Chapter 2

The telephone rang. A momentary look of irritation crossed Dr. Moulter's face as she reached for it.

"Yes?" she demanded. She listened a moment, her face telling nothing. "All right," she finally spoke again, "I'll be right there."

She hung up, then reached for a pen and scribbled on a pad sitting in front of her. "Here you are, Mr. Sheffield. This is a prescription that I want you to get filled. And," she added, looking up, in full command "I must ask you not to have anything to do with your wife tonight. Absolutely nothing. I would suggest that you don't even sleep in the same bed." She pushed herself to her feet and started for the door. "I want to see you again tomorrow at four."

She was gone. She hadn't asked, she had told me. I started to get mad. Just who in the hell did she think she was...? She'd already said there was nothing physically wrong with my goddamned dick...! Then I started getting mad at my wife. It was her fault for insisting that I go to a doctor, her fault for picking this one out of all the goddamned doctors in town! I crumpled up the prescription blank, crammed it into my pocket and practically stormed out of the office. I didn't even look at or say goodbye to Miss-Redhead-with-the-big-tits!

"Don't have anything to do with your wife tonight!" Hah! I'd show that bitch!

I didn't go back to work. I drove around a little. As a matter-of-fact, I drove by the old high school, then by the building where Celia Bentley had had her apartment. I stopped across from it, the motor still idling, and stared at it. I wondered again if my old man had screwed her that night, and then I decided that, seeing what we had been doing, he had probably made her blow him. The bastard!

I remembered another night, maybe six months or a year after that. I'd been to a show and stayed out a little later than I was supposed to, so when I got back to the house I tiptoed in. There was a light on in the living room and I heard their voices the minute I eased open the door; I knew instantly that it was one of their drinking nights. Then I heard my mother giggle and say, "Quit that, silly! You know I won't let you put that thing in my mouth!"

I slid up to the doorway and peaked in. My mother was sprawled in a chair, drink in hand. My dad had a knee on either side of her, and his big dick-bigger, even, than mine-was sticking out of his fly. The shiny head was aimed right at her, but she had turned her head away and when he rammed it forward it hit her cheek. She reached up and grabbed it, giggled again. "I warn you, Frank Sheffield. If I put my mouth over this thing I'm going to bite it!"

"Ah, come on," my dad begged, "just suck on it a little. Jesus, you have no idea how that feels!"

Remembering that, I groaned as I had that night. The bastard had made Celia blow him, I'd lay dimes to doughnuts.

But that was all passed. Celia was part of the past. It didn't do me any good to sit there thinking about both my first real love and my first piece of ass (my first orgasm with another person, as Dr. Moulter had called it). I put the car in gear and eased it away from the curb.

"I must ask you not to have anything to do with your wife tonight. Absolutely nothing."

Anger again, and then, Tuck you, sister!"

I pressed down on the accelerator, heading for home.

Laurie was in the kitchen. Wearing a shift, her chocolate-brown hair tied into a ponytail, she was standing at the drain board peeling potatoes. I looked at her for several minutes, remembering. At seventeen she had been a wholesome, well-developed girl, a real beaut! Looking at her as a young male, I had seen all the suggestions-the luscious tits trapped inside her blouses or sweaters, the beautifully curved ass, the shapely legs that held what would have to be a fantastic hot box between them in their upper reaches. She hadn't been as much a person to me as she had been a potentially excellent screw! For the first couple of weeks after she had transferred into the school I had run around with an almost perpetual hard-on.

Vital, friendly at school, she had still refused to accept a date with anyone. That didn't deter me; old hot-dicked Mark was like a retriever once he got on the scent, and I was on the scent! I smelled that pussy and I wouldn't stop until I'd gotten it. Finally, when I had trapped her in the hallway for about the thousandth time, fully aware of that fantastic body and looking into her youthful, beautiful face. She had closed her eyes and said, "Look, Mark, I ... I've heard all the stories about you. I ... even if I went out with you...."

Her cheeks had reddened. I had laughed. "You're a virgin and going to stay that way, is that it?"

She had swallowed, her whole head moving with the motion. "That's ... that's it, at least until I get married."

I laughed again. "Honey, I promise you if you'll go out with me I'll keep it in my pants!"

"I ... I can't"

But a week later she did. I imagine that she had decided to prove her point, her willpower, and get me off her back. Little did she know that I was more determined than ever to get her on her back! Just knowing that she was virgin made it all the more exciting, all the more challenging.

