Chapter 17
"You lied to me, Naomi," the man said looking down at her in the bed.
She looked up at the fat old man as he paced the room. What was he talking about, she tensed in wonder, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she lifted herself to look at him in the half-light of the room. The rain had stopped and the gray light of morning was starting to fill the room.
"You're no prostitute, and you charged me fifty bucks. You cheated me!"
"Cheated you? How?" she finally asked. "And what makes you say I'm not a hooker?"
"Because you didn't give a damn whether you satisfied me or not. Your only concern was with yourself. With your enjoyment. And there isn't a whore in the world that operates that way. I oughta know, I've been to bed with most of them!"
Naomi lay stiff and silent as before. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she knew it was true. She hadn't thought of him at all during the act, she had been completely absorbed with her own completion and satisfaction.
More, she would find it difficult to become a lay for money without the attitude of the man being satisfied rather than being concerned first with herself. She knew the only reason she was here was because of her anger and frustration with Randy. And it would take more than that to create the right attitude for living as a whore.
She knew then that she could never really sell her body. Share it with someone, yes. But she couldn't let him buy it.
In a tired voice she told him, "You're right. And you can have your fifty back if you want. Maybe I did cheat you."
He sat down beside her, surveying her torso tentatively. His stubby fingers traced the bronze contours of her full breasts and the dark ruby nipples. She shivered at the tingling sensation he caused.
"You've got a body that was made for loving, Naomi. Do you know that?"
She shrugged indifferently, aware of the chills that his touch were bringing back to life.
"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Lead me on like you did. Do what you did to me in the car?"
He watched a blush tinge her face in the dim light and finally asked, "You were getting even with someone, weren't you?"
She looked at him in surprise, "How did you know that?"
He shrugged as if it were unimportant.
"Should have figured it out when I saw your ripped dress. And then when you came into the apartment. Prostitutes don't act like you do. You were getting even with someone, weren't you? What's the matter, did you have a light with your boy friend?"
Suddenly he wasn't a round, fat, ugly old man anymore. She was still having trouble answering, but she felt his interest in her somehow not just as a body, but as a person.
"How come you know so much about prostitutes, man?"
He laughed, "Holden, Honey. Holden Sherwin, not man or mister. How come I know about hookers? Look at me. Do you think I could get a woman unless I didn't pay for it? I'm old and fat and ugly. No young beautiful thing is gonna go for someone like me. Especially ... especially someone who looks like you."
A sudden wave of compassion for him drowned Naomi. For she understood the agony that he lived with. In a sense she could relate it to her own. At that moment she ceased to think of him as anything but a man, a good man, and a friend. One who hadn't really used her but who had no other recourse to the satisfying of his needs.
"Don't you have anyone?" she whispered sympathetically.
"Like my wife?" was the hurt answer as he reached into the drawer of the bedside stand to pull out the portrait of a young and beautiful woman in, perhaps, her late thirties.
Though there was a hardness about her mouth and eyes, there was also an undeniable sensuality in her face.
"With a wife like that, why do you need someone like me ... or a ... hooker?"
He turned to stare at the photograph, and she could see the hurt and loathing in his eyes.
"Verna's only interested in one thing from me. My money. She tricked me into marrying her, even though I can't prove it. And as soon as she had that ring on her, that was it. We live in the same house, and yet we don't. If you know what I mean. The only time I ever see her is when she needs some more money. But she won't divorce me. She's told me that.
"Won't even settle for money. Says why should she settle for a piece of the estate when she can get the whole thing when I pop off. So I pay for some woman to pretend that for one night she loves me. Because everybody needs to be loved, even if you have to pretend. That's why I keep this crummy apartment to get away from Verna and not be reminded of my money. Can you understand, Naomi?" he concluded desperately, as if it were very important she did.
She nodded slowly, "I think so, Holden. That's why you wanted me to become your mistress, wasn't it? So you could have me all the time and not have to pretend. I'd be with you all the time so it wouldn't be like I was prostitute, like you were really paying for my love. That's it, isn't it?"
He nodded imperceptibly and then rose, his face white with anger. Turning so she couldn't see, his fists clenching and unclenching furiously, suddenly he smashed the picture of his wife against the side of the dresser.
"I--I'm sorry, Naomi," he mumbled incoherently. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. It was silly of me."
