Chapter 2
I DEVOURED HER LUSCIOUS PINK LIPS....
Odell was right about San Francisco. It was a wild, barking town ... a town where I had no trouble unbending and finding myself. The town really moves. It's full of swingers. Everybody's ready, willing and able ... especially the women. They had me going while I was coming. I discovered myself all right. Every day was a new revelation.
The first couple of weeks my mind was on the future, on the new vistas a career as an artist would surely lead to. I enrolled in an art class and tried to apply myself to the art assignments at hand, but the damn nude models kept getting in the way of my dedication. Staring at those luscious breasts, those rounded, fleshy, naked hips, creamy thighs and large rear ends, how could a guy like me concentrate on his sketching?
There was this one model, Cindy ... a redhead ... that made me feel the turgid demands of my manhood. I could hardly control myself looking at her smooth pink flesh, her huge breasts that were as rounded and ripe as melons and her tapering thighs. I had to keep thumping my thing with my finger to keep it subdued. Man, did I want to get her into action. But this creep ... this flower hippie from the Haight-Ashbury district showed up every afternoon after class to pick her up.
One afternoon the hippie didn't show up and I waited after class while she got dressed. When she came out from behind the curtain, she looked almost as good in her clothes as she did without them. She wore tight slacks, sandals, a sweater without a bra underneath and a dirty trench coat thrown over her shoulders. She wore very little make-up and her long red hair hung straight down her back.
"Can I see you home? I asked with a smile, turning on the charm full force.
"So what's home?" Cindy asked straight-faced and sober. She didn't possess the warmest personality in the world. "You mean the pad for the night?"
"I mean where do you live."
"Here, there, everywhere. I never know," she sighed wearily.
"Well, how about coming to my place then," I offered eagerly.
She paused and looked at me with such contempt. "Don't be square."
"Look, I didn't mean...."
She cut me off. "I know what you mean, and I know what you have in mind. Just cause I show off the flesh, doesn't mean I like to get pawed in a wrestling match." Then she smiled. "If you want to buy me a sandwich and a milk shake, that's another story. I love to eat on other people's money."
She insisted on going to this dump where all the hippies hang out. She knew everybody there. She stopped at every table to say "hello" to somebody and never bothered to introduce me. I was like a dog on a leash. It took forever before we got to a table in the corner. I had it all planned out what I was going to say to her, but she never stopped talking, for chrissake. Every other word was "gear,"
"fab", "camp" and "groovy". I believed she would never shut up.
Then she paused to study me for a while and I could feel my face turning red. This is something I never do with women. 'What's the matter?" I asked. "Is something wrong with my face?"
"I'm contemplating it," she replied.
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's good, your face I mean. You're quite handsome and I guess you know it."
I smiled cockily. "Well, I never get any complaints."
"I detest handsome men," she stated flatly. "Oh!"
"They're so within themselves. Dull! How old are you?"
"Twenty," I lied. I was only seventeen then.
"Where did you go to school?"
"U.C.L.A." I lied once again. "I was a dropout." It wouldn't do any good to tell her that I hadn't even finished high school.
'A lot of fags go to U.C.L.A., don't they?"
"I'm not one, if that's what you mean."
"I adore fags," Cindy said very sweetly. "They are so insecure and affectionate. I'm living with one now."
She could be maddening. "That hippie who picks you up all the time ... is that the one?" Cindy nodded. "Is he a fag?"
"He goes for you." Her words nearly knocked me off my chair. "That's why I'm here now. I promised him I'd get to know you. He likes the tall, dark type."
"Now, wait a minute, sweetheart," I blasted out.
"Don't blow your mind," she advised. "Keep an open mind."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I like girls too much."
"Henry's harmless," she explained. "He's a camera bug. He wants to photograph you."
"Tell him to get lost."
"Look, you want to go to bed with me, don't you?'
"Well, I ... I ... I dig your type," I stammered. "Would you?"
She shrugged. "Love is dead, so it wouldn't matter much. I might, if you'd consider posing for Henry."
"What's involved?"
"Just a couple of muscle shots ... give him a chance to look at you."
"Is that all?"
"Without a posing strap, of course."
"You mean stark naked?"
"Are you ashamed of something?"
"No, but. .,"
"So, you're a male. Henry's a male. What's the big secret?"
"Yeah, but Henry's a fag."
"I'll be there to watch over you ... and consider things."
"Like what?"
"It'll give me a chance to do a little window shopping for a lot of downtown business later on."
The way she said it was so sensuous, I thought I would erupt right there. This one really had me going.
Posing in the nude for a bunch of hippie queers is about the most far-out way I know of to get a girl in the sack. But there I was that evening in Henry's pad, taking my clothes off behind a screen and feeling like a virgin who was about to be raped. When I got there, Henry was alone.
