Chapter 20
"Yah ... yah ... little higher , . your tongue ... faster ... Oh my God ... don't stop ... deeper ... squeeze my breasts ... harder ... bite me ... suck me honey ... It's coming ... I can feel it ... your tongue, it's flicking my clit ... I can't take it ... you're fantastic ... I'm hot ... my ... lips are dry ... I can't keep my eyes open ... my heart's pounding ... I'm shaking ... my legs won't stop ... I want all of you ... can't get enough of you ... Oooo ... What was that? ... Do it again ... Beep going ... Oooooo ... Shove it all in ... I can take everything you can give me ... Mmmmmm ... you are all man ... take me ... Do anything you want to me ... eat me ... suck me ... pull out my pussy hair with your teeth ... bite my nipples ... fuck me in the ass ... yesss ... yesss ... yesss ... faster ... I'm exploding ... I can't take it ... more ... deeper ... jab ... It's here ... Oh my God I'm exploding ... I'm commmmmmmming ... You feel like an elephant ... Now ... stick your dick in ... fuck me ... ram me so I can taste it ... Squirt your cream into my honey hive ... pump ... prime your joint...."
Phillip Barrington drenched in his own sweat, grunted like a savage animal as he humped Sister Bernadette. The tingle in his dick intensified as he kept pumping his driver into her sticky box al-ready drenched with his come and her pussy juice.
A fast explosion, fingernails digging into his back and it was all over. He collapsed from fatigue resting his head between her tits. Her legs kept their tight vise lock around his waist, contracting and expanding, trying to drive him on.
They laid on each others limp bodies, puffing heavily like two old steam engines. Each tried to talk, but found it impossible not being able to catch a good breath of air.
"Ca-can't-can't go on-on like this!", he said, rolling over on his back.
"Fuck we can't."
"Now, now. Eh-what kind of talk is that for-for a woman of the cloth? Shame on you."
"Oh-oh kay. Repent sinner, take confession. And for-for repentance take communion now. "EAT ME." Sister Bernadette broke into a hysterical laugh, lifting her legs straight off the ground at a forty-five degree angle, spreading them wide. She held her ankles with her hands.
Phil sat up, swung around facing her uplifted box, knelling for business. He hesitated. "Wait," he exclaimed. "I'm not Catholic."
"Eat your heart you." Sister B slapped her legs shut and rolled over on her stomach. "You blew it. This is pretty hairy business. Next time, do what the famous commercial says...."Eat out tonight."
They laughed.
"You know something," Phil laughed staring up at the ceiling, squeezing her hand, "considering I've never fucked a woman of the cloth, you're the best nun I've ever had. If they're all like you I'm taking up a new residence and a new habit."
Her voice sobbed. "Phil-"
He sensed a distinctive sound in her voice. A sound he had heard before.
"It's been over a year-eighteen beautiful months ... the most exciting, fulfilling eighteen m o n t h s o f my life ... but I'm scared. Phil," her voice lowered with her eyes, "I think I'm pregnant!"
His face jolted back in shock. His mouth opened then closed. His eyes, normally happy, panicked. "Thinking has nothing to do with it. You either are, and in that case, I'll get it aborted or you're not, and in that case there is nothing to worry about. Right?" The cool dude role didn't fit him at all. If she was, he was in trouble and he knew it. What nun would have an abortion. It would be as stupid as giving the Pope a gross of rubbers for Christmas. And actually expecting him to use them.
"When will you know?"
"Went to the doctor this morning, before I came to your office. Results will be ready tomorrow at two." She curled up her nose and tried like hell to force a smile to make him relax. "Think maybe we both ought to say a prayer for the rabbit."
It was funny, but Phil could not get up a hearty laugh. Just a half-hearted chuckle. He had to think. Be alone. He pulled up his pants and walked to the desk. Flipping the page, he stopped suddenly and looked surprised. "I've got an appointment in ten minutes. Get dressed fast and slip out my back door."
Sister B didn't say a word. Put on her habit, for the first time, turning her back as she dressed. She sensed his hidden rejection. "I understand. I'll call you when I know. But if I am-never mind," she concluded, and walked out leaving the door ajar.
Fear raced through his mind. He hadn't felt fear since he was in the service. What the fuck could he do. He kicked the door shut.
Think naturally he kept telling himself. "The fucking bitch," he mumbled under his breath, pulling a glass off his bar shelf in the short wall to the left of his glass top desk. "Fucking cunt!"
Fucking a patient for a little extra TLC was one thing. So, if they got pregnant, abortions were simple enough to arrange. Unwanted pregnancy ... emotional stress. Short stay in the hospital and the husband's kept in the dark.
A pregnant nun. Trouble, nothing but fucking trouble. His mind raced with ideas none of which were practical or legal.
He walked barefoot across his deep pile white carpeting to the window and looked down at the ant-like movements of the people scurrying along, hundreds of feet below.
He had come too far. He had too much. This plush office. A $75,000 plus practice and it was all teetering on the ledge outside his glass pane window.
First swishing the ice around twice with his finger, Phil poured the Bloody Mary down his throat.
"You fucking dick, I ought to cut you off." He blared out unconsciously looking down at his zipper. "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Stay out of strange places. Especially holy boxes."
He shook his head in disgust, nothing to do but to wait it out. Sweat it out, like he had done a few times in the past. For a brief second, he thought it might help if he said a prayer. Then remembered, he tried that once and it failed. He ran his free hand back through his hair and shook his head.
"Fuck!"
"After you Sister." The elderly well abed redheaded man wearing overalls stepped back leaning all his weight on his cane in his left hand.
Sister Bernadette smiled her holy smile, nodded at the old man and walked into the half-full car. "Lobby, please," she instructed the young elevator operator; more preoccupied with figuring out the crossword puzzle in the folded newspaper, resting in his lip, then watching the numbers flash sequentially as the car stopped at each floor, dropping to the street floor below.
9-8-7-6-5-4-She stood motionless as if in some self-imposed religious prayer position. Eyes glazed, she stared at the back of the tall blond-headed boy directly in front of her. Her hands nervously fidgeted with a small, white delicate lace handkerchief. 3-2 Her face was blank. To a passerby, she was just another-if there is such a thing-nun, going about her spiritual mission. Her eyes, shallow, lacking the warmth a few touches of eye shadow would make. Buried deep in her habit that always looked too big, it was hard to tell a single relevant, true fact about Sister Bernadette.
