Chapter 6
Laurie moved her head. Her cheek rested against my limp prick.
"Mark, what's the matter?" she begged. "Why can't it happen any more?"
My face still in her crotch, I didn't answer.
"Mark," she started again in a weak voice, "about yesterday. I didn't want to do that, but when Sylvia showed me that rubber cock, when she told me how it felt ... Oh, Mark, I want you so much," she ground her cheek against my prick, "it hurts something awful."
I didn't taste cunt, I tasted defeat. Failure. And I didn't want to face it; I didn't want to have to think about it any more. I almost nipped her off me, leaped to my feet and started dressing. I didn't look at her and I didn't look back when I'd finished; I literally bolted from the room and then the apartment.
It should have been a beautiful morning. The weather was almost perfect, the sky clear and the sun blessing the earth with warmth but not heat It was the kind of day that some people call flawless, but it wasn't flawless for me. If anything, a first-class thunderstorm would have more perfectly matched my mood, and I took it out on the world. I cursed at anyone who even looked like they'd get in my way, blasted my horn at people who didn't start up fast enough to suit me at intersections, took chances I wouldn't otherwise have taken. Only sheer luck kept cops from being in the right place at the right time-or, for my sake, in the wrong place at the wrong time! The only thing I could look forward to was work; loading vans was hard work and you could get lost in it. You could work your butt off and it sort of chased everything else away.
I didn't get the chance. Being late, the boss had left word that he wanted to see me. Inside his office, he was kind enough about it, but he wasn't asking questions; he was making statements. Taking time off two days in the row to go to the doctors, being late this morning, it was obvious that I was in no condition to keep up my end of the load. He'd replaced me with a part-time man.
"When you get things straightened out, Mark, come back and go to work," he finalized it, telling me at the same time that he knew that it wasn't something totally physical. I didn't argue. I just nodded and left.
Where to go! Jesus, I couldn't face going back to the apartment, getting involved in it again with Laurie. I didn't want to get drunk again. So where do you go when there's no place to go, no avenue of escape?
I went back to the neighborhood I had grown up in. I drove by the house that my folks still lived in, remembering things that had gone on there (remembering, because Moulter had pulled it to the front again, the night my dad had straddled my mother in the occasional chair and tried to get her to suck him off). Remembering Celia Bentley and the old man chasing her out of town. And wondering again if he had screwed her or made her go down on him, convinced again that-especially with my mother refusing to do it-it had been the latter. Imagining him dropping his pants, his whang flipping up, and forcing Celia to do itl "Suck me off, bitch, or I'll call the police on you!" I drove by the apartment building where she had lived, wondering who lived in that apartment now, if they had any idea of the fun and games that were played in it! If walls could talk...! And I found myself wondering what had happened to her after she had gone; had she gone to another town, another school, and found herself another virgin to so beautifully train?
Man, if I could only see her now! I could tell her about it and she would understand; maybe she would have the answers. I could say, "Celia, I've been married six years. My wife and I've had all the fun kind of sex that you and I used to have, but all of a sudden ... well, it wasn't all of a sudden, it sort of crept up, but the truth is, I can't get a hard-on with her any more. What's the matter?"
I saw her face, her beautiful smile. I remembered that first night, my seeing a female body in the nude for the first time. I remembered her getting me hot and then my taking her, nature taking over where she had left off. I felt my cock hot and hard against my leg.
Jesus! Now even a memory was getting me hard when Laurie couldn't Not only hard but hot! I reached down and rubbed my cock, groaning. I thought bitterly, "You want me to beat myself off for you now, Dr. Moulter? You want to measure how many sperms there are in a load of my come now? I fucked a woman last night, you know...!"
I fucked a woman last night. Jesus!
I relived that, too, from my meeting with Tim Handley to the moment of climax with free-swinging Trudi . .-. the peculiar three-way climax with Tim spending himself all over his own belly as we did our thing together. There was no doubt in my mind now, after the fizzled attempt with Laurie this morning; the session with Trudi hadn't interfered.
