Chapter 6
The one way street was seven lanes wide from curb to curb with no parking during the rush hours. The cab was close to the left-hand curb and it was necessary to get all the way over to the right.
It took the driver only two blocks to cut across the seven lanes. Several times Jim was sure they were going to smash into another car and there was much honking of horns and shaking of fists.
They cut down a side street and swung onto the East River Drive. Traffic was quite heavy here, too. But there were no traffic lights nor any cross traffic and so the twenty-five mile an hour progress was steady.
"Going back it won't be so bad," the driver said as he drove off the highway and onto the street once again. "Most of this is suburban traffic. I don't know why these damned idiots have to drive their cars every day. Ought to be a law to make them leave their cars home and take trains and buses. Half of them shouldn't ought to have licenses, anyway."
Jim had been in Tom Guising's apartment before but he was still impressed by the quiet luxury of the building and the apartment itself. The corridors were thickly carpeted and softly lit, and there were soundproof ceilings. There were four self-service, high-speed elevators to serve the twenty-two stories. There was a doorman, a mail chute, a plush lobby. Tenants could even get maid service if they wanted it. And closed circuit television connected each apartment to the lobby so you could see your guests before admitting them to the building.
"Yes, sir. Can I help you?" the doorman asked quietly.
"No. I'm going up to Mr. Guising's apartment."
"He's not at home, sir."
"I know. I came over to pick something up for him."
The doorman hesitated, then said, "I guess it'll be all right, sir."
"I know it will," Jim said, brushing past the man.
One of the four elevators whisked him swiftly to the eighteenth floor. It took Jim several tries to find the right key and let himself into the apartment. The place was tremendous, five large rooms and a terrace. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, and living room. Everything was carpeted from wall to wall, even the bathrooms.
Jim went into the master bedroom and found the money just where Tommy had said he would find it. There was an envelope tucked inside a pair of folded pajamas in the third drawer in the dresser.
It was a fat envelope and when Jim tore off one edge he counted more than fifteen one hundred dollar bills. When he reached fifteen he stopped counting, shoved the money back into the envelope, and thrust the envelope into his jacket pocket. If there was that much money, he'd better take the whole thing and turn it all over to Tommy.
Back in the City Jail there was another wait for the prisoner to be brought. Jim waited until Tommy was there before paying the bail and handing over the rest of the money.
Once legally free of the entangling arms of the law, and while he was putting in his shoelaces, Tom Guising launched a violent outburst against the minions of peace and safety. He called them every conceivable name, and threatened them with Supreme Court action.
The officers quietly ignored the outburst and Jim pulled Tommy out of there as soon as possible. The cab was still waiting and by now the meter read more than eight dollars.
"Where are we going now?" Jim asked.
"Back to my place," Guising said. "I've got a lot to do. If those monkeys think they can do this to me and get away with it they've got another think coming."
"All right," Jim said to the cabby. "Uptown again. Back to where we just came from."
"I'm getting to know this route pretty good," the driver quipped. "A couple more trips and I'll be able to drive it with my eyes closed."
"Just shut up and drive!" Guising snapped.
"All right! All right!" the driver said with a shrug. "Don't lose your temper."
Traffic was still heavy and this time the driver headed straight for the Drive without being told.
Jim and Guising settled back in their seats and lit cigarettes. "Thanks for helping me out," Guising said. "A couple more hours in that place and I would have been climbing the walls."
"Tell me what happened," Jim said.
Guising nodded toward the driver. "Wait 'til we get to my place. I don't know what I'd have done without you. A man gets arrested in this town and all of a sudden his new friends can't be reached by phone. I must have made fifty calls trying to find someone to come down and get me out. Don't worry, I'll fix all those so-called friends."
When the cab pulled up in front of the apartment house the meter read nine dollars and eighty-five cents. "You've still got the twenty," Jim said to the cabby. "Give me five bucks and we'll call it square."
The driver fished a five dollar bill out of his shirt pocket, handed it back, and said, "Thanks."
"Thank you," Jim said. "It would have been hell trying to find cabs every time I stopped somewhere."
