Chapter 3

I lived by virtue of my typewriter churning out articles for a newspaper. Or I should say that I existed, since the bastards who owned the scandal sheet did not pay me enough. God, the bilge I had to write! Raped In A Telephone Booth, which was supposedly about some maiden getting worked over by a hot-blooded boy while making a call. Man Of Ninety Seeks A Last Love about some old bastard ready to will his houses, factories and cars to any girl willing to climb into bed with him for a final mounting. Cave Girl Looks For A Strong Cave Man. And there was this picture of a big, curvy woman carrying a wooden club who lived in a cave and wanted some stupid bastard to share it with her. Boy, did that article bring in letters from the readers.

Of course I had to pay my bills and put a meal in myself, hence the writing of such crap. The owner of the paper was a character who used to make pornographic films earning thousands upon thousands of dollars until gangsters moved in and took the set-up away. Now he published this scandal rag for idiots who believed everything that they read. Bob Manners was his name and he was in his fifties, looking like a tramp by day in old clothes and a fashion plate by night in pinstriped suits, bright ties and a flower in his lapel. He had one assistant, a nasty guy whom everyone called Joe-nobody knew his last name. There were no other assistants because they all had quit. The secretaries, like the writers, lasted a week or two, hardly longer since they were unable to put up with Bob Manners' cheap ways or his nastiness.

Late that afternoon I strolled into the office, which was on Madison Avenue and Sixty-First Street, to find it filled with writers, all trying to sell false stories. My latest piece was entitled Man Gives A Million For A Night Of Love. It was about a guy unable to achieve an erection who finally finds a chick who excites him. Naturally the stories even though false had to make sense, and since no one in his right mind would pay any girl a million dollars I had to make it a million Italian lire.

Bob Manners was yelling at the writers, telling them he had a paper to get out, the deadline was near and they were all presenting him with the sort of a shit he could not use.

"I got competition, many newspapers like mine coming out, selling better too. I need stories that live, that breathe, that excite my readers. I want those stupid sons of bitches to write me letters. I actually want them to dream of meeting the people you ass-holes are writing about."

The writers took his shouts without flinching, actually looking shamefacedly at Bob. I slipped into a side office feeling sorry for those bastards. Why is it, I wondered, that this is a universal problem in all fields of publishing? Writers are the legs that hold a table up, the table upon which publishers can enjoy a good meal. Yet writers everywhere are abused, treated like dirtbut needed.

Ah well, I had a living to earn; I could not feel sorry for anybody. Bob's assistant, a fat mother-fucker who resembled Al Capone, came in, snarling: "What kind of shit you got for us today?"

"A good one." I handed him the article, which ran to about eight pages. "And this time I want a decent price."

He heaved his fatness into a chair, smoothed back the hair on his head, all five or six strands of it, chomped on a dead cigar and read. His beady little eyes slid over the article and occasionally he would nod his head or grunt like a pig in a farmyard.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah but it ain't gonna work. Nobody'll believe this shit. A million, even in lire, for a broad who helps a guy get it up. Nah!"

"It's a fresh idea."

"Fresh! Yeah, maybe around the time of Moses it was fresh. Jesus Christ, when in hell are you gonna come up with something original? All you guys give me a pain in my balls writing real junk."

"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

"Hey!" He rose from the chair, shouting into my face, letting me have a good dose of his bad breath. "You better watch yourself around here."

I stood my ground. "Get rid of me and you won't have a single writer left. You'll have to scour the streets for them."

Bob Manners, wearing his daytime outfit, the sagging pants, soiled shirt and unshined shoes, came in. "What is going on in here?"

The assistant told him and pointed to the article. "Who in hell's going to believe that?"

Bob, his face lined from sin and thick flecks of dandruff in his slick gray hair, read the article. After a while he said: "Well, I dunno."

"C'mon Bob, it's shit!"

"Yeah, but maybe there're guys around who'd pay a million lire for the right girl." "Nobody would." "Maybe I would." "Bullshit."

"Nah, it's possible I would."

The fat assistant heaved a sigh. "Nah, you wouldn't."