She was a figment of the imagination that had become reality. Cindy just minutes before, had proven this to herself. Phillip had fallen hook, line and sinker for her plan. Everything had gone better than she had hoped in her wildest dreams.
As the elevator doors opened, Cindy, looking out at the world through the eyes of Sister B, closed her eyes for a split second reviewing the series of terrified, panicked expressions that flashed across Phil's face while she was laying the bomb.
Months of research, romantic meetings in his office under the disguise of therapy, complete re-search had caught her a pigeon. The thought ' that Sister Bernadette might by lying ... that Sister B wasn't even a real-life nun, was unfathomable in his mind. "She was just too fucking clever for him to catch on," she thought to herself.
"Main Floor," the elevator operator blurted out, realizing the door were opening and he had reached his destination. "Watch your step." He buried the crossword puzzle page into his back pocket. His floor supervisor had warned him about reading or doing puzzles. Get caught again and he'd be fired. He needed the bread so he played the silly game of elevator roulette when the door opened in the lobby.
The rush of warm air hit her squarely in the face, as she walked out into the humid, human congested street. She stopped just outside the main door. The sun's glare forced her to squint; she put her hand into her hidden personal pocket and pulled out wire-framed sunglasses. Beads of perspiration began to collect along the rim of the stark white cloth covering her forehead. Cindy had the lenses up to the sun, found the smudges on the right lens and put it to her mouth, blowing her breath over the top and bottom of the blue glass. A quick wipe of the hanky and she was ready to walk. Turning her head back and forth to get her bearings, she decided to head right and walk slowly along 56th Street. Her free hand grabbed the Crucifix chain and started to make laps around the beads. The act was unconscious.
People hurrying for lunch and shopping jossled her without so much as a "sorry" or "forgive me." One woman caught her body sideways as she ran out of a head shop laden down with packages. Cindy had to control herself from punching her out. She would have if she didn't have on the habit.
Just as she made the comer the-light turned from green to yellow to red. "DON'T WALK" flashed on and off from the opposite side of the street atop a metal street sign.
The voice came from in front of her. "She was the best piece of ass I ever had. Never would have thought she'd suck me off ... out of sight. Had the hairest cunt I've ever seen. Said she loved me. Says that to all the guys ... Makes her feel better in the morning. What the fuck, I played along and my full nuts were the price I paid."
The young boy talking didn't notice Sister B standing directly, behind him. The chubby boy he was talking to caught her out of the comer of his eyes and kicked his buddy in the ankle to shut him up. "Fuck off, will ya. What's up your ass. Stop kicking me or I'll deck ya!"
The light changed and Sister B watched them both start across the street, the second boy finally explained why he had kicked so hard. The first boy's mouth dropped open and he looked back at the nun standing on the curb, the rushing crowd bumping past her.
Cindy waved and started across the street. The two sixteen year olds took off like bandits disappearing into the mob on the opposite street comer.
Down the street, a left, up three blocks then down the steps into the Seventh Avenue Subway and straight into the women's room.
The first two stalls were being used. The third was empty but the toilet bowl was clogged with papers and had obviously overflowed. She opened the door on the fourth stall, walked in and locked in the door behind her.
The bathroom was hot and smelled of sweat and overflowed toilets. The other doors constantly opened and closed, as feet walked in and out. She heard the door to the first booth open and the toilet flush.
Graffiti covered every inch of the bathroom walls including her booth walls. Immediately above the toilet paper holder she found one that said, "P sucks dicks but prefers hairy cants." Interested pussies were asked to call immediately ... day or night. Dark meat was preferred.
The subway bathroom was the best possible location to switch clothes. People came in and out regularly. Hundreds of them. Chances of anyone spotting her were nil. Every day before and after each session in the city with the good doctor and her own clients, she stopped off to dress and undress.
She pulled off her habit, pulled jeans and a stretch blouse out of her big gag and changed. She let her hair down and threw on some beads for the final touches.
She opened the door and walked quickly to the mirror above the dirty sinks. Hair neat, sunglasses resting high on top her head. Her jeans resting low on her hips. Bare flesh protruded between her cut off blouse ... just enough but not too much. She was, after all, a divorcee, not a tramp. Mustn't give her neighbors the wrong idea.
Her hands fussed with her hair. She stepped two steps back, smiled in the mirror, winked and walked out heading back upstairs to catch a cab to her apartment. She hadn't planned any appointments for the rest of the day and her diary had to be filled in before she forgot. And besides tomorrow was a big day.
Cindy took two steps at a time, racing to the sunlight above filtering down through the smog, silhouetting commuters with expressionless faces racing for their trains, not acknowledging anyone else's presence.
Just as she reached the top step a hand reached out from the downward racing mob, pinching her from behind on her ass. "Hey," she screamed. Cindy straightened up and stared down into the dark. No one stopped. Everyone ignored her scream as if they were all deaf not wanting to get involved.
She barely heard the voice in .the crowd, but she knew it was for her. "Till we meet again." She thought she saw a hand wave but she wasn't sure.
"At least the fuckers got good taste," she thought to herself. "Any other time that feel would have cost you your left nut."
"Hey TAXI." A bright brand new yellow cab pulled up, screeching to a halt from sixty miles an hour, stopping just inches from her feet. She jumped back, opened the door, gave the young driver her address and slammed the door as the tires screeched off, cutting to the far left lane-eight lanes over-ignoring the other cars.
Cindy sat back, said a little prayer for the drivers safe journey and took out her diary.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Dear Diary-Fourth down and one yard to go-everything went better than expected. He was totally shocked ... All my plans were foundless ... never attacked my credibility ... don't think he will. Got him by his cute short and curlies. He knows he's trapped. What can he do? I'm a patient. He's not going to, he can't repeat any patient-doctor privileges. I'm a nun, any leakage would destroy him professionally. Abortion is obviously out be-cause of religion. His nuts are beginning to tighten. Playing it cool. Won't rush my call tomorrow, will play it humble. Don't want him to even possibly think he's being taken. Everything must be his idea. The longer he stews in his own juices, the better.
