Chapter 3
SHE WAS IN NEED OF IMMEDIATE SERVICE....
That was my existence for the next two years. Cindy was a regular once a week, but during those two years while I was studying art and being sponsored by Odell Brown, I guess I had every available hippie broad in the Haight-Ashbury district. And some nights when I felt generous I laid back for a few of the guys. That doesn't mean to say all male hippies are homosexuals, although there are quite a few, but free love and sexual abandonment is the key to the hippie-digger philosophy ... and when you're floating out on clouds, high on pot, it doesn't seem to matter who gets you or who you get, as long as you get your kicks.
By the time I reached twenty one, my attitudes changed considerably, probably because of the forced change in my existence ... but nevertheless I stepped out of one life and into another. After two years of studying, I had painted seventeen canvasses. Odell drove into San Francisco to view my progress and determine if my talent was worthy of his continued sponsorship. He had just written a sizzling novel that hit the best seller list. He was not only in the chips, but in a very giving mood. He was also in love at this point with a girl back in Richfield and was engaged to marry her. The wedding was to be in a month and they planned on honeymooning in Europe. So you can see why Odell had a lot of other things on his mind more important to him than my welfare.
As I have explained before, Odell always leveled with me and he didn't mix words when he gave his opinion of my work. "You're style is still there, kid," he essayed, "but frankly, I don't see much progress. Your stuff is still flat and one-dimensional. What have you been doing for two years?"
"I've got seventeen canvasses, Odell ... count 'em. I've been trying."
"Oh, I don't say you haven't made an effort ... but every canvas has an obsession with sex. There's no variation."
This made me mad. "Well, what about your novels, Odell?"
"True," he agreed. "Sex is an inherent part of life, but it's motivated. Your paintings appear to be sex subjects for the sake of sex. You seem to be motivated by nothing more than hot pants. Haven't you settled down yet? Or is that joint of yours still out in front?"
"Okay, the hell with it," I flared. "So you don't like what I've done. All I know is that I've painted what I felt."
"Don't get sore, kid. I'm just voicing my opinion. Look, why don't we get a few more opinions before deciding your future? Tell you what we'll do. I'll arrange for you to have a showing. If you sell one canvas, I'll continue to sponsor your art studies."
I agreed.
Needless to say, the showing was a flop. I not only didn't sell a canvas, the art critics came, stayed briefly and left. My work didn't even rate a review or a critical appraisal ... not even a mention in the papers.
Odell had returned to Richfield to prepare for his wedding, but I wrote him and gave him a truthful report. I couldn't deceive him. He had been too good a friend to me. Odell wrote back suggesting that I go to night school and get my higli school diploma. If I would do this, he said he would sponsor my college education.
Hell, I couldn't see myself going back to high school for a year ... getting a job by day. going to school at night. I was twenty-one! By the time I got through college, I'd be twenty-five or six, well on the way to middle age. Besides, with all the beautiful unattaced women floating around Frisco, the only homework I wanted to do was in the sack.
I answered Odell, declining his offer, explaining that I wanted to try things on my own, without his help. I congratulated him on his forthcoming marriage, expressed a wish to receive a postcard or two from him in Europe and let it go at that.
This meant I had to get out and find myself a job of some kind. I was discouraged with my painting, and the hippie existence of free love and giving it away, even if I was King Rat of the tribe, seemed to me to be dull and sort of childish. I guess this was all part of my growing up. It was a good thing for a while, but like everything else, all good things come to an end.
That winter I went to a training school for the phone company, and came out a phone installer. One afternoon I read a notice in the paper about job opportunities and good pay with the phone company, and I applied. When they told me they would pay me while I was training for six months, I went for the deal. I had nothing to lose. I'd try it for a while, and if I didn't like the work, I'd walk out.
It took me six months of training and about a month on the job before I realized that phone installers install more than just phones. Phone installers can get a piece every day without half trying. It's crazy, but it's true. For a guy like me, a job that offers the side benefits of a free roll in the hay while on duty, is almost too good to be true. But there I was, six months later, installing phones and installing my joint into almost every broad I came in contact with. Most of the homes and apartments I went into during the day hours between eight and five, the husband was at work and the children were at school or at play. It was a perfect setup.
It takes a while to catch on to the rules of the game, but once you do, it's clear sailing. The important thing is to come away from a job with a tip and another off-duty appointment for the weekend. This is how I made all my money.
I can't begin to tell you in brief the ways and means women used to put the pressure on me to service them as well as their phones.
Sometimes when I arrived, a few women would be undressed ... you know, wearing a robe or a sloppy housecoat. But most of the time, the women were fully dressed. They'd see me, chat a bit while they sized me up and then go immediately into their bedrooms to change into a robe. When they came back out, they'd generally ask me if I'd had breakfast or lunch, or sometimes bring me a cup of coffee. All these little tricks were open invitations. I could accept 'em or reject 'em.