The two men got out, with the doorman holding the door open, and the cab took off with a squeal of tires.
"I have a package for you, Mr. Guising," the doorman said. "Will you take it up with you?"
"No. Send it up with one of the porters when you get a chance," Guising told the man. "I know what's in it. It's not important right now."
"The night man will be on in half an hour," the doorman said. "I'll send it up with him."
"Good man."
Once they were inside the apartment and the door was locked again, Guising shucked out of his topcoat and suit jacket and headed straight for the bar. He poured himself one stiff shot and downed it at a gulp, then mixed two drinks.
"Come on inside," he said to Jim. "We'll talk while I get cleaned up."
In the bedroom Guising stripped down to his shorts, threw a towel around his neck, and stepped into the bathroom. He left the door open and Jim perched on the edge of the bed. Guising washed, brushed his teeth, then spread shaving cream all over his face.
"All right," Jim said. "Now tell me what happened."
"I got a couple of places in midtown that sell my stuff. About midnight last night I stopped by one of them to drop off some more. A damned plain-clothes cop picked me up before I even got into the store. I had the stuff on me."
"But why were you arrested out of a clear blue sky? Did somebody squeal on you?"
"Naw, nothing like that. It's stupid really. Some jerk pulled a liquor store stick-up a few blocks away and I answered the general description. Of course, once they found the stuff on me they arrested me anyway."
"How bad is it?"
"It could be worse. They can only get me for possession, not for intent to sell. It's lucky they got me on the street and not inside the store. I'll tell the judge I was taking the stuff to a party to show to some friends and I'll probably get off with a hundred dollar fine. They'll keep the stuff they took from me but that's no great loss. The whole batch cost me less than twenty bucks. The worst part about the whole thing is that now I've got a record and they'll be watching me pretty close. I'll have to be very careful from now on. Damned blue-noses have been screaming about this kind of stuff to the papers and there's a big drive on."
"If it wasn't this," Jim said, "it would have been something else. You can't expect to stay in this business for very long. That's why I didn't want to throw in with you."
Guising had finished shaving. "So you got a job for sixty-five a week instead. Where's that gonna get you? You know how much I made in the last three months? Fifteen thousand dollars! And that's peanuts. I'm only a middleman. I buy and I sell. When I get fully organized I'll be doing my own photography and processing.
I'll clear a hundred and fifty thousand a year, easy."
"Yeah? And how are you going to spend all that money in jail?"
"Sonny boy, when you're making that kind of money you don't go to jail. You pay off a little here and a little there and so long as you don't get involved in a federal rap they'll never touch you."
"You think about where you spent last night and tell me that again," Jim said.
"Look, I don't want to argue with you," Guising told him. "I've got to take a shower. Why don't you call down and have a meal sent up for us. That jail food was lousy. I couldn't eat a bite."
"All right. How long will you be?"
"About fifteen minutes. There's a delicatessen a couple of blocks away that delivers. Order me a couple of pastrami sandwiches and French fries. Get whatever you want for yourself. I've got plenty of beer in the icebox."
"What's the name of the joint?"
"I don't know. The number's in a little book by the phone in the living room."
Jim made the phone call and had another drink while he waited for Tommy Guising. An idea was beginning to form in the back of his mind. At that point the idea was hazy, tenuous. It had no real form. Something had clicked and his mental machinery was beginning to work.
He tried to pin it down with no success. So he ignored the idea. When it was fully formed it would pop up in his consciousness and he could then decide whether it was a good idea, or a bad one.
The food came and a minute or two later Tommy came out of the bedroom. Jim had the sandwiches and potatoes out on plates. There were glasses, napkins, and cold bottles of beer-imported beer, of course.
Before they ate there was an accounting of the money. Tommy already had the envelope so he knew how much was left of that bundle. The cab cost had been fifteen dollars, for which Tommy reimbursed him from the twenty-five that had been left in the wallet.
"All right, we're square now," Tommy said. "So here's an extra hundred for all your trouble."
