Chapter 5

After reading through those and a few other of my tales, I closed the books and stared off into space. In the reading of each entry I had relived the scene, remembering the partner of partners, and I'll have to admit that I was to full erection again.

But most importantly, I remembered the almost fanatical determination with which I had gone at it; after that first involvement with Johnnie-boy and his wife, seeing sex as a means of erasing all that had been between Marge and I, I had set about it with ardor.

If sex-partners didn't seek me out, I sought them out, and once I set out to find someone I didn't stop until I succeeded. Seldom a night went by without some sort of activity.

I wondered now (perhaps six years too late) if it had worked. Had fucking-without-love finally succeeded in erasing the pain, the error of having fucked-only-for-love?

I still couldn't answer it. The best that I could come up with was that it had been a form of escape; I had gone about screwing the way others drink. I had been a sexoholic, a man screwing as an escape mechanism. Looking back (and having the lengthy record before me), I could only surmise that if it hadn't been successful on a deep level it at least had been on the surface. At least, screwing up a storm, I had kept from dying of a broken heart, from dwelling on my loss. In the pursuit of and then doing my own fucking, I hadn't had time to think about Marge and Rod MacIvers together, a thought that could have been devastating.

But here it was! This evening of thinking had brought me to this point, and as I thought of them again, a feeling of deep pain went through me. I unthinkingly closed my eyes and envisioned them again, first Marge as I had known her so many times and then Rod as I had seen him in the gym. First Marge with her beautiful body and soul that were supposed to be all mine, then Rod with his self-confidence and almost god-like physique. It was as if they were standing in front of the mirror in that one room I had described and, as I watched, Rod developed a slow-rising hard-on, they turned to each other, and as they went into each other's arms, his big prick pressing between her legs, a groan escaped from me.

No, I hadn't escaped from it. I had run from it, kept it out of my mind, but I had not truly escaped from it. The tightness in my chest, the feeling of tears wanting to form in my eyes, the slight quivering of my cock told me that, these eight years later, I still hadn't recovered from it. The thought of Rod sending his plunger into her, fondling and mouthing her body, was almost more than I could stand. The thought of her accepting him, returning his passion-at times even going down to suck on that monster-machine of his-was agonizing.

The old wound had been opened. I felt not too unlike I had felt that day when her telegram had come telling me of her marriage. Violated, cheated, betrayed.

Then, as if to remind me of other (perhaps more important) things, Cindy stirred in the bedroom. I heard her moving around on the bed, and with something like disbelief I whispered, "But I'm married. I've been married for six years."

A few moments later, her hair mussed even more than before, she was standing in the doorway. She rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Honey, what's the matter? What are you doing still up?"

I studied her, that well-developed body that I had seen and felt so many times. I looked at the firm, pear-shaped tits that stood out from her body a little perkily, the nipples like cute little decorations added to the tips. I let my eyes move down over her smooth stomach, her nicely rounded hips, and come to rest on the dark-haired thatch in a vee between her legs; I remembered the feel of the pliant, giving and accepting orifice hidden under that brush. A beautiful, well-built woman, sexually satisfying, willing to do anything I wanted; but more than that, my wife. Yet just a few moments before I had been thinking of, actually hungering for, Marge...

I set the books on the table, on top of the yellowed descriptions that Marge and I had written of each other.

"Cindy, will you do me a favor? Will you not ask me any questions, just come sit between my legs a few minutes?"

Her eyes asked questions, but she didn't put them into words. Moving gracefully, she crossed the room and went to her knees between my legs. As she rolled over onto her hip, I felt her tits brush against my leg; a hand came up and cupped my balls, then she pressed her cheek down against my hard cock. "Do you want me to suck it?" she asked almost timidly.

"No, just stay like that. That's nice."

And I remembered...

Close to two years in the city. I was inching up on twenty-one, the legal age. I had been fully developed when I got there, but those two years had brought a sort of physical maturity that had been lacking; I guess that they chipped off the last of childhood, of adolescence.

Two years, holding seven-hundred and thirty days. Considering that on some nights, acting almost obsessed, I had sought sex partner after sex partner, I felt safe in saying that I had, then, gone to bed with at least seven hundred different people. Men, women, groups. If there was a type of sexual activity that I hadn't been involved in, I couldn't imagine what it was. I had been the cocksman of all cocksmen!

