Chapter 6

WITHIN A FEW WEEKS, THE EXPANSION PROGRAM OF Sunnical Tours was well underway.

We'd bought another bus-medium-sized and several years old-plus a pair of sedan-busses needed for Zimmer's operation. I had a couple of new tours running-one a nightly visit to several Hollywood night clubs; and the other, a day-long jaunt to Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm. The latter attractions are located fairly close to one another in Orange County, thirty miles from downtown L.A.

I escorted the night club tour, and Ted Price drove for me. On the other one, I did both the driving and spieling, since our two regular drivers were busy during the daytime. The movie star and studio routes, though fading, still had enough appeal to produce a profit.

In the meantime, Zimmer had acquired his outof-town properties-two large, older houses secluded in the foothills northwest of the city-and he was in the process of remodeling and furnishing them for business. As to the stocking of the houses, he'd given me no inkling of where the girls were going to come frOm and I hadn't inquired. I figured that the less I knew about that end of things, the better off I would be.

Anyway, I had my hands full with the two daily tours I was running.

The one to the night spots sold for fourteen bucks a head and included a complete show and a drink at each of four clubs, with transportation, tips and tax thrown in.

How did we do it? By making a social deal with the management of the clubs, of course. They got anywhere from twenty-five to forty people at a crack, many of whom bought extra drinks, paid for pictures, or perhaps returned another day on their own if they liked the place. In return, the clubs gave Sunnical a substantial discount on cover charges and drinks. I signed the check at each place and the drinks were dispensed to our patrons for tickets which we gave them when the tour began.

The trip to Orange County worked much the same way, except that there's no liquor sold at Disneyland or Knott's. The patrons got their admission to Disneyland (Knott's has no entrance fee), several selected rides and attractions at each place, and one of Mrs. Knott's famous chicken dinners, all for a flat eight dollars for adults, and five-fifty for kids.

We put out a brochure for distribution through travel agencies, hotels and motels, and pushed the new tours in newspaper ads. The immediate response was better than I'd expected, and it built steadily.

The night club tour was especially popular right from the start, the reason being that it was a little wilder than comparable offerings by our competion. It included a Hollywood strip-joint as well as a top-flight Sunset Boulevard supper club. The other two stops included a modern-jazz hangout and a place on La Brea that typified the speakeasy era.

Some old contacts I had around town had been helpful in setting up the arrangements, and I drew on my experience as a salesman and carny barker to put the tour across. Also, I got some tips from Ted Price and Hank Shelby-two old hands at the game. The patrons usually had fun, we made money, and the clubs got some promotional benefits. It's a good deal that pleases everybody, and ours seemed to be doing just that.

Maybe you're wondering what sort of patrons we got for the night club tour. Well, they were mostly out-of-towners, but we drew a few locals, as well-married couples who'd never ventured out on the night rounds before and preferred to go with a tour rather than to plunge in on their own ... and, of course, unescorted women.

Tours of this sort are a boon to gals who are traveling alone or with another girl, and also to those who live in town but haven't been able to latch onto a man who will take them to some of the places they want to visit.

If you'd like to get an idea of how the tour was run, why don't you tag along with me some night?

Let's see ... there was that time when I got mixed up with the two broads from Keokuk. Yeah, that would be a good one to tell you about.

It was a Saturday, as I recall, and we had a pretty good-sized crowd with us. A few had gotten on at the office, as usual, but most had boarded at the two hotel stops in downtown L. A. and the one we made in Hollywood.

After the group was all together, I started my spiel, using a microphone that was hooked up with several speakers built into the roof of the bus.

Standing in front, facing the patrons, I introduced myself (to them I was the "tour escort"), then delivered a few stock lines about the driver. That's always a good way to start. I usually either ask the patrons to bear with him because this is his first night and he doesn't know the town very well, or else I ask them to give him a round of applause because it's an important occasion in his life; then, when the clapping has ended, I announce that he's gone all day without an accident. I may also use the old one about his mother having wanted to be a minister, but now being happy because as a bus driver he's caused more people to pray than he would have done in church.