Dear Diary-Bought three new nylon bikini panties. Seymour Lerner comes in his pants just watching me walk around in them. (Was referred by Peter). Went to his office yesterday-plush CPA office in lower Manhattan. Had me take a shower in his private bath wearing panties. He scrubbed me and washed me completely. Never seen a dick so small ... looks like a kids. He had me jerk him off with my feet. Got his jollies off fucking me in the ass. Forty-five years old, married to bitch of a wife who won't blow him or even let him eat her, two kids both in college. If these broads only knew they were keeping me in business they'd shoot themselves. Hope they never learn.
Dear Diary-Heard from Tinuny today. He's having fun living with folks. Wants me to know why he can't live with me. Says Daddy and his new Mommy come see him just about every weekend. School is OK. Says he loves me and wishes we were all living as a family like we once did. How do you tell him that his Daddy walked out on us. That I'm not fit to take care of him. That his Daddy picked me up in a bar and fucked me for $20 and did a very stupid thing. Came back and fell in love. I was stupid enough to fall for it. Three months later I got pregnant and two weeks later his old man tells me he's not in love with me. That he loves his best friend and they run off together. Both leaving their wives and two-and-one-half kids. How do I tell him? I don't! The only living I can make is what I do best. Satisfying men. Right now I have to take advantage of every good year. Soon, I'm going to be too old. Too many younger ones going into competition. Got to make it big and then get the fuck out with all the money I can. Doesn't take much fucking to start looking your age. There are always, better, younger pussies right around the comer who'll do it for less. One thing about my profession-doesn't come under wage price freeze, doesn't include any old age social security benefits.
Dear Diary-Lois took Wilderbrand away from me ... that bitch knew he was mine. Must have really thrown him a mean block on the house. Heard from the grape vine he's setting her up in her own apartment. Bitch. Hope her box rots away. He always said he wanted me to be his exclusive ... liked the idea of having a head job whenever he wanted it! At no extra cost. No professional ethics.
Dear Diary Masturbated four times last night-getting better faster. I can feel the difference with the new technique, makes a world of difference. Shaved my box, trimming the edges and shortened length. Looks much better ... normal bush makes me look like a college sorority girl. I itch ... Maybe I can sell my hairs by braiding them into love fertility charms.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
"Get it up, God damn it."
"Let me sleep, will ya? I'm pooped."
"Pooped, my you know what! You sit on your ass all day long listening to the fucking frustrated wives talking about their lovers-and don't think I don't have my doubts about you dipping your pen in their inkwells-and you tell me you're tired. Get your click up or I'm going to tape a pencil around that shriveled up joint of yours and stick it in myself. Every other night you can't get enough of my box. Bitch like a frustrated bull that I don't move. Well, pump it up and let me show you a few tricks of my own. You might know which end is up, but only I know how to get it up there."
Why was it only when his wife was high, did she wave her beaver around anything long, thick and hard? Phil was half drunk from the cocktail party, and too uptight about Sister Bernadette to get his rod to do anything other than hang limp and play dead.
The last guest had left just a few minutes ago. And already his normally prim and proper wife, or as he jokingly referred to her as "the other half to the ball and chain," was already stepping out of her gown and heading for his zipper. Phil swung off his formal jacket, playing like he was a bull fighter. She didn't think he was funny and to prove she meant business, turned out all the lights, leaving only the one single lamp on the table next to the sofa.
"Let's go to bed?"
"Fuck you," she whispered, unhooking all those snaps to her bra and dropping it to the floor.
"Thought that's what you had in mind."
"That's only part of the fun ... I've got some goodies-a bedtime snack for you!"
Jeanette reached over and picked up a half full bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table in front of the reclining chair next to the gun rack. She put the bottle up to her breast and emptied the champagne across her nipples and poured the last quarter of the bottle down her panties. She stood wabbling in front of him, rubbing her fleshy breasts, smearing the sticky champagne all over her body, on her waist and down her thighs.
She took his hand in hers and guided it into her pants running his fingers through her matted hair. "Suck me ... eat me ... lick me :.. fuck me...."
Phil didn't move. She dropped to her knees, her finger grabbed his buckle, the hook followed and then the zipper. His pants and underpants were yanked down to his knees. She took his erected penis in her hands, exploring it with her long nails. Her. nipples hardened, she flicked his joint across her raised hardened nipples and they wrinkled. With one single swish of her tongue, she moistened her, lips. Her eyes dilated. Her heart pounded. Holding his swollen dick in one hand, she stroked his hairy sack hanging low below his uplifted shaft.
His toes began to curl. Her long slender fingers slid slowly along the rim of the mushroom head of his dick. It swelled up like a balloon. His hot come began to bubble deep within his large testicles, building pressure to drive it squirting to the surface like a gusher.
But then, like always, it happened ... thump. She collapsed to the floor like a dish rag ... dead stone drunk. It was nothing new to Phil. Not once did she last long enough to get his joint in her mouth. Her anti-climax of the evening was always to leave him high and dry. Then, while she was out, he'd prop ha up on the couch and have a quickie and shoot his load. In the morning, she never remembered what had happened. And when she asked he'd simply laugh and tell her and she'd say, "You're kidding, aren't your, in her sweet innocent voice.
Looking down at her limp snoring frame, he just smiled and raised his hands skyward. "Why should this night be different from all other nights," he asked. His dick erect as a bull, he paused a moment and then answered. "It shouldn't, but it is!"
The phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, Phillip just listened. His face showed no emotions, as he reached across his desk for the last cigarette in his pack of Kents under his note pad.
Casually, he patted each pocket for his favorite gold, engraved butane lighter. He stopped at his front right pants pocket, stretched back in his desk rocker, extended his leg and pulled it out. Striking the ignitor, he brought it up to the tip of his Kent. A two plus pack a day smoker, he knew he was killing himself, but, "what the fuck," he used to tell his former associate, who never smoked a cigarette and dropped dead at his desk, "we're all going to die, just a matter of time."
Inhaling deeply, he slid his Ben Franklin reading glasses up into his hair and rubbed his tired overworked eyes. His eyes closed, he blew two perfect smoke rings that hung motionless over his head.
It was 4:30 PM, and his day was just beginning after having already consulted six patients, and talked with another one who recently moved to the coast and kept up his sessions via the phone.
Too tired to use the ivory ashtray right by his hand, ashes dropped into the plush carpeting. He had made a small wager with himself early in the morning on the way to work that Sister Bernadette would call at 3:00 PM. He lost as he usually did when he bet with himself and owed himself $50,000. Good thing he wasn't pushy about payment.
