Chapter 6

Meanwhile, back in Connie's house across the street, Herschel sat on the sofa still sulking. He knew that he must change his ways if he was to save his marriage. Sure it would be difficult to turn over a new leaf at the age of thirty-five, but it wouldn't be impossible. Besides he would never find another women as wonderful and as beautiful as Connie. He saw what the wives of his fellow faculty looked like: dogs. Outright dogs. Real bow-wows.

He bet he could throw a bone in the backyard and they would fetch it.

However, when he walked into a faculty gathering with Connie, every male in attendance would feast his eyes on her magnificent body. He could only guess what thoughts went through their heads when she bent over to pick up a glass of punch, or a slice of cheese. One day old Doc Allison's eyes nearly popped out of his head when she crawled around on the floor looking for a lost earring. The old man's trousers tented out in front of him like the main mast at the Barnum and Bailey Bigtop. Later the old man had to rush to the bathroom to wipe away a tell-tale stain that had mysteriously appeared at the crotch of his trousers.

That's the kind of woman Connie was. She could raise a hard-on in octogenarians and leave them panting for breath. Ironically, she never realized her sexiness. She went about her chores without understanding her effect on the opposite sex. Yet the swaying of her firm breasts couldn't help but tantalize, and the swishing of her well-sculptured ass always aroused the passions of the most passionless man. After all, even Herschel developed an erection once in awhile in her presence.

Miracles do occur.

He sniffed a few times and said aloud, "That wonderful woman. She's been so good to me. She's always been faithful, supportive, and understanding. She's the best wife a man could possibly have."

While he was mouthing these sentiments, his wife was getting fucked in her pretty little peach of a pussy. But what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

He decided to step out to the garage and read some National Geographic Magazines. They always managed to relax him during times of distress. A glance at a map, or a few of those naked New Guinea babes would set his mind at ease enough to write the next day's lecture.

In many ways he felt inadequate sexually. He knew that he was under-equipped where it counted. On his wedding night, he remembered Connie being depressed when she first held his tiny organ.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll make it bigger."

"But that's as large as it gets."

"You've got to be kidding?" she replied.

"No, I'm not," he answered with downcast eyes.

She followed with a quick series of questions, "Well, how long has it been this way?"

"All my life."

"Have you tried beating on it to make it grow."

"All the time. It doesn't help."

"Have you used lotions."

"Of course."

"What have other women done to make it big?" When she asked the last question, he had to admit that he was a virgin. "You're a what?" she screamed.

"I'm a virgin. You know, I've never had sex before."

"I know what the hell it is, bonehead. I just figured that as a student at a major university that you'd be screwing your brains out!"

"I haven't had time. I've been too busy studying geography."

"That's a lame excuse if I ever heard one. There isn't anything to study in that stupid discipline. That's why all the boneheads on campus take geography courses-so they can get an easy A."

Connie had knocked his occupation before, but never at such an inopportune moment as in the wedding bed on the wedding night. Not knowing what else to do, he started to cry.

This seemed to soften her heart, for she leaned over and said, "Poor baby. Here. Let me suck that little fellow of yours and make him stiff. Momma knows how to take care of these things."

Herschel had never imagined anyone performing fellatio. At first, it seemed extremely exciting. Of course, it never occurred to him to ask his newlywed wife how she became a fellatio expert. He just assumed it was instinctive with the female gentler. After all, didn't babies know how to suck on a nipple?

Unfortunately, even after three hours of vigorous sucking from an expert, his dick wouldn't rise to the occasion. It remained the size of a small thimble.

His wife finally gave up, rolled over, and went to sleep. "To hell with it. At least I'm married to a future professor." Those were the last words his wife muttered on her wedding night.

From that day to the present, he had had a complex about his small dick. He would look at it for hours and try to will it to enlarge. But it was just no use. He was stuck with a splinter of a penis.

Connie tried numerous methods to get a rise out of him, but to no avail. She belly danced, stood on her hands and spread her legs, and even used ice cubes. She even read numerous books on aphrodisiacs. After years of failure, she simply gave up.

Herschel did get an erection every once in a while. For instance, if he had to urinate and couldn't get to a bathroom, his prick occasionally became hard.

When Connie found out about this, she began staying in the bathroom for hours. Unfortunately, every time she prepared for a sexual encounter, he would go out behind the garage and relieve himself. Hence: no boner.