Hokey, all of them. But they seem to go over well. And they serve to break the ice.

After the bus starts to roll, I usually sit on the top step beside the driver, face front, and point out places of interest that we pass, carrying on a running line of patter into the microphone.

Also, I try to prepare the patrons for the festivities to come. We get some pretty strait-laced ones sometimes, and they require a little softening up.

The particular night I'm talking about, for in stance, there was this pair of biddies from Kansas. (I find out where the patrons live by asking for a show of hands while I rattle off the names of a few states the big ones like New York, Illinois and Texas-after which I ask the other people to call out their states' names.)

I don't remember where the rest of that night's crowd was from, but it's a safe bet that there were Texans and Illini, and some from elsewhere in the Midwest, perhaps one or two from up north-Oregon or Washington-a couple of Japanese men who'd just arrived in the country, a pair from Europe, and maybe a lady from New York traveling alone ... oh, yes, and let's not forget the broads from Keokuk.

Of course, I didn't know they were from Keokuk until later. At the start, I only knew they were from Iowa. But we became pretty well acquainted before the night was out-about as well acquainted as a guy and two girls can get.

I think it was on that night that we had the elderly couple from Utah-the husband kept falling asleep during the evening and his wife had to keep rousing him-and a giggling spinster from Ohio who got high on her second drink and furnished a bit of extra merriment for the others.

It was a typical crowd, except for the Keokuk broads. They were most definitely special.

Our first stop, as usual, was the place on La Brea. Now, this is an interesting joint. It's called The Ragtimer and it features atmosphere straight out of the 1920's, with a five-piece jazz band, a guy in a derby hat, striped shirt and red sleeve-garters who plays rinky-tink piano, and a half-dozen broads in black mesh hose, spangles and feathers who dance on the bar and double as cocktail waitresses between shows. The place is usually crowded and noisy and the drinks aren't the best, but its rowdiness and color get the tour crowd in the mood for fun.

We always catch the first show there, which goes on at around nine o'clock. It doesn't amount to much, really. The piano player leads some community singing, then the band marches in, blasting their heads off, after which the girls mount the bar and do some Charleston and twist numbers. The girls are pretty good-looking and their costumes are cut low enough to let you see their boobies quiver. So, what more do you want with your bourbon?

I usually stand in back and shoot the bull with the manager or a hatcheck girl while I keep an eye on my charges, most of whom are grouped around some large tables, with a few couples paired off at smaller ones. Sometimes I have a drink, if business is good that night and the manager feels like springing.

On this occasion, however, I had my eye on those chicks from Keokuk. I'd given them a pretty good look when they got on the bus, and had been shooting glances their way as we drove along. They'd chosen to sit in the front row where my low vantage point had afforded me a damned good view of their legs.

They were appetizing babes, both of them. One had auburn hair in an up-do, dangling earrings, and a look that was cool but led me to conclude she was out for no good. She was tall and on the slim side. Svelte was the word.

Her friend was champagne blonde, hair short and wavy, and she had a pair of gray-green eyes that really sparkled. Everything seemed to amuse her. Figure-wise she was a knock-out, with a set of attributes that would have challenged a Mount Everest climber ... or most any other male, for that matter.

They each wore stylishly short skirts, and those two pairs of crossed legs were sight to see at close range. The blonde showed a patch of white thigh above the top of one stocking, but the taller one wore longer hose, and I could see only as far as their dark tops.

At The Ragtimer I watched them sitting at a front table, chatting and giggling together, and I began to get one hell of a yen to try to split up their duo. I never succeeded in doing that ... but the way things turned out was even better.

It was at our second stop-the strip-joint on Vine Street-where I made my move. They'd gotten a table close to the action, as they always seemed to do, and I sauntered up and slipped a chair between them.