(Funny, I thought, but it hadn't occurred to me before. Maybe I had been trying to fuck myself to death!)

One day there appeared on the street corner near the hotel where I was living a dark-haired young man in a wheelchair. He was a good-looking fellow with a cheerful smile, selling newspapers. I didn't really want one, but I couldn't resist buying it; I somehow felt that he was showing one hell of a lot of stamina and ought to be encouraged; I bought it, stuck it under my arm and carried it to work.

The next morning he was there again, and I bought another paper.

He surprised me by asking, "You live alone in that hotel?"

I nodded, and then I noticed that his eyes moved slowly down over my chest (as good as naked, I guess, in the tight tee-shirt I was wearing) and came to rest on my crotch. It bugged me throughout the day; I found myself wondering what had happened to put him in the wheelchair, and what a guy like that could do for sex life. His upper body looked strong, he was handsome; his face was bright, eyes alert. He must have sexual urges, I told myself, but how could he satisfy them? (Oddly enough, the thought of sex with a cripple seemed to hold a strange fascination for me!)

The following morning I left the hotel a few minutes earlier than usual-just in case he decided to talk a little. Again he surprised me; smiling, he commented that I was a little early. And so it went until, before the week was out, I had learned that he had been in an automobile accident; he was bent into a permanent sitting position. He lived in an apartment not far away with a sister a year younger than he (he was twenty) and a father who worked swing-shift. Their mother had died long before he could remember. Shades of Marge and I, I couldn't help but thinking.

On Sunday, my day off, I slept in (especially because I had had a busy, strenuous Saturday night!). When I finally sauntered out, in quest of breakfast, I was surprised to see him-but perhaps not surprised to see his clouded face suddenly break into a sun-shininess.

"I was afraid you weren't coming by today!" he blurted out, and almost without thinking I answered, "I didn't think you'd be here on Sundays, anyway!"

"I've just got about five papers left. If you'd wait till I sell them, maybe we could go have coffee?"

I laughed. "Tell you what! I'll buy them. Wouldn't mind having company for breakfast at all."

During breakfast we talked about many things: telling anecdotes about out childhoods, dropping little philosophical tid-bits and finally it reached the point where, with eyes lowered and fumbling with a spoon as he sat with the wheelchair pushed up to the table, he said, "Before the wreck ... well, I used to do my share of peter-dunkin'. Since the wreck ... well, even if a girl would agree, the way I'm bent I couldn't get at her. Even if she ... even if she agreed to blow me, she couldn't get any more than the head so she couldn't do any good."

"What ... what do you do, then?" I asked openly. "Masturbate?"

He looked up and our eyes met. "Just before I left the hospital, when I'd gotten into pretty good shape, there was a ward boy. A fella about twenty-three or four, a real nice guy. One night ... " He shrugged his shoulders and simplified it. "Well, he buggered me while he beat me off."

"Buggered you?" I asked, having not heard the expression.

"Yeah. You know, fucked me in the ass."

"Oh."

He lowered his eyes a moment then raised them again, searched my face. "The funny thing is," he finally said, "I liked it."

Needless to say, we went to my hotel room and, on that quiet Sunday morning, I buggered him while I beat him off. He groaned with pleasure-pain, insisting that I send my big, hard shaft on up even when I knew that the pain was terrific.

Once I'd gotten it firmly implanted, I reached around and grasped his cock-not by wrapping my fingers around it, because I couldn't get hold of it that way, but by putting my fingers over it so that the head was in the palm of my hand. As I worked my plunger in him I used the same motion on his cock, and while his lower body couldn't react, when I finally, wildly drove myself in for the kill and let my cum spurt freely I felt his cock quiver and the load of milky fluid spurt out into my hand. Still cock-quivering, he milked me dry with his ass muscles, then he whispered in a half-crying voice, "Thank you! Oh, thank you!"

I cleaned myself off, wiped his rear-end dry, and then washed the head of his cock. That done, I helped him dress and again and got dressed myself. As I was helping him into his wheelchair he said, "Do you think ... do you think we could do it again?"