Occasionally I'd get a few dogs. You know the kind I mean? The kind that turn you off more than they turn you on. Some of the old, desperate ones I'd lay out of pity. At first I felt sorry for them, but then I discovered that these were the ones that gave the big fat tips. So actually I looked forward to them all ... the young ones, the old ones, the thin ones and the fat ones. They were all an experience. If I did happen to come in contact with one that really turned me off, and that one happened to make an overture, I'd explain that I was married and had a couple of kids. If they still insisted, then my excuse not to lay them was that fornicating the customer was strictly against company policy.
If they still insisted or started falling all over me, then I told them that everything they said was being recorded through my little walkie-talkie, that the company liked to know what the installers were doing all the time.
Accommodating the phone company customers became a daily ritual with me. In an average day, I'd service at least two and sometimes three. I'd devote about twenty minutes to a half hour to satisfy each of them, depending on how big a tip I thought I might get out of them. When I worked on Saturdays, which I did frequently, then the phone company paid me time and a half. Being an installer, the word incidentally is a joke with the phone company employees, I really started making some money, building up a good bank account, getting myself some descent clothes and a modern apartment with all the accessories.
If you ask me what was my most interesting experience, I'd have to say it was Mrs. K-, a rich matron, who lived in a penthouse apartment up on Nob Hill. It was about five o'clock on a Friday. I was just getting ready to knock off for the day, when the company phoned me and asked me to take care of an emergency for a very politically important customer. The phone cord had been yanked out from the wall. This meant that a kid had pulled it from the wall, or a jealous wife or husband had ripped it out during a heated argument. The company said they'd pay me overtime, so I jotted down the address and then took my time driving over there.
When I saw how luxurious the building was, I really perked up. If I really turned on the charm, it might mean a healthy tip. I'd only serviced one other woman that day, and I still had plenty of get-up and go. The only discouraging aspect was the hour. Any time after five, I could expect the husband to be arriving home, which made a personal contact impossible. But I was getting overtime and the job would only take a half hour at the most.
Mrs. K-answered the door herself. This in itself was a bit of a surprise to me, because at such a swanky address I was prepared to be greeted by a maid or a butler.
She appeared to be annoyed when she opened the door. "Yeah, what do you want?"
"I'm from the phone company," I said.
She looked me up and down and her attitude changed from being annoyed to being fascinated.
"Oh, yes," she smiled. "Come in. It's been out of order all day." She was a good-looking woman of about forty. She had platinum hair, and a well made-up face. Her features were very good, almost beautiful, her legs were exceedingly shapely and she knew it. Wearing a glamorous rose-colored chiffon negligee that bordered on being transparent, and gold stiletto heels, at first glance she was a knockout.
Her fingers were long and tapered, her nails long and lacquered. On one finger she wore an enormous diamond that kept flashing in my eyes.
It was almost hypnotic. In one hand she held a martini glass and between the fingers of her other hand, she puffed nervously on a gold tipped cigarette.
She was my kind of older woman. "Are you Mrs. K-?" I asked.
"No, darling, I'm the babysitter," she chuckled.
"I didn't think that, ma'am," I flushed. "I was just making sure I had the right house."
"My dear boy, I said I was out of order," she rattled on, as she led the way through the living room into the study. She" crossed to the desk and held up the long, detached extension cord. "As you can see, I'm desperately in need of immediate service."
I didn't know if she meant that two ways, but I couldn't restrain a smile.
"What's so amusing?" she asked.
"A ... nothing," I stammered, stealing glances at her that were knowing, meaningful and pointed.
Instinctively, Mrs. K-drew her negligee closer about her. She was hep! She knew I was glancing at the deep shadows between her breasts. She had deliberately allowed them to be visible for a few moments. I removed my leather jacket and tossed it in one of the handsomely upholstered armchairs. I was wearing a tight fitting T-shirt and blue tapered levis. Don't think she didn't pause to appraise my expansive chest, my sunken rig-cage and my bulging biceps. I had devoted many Sundays to my physical development, and now it was beginning to pay off.
"Do you want the phone in the same place?" I inquired.
Mrs. K-sighed and-took a deep drag on her gold-tipped cigarette. "I suppose so," she answered wearily.
"How did it get pulled out of the wall?" I gave her another glance that said I knew.
She exploded with a throaty laugh. "That's a long, dreary tale that is best explained over several drinks. Would you care for one?"
There it was! The open invitation, only cocktails instead of coffee this time. I glanced up from my tool kit and gave her one of my most winning smiles that showed all my teeth. "I think you might make a wicked martini, and I do like wicked ones, but what about your husband? Isn't he expected home soon?"
"What if he is?," she questioned.
"Well, he might not like it," I explained.