I gave them a grin. "You ladies don't mind company, I hope?"

They each looked me over and, as I glanced from one to the other, it was hard to decide which pretty set of features had the biggest welcome written on it.

The auburn-haired one said, "Not at all. Things are always more fun with a man around. By the way, I'm Beryl Ross and this is Gladys Covel. We're from Keokuk."

That was when I found out.

It seemed to me that a name like Keokuk required a little discussion. After we had kicked around its Indian derivation for a while, I found out that it was a medium-sized town located on the Mississippi River at the point where Iowa, Missouri and Illinois meet. I also learned-and this was of greater interest-that Gladys was a librarian and Beryl a kindergarten teacher. They had pooled their resources for a whang-bang California vacation which had so far turned out to be something of a dud.

As we sipped our drinks-with me being a big man and buying the first round so that the girls could save their tickets for later-Beryl remarked, "What's the matter with the men around Los Angeles, anyway? We haven't had a date since we got here. As a matter-of-fact, we haven't even been approached."

"I can't account for that," I said, swiveling my head to take in both of them. "From where I sit, you're a pair of charmers."

"Thank you, kind sir," Beryl chirped. Then she added, to her friend, "He's nice, isn't he, Gladys?"

Gladys was smiling at me. "But he's working, Beryl. He has to be nice to us."

I was just about to assure her that being "nice" was entirely a matter of my own choice, when a brassy fanfare from the instrumental group announced the opening of the show. A bald-headed guy in a dinner jacket hopped the stand and grasped a microphone.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said through a toothy grin, "and welcome to the hottest show in Hollywood. Tonight you're gonna see six of the most charming little lasses on the Pacific Coast as they strip down for your most special enjoyment. These girls are the cream of the crop, as you will soon discover, and I hope you'll give each of them the reception she deserves.

"Now, our first dancer of the evening is about to entertain you. Come on and give a warm welcome to pert and pretty little Balla Fire."

The dancers at the joint didn't interest me. I'd seen them all many times before. Burlesque routines had never really appealed to me, anyway. They were too artificial to be very exciting, in my view, though there seemed to be a constant audience for them.

Strip clubs were making it big in L. A. right then. The burlesque theaters on Main Street were still operating, also, though these had long since lost most of their luster. I wasn't old enough to remember it myself, but I'd heard about the old Follies and the Burbank in their heyday-how they'd given a start to some of the top performers in the business and how their shows used to play to packed houses every night. In recent years, night clubs like the one we were attending had stolen most of the thunder.

The girl who called herself Balla Fire was competent. Small, dark and balloon-breasted, she bumped across the stand and along the runway in front of us. She shed her break-away gown quickly and then her bra and the shafts of diaphanous fabric which hung below her middle, until she was left in the legal minimum-pasties and net pants. It was at that point that she began to bear down.

Behind me I heard one of the biddies from Kansas say, "Isn't it disgraceful!" At about the same time, an older man chuckled appreciatively. "Well, it just goes to show you-one man's meat ... and all that."

I glanced from Beryl to Gladys. The tall redhead was watching the dancer with casual interest and sucking on a cigarette, but Gladys wasn't looking at the show at all. She was watching me.

When our eyes met, she smiled. "Pretty good, isn't she?"

I grinned back. "She slings it around."

"Do I detect a note of disdain?" Gladys asked in true librarian fashion, as her gray-green eyes continued to sparkle.

"Not when I look at you," I said. "If you do, you're just not reading me right."

"Well!" Her eyes widened slightly and her smile held on. "Maybe you arc being nicer than you have to be."

We watched the rest of Balla's act, then the flame-tressed girl who followed her, and the third one, who was a statuesque blonde. By that time the Keokuk girls had spent their drink tickets, since those particular coupons wouldn't be good at the next place, and I had bought another drink for myself.

