Chapter 8
Yes, it was a good six years for all of us. But it all went up in smoke that afternoon when Harry and I took inventory in the back room as usual: fucking as only we could while Bill and Joanie minded the store in front. When we went back front, Joanie and Bill left us there while they slipped into the storeroom Harry and I had been so happily using to tear off a couple of pre-prandial pieces of their own.
I remember looking after them as they walked to the rear door of the shop and thinking how lithe and limber and young and beautiful they were ... and how lucky I was to belong to such a loving and lovable family. Even though I saw only their backsides, I knew that, beneath their clothing, brother Bill's beautiful cock was straining at the zipper of his slacks while Joanie's hot little hole was already creaming in anticipation of the fucking she was about to enjoy with her brother.
Daddy, who had been looking the same way, caught my eye and smiled down at me and said, "Kind of gets you sometimes, doesn't it?"
I nodded, but before I could reply the customer bell sounded and we both turned to see what whoever it was wished to buy. It turned out to be Sergeant Clem Johnson of the Riverville Police Force (eight patrolmen, a chief and Clem as second in command). One look at him and I knew he was not there to make a purchase. The expression on his well-tanned familiar face spelled trouble with a capital T.
He approached Harry hesitantly, glanced at me and said, "Can I talk to you alone, Mr. Davis?"
Daddy put an arm around me and said, "Whatever it is, it's all right to talk in front of Robin."
"Where are the other two?" Clem said.
"In back," said Daddy easily, "taking inventory."
If Clem hadn't looked so serious, I'd have had a problem keeping my face straight. He hesitated and then said, "It's Mrs. Davis..."
Daddy looked alarmed and said, "Is she all right?"
"In a way," said Sergeant Clem. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Mr. Davis, but she's in jail... over in Running Water."
Daddy had to sit down and I nearly keeled over myself. The very idea of our virtuous mother doing anything to put her in prison was simply unthinkable. Even though she sedulously kept her back turned to what the rest of us were doing, she managed to do so in a way that expressed her silent disapproval.
"Good God!" said Daddy. "It's got to be a mistake. What are the charges?"
Sergeant Clem shook his head and said, "I'm afraid there's no mistake, Mr. Davis. I hate to say this in front of Robin ..."
"Oh, go ahead," said Harry. "Whatever it is, we've got to get her out."
"Well ... since you say it's okay, Mr. Davis." He paused and lifted his head and used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his streaming forehead. Then he blurted, "She's charged with fornication--with the Reverend Milton Rood."
"Oh, no!" cried Daddy. His cry was one of sheer disbelief but Sergeant Clem seemed to think it was an expression of distress.
He said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. You know, they say the husband is always the last to know."
"Stow that, Clem," said Harry. "Who brought the charges?"
"Mrs. Cross and six women of the Running Water God's Good Work Committee. I'm afraid there's no doubt about it."
"I'll be damned!" cried Daddy. "I'll be double God damned!" A pause while it sank in, then, "What's the bail?"
Sergeant Clem looked even more distressed. He said, "They won't set it till tomorrow morning when Judge Rentner gets back from his fishing trip. I'm afraid Mrs. Davis will have to stay in jail overnight."
"Ridiculous!" said Daddy, his face getting red. "They can't keep Edna in jail overnight on a misdemeanor."
"I'm afraid they can," said Sergeant Clem. "There's nobody in Running Water with authority to hear the charges today. I did my best, Mr. Davis."
"I'm sure you did, Clem." Daddy got up and put a friendly arm across his shoulders. "Well, what about her comfort... her food?"
"I've arranged to have a good dinner sent in from the Tasty Corner." A pause, then, "Their four-dollar dinner."
"Thanks, Clem." Daddy went to the cash register and took out a ten-dollar bill. Sergeant Clem didn't want to accept more than four dollars, but Daddy said, "She'll be wanting breakfast, too. Will you arrange that?"
"Sure thing." He took the money.
"What about the Reverend?" Harry asked.
"You want me to buy his dinner?" Sergeant Clem looked his disbelief.
"Shit, no!" said Daddy. "I just want to know if the bastard's in jail, too."
"They're in adjoining cells," said Sergeant Clem, offering no other comment.
When he had gone, Daddy said to me, "Lock up for the night, darling." And, when I had done so and drawn the front shades, "Of all the idiotic, unexpected ..." He paused; for once, words failed him.
I couldn't help it. I know it was wrong, but ever since I heard the news, a great big belly laugh had been growing within me. Here, for six years, all of us but Mom had been watching our step, well aware that we were active criminals in the eyes of the law, liable to Lord only knows what hideous penalties. Mother was the only one we thought of as respectable in the family, and we did our best to keep her that way. Of course, we probably should have become suspicious of her regular overnight stays in Running Water, but we thought she only went there to give us a free hand at home, more to get out of our way than because she actually wanted to go there.