"I'll tell you what you do," Jim said softly. "You take off the top slice of that sandwich there, put in that bill, and eat it. What kind of thing is that to do to a friend? I don't want any money for helping you out of a tight spot."
"Go on. Take it. If a guy can't be good to his friends, who can he be good to? Forget I'm a friend for a minute. Make believe it was a job. You'd do the same thing for a stranger for a hundred bucks, wouldn't you?"
Jim smiled. "Every day of the week and twice on Sundays." He folded the bill and shoved it into his shirt pocket.
They began to eat and Jim asked, "Where'd you get that bruise on your cheek?"
"I fell down."
"You really fell down, or is that what the cops are saying?"
"No. Really. I tripped going down a flight of stairs. As a matter-of-fact, the cop holding on to my arm fell with me. He got hurt worse than I did. They think his arm is broken. The other cops were going to tear my head off until that first one told them it was an accident. But that missing fifty bucks really makes my blood boil. If I was a big shot they wouldn't dare mess around Mke that."
"Aw, forget it. It's not worth the aggravation."
"I guess you're right."
While they ate Guising filled Jim in on the details of his racket. He explained the procedure for acquiring the films and pictures. Jim was amazed to learn that the racket, from coast to coast, was tightly controlled by the national crime syndicate.
Every once in a while an independent operator sprang up, but he didn't usually last very long. If you were in the business either you bought your stuff from them, or you paid them twenty per cent of your net profit. There were lots of ways they got to you if you didn't pay. Your material would get hijacked. Your delivery men would get arrested every time they showed their faces on the street. The retailers would be warned not to buy from you. There were all sorts of ways.
Still, despite the problems and the risk, there was a lot of money to be made in the business. Guising was selling fifteen hundred sets of pictures a month. There were five photographs to a set. They cost him fifty cents a set and he was selling them for two dollars and fifty cents apiece. And there was even more money to be made on eight and sixteen millimeter movies. The movies cost him ten dollars apiece. He sold them for thirty dollars and averaged around a hundred sales a month.
Jim whistled soundlessly. "You mean that many men buy that junk?"
"Hell, that's not even ten per cent of the market in this town alone. Of course, it's not all straight love stuff. Some of the junk shows whips and things like that. Then, there's always a big demand for shots of a couple of chicks making out together."
"You mean Lesbians?"
Guising nodded. "That's a big seller with men mostly. Funny thing, though. The dealers tell me twenty or thirty per cent of their business comes from women."
"I think you'd better change the subject," Jim said. "I just ate and I'm getting a little sick. Is everybody in the world that mixed up?""
Tommy laughed. "You don't have to be a mental case to go for the average stuff. What's wrong with looking at pictures and movies of guys and gals making out together?"
Jim thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, really. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. It's just a waste of time. Why watch two people making love when you could be making love yourself? And if you don't want to make love, why look at that kind of stuff at all?"
"I don't think even a psychiatrist could answer that one," Guising said. "But there are people who do get a kick out of watching. Hell, if you were walking along in Central Park say, and you found a guy and a chick making out behind some bushes, would you keep walking or would you stand there and watch?"
Jim blushed a little. "I guess I would watch, if you put that that way."
"See! And there's nothing wrong with you, is there?"
"I see what you mean."
"Sure. There's nothing sick about that at all. That's all propaganda put out by those anti-smut nuts."
"But it is illegal."
"Sure it's illegal, but just because some bluenose managed to get the laws ramroded through Congress. And forget all that crud about it makes rape maniacs. There are lots of countries in the world where this sort of thing is not illegal and they don't have any more maniacs than we do."
They talked on until nine-thirty. By then Tommy was yawning regularly. He pushed his chair back from the table and rose.
"I'm beat," he said. "Who could sleep in that lousy jail? I'm gonna grab a couple hours sleep, then go burn some ears about all the guys who couldn't be reached when I was in the clink."
"I guess I'll take off then," Jim said. "I'm still a member of the working class and tomorrow morning's going to roll around pretty quick."
"Yeah. Thanks again. And, remember, if you change your mind I've always got a spot for you."
