Chapter 6

I lay in bed for a long time after it was over, just staring at the ceiling. The bedroom was a small, rectangular room off to the left of the living room, with a large, king-sized bed pushed against one wall, so that it stood out into the middle of the room. At the foot of the bed there was a long dresser with a mirror, and I could see our dark reflection if I lifted my head. To the right of the bed, on Heather's side, there was an open window, and along the same wall, a short way down, there was a back door. The door was parted slightly and a solid wedge of darkness was visible. I could hear the wind blowing through the trees, making a rustling sound with the leaves, and sometimes I could hear an occasional noise of an insect's song.

Heather stirred in her sleep, and I lifted my head and looked at her. She was sleeping soundly, naked still, with a sheet thrown over her body. She was sleeping on her stomach, with her pillow rolled under her, and her long black hair, like shadows against the night, splattered out against the gray-white sheet. Her body was heaving softly, moving up and down, and I could hear the rolling purr of her breath. Her body felt warm, and I slid my thigh across the mattress until I was touching her. The soft warmth of her leg was pleasant, reassuring almost, and I took my eyes from her sleeping form, and stared again at the dark ceiling.

It was all so strange, I thought, listening absently to the even rhythm of her breath. This place. This girl. Why did I feel so relaxed with her? What was it about this place that made me feel at home? Even more at home than my own place at Xanadu?

I reached over to the night table on my side of the bed and fished a cigarette from the open package. I lit it and inhaled deeply, resting my head again against the pillow. The smoke gushed from my mouth in a pale gray cloud, like a smudge on the night, and I watched, mildly interested, as it dissipated itself in the air.

After we had made love (I could call it that, couldn't I? It wasn't just fucking that we were doing-we were making love to one another. We had rested together on the studio couch. My cock was still buried deeply inside of Heather's cunt, bent at an awkward angle because she had dropped her legs back down, and they were resting in front of her, with one leg lifted to accommodate my body. My body was drenched with sweat, and I could feel her body moving, her breath really, as though my cock were connecting more than just our bodies.

I was afraid that my sperm would stain the slipcover on the couch, and I told her so. Heather laughed, and the laugh told me more than any words could ever have said. Her words said who cares if the slipcover gets stained; that was unimportant. The important thing was that she had enjoyed the act fully and deeply, and she was too exhausted now to move or to care that anything so unimportant as a piece of cloth might be ruined.

"Let it be stained," she actually said. "Let it be a memory of tonight so that whenever I look at it, I can remember how I feel now."

It was like her wall of graffiti, I thought. Only this time I had not lied about who I was. This mark I had left was a real one. This was the real me.

"And how do you feel?" I asked, pushing my turgid cock slowly in and out of her. A residual tingle of pleasure made me shiver with numbed excitement.

"I feel great!" she said, squeezing her cuntal muscles together in a sudden spasm. My deflating cock, wet from all the come of both our orgasms, slipped under the pressure of the tightening muscles, and plopped out wetly, leaving a string of sperm across the couch.

"I feel fucked," Heather continued. "Truly fucked. Not half-fucked like you feel sometimes, but completely and fully fucked. So well fucked that if the world suddenly ended now, I wouldn't care."

She laughed, more for herself than for me. "And if you knew me, you'd know that was quite an admission."

I stared at her face. Her eyes were closed yet, as though she were looking inside of me and not at me, and she had a smile on her lips.

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate the compliment. You were quite good yourself."

And she was, I realized. For me, it had been a monumental orgasm. It had left my body quaking just from its memory. But it had been more than a physical experience-for my mood, my emotions, even my spirit felt touched by her presence. It had been one of those supreme peak experiences that you often fantasize about: the super, colossal, exquisite, ecstatically intense experience that touches you so deeply, so profoundly that you are never quite the same afterwards. It's as if everything was going along greatly, all systems "Go," and Heather and I had been tuned into each other's mental frequencies. Our bodies had come together like magnets, and our orgasm had been like a chemical reaction. It effected the both of us.