"Listen, when you're his age, Frankie's age, then sex is no problem. But when you're my age, nearing sixty, then it's a hell of a problem. Think I can get it up all the time? The hell I can. And what about that there prince or Duke or whatever he was? Wasn't he homosexual? And he met that bitch, three times divorced or something like that. She made a man of him and he gave up everything, all that royalty and whatnot for her."

"Ohh, brother!" The fat man was bored.

But now Bob's eyes blazed and he warmed to his subject. "Look at the girl I go with, Reggie, take her now."

I would loved to have taken her. Reggie, or Regina to use her proper name, was a blonde built better than Raquel Welch with a real bedroom manner. Where Bob found her or where she found him was a mystery but they were a team.

"Reggie excites me and that's why I go with her. She costs a fortune, always yelling for clothes and watches and rings and vacations, but I give it to her. I would give a million to any broad who'd make me young again."

"Nah, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would."

It went on and on like that with the result that the article was sold and Bob Manners made his fat man write out a check for me. I felt saved; the bills could be paid and I could breathe easier for another week or so. But as I started to leave the assistant warned me.

"Better watch yourself around here, sonny boy. Tell me to go fuck myself again and you're out! Get me?"

The rest of the evening I was filled with anger. Men were following me, trailing me along the street, on the bus back down to Greenwich Village, to the bank where I cashed the check, into the bar where I had a beer and back to the old apartment building. But I was much too furious to notice. I needed a new job, some better way of earning a living, and that was for sure.

Then I did a very stupid thing. I invited Barbara out to dinner. She was before me on the street, acquainting the world at large with her body, small but firm breasts stuck out, tight shorts clinging to the slender curves of her buttocks and upper thighs, long legs swinging. The hippies, dope-pushers, drug-takers and would-be artists loafing around down there in bohemia really dug her. Whistles followed her wherever she went and she gloried in all this attention.

We met, were more pleasant to each other this time, and agreed to a dinner date. I changed my clothing, wondering if she would do the same. To my surprise she had washed her hair, pulled it back into a pony tail, lip stick painted her luscious mouth and slipped on a black shantung dress that was cut low in front and high at the bottom, way above the knees.

Barbara looked good enough to eat. Maybe after dinner I might do just that, eat her! Taking her arm I hailed a taxi, trying to play Mr. Big, and give the address of an uptown restaurant to the driver. As we rode off, her strong perfume filled the taxi. I looked at her, a dream of a girl, knowing she might be better for me than Jeannette Cosmo.

How wrong I was!

Halfway through dinner the stupid little bitch got sick. We had started off with martini cocktails and that was fine but Barbara insisted upon having three! Then she knocked off half a bottle of wine, running the price of the meal up to a fantastic height.

I began to worry if the money in my wallet would cover the bill. Otherwise Td end up in the kitchen tackling the dirty dishes. Jesus, she was a dream to look at, a lovely girl curved to beat all hell, but she was too damned expensive.

When dessert arrived Barbara demanded Cointreau. I suggested cognac with our coffee but she had already snapped her fingers at the waiter and given him the order. Later with coffee she had cognac, but a double! This girl was going to get drunk I knew, and drunk girls can't fuck. The evening was going to be a total loss.

The bill was astronomical. For a man like me who lives hand to mouth this sort of an evening was a mistake. Worse, on the way out, as we passed the bar she insisted upon a Scotch. It took an effort on my part to push her out of the damned restaurant.

Outside, when the evening air hit her, nature took its inevitable course and she vomited on the sidewalk. I walked her away from the mess, feeling disgusted, and tried to get a taxi but no driver would take us.

"It's all right," she mumbled. "My aunt...she has an apartment around here...and I have the key."

We walked, with the silly young bitch tottering all over the sidewalk, attracting the attention of people passing by. On one corner there was an all-night drugstore open and I dragged her inside for an alka-seltzer. This helped somewhat and after a glass of the fizzy stuff she belched loudly. The druggist made believe he heard and saw nothing. A sick girl, even a beautiful one, is not a pleasant sight.

Afterwards I made her freshen her breath by chewing on peppermints then we resumed walking again. Her aunt's apartment was in a swank building on the famous and far too rich Park Avenue. The uniformed doorman, recognizing Barbara, murmured a good evening but it was obvious he wasn't too pleased. We stepped into a long lobby that was lined from wall to wall with carpets and took the elevator to the tenth floor.