It was a perfect night. The air was mild, the moon shone down, throwing a silvery cast over everything. I drove us out to the lake and parked with the hood of the car facing the lake; we could look out and see all the beauty of it I didn't touch her while we talked softly about what were to me endless inanities, but when I knew that she was feeling safe I opened the car door. 'It's such a beautiful night I'm going for a swim, want to come along?"

She didn't but I hadn't expected her to. Standing beside the car, I stripped down, throwing my clothes onto the back seat. When I was totally naked I went down to the waters' edge, waded in and then swam out a ways. The water was cool and refreshing, it felt good, but I wasn't particularly interested in swim ming. I swam ashore again. I dried with a towel that I always carried along, then crawled back under the wheel.

"Mark, put ... put ... you promised me ... she half cried, trying to keep her face averted.

She was weakening. Ten minutes later I had her lying on a blanket under the trees; I took her in my arms, her fully clothed body pressed against my naked one. She was rigid, but as I gently stroked her breasts through her blouse, as I rubbed my hand up and down her leg, moving a little deeper under her skirt with each stroke, I felt it melting. Her mouth under mine couldn't resist; it opened wider and when my tongue went in to explore it was met by hers. I got a hand under her blouse, unloosened her bra and felt naked tit; I got my other hand up far enough where it could toy with her hairy cooze, the shape of it, the feel of it, not marred by silk panties. Finally I got the silk panties down, the skirt up, and my hard prick was pressed full length against her soft-haired, firm-lipped pussy. I moved my hips that way a little, shoving it up and down, and she was lost. She spread her legs. I straddled her. I took some spit and rubbed it over the pliant head, then slowly, gently began to pump it into her. She groaned a little as her tight lips were spread by its massiveness, but she didn't try to stop me. The head hit that fragile wall, teased it a little, then I drew back and quickly plunged it in. Loosing her maidenhead, she screamed, but I caught that scream in my mouth and kept working myself in and out of her. The pain drifted away and there was nothing but pleasure. Her hips started moving in unison with mine, and finally she cried out with the ecstasy of her first cock-induced orgasm. Old hot-dicked Mark had scored again!

I should have known that any girl who was seventeen years old and still a virgin might not be too wise, but it didn't even occur to me. It just hit me square between the eyes when, two months later, she weepingly told me that she was pregnant. I consoled myself, saying that I'd have gotten married some day, anyway, and at least now I'd have a steady piece of ass. I did all I could do; we sneaked across the state line, lied about our ages and were married. No one knew that Laurie was carrying my child as we graduated.

It was a strange trick of fate, because it proved unnecessary. When she was four months along Laurie miscarried. By that time we had revealed our secret, we were living in a dumpy little apartment, and I was enjoying the steady diet of sex. I enjoyed teaching her new ways, and she was an apt, avid learner. If anything, with the healthy sexual appetite I have, I was thankful that she would be unable to get pregnant again.

I thought about all of that as I stood in the doorway watching her at work. She didn't know I was there; she had apparently been deep in thought herself. I could look at her now mature body, remember the pleasures I had derived from it, and think, too, of the pleasures I had given her. We were completely compatible physically, completely satisfying to each other, and the willingness to add variety only added spice. I didn't know that I loved her, but I was completely comfortable with her.

I sneaked up behind her, slid my arms around her waist and pressed my lips to her bared neck She cried out, then laughed. "You damn near got your finger cut off, you know that?"

I laughed back. "Just so it's only my finger you cut off." I found her pussy and squeezed it for good measure.

She pressed her buttocks back against me, against the mold in my pants. "What did the doctor say, Mark? Did he say you were all right?"

I nuzzled my face against her neck, and in that moment I knew that for some reason I wasn't going to tell her what had happened. I wasn't even going to tell her that P. H. Moulter, M.D., had been an attractive, well-stacked, and strange-acting female! "He told me that I should come home, take the potato peeler out of your hand, carry you into the bedroom and seduce you!" I murmured convinced now that there would be no problem.

She wiggled against me. "Fat chance you'd have seducing me!" she laughed. "I'll bet I can get undressed and ready before you can!"

She dropped the potato peeler, pulled free of my grasp and was halfway across the room before I realized that she was that serious. By the time I reached the bedroom door she was sliding her shift over her head, exposing her youthful, perfectly curved body. I got a glimpse of her curvaceous buttocks; then she turned and I saw her rounded belly, plus the V of dark brown hair over her well-used mound. Her tits came into view, heavy-hanging globes of flesh that splayed out over her chest, the nipples like pink rosettes on each tip. She was a golden brown, for she had learned to enjoying lying naked on the beach or in the backyard with me.

