Chapter 10

Horny.

Undeniable, the empirical evidence all over the place. Itching palms, twitching twat-horniness is what I've got.

Christ, that rhymes, Gert thought to herself. Twat, got. But it was what her twat hadn't got that was the trouble. Three, maybe four weeks Larry had-said he'd be gone, and it was now two and a half weeks.

And Gert had gone without for all that time. Why? She couldn't really answer that one. There had not been a specific opportunity, that was true-nobody interesting had come pounding at the door. Yet she could have gone out looking, but hadn't. She'd gone out, yes, several times, for clothes and for food, the Thanksgiving weekend being two days away and she being determined to Happy-Turkey it even if she did so alone. No, she hadn't played her usual game. And take that back about nobody interesting coming to her door: there had been that uniformed policeman selling or collecting on behalf of the Policeman's Benevolent Fund or something. Not only was he sort of cute, but the thought had occurred to her that she had a chance there for a kind of unique distinction.

To wit: she had a chance to become a real live cop-sucker.

But she had simply given him five dollars and wished him good morning, thus blowing the chance. No pun intended.

She paced what had by now become a well-worn psychological pathway through the first floor of the house. The kitchen radio, loud, was giving up-to-the minute sports scores.

Horny.

HORNY.

Rah rah rah. Let's hear it for the old team-team of cock and cunt, prick and pussy, lingam and yoni.

Lingam and Yoni. Sounds like a folk-rock duet.

She turned off the "radio and marched into the living room, humming as she went.

"Horny." To the old tune of "Mother."

H is for the hot pants that I'm wearing. O is for the organ that I lack. R is for the reaming that I'm wanting. N is for the nothing in my crack. Y is for the Crap, it didn't fit. "Mother" had one letter more than "horny." Not only that, mothers didn't get horny, not regularly anyway, they never had time. Mothers were busy.

Busy. There was a logic in that. One who is busy is not horny, Q.E.D. Therefore....

Of course, horniness was not necessarily a logical matter, but Gert decided to give it a try. There was, for instance, the fall cleaning to be done. Fall cleaning-which amounted mostly to the spring cleaning that hadn't been done last spring. There was, for example, the garage, catchall for a wild assortment of junk, some of which consisted of somewhat valuable antique-type things she'd collected and meant to refinish, some of which was simply junk. Therefore....

Hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work whistling and all that.

So, blue-jeaned and sweat-shirted, it was off to the garage. And there it all was, stacked up against the wall behind her Firebird. Larry's Buick lived mostly at the airport, at something dollars and something cents per hour or per day. She entered through the side door and left it open for air. It was a roomy garage, but it was filled to capacity-or would have been if Larry's car Filled to capacity?

She shook her head. Mustn't think thoughts like that. It made one's cunt ache.

She dove into the pile, grasping the legs of a Syrian settee, uncovering a full-length pier mirror she'd forgotten she'd bought. That was something she had to refinish, and soon, she decided, but today was going to be simply straightening-up day. She'd pile furniture to be refinished in-yes-the right-hand corner, and the other stuff-like the old Saturday Evening Posts (Larry insisted they'd maybe be worth something some day: "Jesus, if I'd only saved all those Batman comics!")-well, she'd figure out something to do with them. The point was to keep busy.

Ah, here was a box of clothing, it seemed. Clothing in the garage? Lord, she'd thought that stuff had been given to the Salvation Army" long ago. And in this other carton-drapes? Old purple drapes that had begun their career about a thousand years ago in her bachelorette apartment's living room, then served loyally in two consecutive bedrooms and a bathroom shower, and finally had been consigned to this carton which, with its. other pieces of material formed a collection mentally tagged Well-maybe-some-day-I'll-get-real-hard-up-and-will-be needing Real hard up?

Gert, dammit, control yourself. Control. Yes.

At which point she saw a movement from the corner of her eye. Her eyes, both of them, darted to the window to her left in time to spot shoulders and back-male-moving from view. A quick assessment told her they were heading toward the door.

The gardener? Larry had arranged for a fall yard treatment. Gardener. Man. Gardener-man- ... to hell with being horny. Shades of Lady Chatterley. She tried to remember what he looked like. The old Negro? No, Larry had fired him in the spring for laziness. The high school kid? Again, no. He had gone off to college and been replaced by-by his older brother, out of the service a couple of months back and still indecisive as to what he wanted to do, or something. Perfect.

She straightened her hair and with a check-out glance in the pier mirror she started toward the door. .

