Chapter 8
PSYCHIATRIST FOR A PERVERT
Tony suspiciously eyed Old Man Traymore slurping his scotch and soda. It was number six for the boss, Tony realized. He had been keeping score throughout lunch-a lunch that the Old Man barely touched. Tony sipped his Bloody Mary, his second one. Something kept telling him to keep a clear head, the Old Man had something very specific in mind-or why the hurriedly made lunch date?
"You're sipping that drink like an old lady," Clarence Traymore teased him, gulping down the remainder of his.
"I'm afraid I've got too much work to do this afternoon-"
"Can't you trust your assistant manager?" Clarence asked, giving Tony a poke on the arm. "That's very important in our business, you've got to be able to trust your assistants."
Tony braved it out with a fixed smile. "I have fine people at my store," he shrugged. "Anyway, your other stores are continually trying to raid my key personnel."
"That's very important," the middle-aged executive stressed, broadly gesturing for the waiter to bring him another drink. "A man must have complete confidence in his friends, allies and assistants-at all times."
Tony hid behind the process of nibbling at his lunch, suddenly not fully enjoying his eggs benedict. What was the Old Man trying to say? Was he merely rambling on in one of his many "rah-rah" office type generality speeches-or was he getting wise to "the group" trying to buy up enough stock to take control of the company?
Second-guessing the boss had always been a favorite pastime for Tony. He now attempted to put all the clues together, from the very moment he had called him, only minutes after he had arrived at work. It was as though the Old Man actually knew the precise time he was organized at his desk.
"Tony, Ol' boy, could you meet me for lunch at my club?" were his opening words. "I'd like to toss around a few ideas with you."
At my club.... A phrase that came quite naturally to Clarence Traymore and men of his stature. Tony thought back to the first time the Old Man had extended him that very privileged invitation. He had already been married to the boss's daughter for two years, working as an assistant manager, when the call finally came: "Tony ol' boy, meet me for lunch at my club ... I think I have some good news for you."
Tony kept nodding, half-listening to the man's steady stream of generalities. He glanced about the plush dining room for business men only-women only invited with escorts on weekends and special events-and once again he wondered why all these men seemed so at ease. They seemed "to belong." Tony asked himself the inevitable question. Was he the only imposter there? When he was a kid, growing up on the North Side, living in one cheap apartment after another, his father didn't exactly belong to a swank and very exclusive club for professional men. Tony bit his lower lip, reminding himself that a house-to-house fruit and vegetable peddler couldn't possibly qualify as a professional man.
"Get a hold of yourself. . . .You're here now, you at least have your foot inside the door. A few more big steps-yes, even if it means playing dirty-and you will be sitting here at lunch as though you really do belong.
Don't blow it ... Tony warned himself, toying about with the open napkin at his lower lip. The old man can't possibly know what is going on, he attempted to convince himself. He might have a hint of what's about to happen to him, Tony inwardly shrugged, but he couldn't possibly know that he had a key role in the potential upset.
Bring it to a head ... Tony thought, wondering if it wouldn't be wise to merely ask the Old Man what he had in mind, what was the specific purpose of asking him to have lunch with him-at my club.
Cool it ... he warned himself, not fully listening to the Old Man clattering on, his eyes drifting about the roomful of males only.
like recess ... Tony tried not to grin, realizing how badly he needed this hiatus from even the very sight of females. Tony's back and thighs still deliciously ached and throbbed from the night before. Oh, that lucky room number seven at the Alma Motel ... any more activity and that room might have secreted. Tony wet his parched lips, shifting uneasily about in his chair as he thought of that fantastic female named Lisa Pilsner. Once she blossomed-there had been no holding her back. Underneath the table, Tony adjusted his crotch area, quickly patting that exhausted meat of his. Watching the Old Man's mouth slobbering on his words of business generalities, Tony's mind recreated the beautiful image of Lisa's sensuous mouth and the many wonders it had created hour after hour. Clearly, he recalled the woman kneeling before Tricia-the old man's precious baby-Tricia-that tongue gliding so smoothly up and down that tasty young love-slit.
