Chapter 9
After dropping Bess off a few blocks from her house, I drove into the parking lot of a nearby bar. It was about 1:15 a.m. I knew it was a hell of a time to start making phone calls, but what the hell. I didn't give a damn what kind of explaining Harry had to do to his wife and kids. That was his problem.
The lakeside cottage at Meadowview that I'd promised to take Eileen Walters and her mother to the following day belonged to a carbide tool sales representative named Harry Tamkee. I had some arrangements to make.
I climbed out of the wagon and walked into the bar. It was strictly a shot and a beer joint, populated by about half a dozen boozy, bleary-eyed characters who didn't even look away from the television set when I walked in.
At the dark, shiny bar I ordered a beer and asked the bartender for change for the telephone. Then I took my beer and the handful of silver to the phone booth in the back of the place.
As I'd expected, my call wasn't exactly received with joy. In fact, Harry balked at first when I told him I needed to use the cottage the next day.
"Aw, hell, Paul," he whined after I explained what I wanted. "I'm taking my family up there tomorrow. A couple of friends of ours are driving up, too."
"Okay, pal," I said nonchalantly. "You just forget that I ever called. You go back to bed and I'll phone George Grepp." I made my voice sharp and bitter to convey the fact that I was annoyed.
"No, Paul," Harry said quickly. "Now wait a minute." He was quiet for a few seconds and then and then he asked, "Does it have to be tomorrow, Paul? I mean if...."
"Look, Harry," I snapped. "Would I have called at this goddman hour of the morning if it didn't have to be tomorrow? Forget it, Harry. I'll call George."
"Wait, Paul, please," he begged. I was silent for a moment, letting the guy stew. The last thing in the world that Harry wanted me to do was call George Grepp, one of his competitors. Harry had been selling tool bits and cutters to Space Age Metals for years and he didn't want to risk losing the lucrative account.
"You know how to get up there, Paul?" he finally asked. He'd given in to me just as I knew he would.
I finished my beer and then walked out of the bar smiling to myself. Back in the station wagon, I reviewed my options for the rest of the night. I could go home or head for Myra's pad and listen to her bitch about being stood up. Not much of a choice, but at least I knew there would be sex and plenty of it with Myra. That quickly made up my mind for me, so I fired up the wagon and headed for her apartment.
The quickest route there took me by my own apartment building. I was surprised to see the light on in our living room as I drove by. For some strange reason, I felt" that something might be wrong, so I swung the wagon around and parked in my usual spot. It was odd for our apartment to be lit up at that time of morning. A gnawing fear inside my stomach suggested that Donna had killed herself and the police were there. I looked around for cop cars as I walked to the door of the building, but there were none to be seen.
Nervous, but not understanding why, I slipped my key into the lock and opened the door of my apartment. Donna was standing in the living room doorway. She wore her light green dressing robe and her reddish brown hair was combed.
I could tell she was sober even before she quietly said, "One of your girlfriends called you this evening, Paul. I think it was that black slut who phoned the other time. She seemed quite upset when I told her I didn't know where you were."
"You didn't know much of anything when I left," I snapped. "You were completely wiped out this afternoon, baby. Glad you sobered up enough to answer the phone for me."
"I was drunk today for the last time, Paul," Donna said with her stiff voice hiding any emotion.
"Is that a fact?" I said in disbelief. "What other major problems have you decided to work on next. Air pollution, international relations? What?"
"I'm serious, Paul," she said. "I mean it. No more drinks. Not even one."
I laughed and took a deep drag on my cigarette. I let my eyes go over her. 'What's going to hold you together honey?" I asked sarcastically. "We both know you'll come apart at the seams in a hurry without your booze. We both know what a mess you've become."
She hesitated for a moment and then looked down at the carpet. "Yes, I guess I am rather a mess," she said. "I never was very pretty."
"You can say that again," I muttered.
"Thank you, Paul," she snapped at me. "I believe that's the first honest thing you've ever said to me!"
"Oh, it's honesty you want," I retorted. "Okay, baby, let's be honest. I needed you. That's why I married you. Now I don't need you any more. It's as simple as that, Donna. Even you should be able to understand that."
She turned away, obviously furious but not wanting to show it. Finally she sat in one of the living room chairs and picked up a magazine.
"Hey, you lush," I snapped, grabbing the magazine out of her hand and tossing it across the room. "I'm still talking to you."
She closed her eyes and turned her head away. I almost belted her, but I didn't. Instead, I sat on the couch a few feet from her chair and worked at controlling my temper.
"You want a divorce?" I asked. "I'll agree to a divorce but there'll be no settlement. No alimony. We just split."
We stared across the few feet that separated us like a stone wall. As we glared at each other, I realized that Donna's hazel eyes were dark orbs in tragic hollows. Since she'd been on a steady liquor diet, her flesh had become drawn and her complexion was pallid. She seldom got any sunshine. In fact, she seldom left the apartment at all except after dark to walk to the local liquor store for another bottle.
"Yes," she finally said, lifelessly. "I'll take the divorce on your terms. "You're letting me off cheap, Paul." She laughed bitterly. "I thought I might have to borrow money from my parents or from Jim and Vera to buy my freedom from you."
"Not a bad idea," I grinned, crushing out my smoke in the ashtray. "But since I didn't think of it first, I'll be generous. Neither of us has to pay anything."
"I'll move out tomorrow," Donna said. "I've already packed most of my things."
"Oh, there's no hurry about leaving," I said, getting up and walking across the living room toward the apartment door. "I won't be back again tonight. I'll just throw my shaving kit and a change of clothes in a bag. I won't be around here tomorrow, either."