In the meantime, her sexual hungry grew. She had heard that if a woman didn't get enough dick, she would start thinking about sexual intercourse all the time. That's where those old wive's tales began about divorcees.

Connie would be making a salad, when-wham!

A cucumber would begin to resemble a dark green penis. She would glance around to make certain that no one was watching, and commence sucking on the end of that green vegetable.

Or, she would be making a fruit cocktail and a banana would start to resemble a hard-on. When she peeled it, she nearly went into sexual hysteria.

But zucchinis were the most titillating of all. She wasn't satisfied with merely sucking on them. Instead, she had to take them into the bathroom, close the door, and shove them up her snatch!

Every time she did this she would feel guilty and scream, "Damn that husband of mine! Why doesn't he know how to fuck!"

One day, Bev happened to walk by and hear the plaintive plea. She stepped around to the front of the house and rang the doorbell. Connie put on a robe and answered the door.

Bev stepped into the house and said, "Connie, I heard what you yelled from your bathroom window a little while ago."

"Oh my! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be overheard using profanity. I apologize."

"Don't apologize for using the word 'fuck'. I like that fucking word."

Connie smiled at her friend's attitude and invited her to sit down.

Bev continued, "If anyone should apologize, it's that non-fucking husband of yours. What the hell use is a man who doesn't know how to use his penis? He should be neutered and left to roam the alleys."

Bev opened her purse, pulled out a long cylindrical object, and said, "It's because of husbands like yours, why women invented these."

Connie took it and asked, "What is it?"

"It's a vibrator, silly."

"Oh Bev!" Connie said, attempting to hand it back. "Really. I couldn't. I don't need one."

Bev shoved it into her friend's lap and said, "Any woman who screams out of the bathroom window during the middle of the day that her husband doesn't know how to fuck, needs one of these handy-dandy items a lot more than I do. Now, dump that foolish propriety of yours and put that little gadget to good use."

Connie looked at the object in her hands. Within an hour, it was between her legs.

From that moment on, Bev and Connie had been the closest of friends, and Bev began to regard Herschel with contempt. A man could be forgiven for not being a good provider, and he could be forgiven for not resembling Robert Redford, but for a man to be bad in the sack was the worst thing a woman could experience. In the animal world, they culled males like Herschel from the litter. After all, they can ruin a species.

In time, Bev gave Connie a dildo for her birthday. It was an unusual present, but Connie put it to good use.

Thus, it came to pass that in order to satisfy her needs, Connie regularly masturbated with her vibrator and her dildo.

Or, she worked out in a gym. During the past several years, she found that regular exercise did a lot to relieve her sexual tension. After all, if a woman exhausted herself on the exercise mat, she wasn't-likely to complain about the lack of exercise in the sack.

Herschel knew that she kept herself in remarkable physical condition. And the more she worked out, the more attractive she became. Since he lacked any sexual prowess, her newfound tight buns and flat belly only compounded his already low self-esteem. As a result, his infrequent hard-ons became that much more infrequent.

Connie would have left Herschel for harder, more manly pastures, but like many dissatisfied marriage partners, she mistakenly thought that the spouse would change. Someday he would wake up. Surely!

How many women over the years had gone to their grave thinking that? Only God knew the answer to that question.

But Connie also stayed with Herschel because being the wife of a young professor had a certain prestige-although she was the first to admit that it wasn't financially rewarding, and geography itself was at the very bottom of the prestige totem pole.

Still, her friends had married truckers, or accountants, or salesmen. Maybe sexual frustration went with the territory of academia. Maybe that's why so many of Herschel's geography associates were homosexual.

So, she stuck it out. Year after year, for nearly a decade. In the meantine she hoped that he would either get tenure so they could live better, or that he would get a hard-on so she could get pregnant. The former seemed unlikely because of recent educational cutbacks, and the latter even more so because according to laboratory tests, his sperm count was low.

There was no doubt about it. Herschel wasn't much of a man.

So, while he sat in his easy chair in the garage looking at his National Geographic magazines, he decided that it would be a nice idea to give his wife some flowers to make amends for the afternoon argument. He also wanted to show his gratitude for the years that she had spent with him. He would show her that he still cared.