When the blonde ducked behind the curtains, Beryl said to me, "I can't see why men like strip shows so much. They seem so pointless, really. I mean, a man gets all worked up, and there's nothing to be done about it."

"It's the best some guys can do on a cold night," I replied.

"I'll bet you don't have that problem," she said, her brown eyes hopping from the top of my head to my face. "Anyway, it isn't cold tonight, is it?"

"You know, I was just thinking that same thing myself," I told her, then glanced back at Gladys who was still watching me, all aglow.

I'd made up my mind by then that I'd found myself a coupe of live ones. The only question was how to work it. I mean, one guy to two women was not exactly the approved ratio.

These dolls didn't show any sign of wanting to split up, however. They each just sat there and looked at me as if I was an ice cream sundae or something and they hadn't had a thing to eat all day.

There was always the chance, I knew, that they were just flirting. Perhaps the fact that they were two against my one had given them a sense of security which had made them go a little further than they otherwise would have. I recognized this as a possibility, but I didn't really believe it. They were far from home, on a fling in the big city, and I had learned long ago that normally respectable girls sometimes became quite 'daring in such circumstances.

Before the next stripper was introduced, Beryl flashed her friend a look, then said to me, "I think I'll powder my nose. Will you excuse me?"

Almost before I had assured her that I would, Gladys stood up also. "I'll join you," she said, and then she added to me, "Now don't go away."

"I wouldn't think of it," I stated, then watched them twist their cute fannies between tables on their way to the ladies' room.

This will resolve the problem, I thought, as I sipped my Scotch and water and gazed idly at the fourth performer on the stand-an older brunette who could do amazing things with her chest muscles. I presumed that when the girls came back I would find out which one I was going to get. I had visions of them flipping a coin right at that moment.

As far as I was concerned, I didn't much care which of the beauties I drew. The redhead had seemed a little more reserved, but I knew enough not to jump to conclusions. Some people wear a thicker mask than others; when they take the mask off, you're apt to find an entirely different individual underneath it.

I had a surprise when the girls returned. The redhead was still cool and composed and the blonde was still smiling. They took their places at either side of me and, for quite a while, neither of them said a thing. Perhaps nothing at all had been decided, I thought.

Then the auburn-haired one, Beryl, turned to me and asked, "Do you have to ride the bus all the way to your station, or can you get off at one of the hotels?"

"I'm through when we get out of the last night club," I said, wondering exactly what she was getting set to spring.

"Good." Beryl's eyes now assumed a twinkle which matched the blonde's. In fact, the way she looked at me was down-right predatory. She added, in a sultry tone, "We're staying at the Hemming." (That was the name of the hotel where we stopped in Hollywood.)

I looked from one of them to the other and asked, "Both of you?"

The question, on its face, was innocent enough. But they had grasped my real meaning. At least, Gladys had.

She spoke up: "Certainly, both of us. We do everything together."

Interested?" Beryl asked, her brown eyes glowing like coals in the reflected light from the stage where the fifth strip teaser was bumping away unnoticed.

"Hell, yes," I said with gusto.

Gladys placed a cool hand on my arm and whispered, "Do you think you're man enough?"

So, there it was, cousins-all spelled out in black and white. Evidently Beryl and Gladys had decided they were going to share me, and they didn't want to take any chances on my chickening out at the last minute. They wanted to have everything settled in advance.

Was I man enough?

I wasn't sure, to be honest with you. But I knew one thing: I was damn well going to find out!

For the sake of appearances, I let them go up to their hotel room first.

Then, when the bus was ready to take off, I grasped Ted Price by the arm. "You fly it in, boy. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave me a wise look. "That quail that just got out, huh?"

"How'd you guess?" I grinned.

"But there are two of 'em."

"So what's wrong with a double-header once in a while?"

"Why don't you keep one of 'em warm for me?" he suggested. "It'll only take me thirty minutes to get this crate put away. Then I'll be over and join you."

"No dice," I told him. "They both want me."