Barbara fumbled a key from her pocketbook and slid it into the lock. She went in first, frowned and turned back to me. "Hey, I think there's a bit of romancing going on. You better wait here."

I waited fully five minutes before she returned. Her face was red and her eyes were blazing with merriment. She giggled a bit then gasped out: "Guess what?"

"What?" Who the hell wanted to play guessing games.

"My aunt is getting laid. I broke in on her while she's naked."

"Let's get out of here!"

"No, no. We can be quiet."

"You mean we are to stay here...while she screws?"

"She said for us to take a little walk and then return. I explained that I'm a little sick and want to rest here and it's okay but first she wants to get banged."

Barbara gently closed the door behind us and acting like a thief led me down a foyer where paintings hung, past ornate tables and tiny statuettes of bronze and marble to a closed door. The thick rug muffled our footfalls but I thought listening in on a couple copulating was hardly a decent thing to do.

The girl was beside herself with joy, a regular kid bent on creating mischief. Perfume filled the air and I realized that it was floating from the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and my eyes, accustomed now to the darkness, saw the shadowy form of a man.

Barbara's breath was hot on my neck, her hard breasts pressing into my back, creating the wrong feeling. Gently, I eased away, not wanting at this moment the excitement her nearness caused.

The man moved, standing near the window, enabling us to see he was tall with bushy dark hair. "That's Arnold," Barbara whispered into my ear. "He always tosses a good fuck into Aunt Marcia."

Paper was tearing and I saw this Arnold bend back, his shaft rising in the air. I heard something snap like rubber and squinting, saw him don a contraceptive, rolling it down the full length of his penis.

I looked to Barbara for explanation. Did her aunt have a disease? In this day and age men did not use rubbers.

"She never takes anti-baby pills. She's too fat already and they will blow her up like a balloon."

I glimpsed a big blonde woman lying on the wide bed, bringing up her legs, opening her thighs wide and waiting. The anticipation of just watching had me hot and very hard.

Arnold bent over Marcia, giving her a little extra stimulation by sucking on her nipples, laving her straining breasts with his tongue, running his fingers along her sides and finally giving her a rapturous kiss.

He further increased her excitement by using his finger, sending it deep within the moaning woman's hole. I heard him asking her to draw her knees higher, and still higher!

At last they connected and his hose was absorbed in the woman's body. He sank in, the thing vanishing from my view, going all the way up the slit with Aunt Mar-cia convulsing already. They fought, she heaving up, Arnold hammering down. Then they blended and ground together, her body white, his darker, breaking apart and coming together again.

Man, was I envious. I wanted my hose in that big woman, splitting her apart, making her yell as this Arnold was now making her yell. Marcia cried out that she was creaming and there was a terrible sucking sound each time their bodies parted.

He pinioned her to the bed, his hands transferring from her shoulders to her buttocks. Something certainly exploded then in the woman for she bucked beneath him with her legs going up, her heels making contact with the small of his back.

Cursing, using the filthy language of the streets, Arnold worked rhythmically. The woman gasped and bounced up spasmodically, moans leaving her throat. And as the man drove straight in, deeper, deeper, she cried out and punched up with her bottom and belly.

"Oh...oh...oh...do it, do it more, more and more!" Her hands clutched his bottom as it pumped quite vigorously, driving his stiffness in and out. As he came down Marcia recoiled, accepting the pleasurable hurt Then she answered his lusts by jerking herself convulsively, planting her ass in the bed and heaving up.

"Eeeeeeooooowww!"

"Darling, darling Arnold...ooooooooo!" "Marcia, you bitch, you...eeee ooooowwww!" I couldn't see any more, I couldn't hear any more.

I turned, grabbing Barbara there in the dark hall. Our tongues met and intertwined. We exchanged spittle and hot kisses and while I ran my open mouth along her taut throat I felt up her firm breasts.

She broke free, warning me to be quiet. I placed her hand on my extremely hot, throbbing pole but she pulled away and went backwards, down the hall. I tried to follow and losing her, found myself facing a series of rooms. The apartment was as large as a damned hotel. I did my share of exploring, then figured it was best to leave Barbara and then get back down to Greenwich Village. A wasted evening, worse than I expected, not to mention the amount of money tossed away. But there it was!