Tony felt signs of life changing the composition of his crotch area, his mind recreating the image of Lisa actually managing to take the two cocks in her mouth at once, greedily slurping to get every last ounce of throbbing meat. First Andy had shot his load down her throat, then he had followed suit. It was exactly the way those youngsters had continually repeated. "Groovy ... real groovy
Tony's thoughts went to the highlight of the evening in lucky room number seven, and beads of perspiration instantly formed on his forehead as he eyed Clarence Traymore. That morning at three minutes after nine, when his secretary had informed him that his first call of the day was from Mr. Traymore, Tony had experienced his first uneasy moment of the day. Tony knew only too well that the Old Man was almost neurotic about his attachment to his youngest child. If the old man knew....
Tony pulled himself together, attempting to convince himself that this line of thought was totally ridiculous. The Old Man might invite him to lunch at the club and play cat'n mouse with him over any level of business-but it would be entirely another matter if the Old Man knew what he had done to his precious Baby-Tricia last night. No ... Tony realized that if the Old Man knew about the nightlight production number in Room Seven-by now, he would most likely have pumped a revolver full of shells into his body.
A sense of safety returning to Tony, he kept up his game of half-listening to the Old Man; somehow nodding yes or no at the right times. Underneath the table, shrouded in safety by the tablecloth, he gave his slightly bulging crotch-area a very comforting hand-brushing.
Poor Tricia ... Tony inwardly shrugged, realizing that her young pussy surely had to be sore at that precise moment, wherever she was in school. Well, she had asked for it, insisting that she could take all of Tony's enormously thick and long prick up her young cunt. They had all gathered around, Charley, Andy and Lisa, all offering encouragement as he had carefully worked his well-lubricated throbbing cock into her pussy.
"Oh, spread those legs," Lisa kept instructing the girl, "Throw them up into the sky, real wide-and that cock will come." Half-way to go!" Andy kept yelling . "Half in-half out!"
"That young cunt will take it yet," Charley had hovered about, the scene bringing his spent cock back to life. "These kids today...."
"Hey, honey," Tony kept whispering in Tricia's ear. "Maybe I should stop ... you're not quite ready for me yet."
"No, don't stop-"
"Maybe I should use more vaseline."
"No, dammit!" Tricia had cried out. "No more fuckin' vaseline! If I didn't want it to hurt-I'd screw myself with my little pinky finger. Now give it to me-" she groaned, suddenly starting to gyrate her young hips upward off the bedsheets. "Give it to me-give it to me-give it to me!" she roared over and over again, each time working her young cunt upward to make it easier for Tony.
"Oh, wow..." Tricia finally gasped, all of Tony's throbbing cock buried within her slightly-haired snatch. "Oh, wow...."
Oh, wow, ... was right, Tony now thought, realizing this was the youngest snatch he had ever experienced. And now, he was seated directly across from the girl's father-who seemed to be doing a pretty damned good job of getting drunk, as though he was building himself up to an all-important proclamation-or maybe ... an indictment.
"Tony!" Clarence raised his voice, seemingly narrowing his attack. "You're young and in your prime-and I rate.. "
"Sir-" Tony stated, somewhat nervously. "You seem troubled about something-maybe a business matter? Is there something I could do-"
"Oh, business is just fine, Tony, just fine." He hesitated. "Oh, my lawyers tell me a little trouble is brewing-"
"What is it? Tony asked, leaning forward, wondering if the game was over. "I don't understand-"
"Nothing that should concern you, Tony. Just an out-of-town group of investors foolish-enough to think they can buy up controlling stock in the company. But my man is right on top of it-"
"John Pilsner-"
"Yes, good man-but Tony that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
"It-it isn't.... " Tony dumbfounded, then hurriedly pulled himself together. "Whatever you need, Sir-"
"Like I said, you're young and in your prime...."
'I-I don't understand...."
"You know, I'm suddenly reminded of a time I just had my first store. That was when the Orpheum Theater was right across the street-before they tore it down," he added, somewhat sadly. "Well, they used to have live plays there, and those pretty young road actresses would come over to the store to do their shopping. Well, to make a long story short, I used to have my eye on one or two of the beauties. Well, one day, I observed this attractive blonde sneaking cosmetics into her handbag. Well I confronted her, and asked her to step upstairs into my private office." the Old Man stressed, lewdly nudging Tony's arm.
Tony's silent question was inevitable: Does the old rascal know about Lisa Pilsner? And if so-how did he find out?