Jim grinned. "Yeah, that way we can share a jail cell. I'm not interested. If you get into something more legitimate though, give me a call."
He left and took the subway and a bus back to his ratty room. Compared to Tommy Guising's apartment Jim's own place was like the city dump. The furnishings were worn and threadbare and should have been relegated to a junk pile years before. The entire building should have gone to the junk pile years before.
Once inside the apartment Jim stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He shivered under the first blast of icy water and stepped out to wait for the hot water to begin to flow. But when, after several moments, there was no hot water, he cursed, clenched his jaws against the discomfort, and stepped back under the cold spray.
This wasn't the first time there'd been no hot water. In the month he'd been in the small apartment there'd been no hot water five different times. And he always found out when he was standing under the shower. Next time he'd test it first.
And every time he complained to the superintendent he got the same story. The boiler had broken down. It had to be expected in a building in such a sad state of disrepair. The landlord didn't give a damn. If you didn't like it you could move out. There were plenty of people to take the apartment even without hot water.
It wasn't so bad for Jim as it was for some of the other tenants. He only needed a little hot water to wash and shave; and, if need be, he could boil water for shaving. The families with kids were really in trouble. When there was no hot water there was no heat. When there was no hot water dishes couldn't be washed unless water was boiled. When there was no heat kids were sick all winter. And when there was no heat sick people didn't recuperate as quickly as they might have.
Jim didn't have to wash dishes. And he was only home to sleep. He didn't mind a cold room when he slept, so long as there were plenty of blankets. Pity the poor individuals who had to be around the cold apartments all day every day throughout the winter. They were the ones who suffered.
He didn't waste any time beneath the cold spray. He wet himself, soaped up, rinsed off, and got out of there. His body was tingling and invigorated when he finished drying off. He slipped into a pair of pajamas, arranged his cigarettes and ash tray beside the bed, turned off all the lights but the bedside lamp, picked up a copy of a paperback novel he'd purchased several days before, and climbed beneath the blankets.
He turned to his place in the book and tried to get interested in the story. But he wasn't in the mood for reading. He caught himself reading the same paragraph for the third time, dog-eared a page, and set the book to one side.
The people in the apartment beneath his were having their regular evening argument. And they always argued at the top of their lungs. It was very distracting. It wouldn't have been quite so bad if they argued in English. But no, they had to shout in something that sounded very much like French. Jim knew they were Negroes and guessed they were Haitians.
Such people were not uncommon in this neighborhood. It was an integrated area-really integrated. There were Puerto Ricans and Cubans and Negroes, and there were still some old Jews and Irishmen in a few of the buildings. In another sense, though, the area was strictly segregated. You couldn't live there unless you were poor. That was discrimination by income and was no less horrendous than discrimination by race.
Jim turned out the light and tried to will himself to sleep. But that failed, too. The argument downstairs was raging hot and heavy. Disgusted, he kicked back the blankets and sat up. Without turning on a light he rose, crossed the room to the alcove kitchen, and drank a glass of water.
Then he lit a cigarette and crossed to the single window in the apartment. His window faced the rear and the long narrow open area between the backs of the buildings on the side streets. The yards were littered with garbage and junk. Rats, mice, and hungry cats prowled down there twenty-four hours a day. Every once in a while you could hear the crash as a bottle was tossed from a window to shatter in the yard beneath. Or, sometimes, somebody would intentionally hurl one at a yowling cat.
Jim looked up at the sky, then down at the back yards again. A flash of light to his left caught his eye and he turned in that direction. The light had come on in the window of another apartment.
A girl came into view in the window. She was Puerto Rican and about seventeen. He'd seen her around the streets before. From his vantage point Jim could see well into the room. In his field of vision was a part of a dresser, a closet door, and most of a bed.
The girl walked to the closet, opened the door, and began to remove her clothes. She pulled her sweater off over her head and her breasts were bare beneath. Brassieres were luxury items to these people. Beneath the tight skirt she was wearing panties but no stockings. It took only a few seconds for her to strip down to the buff.
