Chapter 9

It was starting to turn into a routine. He had gotten up this morning and stripped the bed of come smeared sheets, thanks to his faceless dream girl. Then Vera had dropped in with her lovely way of mussing a bed. And now Rambling Rose. Rod supposed he ought to be happy. After. all, how many men managed to get that much variety in their lives.

There were, he knew, countless people in the world who didn't fuck at all. Every civil service office and every chancery was full of these neuter individuals who lived only for the job. As a boy Rod had heard the usual stories about nuns and priests. It had taken him years to discover that, though on rare occasions they were true, usually they were not. Nor were most of these people switch hitters. They just didn't care that much about fucking. What normally endowed man with a full set of gonads would willingly sew himself up into an occupation where he could get a fuck only at the risk of his entire career?

But nature has a way of balancing out the equation. For every undersexed individual, there is an opposite and after the first fumbling years people manage to sort themselves out. Rod was lucky. Hardly six months went by that he did not add a new steady to his stable or delete an old one who tired or married or moved out of town or any of the countless reasons why a fuck hungry woman would forego the pleasure of his indefatigable phallus.

Still, there were days when Rod suspected that he was getting just a trifle too old for it all. Maybe he ought to get married, settle down with one woman instead of trying to keep three oversexed females satisfied.

Thinking these dark thoughts, he roamed his apartment, hunting evidence of this eventful morning's adventures. It was not the kind of thing to flaunt before some teenage girl. He sighed. Probably she would be over-weight, with pimples and thick glasses. And, he realized, no matter how awkward or unattractive the child might be, she had already been shoved out of one nest, dumped onto her Aunt Rose while Momma went off to Vegas to dance in a chorus line or whatever it was Momma did in show business.

The girl would know instinctively the feeling of rejection. Twice rejected, she would be dumped on his door-step with an overnight bag and -- and Rod would be there to catch all the flack.

He found a wadded pair of pantyhose under a pillow. Vera's? Rose's? He had checked the place after the lissome blonde Vera of the funnel cunt had departed. But Rose was too efficient, too self-contained to forget her pantyhose. He held them up to the light and discovered a tremendous run. Rose!

So now what? Satisfied the place was clean, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to go to bed and sleep for six uninterrupted hours. But he was responsible for this building. What the hell -- he owned it! It was time to get out and show the flag. If he didn't cruise the place at least twice a day the tenants could be counted on to start stashing bicycles and other junk in the halls.

Cautiously, he opened the door a crack. Too late. Here came Rambling Rose. In tow behind her was something in Levis, with long, stringy blond hair curtaining every inch of everything above the waist line of the Levis. Rod sighed and reminded himself that he was going to try to be nice to her, try to make this twice-rejected child feel halfway human. It was only for today and tomorrow, he reminded himself. He had warned Rose that Monday morning early he was leaving town.

Efficient as ever, Rose introduced Rod to Ellie, Ellie to Rod, assured them that they would get along fine together, and was gone, closing the door behind her.

Ellie tossed an Alitalia flight bag into a corner. "Where's my room?" she asked.

Rod threw up his hands. "Only one bedroom," he explained. "Comes that time of night, I'll fix you something on the couch."

Ellie wandered into his bedroom. "You got a big bed," she observed. "Why can't I sleep there?"

So it was going to be that way. Rod reminded himself that she had bounced around a bit lately. With a mother in show business, maybe she had bounced around a lot more than he realized. How old was she anyway? She had straight, waist length blond hair that fell every which way and he had still not gotten a good look at her face.

"Well," she persisted, "Why can't I?"

"Because I'm going to," he said, "and because I snore, and because I don't know whether you're too old to sleep with a man or still too young." Rod wondered if she would even know what he was talking about.

The girl did not reply. She went out of the bedroom and back to his living room to sit once more on the couch. "Well," she sighed, "We've got two days to kill. What do you want to do?"