I wasn't sure. "Probably," I answered.

He nodded, and the expression on his face said that he could accept whatever he got and live without what he couldn't get even when he wanted it. It made me feel a little bit like a heel, especially with the amount of screwing I'd been doing.

He could manipulate his own wheelchair, but it was easier if I pushed it. We left the hotel and started along the nearly deserted sidewalk, quietly enjoying the warm, morning air. Midway along he said, "Davie, I'll tell you a secret if you want me to."

"Sure, tell me your secret."

"Well, Cindy ... my sister ... she's really great. Sometimes, when I need it, she comes into my room and ... Well, y'know, I could tell her all about it, so she went out and bought this rubber thing. A dildo, I think they call it, like a guy's prick only made of rubber. She ties it on herself and then does what you just did."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Different as it was, it was still the same thing: brother and sister having sexual intercourse, understanding each other's need ... loving!

Then I had to ask. "Do you ... well, reciprocate any way?"

He was quiet a moment, then he half-whispered, "Yeah, I do. It ... it helps us both. I ... use my mouth on her."

Even though I was behind him and he couldn't see me, I merely answered with a nod ... and memories flooded through me.

We reached the apartment building and Karl explained that he usually waited for someone to come along (or out of the building) and asked them to pull his chair up over the one step. As it was, I turned him around and backed him up over it, then turned him around again and we started into the building. He had taken over the wheeling of his chair, and I found myself hanging back as we neared the elevator. He seemed to sense it.

"Come on," he said. "You've got to come up and meet Cindy. I've told her all about you and promised I'd bring you home some time."

He opened the door to the apartment himself and wheeled his way in. I stood, not knowing what to expect, in the doorway; I guess that it wouldn't have surprised me to see Marge there. My thoughts had suddenly become very entangled. Instead, I saw a girl come out of another room, drawn by the noise. She was dressed in a loose sweater that hung down over blue jeans and was barefooted; her hair was tied in a bandana. All I could really see was her attractive face. "Oh, this's awful!" she cried out, reaching up to pat her bandanaed head. "I've been mopping and waxing the kitchen floor. Darn you, Karl, why didn't you tell me...? "

"I didn't know myself," the elated brother smiled, and then with eloquence in voice and gesture announced, "Cindy, this is the great guy I've been telling you about, Davie. Davie, this is the greatest sister a guy could have, Cindy!"

Sister, I wanted to ask, or ... wife or lover?

Cindy seemed to blush a little; I couldn't help but notice that as she lowered her eyes, shadows fell from the lashes onto her soft-looking skin. And I couldn't help but imagine her, the rubber cock tied to her, fucking Karl from the rear as she beat his meat-then lying with legs spread as he munched at her box-lunch. There was something almost maddening about the thought; I felt almost trapped. I wished, in that moment, that Karl hadn't told me.

Half-dazed, I could do nothing but be pulled along by them. I found myself sitting at a table in a high-ceilinged, old-fashioned dining-room, Karl across the table from me and Cindy (her odor drifting down to me) leaning over to pour coffee. But I watched, and I wondered, and I thought that I saw it. A look, a gesture, a hand touching some part of the other, a slight inflection in voice, each a little give-away (visible only to me because I understood) that spoke of the love they felt for each other.

In that moment, too, I knew what it was that was bothering me; it was not only being made to think about Marge and I again, but it was the realization that there was a "No Fucking" sign on this attractive young woman. (I could bugger her brother, without her knowing it but, remembering the expression on his face earlier, I knew that even if I wanted to, I couldn't take this love object away from him. I sensed, somehow, that he could enjoy being buggered by a man (a real prick instead of a dildo), but that it would in no way touch-upon or harm what was going between them.)

I don't remember the conversation or what happened to it, how it got off onto the direction it took, but suddenly I heard Karl saying, " ... so the three of us liking each other so much, well, I think we ought to share everything. I mean, seriously, Cindy, I know you like what I do to you, but I know you'd like to get a good fucking, too. Davie's really hung, he could really satisfy you, and I like him so I wouldn't mind. Someone I didn't like, I'd mind, but not Davie."