She had surprisingly large nipples for her small breasts, and her fine black hair hung in a shimmering cascade to her shoulders. But those were her only two attractive points. Her face was pockmarked. She was so skinny her ribs looked like a washboard. And her arms and legs were too bony to be attractive. She had almost no buttocks at all.
Jim's eyes widened and he gasped with surprise when, a few seconds later, the girl was joined by a man. He was a short man, about fifty, fat, red-faced, and obviously drunk. He threw his arms about the naked girl and crushed her against him.
She eeled out of his grasp and said something to him. He paused, took out his wallet, and handed the girl some money. She stepped out of sight for a moment, then reappeared without the money. This time there was no complaint when the man reached for her.
He held her with one arm about her waist and let his other hand roam over her nakedness. That hand looked like a fat white insect against her dusky flesh. The girl turned her face away from the man and tried to mask her disgust as his caress attacked one small breast.
They went on like that for a few minutes. Then the man shoved the girl back toward the bed. She stumbled and flopped back. The man staggered toward her, not bothering to remove his clothing.
Jim saw him kneel on the bed, grasp the girl's legs, and pull at them. Then the lights went out and he turned away. He hadn't been excited by the scene, yet he had watched until there was no more to see. Obviously the girl was a hustler. Judging from the appearance of her client, and from her own singular lack of real charm, her price couldn't be more than five dollars a throw. That was a heck of a start in life for a seventeen-year-old-even a seventeen-year-old Puerto Rican hustler. She would learn to charge a little more for the specialties but she'd never earn more than fifteen or twenty for a trick. Especially for hustling, those were starvation wages.
Jim got back into bed and let his mind wander. The argument downstairs had ended finally and now the only noise to disturb him was the too-loud radio in another apartment which was blaring Latin music. That could be tolerated.
He thought about this whole question of people getting their kicks watching other people making love. That wasn't really as sick as that had at first seemed to be. He imagined two attractive people, and himself watching, and he began to understand.
And then he remembered.
That had been a long time ago. He was only a kid then. That was right after he'd moved in with his Aunt Kris. She had only a small apartment and in the beginning he'd slept on a fold-away bed in the living room. Later on, when Kris had started bringing her boy friends home with her, Jimmy had moved into the bedroom and she'd taken over the living room.
Kris-she didn't like him to call her Aunt-was neither careful nor concerned about any glimpses of her body he might catch. Around the house she wore a light cloth house coat belted loosely at her waist. And she was particularly careless when she leaned over or crossed her legs.
Jimmy was just coming into manhood then and he remembered the flushes of excitement when he stole his surreptitious glances. Hers were the first breasts he'd ever seen, and that made his stomach tighten into knots to see those white rounded spheres and the pink tips.
One Sunday morning she sent him out to the store for milk. When he came back to the apartment Kris was stretched out on the sofa reading the Sunday paper. Her legs were crossed and the robe had fallen away, baring her almost to the hips. She was propped up with a cushion behind her and the neckline of the robe gaped away from her body to fully expose one coral-tipped breast.
Jimmy put the milk away in the icebox and went back to the living room. He picked up part of the Sunday paper and sat down in the chair across from the sofa.
He pretended to read but his eyes never left her body. He stared at her until his face was flushed and his hands were shaking so badly the newspaper crackled.
She looked up, caught him staring, and said, "What're you looking at?"
He tore his eyes away but couldn't conceal the furious blush.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you I" she snapped.
He looked up and tried to keep his eyes fixed upon her face.
"I asked you what you were looking at."
"Uh, nothing," he mumbled.
"Don't lie to me. I saw you. Haven't you ever seen a woman before?"
Jimmy shook his head and blushed more furiously. He was miserable with embarrassment.
"You think that's nice to peek at your own aunt like that?" Her voice was softer now, not so angry.
"I ... uh ... I guess not."
"Then why did you do that?"
"I don't know. I couldn't help that. I'm sorry. I'll try not to do that again."