And now ... fornication, and with a Reverend at that. It was too much. I began to laugh until I thought my stomach would burst open. I put my head down on a counter and howled as spasms of uncontrollable mirth rocked me ... and, after a little, Harry joined me. We laughed so hard that, when we regained some measure of control, we discovered that our guffaws had alarmed Joanie and brother Bill, whose heads were peering at us through the storeroom door.
"What's the joke?" Bill asked.
"Mommy's in jail," I replied, and it sounded so silly I went off again, only managing to gasp, "For fucking a minister in Running Water."
That got Daddy off once more, and we had another. But when he came down to earth at last, he was completely sobered. He said, "I've got to drive over there at once and see if I can do something. And I'll have to call Uncle Joe. He'll have to know about it. After all, he's Edna's brother."
I knew there was an Uncle Joe in the family, of course, but that was about all. For reasons I did not then understand, neither Daddy nor Mom ever talked about him, except at Christmas, when he'd send a card with a big check inside it. So I was exceedingly curious when I had to drive the Jeep twenty miles that evening to meet the incoming shuttle plane from Indianapolis at Kernstown Municipal Airport. The rest of the family were either holding down the fort at home or over in Running Water with Daddy.
Of all nights, that was the one when the Jeep blew a front tire. Nobody came along to help me change it, and by the time I got to the airport, I was twenty minutes late and my face was smudged and my temper was foul and the early evening Indianapolis plane had landed. I asked a desk man where the passengers were and he told me they had all gone.
I said, "What about a Mr. Lonsdale? I'm supposed to pick him up."
"See for yourself," said a clerk. "If there's anyone in the waiting room, he's hiding in a crack in the floor."
He was right; there was nobody there at all. As I was wondering what to do, he called after me, "There's another flight due at eleven-thirty. Maybe he'll be on that one."
Well, if I could be late getting to Kernstown, Uncle Joe could have missed his plane. Eleven-thirty was a bad two hours-plus away. So I called Bill, back home, and then wondered what in hell I was going to do with myself for the next couple of hours.
Kernstown was not exactly Gay Paree.
There hadn't been time to rustle up dinner at home, and I was hungry all of a sudden. The clerk suggested a roadhouse across the way from the airport, so I drove over there and went into a booth. It was a fairly nice place, with dark brown woodwork and red leather upholstery, but it was dark. Maybe that was why the waitress asked me if I'd like a cocktail without demanding to see my driver's license. In my state, you're not supposed to drink in public until you're eighteen, and I was still ten months shy of that particular birthday.
Right then I decided I could use a drink, so I ordered a vodka Collins and took a look around while the bartender on the other side of the room was making it. Since it was well past the regular dinner hour, and a week night, there weren't many customers in the place. Three guys and a broad playing poker dice for drinks at the bar and a few couples in the other booths.
Pretty dead, I thought--until I caught a glimpse of what was going on in a booth in the corner. I couldn't see it directly, of course, but I got a clear view in the angled mirror that topped the back bar. There was a man leaning back against the wall and a woman in an airline stewardess's uniform with him. Her light-blue cap was on the table with the drinks, and I wondered why, since usually those girls don't take off their caps until they get home and shed the rest of their uniforms.
Then I saw what she was doing and I understood: she had her head buried in the man's lap, and from the rise and fall of her red hair, she could only be sucking his cock.
I couldn't see much of the downstairs action, since the girl's back blocked any real view, but it was the man she was sucking who caught my attention. Not because he was handsome, and he was maybe the best-looking man I ever saw in my life, but because of the easy assurance with which he was taking a pleasuring that would have caused most men to squirm and contort their faces.
He simply leaned back against the wall, apparently totally relaxed and composed, taking an occasional sip from the highball he held in his left hand, smoking a cigarette. From time to time, he would put down the smoke and give the busy girl's auburn curls a caress, directing her action to give himself more jollies.
"The kitchen closes in ten minutes, if you want to eat anything," said the waitress.
I realized she had brought my drink and had probably been standing there for some time while I was watching the show in the back bar mirror. I snapped out of it and ordered a cheeseburger. Playing Peeping Thomasina was a new role for me, since I was usually right in the middle of the action at home, and I started out by enjoying it.
I took a couple of pulls on my drink and went right on watching. A faint smile played about the lucky stranger's handsome lips as the girl went into high gear and I decided things were coming to a head but fast. Still smiling, he put down his glass and, placing both hands on his partner's curly head, seemed to push her right into his groin.