It had been like a dream, I thought, trying to expand my mind again to reaccept the scale and magnitude of the experience. It had been like a perfect sexual fantasy: the kind that only works when you're alone because no human being can ever match up to your imagination.

But Heather matched up to it, I thought again. She was no fantasy, and the way we had come was no make-believe dream. She was real, flesh and blood, warm and tender, compassionate and passionate in that same crazy, schizoid moment.

We had rested on the couch a while longer, listening to the music of the Beatles as the one side played over and over again. But now the music no longer sounded sad or depressing. Had Heather actually changed the tone of the music? I wondered. Or had she changed the way in which I heard the music?

"Come one," she said finally. "We have to get to sleep. I have to get up early in the morning."

A pang of apprehension stabbed through me. "Could I stay the night?"

Heather laughed, as though she couldn't believe me. "Steve, after a fuck like that, believe me, I'm not about to throw you out in the middle of the night. Who's to say I might not need you again before the night's over?"

She laughed again. "Hell. I might not let you go in the morning either. You're too good to throw away."

Heather finally got up from the couch, cupping her hand to her cunt so that my sperm did not trickle down her legs, and she went into the bathroom. Proprietarily, she closed the door behind her, leaving me alone in the living room.

I sat for a moment on the couch and tried to gather my thoughts. My mind was still boggled by what had happened and I couldn't seem to adjust to it. It shouldn't be, I thought. She's just another woman; no different than any other. Or, in Harvey's terms, just another cunt, another pussy.

But Heather was different, that much I did know. Very different from any other woman I've ever known.

In my mind, I tried to measure Heather against Diane Miller, my chief Xanadu hostess. But there was no comparison. Diane was flat and paper-thin: no substance, like a shadow or an echo. Heather was like a bright light. like the sunlight. She put them all to shame.

I got up from the couch and began to pick up my hastily discarded clothing. It was as though I couldn't put my mind back in order, but I could control the outside world. I picked up my shirt and pants and underwear, wondering for a moment if I should put them back on. I decided not to, and I folded them carefully, placing them on the couch, away from the thick sperm stains.

Noticing the stains made me realize that my whole crotch was still wet, and I took my handkerchief from my pants pocket. I rubbed it up and down the flaccid length of my wet cock, dabbing it between my legs and matting it against the damp, sticky hair of my crotch. Then, when I was finished with myself, I re-opened the handkerchief and blotted the stain on the couch. It smeared, spreading out in fine, thin lines, like a cobweb. Heather would have her stain now, I thought. A fine stain.

I was looking at the books in the large bookcase when Heather came out of the bathroom. She was still naked, and the stark beauty of her body made me stare intensely at her. It was as though I were reawakening to the magic of her nudity, and I felt a stirring again in my almost dead cock.

She smiled at me, blushing. Involuntarily, her hands came up to her breast, covering her nipples. She laughed, to convince herself, and she dropped her hands.

"Are you ready for bed?" she asked.

I nodded, marveling at the flatness of her stomach, and the gentle way in which it curved under her body and became her cunt. Her pubic hair was wet and fluffy, and I suspected that she had washed it with a washcloth.

We went to bed together, slipping under the cool, clean sheet from opposite ends of the huge flat mattress. Once in bed again, our bodies came together. But there was no urgency in the movement, and Heather pressed her naked body against mine as though we had all the time in the world. And who knew, perhaps we had.

We kissed slowly, romantically, with open mouths, and my cock grew hard again. I mounted her a second time, and slipped my organ between the lips of her cunt. I thrust slowly in and out of her, not in any hurry, as though I were stoking a fire and wanted to keep it smoldering. Her cunt grew hot and wet as I moved in and out of her, and Heather came a second time. There was no wild thrashing about or much moaning, just a tightening of her cunt around the shaft of my cock, and the digging of her nails into my back. She lifted her cunt and ground it into me, locking her ankles behind my ass until she was finished coming.

I continued to slide in and out after she had finished, and she released her legs and lay below me, inert almost, panting and sweating.

"You didn't come," she said.

"No, I didn't. I usually can't come a second time," I lied.

"Would you like me to do you another way? With my mouth maybe."