"You got it all settled?" he asked.

"Practically."

Envy bloomed on his face. "You've got a rough night ahead, daddio."

I grinned again. "That's what I was figuring. Isn't it hell?"

I swung out of the bus and tossed him a wave. Usually I make a little good-bye speech to the folks, but that night I'd decided to forget it.

The bus' door closed and the big vehicle snorted, then moved on its way.

It was a little after two a.m. by that time, and the hotel lobby was quiet. I headed straight for an elevator and punched the number of the Keokukers' floor. Or was it Keokukians? I didn't know, and I was damned if I cared. I had lots better things to interest me.

When I landed on the eighth floor, I prowled the deeply carpeted corridor in search of 812. That was the number Beryl had given me. I found it. After pausing for just a second, I rapped.

The door moved inward as soon as I touched it. Not only had it been unlocked, it hadn't even been closed all the way.

The room was dark.

I called, "Anybody here?"

There was a soft giggle. Then Beryl's voice said, "We're all here, honey."

"But I can't see a thing," I protested.

"You'll get used to it," she said, "Just close the door."

I did, and it was as if I'd jumped into a bottle of India ink. I started to walk with my arms stretched out in front of me.

I banged my shin on a small table and cursed mildly.

Gladys giggled again. "I think he's having a hard time," she said to her friend.

"Before long he'll have a harder one," Beryl stated.

I began to wonder what kind of a tigress' den I'd fallen into. I wasn't thinking of backing out, you understand, but the short hairs on the back of my neck did prickle a little bit.

It was just excitement, I told myself. Hell, what did I have to be afraid of?

"Have you got the range yet?" Beryl asked, her voice rich and velvet-sounding in the dark.

"I'm not sure," I told her. "Maybe you should talk me in ... you know, like they used to do when they guided planes into the airports."

"What's the matter with your radar?" Gladys asked. "Don't tell me it isn't working."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "Everything I've got works fine."

She giggled.

I could still see practically nothing in the room. There was just no light coming in, at all. Even the drapes on the windows had been closed.

I kept inching my way in the direction from which the girls' voices had come.

When Beryl next spoke, her voice was very close: "Why don't you get undressed?"

It seemed like a good idea, so I agreed without argument. I took off every stitch, throwing my clothes on a chair I'd bumped into.

"Are you ready?" Beryl asked.

"I'm nude," I said, "Let's put it that way."

"Then walk toward my voice. I'm on your side of the bed. I'll put my hand out."

I began to walk. And suddenly I bumped right into her groping fingers.

"You aren't ready, are you?" she said.

"Well, what did you expect?" I shot back. "I'm not that fast-especially when I can't see anything to aim at."

"Give him a chance, Beryl," Gladys said. "I'm sure he'll do the best he can."

Beryl was holding onto me and gently drawing me toward her. I could make out the dim outline of the bed in front of me and two shapes atop it. I inched forward and my legs bumped the mattress. In the meantime, Beryl's grasp was setting up the normal reaction.

"That's all right," Beryl murmured. "Yes ... not bad at all!"

"What are you talking about?" Gladys asked.

"His reflexes. They're pretty sharp."

"Let me see," Gladys said, and the shape on the other side of the bed sat up.

"Take it easy," Beryl told her. "We'll each have our turn." Then, to me, she said, "Can you see to lie down between us?"

"I think so," I replied.

She released me and I climbed onto the bed.

There was warmth there, and a tantalizing blend of two perfumes. I felt softness at either side of me. Bare softness. I settled down and turned onto my back.

The girls cuddled me from either side, each of them clutching an arm. "Now, how's this?" Gladys murmured, and her fingers walked downward across my middle.

"Oh, Beryl!" she exclaimed. "He's terrific!" .

The prickling I'd felt on my neck before became stronger. It was strange, being with two broads like this and having them talk about me. But my body didn't seem to mind. At least, part of it didn't.

