Chapter 11
"How's the suit coming?" Amy asked, taking off her brassiere.
It was a couple of weeks later and I was indulging in one of my favorite pastimes-watching my wife undress. The suit shementioned did not refer to the clothes I was wearing; I wasn't wearing any. I was lying in bed, comfortably naked, enjoying the view and letting my cock slowly harden as Amy's clothes came off. After five years of marriage, the old boy still responded nicely to that stimulation. It gave an extra little jump as she uncovered her breasts and they bounced happily in their new freedom.
What she was talking about was the legal suit that Larry Brewster was threatening to bring against me, because I had named him to the Post as the guy who had slandered Jenny. They had called me to check Jenny's statement about our imaginary affair. Yes, I told them, certainly I was having an affair with Jenny Jourdemaine, author of "The Regretful Rose," the hot best seller published by Forest Press, twelve-ninety-five at all bookstores. I was very proud to say that, I told them; Jenny was an extremely-passionate young woman, whose erotic poems only hinted at the torrid depths of her sexual being. ( I may have laid it on a little thick-Jenny hinted as much when I tried to call her and she hung up on me. ) I also told them that Larry Brewster was a jerk and a liar who maligned Miss Jourdemaine after she wouldn't let him get to first base. The Post quoted me, more or less. Larry was not happy and had threatened to sue.
"Oh, Brewster's still making popping noises," I said. "But I don't think he'll go through with it. It's just bad publicity for him. It's great for Jenny, though. The book is going wild; they can't print it fast enough."
"That's nice," Amy said. "When are we buying our first yacht?"
"It's hard to park a yacht in Manhattan," I responded. "I'm thinking about a snazzy little sports car, though."
"How about two?" Amy slid her panties down over her hips.
"You're trying to influence me with your feminine wiles," I suggested.
"Looks like I'm succeeding," Amy said, looking at my erect prick. She pulled the panties off, then posed provocatively, stark-naked. "Two?" she said.
"I don't know," I said. "Turn around."
She turned slowly, while my cock got as hard as it could get without bursting. "Well?" she said demurely.
"Come over here and we'll talk about it," I said.
"In a minute." She sat down at her dressing table and started brushing her hair. It was a ritual with her before she went to bed and she always did it nude. I didn't mind; I liked to watch the way the movements of her raised arm made her breasts squirm around.
"What about your other client?" Amy asked.
"Irving?" I made a nasty noise. "Right down the tubes. Carswell & Haynesworth printed about five copies of that thing and didn't put out a line of advertising or publicity. They're just hoping nobody will ever notice it. And who can blame them?"
"Poor Irving," Amy said.
"Poor Irving, my ass," I said.
"Well, I think it's sad," Amy said perversely. "He writes a book he's so proud of and you put somebody else's name on it and it doesn't sell. And he lets you make it with his wife, but you won't even let him near yours. And ... "
"Goddamit," I said. "Has he been sniffing around you again?"
"Oh, he's just called me a few times," Amy said. "But ... "
"That son of a ... "
"Now don't get excited, Bernie. He knows he can't have me as long as you're against it. It just seems so silly. You've never been jealous before ... "
"Shit," I said eloquently. "Anyway, I told you that if it really means so damn much to you to boff Irving ... "
"Yes, but you didn't mean it," Amy said. "Anyway, of course it doesn't mean so much to me. It's just-curiosity ... "
"About his big dick," I said bitterly. "Hell, you could do it with a broom handle if all you want is ... "
"Oh, stop it," Amy said, putting down her brush. She got up and walked over to the bed, her whole body rippling sensuously. "Let's not talk about Irving anymore."
"A terrific idea," I said and reached for her.
She sat on the side of the bed and touched my cock, stroking it gently. "So nice," she murmured. "Where would you like to put it tonight?"
"Everywhere," I said.
"My, my," Amy said. "How ambitious." Then she bent over me, slowly lowering her face toward my crotch. I caught my breath as her long yellow hair fell over my prick. She moved her head from side to side to let the soft strands brush across my loins. She knew the feeling drove me crazy. I caressed her leg, sliding my hand up the inside of her thigh to her warm pussy. With a tiny whimper, she lowered her head all the way and I felt the familiar but always gut-wrenching feeling of her soft lips around my cock.
I lay there for a while, letting her work her magic with mouth and tongue and encouraging her by stroking her clit, which made her moan around my dong. The pleasure got so intense that I had to do something else to distract myself a little, or else I would be finished before we really got started.
I tugged at Amy's leg. "Come on up here," I said. "I want to do you, too."