Aunt Kris laughed. "Don't try too hard or you'll get yourself all messed up. I may be your aunt, but we're still strangers. If it's supposed to be all right to look at the bodies of strange girls you can't help looking at me. And I don't really mind. In a way that's a compliment that you'd want to peek at an old woman like me."
"You're not so old," Jimmy said quickly.
"Well, I'm too old to worry about that sort of thing," she said with a soft smile. "And, as your legal guardian, I guess I'm responsible for your education. Come over here."
There was something about the tone of her voice then, that made him feel all soft and mushy as he rose and walked slowly toward her. His eyes widened and bulged when he saw her hands go to the belt of the robe, pull that loose, and pull the robe wide.
"Take a good look," she said softly. "You don't have to sneak a peek now."
He looked.
His body began to shake and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He felt flushed and feverish. His mouth was dry and there was an ache deep within him.
Slowly, still keeping the robe open, Kris rose from the sofa. She let the robe slip from her shoulders and posed for him, turning in a slow circle to let him see everything.
Those parts of her which never saw the sun were starkly white. Just beneath the surface of the skin in places he could see a webbing of fine blue veins. Her breasts were big and soft with dark circles of pebbled flesh around the thrustings of the nipples. Her legs and buttocks were full and heavy and the skin was slightly puckered.
"Seen enough?" she asked softly.
He only nodded, his throat being too dry to permit speech.
She picked up the robe and slipped that on again, but left the front hanging open. And when she sat down again she said, "I'll make you a deal. Just so you won't have to sneak peeks all the time we won't worry about modesty around here. All right?"
He nodded quickly.
"But that means you, too. I mean, that wouldn't be fair for me to walk around showing everything if you always kept covered up, would that?"
Now he was blushing again and he was more miserable than before. He had no choice but to agree with her. She smiled and went into the kitchen to prepare Sunday breakfast.
With the whole subject out in the open like that it was no longer necessary for Jimmy to stare at her. He was still a little uncomfortable during that first meal with the nipples of those breasts staring back at him across the table like a pair of eyes. But by the next day he was completely accustomed to the sight of Kris's naked body.
A period of time passed before young Jimmy's interest in his aunt was rearoused. In that latent period Kris gave him every opportunity to see her. She slept in the raw and didn't mind if he walked into her bedroom. When she went to take a shower she walked naked through the apartment.
Jimmy was embarrassed the first time she demanded he uncover, too. He was getting ready to shower and he'd slipped on a robe. She made him take that off and put that aside and she made no bones about looking at him.
He had to fight the impulse to keep from covering himself with one hand. She made a statement which, at that time, he thought curious.
"You're a big boy," she said when she looked at him. "You're going to make some girl very, very happy."
He didn't know what she was talking about and he was too embarrassed to ask questions.
This period of latency ended, however, when Jimmy began to want to touch that lovely female body-the only one he'd ever seen. He looked at those breasts and those hips and he wanted to touch them, to kiss them. And the trembling excitement returned.
Only this time there was a difference in the excitement. That wasn't just a childish thrill. Now there were other signs of his excitement. And sometimes, when he was looking at her and thinking about touching her, he became so excited there was real, physical pain-a kind of ache that went through his body, right to the core of his being.
Lying in the dark in his room Jim paused in his thoughts to crush out his cigarette. He lit another and wondered why he hadn't remembered that particular period of his life.
He thought back again.
One evening Kris was just finishing with her shower and Jimmy was just getting ready to go in. They were both naked and she came out of the bathroom still rubbing the towel against her body.
He stared at the way she was flattening her breasts and rubbing her own stomach and he was dizzy with excitement.
And Kris noticed.
She looked at him, pointed, and said in a surprised tone, "Why Jimmy, look at you!"
He was so embarrassed he wanted to run and hide. He blushed all the way down to his shoulders.
"Oh, Jimmy, you don't have to be ashamed. I think you're wonderful. How old are you, anyway?"
"Sixteen," he stammered.
She shrugged and her wonderful breasts bounced. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised then. It's a wonder that didn't happen earlier. I've just been thinking of you as a little boy. You're not really so little, are you?"