Sliding his chair back on the plastic runner, he put his feet onto the desk and loosened his tie. Normally a very stylish, in-dresser, he hadn't taken much interest in his choice after he showered for work. Matter of fact, he didn't sleep well, either. Most of the night his mind was trying to figure out a way to handle the good Sister. The only resolution he reached was in the future he'd keep his dick where it belonged. In his pants, tucked neatly away.
Sister B was crying her story in his ear. Never one for sobs, unlike his mother who could turn the tears on like turning on a faucet. He `tried to concentrate, he really did, but it was no use. He just couldn't keep his mind glued to the one sided stream of words pouring into his ear. His mind began to play tricks on him. He listened to each word, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. The words came faster and faster. Each word accelerated, running to the next, bumping into the next. Disappearing into an endless sea of sounds that once had some relevance, some meaning, but now for an instant, took on the physical form of a multi-car chain reaction accident, losing touch with the reality they intended to describe.
Motionless, his eyes frozen on some distant nondescript point in space, his mind aborted itself from his body and began to go back in time. Like a motion picture running backwards, first slowly, and then gaining speed, as the film overcame inertia, Phillip's mind sped back through the years, more years than he cared to remember. Flashes of time lost, forgotten and buried, re-burned themselves into his mind with the same intensity and emotion that first racked his body. Beads, tiny droplets of perspiration oozed up from the pores lining his hairline. When and where would this one-way trip end?
At first the flashes occupied no more than a fraction of a second. But each time he returned back to his office and then cut back to yesterday, the flashes became longer, more visible, more real. The people and incidents took on form and believability. Where, first, they were merely silhouettes viewed off in the distance through a fog, they quickly came into focus ... more real than the moment of time he now occupied. He became confused. Which was the dream-which reality? Where did one start and the other end? He had no choice anymore. He was no longer the captain of his ship. He was merely a passenger along for the trip. Going wherever his mind took him.
As quickly as the flashback started, it stopped. He saw himself sitting on the side of an unmade bed in a very posh apartment. It was obviously late at night. He was naked. Beside him, sitting Indian Style, smoking a cigarette, was the most beautiful blonde he had ever seen. Her hair, parted down the middle, hung straight, breaking over her shoulders. Her flesh was bronzed and very soft. She obviously had a suntan, but there were none of the usual tell-tale marks left from a bathing suit. Her breasts were huge, like two melons, ripe for the picking. Her eyes were a deep royal blue, she was obviously taller than most girls because she had long slender arms and legs. The slit of her pussy was pulled apart by the way she was sitting and he couldn't help staring at her pink swollen lips that hid beneath her mound of blonde bushy hair.
He tried to look around the room to get his bearings, but, except for the two of them, every-thing else was fuzzy-out of focus. She was talking to him, but he couldn't make out the words. Something was wrong because tears welled up in her eyes, began rolling down her cheeks. Her hands trembled while she talked, trying to let out all the emotion that was obviously locked up in-side. Just watching her, not knowing what was going on, seeing her sitting in the scattered light coming from what was obviously the bathroom, he felt panicky. The blood surging into his long, limp shaft hanging motionless between his legs-trapped, cramped, unable to breathe. He couldn't take his eyes off her tits. Her bright red nipple buds were tight, wrinkled up and very hard. If only he could suck on them, slide his tongue across their raised tops. If only-.
That's who it was!!! Damn it! Why hadn't he remembered right away. How had he forgotten her? She had been so much a part of his life for almost a year. Laney Snipes, Mrs. Thomas Alvin Snipes, the wife of New York's most prominent Supreme Court Justice. It seemed like only yesterday, but it was yesterday! Why did he let her go? It had made so much sense then. He was single, just starting his practice, known as the up and coming shrink to watch. It would have been easy to take her away from her schmucky husband who also just happened to be a lush and homosexual. It had made so much sense then, but now-now his reasons, though vague and still untouchable in the back of his mind, fell apart. No longer able to hold water.
No longer was he an outsider movie patron looking in through a keyhole of time. He was there reliving every touch, every word. He felt like a late night TV viewer who just clicked across the dial trying to find something exciting to occupy the lonely hours ahead and running across a movie he had already seen. But because of the lack of anything else, sat back absorbing himself in a plot he already knew.
Her flesh quivered. Goosebumps coated every inch of her perspiration drenched body. Any minute he expected her to come apart at the seams. Without warning, she grabbed his head, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to her waiting nipples. Screaming, she begged him to suck them, bite them, pinch them-do any-thing to them. Why wasn't he moving, doing something. He was limp, lifeless like a mannequin. Following, not leading. His lips, locked shut in a vise grip, were turned away, resting on her succulent tits.
Again and again she begged. Demanded that he take her. Make love to her. Unsuccessful, she fell back onto the bed, raising her knees, spreading her legs so he could get a good clear view of her pussy. Giving no resistance, she pulled his face down into her hot box, wet and waiting. Still nothing. He would not, did not respond. It was as if he were dead. She circled his head with her thighs, locking her knees behind his neck, forcing his tongue into her bee hive of nectar.
What was wrong? She demanded to know. Why before, and now nothing? For months on end he couldn't get enough of her. Sneaking out of his office to see her. Meeting at private beaches. Making love in the cool wet sand. "It was O.K. then," she screamed, "but now, now that I'm pregnant with your child you won't touch me."
Was she scum? Dirt? What? Hadn't he told her he loved her? Wanted her? Well, she had made up her mind to leave her husband and be his wife. Bear his-their-children. Still he sat motionless, showing no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. She demanded he say something. Any-thing. She screamed like a tormented caged animal who had always been free, but suddenly found itself trapped where all along, it had thought it was on safe ground. Out of desperation, she ran her fingers back through her matted strands of hair.
A staccato right hand push knocked him to the floor. Inside, she knew she was cracking apart, but outside she wasn't sure how-much showed. She ran to the full-length mirror mounted on her closet door and looked to see if anything was left. At thirty-six, she had the body of a twenty-one year old college girl. She was the envy of all her friends. Everyone wished they had her body, everyone except her husband who preferred their husbands to hers.
To her friends, she was the ideal, perfect wife. Married to one of the most exciting men around. She exemplified the good life, a big house, wealth, travel, you name it. She was sitting on the top of the mountain and she wanted to get off before she jumped.