Cindy hadn't arrived yet. And although Henry seemed kind of nervous about the situation, he didn't lay a hand on me or suggest anything other than posing before the camera. While I was undressing, he kept himself busy setting up his lights and equipment.
"Would you feel more at ease wearing a posing strap?" he asked me. This surprised me, because I expected Henry to be something more on the gay side. His manner, however, was forthright and business-like. "I've asked a few of my friends up, who are also camera bugs."
"In that case," I said from behind the screen, "I would feel better wearing something."
"It's only a bunch of guys coming over, mind you."
"Isn't Cindy going to be here?" I asked and held my breath waiting for the answer.
"Oh, yeah, she'll be here later."
"In that case, I think I better wear a strap, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Henry said. "Large or small?"
I gulped. "Large! Do you have one?"
"All sizes," Henry replied. A moment later his arm came over the screen and handed me a posing strap.
Henry spent about fifteen minutes lighting me and posing me, before the other camera bugs arrived. The introductions were brief and informal, but I felt uneasy. They were burning holes through me with their eyes, as they set up their cameras. Still nothing gay was said and no advances were made. I began to wonder if Cindy had just been handing me a line about Henry being a fag. He certainly didn't look like one. He had a heavy beard. And he certainly didn't act or talk like one. He smoked a pipe incessantly.
Nevertheless I felt like a stupid fool standing up there on a small platform, flexing my muscles, sucking in my gut, spreading my legs. Now I was convinced, Cindy had been having some fun to amuse herself at my expense. I was ready to drop my load.
The camera clicking session lasted for about 45 minutes. They were getting a final pose with me all doubled over like the disc thrower when Cindy waltzed in. She looked me over critically from head to toe, appraising every muscle.
"Hey, you make a good subject," she said.
"Surprised?" I snapped.
"You look a lot better with your clothes off. You ought to give up painting and go in for modeling. You've got something to sell." All the camera bugs, including Henry agreed.
She made me mad. She was so damn sure of herself, but I had to have her. I could feel the blood rushing to my crotch. I was growing tense and rigid, expanding the posing strap. I had to do something to shock the hell out of her, if that was possible. The first impulse I had, I obeyed. I ripped off the posing strap and stood before the group in a spread eagle stance. "Do you guys want to get a few shots of me this way?"
Cindy stood there paralyzed, staring at me. Her mouth dropped open, but she was struck dumb. She couldn't believe her eyes.
"Wow, what is it?" one of the boys uttered.
"Superman, Charlie," another said.
They all started clicking their cameras. One of the guys even moved his camera in close. Cindy still stood there, as if she had been frozen. Finally when she snapped out of it, she appeared annoyed.
"All right, that's enough. All of you characters blow," she ordered. "You too, Henry ... out! I found him and I'm keeping him ... to myself."
"Don't be greedy, Cindy," one of the boys said. "There's enough there for everybody."
Cindy started kicking their equipment, pushing and shoving them out the door. Within a few minutes the pad was cleared of everybody but Cindy and me. For a while neither of us said a word. We just looked longingly at each other, searching each others eyes for a few answers.
Then Cindy said, "Where do they grow your kind?"
"Richfield," I replied, as I stepped down off the platform and started moving toward Cindy. The two of us must have made a funny sight with Cindy fully dressed in slacks and a trench coat and me bare assed as the day I was born.
She was breathing hard now and her face became flushed. I drew her to me, pressing my body as tight against hers as I could. As I did so, the trench coat she had draped over her shoulders dropped to the floor. I opened my mouth and placed it over hers. Immediately her tongue darted out to meet mine and her arms enfolded me in a tight bear hug as my hands slipped down over her rump and began to squeeze the flesh underneath her tight slacks.
After a moment she pulled back, looked up at me, the lights dancing in her big grey-green eyes, contemplating me with a wistful little smile.
A surge of passion swept through me like a forest fire. Once again I crushed her to me and devoured her luscious pink lips with my own. As I did so, my hand went to her hip and began to tug at the zipper on the side of her slacks. Cindy wiggled her ass and the slacks, that no longer fit snugly, fell loose and dropped to the girl's feet in a drape around her ankles. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, kicking backwards, until she was free of the slacks altogether.
I stood back to gaze upon her. She looked adorable with that long red hair falling loosely over her shoulders, clad only in a green cashmere sweater without a brassiere and very sheer pink panties. No garter belt, no hose or other things most girls consider essential. Cindy's legs and feet were bare. She often went barefoot. She was wild, like a child of nature.