Gladys caressed me expertly. "Mmmm ... very nice."

The blonde sex-bomb was to my left and the long tall redhead at my other side. They were each turned toward me and grasping my arms so that I couldn't get at them.

I said, "Wait a minute, now. This is darned pleasant, but I don't exactly like to be pinned down."

Gladys laughed. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance to pin us down soon enough."

Now I felt Beryl's hand above the other girl's. "He's going to be good at it, too."

"You're telling me," Gladys murmured.

"Keep that up and you'll both be disappointed," I warned them.

"Oh?" Gladys' hand left me.

Beryl began to caress my inner thigh. Her fingertips were soft as the touch of a feather.

I pressed my palms against the bed and wriggled my shoulders, trying to free my arms from the women's grasp. But they each had their weight against me and I wasn't able to accomplish a thing.

I squirmed and wiggled some more, but still they held me fast.

"Look, you wildcats," I said, "give me a chance, will you? I'd like to find out what I'm getting, too, you know."

"You want to feel us, you mean?" Beryl asked.

"It might be nice," I told her.

"Yes, it might be, at that," she agreed. "Well, all right. But me first, okay? Gladdie, let go of his other arm." Beryl continued to clutch my right arm tightly.

Gladys leaned away from me and let my left arm go. I raised it above my body and brought it down gently at my other side. The palm of my hand came to rest on Beryl's soft smooth belly.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Very good, so far."

"It gets better," she assured me.

I slid my hand up.

"He's a breast man, honey," Beryl said. "That's what's been bothering him."

Gladys giggled. "Oh, goody!"

Beryl turned on her side and spoke right against my ear as I moved my hand to her bosom. "She thinks she's hot stuff because hers are bigger than mine. Do you think mine are too small, Jack?"

I felt them carefully.

There's something especially nice about feeling a pair of breasts when they're lying on their sides, the lower one against the bed and the other on top. They're so very soft and free like that. And very yielding, too.

Beryl had accused me of being a breast man. I'm not, really. At least, I had never thought of myself that way. I most certainly like breasts, but I like the other feminine accessories just as well.

Beryl's breasts were not too large but, lying as she was right now, they were immensely appealing. I stroked them-starting with the top one, at its base, and working out to the tip, which was already firm. Then I lifted the top breast on the back of my hand and worked my fingers onto her other one, which rested at the bottom. I moved my fingers back and forth between the two of them. Finally I extended my hand around both boobs and rubbed my thumb back and forth across the nipples.

They were hard little berries, those nibs. I wanted to be able to see them.

"Well?" Beryl asked. "You didn't answer my question."

"They're good," I told her. "You've got nothing to be jealous about."

"Wait until you feel mine," Gladys said at my back. "I measure forty-two, you know."

"I'll get to you," I promised. "Damn it, can't we have a light on?"

Beryl laughed deep in her throat. "So that's the kind of man you are-you have to have the light on when you do it to him?"

"I don't have to," I said. "But it's more fun. I like to see what I'm feeling."

"My chesties, you mean?" Beryl asked.

"Those and all the rest." I kept working on them. "By the way, where'd you get that word for them?"

"It sounds a little nicer than ... well, than other things."

"Beryl's inhibited," Gladys said. "You should have seen her face when I showed her the slang dictionary in our library. She got red as a radish."

"I'd like to see her face right now," I said. "As well as her chesties."

"What do you call them, Jack?" she asked.

"What?"

"Women's breasts."

"There are lots of names."

"But which one do you like best?"

"I like seeing better than talking." I said. "And feeling's better than that." I was feeling up a storm right then. "Now, kissing ... that's the best."

"But tell me what you like to call them," Beryl pressed.

"See what I mean?" Gladys said. "She's badly inhibited. She thinks four-letter words are just so naughty that they give her an awful bang."

"Is that right, baby?" I asked, still stroking her breasts.

"Yes. Tell me" Her voice had become husky and tense.