"It wouldn't make any difference if he did. This is my apartment. Not his. But if you'll feel more at ease, my husband's out of town."
"What about your kids?"
"I don't own any goats, darling."
"I mean children."
"I don't own any children," she chuckled. "Do you have any more calls to make?"
"No," I admitted. "This is my last call for the day."
"So, relax, and I'll make you a very, very dry martini."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"And please, don't call me ma'am," she objected.
Moving towards the bar, she brushed past me and let her negligee fly open, and in a flashing glance I saw the soft slopes of her thighs, the jutting hip bones, and the forbidden thatch. It stunned me a bit that she was just one stitch of clothing from being naked. A tight feeling in the pit of my stomach made me want this bitch in the worst way. She symbolized lewd sensuality.
While I was making a cable connection under the wall molding, she returned with a double-size martini op the rocks. I was down on the floor and she had to bend over to hand it to me. Her negligee parted and I found myself looking at her bare legs, her perfumed crotch, the soft powdered mounds of her belly, and the largest, heavy-hanging breasts I'd seen in some time. Wow! They were like pink basketballs. I laughed nervously as I accepted the martini, because she wasn't making any pretense at being modest now. Brazenly, she ignored the garment being open.
My heart began to pound. Already I felt aroused, like some savage animal that had been caged for a year. "I guess you're kind of lonely being left at home alone," I said.
"Darling, you have no idea how lonely it can be ... even when my husband's here." She started pacing back and forth now, and I became aware of her own mounting tension. She lighted another cigarette, then turned to consider me. "Why don't you let that wiring go for the moment, relax and enjoy your drink?"
"Thanks," I said as I leaped up off the floor with my tool kit. "Where can I put this so it won't be in the way?"
"What's that, darling?"
"My tool kit. I wouldn't want you to trip over it."
She burst into a husky laugh. "Don't worry about your tools, darling. If I trip over it, I'll be gentle. She was staring at the bulge in my pants. I knew exactly what she meant. "The tool kit, I mean."
"Pardon me, Mrs. K-, but are you aware that your negligee is opened?"
"Does it bother you?" She made no effort to close it.
I shrugged. "Well, I'm not exactly made of nuts and bolts."
She found that quite amusing. She took a sip of her martini, then said. "Now let me ask a question that's bothering me. Are those your own down there between your legs, or is it padding?"
I had never been so dumbfounded. The remark was so direct. For the first time, I felt self-conscious. I didn't know how to answer her.
"I can always find out for myself," she continued, "if it embarrasses you to answer." She let her hand brush across my basket. "Mmmm, it's all yours, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I gulped.
Then her expression changed. It hardened, bordering on savage lust. She threw her negligee wide open and looked deep into my eyes. "There's no padding on me either," she whispered solemnly.
"So I noticed ... earlier." I took a short intake of breath without casting my eyes down at her naked body. I just kept staring back at her. She had the bluest eyes I have ever seen, the reddest, fullest, most sensuous lips. I had to resist the desire to bite into them. Instead, I seized her arms roughly, and a second later her sharp point-breasts were pressed flat against my chest.
I moved so quickly, she had no time to resist. She was jerked off balance, her head was tossed back and her mouth was forced open. I pressed my mouth down over hers and let her know exactly how demanding and greedy I could be. Her tongue was thick and hot and moist. It had a deadly power of its own. All the while I was kissing her, my hands were exploring the slope of her back, going down lower, then palming the well-shaped mounds of her bottom. She was several handfuls.
When we parted, only for an intake of air, her blue eyes were filmy, and she wobbled a bit as if she was dizzy. My mind was racing a mile a minute and I acted on pure impulse based upon my lust. My fingers took hold of her negligee and ripped it from her milky white body. She was startled at the abrupt way in which she had been denuded.
She instinctively brought both her thighs together to protect her exposed womanly treasure. That almost made me laugh. If this broad had as many sticking out of her as she had had poked into her, she would have looked like a pin cushion.
"Hey, you're really built," I commented, as I fingered her breasts until her nipples were like hard acorns. When I poked my finger in her socket-like navel, it sent sparks through her entire system. She didn't seem to object, so I manhandled her a bit more. I think maybe she got a certain perverse satisfaction out of it. I twirled her around to view her from behind, and squeezed her buttocks until she released a little yelp.
"Hey, take it easy," she complained. "I'm not a rag doll."
In those luxurious surroundings, I felt resentful, envious. This made me daring and ruthless. I gulped down my drink, then crossed to the bar and poured myself another ... straight gin on the rocks. She stood in the center of the room, stark naked, glaring at me.
"Just help yourself," she sneered.
"I just did."
"Look, who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm me, that's who. Archer Nelson!" I announced, as I swaggered back to her.