Rod sat across the room, wondering what kind of a face lay beneath all that unconfined hair. She wore some kind of sleeveless blouse from which extended a pair of fair skinned arms. The Levis, he suspected, had been bought undersized, worn under a hot shower, and shrunk onto her trim little ass. The crotch fit so tight he could almost pick out the outline of each individual hair beneath the faded blue denim.

"No, I'm not," she said.

"Not what?"

"The reason you don't see any ridge underneath is because I'm not wearing any panties."

"Oh." Rod remembered the reticences of his generation -- hove he had admired Myrt's fits all one summer and never managed even to say hello. This generation would have traded a high incidence of hang-ups for problems more susceptible to antibiotics than psychiatry. He wondered which was better. Somehow, he suspected that any generation who could talk this casually would never know the fine high flown pleasure of forbidden thrills that had been his lot. He remembered that day at the lake when he had been about this girl's age. After the first fine thrill of discovery had been. dampened by the arrival of his doddering neighbors, Myrt had made a virtue of necessity by inventing some kind of randygazoo about a lost earring. So now he could dive close to her and have a reasonable explanation for the old couple who still watching from the shade of the shoreline.

Rod had dived once more to inventory the treasures of this lovely body which stood immobile, allowing him to touch and look as long as he could hold his breath. This time he had given up trying to hold himself right side up and had let his legs float skyward while he dug his face into her pubic patch and wrapped his arms around her warm wet ass.

He had thought she was pulling off his swim suit just as she had peeled down hers. Despite the unending series of surprises that had filled this heat drenched August afternoon, Rod had really not been prepared for the feel of her capable hand closing around the throbbing shank of his rod.

He came immediately, explosively, firing great jets of jazz which she calmly waved away with her other hand. Oh Jesus, did it ever feel good! He was still coming, spurting and squirting harder, faster, longer than he had ever managed under the devoted ministrations of his own fist.

It took all his self control not to gasp and get a mouthful of water. He struggled and she let him spin over, still grasping him by the handle that extended from his crotch. As his face broke water in front of her she still gripped his cock. Giving it a friendly squeeze she asked, "Did you see anything?"

More than he had ever imagined it possible to see in. one lifetime! He had seen her ivory thighs; had seen her fits, had seen her belly button, had nuzzled her belly and had finally and conclusively settled in his own mind the question of whether all girls were built like Antoinette, with no cock down there. Jesus! Did he see anything!

His cock was still throbbing in her capable fist, fluttering as it struggled to drive out the final full measure of devotion against the external pressure of the lake. There was something about the effort of coming under water that seemed to prolong and intensify the pleasure. But what really prolonged and intensified the pleasure was to stand here facing Myrt, with his hands on her tits while old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly gazed at him with vacuous approval. Jesus! If they could ever see what was happening under water with his hands on Myrt's ample tits while she still grasped his dying dick!

"No," he managed. "I couldn't see anything. Let's wait a minute till the mud settles and then I'll try again." Myrt's hand on his cock told him he had said the right thing.

Usually, after flogging the rebellion from his rampant rod, Rod would be -- well, not exactly tired, but relaxed, filled with a comfortable lassitude for the next twenty minutes or so. Today... Maybe it was the cool lake water. More probably, it was Myrt's ample and undraped body affording him sights and sensations he had never dreamed possible. He felt like jumping, dancing, spinning cartwheels. He sprang from the lake bottom and abruptly Myrt's hands were on his shoulders holding him down. He remembered abruptly why she was doing it as his swim suit slid down around his ankles.

He sank to the bottom and managed to get it back up over his shrinking cock, straps over his shoulders. With the last of his air he noted that Myrt had made no effort to get hers back up where it belonged.

"Do you want to look some more?" she asked when he surfaced.

Nodding mutely, he dived again and got a hand between her thighs. Obligingly, Myrt parted her legs and allowed him to explore cunt country.

Rod did his fifteen-year-old best, running his fingers through the top heavy triangle of her pubic patch, memorizing the bony prominence beneath it. Finally he decided it was not true. No matter how boys in lavatories might delineate stick figures on walls, girls just didn't have a slit there -- at least Myrt didn't. He came up for air and looked into her imperturbable face. "Still can't find it?" she asked.