But if she was so lucky, why had she found it necessary to go to a shrink after having fifteen affairs in the last two. years? Her friends thought she was going because it was the in-thing to do. Only those people who could afford it, ever went. Why did her husband spend more time with his work than with her? Why of all marriages, should hers, (considered the marriage of the year), go sour.
Sitting on the floor and watching from the side-lines at the same time he was able to read her thoughts as she stared at herself full length, in the mirror. For five minutes she tried to find the answers she knew weren't there. Then she turned and faced him, her eyes red, swollen and glazed with a mask of panic. She spoke slowly so he caught every word. "Do you know what you're doing to me? Do you really? If you don't, say something, I'm going to run through that fuckin' window ... do you understand me?"
Not waiting for the answer, she knew would never leave his lips and afraid he'd just walk out the door, she ran to him, dropping to her knees, she took his tangling piece of meat in her hands. She drenched her lips with her own saliva and shoved his mushroom dome deep into her mouth, sliding the shaft between her puffy lips. She could feel it hitting the back of her throat. Her fingers stroked his limp sack slung beneath his dong. Nothing! He was still limp!
Her open hand crashed across his face. Pain, sudden white blinding pain flashed before his eyes as she followed the first blow with a knee directly to the groin. Followed by a knuckle punch into his testicles. He couldn't catch his breath.
Phillip hated what he saw. He was watching the side of himself he couldn't stand, but had to live with. That part of himself that even he couldn't understand, though he had spent his life trying to dissect it and put it back together, but failed. The motion and direction of time reversed in midstream, giving into the tug of war raging in his brain, driving yesterday back into the vaults of his mind, replacing it with the happenings of now.
Somewhere off in the far comers of his mind he began to hear Sister B's voice. Loud and clear. It became more dominant, her voice erasing the pictures in his minds eye. Forcing it to break up and dissipate, losing finally, all form ... and traces of ever having existed.
Yesterday once again went back to where it rightly belonged, though it's silent, invisible influences would be felt through the ripples of time. Today took its rightful place. Now Sister Bernadette needed him. But he wasn't sure he could handle her.
Phil switched ears, having learned years ago during Medical School that it gave him more miles of listening per session. "Uh-huh," he dropped in every few minutes, re-emphasizing what ever she was saying at that moment. He wondered when she'd stop. Long ago Phil had learned the best thing to do was to let them talk it all out. Made them feel better when they were done. He sensed she was slowing down.
Reaching forward, he flicked a long ash into the circular ivory ashtray by the phone and cleared his throat. Now was the time to add his own two cents worth, he figured. It had to be now. Nun or no nun, no one could talk for that long, she had to come up for air soon.
"Hold it!" he interrupted in his professional voice that stopped her dead in her tracks. "Right now, before you do anything, take a tissue and blow your nose. Then take a deep breath." He paused, and chuckled as he heard her blow her nose. "Good." He continued, "What's over and done with is in the past. The problem before us is what is. to be done."
This was going to be tougher than he thought. How do you tell a Nun to go away and have an abortion. A married girl or even a single gal was no problem, but a Nun! It just wasn't kosher. Over reacting at this time would only tip her over the deep end and possibly force her to do some-thing drastic. Not to mention fuck him up professionally. The AMA Ethics Committee frowned on affairs, though they looked for the most part, the other way, unless they got dirty-realizing that they were an occupational hazard. Shrinks were only human and it was more than likely a female patient would fall in love with her psychiatrist.
Knowing Sister Bernadette as he did, being blunt was the best approach to take. He started to explain what he had in mind when she interrupted and said she wanted to leave the Church and marry him after he divorced his wife. She knew he didn't really love her. Phillip got annoyed. Why is it these broads always thought just be-cause they had an affair with him, he hated his wife, was unhappy at home and only they could keep him and his long dick happy and not out wandering?
"Now you can stop that right now, you knew the ground rules from the day `One'. I made sure you did." It was a calculated risk to be harsh, but he felt to be anything but authoritative would mean sudden failure.
"I know how you feel. Terminating your pregnancy is paramount. You must get away. Tell them you've got problems with your family at home and will be gone at least a month. They won't, I'm sure, give you any grief," he said pausing for a response. The phone was dead. That was good since it indicated she wasn't fighting him, so he continued. "I know a Doctor in Dallas, an old roommate from Medical School. I told him all about you. No questions will be asked. I've saved his ass a few times. For the record, you were raped." Again he paused, still silence.
"I know how you must feel. You should feel that way. Even though you're a Nun you were first a woman and these womanly instincts, though subdued, can never be relinquished. They lay dormant just below the skin. Deny them now, and not only will everything we've accomplished reverse back, but something more important, in-side, your will to live will die. And if you recall from our very first session. Thou Shall Survive-the lost eleventh commandment and the most important, the one that takes precedent over all else must be your guiding light."
"You're right, I'll do what ever you say. I put myself completely in your hands," a soft voice holding back a dam of tears, whispered into his ears.
"Good," he reassured her. 'Two more things. I think it best you not return to therapy with me when you return. I will give you another psychiatrist to see. He knows the situation-that you were raped-and will be able to conclude what we started. Second, I'm giving you $10,000 to tide you over. Go on a spending spree, buy whatever you want. Give it to the Church, to charity ... It's up to you."
The money had been a stroke of genius . giving her money and her accepting it would protect him from any possible repercussions, should she ever think about getting greedy. She could never claim rape if I could prove she accepted money. Her accepting the bread would dilute what ever story she could concoct and stabilize his story, should it be needed-that it had been an affair, not a rape of a woman of God.
"I'll leave an envelope with a cashier's check for you with my secretary. You can pick it up anytime tomorrow. I'll have all directions and instructions ... : Leave for Texas as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the more difficult the operation." Now, for the hard part, please don't see me again. You know how I feel about you." He hoped he wasn't laying it-on too thick. "It'll be better all the way around."
Phil could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks and it started to get through his thick hide. "I love you, Phil and I always will. There'll always be a special place for you right below the skin and...." she paused, sniffing and also catching her breath, concluded, "I'll never let it die." The phone clicked in his ear.
The room was silent, empty and lonely. Phillip was uncomfortable He needed people around him. He needed people like a fish needs water. But was afraid to show it! Some, any contact with other living people regardless of how long or short it lasted. He buzzed his secretary after checking his watch. Scratching his ear, he spoke silently into the speaker, "I'm running a bit slow today, send in Mrs. Gilmore." And, then almost as an afterthought he added, "Please."