So I began to tell her about her breasts in the language she wanted to hear.

"Oh, yes ... oh, yes," she said. She wriggled against my side, her breasts moving in my cupped hand.

Gladys giggled. "See there? Oh, you've really turned her on, now!"

By that time I was getting very anxious to do more than just talk and squeeze. I wriggled down lower on the bed until her reclining breasts were opposite my mouth. Then I lifted the top one and pressed its point between my lips.

"Oohh!" Beryl said.

"What is he doing now?" Gladys asked.

"Oh, he's ... he's kissing me."

"Mmmm...." Gladys responded, and I felt her hands stroking downward on my back until they went all the way to my buttocks.

I held Beryl's breast between my fingers, lifting and moving it around, while my lips and tongue made ardent love to her very firm nipple. She was panting hard and squirming against the bed.

Gladys kept petting me in back, but I hardly felt it at all. Beryl's breast was too tasty.

I let the top breast go and lifted up the other one. I circled its hard crest with my tongue.

"Oh, that drives me crazy!" Beryl exclaimed.

"How about this?" I asked, and then I took both of her nipples in my mouth at the same time.

When a woman's lying like that, you can do it. If your mouth happens to be reasonably wide, that it, and her breasts reasonably loose. Beryl's were. They were loose to the point of being floppy. But I wasn't complaining.

Gladys had scootched downward behind me and was now kissing the small of my back while her fingers moved up and down my thighs, squeezing them. Her ministrations were having their effect. Coupled with what I was doing to Beryl's bosom, they had fired me sufficiently for me to want to bring things to a conclusion.

I slipped my hand down Beryl's body and between her legs. She jumped as if she'd been prodded with a hot poker.

After a little while, I slipped my palm over the rise of her hip and brought it flat against her buttocks. They were small and tight. In fact, Beryl's bottom was about the neatest and firmest I'd ever felt. I pressed it toward me and then, in order to correct my position and line it up with hers, I suddenly twisted toward the head of the bed.

Gladys' lips had been at the small of my back all the while and, when I moved, they slid onto one of my buttocks. She nipped me. Then she giggled and moved up toward the head of the bed, also.

I brought my right hand into play, down between Beryl's body and my own. I guided myself. At the same time, I pulled her toward me with my left against her fanny. I twisted and pressed.

"Oh, Jack!" she said, as I made headway.

I took my hand from her bottom and grasped the back of her topmost thigh. I pulled her leg up over mine.

"Okay?" I asked.

"Okay!" she panted.

I went home.

Beryl moaned sharply.

I moved my hand to her bottom again, to provide a little extra push, and she snaked her long leg more tightly around me. As we began to move back and forth, I felt Gladys' nubile body plastered against my back-her breasts like big firm pillows, her belly soft against my rump-and she was moving with me.

I was like a slice of ham in a sandwich. Or a frankfurter in a bun.

Beryl began to pant harder and to grip me tighter with her free leg. By then I didn't need to push her behind with my hand at all, because she was bumping up against me for all she was worth.

I decided to heighten her excitement even more, so I said, "There's nothing better than loving, is there?" Only I didn't say loving.

"Oh, Jack!"

"Say it, if you'd like to," I told her. "Get it out of your system."

So she said it, repeating the single word over and over again-rhythmically explosively in time with our thrusting.

Gladys giggled and rubbed my back.

And then all hell broke loose-Beryl first, then me, and finally with both of us together, in a smashing crescendo of gratified lust.

Two of us who occupied the bed had been gratified, that is. The other member of the threesome hadn't ... as yet.

Beryl no longer held me. She lay completely relaxed, not moving or saying a thing. I turned from her, rolling all the way to my other side so as to face Gladys.

"I hate both of you," she said petulantly.

I took her in my arms and pulled her to me. "Your time has come, chick," I said.

Then, clasping both hands around her buttocks which were softer and larger than Beryl's-I slid my body downward and pressed my face between the softly relaxed mountains of her breasts.