She studied him, noting how much older and more tired he seemed. Here was someone alone like herself.
"No, it wasn't silly, Holden," she comforted him, patting the mattress at her side. "Now why don't you come back here. Where ... where you belong."
"Where I belong?" he asked regarding her suspiciously, as if he didn't believe what he heard.
Naomi nodded, "Where you belong. Like you said, I lied to you. Cheated you. I was only thinking of myself. Now-now I want to make it up to you!"
Gratitude filled his face and she greeted him warmly with a tight embrace of her arms when he returned to her on the bed.
"Besides," she continued, holding him tight to her naked breasts, "if I'm going to be-your mistress, I've got to find out what you like ... and how you like it!"
In answer, he cupped her head in his hands and crushed her mouth to his. For a long time they ravaged the succulent love juices of the other's mouth, sucking and draining the goodness of their sharing in need.
His breath came heavy and labored and he moved to her breasts to manipulate and caress their softness into hard fullness, nibbling the thick crests into maroon spikes of rubbery substance.
Naomi let him course the reaches of her torso, sucking her salty crevices and swells. Enjoying and fondling all her female treasures as he made his way into the boiling wet trench of her cunt. She grew hot and passionate in the knowing tracery of his sensitive fingertips. The molten, bubbling ardor in the pit of her womb began its strange provocative beat, swelling and magnifying until her whole being was writhing and gyrating in his arms, charged with the magnetic omnipotence of ancient, primitive lust.
"No. No," she swallowed hard trembling and contorting below the devouring, love-starved adoration of her lover. "Please. Let me make you happy this time. Let me try, learn. Please! I want to give this time, not share!"
His hungry lips continued on at her nipples, slathering them with the nectars of his worship. And his fingers were still plying at her pussy.
"Let me! Please, I'll show you I can make a man happy!" she gasped into the wispy gray-white hair. "I want to love you!"
Their eyes met with wonder and then her thundering heart seemed to quell as she stroked the sad, lined cheeks, kissing the furrows of age and suffering.
At her gentle nudging he lay upon the mattress while she crawled over him. Quietly and pliantly, he lay there submitting to her tender ministrations while she eagerly perused his face watching for signs that she was accomplishing her purpose.
For the first time in her life she wanted to give. Wanted to make someone happy, not for what they could give her, but for what joy they would recieve. His happiness would be hers this time. Though he didn't know it, or yet trust her caring, for she was paid loving. She was going to try to prove to him and to herself that she could give as well as take loving. That she, too, could bring the happiness and security of caring to another as lonely as she.
Soft, tender lips of amber she placed on his and let him feel her luscious, taut breasts and pointed nipples on his chest, as she explored his mouth with the warmth of her giving. Her tongue was hot and filling in the empty void of his aching throat.
Her body pressed his with intent and soothing female silkiness.
Holden moaned softly at the sight and touch of her pliant tits and soft, warm pussy. His fingers searched her longingly, but that haunted look that only loneliness and lack of love can know was still there.
Naomi's gestures became more furtive, more insistent. Her tapered fingers rubbed through the silver hair of his chest and pinched his male nipples with a tenderness she didn't know she possessed. Gentle kisses made them taut and burgeoning thumbs of walnut against the shining fur and snowy skin.
She could feel his legs jerking spastically at her moistening cunt. He was hot, and she realized it was time to fulfill her intent or lose her willing subject to complete his own needs.
I just have to prove to him-to myself-I can do it, she brooded desperately. Got to show it's in me to give. Started out wanting love and acceptance and here I am gaining acceptance by making love to someone else rather than the reverse. How ironic.
How strange! A nigger girl bringing love and happiness to a rejected ofay! Just doesn't make sense!
The odor of their sweat and the scent of passion rose again in the closed, musty room. It was suffocating, but Naomi was too anxious about her efforts to care.
She held the milky-white cock in her grasp like a pagan priestess with her cobra, wriggling and flaring its ruby head with pride and disdain commanding her homage and obedience. Milk-white etched with the royal blue of veins lacing the transparent thinness of his skin, it rose cloaked in a heavy ridged and wrinkled mantle that fell to a sable cushioned groin.