God, what was the matter with me!
I drove over to the high school, parked in front of and across the street from it. There were memories there, too. The girls I had made in cloakrooms, the times I'd sneaked into the women's restroom so that one could sneak in after me and give me a blowjob. The contacts I'd made there for off-campus screwing sessions. The joking around in the gym shower room, with me the envy of most of the boys there-and damned proud of it. My whang had been my badge of honor! "Man," boy after boy had said, "I almost wish I was queer, I'd sure go for a hunk of meat like that!"
"Man," boy after boy had said, "with a whang like that I bet you get all the nookie you want!"
"Come on, Sheffield, get it hard so we can see how big it is. Play with yourself a little!"
Big prick, big man, that was the way it had been in those days. Mark Sheffield had been a big man! At fifteen I'd done a lot more screwing than most of the senior boys. At seventeen I had seduced the virgin Laurie! Cherry picking time, but I had gotten caught that time.
... what would life have been like if Laurie hadn't gotten pregnant, if I hadn't felt honor bound to marry her-and then to stay married after the miscarriage? Would I have stayed single, a cocksman playing the field?
... but what good to speculate? I watched a young girl coming up the sidewalk, She couldn't have been much over sixteen, and she obviously knew what it was all about. Her blonde hair was long, framing her attractive face-attractive but slightly over made-up. Her tits were like cantaloupes, stretching the material of a low-cut, knit blouse. She was shaped like an hourglass, with narrow waist and flaring hips, a pelvic region that had to be Paradise on earth. She didn't walk, she undulated, appearance and motion silently singing the song, "Love for Sale." I'd met up with her kind in the hallways of this same school, but they had handed out the material and willingly rung up a "No Sale."
One foot in the past, one foot in the present, my thinking all mixed up, I suddenly felt almost reckless. As she drew alongside the car I suddenly felt the urge, the need, to try to leap back into that past. She helped; she studied my face, that part of my upper body that was showing, and when her eyes met mine there was, an open invitation in them. Her lips parted ever-so-slightly, a clear indication of interest and availability. Her whole mien said, "Sure, I fuck, what've you got to offer?"
I smiled-not a return invitation, but a smile at the thought of making her want it so bad she'd produce without expecting financial reward. Everything else, all of the troubles I'd been carrying with me, was forgotten. I was back there; I was Mark Sheffield, teenager on the prowl, and anticipation all the greater because one who usually got paid was going to beg for the chance of giving it for nothing!
"Where you headed?" I asked.
"Well, if I'm right it looks like I was headed for here," she answered easily.
"You were right. Hop in."
She wasn't careful getting in, and she didn't bother to make repairs. Her skirt had slid up around her upper legs, exposing acres of nice, firm young flesh, and she didn't bother to wiggle it down. Slightly spread, pussyland was just a hairbreadth under the hem.
"Cutting school?" I asked.
"Naw, I got kicked out. My old man doesn't know it, so I have to leave the house every morning." She giggled. "I'm just lucky, I guess, that not everyone thinks you should only do things at night." (Shades of my own self at that age, my own old man confining me to quarters and thinking he'd cut off my nookie! How blind grownups can be!)
I turned the key, starting the ignition, already thinking ahead. We'll drive out into the country, find a back road, park in some secluded spot and go into a clinch. A little mad lovemaking, the right kind of groping, and she'd be ready to have her panties pulled down! Oh, yes, a little feeling up of those big tits, sliding my hand up the needed inch under that skirt so that it could get at her pulsating pussy, while she was groping my still-hard dong, and we really would be making out like high-schoolers. Man, it had been years since I'd screwed a girl in the back seat of a car! I could feel it again, as if I were back in those days when each conquest had been so important; the anticipation was terrific!
As if she were reading my mind, her eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment
"Look," she said, "I figure it's always best to have an understanding ahead of time. I'm really a good girl, y'know, but ... well, my old man's a bastard, before he finds out I've gotten kicked out of school I've got to have enough so I ran take off. I only ... I only do things with boys ... with men ... because that's the only way I can get enough together fast enough."