Looking deep and meaningfully into her eyes, I held out my hand to her and led her to an unmade double size studio bed. Pressing my hands firmly on her shoulders, I guided her down onto the bed. I remained standing before her so that her head was level with my crotch. She kept staring between my legs as if she was hypnotized. Then her frail hand reached out and her delicate little fingers coiled around the trunk of my joint, but her fingers could not fit all the way around. "God," she sighed, "what a man!" She started stroking it gently as if it was some sort of ap idol that you could rub and make a wish on. I closed my eyes and threw my head back and let the sensation her touch created ripple through my body. After a bit, she withdrew her hand, presed her lips to my head, kissing the tip adoringly. Then she fell back upon the bed, spread her legs which were dangling over the side, and awaited my pleasure. It was an open invitation to do with her what I pleased.
Quickly, I pulled off her pink panties and discarded them, after which she elevated herself slightly off the mattress in order to peel her sweater over her head. Her beautiful, well-shaped breasts which I had gazed upon so many times in class, longing to touch, to kiss, were now mine to fondle and caress. With complete abandonment my hands began to probe and massage the sensitive areas of her body. As I did, my libido began to pyramid. Then, as I ran my forefinger down from her navel to the apex of her womanhood and began to poke her intimately, the action immediately brought forth a shocked gasp from her throat.
She squirmed on the bed, helplesly. She belonged to me for the moment. I was her master.
I knelt before her, wedging my hips between her spreading, dangling legs, and buried my face in her soft, furry mound, my darting tongue sending thrills of joy through her fleshy body.
She began to moan and whimper in a way that admitted her desperate need for sexual fulfillment. I realized there could not be too much playing around with this one. She was ready for a climax right now. I got off my knees and stood hovering over her, my rock-hard, throbbing joint poised above her crotch. I lifted her legs over the bend in my arms and was ready to charge forward, when I heard the floor squeak. Somebody was in the room with us.
I turned abruptly and saw Henry poised just behind me. His eyes were glistening. "Please, let me stay," he said in a very soft whisper. "I just want to watch."
I was now at an emotional and physical fever pitch of excitement. All would be lost, if I allowed myself to object or make a scene. This great moment of arousal might never be mine again. So I turned back to look down upon Cindy's squirming body and ignored Henry.
My hands went down to clutch the expansive fleshy cheeks of her buttocks, giving support to her hips; then I took careful aim and thrust myself forward, drilling my joint into the very heart of the girl. I was sure that she was going to cry out, but she didn't. She merely sighed with relief and pleasure, then brought her legs up over my shoulders and locked her ankles around my my neck.
Forcing her squirming body toward me, I began a slow, churning rhythm. Cindy expertly matched my pace until she was rearing against me with reckless abandon, all the while hoarsely intoning a hymn to Apollo.
She followed me bodily as I rapidly increased my tempo, my hands still clutching tightly to her ass. As we climbed to indescribable heights of joy, she took a cue from me and let her fingers wander around my hips to my rear end. Her forefinger began to wander with an outrageous lack of constraint. At first I was shocked when I felt the slight pain of Cindy's forbidden exploring but the unforciful jabbing and probing of her middle finger only heightened my wild excitement.
The sensation was overwhelming, but I soon discovered a way in which sensation could be heaped upon sensation. It was a light tickling in my testicles. What a sensation that was and I soon discovered it was produced by Henry's sturdy fingers caressing the dangling scrotum, all the time I'm in the act of having intercourse, mind you. Wow! I really took off.
Grunting throatily, I brought Cindy to the peak of passionate pleasure. I could feel the soft bulk of her frame shiver spasmodically as I exploded again and again. It was one helluva bolero between two people, with a third member playing lightly on the flute.
Cindy's hands flared up to her temples, her fingers pulling at her red hair, her head rocking from side to side, as she screamed out like some poor soul lost in purgatory.
An instant later we rode a toboggan down an incredible mountainside to lie back expended and gasping in the valley below. We lay in exhausted silence for a long while. Even poor Henry was emotionally shaken.
Finally Cindy declared, "You're the greatest, Archer. The world must know."
Elated, Henry suggested. "Let's have something to drink. I have a bottle of vodka." Somehow he seemed to share our fulfillment. I guess you could call a guy like that a voyeur. He got his kicks out of just watching. But I can tell you this, there have been many times since then when I've been in the act of humping a broad and wished I had old Henry around to do a little flute playing with his fingers on the scrotum. Try it sometime. You'll never be the same again.
Henry padded across the squeaky floor to get the bottle of vodka. He filled three glasses to the top, straight and without ice. Then the three of us held up our glasses in a silent toast. For the rest of the night we sat around naked, gulping vodka without ice, smoking pot and listening to some real groovy records.