There was enough there to suffocate a man, and I kissed and nuzzled it, turning my face this way and that, my parted lips savoring her warmly scented flesh.

"Take one," she said to me. "Ooooooo, take one now!" And, with that, she grasped her topmost breast in her hand and guided it to my waiting mouth.

I drew in the succulent flesh. And I ask you: what is there to do with succulent flesh but to suck it?

Those breasts were lush, tender beauties-round and firm-centered, but very soft and yielding. And the nipples that spiked their tops were veritable spires of passion. Towers of delight. Monuments to lust.

I laved her nipples with my lips and tongue, pulling at them, nibbling at them, lapping and nudging them in and out of my mouth. I went from one to the other, kissing and kissing. And all the while I was twisting her buttocks this way and that, causing her body to grind against me and rub across me. Her thighs were scissoring in their need. I could feel their heat and their big, smooth softness.

Gladys was so much woman that I began responding more quickly than I had thought possible. As soon as she felt my readiness, she twisted her large, luscious bosom away from me and swung nimbly astride my form.

Her breasts hung above my face and I played with them, patting them back and forth, lifting them, stroking them, squeezing them, then drawing first one big ripe nipple and the other deeply within my mouth. While I did this, Gladys had forced us into union and was riding me like the champion bronc-buster that she was.

She moved smoothly, swiveling and twisting. Her plump buttocks would first press my thighs, sending me deep to her snug warmth, and then she would lift from me and the warmth would nearly leave. But not quite. It would return to claim me again, settling fast, and then once more it would retreat. Down and up. Down and up.

I took my hands away from her bosom and ran them around her sides and down her back. I gripped her fleshy, firm buttocks. I pulled her and met her, thrust for thrust.

My ascent was slow, as the second time always is, but hers was rapid. She cried out, "Oh! Oh, I'm going to have it!"

And then she howled.

I mean she howled right out, like a tormented beast, and seemed to explode all around me. She quaked and quivered and worked against me in a way I'd never felt before. And then her body plopped down on mine.

"Unh-uh, baby," I said. "We're not through yet."

"What?" she murmured dreamily.

"Roll over," I ordered.

"Oh, Jack, I just want to sleep. I ... "

I threw her off, bumping her into Beryl and bringing a grunt from the sleeping redhead. Then, pulling Gladys over and at the same time working myself on top, I finally got us into balling position. Real balling position, I mean-with that busty, hippy blonde flat on her back and me poised between her thighs like a frog getting ready to jump.

I jumped, all right. But not like a frog.

I rammed myself to her like delivering a coup de grace. Gladys cried out but I paid no attention. I began to drive slowly and steadily, and I ran my hands beneath her body to grasp her luscious big buttocks and pull them up. Slam ... slam ... slam, I went at her.

The way I felt right then, I was set to go all night. At first Gladys protested in a succession of sharp little moaning cries, but gradually she began to breathe harder and her cries took on a hopeful, expectant tone. I kept going.

Her thighs flexed at my sides. Her buttocks began to move slightly of their own accord.

"Come on, baby," I said. "Let's really get with it, shall we?"

And, little by little, she did. In another few minutes we were riding the express to endsville, puffing and chugging and slamming as the locomotive hammered up and back. It was a long sweet ride. When we neared the station, her cry was like an old-fashioned steam whistle, shrill and keening. And then, my exploding breath was like the puff of escaping steam.

We were at rest.

"Oh, God," Gladys said.

"Now, you answer the question," I murmured at her ear.

"What was that, tiger?" she breathed.

"The one you asked a long time ago-about whether I was man enough."

"Oh, glory!" she said. "That question answered itself."

I rolled from her and we were quiet for a while. Then she said, "You know, Los Angeles turned out to be pretty good, after all."

"Thank Sunnical," I replied.

She giggled contentedly.

It's nice to have satisfied customers.