I hadn't pulled away from the curb-as a matter-of-fact, I hadn't even gotten the car into gear. I looked across at her, studied her face that would have been even more attractive without the make-up, let my eyes move down over her big breasts and to her legs. I argued with myself-to let her think she was going to get paid or not to let her think so, that was the question! To pretend that I agreed until I could get her some place where I could get her hot enough to go for free, or to tell her now? No question of whether I might pay her-no, that was out of the question. Mark Sheffield never had paid for it, he wasn't about to start now!
"Look," I said, using her preface, "I understand that, of course, but ... well, the truth is...."
I reached out, took her hand in mine, holding it for the right moment.
"The truth is, I'm just hard up as hell," I went on, moving her hand and pressing it over my prick, "but I'm broke." I rubbed her hand up and down my cock, watching her face. Finally I lifted my own hand up, satisfied when she left hers with the fingers draped over my whang. "Why don't you take it out and then make up your mind?" I half whispered.
She swallowed, licked her tongue across her upper lip, then fiddled with my zipper until she'd gotten it down. She reached in and pulled my cock out, looking down at it. She swallowed again.
"Well?"
"Well...." she said faintly, "well, I guess ... I guess it wouldn't hurt. I mean, if you're ... if you're that hard up!"
I swallowed the laugh of triumph that struggled to gurgled up inside me, put the car in gear and eased away from the curb before she could change her mind. Not that I thought she would; she had moved over closer to me, her leg against mine and her hand still on my prick. And she helped to keep any difficult thoughts from filtering in by gently, almost admiringly stroking me, and by accepting my hand on the inner side of her leg once we had gotten out into-traffic and were moving. Finally I did chuckle. "Don't stroke that too much, sweetie, I don't want to waste a load in midair!"
She laughed in return, stopping the stroking but still holding onto it.
It was a beautiful morning, an almost flawless day. The sun was out and the sky was clear and fresh; I laughed at the foolish things that people did, beeped my horn in greetings to several-and headed for the outskirts of town. Her youthful, almost inane chatter was pleasing in itself.
"Yknow," she said, "I really like older men a lot better than the high school boys. They're so ... so mature." She pronounced it "machine." I could take that to mean, of course, that she was satisfied with the size of my cock and looking forward to getting a royal screwing from someone with experience. I had no intention of disappointing her!
We ended up on the end of a country lane, a dirt road that was an extension of a far from smooth secondary road. It was quiet and peaceful, the unbroken countryside spreading for as far as the eye could see. We had long since passed the last farmhouse. I backed the car around, cut off the engine, then took her in my arms. She was all soft and smooth and lovely, and as I sent my tongue into her mouth I ran my hand up under the low-cut, knit blouse and got a handful of untethered tit. It was a handful and I treated it lovingly, tweaking the nipple to hardness, sliding my hand over to give the other equal time. She was doing her best to give sophisticated French kisses in return, pulling on my cock almost jerkily. Finally I pulled my mouth away.
"Let's undress and get in the backseat."
She didn't hesitate, and in short order we were naked and in the backseat. I took her into my arms again, and this time I had her tits against my chest, her pussy pressing against my prick, and I could massage her back and buttocks as I sent my tongue around hers and then halfway down her throat I rubbed one hand down the cleavage between her buttocks, fingering her hole a little and then moving it on; it drove her a little wild and she ground her pussy against my prick. Finally I pulled my mouth away and whispered, "You want it now? You ready for it?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, pulling away. Then she stopped for a moment and looked into my face. She seemed to be arguing with herself, then she half tremblingly said, "Would you care ... it's so big, so nice ... would you care if I...."
I took a tit in each hand and tweaked the nipples. "Honey, you do anything your little heart desires!"