He rushed out to the backyard and under the cover of moonlight, snipped off some fresh roses. When he had a bouquet of a dozen, he walked across Oak Street to Bev's house and knocked on the front door. He waited several moments, but there was no answer. He knocked on the door again, but still no one answered.

Thinking that they might be asleep, he decided that he would tap on the windowpane in the guest bedroom. He stepped down from the porch, walked around the bushes, and looked in the window.

There was a light on, but the bed was unoccupied. Furthermore, it looked as if the covers hadn't been disturbed.

"That's odd," he said. "It's after midnight. Connie is always in bed by now."

At that very moment he heard the sounds of giggling and laughter coming from the next window over. Curious, he stepped around the bushes and over the stairwell to the basement. Through the dim light he saw ...

Holy shit!

His beautiful blonde-haired wife was completely nude and sitting up in a kneeling position on the bed. She was facing Bev, who was also nude.

Herschel couldn't believe the sight before him. His wife and Bev were fondling each others breasts and occasionally kissing each other on the lips. And once in a while, he saw them kissing each others nipples!

Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! Apparently they were involved in a lesbian relationship!

He knew that's where those women's studies classes would lead. He had heard rumors that suggested as much. One minute they're all in class decrying men. The next, they're naked and facing each other on the bed.

He now knew why Bev never liked him: she wanted his lovely wife for herself.

It was an awakening realization. At first, he was very angry, but he soon cooled down. He had to admit that his wife seemed to be having a wonderful time. Giggling, laughing, swooning with pleasure. He had never seen her so joyous in bed. In fact, he had never seen her that happy--ever! Not even on her wedding day!

After a while, both women extended their arms before them and held onto something beneath them.

"My word!" said Herschel. "They seem to be undulating their pelvises as if. . .as if ... as if they're on the edge of orgasm! But how can that be? Connie hasn't had one in years!"

He looked at his wife's face and sure enough, the telltale signs were there. Although he hadn't given her many orgasms during their ten-year marriage, he knew that she was orgasmic because she had once climaxed like an oversexed kitty when she was drunk. He figured that she exploded because she kept referring to him as Robert Redford. She must have really tied one on that night, because the only actor that he resembled was Larry Fine of The Three Stooges.

Herschel got closer so he could watch the action more closely. He had the added benefit of watching

Bev. He had never examined her feature's before. The more he looked, the more he liked what he saw. She wasn't voluptuous like his wife, but she was nevertheless quite attractive. Her petite little body, swaying back and forth on the mattress, her little breasts bouncing, and her mouth gaping open, induced a tiny hard-on.

He must be dreaming! He hadn't had an erection in over a year! He reached down, felt between his legs, and sure enough! He had one! Of course, it wasn't much, but still, three inches was better than nothing.

Again he looked through the window and saw Bev rolling her body more vigorously than before. She was thrusting her pelvis back and forth with tremendous jerks.

"Wow!" Herschel said aloud. "She's a foxy little dish. No wonder Connie got involved with her. Just look at that tiny little belly! Goodness! Maybe I've needed a small petite woman all along. Connie and I are such a mismatch. She's far too voluptuous for me. But Bev! I bet she has a tiny vagina which can only be filled with tiny penises."

He reached between his legs and felt his organ. Sure enough. There was a very tiny penis.

At that very moment, Bev began having a tremendous orgasm!

First, she arched her body. Her neck muscles grew taut, and her tendons strained. She screamed at the ceiling, and then relaxed. Finally she collapsed forward and rested her face on Connie's lovely breasts. Eventually, she started sucking on the right nipple.

In the meantime, Connie continued to rotate her pelvis in a corkscrew fashion. First, she would swirl it clockwise, then she would swirl it counterclockwise. Her thighs were spread wide and she was rubbing her vagina vigorously against the covers.

Suddenly, Herschel realized that Connie wasn't merely rubbing her pretty pussy against the mattress! She was rotating her pelvis against another person's groin!

"Oh my god!" screamed Herschel, dropping his bouquet of roses. "She's not sitting on a dark-colored sheet! She's sitting on ... on ... on a negro!"

Just as he said that, Jack gave a particularly hefty thrust and lifted Connie bodily off of the bed. Herschel saw a tiny fraction of the black shaft just as it sent his wife into the throes of ecstatic orgasm.

It took him a while to focus his eyes, but when he did, he commented, "My word! That negro's got the biggest dick I've ever seen on a human being!"