With delicate striving, she smoothed the wrinkled mantle of the rising prick, up and down the shaft of its being. Slowly, enticingly, she drew the loose foreskin of his flesh back and forth along the ballooning entity of his cock, watching the long blue vein that traversed its being swell, and pulsate as it coursed up to the flaming crown.
"Ooohhh!" Holden trembled ecstatically.
There was the half gleam of pleasure in her eyes at his reaction. But his pale face, dove-gray with a thick stubble of unchecked beard, registered no fulfillment of his real need. So she summoned all the prowess her years had garnered in the search for her forbidden fruit.
Tucked in her coppery palm were his balls. She had slid them carefully from the nest of their coarse textured pubic hair in his groin. Her carefully-manicured nails grazed the surface of the flaccid, parchment-aged sacs of indigo. Titillating them with cunning and skill, Naomi mused at how different were these dark balls from those massive testicles of leather at Line's crotch and how more mottled a purple were the younger, sweeter sacs of Randy ... But, she looked up into Holden's mature, disconsolate visage and knew that was where the greater difference lay. All these, balls and prick, objects of love, were a means to the end every man and woman needed. They were secondary and yet the manner by which, through all eternity, two individuals could be joined together as one in the fulfillment of the more poignant emotional and spiritual desires.
So she cradled the blue testicles in her palm, massaging and drawing them to fullness, turgid twin pouches in which the substance of life sprung from a fathomless well and inched its way up into the great flesh of its companion prick.
Naomi stroked them into fullness and when the first drop of froth oozed forth upon the crest of his prick, she tasted it thoughtfully as a connoisseur savoring the nectars of the gods.
Her mouth fitted over the vastly expanded prick and she felt it pulsate in her sensitive cavity with the tense excitement of its burgeoning magnitude and power.
In the hollow of her tongue she rolled the rubbery cock, its wrinkles taut with the swelling of its volume. The heat of her own mouth combined with his torrid, sweating prick's own emanating waves to make her sensitive internal flesh a boiling mass of molten living matter.
Voraciously, her taste buds swirled about the quaking prick, her teeth daintily nibbling at the ever-increasing mass of raw, frothing flesh. It filled her small mouth ludicrously, her eyes bulging with fantastic delight and abandon at the bobbing human sausage within her.
"Aaauuunnnggghhh!" moaned the man on the pillow, his white face contorted with the delirium of his ravishing.
Naomi sucked harder and faster, her teeth taunting the bursting seams of his prick. One fist still clenched and unclenched around his raging balls as it titillated them to produce their sperm at a faster rate.
"Ooohhh, God! God! Naomi! Naomi!" Holden wailed. "Can't stand it. Can't., .come ... comm-minng!"
His cock drove in and out of her mouth ferociously, in long steady drives. In and out. In and out. His hands clawed at her head, guiding her action as his prick fucked her orally, frantically and continuously. Her head followed his lead for what seemed an eon while the raw, throbbing prick raped her with such a force that her jaw seemed to break and her tongue was nearly wrenched from her throat.
With a sudden shattering quake that ripped at their two enmeshed torsos, he exploded. The rich, abundant cream of love and being choked and filled her as she fought frantically to consume every precious drop. Nearly strangling on the pumping throttle of his prick, Naomi gluttonously devoured the fountain cascading its nectars into her throat and belly.
Even when his deflated cock finally sputtered to a halt and lay tranquil in the confines of her wet, gasping oral cunt, Naomi was milking his shrinking balls for the last dribble of come. And when she had partaken, only then did she release the hot, wet prick.
Gently she laid the spent and flaccid member to its hollow in the wet, rough nest of its groin. She patted it gently, fondly, and then looked up to see the panting man on the pillow.
He had given a mighty cry when he finally had come, and now the lines of his face were relaxed and smooth. Under the gray fuzz of his beard, she saw a pink flush spreading. And when he looked into her eyes she caught the radiance of mutual trust.
"You were good, Naomi," he breathed softly. "Damned good!"
And she believed him. Coming down into the circle of his trusting arms, she believed him. His happiness, his satiation and content, was hers.
"So this is where I belong," he mused thoughtfully. "For the first time in my life, I believe that. And I like it."
She regarded him solemnly, her glance probing long and hard for the answer, for the truth of his contentment, and hers. And she found it with a cry of gladness.