She went to her knees on the floor between my legs. She took my balls in one hand, my cock in the other, and lowered her head to it She obviously hadn't done much of it; there was none of the kissing, the tongue tickling. She simply took it into her mouth and started sucking, running her mouth up and down on it almost choking herself every once in awhile as she tried to take too much of it I put my hands on her shoulders and rubbed them, closing my eyes and enjoying it but it wasn't too long before I knew I'd have to stop her.
As side-by-side as we could get, sitting on the seat, we started kissing again. In that position I could feel her tits against my chest and play with her pussy while she fondled my cock. I knew she was loving it; as I felt it fondled it then sent a finger exploring, she groaned into my mouth and spread her legs a little. I added a second finger, moved them around in circles to tantalize the sensitive tissue, then drove them into the hot, moist inner sanctum. I knew when the time was right, when words weren't necessary. I rolled her over, got her onto the seat at an angle, and went up between her legs. The motion was a complete one; my cock slid between her legs to her cooze, slid up to the right spot and started in. It had barely spread the lips apart when she raised her hips, hot and ready for it; she took the head with her own upward thrust, then I sent the shaft following after it. She gasped as I sank it deep into her, my balls hanging down between her legs. Then I began the good old slip-slide motion. From the first stroke she joined me, raising her hips up off the seat to take it, sinking away, rising up to meet it again. It was good; she was tight enough so that I could feel pressure all the way around, and the head scraped against nice tissue with every inward thrust. I bent my head to suck on a tittie while I kept at it, but when the going got better I moved my mouth back up to hers; at the same time her legs started up over mine. They finally were over my back, crossed at the ankles but such that the movement of our bodies was unhampered. We fucked with full enthusiasm and several times I felt her body quiver, my cock saturated with her juices. I held off, building her up, building us both up; then, finally, I turned on the gas and built us up to a gasping, grunting climax. She let out a howl.
"Oh, fuck! Of sweet goddamn fuck! Oh, pour it to me honey, pour that big thing to me. Oh, Christ, I caaaaaaame!" She didn't have to tell me; I felt it, her juice added to mine, running out around my cock.
"Boy, what'd I tell you?" she asked a few moments later. "Didn't I tell you older men knew how to do it better?"
I looked down into her face and smiled. "You liked that, huh? That was a real good fuck?"
"Oh, yes! The best I've ever had!" She giggled. "If you left it in, would it get hard again?"
That was a good question, but the wrong one to ask Just the simple phrase, "would it get hard," was the wrong thing for her to have said. It brought me back to reality; it sent a sort of coldness through me. I pulled away, letting my cock slurp out of her sweet pussy. I looked down at her for a moment, at her young face, her big tits, the soft mound with its fleecy forest damp with gism, and I felt a sort of self loathing go through me. For the second day in a row, after six years of faithfulness, I had fucked a woman other than my wife. For the second day in a row I had gotten hard for someone else when I couldn't get hard for her-given them pleasure, when I couldn't satisfy her. Fucked them while she had to use a dildo. Jesus!
"What's the matter?" she asked, something like fright in her voice. "Didn't ... didn't you like it?"
"Yeah," I answered, "I liked it" Hell, I couldn't take it out on her. I reached down and rubbed her pussy. "It was real nice, sweetie, you give a good fuck! But I think we ought to get back to town."
On the way back to town, partially because I didn't want to think about my own problems, I asked her how she had gotten started on the route she was taking. She was, as I said, young and open faced, the kind who hid nothing once they felt at ease with you-or was it I was to ask myself later, mere stupidity, her being the "dumb blonde" type?
She told me that her mother had died when she was twelve, and her father had started drinking heavily. One night, during the next year, a slightly less drunk man had helped the drunken father home, dumped him into bed, and then forced himself on the thirteen-year-old girl. "I guess I was lucky he wasn't hung like you," she said, "his was a lot smaller and it scared me but it didn't hurt me. I got to thinking about it later ... y'know, I didn't dare tell anybody he'd done it ... but I got with a boy who lived next door, he was about fourteen, and I got him to do it to me. So that was the way it started and I liked it." Liking it, she had put out for any boy who so desired, and then one day a year before, an older man had invited her to his apartment, screwed the bejesus out of her, and gave her a ten dollar bill. "Gosh, when I found out men would pay to do it, well ... well, it was just perfect, y'know. I mean, I'm fed up with my old man drinkn' and being mean, so like I told you, I'm saving my money so I can run away."