The face that greeted her was middle-aged, pleasant and only slightly paunchy. He wore a cap of some kind, but he was definitely not the just-mustered-out war hero. Deflated, she asked, "May I help you?"

A deep brasso profundo answered, "Electric company. Just here to read your meter. They're in the garage." His voice sent chills through Gert. It was rich and warm and masculine. So cock-almighty masculine! No lover of Lady Chatterley this, but....

"Fine, come right in," she told him. Briefly she wondered how she could entice him short of stripping on the spot. She suspected there wasn't much time wasted in the ritual of reading and recording the numbers on an electric meter.

She really had no idea herself where the meters were, but fortunately when he moved to them she saw they were where she had stacked her piles of Salvation Army clothing and her drapery boxes.

"Here, wait, I'll move these." she said, moving quickly. It was now or never.

Artfully, clumsily she grappled with the boxes, falling suddenly with an impact that drove them both to the cement floor.

"Oops," she said with a smile of sorts, making motions to gather up her wares, but again falling, this time directly on top of his prone extended body. At which point and position, her hands grasped his belt under the pile of soft material and with a deft motion she yanked it open.

He had an extremely surprised look on his face but made no move to stop her actions. She had impatiently strewn the clothing to the sides of their bodies and had unzipped his fly in five seconds flat.

"If you can read my meter, then it's only fair I read yours," she told him with a sly smile on her face. Then quickly continuing:

"Oh, a warm pressure is settling in ... barometer rising. Yes, definitely a rising barometer." A laugh. "But that's not quite the right kind of meter for your trade; is it?"

Her hands had released his penis through the fly of his jockey shorts. His cock almost leaped upward in its escape. It sure didn't take long for him to be turned on, Gert thought. He had a fat, large, long cock, its tip already bright red.

"You read about volts and watts and stuff, don't you? Those are the things that give you shocks-electrifying shocks."

"Lady," he said calmly, "I get a lot of strange experiences in my work, but-"

But she had rolled him over onto his stomach, onto the assorted drapes and clothing, slipping his shorts and jeans down around his hips as she did. She inspected his buttocks. As she suspected, they were the only non-paunchy things on his body. Taut, tense, quivering. Inviting, sort of.

"I got locked in a basement once-for two hours. The lady of the house, see, had a-"

But Gert had grasped his cheeks and separated them, forcing a finger into him, into his tight unwelcoming hole. He straightened his body, trying to take her hand from him, but she shoved another finger up him, pushing deep, separating, stretching the walls of that cavity until she could feel him trying to force her out. A moan escaped his lips.

"Us meter readers, ma'am, we-aagh!"

Her fingers worked their way up into his anus, shoving, grinding in his rear. His hard tight butt squeezed her fingers, his muscles contracting to push her out.

"-we put up with a lot of strange-"

"Please be quieter," she suggested, changing her position so that she straddled him, her face facing his feet, leaning her head over his rear cheeks, her hair swirling on his back and buttocks. She started licking him, giving biting nips at his cheeks, blowing them, tonguing them. She could see the goose bumps rising with each breath. She rammed a third. His channel was juicy and creamy now, lubricating her fingers. She dusted his buttocks with her tautnippled breasts.

Out came her fingers with a pop! They poised at the entrance, then moved their wetness around the brown-skinned, wrinkled hole. Feeling her own passion rising, again she pushed, forced her way inside, upward, deeper, pressing outward against the sides. Resting her breasts on his thighs she stroked as deep, as far, as his cooperation would allow.

"A-nother t-t-time, there was these two sisters who had a d-d-dog-eeeeaah!"

Her free hand by now had reached under his slightly elevated rear and found his pulsing, throbbing, long fat cock. All she could do was hold it tight at the base as she slowly, forcefully, ground her other fingers in and out of his now expanding anus. The hole got bigger and bigger, creamier and juicier, hotter and "This dog, you won't believe it, but heeeee-"

Pushing, squeezing, in him and at him, she stretched her body down the length of his legs. She ached. The need for something inside her was driving her wild. She fucked his legs her clitoris hitting nothing but air as she came down on him.

But she couldn't bear to tear herself away from her present activity for fear of his leaving, yet there was another obvious danger she recognized. She couldn't let him come now, and she could feel that he was near. His body writhed with her on top, and, in between his infernal banterings, she could hear his unmistakable moans and grunting cries. Still, both hands worked round and round, plucking, circling.

A crashing sort of sound told her the wind must have slammed the garage door. God, if only a good cock would slam into her-maybe he was ready, maybe....