She forced another husky, throaty laugh. "That's as phony a name as I've ever head. Are you sure you're the service man from the phone company?"
"Try me out," I dared her. "I'll give you the best servicing you've ever had."
"Why, you smug son of a bitch," she said acidly, as she swung her arm out. and forward, smacking me across the face.
I saw red. Without hesitation, I gave her a stinging blow in return. This really knocked the wind out of her. She had had a few drinks and wasn't too steady on her feet anyway. Now she was less sure of herself than before. I yanked upwards on my T-shirt and pulled it off over my head. Bare-chested, I spread my legs apart and ordered, "Okay, honey, now you do the rest." She looked at me questioningly. "Come on," I demanded. "Take off my levis. Loosen my belt."
Numbly, she obeyed. Without objecting to my request, she undid my belt buckle. She was afraid of me now. My levis came loose at the waist. "All the way," I demanded. I didn't have a zipper on my fly, just buttons, so each time she unthumbed a button, her hands came in closer contact with my joint, which was twitching with anxiety. As she pulled my levis down over my butt, she became terrified.
"My God, you're like a bull!" She was eager and frightened at the same time. She came up from her kneeling position as I kicked off my levis. (I never wore jockey shorts on the job. It made a better impression on the ladies, seeing my basket outlined underneath my tight fitting levis.)
Mrs. K-backed up, until she reached the fireplace, then eased her lithe body down upon a tiger-skin rug. She rolled over on her lean velvety-textured stomach, exposing her naked backside, then glanced pleadingly at me over her bare shoulders. Her eyes telegraphed her message. I thought to myself, if that's the way she wants it, who am I to deny the lady.
I crossed to her, my joint swinging brazenly. I stood over her, by legs positioned on each side of her hips. A moment or two later, I was straddling her bareback, beating her like a horse with my own built-in crop, the thing I was born with. I wondered if I was going too far with her, but she offered no objections, didn't rear or buck once. I bent over and grabbed the fleshy cheeks of her backsides. She had a plump, firm rear, let me tell you, that was easy to spread. She groaned seductively, burying her face in her arms, so that her head did not touch the rug. I know I must have given her one helluva jolt as I stretched out flat, my stomach pressed firmly against her back and stabbed into her groin.
She seemed at first to relax, but a second or two later a lance of pain ripped through her body. She was seized with a sensation of being pierced. I kept this up for about fifteen minutes, battering her like an angry ram, slamming my body against her flesh. Because we were on the hard surface of the floor and not a bed, there was no give or bounce to her body. She choked up, her hands flew out from under her and her long, manicured nails dug into the tiger skin rug.
She pleaded with me to stop, and when I let up slightly, she begged me to go on. Her body quickly became drenched in perspiration, but I knew I was relieving her tensions, bringing a blessed release to the sexual urge that had probably been tormenting her for days. Quite obviously, she was not getting what she wanted from her husband ... if anything at all.
Then, I got carried away with the ecstasy of the moment and slammed against her sc roughly, burying my weapon so deeply into her, she screamed out. I cocked my head to one side of her and noticed that her large beautiful breasts were crushed against the furry rug. By the time I achieved satisfaction, she was limp and expended, in a state close to unconsciousness. I twitched from the spasm I was having for what seemed like an eternity and I myself collapsed over her. I was so exhausted I could not even force my body to break our contact. Only my hoarse, heavy breathing broke through the silence.
Eventually Mrs. K glanced at me over her shoulder. Her eyes were a vale of tears. "Please, get off me now. You're very heavy."
I obliged by rolling off her and sprawling out on my back beside her. She ran her long, tapered fingers over my chest and stomach. My body was glazed with perspiration. "Go into my bedroom, darling, and help yourself to a shower," she offered. "I'll make us both another drink."
About five minutes later she joined me in her large luxurious bathroom, like the kind they have in the movies that don't look like bathrooms at all. She brought two drinks with her. I had just showered in an elegant glass enclosure and was toweling myself dry. "Don't dry off yet," she requested as she drew steaming water from the tap in her sunken bathtub that was like a miniature pool.
We soaked together in her bathtub for about an hour, playing around with each other like a couple of silly, giggling kids. I had one of her breasts in my mouth; when the door to her bathroom burst open. A grey-haired man in his fifties drunkenly clumped into the room and stood swaying in the middle of the floor, surveying us Wearily, his eyes puffy and bloodshot.
"Oh, God," Mrs. K. sighed. "What are you doing back in town?" Then very casually introduced her husband.
I leaped up out of the tub and stood stark naked ready to be attacked by an enraged drunken husband. Instead he smiled and looked me over, approving what he saw.
"At ease," he ordered lightly, then turned swayingly toward his wife who remained in the tub. "Looks like you got yourself a big one this time," he commented. He hiccuped once, then turned on his heels and staggered out of the bathroom.