Cindy blushed again, swallowed, then slowly raised her eyes. She didn't have to say anything; it was all there. She would like a good fucking, a hard prick up where hard pricks are supposed to go! And I was sporting what could do the job! Notwithstanding the big load I had dumped not too long before, buggering Karl, my whang was stretched out hot and long against my leg.

"Besides that," Karl went on, "if you wouldn't care ... well, I'd get a sort of kick watching it. I mean, as long as I can't do it myself, I could do it sort of vicariously that way! 'Course, I'd probably end up beating my pud," he laughed.

A moment iater he blurted out, "Well, one of you guys say something! Do you agree or not?"

I looked into Cindy's eyes, studied her face and, in something .like a whisper, I answered, "I'd be willing."

Enthusiastic, Karl went about it as if he were planning a party. We couldn't do it that day, he said, because they had no way of knowing when their father would come home, but tomorrow night the man would be at work. "So as soon as you get off work, Dave, you come over here. We'll give it a go, then you can stay for dinner. Hell," he laughed, "if we all end up liking it, that'll give us time for a second go-round."

The thirty or so hours in between were a total loss; I wandered around as if I were in a fog the rest of that day, slept fitfully, and then worked the following day as if I were a robot. I tried to struggle away from thought of Marge, found myself uninterested in seeking out an interim sex partner, and thought of what was to come with something like disbelief. As a matter-of-fact, the following morning I probably would have thought that it had been a dream if Karl, in his usual spot on the corner, hadn't reminded me, with a broad smile and twinkling eyes, that he and Cindy would be ready and waiting!

They were, with no foolish games. I knocked on the door and Cindy opened it, leaning forward slightly so that only her face showed; as I stepped in and she closed it behind me, I saw Karl sitting in his chair. He was stark-naked and hard-pronged. Turning, I saw that Cindy was naked, too, and I almost gasped. Her loose, house-working clothes had certainly done her an injustice; I saw all her loveliness now, and it was something to behold! And it was, again, a vision of Marge. It was unbelievable (especially after the variety I had seen and used) that two women could be so similar; pear-shaped tits, perky and nice, soft and well-curved bodies. Dark hair, both on the head and between the legs. Obviously a nice pussy, mounded well but hidden under the black hair. My prong finished the job thoughts had started on the way over; it pushed out against my pants wanting to stand at full attention!

"In this nudist camp," Karl said half-jokingly, "nobody is allowed to wear clothes!"

"Who'd want to?" I answered, pulling my tee-shirt over my head. I kicked off my shoes and socks, slid out of my pants.

"See! Didn't I tell you, Cindy? Look at the cock on this guy! Man, that's one great hunk of meat!"

Cindy was already looking. Her eyes had widened slightly, her lips were slightly parted, and her breasts rose and fell evenly. She raised her eyes slowly. "I ... I don't know if I could take all that," she said honestly.

"Well, let's give it a go!" Karl chirped out cheerfully. Spinning his chair around, he headed for the bedroom.

I moved across to Cindy, took her into my arms. Pressing our bodies tightly together, I leaned down and kissed her full on the lips. "I won't hurt you," I promised softly, then swept her up into my arms and followed after Karl.

I put her on the bed, then placed one knee and both arms on it and leaned over her, my body not touching hers. I brushed my lips across hers, moved them down over her throat; I gave each tit the right kind of treatment, teasing the nipples to hardness, then moved down lower. I lapped around a little then sent my tongue in tentatively, and I knew what she had meant. She was tight, oh, so tight. Karl's tongue had apparently not been able to reach deep enough; he had not taken her maidenhead. The thought set my heart to pounding. But I didn't want to hurt her; with most women I didn't care, pain was even part of the game, but I didn't want to hurt Cindy. I raised up. "You got any K-Y or anything, Karl?"

Karl, cock in hand, nodded toward a bedside table. "There's vaseline in the drawer there. We had to use it when we started the dildo bit!"

I got the vaseline and rubbed a healthy amount over the head of my cock, down over the shaft; when it was slick I reached down and gently, lovingly massaged some of it into her tight, sweet love-box, at the same time giving her a sample with my finger of what was to come.