Accidentally, I stumbled into the front room just as Aunt Marcia and her lover Arnold finished their scene. I remained quiet, holding my breath while they did a good amount of talking. Then footsteps hit the hallway and they left.

"Barbara?"

No answer.

"Barbara," I called again.

"Leave me...I want to rest."

"Then I'm going home."

"No! Let me rest a bit and I'll join you."

Perhaps the evening wasn't wasted after all. I looked out the windows, watched television for a brief time and finally went through some magazines. Time passed and then I was before the bookshelves. An old novel, a war book by the long-dead writer Kellermann caught my eye. I selected it, picked out a soft armchair and sat down to read.

The book was good, holding my interest, but often I would put it aside to find the bedroom where Barbara rested. She slept soundly. She should, after all that liquor swallowed at my expense. When she woke up, however, we'd have ourselves a chat

I went back to the war book.

Soon it was about one in the morning.

Barbara was awake; I heard her padding about the bedroom. For a moment the book lay in my lap while I waited for her to appear. When she did not come into the room I resumed reading but after a while I was unable to concentrate. There were moans coming from the bedroom, I was certain of it

Slowly, I closed the book and rose, walking softly on the rug to the hall where I stood just outside the room. There she was, undressed except for stockings and panties, running her fingers through her hair. This movement caused her abundant breasts to rise, become taut.

Shit! The sight turned my legs to jelly. The girl had a body! Slim but curvy. The sight of her pressing both hands to those mounds sent the nerves lining the insides of my thighs leaping.

Barbara was fingering the tiny nipples, the fingering of the pink stubs causing her to moan. The girl was working herself up, but-why? Then I saw a hand flash downward between the slender, round-fleshed thighs and realized she was about to masturbate. Her pubic bush was too dense and the-toom being in darkness I was unable to sight the exact action. But I knew a finger had slipped between the vaginal lips. In out, in out, and then the girl was convulsing.

"Ooohhh God, ohh God!"

Now you say what you will but this just did not make sense. My propositions at dinner were brushed off and here she plays with herself, substituting a finger for a penis when the real thing is in an adjacent room. The girl was obviously a psycho.

On tiptoe I returned to the front room and picked up the book. The words swam across the page for my eyes were rolling. The heat in my groin was painful. Lust had crept over me, possessing me completely and just one thought, getting into that young body, occupied my mind.

Somewhere in the apartment I heard a door slam. Then I heard water running and realized Barbara was in the bathroom cleansing herself. Minutes ticked by before she appeared.

"Interesting book?"

"Huh?" I looked up, seeing that she was once again dressed. "Oh, yes, not bad, not bad at all." "What is it about?"

"Well...you know..." How in hell could I remember the plot when I was suffering such an erection? "War, you know and all that."

She bent, bringing her face close to mine as she picked up the book. That left my lap exposed, revealing the super bulge in my trousers. A smile twisted her lips as she returned the book. "Shame you won't be finishing it, since we won't stay here all night."

I looked the young bitch over. Standing near the lamp she offered a good view of her splendid young body, the ripe jutting boobs, the rounded, curved rump. "What are you trying to pull, Barbara?"

"The whisky got me hot. The sight of me masturbating got you hot, so why don't you do what I did?"

"You're trouble, aren't you, real trouble?"

Instead of answering she turned and walked off, her eyes half-closed, her breasts bouncing, her young buttocks grinding away rhythmically. The book was set aside and I followed her down the hall into the bedroom.

There in the darkness she silently removed her clothing and got into the bed. She lay back, her legs parted and brought high, waiting.

"Well?"

I took too long to undress because I just couldn't figure this girl out. By the time I knelt on the edge of the bed my erection had faded. What I offered the girl was a worthless tool.

"I don't know...you're playing games and..." I gestured helplessly.

Barbara rolled over on her side and took the limp penis in her hand. She fondled it and the blood slowly leaped into my loins. Inching her way closer and moaning a bit she opened her mouth.

Slowly, she sucked the limpness out of my weapon, starching it with her hot saliva. Her full lips wet my pubic hairs and sent such thrills coursing through me that I shook all over.