Laughing again, she fairly leaped onto the bed, rolled over and spread her legs. She had them pulled up, and as she reached down and rubbed between them I could see that she was really hungry for cock and sure now that her hunger would be filled after several weeks of starvation. She rubbed her cunt, spreading it open, desire showing in her eyes. Her hips pressed up off the bed a little, a preview of coming attractions.

I undressed slowly, for some reason not so sure now. I crossed over and laid down between her, taking her into my arms. Our lips met and I crushed her tits against me and pressed my cock where her fingers had been. I kissed her deep, and ground my tool against her. I prayed, but there was nothing. Our hands searched each others body hungrily, but still there was nothing. Maybe the slightest hint of hardening, but not enough to feel any elation over.

Groaning I rolled over onto my back. Laurie knew; she didn't say anything, but she knew that her hopes (and my hopes, my hopes encouraging hers) had been premature. But she was game. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, leaned over. Her tits fell against my chest as she kissed my face; then, moving again, she got up on her knees and continued kissing me. Her mouth moved down my throat, her tongue teased my nipples, per hungry lips brushed in circles around my belly. She kissed into the shrubbery and found my dong, kissing her way down the soft length of it. She lifted it, took it into her mouth and gave it the best working over that she could. It remained half flaccid.

Still she didn't say anything. She straddled me, back straight, knees on either side of me, and as I looked through slitted eyes I saw her big tits. I saw her take my cock and begin running it up and down her cunt. She pressed it in, but even with the warm, still tight lips around it, it was limp, worthless piece of meat. She contracted her muscles, but even that did no good.

"God," I groaned. Then I said, Tie down, honey. Just because I'm a mess, that's no reason you shouldn't get some kicks."

"No," she cried out almost desperately, "no, I'm going to get it hard It will, Mark, it will!"

I shook my head. Too late I realized that I could have used Dr. Moulter's words as an escape from this futility; I could have told her that the doctor had told me to leave her alone tonight. I reached up and took a breast in each hand, massaged them gently, tweaking the nipples to hardness. I pulled her down and put my mouth over one, giving it a working over, then transferred to the other. I rolled her over and, burying my face in them, I almost cried. Then I reached down and began to finger her pussy. I toyed with it until she spread her legs, sliding my finger inside and moving it around in a circle, I fucked her with it. Adding a second finger, I started to move my head down but she grabbed it. "No, Mark, I don't want to do that any more. If you can't fuck me, I ... I don't want that."

A moment later she pulled away and got to her feet She stood there looking down at me, then smiled feebly. "Maybe later," she half whispered, voice quavering. "Maybe it'll get hard later."

"Christ," I spit out. "How long have we been saying that? What in the hell is wrong with me?"

"You're probably just tired," she answered unconvincingly. "Maybe we were doing it too often, maybe that's what's wrong."

I shook my head. For as long as I could remember I could go two, three, four times a day. No, it wasn't ,that. And besides that, Dr. Moulter had said that my well hadn't gone dry, that it just needed priming again. I remembered the prescription blank crumpled up in my pocket. I almost leaped to my feet, dressed hurriedly, and went out in search of a drugstore.

After dinner we sat in the living room. Neither of us wore clothes (shades of Celia Bentley), but this evening we didn't get close enough together to even touch each other. There seemed to be a strain in the air. Laurie was looking through a magazine, but I could tell that she wasn't really seeing it. Finally, I said, "Look, I know you have needs. Why don't you go out and find yourself a guy tonight, get a good fuck?"

She looked up, her eyes barely focusing. "I'd use my finger first," she answered honestly. "You're the only man who's ever done it to me, you're the only man who ever will." A tentative smile flickered at the corner of her lips. "Maybe that prescription will work."

"Not for awhile," I answered sullenly. And then, "Seriously, Laurie, I don't think you should have to suffer because I ... because I can't get a goddamned hard-on. If you don't want to go out yourself, how about if I went out and found a guy, brought him back here? We could even ... well, I could kiss you and all while he was screwing you, you could pretend it was me."

She gasped. "You're not serious! Honest to god, Mark Sheffield, that's the stupidest suggestion I've ever heard!"

"I don't think so," I grumbled, and I didn't. As a matter-of-fact, for some stupid reason the more I thought about it the more the idea appealed to me. I remembered....

It had been only a few months before Laurie had come to town. By that time (during the almost four years since Celia's departure), I had become quite a Casanova. If anyone in the town had been able to keep records of guys laying gals, I probably would have held the record. One of my buddies had jokingly said that if we could lay all my hard-ons end to end it would circle the globe, and I couldn't honestly argue with him; the number of loads I'd probably shot, he said, would make an ocean. Maybe so. And that same buddy admittedly, enviously, that he had yet to get his first piece; he spouted off around the fellows, bragged a lot, but when he got near a girl he went tongue-tied. He could have broken the record for meat beating.