Straddling her, looking down into her face, I said, "When I take your cherry it'll hurt for a minute, but only for a minute. Okay?"

She swallowed and nodded. She was really quite innocent despite what she and Karl had been doing.

Kissing her tits again, giving each one equal time and attention, I reached down, got hold of my prong and ran the head of it back and forth along the long, pliant but tight valley. When I thought the time was right, I positioned it and eased just the head in; she closed her eyes, a look of expectation on her face, and I started moving my hips slowly. I withdrew it just to the tip, sent it in a little deeper. She gasped ever-so-slightly, and then again as I withdrew and on the inward thrust added a little more. I gave a few strokes that way, then decided the time was right.

"Get ready, honey, I'm gonna give it to you all at once."

She braced herself, I withdrew, then I plunged it clear to the hilt. She let out a cry, her breathing came heavy, and I knew the worse was over for her. I started fucking gently, and it was soon obvious that pain had been forgotten and pleasure was taking over. As my greasy cock slid up and down her greasy channel, as I continued to mouth her tits as best I could, her hips began to move in unison with mine. "Oh, Jesus," Karl gasped, "Jesus, look at 'em fuckin'! "

I glanced over and saw that his eyes were almost glazed as he stared at us and pounded his meat.

"Like it?" I asked, giving her long, slow strokes.

"Hmmmmmm," she mumbled, eyes closed and head rolling back and forth on the pillow. The movement of her body spoke even louder; every stroke told me that she wanted every inch of it, and I willingly gave it to her. Fuck, withdraw; fuck, withdraw ... fuck, fuck, fuck! We started humping faster; our mouths met and I crushed her tits with my chest as I sent my tongue into her mouth, then I exploded into her! She cried out and dug her fingernails into my back, thrusting herself up to me to cum as I spurted my juices into the deepest part of that tight channel.

"Oh, wow!" she finally gasped out, "Wow, I had no idea it could feel so good!"

Karl, using a towel to wipe his own cum off his belly and chest, said, "Hell, I could have told you that! Just don't get so hung up on that big cock of his you want to give up what we've been doing!" He sounded concerned.

I looked down into Cindy's eyes and she looked up into mine. It was a strange moment. Maybe we both knew in that moment, without giving it concrete thought, that that was exactly what was going to happen.

We had dinner, a tasty casserole and salad that Cindy had prepared earlier ("She's showing off," Karl joked, "snowing you what a good cook she is!"), then went into the living room. We were still in the nude, not only because we liked the freedom of it but because we enjoyed seeing each other's nudity. Even Karl's body, bent into a sitting-position though it was, had a beauty about it; he was strong chested, slim waisted and had fairly good-shaped legs. And in the living room, after I had lifted him out of the chair and set him on the sofa, you wouldn't have known that he was an invalid. You would have known that he was the leader, because a few moments later he asked us to sit one on each side of him; he rubbed a hand over Cindy's love-box and stroked my cock until it was hard-with both of us, regardless of our true feelings, letting him do it. Then he suddenly said, "I've got a good idea, if you'll do it. How about Cindy goin' down on you, Davie, and you beatin' my pud for me?"

I started to remind him that I was purely straight, but then I remembered two things. I had beat him off the morning before as I buggered him, and I did feel sort of sorry for him and wanted to give him pleasure. And, thirdly, if Cindy were to go down on me, giving me that pleasure, then it would be taking something from him. Needless to say, I made no objection. Cindy slid to the floor between my legs, took my balls in one hand and my cock in the other; as she slid her lips over the head of my cock I reached out and grasped his already rigid one. As she licked her tongue around the head and then started working up and down on it, I started pumping his.

"Go slow," he whispered, "make it last."

Up until that time I had been a one-timer, or at least a one-nighter. I either screwed somebody once (or whatever we did) and then took off, or if I happened to like them I stayed through a night so that we could do a variety of things. Once I had conquered, I guess (or let myself be conquered), I had to move on to something new. Fucking was the important thing, fucking as many different people as I possibly could. For some reason that had changed-and I thought that I knew what the reason was. It wasn't only that I liked both Cindy and Karl, that our sexual activities were pleasurable, but they had moved me back into that brother-sister-love zone without it bringing real pain. I remembered without really remembering, if that makes any sense to you.