She followed me into the bedroom and stood watching as I selected a pair of slacks and a sport shirt from the closet. I dug out my swim trunks from the dresser drawer and went into the bath room to collect my shaving gear and a towel.
When I was all set to leave, Donna stood in the center of the living room. Her voice was calm and controlled when she said, "I hope you drown. Or pick up a fatal dose of syphilis from one of those whores you've been rutting with. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy."
Involuntary chills raced through my frame as I opened the apartment door with my overnight bag in my other hand. I'm no more superstitious than the next guy, but no one enjoys having such a low, fervently-vicious curse put on him.
"I love you, too sweetheart," she called back over my shoulder. "The quicker the better with the divorce."
Myra was waiting to pounce on me with claws flying and blood in her black, smoky eyes when I rapped on her door around 3 a.m. She cursed and cried and called me every rotten name she could think of-and she knew plenty of them. I waited until she ran out of both breath and words and then I told her about my agreement with Donna.
When she heard of the impending divorce, she calmed down. I told her I'd spent the evening talking to an attorney friend of mine. I apologized for not calling her, but lied that my friend and I had been so wrapped up with divorce talk and recalling old times together that it had completely slipped my mind.
As I unfolded my story about the lawyer and the divorce, Myra melted right before my eyes. We eventually made our way to the couch and when I pulled her into my arms, she came willingly.
"Take me, Paul," she moaned as I let my hands rove over her soft, tender fullness. Her black curves were scarcely covered by a wispy white night gown. "I've been waiting for you all night, baby," she muttered, pressing her full, warm lips against my neck. "Don't take too long getting your clothes off."
I'd had quite a workout with my little teen-age sex maniac and I was a little worried that I wouldn't measure up to Myra's demands. But then her hand grasped at me between the legs and I felt my manhood growing hard and strong.
Then Myra slipped out of the next-to-nothing gown she had on and displayed her fantastic body to me.
"God, you're beautiful," I told her, reaching out to press her huge breasts with my hands.
"Take off your pants and let me see your 'pretty', too," she smiled. "I can see it bulging in there trying to get out."
In a few seconds I was naked too, and we pressed our eager bodies together urgently. The feel and smell of Myra's total femininity soon had my passion at fever pitch. I pulled her down on the couch on top of me and our open mouths met in a long, hot kiss.
Panting, Myra fell to her knees beside the couch and rested her head on my stomach. She smiled up at me and I could see the sex glint in her dark eyes.
"It'll be great when your divorce comes through," she purred. "Then we can spend even more time together." She hesitated for a moment and then added, "Maybe we can even ... get married, Paul."
I reached down and wound my hand in her long, silky, black hair. "Who knows," I said. "Anything might happen." I had no intention in the world of marrying Myra, even though she was about the sexiest woman I'd ever had. And it wasn't because she was black and I was white either. I didn't want to marry anyone after I got rid of Donna. Why should I? Sex was the only part of marriage that I enjoyed and I was having no trouble getting my fill without the disadvantages of marriage. Bess was the perfect example. A little broad like that could keep me sexually satisfied for weeks and there was no shortage of willing women all over the city.
"I think I'd like being married to you," Myra said softly. "You like the same kind of things that I do." Then she turned her head and rested her other cheek on the tight flatness of my stomach. She was looking at my erection, then caressing it with her fingertips. "I know we both like this," she whispered, sticking out her tongue and licking the hard, thick shaft of masculine sex.
"Yeah," I murmured, tensing up at the wildly wonderful touch of her tongue. "I like that, baby, don't stop."
She didn't. She continued to work on my hot, swollen rod with her tongue until I was nearly out of my mind with passion.
"Don't come," she cautioned, sensing that my orgasm was approaching. "I want you in me."
"Hurry," I said. "I'm almost there."
Moving quickly, Myra stood beside the couch where I was lying on my back. She spread her right leg over me and lowered herself on to my stiff rod, guiding it with her fingers as it slipped into the dark, tender slit between her legs.
"Oh, God, oh, that feels so good," she moaned as my maleness pushed deep inside her. She leaned back and sat almost straight up, squirming a little to feel the rod move inside her love tunnel.
I reached up and squeezed her giant tits with my hands. They were so large, that one more than filled each hand, with dark, billowy flesh overflowing beyond the reach of my fingers. I fondled and caressed her globes and pinched the big nipples that stood out hard and erect in the center of each mountain.
At the same time, my hips had begun the powerful pumping motion that drove my love peg hard up into Myra. Resting her hands on her hips, she rocked back and forth on top of me, causing my organ to slip in and out easily and smoothly.
"Go, Myra, go, baby," I whispered up at her. The rocking movement became more intense and she worked hard, bouncing up and down delightfully on my staff.
Suddenly my dam broke and I let go of her breasts to grab her wide, lush hips with both hands. I pulled her down on to me forcefully, causing my rod to reach a greater depth within her sex-mad body. The deep thrust triggered her orgasm, too, and we came at the same time, clinging to each other in a fit of pure, lusty passion.
After resting on the couch for a while, and smoking a couple of cigarettes, we got up and went to bed. There we played some more and once again Myra's great sexual abilities aroused me and brought me to yet another orgasm.
Finally, just before dawn, we fell asleep in each other's arms. Myra had a sleepy, satisfied smile on her face when I woke up a few hours later. I slipped out of bed and dressed quickly before writing Myra a note saying that I would be tied up with a sales representative at a picnic all day.