"Umm mphumph wrunge," Amy said, which I translated as, "Be my guest." She moved around and crouched up on the bed with her thighs on either side of my head, without once removing her mouth from my granite-hard dick. I pulled her down to me and buried my face in her warm crotch. Then I stuck my tongue into her delicious pussy and began to lick away at it.
Amy's moans increased in volume and frequency, while her incomparable lips and mouth and tongue became more passionate on my joyous prick. I could enjoy what she was doing now without getting too close to climax, for I was putting all my concentration into licking and sucking and exploring every exquisite crevice of her slowly-writhing snatch.
We had been peacefully engaged for several minutes in this very pleasant activity when the telephone rang. Amy raised her head, startled.
I groaned. "Don't answer it," I croaked. "It's Irving."
"How do you know?" Amy asked.
"It has to be. The son of a bitch has some kind of radar system or something. Every time we start making love, an alarm goes off in his house and he calls me up. The bastard."
"Maybe it isn't," Amy said, starting to get up. "We'd better ... "
"No!" I caught her and held on, then rolled her beautiful body underneath me, turning around so I was lying on top of her. "Let it go," I said, holding her down.
She struggled. "But Bernie, it might be im-por ... "
"No!"
"But ... "
"Listen," I said desperately. "I'll make you a deal. For every ring you don't answer, I'll make you come once tonight. Okay?"
She stopped struggling. She looked up at me, her eyes bright. "Really?"
"I promise."
"Oooo," Amy said. "Let's see, that's seven ... eight ... nine .. God, I hope he's stubborn ... ten ... eleven ... "
For some reason I was completely exhausted the next day. I was slumped in my office chair, trying to work up the energy to go out to lunch, when Irving burst in.
"Great news, Bernie!" he greeted me.
"Goodbye, Irving," I groaned.
"Bernie, listen. I ... "
"Irving," I said. "Did you by any chance call me last night?"
"Well, I tried to, Bernie, but nobody answered. I wanted to ... "
"I knew it. You son of a bitch, Irving. Look at me. I'm a wreck, Irving. A gutted husk of my former self. And it's your fault, you ... "
"What are you talking about?" Irving questioned. "I just wanted to tell you the good news."
"I don't want to hear it," I said. "Get out of here."
"Bernie, it's finished!"
"Good," I said. "So are you. Goodbye."
"Damn it, Bernie, you don't understand! It's done! I finished it yesterday! Look!" He held up a thick manila envelope.
I had a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach.
"What's finished?" I croaked. I knew I shouldn't ask, but I also knew he was going to tell me anyway.
"The sequel! "Irving cried. "The ... sequel? ... " I asked weakly.
"The sequel to 'The World, His Plaything,' " Irving said, putting the envelope on my desk. "And it's even better, Bernie! It's the greatest ... "
"No," I said.
"I call it "And Now, The Universe,' " Irving said. "You'll love it, Bernie. It picks up where ... "
"No, Irving," I said firmly. "No. No way. Take that thing out of here. And you go with it. Far away, Irving. I never want to see either of you again."
"Don't say that, Bernie. You're my agent."
"I resign."
"You're my brother!"
"I resign from that, too," I said.
"Now, Bernie. You're not going to make me go to some other agent, are you? I mean, I would have to explain about Peggy Ashe and all. It could get very confusing, Bernie. And if it got around ... "
"You wouldn't," I said. "Yes, you would."
"Just read it, Bernie," Irving said. "I'm telling you, it's got everything! It's the finest literary achievement in ... "
"Irving. Listen to me. Forget it. Even Peggy couldn't see old Jarvis on a sequel now. Throw that thing away, for God's sake. Stop trying to be a writer. Try something else-only don't try it on me."
"You're just jealous," Irving said. I would have hit him, but I didn't have the strength. "I know you'll love it when you read it, Bernie. I know it!"
My head was throbbing. I looked at the manila envelope, then looked away. "Irving," I moaned, "I can't do it. Now let's be reasonable here. What would it take to get you to just take the thing out of here, put it away someplace and never evenmention it again?"
"Are you kidding?" Irving asked incredulously. "My sequel? My masterpiece? The greatest ... "
"You're making me nauseous," I said. "There must be some way, Irving."
There was a pause.
"Well ... " Irving said. "Well ... perhaps ... for a night with Amy ... "
I decided I wouldn't hit him, after all. I would strangle him. I started to get up to do so. I stopped. I cursed. I started to get up again. I stopped. I took another look at the envelope on my desk.
It was a very thick envelope.
"Irving," I said, "it's a deal."