In her simplicity-and, as she had admitted, because she enjoyed the activity!-she charged what the market would bear. Giggling a little, she said, "Y'know, I've been with little fourteen year old kids, they're a kick, some of 'em are screwin' for the first time and I get a bang out of that. Most of them only have maybe two-bits or a half dollar. The older boys, well, I don't let them do it for less than two dollars. Unless, of course, I happen to really like one, then he can for a dollar."
I could imagine the size of her bank account, her "running away fund," but the old saying of ten dimes makes a dollar no doubt held true. Averaging it out ... but I didn't bother. I merely asked, "How's your fund doing?"
"Oh, it's doin' good," she answered enthusiastically. "I got almost two hundred dollars saved up. Y'know, some days I get four or five boys!" Wow, and I thought I was sexually active! She giggled. "One night last week, for instance, a bunch of boys were having a sort of meeting, a party. There was eight of 'em there 'nd they chipped into a 'pot' I got fourteen dollars that night alone."
"You screwed all eight of them?"
She giggled again. "Well, I was going to, but you should of seen it. They was all naked, y'know, 'nd each one supposed to take his turn, but some of 'em got so excited watching me doin' it with the other boys that they couldn't wait. A couple of 'em ... what you call it? ... jacked off."
She looked out the window for a minute; then she said, "You know what I did to you back there, first?"
"Sucking on my cock, you mean?"
"Yeah. I'd never done it before, y'know, but at that party last week one of the bigger boys got so excited he couldn't wait his turn, while another one was doin' what we did he got up on my face and stuck his thing in my mouth. That's ... that's where I found out about it. The way he did it ... well, I liked the way I did it to you better. If you'd of stayed there and let me, I would of done it 'til you spit"
"Did that kid last week do that. Spit, I mean?"
"Oh, he sure did! It almost choked me, and when I pulled my mouth away it kept spitting all over my face!"
Her complete honesty, her inadvertent depiction of youthful sexual activities, had eased the pressure. I was feeling better again, even halfway enjoying half memories of when it had been me in those kinds of situations. As a matter-of-fact ff we had stayed out in the boondocks to talk like this I probably could have taken her again-or, as she obviously would probably have wanted, let her go down on me. But we hadn't stayed out there, and the school was in front of us. "You want out where I picked you up?" I asked.
"Yes, please. Some of the boys'll be comin' out pretty soon, y'know, for the lunch hour."
"You do it on the lunch hour?"
"Sometimes," she giggled. "There's a storeroom in the back of the rest'rant where the kids all go, we sneak in there and do it while somebody keeps guard."
Ah, for the joys of youth! What'd you have for lunch today, Joe? Oh, I had a nice little dish, a hunk of good nookie! Smiling, I pulled over to the curb. "It was great, doll," I said, and taking out my wallet I gave her a dollar bill ... not for the screwing, but just because I wanted to help with her "fund."
"You don't have to gimme this," she said.
"I know, but I want to."
"Well, gee, thanks! " 'Nd y'know," she looked up eagerly, "if you want to do it again, well, we could meet later. Not for money, I mean, but ... well, y'know, I like you 'nd ... 'nd ... well, you really do have a good one!"
"Maybe," I answered softly. Lying, I added, "If I can make it within the next couple of days, I'll come back here at the same time."
The sound of a bell split the silence and her head jerked up. "Oh, the boys'll be coming out!" she cried out, and forgetting to even say goodbye, she literally leaped out of the car. I watched her go, thinking that some lucky boy would be pouring the meat to her in the backroom very shortly. Lucky not only because of that, but because at that age he could still be without problems!
And with her gone, I was faced with my own again.
Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight;
Make me a child again just for tonight.
How I would like to be that teen-ager coming out of that school building-maybe' unsuspecting, not knowing that his desire were going to be awakened, maybe already with a hard-on from anticipation. How I would like to go through the preliminaries, ending up with her in the storeroom to feel those lush tits, that hot pussy, and finally bury my meat in her and dump a load with youthful abandonment, with nothing more important than getting my rocks off. Feeling the pleasure of it and the deeper pleasure ,of feeling like a real man, a real cocksman! I'd get her so hot and wanting it so bad, and then enjoying it so much, that she'd forget all about the money end of it.
But I wasn't him. I was a married man, impotent with his wife, but just having screwed the second stranger in two days. I was a man who'd been turned away from his job until he could get himself in shape enough to handle it. I was a man who didn't want to go home and didn't have anyplace else to go.
Leaving the apartment hurriedly as I had, I had forgotten my lunch. I went to a drive-in, not really hungry but knowing that I had to eat something. It was a diversion, too, a time consumer; I could look at the other customers and watch the car-hops moving busily about, their boobs bouncing, their asses swinging, and their legs showing from under their short skirts (so short that a person automatically thought about what was barely hidden). I could again remember other days, those days when I had flirted with them and on more than one occasion made dates for later. I remembered one night when a buddy and I had wised off about it so much that we'd gotten hotter than hell, and wanting to live daringly, we had taken our meat out and beat ourselves off right in the drive-in!
Oh, for the carefree days of youth!
... the dumb little blonde was probably having her own lunch at this very moment, either munching on a hot prick or letting the boy slip his hot dog up her warm bun!
... what was Laurie doing? Hotter than a firecracker, begging for it and me not able to give it to her, had she called Sylvia once I'd gone, inviting her and her goddamned dildo over? What did they do, those two women? Did they play with each other first, getting hotter yet so that their cooze's just had to have something in them, then take turns fucking each other off with that rubber cock?
Christ, that was the same as being Lesbians!
I remembered wondering if Dr. Moulter were a Lesbian.
I remembered Dr. Moulter!
"I want you to follow the same instructions-nothing to do with your wife tonight-and then be back here at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
In a pig's ass I would! Jesus, I'd dumped two healthy loads, the reading she'd get from my come would be fatal! "Ah-ah, Mr. Sheffield, you've been a naughty boy!" That sometimes elusive smile, "Did you rape that poor couch again last night, Mr. Sheffield?"
Yeah, I did, twice. The first time it had been a luscious little number named Trudi, the second time ... but let me tell you about that, Dr. Moulter, you've got such a goddamned hang-up on hearing about queer sex ideas. There was this fella, you see, a real good-looking guy, well-hung, but the only way he can get his kicks is to beat himself off while he's watching a good-looking couple going at it. What do you think of that, Dr. Moulter? Pretty wild, huh? He goes out and picks up a guy he likes; then he gets the girl for him; then he watches them fuck while he jerks off. All that ... what'd you call it, spermatazoa? ... shot off over his belly. Man, you could really get a sample there, doc, he really unloaded!
Pardon me, a "specimen." You'd of had to take one from his; I'd sent mine up that sweet, hot pussy!
I'd been lost in thought, but one of the car-hops dropped something and bent over to retrieve it. That brought me back to the moment! As she bent over I got an eyeful of the nicest little ass you could ask for, well-rounded, the flimsy silk of her panties stretched so tight you could see the shadow of the cleavage between her buttocks. You could imagine yourself putting your hand on it, rubbing it gently, then sliding your hand down between her legs, sliding a finger into the hungry pussy waiting there. Or you could imagine yourself rubbing the head of your cock up and down that cleavage, pretending you were going to send it through that puckered little opening but instead sliding it between her legs, pressuring it along her pussy, teasing it so that it hungered for it!
"Crap!" I spit out, and I knew in that moment that I was going to see Moulter, after all. If there was any chance-any chance-I had to take it.