I've forgotten whose idea it was, but we decided to remedy the situation. One Friday night when his folks went out of town we set our plan to action. I left him in his bedroom, naked and with a hard-on, and went out on the prowl. I found a girl, one of the girls from school who I'd laid before, and set about warming her up. It didn't take a lot; a few good feels, a few good feels in return and her pussy was throbbing like a persimmon, ready to suck cock into it.

When he heard us entering the house he headed for the closet. I got her into the bedroom and made a little more wild love, feeling her up a little more. She was a wild one, a fairly well-stacked blonde, and she knew what she wanted. As I got my hand under her skirt and grabbed a handful of pussy, she opened my fly and hauled out the object of her affection (or at least her attention). Man, it was going to be hard to give up, but a promise was a promise; I got her undressed and sprawled on the bed, and while I looked down at those beautiful cans and that cock hungry pussy, I slowly undressed. I leaned over, gave it a couple of good healthy licks with my tongue, then moved up to kiss her tits. She grabbed my prong and pulled at it, flopping my balls around at the same time, raising her hips up to tell me where she wanted me to put it. I pulled away and headed for the light switch; the room plunged into darkness. I headed for the closet, swung open the door-and I'll be damned if I still didn't have to grab hold of him and practically drag him to the bed. It was like trying to move a stubborn mule. "Hey," the broad yelled out, "what's goin' one? What're you doin'?"

I had to laugh; then I told her. "Poor George has never had himself a piece of ass," I told her. "He's scared shitless of girls. So I got you all hot and ready; then he was supposed to take my place but now he's still too damned scared."

She giggled. "Hell, you couldn't have fooled me, anyway, Mark. I can tell your big whang from anybody's!"

"Well, it was worth a try."

I turned on the light and George-hard-on sticking out like a big sausage-ran for the closet. I chased him, got hold of him, and dragged him back. The broad was beginning to think it was fun. When I got him near the bed, my arms under him from the rear, she reached out and took hold of his cock. She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around it, sticking a hand between his legs to grab onto mine. I let her do that a bit, then yelled at her, "Get at him! Show him what it's like, that'll do the trick! Give him a little pussy, baby, he'll be ready for more of it!"

Giggling, she got to her feet. She took George's ramrod and rubbed it up and down her slit; then she moved in on it. I could tell what was happening; I could almost feel her pussy lips sliding over his swollen head, her warm channel taking him in. Then she started moving up and down on it. It had me so damned hot that he almost got it from the ass end.

It did the trick. He was ready for play. The girl laid down on the bed and smiled up at us. "Who's gonna do what?" she asked, smiling as she played with herself.

"Go on, George, climb on!"

"But ... But...."

"Goddamn it, climb on. Just climb on, shove that cock of yours up her and go to town!"

He climbed on, swinging a leg over her, but he was still too inexperienced and clumsy. She finally reached down between them, got his dick in the right place and he started sending it in. That did it; once the head had slid past those hungry gates nature took over and he was pouring it to her.

I was tempted again. His ass was up in the air and it looked like a pretty good pussy substitute, especially the way it moved as he drove his whang in and out of her, but the girl had other ideas. Obviously convinced that George wouldn't panic and run, that he had found out what a hard-on was for she laughingly put her hands on his buttocks and pulled him to a stop. "Honey, you're doin' great, but we can't leave poor Mark out in the cold! Get off me a minute!"

She gave the orders and we willingly agreed. I sprawled on the bed with my back and shoulders against the headboard; she came up between my legs, tits hanging like a cow udders, and took my balls in one hand, my cock in the other. "Okay," she said to George, "come on from the rear, honey!"

She lowered her mouth to my cock as George got behind her, legs outside of hers, and moved in. She gave me a couple of slurps, then raised up giggling! "Not there, silly! Run it down between my legs, get it in the right hole!"

She went back down on me, and it was apparent that George had finally caught on. A couple of seconds later she was moving her mouth up and down my dong in the same rhythm that he was using on her. I reached out and got hold of her tits, started playing with them. Finally George's strokes started getting faster, and with my hips moving I moved my hands from her tits to her head. He let out a yell and poured it to her, ramming it home, as I thrust off the bed and shot a load down her gulping throat. She was getting it from both ends, and she was obviously adding her own love juices to the ones that George was spurting into her.