Old man Traymore leaned over closer to Tony, confiding in him. "I didn't press charges-but I sure as hell got to press something else!" he chuckled loudly. "If you know what I mean ... and I'm quite sure you do, Tony, you sly rascal!"
"You seem to be trying to tell me something-"
"Tony, you and I are really quite alike. I think I can safely say that you're a fairly decent family man. I don't think Betty can complain." He leaned over closer to Tony again, almost whispering. "But that doesn't mean you might not occasionally enjoy an extra female on the side-oh, no attachments, merely an occasional fling."
"Mr. Traymore-" By now, Tony was completely puzzled. "I don't really understand-"
"I'm trying to tell you something," Clarence stated, finally putting his glass down. "That's probably quite obvious to you by now. And you've most likely figured out that it pains me, or I wouldn't be drinking too damned much."
"So level with me," Tony countered, unable to take the guessing games a moment longer. Whatever it was, he'd face the situation squarely. It couldn't possibly be the end of the world. Even if it meant his job-he'd get by, he'd get another job. Maybe he got the manager's berth because he was married to the boss's daughter-but he would have been bounced long before this if he couldn't cut it. Tony knew damned well that he could go to almost any big department store chain and get a manager's job tomorrow. "Spit it out, Mr. Traymore, whatever seems to be bothering
N you.
"This isn't going to be easy for me," Clarence actually flustered. "You know I'm a very proud man-with certain preconceived-"
"What are you getting at-just spell it out!"
"I'm trying, Tony, I'm trying-but it's killing me." He paused, went for his scotch and soda, changed his mind. "Tony, I need your help."
"My help...." Tony remained dumbfounded.
"It's Junior...." Old Man Traymore finally managed to utter. "I've seen it happening lately, but I've been so powerless to do anything about it. You see, Tony, my son has always been more attached to his mother, and...." The old man's head slumped downward.
"I think I understand-"
"Do you, Tony? Do you know what a father feels to see his son developing into a real fag-"
"Easy now-"
"I never thought I'd be able to use that ugly term to describe my own son ... a fag."
"Maybe you're jumping to conclusions," Tony offered, though he, too, felt certain the old man was right.
"No, Tony, I'm not. And I tell you, I just don't know how to cope with it. He's seeing an older man, I'm quite sure of that, Tony. Even though I haven't discovered who the man is."
"That shouldn't be the most important thing-"
"I'll kill the bastard-"
"No," Tony interrupted, placing his hand on the old man's arm "You know that's not the answer. There's a lot of old homosexual men in this world, and young ones too. What you've got to try to do is help Junior. They say that under certain conditions, psychiatric help might possibly-"
"I'm from the old school, Tony," Clarence cut in. "And I rather think you are too-that is, in sexual matters. Tony, I want you to help me out."
"But how?"
"I can't talk with Junior. Somehow, he seems to think of me as a money-making monster who-likes to hunt down and kill animals. You could talk with him, last summer when he worked at your store, I think he really got to like you."
"But what could I tell him?" Tony shrugged.
"You don't have to tell him a damned thing," the old man countered. "But then how-"
"Like I told you, I'm from the old school. Tony, take Junior under your wing. Get him fixed up with some real women."
"But what if-"
"You can do it, Tony," he winked knowingly at his son-in-law. "And I mean some real woman! Your wife won't have to know anything." The old man waited, his eyes pleading. "Please, Tony, do it for me. The boy trusts you. Just become his buddy, and get him on the right road with the opposite sex."
"But what if-"
"It's worth a try!" The old man cut in, obviously unwilling to take no for an answer.
"Okay, Sir," Tony nodded affirmatively that he would take on the assignment. "You're the boss."
"Tony, I'm not asking you to do this-as your boss ... but as a friend in need."
"I understand, and I promise I'll do my best."
"Whatever you have to do, Tony, It'll be worth the try. I couldn't bear to think of other people finding out that he's a hell, I can't make myself say that perverted word. "I'll do my best-"
"I wouldn't want Betty to find out-and I'd rather die than have poor little Baby-Tricia ever find out. The poor little darling, just starting to grow up-how could she ever possibly ever understand such an ugly thing about her own brother!"
"I understand," Tony replied, trying not to gasp, choke or laugh aloud-or possibly all three. "I understand...."
"She'd never understand ... poor baby-Tricia...."