyes focused again. Myrt's head was still above the water, still wearing that imperturbable smile. She didn't even seem to be looking at him. She was looking past him, toward the shore. With a sudden sinking feeling Rod turned to look the way his unveiled lady was looking.
Oh shit, oh Jesus! It was old Mr. Edderly and his wife out for a stroll. Now what the heck were those old farts doing out on a hot day like this? Why couldn't they stay home in the shade and let him get on with what he was doing?
But instead, old Mr. Edderly was going to stop to gossip. "What're you doing out there spending all that time under water?" he called in his quavering old man's voice.
Rod felt like going to the bottom of the lake without any air and just staying there. What could he say? He wondered if old Mr. Edderly had ever been young. Had he ever fucked Mrs. Edderly? Criminy! He had to think of something to say. Could this doddering old couple have the slightest idea of what was really going on out here under water?
He was still struggling mutely for an answer when Myrt called, "I've lost an earring and I have to stand here close to where it fell off so he'll know where to dive." Turning back to Rod with the serene and imperturbable smile that had driven him mad all that long hot summer, she added, "Why don't you try it in here a little closer?"
Rod couldn't believe it. He wished he could have the kind of presence of mind that this resourceful woman possessed. Now he could dive close to her and not have to go swimming way off before he came up for a breath of air. And this little bonus to his fulfilled day had come, not because they were alone, but because now they knew somebody was watching.
He had been so mortified and disappointed when the old couple showed up that his raging hard-on had dwindled to cold water shrunken invisibility. Suddenly he felt a wicked rush of excitement at the knowledge that Myrt had known what she was talking about: nobody could see what was going on under water unless they were right there too within grabbing distance of her lovely ass now unveiled, the one piece wool suit dangling about her knees. As long as she stood still on this spot and didn't let her bare shoulder come up out of the water, who could know?
Rod could. He drew a deep breath and dived straight for her crotch. He got his arms around her ass and began nuzzling her belly, slowly working his way upward with tender loving care until he had achieved a water tight connection between her tiny, rock hard nipple and his mouth. He ran his tongue in loving circles around her brown aureole and was rewarded with a sudden swelling and hardening of her nipple. Myrt's arms went around his neck and head, drawing him in deeper.
He had taken a full breath and tended to float. He struggled to hold his position but his body kept trying to turn upside down. Finally he let it and then, suddenly realizing his feet would be sticking out of the water so close to Myrt's lovely full blown body that even old Mr. Edderly could not help but suspect, he grabbed her ass and began pulling himself hand over hand downward until his face was nuzzling the clustered ringlets of her pubic patch again.
He felt Myrt's hands grasp his legs and guessed she was helping to keep his feet invisible under the lake's glassy surface. Then abruptly he realized what she was doing. She had peeled off her scratchy one piece wool swim suit. Now she was doing the same for him!
It was too much. He had used up all his air anyway. He struggled and broke free to come up a couple of yards away. "Can't you see it?" Myrt asked in a voice loud enough for the old couple on the bank to hear.
"Muddy," Rod gasped. "You'll have to stand real still and not stir anything up." Not stir anything up but me, he mentally added. He caught his breath and once more went underwater to worship at the ivory columns of her thighs. This time when his feet threatened to surface Myrt's hand went right inside his half removed swim suit. Oh gollyjesus! She was putting her hand right on his cock!
Smiling bemusedly at the memory of the supernal excitement that had overcome him that day from the simple sensation of somebody else's hand where his own went five times a day, Rod came to with a jerk, realizing that he had just come explosively and conclusively down Rambling Rose's throat. Christ, she had pulled more come from him than he had imagined possible. It would be a week before he could even think about fucking without starting to hurt. It had been soul shattering but... Rod knew he wouldn't have missed it for anything. She had taken him back thirty years to the days when everything was new, everything was for the first time and when the feel of a woman working on him had been enough to send him soaring into a spasm of orgasm that left him gasping and satiated for all of fifteen minutes.
But it would be more than fifteen minutes this time. Jesus, was he ever fucked out! He hoped his other woman, the third steady on his string, wouldn't take it into her head to drop around this morning -- or any time within the next couple of weeks. It had been good. It had been wonderful. But Rod knew he had shot his final load for a long time. At forty-five those old batteries just didn't recharge like they had that day at the lake when he had been fifteen.
"Rod?"
"Huh? Oh yes, Rose, that was great."
