Chapter 7
Georgie was sipping slowly at a tall, iced glass of juice. The stuff was bitter tasting, acrid, but then it was supposed to be completely natural with nothing artificial added. They usually squeezed the fruit in the back room when you ordered it.
The blue-jeaned waiter was disappointed when she asked for orange juice.
"We do have other kinds of juice," he said. "Carrot, apple,. . . "
"I know," she interrupted. "I would like a glass of orange juice, please."
He had looked at her strangely then, scribbling on his pad and taking the menu away with him. Waiting, she leaned back against the wall behind her, extending her legs to keep her balance. She was in the corner, out of the main current of air from the fan. But here, at least, it was a bit darker and she could watch people without being watched.
Forty-five minutes had passed since she had dropped Carol in front of the apartments a couple of blocks down. A small pile of packages testified to the shopping she had done. Totally useless stuff, she thought, smiling: a few scarves, costume jewelry and a heavy, earthenware bowl she could float flowers in.
Carol wasn't in the room, so she must still be at that boy's place. That whole situation amused Georgie. What would the boy think if he knew that Carol would let him go down on her whether or not he paid her? And he shelled out a hundred dollars every time he came near her-as well as picking up the tab if they ate anywhere afterwards.
Usually Georgie waited for Carol while she met the boy. Carol rarely was gone more than 30 minutes, and she felt safer with Georgie near, waiting for her.
More than once Georgie had told her that if she was so frightened, she should tell the kid she couldn't meet him anymore.
But it was easy money, and took so little time. And, she thought again, Carol would have done it anyway-for the pure pleasure of the act. She had told Georgie more than once that the boy was a genius with his tongue. Almost as good with it as some men are with their cocks.
Georgie smiled a little at the thought. The boy wouldn't be as good as Harry, in any case. She had sized him up as they sat in cafes, watching the movements he made, the way he carried himself. He may be a famous, rich, boy genius of a model, but that didn't make him any less scared. Making a lot of money made a difference, too.
While money was nice and certainly bought a lot of things, it put him far away from the class of people that many blacks would associate with. They frowned on him, she knew, because he was making money, kowtowing to the "establishment" to pile up lots of that long green, and to gain a fame of sorts.
Carol had never seen it, she said, but Georgie guessed that his cock was not all that large. Sure he was a big boy, with a long, strong build that carried clothes well. But big man did not mean big dick.
Of course, big dick didn't mean big satisfaction, either. Some big athletic fellows are so clumsy, so muscle-bound that they could barely move atop a woman. They prefer the woman to climb on top of them and do all the moving around.
What was his name? She remembered one fellow like that. Yes, he had really a big one, but unfortunately rather dumb. He moved almost as slowly as his mind worked, except on the football field. There, despite the huge pile of equipment he had to wear, he seemed to prance down the field as though touched by some special gift of speed.
She had met him at a football game, or rather, after one. A bunch of people had gathered in a small dingy-looking restaurant after the game and huddled together at tables, as if to keep warm.
Not long after they had ordered their coffees or hot chocolates the doors had been flung open. Several members of the victorious home team charged in. After pausing a moment to accept the cheers of the crowded tables they distributed themselves among the fans.
So they wouldn't have to pay for their drinks, Georgie had thought. This guy, a huge, wide-shouldered guy, had decided to come over where she and Carol sat, in comparative isolation. At his yell, a couple of his team members had stopped trying to push into an already-crowded booth and had joined them.
High school kids maybe; but these were the big ones. Exchanging a glance, she and Carol had decided that this Saturday night would be a celebration of the football game.
Half-expecting to be overpowered, they had taken two of them home with them, and rapidly to bed.
The kid had undressed rapidly, as soon as the bedroom door closed. He didn't seem to need any coaxing. Or reassurances that it would be all right to be here with an older woman. By then, the two seemed to have decided they had been picked up by women older than they were used to.
Almost before she had closed the door and turned to talk to him he had stripped and was finding a comfortable place on her bed.
"Eat me."
The command startled her. "Well, please?"
She didn't say anything. Slowly Georgie stripped, hanging up the clothes, slipping into a soft, clingy robe. When she turned to look at him again he hadn't even developed a hard-on.
"You sure take your time. I thought you ladies were really hot."
One eyebrow lifted, but she still said nothing.
"You should eat me, first. Then I'll have a nice big erection. Then you can fuck me."
She studied him at her leisure. His shoulders were as broad as she had imagined, and the muscles which covered his body were strong-looking, bulging. His cock, too, was large, and bulging. At ease, the damn pole was thick, almost as thick as her wrist. And long, about as long as her hand. It rested limply on the huge sack of his balls. The whole business was wrinkled.
It would grow to something quite huge, she thought. What a shame he is so unwilling to use the equipment. Or even to let it grow, to simply let it grow.
"Well?" he asked. "Well, come on. Eat me. Lick me up. Suck my dick. Or don't you know how?"
"Hey, kid," she said softly. "Are you nervous or something?" It had been a guess, just a well-trained guess, but the arrow seemed to hit home.
He flinched, and looked away from her level eyes. After a moment and a deep breath he looked back. Well, she thought, three points for poise. He looked at her for a long moment, slowly moving his eyes up and down her body.
"That's why we're here, isn't it?" he asked. "To fuck, to suck, all of that stuff."
"Well," she said, then paused for a moment, Would a touch of bitchiness, cruelty, be worth it? "Why don't you get a hard-on, or do something toward promoting fucking and sucking? Eh?"
She sat carefully in a small chair near the closet, and curled her legs up near her body. By keeping her heels close to her pussy she knew he could see nothing but her chest.
He hesitated, unsure of his next move. Slowly, he pulled himself up, by sheer muscle. His belly flexed smoothly. Watching the well-trained muscles she felt a surge of lust. Ah, but it would be nice to have those strong muscles of his belly flat against hers, with those strong arms holding her legs hard against her chest. And that tight, sweet ass bunching as he slid his huge cock in her, out of her.
Just at the memory, her cunt closed a little, in yearning.
But he had been clumsy, not knowing exactly what to do and in despair she had gotten him back down on the bed. To get him started she had licked that long pole, persuading it to grow a few inches.
"You do it," he had asked. So she climbed on him as he stretched out flat on his back, and inserted that huge, disappointing tool into her cunt. She had worked on him, moving her cunt furiously over him, until his lust exploded. So much jism shot into the recesses of her pussy that it flowed out onto her leg.
She had had to go wash off afterward, annoyed by the stickiness.
The experience had warned her against huge athletic men. Most of the boys she knew were tall, basically skinny.
But how many fat teenage kids were there with all the speed freaks running around? With the emphasis on looking rough, tough, and revolutionary?
The waiter at these corner tables was an ideal example. His jeans were worn skin-close, faded. He was skinny with narrow hips and a barrel chest which was probably quite strong. Even his face was lean, with hair brushing against jutting cheekbones. They weren't exactly high cheekbones, but his thinness brought them out.
He moved quickly, purposefully, his shoulders slightly bent forward. He was moving toward her. Behind him Carol glided slowly forward in that particularly liquid way she had.
She was followed by Bruce: huge, thin, dressed quite well. They smiled faintly-causing Georgie to also smile.
They sat and ordered tea from the waiter. Both greeted her yet continued a conversation begun as they walked here. After their tea came and they had stirred in sugar and waited for it to cool, Carol looked at Georgie's wristwatch to check the time.
Heading home soon, Georgie thought.