"No thanks. It's not necessary."

And it wasn't, really. Usually, I would have felt frustrated or cheated that I hadn't come. Once I put my cock into a cunt, there was only one way it would come out: wet and sticky from an orgasm. And any woman who couldn't make me come, was at fault, regardless of how many times I had come before. I was used to having the most beautiful women in the world working over my cock: laboring, sucking, coaxing it until it spit out its final orgasm, even if it was only a dribble.

Yet, with Heather, I did not feel that mindless, selfish compulsion to come. I was content to know that I had satisfied her; satisfied her a second time. I felt no urgency for myself even though my cock was stiff and hard, and if I had put my mind to it, I could have easily come again. There was none of this, and I felt relaxed, almost, and ... contented.

Our bodies disengaged, and Heather moved to her side of the bed, curling her pillow under her head. Then, as an afterthought, she turned back to me and kissed me on the cheek.

"Good night, Steve," she said. "You're a very nice person."

I threw a kiss back to her. "Thank you. You are too, Heather. Sleep well."

She laughed again (Heather was always laughing, I noticed. Could her world be that happy?) and said, "After that last fuck, I could do nothing but sleep well."

She turned away from me, and after a moment, she was asleep. That had been a long time ago, and I still have not fallen asleep. All I could do was lay here, in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, thinking. I was thinking very deeply. I had a great deal on my mind.

My cigarette burned down to my fingers, and I crushed it out in the ashtray. I thought about lighting a second one, but felt a burning pressure in my bladder, and decided to urinate first.

I sat up and flipped the covers back, sliding out of the bed. I could see the broad slope of Heather's ass, revealed by the open flap of the sheet, and it looked soft and inviting in the darkness. I couldn't resist its lure, and I gently ran my hand over its soft, firm curves. Heather stirred in her sleep at the contact, and I pulled my hand back, afraid that I would wake her.

I walked bare-footed to the bathroom. It was in between the bedroom and the living room, with a door off to the right of the bed. I switched on the fluorescent light and waited a moment or two for the soft brightness to stop flickering. There was a red, threadbare rug on the bathroom floor, and it felt good under my cold, naked feet.

The toilet was straight ahead, at the end of the room. Up above it, facing the doorway, there was another poster, and I laughed when I saw it. It was a huge poster, stretching almost to the ceiling, and it was a photograph of an atomic explosion. It was in black and white, and the swirling, angry mushroom cloud seemed like a fist shaking at heaven.

I lifted the seat, taking my cock in my hand, and began to urinate in the bowl. I aimed my prick, taking a steady bead, and sent a thin, yellow stream in the center of the water. As the pressure in my bladder emptied, I found myself thinking of Heather. I made another startling realization.

She never used her mouth on me, I recognized. Never once did she take my prick into her mouth, although she did try. All we did was fuck, rather traditionally, both times, with me on the top. But never once her mouth.

I shook my cock, dislodging a tiny drop or two of urine from the end of my organ. I tried to remember the last time I had sex with a woman and she didn't suck my cock. I couldn't remember a time.

It made what Heather did even more extraordinary, I thought, switching out the bathroom light. To make someone as jaded as me come from just straight-forward fucking was something to marvel at.

I slid into bed, feeling the warmth of Heather's body against my flesh. I lifted her head, cradling her in my arms, and I pulled her body close to me. She muttered something in her sleep, and I closed my eyes, holding her tightly against me. I fell asleep without any trouble.

"Come on, sleepy-head!" Heather shouted, shaking my foot. "Time to get up!"

Sleep was still in my brain, and I tried to shake it free by rolling my head back and forth. I squinted up at her, and saw the room was bright with sunlight.

My mouth was dry, and my voice broke. "What time is it?"

"What time is it?" she echoed. "It's morning! It's the beginning of a new day. Now get out of bed."

There was a smell of something rich and aromatic in the air, and I recalled that I hadn't eaten very much the previous day. The smell of food was exciting, and my mouth watered. The incentive of food alone almost made me want to leap out of bed.

"What time is it?" I asked again.