"Rod, I need a favor."
Oh oh! Here it comes.
"Rod?"
"Yes?"
"I have this sister a couple of years younger than I am and she's divorced. She's in show business and she's gone off to Vegas for a tryout and if she gets the job -- Well... " Rod waited. Whatever it was, it promised to be a pain in the ass. Why couldn't it be something simple like money? He could spare a hundred or so if Rose was afflicted with a case of the shorts but... But Rose was too competent a business woman ever to get caught like that. He tried not to sigh. "Well?" he echoed.
"If she gets the job everything will be fine. She can get an apartment and see about schools and -- " School! Suddenly and with a sick feeling Rod knew what was coming next. "What you need is a woman," he began. "Even if I'd ever raised any children of my own, a man's no good as a babysitter -- "
"Not a baby," Rose rushed. "Fifteen years old and no problem at all. Really a well behaved child and washes the dishes every night and cleans up after me and everything. But Rod, I've got these high voltage clients coming in from out-of-state and I have to show them some country property and I've just got to be out of town for the weekend unless I'm willing to lose a commission as big as what I usually earn in a year and -- oooohhh, Rod, please! Just this once... " So that was why she had rushed in here and given him a super queen-size blow job! Rambling Rose couldn't just come out and ask a favor. She had to manage and manipulate and get him in just the right mood of satiated exhaustion so he might cavil and mutter but he couldn't very well come right out and say no. This, he supposed, was the secret of her success in the business world, though he doubted if she went so far as to give a free blow job to every client who bought a piece of real estate.
All of which did him no good. Rod was stuck and he knew it. Some goddam sniveling teenage kid with a three word vocabulary, sixty-six and two thirds percent of which would be 'like wow'. And what was he going to do with the little monster if Vera or Hazel should decide to drop in this weekend? Not that he wanted either of his other women around -- not after that ball busting blow job, but Rod knew with absolute certainty that they would be here, probably both at once now that he was fucked out and stuck with a kid who would divide his time between eating and playing the radio and TV at the same time on different channels. Shit! "Sure, Rose," he managed. "But Monday morning early I have to leave town myself. You'll have to pick him up before then."
"It's a girl."
"A girl!" Rod exploded. "For Christ's sake, what'm I going to do with a teenage girl?"
"Nothing," Rose said sweetly. "You're a dear man and I trust you implicitly."
And only then did Rod see the full depths of her duplicity. Son of a bitch! He couldn't help admiring his Rambling Rose's unmitigated gall. She knew him. She knew he was forty-five and still well endowed with the old Adam, no matter how old, how tired, how basically decent he might be. And trust good old Rambling Rose to handle it the practical way. Unlike moralists and preachers who seem to think it sufficient to go around telling dynamite not to explode, Rose had quietly accepted the sexual facts of life, that men's cocks are as explosive as women's cunts, as hair trigger as old, weather worn dynamite, and that the only way to keep track of a live grenade and make sure it's not going to go off is to do what has to be done with the pin.
Rose, with her capable tongue and throat, had defused him. He had thought she was blowing him because she wanted a special favor. Which was true, of course, but it was only half the truth. Rose had blown him to draw the last drop of starch from his tiring tool, to make goddam sure he didn't go getting an itch in his crotch and start fiddling around with some underage piece of San Quentin Quail.
Shit! I'm a dirty old man, Rod thought. But even I draw the line somewhere. Jesus! How old was the kid? Did they still have Saturday morning matinees in movie houses or had TV put an end to that? What could he do with the kid? Give her a lunch and send her to the zoo, maybe?
Capable, take-over Rambling Rose had ducked into the bathroom and washed her face, there being no detritus from these rites to be rinsed from her pussy. She emerged and began dressing with the same no nonsense efficiency that marked her every move. "You'd better get dressed, darling," she suggested, "I'll be back with her in five minutes."
He might have known. Rambling Rose knew her way to a man's heart -- which, contrary to folklore, is more often via his gonadia since in these days of prefabricated dinners home cooking is greatly overrated. Sighing, Rod went into the bathroom and rinsed off his cock. Rose's efficiency had been such that he really didn't need a shower either. Instead of the usual post-blowjob mess, she had managed to swallow every drop of love's elixir, managed to draw the last little lot of liquid from his standpipe before licking it clean. He gave himself a quick wash off and came out to find his pants.
Rambling Rose had already gone.