Her desire, her screaming for a man made her feel fingers, tongues, a cock toying with her own ass. She almost felt the roughness of something entering her, like somebody had pulled down her jeans and-Christ, she was going crazy. She had to have something in her. But how?

"And once I went to this house where there was a bunch of Girl Scouts. Let me tell you about those Girl Scouts sometime-"

"Not now, damn it!" She wanted to roll him over, to have him give her a good dicking and yet The feeling at her ass had become more real. And suddenly there was a heavy weight on her. Fucking her rear, shoving deep in her rectum, hands circling her breasts, sliding down her cunt. She stroked against those hands, those outstretched fingers. She felt it all. Long, sensuous slides from clitoris to cunt. A long hot male rod puncturing her rear.

Jt wasn't her imagination! Someone was fucking her. She grasped the' meter man's cock harder. He/it was still there. Of course he was! Frantically she craned her neck backward.

He, the newcomer, was a handsome bucko.

"Morning," he said curteously.

Gert gasped from his vigorous shove. "You'reyou're the gardener!"

"At your service," he responded. "But try to catch the rhythm, if you will."

"Gardener," moaned the meter man. "I remember once, m-maybe it was about five, s-six months ago-go-gog..

And the body under Gert began to shudder with deep quaking spasms that her hand told her was a come. Her cock-holding fingers felt streaming hot liquid and her ass-imbedded ones were forced out with a powerful muscle contraction.

But she had little time for reflection upon her prowess. Strong rough hands still at their cunt forced her torso higher into the air. A driving weight slammed into her, but the hands held her motionless, powerless to move with the thrusts. The meter man laughed nervously as he turned his head and saw what was happening. He squirmed to turn under Gert, and the gardener lifted her higher into the air to release her hands and body from the bottom figure, never missing a beat in ramming her as he did.

Meanwhile, the meter reader was repositioning himself under her, rolling onto his back. He grinned up at her.

"Normally, us electric company employees don't like to get involved with customers-bad public relations, they tell us. But, lady, I got to say it, you are a real good hand at a jerk off."

"Th-thank ... you," Gert blurted, as the gardener's prick almost found its way to her throat.

"So," the face under hers continued, "we are always being told about service, helping the customer out, and I can sure see that although your gardener friend is handling things pretty good maybe I can be of some small assistance-"

And suddenly his grasping wet mouth was on her own, and his hands were pushing her breasts together and mauling them, pulling at her nipples, pinching the skin. As she opened her mouth to gasp, his tongue shot in, exploring the sides and walls and gums. Even his cock was growing to re-erection against her stomach.

The man on top of her continued the savage shoves of his cock into her rear, only allowing her to move with slow, languorous cunt-slidings on his outstretched fingers. Her weight still was held high, but now she was almost totally supported by the strong, heaving thighs beneath her. She reached down to hold onto the meter man's shoulders but he himself took her hands and forced them down to his cock.

"Come oh, let's do some more of that whacking off stuff again," he said playfully.

But just as her fingers touched the tool, her rear end assailant pulled himself from her violently and she fell forward on the meter man's chest. Before she had time to think, the prick was in her again, powerful, atom-bombing into her and She screamed. Screamed with an orgasmic release that she hadn't even been aware was building.

But it had been, and it came upon her like a motion picture that had been set on triple speed-or a 33 rpm record suddenly switched to 78 rpm on the stereo. Not gradual, plane-by-plane building, but up and up and upupupupupupup-pow and clean out through and through-and down on the threads on the floor, and whew! And mmmmmmm....

"Hey," the meter man asked. "What about me? I ain't come yet!"

"MMMMMMMMM," Gert replied. The gardener's response was more to the point:

"Shove it up a fuse box."

"Hey now, that ain't a nice thing to be saying."

Honk.

"Honk?" Gert asked.

"Car horn," the gardener said. "You expecting somebody?" Honk honk.

"Good God!" Gert gasped. She recognized that car horn. "If s Larry!"

The meter man chuckled to see Gert scramble back into her jeans. "Who's Larry-the plumber?"

"Larry's the husband, dummy," said the gardener, sipping up rapidly. "Husband, dig?"

"Dig," repeated Gert. "The tools-get some."

He responded rapidly. The meter man however "Reminds me of the time with them Girl Scouts." He chuckled. "The little devils. Well, when the lady scoutmaster caught us-hee!"

"Shut up and pull your pants up!" Gert snapped.

Honk honk honk!

He looked at her, shaking his head. "Hardly any way to talk. After all, as an electric company representative...."

"Your pants-Jesus!" Gert hissed.

At which point the sliding garage door grated on its steel tracks, and the light of day streamed into the garage.