Anyway, I accepted their invitation to return the second night and the third and the fourth, and then there was no reason for an invitation. I just went there five nights a week, finding them naked, stripped down, and we went through one kind of sexual experience or the other. Weekends were out, of course, as their father didn't work weekends and kept unpredictable hours. (Weekends had been out with Marge and I, too, for the same reason.) And I was saved from Saturday morning sex with Karl because I had to work, and from Sunday morning because I reasoned with him (falsely for me) that a guy had to have time to rebuild his love juices.

Late one evening, into the third week, there was a knock on my door late one night-or early one morning. I got groggily to my feet and, naked, stumbled across to open it. Cindy was standing there looking almost frightened. It awakened me immediately, but I still went in to wash my face with cold water once I had let her in and closed the door behind her. Coming out of the bathroom, I asked, "What's the matter?"

She shook her head, looking down at her finger-fumbling hands that squirmed in her lap.

"I just can't take it any more, Davie, that's what's the matter."

"Can't take what?"

She looked up and her eyes were filled with tears. "Davie, I love Karl and I was perfectly satisfied taking care of his sex-needs until you came along, but now..." She shook her head. "Davie, maybe I'm selfish, but I want it to be just you and me."

I swallowed. I hadn't told her about Marge and myself, and I couldn't now, but I knew that the brother-sister thing had to be considered. I mean, I figured that it was deeper with Karl than just the sex part-and I was sure that it had been with her, too, until I had showed up. Knowing how much a guy can hurt if that gets tampered with, I didn't want to be on the tampering end.

"Have you said anything to Karl?" I asked, stalling.

"No," she whispered, "I was afraid to. But every night ... well, it gets a little harder every night. I mean ... having the three of us there instead of just you and I."

Looking down at her, thoughts battled for supremacy. On the one hand I wanted to consider the possibility that Marge had felt this way, hid things from me but finally fled to (or with) Rod MacIvers. On the other, I was trying to figure out what kind of feelings I had for Cindy. Was she merely a satisfying sexual partner, part of a fun sex game that the three of us had been playing, or did she mean something deeper to me? I had to remind myself that she was the first one since Marge whom I had been able to fuck consistently; there seemed to be some significance in that. All I could come up with, however, was, "Cindy, we can't do anything to hurt Karl, you know that. Jesus, he's had a tough enough life!"

"I don't want to hurt him," she cried out, "but I want ... I want my own life. I want ... I want you and I doing those things without ... without him there."

"But how?" I blurted out. "I mean, how could we break this thing off without hurting him?"

She daubed at her eyes. "I don't know. I was hoping you'd think of a way." She looked up again, then literally lunged from the chair to her knees in front of me. She wrapped her arms around my legs and buried her face against my sex equipment. "Oh, Davie," she cried, "you do want me, don't you?"

I stared at the wall without really seeing it, then finally half-whispered, "I want you, but I don't want to hurt Karl," and I knew in that moment that that was the truth. Whether it was because she reminded me of Marge or not, I loved Cindy physically; she was as sexually satisfying as a person could be, willing to use whatever technique I felt at the moment; she had a pleasant, likable personality. If it wasn't love, it seemed to be as close to love as I could hope to get.

I reached down and pulled her to her feet.

"Why don't you take your clothes off?" I asked. "We're both too wound up to think clearly, so let's have us a little fun and then work on it later."

We didn't have to work on it later. While we were never able to know for sure, the way we put it together was this: Karl awakened during the night and went into Cindy's room. Not finding her there or any place else in the house, he put two and two together. Going back to his own room, he dressed and then left the apartment. Maybe he was coming to see us, we would never know, but while I was pounding myself off in her, Karl's wheelchair went out between two cars and into the path of an on-coming truck. He was dead on arrival at the emergency hospital.

Cindy raised her head. She looked into my eyes for a moment than leaned down and kissed my cock. "Settle things?" she asked, a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

I knew what she meant. This had been the first time in our history that I had gone soft without some sort of sexual activity. But I couldn't tell her, of course, why it had happened. She had no way of knowing that I had been reliving the past.