"Holy Christ!" George finally gasped out, and he rolled off her and onto the floor.

We waited awhile, recuperating; then we switched positions. That time I took her doggie-fashion while she treated George to his first blow job.

I looked across at Laurie again, frowning a little. Just remembering that had caused a stirring; my whang was at half-mast. I wondered ... could it be that if another guy was there, if we were playing those kind of games, I might be able to get a complete hard-on?

But remembering her words and seeing the expression on her face, I knew that I didn't even dare suggest it again. Poor Laurie was still old-fashioned in many ways. She had been a virgin when I took her, saving herself for the man she was going to marry, and while that might not have worked out, fate had seen that it did. In the first few months she had been rather frigid; when we had had sex it had to be in the acceptable man-on-top position. Only after the miscarriage had she started opening up, perhaps because of the knowledge that she could never bear. Only then had she become a willing student in the art of sexual variations. But there was obviously, at least at this time, limitations to how far she would go in that.

My dick lost what starch it had gained; it curled down over my balls again, the position that Laurie usually called (after we had had sex) its "Sleeping Beauty" position.

She threw the magazine aside and pushed herself to her feet. For a moment she stretched, and it was lovely to see-at other times a stretch like that would have sent my whang rigid! Going up on her toes, arms up over her head, her big tits seemed to spread more but lift away from her body, the nipples asking to be mouthed. Her hips grew longer and her pussy was ready for the taking. Tonight there wasn't even a stirring in my crotch. She moved gracefully across and lowered herself to her knees, between my legs. She leaned forward, her cheek against my apparatus, the rounded side of one tit against my leg. She didn't say anything, but I thought that I knew what she was thinking. She had learned to like her cock; she missed it. I moved my foot so that I could play with her pussy with my big toe.

I whispered soundlessly. "I'm sorry, Laurie! I'm sorry as hell I can't take care of you."

She raised her head, turned her face to me, and her eyes were filled with tears. "Mark, I know ... I know how you were before we got married. I know you tried after we got married, but ... but....Mark, have you ... have you been with ... with other women? Is that the trouble?"

Anger flooded through me like hot lava in my veins. "For Christ's sake, no!" I blasted out. "I haven't fucked another woman since we got married! Goddamn it, where'd you get a stupid idea like that?" I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away, leaping to my feet. I was so damned mad I could have eaten nails, then I looked down at her and I had to fight back. I'm just all fucked out, can't you see? I was the world's greatest fucker, but goddamn, it takes more than the world's greatest fucker to keep you satisfied! Christ, can you be satisfied with a royal screwing? No, you've got to have that and then suck me off ... how many nights have you sucked me off two or three times?"

Her face had turned pale. She cringed against the chair, both from my anger and because she knew that I was right. Oh, I had liked it, I won't deny that, but she had turned into something like a nymphomaniac once I'd taken her damned cherry. She had gotten a royal screwing and then sucked me off two or three times during a night, sometimes night after night And that, I told myself now, could be the problem-it might after all be her fault. I looked down at her, trying to control myself. "Look, I lied about what the doctor said. The doctor said I wasn't supposed to touch you tonight. I wasn't supposed to have anything to do with you. Well, that's the way it's going to be. I'm sleeping out here on the divan."

It was the first night since our marriage that we had slept apart. It wasn't easy. And worse yet, during the night I woke up with a hard-on. I was grasping it in my own hand, and I looked up into the darkness and tried to remember what dream I had had that would give me one. I tried to figure it out-how could I rub her body, play with it and have her rub and play with my body without getting a hard-on, and then get one from a dream?

I groaned.

I wanted to go into the bedroom. I wanted to crawl into bed with her, take her into my arms. I wanted to kiss her luscious mouth, feel her beautiful tits, slide my whang up through those tight, hairy lips. I wanted to grasp her firm buttocks while I sent myself in and out of her, the motion carrying us both up that beautiful, nerve tingling path to the point of orgasm.

But how could I? What would I do if I got in there and the damned thing wilted again?

And it would. I somehow knew that it would.

I rolled over on my stomach. The sheet had shifted, leaving the material of the divan exposed. As I rolled over my prick went between the cushions; it was caught between them. It was a strange feeling. Then I remembered hearing, during my teens, that some Oriental women had cunts that ran sideways. I moved my hips tentatively. The material was tough, but there was still a good feeling to it. I moved my hips again; then I was moving them in earnest. I couldn't help myself, and finally I gasped and quivered as I dumped a load between the cushions.

A few minutes later I was on my back again. I looked up into the darkness and whispered, "Jesus-how fucked up can you get!"