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Dear diary-This is the last entry I will be making regarding Phillip. Money's in the bank. Everything went well. One scary moment, but handled it OK. Went back to pick up the bread. He had said he didn't want to see me or talk to me again, but as I was leaving he buzzed his receptionist telling her to send me in. Didn't want to but that close to being in like Flint didn't want to blow it.
He was nervous. Wanted to know how I was feeling and that all my plans to see his doctor friend were made. Said yes and started to leave telling him that I. thought it was best that we not punish ourselves like this. Told him he was the one who decided this way was better and I finally felt he was right. Stood staring at each other. As I turned to leave he ran over, took me in his arms and started to kiss me. Told me he had been wrong and he did want to keep seeing me. That's all I needed. He didn't mention anything about divorcing his wife though it looked like he might.
Now that I was pregnant, what did it matter if we made love one last time. He tried to make a joke out of it but it went flat. Wouldn't let me out of his arms. Didn't know what to do. Had money in my purse and didn't want to lose it. Told him I was leaving and I didn't want to ever see him again after today. And if I did I would personally tell his wife and write a letter to the ethics committee of the American Psychiatric Medical Association. Told him I had made a mistake. A terrible mistake to fall in love with him. He knew how I felt, but it was wrong, wrong from the start. He just stood there and listened, his face distorted with hurt written all over it. He under-stood. That took care of tomorrow. He knew I meant business and would call, but my little speech didn't help me one damn bit there and then.
He promised me, begged me on his knees to let him make love to me one last time. If I did, he would never bother me, or talk to me, or call me, or write to me ever again. He would even give me his complete records of my case to prove he meant business. As far as he would be concerned I never existed. Didn't know what to do. Would I be better off staying and playing or just leaving? Couldn't make up my mind. As I stood getting my head together, he opened up his file drawer throwing my thick folder on the desk.
Took the folder, and looked at it in my hands. If he had only known it was a wasted document.
Looked at him then back at the folder, playing it to the hilt. Finally, threw it down on the desk and unhooked my habit, letting it fall to the floor. Made up my mind that this was the better way. He dropped to the floor throwing his hands around my ass and shoving his mouth in my cunt. Squatting slightly and spread my legs so he could stick his tongue in and flick my clit. He went to town. Dropped to the floor and wrestled off his pants. He was as firm as ever. Sucked his meat. My mind flashed back to seeing him through the two way mirror at De's. Went along but just wasn't with it. Tried not to show it. When he was ready to came he swung me around and lifted my legs over my head so they were almost touching the floor. Spreading them apart as far as they could. Told me to hold them there. Then he flopped all his weight down on my slit, smashing his prick into my cunt. He was not gentle or tender. He rammed his joint so deep, pain erupted inside my stomach. Thought he tore some-thing. He only cared about himself and how he was feeling. I could have been a piece of wet liver. But if that was what he needed to get me out of his system, fine with me. He came, got off and told me to suck his come off his penis. Sat up and blew him, first licking his slippery white cream and then playing with his balls. Wanted to squeeze them in my hands and wreck him up bad, wanted to, but didn't.
When he came, asked him if he was finished. Said he was through and told me to take the file and leave. He'd kept his part of the bargain.
Wrote letter to his doctor friend telling him I wouldn't be coming. As bad as it was for a nun to get pregnant it was even worse to have an abortion. To take a life was an even greater sin. And one sin was enough for now. Told him I was going away to a special home the church sent me to. Told him I had told the church what had happened. That I had been raped and that I would not commit a sin. I knew the story would get back to Phillip as I'm sure it finally did.
Dear diary-Called the old man and cancelled our arrangement. Just couldn't hack it. Money was good, but it just got to me. Told him I was leaving town and gave his name to Marie. Owed her one.
Dear diary-Got a letter from the hunk in the Islands. Says he's coming up to New York for a vacation and he'd like to see me. Should be interesting. Will be here at the end of the month. Not much time. Better get going on my exercises so I can handle him. If he's going to be here for two weeks, got no choice.
Dear diary-Helen Lasiter called and wants me to join her on her private yacht. Taking a small trip through the inland water way to her home in Florida. Told her I'd love to go. Will pay whatever extra charge there is. Good bread. Whole week all to herself will cost her $1500. Said yes and told me she wanted to buy me a new wardrobe while we're there. Will be getting back in a few days to give me the dates.
Dear diary-Period started today, right on schedule. Thirty days to the hour. Another week not working. Oh, well, being self-employed and working only three weeks a month has some consolations. Will have to start drawing on my unemployment insurance.
Dear diary-Up yours
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
"Now just relax and tell me what's bothering you."
"Doctor, I've been having these dreams over and over and over again. It's driving me crazy. They won't stop. Please help me. Before I come apart at the seams."
"Tell me about the dream! How long have you had it? Don't leave out any details."
"Well ... I've had it for almost two years ... in it I'm always the same person ... a lost woman making it with men and women ... in it I'm a nun! ... a prostitute disguising myself as a nun so I'm not detected ... imagine me, an atheist, a nun ... It's so real, sometimes I get confused ... I get all mixed up ... Can't tell what is real and what's the dream...."
The words rolled off Sister Bernadette's lips as she sat watching the somewhat subdued shocked reaction on the face of the short, totally bald, but very renowned (and wealthy) Freudeian psychiatrist. She had learned much from her experience with Phillip, especially how to and how not to react with your shrink. With Phillip everything had been trial and error. There was just so much she could get out of books, but now with Dr. Van Braden, she had a wealth of knowledge to draw upon.
She chuckled to herself as she began, once again, her trying story of those terrible night-mares. The years of agony. Frankly, she had looked forward to todays appointment. For the last six months, following the completion of Phil-lip's escapade, she had taken the money and run, so to speak and traveled in Europe. It had been a great rest for a job well done. And besides, she needed the time to thoroughly investigate candidate number two. She had learned a lot and found herself looking for a slightly different personality than Phillip s. Phillip was too young, not quite as stable as she had anticipated. A slightly older man, in his fifties or even early sixties was better. By that age, she had concluded much of their fantasies about themselves and life would have been neutralized and put in perspective, not to mention their marital situation. A shaky marriage could backfire in her face. A secure husband and wife situation would not in and of itself negate a bit of hanky-panky, but rather such a relationship would and could be handled properly and kept in the correct perspective.