"I-I don't know. I guess not. I'm gonna take a shower."
"Why don't you take a bath instead," Kris suggested.
Timmy shrugged. "I don't care."
"I'll start the water running."
She went back into the bathroom and he heard the shower curtain beftg opened, then the sound of the tub filling. A few minutes later Kris called him into the bathroom. The tub was ready. She was still naked and he brushed against her breast as he stepped over the side of the tub.
His shoulder burned where he had touched against her. And even when he was easing himself down into the hot water he could feel that instant of contact, the soft smoothness of her breast and the surprising hardness of the nipple scraping across his shoulder.
Kris didn't leave fhe bathroom once he was seated. Instead, she knelt down beside the tub and said, "You're a man now and tonight we're going to celebrate. A real man shouldn't have to bathe himself. His woman should do that for him. Have you got a girl Jimmy?"
He shook his head
"Did you ever love a girl?"
He shook his head again. He'd heard the other fellows his own age talking about girls and he'd been excited by their talk, but he'd never even had a date with a girl.
"I guess then, I'll have to be your woman."
Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered in the tub. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but whatever that was, that had to do with the excitement and the ache of longing.
Kris soaped a washcloth and washed his face and ears and neck, his shoulders, and arms and chest. Then the rag went below the surface of the water to scrub.
Jimmy was sweating. His mouth was dry, his blood thundered in his veins.
Kris washed his back and Jim had a curious feeling. He wanted with all his heart and soul for her to touch him, and at the same time he was embarrassed about that. He hoped she would touch him and he was afraid she would.
His eyes shot open when her hand and the washcloth brushed against him. She was watching his face for a reaction and she smiled at his expression.
"Why is your face all screwed up like that?" she asked. "Does that hurt when I touch you like this?"
He shook his head quickly as the lightning bolts of pleasure shot through him.
"And like this?" she touched him a new way.
This time he couldn't even shake his head. His body was trembling and twitching. He looked at her hand against him. And he looked at her wonderful breasts hanging over the side of the tub and reaching almost to the surface of the water.
He reached out quickly and gripped one breast and that was like holding a live coal in his hand. His palm burned and tingled from the touch and he could feel the nipple scraping, pushing by his fingers.
He was even more thrilled when she made no protest. She didn't mind if he touched her! And he'd wanted to touch her so badly all this time!
Kris pulled the plug to drain the tub and helped Jimmy to rise. When he was standing she picked up a fresh towel and proceeded to dry him. The drying off was even more fun than the washing. And while she was drying him he touched both her breasts, traced the curve of her hip and the ridges of her spine all the way to her buttocks. She grinned up at him when he filled both his hands with the soft flesh of her behind.
When he was dry she helped him step over the side of the tub and led him from the bathroom directly to her bedroom. She motioned him to the bed, pulled the window shade down, but left the light on as she crossed to the bed and sat down beside him.
"Do you like to touch me?" she asked in a whisper.
He nodded. His first excitement had subsided, but now was reasserting itself. Kris stretched out on the bed and made him lay down beside her. He was turned on one hip to face her and she lay on her back. She picked up his wrist and smiled at him as she brought his hand against her breast.
"Go on," she urged in a voice suddenly going hoarse, the smile fading from her face. "Go on. Do whatever you want!"
He squeezed and kneaded the breast, flicked the nipple with the tip of his finger. He caught the nipple with his thumb and forefinger and pulled lightly, rolled that with his fingertips.
Kris groaned deep in her throat. For a moment he was afraid he'd hurt her. She shuddered, gripped him hard, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her shoulders twisted and her other breast jounced. He moved his hand to that one and did the same things there.
"Oh!" she whisperer! "I love to be touched like this. Kiss them!"
He pressed a pair of pursed lips to the side of a breast. She caught the back of his head with one hand, took her breast with the other hand and directed the nipple to his lips.
"Bite me!" she groaned, her hand returning to his body. "Bite me!"
His heart was pounding so he could hardly hear her. Beyond the perimeter of the bed the world had faded from existence. Kris rolled on her side toward him. pressing against him from shoulder to knee. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the nipples boring. Her silken skin rubbed wondrously against him.