He watched in horror and fascination as the big black penis slid in and out of Connie's tight little hole. He couldn't believe that she could take something that large. Hell! It was the size of a sixteen ounce Coke bottle.

He couldn't get over its incredible length and massive girth. He watched it move back and forth, into and out of his wife, and the more he watched it, the more hypnotized he became. Instead of being put into a trance by a hypnotist's swinging watch, he was being put into a trance by a plunging black dick.

In and out. In and out. He watched the blue-veined monster plunge. With each forward thrust his wife would open her mouth and gasp, and with each withdrawal she would sigh.

And there was Bev-her thighs spread wide, and her ass resting on a black man's face. Apparently, she was enjoying the delights of cunnilingus. She was sighing and moaning in tempo with Connie. They were both screwing their lower torsos around and around in an attempt to get more of the man's penis and tongue into their respective holes. To say the least, watching his wife's blonde pussy being filled with black cock was a great deal more interesting than reading geography texts.

He had never seen Connie in this state of excitement before. She was in the deepest passion he had ever witnessed and loving every minute of it. Her entire body was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. Many of her well-defined muscles were shuddering and twitching involuntarily. The muscles in her arms, thighs, and neck strained noticeably. Even her tight little stomach moved spasmodically.

He could only guess at the full length of the cock, but from all appearances it looked as though it extended well past her belly button. As this thought sunk in he said aloud, "Wow! I bet her vagina doesn't have a millimeter of space left to spare."

Herschel had no worries about being seen. Even though his wife's eyes were wide open, they were unseeing. Her pupils had contracted to mere pinpoints, and her irises had glazed over from unbridled lust. Bev, on the other hand, was watching Connie's titties so closely that a freight train could have gone through the bedroom and she wouldn't have cared.

As Herschel watched the proceedings, he noticed that his little hard-on was bursting at the seams. The sight of Bev having her pussy licked, while his wife got reamed by a master fucker, had finally aroused his hormones. Hard-ons were always such a quick and fleeting thing with him, that he either had to stick it into something immediately, or else lose it.

Unfortunately, the only nearby females available at that moment were both preoccupied, servicing the biggest black man he had ever seen! He brought out the old reliable right hand.

Oddly, Herschel didn't find the sight of another man using his wife's pussy shocking. Not in the slightest. In fact, he found it downright stimulating. The throbbing of his penis proved that.

He looked at little Bev. "My word!" he said aloud.

"How in the world did that black man ever get his huge pole into that little white body? My wife is a tall woman and can probably handle it, but Bev ... Wow! She can't be more than five feet tall. The dick must have slid completely past her esophagus. How did she take it?"

Un-like the bull of a man pounding away at his wife, Herschel couldn't hold himself a minute more. He had to beat-off immediately. He moved his right hand up and down on his tiny member, gave a couple of gentle tugs, and released his droplet of sperm. That was all he was able to manage-ever!

Although his penis stayed hard, he knew that it was through for the month.

He opened his eyes, and again watched the sight before him. In a way, he was very proud of his wife. "Imagine that!" he said aloud. "She has turned into a true liberal. My faculty friends will be so proud of me."

And he couldn't get over the fact that she was fucking a black man! Wow! He couldn't wait to tell the head of his academic department at the university. He was black also.

And his parents would be proud as well. They had always wanted their son to marry a liberally minded female. At long last, they had gotten their wish.

Herschel wasn't thinking too clearly. But then, one must remember that he was a geographer. Members of that profession are not known for clear thinking. Unfortunately, most of them suffer from many delusions. This was merely an example of one more.

Once Jack had released his sperm into Connie, he slowly withdrew his organ. Both Bev and Connie crawled on their knees and began licking the monstrous appendage. Jack simply lay back against the pillows and enjoyed the proceedings.

Herschel couldn't believe what a lucky guy the black fellow was. To be so well-hung that women worshipped his dick. That's the kind of man he wanted to be if he were reincarnated. And those were the kind of muscles he wanted. Powerful. Sinewy. Well-defined. Pecs. Delts. Quads. Biceps. Triceps. Everything.

Alas, with his luck, if Herschel were reincarnated as a Mister America, he would probably come back as a faggot.

Herschel decided to return home. There wouldn't be much more sex that night. After all, he believed that once a man had shot his load, he was finished for the evening. Obviously, he didn't know one iota about Jack's staying powers.