"It's almost six o'clock. Time for all decent people to be up and about. Look at that day! It's beautiful. It makes you glad to be alive."

I put my hand in front of my eyes, shielding them, and I looked towards the open window. A blinding white light made my eyes tear, and I couldn't look straight into it.

"Six o'clock?" I croaked. "In the morning?"

"Yes, and it's time to get up." Heather took hold of the sheet and began to yank it off me. There was a chill in the morning air, and I grabbed back at the slipping sheet.

"Give me that!" I pulled the sheet out of her hands, then jerked it out from under the mattress. Then, to make sure, I wrapped it around me as I sat up, dangling my feet over the side of the bed. The floor was cold.

I yawned and shook my head, trying to clear away the clouds of sleep. "How much of this exuberance has to do with last night?"

Heather laughed, and the sound of her voice was as clear and as bright as the sunlight. She shook her finger at me in a mocking fashion.

"Naughty-naughty," she said. Then she laughed again. "And if you must know, probably all of it. A good lay does wonders for a girl's mood. And how do you feel?"

I smiled back at her because it was impossible not to. "I feel good," I said. "Not as wild and as bubbly as you, but I feel ... good."

Heather pouted. "Only good?"

"Well, very good."

"Boy!" she said, trying to pull the sheet from my shoulders. "If I'm fishing for a compliment, I have a feeling I'm going to be here all day. Get up, you fucker."

I stretched and brushed my hair out of my eyes. "What's the real rush? Are you going somewhere."

"As a matter-of-fact, I am. I have a class at nine, and I have to get down to school. So if you want breakfast, you better hurry."

My hunger came back to me. "You talked me into it."

I stood up, shivering with the cold, and Heather put a kiss on my cheek. "Good morning, Steve."

"You can do better than that, can't you?" I pulled her close to me, dropping the sheet, and I kissed her full on the lips. Her body became pliant, and she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me even closer to her.

The sensation was strange. I was completely naked, and Heather was dressed. She had on her jeans and blue work shirt, and the material felt stiff and starchy against my flesh. I shivered from the early morning cold, and I pressed my nakedness more tightly against her, trying to cloak myself in her warmth. Her mouth was soft and wet, and our tongues touched and stretched against each other. The closeness of her body aroused me, and I felt my cock growing hard between her open legs.

"What is this I feel?" Heather asked, dropping her hand down between us. She fondled my cock in her hand, squeezing it softly and stroking it up and down.

"I don't know," I answered, my eyes closed, whispering the words into her open mouth. I felt as though I could come again now. "What does it feel like?"

"It feels like something I don't have time for." She squeezed my balls. "Sorry."

I opened my eyes. "Really? Not even a short, quick one?"

"Sorry, Steve. I really do have a class. Maybe tonight."

I pulled away from her, with my ego slightly bent. "Well, it's not really getting hard for you. It's always hard in the morning. It just means I have to take a piss."

"Ha-ha!" I knew I hadn't fooled her for a moment.

"If you really have to take a piss, take it now. Breakfast is almost ready."

I picked up the sheet and wrapped it again around me. I sort of hopped across the cold floor to the bathroom.

"What's for breakfast?" I called, standing on the red rug of the bathroom. I began to piss.

"Bacon and eggs. You like?"

I giggled to myself, staring at her atomic explosion on the wall. "I like," I said.

I flushed the toilet. "Do I have time to dress?"

"No. Come on in now. I'm just taking your eggs out. Just drape the sheet over your shoulders if you're cold."

I stepped into the living room and pulled my socks on. I felt ludicrous, naked with only my long black socks on, but my feet were cold. I put the sheet back over my shoulders and went into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a long thin room that ran parallel to the bedroom. There was a door entering its base from the bedroom, and at the far end of the room there was a sink and stove. Heather was at the stove, with a frying pan in her hands.

"Whose idea was it to put a bomb in the bathroom?" I asked, sitting down at the table. The table was set with two dishes and two cups. One was filled-with black coffee, and the other was filled with milk. There was also a thick long loaf of brown bread on the table, and a stick of butter.