Ashore old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly were finally leaving. Encouraged, Rod breathed and dived again, this time no longer caring how obvious his movements might be above water. Myrt guided him back to the treasure trove between her legs. Rod put his hand back in and this time he could recognize the firm outlines of full pouting lips beneath the fur. Just like old Antoinette's, he suddenly realized. And illumination suddenly struck him. She had changed her stance slightly until his hand could range freely. His fingers explored the hairy confines of cunt country and suddenly he found the damp within all the lake's external damp. Something about the way Myrt's hands began caressing him, rubbing his slim body and patting his crotch gave him the suspicion that she had been waiting for him to make this discovery.

Cautiously, he began to insert a finger, waiting for some obstruction, most of all waiting for her thighs to clamp shut on his questing finger, to put an end to all this erotic exploration..

It didn't happen.

Warm, soft, slippery, he felt his finger working its way slowly up a passage which -- well goldang! It was true. Heck! He tried two fingers and the passage obligingly stretched. There was no doubt about it. Stiff as a board -- rock hard and ready to come, Rod knew with a sudden gut certainty that there was room enough in this lovely hole to bury his bargepole. He was trying to force his body between her legs when he ran out of air and had to come up.

This time while he was breathing Myrt ducked her head. When she came up again he saw her shoulder straps were in place. Shit! She nodded beyond him and he saw the sudden influx of people. Jeez, there must be a hundred of them on the beach now. They wouldn't all be as unobservant -- or willing to see and not comment -- as old Mr. and Mrs. Edderly.

Myrt saw the crestfallen disappointment on his young face, despite the fact that he had come less than two minutes ago. "We'd better go," she murmured -- this time to him and not to everybody who might be watching up on the beach.

"Yeah," Rod agreed dispiritedly.

"Would you like to do it again?"

Wow oh gollyjesuscriminenentlies, would he!

"Can you get away late tonight?"

"How late?"

"Oh, maybe ten o'clock -- after everybody's asleep."

Rod would get away if he had to murder somebody to do it.

"In the backyard behind the store;" Myrt murmured. And lest he forget, she got her hand in his crotch and gave the scratchy wool a gentle squeeze.

All the way back, walking beside her Rod felt as if he were floating. Myrt's Mona Lisa smile was unchanged but as they neared the store she turned to face him and in a low voice said, "If you don't settle down your mother's going to put you to bed and call a doctor."

She was, Rod abruptly realized, absolutely right. He made a supreme effort and managed to control himself. The swimming, plus some other physically exhausting facets of his unusual afternoon, had given him a raging appetite.

Ordinarily he would have fidgeted around the house and his mother would have immediately deduced that something was not right with her only begotten son. With a rare flash of genius Rod solved the problem. He went out and split wood for half an hour, filling his father with delighted surprise intermingled with a vague suspicion which dissipated when the fifteen year old boy did not ask for any favor. Before his mother could wonder about this sudden access of energy on a hot day Rod spent the rest of the long summer twilight mowing the lawn. Then he went to bed.

At nine thirty of an August night in that northern clime it was not dark at all. Rod lay quiet in his bed, waiting for his father and mother to go to theirs. Finally his mother came in to make sure he was tucked in -- as if anybody needed tucking in on a night as hot as this! It was only later when he heard the squeak of bedsprings in a regular bouncy rhythm that Rod realized what she had been up to when she came in here to make sure he was asleep. Well how about that! Momma and Poppa did it too!

Christ, would they ever stop doing it and go to sleep so he could do it too? Listening to the slow steady squeak of bedsprings, Rod guessed he was growing up. He had discovered all sorts of new and novel things today, things that would alter his viewpoint forever. And to top it off, he had chopped wood and mowed the lawn and -- When he awoke it was good and dark and there was no longer any sound of the house cooling after a long day of sunlight. Jesus! He had slept clear through the night and left Myrt waiting. What time was it? Oh Jesus Christ!