Van Braden passed every requirement with flying colors, and then some. In addition to his age, wealth and marital situation, he was not the best looking man in the world. Far from being ugly, he lacked the sex appeal and charm that clung to Phillip like a thick cologne. It was always there and he was always aware of how women thought of him. Van Braden on the other hand was quiet and. on the shy side. More of the father confessor image than the lover.
As with Phillip, she had called him the end of last week and told him she had to talk to someone before she cracked up. At first, he had insisted that though he would like very much to help her, he was over booked and didn't feel he could give her the time and attention every patient deserves. But, as soon as she mentioned she was a nun, his attitude changed. He immediately withdrew his alternative offer of suggesting another very competent psychiatrist. When she had investigated possible subjects, she had intentionally looked for a Catholic, and it paid off. While Phillip was not a catholic, she felt that a catholic shrink would have been a definite help in developing a secure relationship. And besides, the only other criteria she insisted on before she chose `him' was a doctor who had a daughter approximately the same age. It complicated things a bit and prolonged her selection, but when she found out about Van Braden's daughter being in a mental hospital that clinched it and besides he didn't know Phillip-different patients and friends.
Van Braden didn't waste time with preliminaries but rather started immediately asking questions about those dreams. Sister B read her lines like a pro but her mind wasn't all there. It kept drifting between the Criss Cringle man with the well-trimmed beard sitting across from her, well-protected behind his thick mahogany desk and chair, rocking back and forth jotting down notes, and the time she spent with Phillip in Miami.
She hadn't thought about those seven days since they happened. It could have been the subconscious coincidental relationship of some-thing she had just said to something that happened in Florida, but what did it matter. She was walking with Phillip in the warm salty surf heading North on the sandy white beach in Fort Lauderdale a year ago.
The college kids had all left for the day and except for the life guards perched high in their "crows nests" every three hundred feet along the beach, they were all alone. The warm water splashed against their ankles and the wet sand oozed up between their toes. Arms around each others waist, they walked silently like two young lovers, watching the sea gulls and nuclear sub-marines from the naval base at Key West, one-hundred and fifty miles due south, surface and dive into the crystal clear blue ocean.
It had been one of many weekends and weeks that she had managed to take with him and it was obvious that he was falling for her, though he hid it from her and himself. The trips were always rationalized as therapy sessions though all the therapy was down between the sheets.
It was the last night of the convention, and they were leaving on separate flights early the next morning. They had promised themselves that tonight was going to be a special night, one they'd never forget. So far, the entire day had been perfect. They had talked and played and now they were going to make love.
Sister B answered Dr. Van Braden's next question and found herself scratching the back of her left hand. It hadn't started to itch but it was the spot where she had cut her hand on a shell buried just below the surface on the beach that night. A faint hair-line scar was still visible. Spotting it, she smiled and continued pouring out her heart.
Just as the sun finally called it a day, they made a right turn away from the water and walked the thirty feet up to their beach towel and radio. The air had suddenly turned from warm to cool and now to chilly, but they decided to stay in their suits and count the stars. They stretched out on the double beach towel, Sister B on her back, Phillip on his stomach, propped up on his elbows looking down at her. The life guards had posted their "No Life Guard On Duty" signs and taken off for the numerous gigs that gave Fort Lauderdale its reputation. Only the periodic beams from passing cars threw any light on the pitch black beach.
"Penny for your thoughts," she asked not really expecting an answer.
At first, he didn't say a word, just bent over and kissed her on the lips.
"Now, now, that isn't fair. You have a decided advantage and I've got a decided disadvantage. You can see and I can't fight back."
She remembered him laughing out loud throwing his arms around her pulling her close. Their bodies, covered with goose bumps from the night air, touched and he rolled her over on top of him. He kidded her about the fact that if she ever wanted to give up being a nun, he'd hire her as a blanket. She got the gist of what he had said and decided she'd pass this one by without saying a word. And besides she had a good excuse to overlook his two edged humor. His cock bulging up against his trunks was wedged right along her slit. Remembering a good defense was a strong, aggressive offense, she went to work biting his neck and tickling his armpits.
"No fair," he screamed. "Foul. You're disqualified for illegal use of hands."
"Illegal use of hands, why you invented the foul."
They wrestled over one another. First, Sister B was on the top and then Phillip ... and then B ... and then Phillip. They kissed and tickled and hugged and played like school kids in the dark. The blanket was somewhere off in the dark in that direction or was it that way. The sand stuck to their skin and flowed into their suits, but she remembered they didn't care.
Finally, exhausted and out of breath and totally busting a gut from laughter, they both gave up, each declaring themselves the winner and still world's champion. Phillip called out in the dark asking where she was. "Don't know about you, but I think I look like Mr. Sandman."
"Me, too."
He used his humor as a simple direction finder. Homing in on her voice, he circled around behind her and crawling silently on all fours entangled her with his arms like an octopus. She wrestled free and squirming in the sand threw herself on top of him. She found his mouth and kissed him passionately with her tongue. He swung his legs up around her waist, locking his ankles around her waist. His prick was as hard as rock and she slid her cunt lips back and forth along all nine inches.
He laughed. "So this is how it feels from your end. Frankly," he whispered in her ear, "you're the first woman I've ever let dry fuck me." He paused and then added "and that's the truth."
She pushed down harder forcing his shaft deeper into her cunt. His powerful legs tightened and she felt herself getting more of his penis. She liked being on top, being the aggressor. And obviously, Phillip liked it, too. He unhooked the clasp holding the top, and by sliding the shoulder straps off, one by one, threw the tiny cotton piece into the dark. Propped up on her hands, she let her tits hang free, sliding across his chest. She felt his mouth flick first the right and then the left nipples. Her nipples were hard and wrinkled and she loved the way he made them feel with his lips. He sucked in quick short draws sending chills down her back. She kept dry fucking and humping-him as he reached up and fondled her dangling globes between his hands.
With one tit between his lips, he reached around her and slid his hands down her back until they caught the edge of her bikini resting below her hips, just on top of her crop of pussy hair. She lifted herself up on her toes so he could slide the tiny piece off, too. The air on her naked flesh felt cool. Even though, it was now cold, she felt warm and comfortable. After he pulled her bottoms off the last leg, he dropped his legs to the sand so she would take his off, too.