Her arms locked around him and she rolled again, drawing him to her. She made an adjustment.
A brand new sensation overwhelmed him. That was stupendous, magnificent beyond description. Her body moved and her hands on his hips urged him to move. Moving only made that better.
Kris grunted and groaned, muttered and cursed beneath her breath as they worked together. Sometimes she wanted him to go fast, other times she made him move ever so slowly. That was wonderful both ways.
Twice she gave short screams as her whole body stiffened and shuddered, but each time she relaxed after a moment and started moving with him again. She made him lean his head down to kiss her breasts while they continued to work together.
Then, suddenly, without warning, something happened to Jimmy. That happened to his body and his brain at the same time. For his body there was a kind of wrenching, tearing thing and his muscles clenched spasmodically. For his brain there was an explosion like that of the first atom bomb.
Afterward he was weak and dizzy. He slumped and rolled away from her. She took him in her arms, cuddled him, and crooned softly to him until he fell asleep.
When he awakened in the morning he was still on the bed with her. She was turned away from him and curled into a ball, still asleep. He kissed her shoulder and ran his hand down her back, down from the base of her neck, down over the taut curve of her buttocks.
She stirred in her sleep and he was immediately excited again. He had a feeling now of strength and power. Last night he'd given her much pleasure. That was wonderful to be able to do that for a woman.
He fitted himself to the curve of her back and reached over her side to caress the front of her body. She stirred again at his insistent touch.
"Umm," she said softly, smiling as she opened her eyes. "You learn fast."
They kissed and touched until they were both very excited, then repeated what they'd done the night before. That was even better in the morning. As soon as they were finished Jimmy wanted to start all over again.
Kris pushed him away with a laugh. "That's enough," she said, scrambling out of bed. "I've got to go to work this morning and you've got to go to school."
Reluctantly, he rose and dressed. In the kitchen, over breakfast, Kris was very serious as she spoke to him.
"What we did," she said, "was wonderful. You needed to learn all about that sort of thing. I wanted you to learn the right way, the best way. Sometimes boys get started badly and their whole lives are messed up. But now you've learned. You know what to do and how to do that. There are some other things I'll tell you about but that's just discussion. As far as you and I are concerned nothing will ever happen again. Besides being your aunt, I'm much too old for you. You're sixteen. I'm almost forty. When you want to make love you go out and find a girl your own age. There are plenty of them around. And once they find out how good you are you'll have to beat them off."
Jimmy was puzzled and hurt by her statement. To him it was a kind of rejection and he was sullen and bitter. No longer did they parade around the apartment in the nude. Twice he tried to get her to make love with him again and both times he got his face slapped.
Then he moved into the bedroom and she moved out to the living room and started bringing home boy friends. Lots of times he was awake when she came home late and he heard her and her boy friends, and that was agony.
And once she came home with a man and they were both drunk. Jimmy heard them in the living room and went to peek through the bedroom keyhole. They were sitting on the sofa, slobbering kisses over each other and taking off their clothes.
They made love once and rested. And while they were resting Jimmy heard Kris telling the man about the time she'd made love with her sixteen-year-old nephew.
And as he lay on his bed in his small apartment Jimmy knew why he hadn't remembered the incident before, why he'd never had much interest in girls. Oh, he'd had a few women in his years, but his drive for that sort of thing had never seemed as strong to him as that appeared to be for most other men his age.
He felt then the shock and rage and embarrassment he'd experienced when he'd overheard Kris betraying him. The memory had been too painful to be maintained. And the trauma had generalized to affect, at least partially, his relationship with other women from that day forward.
Now that he'd remembered that, he thought to himself, how would that affect all his subsequent relationships with women? He could understand now why he'd always been less interested in things like Guising sold. And yet the block hadn't been complete. With Doreen, and with the ether women he'd had, he'd always performed well and enjoyed himself, too. There'd never been any complaint from the women.
He shrugged off the thought, turned over on his bed, and dropped off to sieep.