"Gee-zuz, baby, you really know how to operate." Shit, I was rising, getting hard, becoming a steel pole.

"Ugggghhh!" Barbara gagged. My instrument, swollen now, filled her mouth.

Withdrawing a bit, her tongue flicked over the tool, right down to the sac of balls. I grabbed her head with my hands and lunged in and out of her mouth.

Tears leaped to Barbara's beautiful eyes. I was not at all small and my extremely hard bar was ramming down her throat. She paused to release a strangled scream but nevertheless continued to chew my organ.

"Ahhhh, girl, girl, stop it!"

I mauled her shoulders, played with her agitated breasts, and the cheeks of my rear end tightened as the moment approached. At the last second I pulled out and stood there shivering as I climaxed.

"Look at it go!" Barbara screeched.

The thick hot cream went flying in an arc, shooting over her shoulder to splatter against the headboard of the bed. It dripped down in boiling white gobs. We both stared, fascinated.

She brought her hands together clapping, praising her own blowing performance or what, I didn't know. But I gathered myself, shook my still-hard cock a bit, shoved the girl on her back and took her.

"NO!"

"No is right, girlie, no fooling around!" "NO, I don't like sex...No, no!"

"Bullshit!"

"I'm a virgin."

"The way you fingered yourself, the way you just blew me? Ohhh, baby!"

I was not rough with her but just the same I was hardly gentle. Barbara's juicy body arched when her thighs were shoved apart. Her contorted mouth was still bubbling with hot saliva. But now I was past her vaginal lips, shoving forward, grunting, holding her twisting ass in my hands, gaining an extra inch.

"Agggghhhh!" Then I was buried to the hilt in her hairy young snatch.

Barbara was no longer a virgin! She cried out when I raised her up and rammed her. She shuddered and moaned. My hands kneaded her ass as I pumped in and out driving myself to a wild pitch.

"You rat, you stinking rat!"

"Enjoy it, baby."

"Ohhh, you filthy bastard!"

I lasted one hell of a long time. She just lay back, letting me have my way, accepting my entrance and withdrawal, behaving as if she felt nothing at all.

On and on I went, doing a real workman-like job without reaching anything like a climax. But now Barbara was taking an interest in the act. Soon, she was moving along with me, rising to meeting my fall.

"Oooh, oh, ooooh, oh, oooooohhhhh!" She coiled about me, tightening her arms, one about my neck, the other about my body, mashing her hard breasts against my chest. Her young legs, slender but powerfully muscled, locked in mine, holding me fast.

"You're...a...strong girl!"

"Dirty son of a bitch!"

"Not so tight...stop squeezing me."

"Frankie, you bastard, I am giving you exactly what you gave me. You're going to know what it is to fuck a young girl."

"Shit, I'm knowing it now."

Her entire body was in action, the ass I held grinding, chafing the palms of my hands. I rose, practically tearing my penis out of the fleshy vise. She arched, pulsing spasmodically and cried out in ecstatic abandon.

"I think...ohhhh, Frankie!"

"Don't talk, Barbara, just move!"

"Frankie, Frankie you skunk! I am going to have it. Ahhhhh!"

"MOVE!"

"I am...having...an...ohhh, orgasm!" "Meeee tooo," I bellowed.

Barbara rose, merging with me, flowing in motion with me, her sex grasping my pulsing instrument tightly. We were welded together, moving as one. I thrust as deeply as I could into her passage, rested, withdrew as much as her now avaricious cunt permitted and thrust in again.

It was fantastic, we were both coming together. This young girl was a jewel!

The bowls of her ass tightened in my hands. She screamed and screamed telling me that what she thought was a dream was finally reality. She was coming. As the orgasm leaped to life, beginning at the base of her loins her vagina tightened like a fist. Her body was hurled up savagely.

"I made it...ohhh, Frankie, for the first time in my life I made it!"

Flame blazed in my loins. My penis grew beyond proportions. As the girl threshed furiously under me in a wild passion, releasing harsh moans of rapture I came.

Barbara fell back, panting, quivering, groaning from exhaustion and pleasure, feeling the entire load delivered in her funnel. "Wonderful!"

"Yeah, yeah, there it is, a full pint of cream for you."

"Aaaaaahhhh, at last I'm a woman!"