Heather slid two eggs from the frying pan into my dish, and she gave me three slices of bacon. Then she put two eggs in her dish.

"It was my idea," she said, absently, concentrating on the eggs. "Can you think of a better place to put a picture of an atomic bomb? The bathroom is perfect for any number of reasons."

She sat down across from me, slicing two thick sections from the bread. She handed one to me. "Butter?"

"Please."

"I made the bread myself. I hope you like it."

I buttered it and bit into it. It was thick and rich, tasting more like cake than bread. "Whole-wheat?"

"No. Just unbleached flour. No preservatives. All natural, organic ingredients."

It was delicious and I told her. I dipped the bread into my eggs and noticed that Heather didn't have any bacon in her dish.

"Aren't you having any bacon?"

"Ugh." She made a face.

"You don't like it?" I chewed the bread and eggs slowly, savoring the delicate flavor.

"I don't eat any meats. I'm a vegetarian."

"Yet you made the bacon for me?" I picked up a thin golden slice and bit into it, feeling almost guilty.

"Sure. Why not? Not eating meat is my thing. I'm not about to force my-likes on anybody else. That's just not my way."

I dipped another piece of the bread into the eggs, breaking the second yolk. "You're a strange girl, Heather," I said. I chewed the bread.

"Is that good?" she asked, dipping her bread into her milk. She bit off a big chunk and chewed it energetically. "Being strange, I mean?"

"It's very good," I answered. "For me, at least."

We finished the rest of the meal in relative silence, neither one of us wishing to interrupt the steady flow of the simple, but elegant, food. I drank my coffee black, and asked for yet another piece of bread.

"Can I ask you a question, Heather?" I said, spreading the butter on the thick slice of bread.

She was on her feet, hurriedly stacking the dirty dishes into the sink. "Sure."

I didn't know how to phrase my request, so I just asked her outright, coming right to the point. "Can I "crash" here for a week or so?"

Heather didn't even bat an eye, she just continued to place the dishes in the sink. "Sure," she said, only paying marginal attention to me. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"I can pay you for the food or the rent," I began.

Heather cut me off. To that she paid attention. "Don't be silly, Steve. If you stay here, you stay. I don't need your money. What is it with you anyway-do you have this compulsion to give your money away?"

I knew it would be useless to argue with her. I had tried once before, and I had been unsuccessful. The one thing she was adamant about was not taking my money.

"Thanks, I appreciate this. I'd like to spend a little more time with you."

Heather looked at me and smiled. "What do you think I'm letting you stay for? I'd like to see more of you, too. Now I've got to go."

I stood up, still clutching my sheet. "I'll be just a second. I'll get my clothes."

She stopped again, this time with a pained look on her face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You have a class, don't you?"

"Yes. I have a class, not you. Do me a favor, relax and take it easy. Finish breakfast. I have classes until two, so I should be home about, two-thirty, three."

She was out of the kitchen door, picking up her books from her dresser top. She was in a hurry to get out, and I followed her, dragging my sheet behind me.

"Walk me to the door," she called. "I'm leaving now."

I stared at her, shaking my head. "You trust me?" I'll

I asked. "You're leaving me alone here? You trust me that much?"

Heather smiled and shook her head. The smile looked soft and warm on her face. "You never cease to amaze me, do you know that, Steve? What would you do here alone-steal something? Of course I trust you, and you should know that. I would never had allowed you to make love to me if I didn't trust you."

Heather spoke the words simply and honestly, and I believed her. She was that kind of person. I was warmed by her feeling of trust.

"Thanks ... " I began.

She shook her head. "Give me a kiss, I've got to go," she said, cutting me off. "I'm really in a hurry now."

I kissed Heather on her lips, and she opened the door. She started out, then stopped and turned. "Yes?" I asked.

"If you really want to help," she said, "there is something you can do."

"Anything, just name it."

"Would you wash the dishes, please?"

I laughed and said I would, and Heather blew me a kiss. A moment later, she was gone.

I stood in the open doorway a long time after she was gone, thinking. Heather was a very different kind of girl, I told myself. And I was only now beginning to suspect how very different she was.