She was back on her knees and his legs were back around her waist. She loved the way his hot shaft felt rubbing along her slit. There was nothing to keep them apart. His prick was rubbing back and forth across her clit. She was drip-ping wet with her come and he was ready to drop his load.
She lifted her hairy box and let his dick pop up. Reaching down, she took it in her hand. It was hot and swollen and she felt slick droplets forming at its head. Spreading her legs apart she slid it into her cunt, between her swollen, pink red lips. She sat back down shoving it in, taking all he had to offer. Her heart pounded and she pumped her box up and down his penis. She was still resting on her hands so he could squeeze her breasts in his hands. He was coming and so was she. The faster she pumped the harder he squeezed her nipples between his fingers. She loved him to pinch hard when she was coming. He countered his thrusts with his own. The top of his shaft was in constant contact with her clit driving her on, faster and faster. She couldn't get enough of him. She grunted and he groaned. They were coming. She pumped faster and faster giving him everything she had so he could give her everything he had in his swollen nuts. And he did.
She felt his come trickling out her pussy opening and drip down into her wet mound of hair. Totally exhausted, she dropped down on his chest. He threw his arms around her holding her tightly in his arms. "I love you."
She didn't know what to say. It was the first and only time he ever said it. She remembered how she felt when she heard the words being spoken softly in her ear. What would she say? If it was a natural by-product and nothing more, of the moment, to say anything would also be trouble. Either way it could be big trouble. She remembered how she debated with herself during those precious seconds. The decision to pretend she hadn't heard anything was the only way to go. And it seemed to work. He dropped the subject.
They got up and ran into the sounds of the surf and washed the sand off their bodies. It was fun rolling and wrestling nude in dark, feeling the sand and the water exciting their bodies. It was different to lay in the water and feel it break across her boobs as Phillip mounted her and shoved his prick between her legs. Lifting her legs and bracing them wide in the sand, the water splashed against her ass and his as he humped her till he came. It was exciting when he rolled off into the night and let the ocean pour into her cunt, cleaning away his white sperm. The surf flowed in and out ... in and out playing gently in her clinging strands of pussy hair.
His hand reached out from the dark, falling gently on her arm. She took it and walked back up the sand. They found their blanket and Phillip dropped down. first disappearing into the beach.
"Sit on my head."
She caught his head from the stray headlights from a passing VW and stood over it spreading her feet wide. Slowly, she lowered herself till her cheeks rested on his chest. His hands guided her box till her wet hair met his lips. He separated her lips and she slid forward slightly wedging her folds of flesh and clit into perfect position for his tongue. He wasted no time and began licking and sucking and flicking her erect, hot protruding clit. It was her magic button and he was turning it on. He was eating her box out and was playing with her tits at the same time. She couldn't just sit there and do nothing. She reached back and grabbed his erect penis in her hand and started jerking him off. The faster he flicked his hot tongue across her clit, the faster she stroked him. It didn't take long before salvos of hot come squirted up ,like a gusher, landing on her hand and back on his mushroom head and dripping down into his pubic hairs.
His tongue was sending charges down her back. Her box was quivering and primed to explode. He knew what she wanted and swung her around so was still getting his mouth in her muff and box, but now she was able to suck on his joint. She slid her back deep into his mouth and he wrapped his legs around her head shoving it down on his cock. It was all in, with the head of his cock tickling the back of her throat. They sucked and ate and nibbled and EXPLODED! Without moving, they rested and started in all over again until they came again!
She remembered how she rolled over into the sand spreading her arms and legs so the wind would cool her off. She remembered how he reached out and mounted her again. She remembered....
"Sister Bernadette, Sister Bernadette, are you alright."
Dr. Van Braden's voice brought her back to his office. "Sister Bernadette, you looked like you were miles away."
She left the beach and tried to remember where she had left off. "I-ah, I was back in one of those dreams again. They come and go. I have no control over them," she mumbled as she brought a hanky up to her eyes. She blew her nose, then looked straight into his eyes. Eyes that had obviously seen much grief, frustration and despair for almost half a century. They were set deep and somewhat buried behind bags underneath his lower eyelid that made him look many years older than he actually was.
"Can you help me ... really help me," she asked, begging to have an honest answer. "Tell me the truth. I can take it."
He dropped his pencil on his note pad and took off his glasses, sticking one ear piece into his mouth, so he had something to munch on. He thought intensely for a few minutes to make sure his words were right. Each word came out slowly and distinctly, showing the careful thought and reasoning he had drawn upon. He laid it on the line. It was obviously too early to accurately get at the cause of her problem or problems, but "yes," with much co-operation and mutual work, he was confident he could help her, but it would take time. She mustn't be in a hurry. It had taken her, her entire life to get to this very moment, she can't expect to get rid of a few cobwebs over-night.
He could tell he had gotten through to her by the way she had calmed down. "I'll set up an appointment with you in two days." She nodded her head confirming his plans and smiled.
As she got up to leave, she placed his hand in hers. "Whatever you feel is the right thing to do, I'll do." She paused for a minute letting the impact of her words sink in before she spoke again. "I'm placing myself in your hands, completely." And then almost as an understated after thought added looking again into his compassionate eyes, "body and soul."
She thought about Phillip as she waited in her habit for the elevator. How strange she felt finding her mind continuously returning to him. She didn't know why but she just knew at that moment that she would never stop thinking or caring about him. He had been the first and the very first always have a special place set aside exclusively for them and no others. And unlike the followers who reach out in that continuously growing line eventually disappearing for the moment into eternal obscurity, Philip's memory would stay fresh and alive, forever frozen in time in her mind, forever looking down her shoulder as she took communion between the sheets.
She had made one almost fatal mistake with Phillip that nearly destroyed. everything, including herself. While she was fooling Phillip she was also fooling herself. Looking back she now knew that she had loved him ... maybe even wanted him. Had she stayed longer, she might have-but why think about that now. It was over and she had learned her lesson: wine and holy water don't mix!
The elevator doors parted like the waters of the Red Sea before the Israelites. Staring at Dr. Van Braden's office directly across the hall, she mum-bled under her breath, just loud enough so everyone in the elevator thought she was praying. "The lord works his wonders in mysterious ways," and then just as the doors slammed shut a cherub voice from a small boy standing beside his mother, thinking she finished her prayer yelled out, "Amen sister ... AHHHHHHHmen!"