But he paused when he saw Bev point to the penis and say, "Why look, Connie! He's hard again! Care to take him again, or should I?"

"I've gotta have it again. Please let me go once more, Bev. Please."

"But Connie, you've already had him six times.

I've only had him four. It's my turn."

Herschel did some quick calculation and said aloud, "Ten times! No man alive could go ten times and still be ready for more. They must have added wrong or something. Hell! I haven't made love to Connie ten times in ten years of marriage!"

He peeked back over the windowsill and saw his wife in her familiar position, squatted over an enormous black phallus. And sure enough-she took it into her body again.

And Bev returned to her favorite position-with her tight little cunt right over the lengthy tongue.

Herschel turned and prepared to go on his way. But just as he stepped back, he tripped and fell down Bev's stairwell. "Oh shit!" he cried out as he tumbled down the stairs.

Naturally, Bev heard the noise and lifted her crotch off of Jack's face, leaving him lapping at thin air.

"Hey!" Jack called. "Where are you going?"

"I heard someone yell 'Oh shit!' right outside the window. I'm going to check it out."

"Fuck them," Jack said. "Get your cunt back here over my face."

"I will as soon as I see that it's safe."

"Bev," Jack called with a smile. "Don't you think I'll protect you if you need protection?"

She turned and looked at him lovingly. Of course he would. That was the nice thing about being involved with a hunk of a man, rather than a wimp. A lady felt safe. Nevertheless, she stepped to the window and asked, "Is anybody out here?"

Herschel was at the bottom of the stairs, hiding. Not wanting to be discovered, he sat perfectly still.

"Is anybody out here?" she called again.

Jack said to her from across the room, "It was probably just some kid who happened to peek through the glass and saw us engaged in sex. He was either shocked, or he was taking notes."

Bev burst out laughing. "Well, I certainly hope he learned a few things. We could use more men like you in this town."

"Hop back in bed, sugar. I've got a meal I want to finish."

"The waitress is on her way."

When Bev was convinced that it must have been a stray dog looking for a midnight snack, she returned to bed, squatted over Jack's face, and commenced rotating her pelvis in rhythm with Connie's.

For her part, Connie hadn't missed a thrust. Charles Manson could have been in the bedroom and she wouldn't have cared, just as long as he didn't harm the beautiful black penis that was sending her into higher and higher fits of ecstasy. In fact, she had no idea where this evening would eventually lead. She had already experienced heaven on earth. Was there anything to improve on that?

As the girls began to swoon in pre-orgasmic release, Herschel got up from the bottom of the stairwell and proceeded on his way. There wasn't anything he could do at Bev's. His wife had found a lover, and he must adjust to that fact.

"I bet she met him at that gym where she goes to work out," he said aloud, talking to himself. "Yea, he must be a bodybuilder, or something like that."

His mind must have been deep in thought, because as he crossed the street he nearly got run-over by a passing car which screeched to a stop.

"Hey buddy!" someone screamed at him. "Watch where you're going! You could have been killed!"

Herschel was still in a daze and didn't immediately respond. He seemed to be in some sort of twilight zone. He remembered having watched his wife, who never orgasmed, orgasm. He recalled a monster black dick burrowing into his wife's snatch, but he had difficulty believing that was really Connie's cunnie. And he remembered a naked Bev sucking on his wife's tits. Naw! He had to be dreaming. These events didn't really transpire.

The driver got out of his car and asked, "Hey, hey, Herschel. Is that you?"

Herschel recognized the voice as that of Tony Joe. He felt Tony's hands on his shoulder, and looked at him.

"My god!" Tony exclaimed. "I hope that you're not hurt."

Herschel seemed to come to his senses. "No, no. I'm all right. I think."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked. "I can drive you to the hospital, you know?"

"No no, I'm fine," Herschel responded.

"What are you doing out here walking in the middle of the street after midnight? Didn't your momma tell you that cars can kill?"

"Oh, I was just taking a stroll. You know how it is."

"Shit! If I were married to a woman like your Connie, I wouldn't even leave the bedroom. Hell! I'd probably never leave the bed."

Herschel understood the underlying joke. He couldn't very well tell Tony that Connie presently had a monster black dick sticking in her cunt for the seventh time that evening. Tony could never comprehend. After all, he wasn't liberally-minded.