Then the action stopped and, after a moment the girl lifted her head and sat upright and reached for a napkin to wipe the spit and sperm off her face. She was pretty, even for an airline stewardess, but I didn't pay much attention to her because, when she sat up, I got a clear view of the big stiff pink prick that protruded from the man's unzipped fly. It was a real beauty: long and thick and capped with a purple turban any girl would run a mile to swallow with her cunt.
He seemed to be in no hurry to put it away and I wondered why and looked at his face ... to discover that his eyes were staring directly into mine in the back bar mirror and that the smile on his lips had widened. He reached for his drink and lifted it in a toast. And, so help me, I lifted my glass in response. We drank simultaneously, and only after putting down his empty glass did he wipe off that marvelous prong with a napkin and stuff it back into his pants.
Minutes later, they had paid their check and risen and were walking toward the door of the restaurant ... coming right past my table, the girl in front. Half over her shoulder, with her face turned away from me, the stewardess said something like, "... like hell I didn't have to ship out back to Indie, darling." There was more about "this cockamamie airline," but I wasn't listening.
As he came by my booth, the man looked down at me and, for a moment, our eyes locked again. He was still smiling faintly, but his eyes were an extraordinary bright light blue and their effect on me was hypnotic. He was tall and lean and moved with the easy grace of an athlete or a dancer and wore the most beautiful clothes I ever saw on any man.
As he passed, his eyes full on me, he laid a hand briefly on my table and then made a wait-right-there gesture with it. In that brief pause the girl ahead of him never noticed, his lips formed a silent but distinct, "I'll be right back..."
I couldn't have got up and left if I'd wanted to. Little shivers of excitement went curling up me from the backs of my knees to the nape of my neck. All I could think of was that this was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and that he was coming back to see me. The most beautiful man with what looked like the most beautiful prick in the world!
Poor Mom was forgotten, poor Daddy was forgotten; as were brother Bill and Uncle Joe and the next plane. If that man I had just seen for the first time asked me to go anywhere I'd have gone without an instant hesitation. That was how badly I was smitten. I sat there, with my cheeseburger getting cold in front of me, riveted to the red leather bench with invisible but unbreakable bonds.
I had just begun to think, wildly, that he was never coming back when he slid into the other side of the booth. He said, "I seem to have an evening to kill ... what say we kill it together?"
His voice was rich and deep and mellow and enfolded me like a soft fur wrap. The shivers racing upward inside me intensified so that I couldn't speak but could only nod my assent. The light, bright blue eyes regarded me keenly but with a kindness and understanding that suggested he was entirely aware of my condition and knew exactly how to handle it. I felt entirely safe with him, yet not dull, stupid safe ... for, with this man, I knew to my marrow that safety would embrace every rewarding sensation and experience a girl could ever hope for in her wildest daydreams of sexual desires.
Neither one of us mentioned the stewardess who had just sucked him off in the corner booth. It was as if we had tacitly agreed that the incident was a closed chapter and that we were about to begin a new episode that would belong only to this magnificent stranger and myself. He asked me my name, and I told him Robin, and I asked his.
He smiled and his eyes crinkled fascinatingly, and said, "My friends call me Les."
I noted that there was grey at his temples but the fact that he was older turned me on rather than off. After all, the only mature male I had ever fucked was my father. All at once I was dying to have another mature fucking piece in my throbbing little cunt.
Especially a prick as lavishly endowed as the one I had so recently seen the redheaded stewardess suck off.
"Les," I said, forcing myself to meet those eyes, whose candlepower was so great that I felt like a bird being hypnotized by a snake.
"Yes ... Robin?"
"Les ... well, I hope you won't think I'm forward, but..."
"I hope I do ... I want you to be forward. I want it very much."
I felt a twinge of alarm as, once again, I noted the grey hairs along his temples. I found myself saying, "Maybe I'm coming on too strong after what I just saw ... I mean, I wouldn't want you to overdo things."
His eyes crinkled again, and his whole face lit up with amusement. Laying a hand over mine on the table, he said, "My dear, there's only one way to find out, isn't there? I always say, if you want to overdo a thing properly, you must overdo it yourself. Come along ... there are rooms attached to this dreadful swine-pen and I took the liberty of registering us in after seeing my redheaded friend back to the airport."
Coming from anyone else, such assurance would have repelled me. But coming from this marvelous man, somehow it seemed to hint at forethought and consideration rather than crude conceit. And, if his eyes and his voice had mesmerized me, the touch of his hand reduced me to quivering jelly. I'd have followed him anywhere--he didn't even have to blow in my ear.
When we got to our bedroom, we didn't say anything; there was no need to. We simply undressed and tossed our clothing onto the two chairs and then stood there a long moment, jaybird naked, sizing each other up. To say that I liked what I saw would have to rate among the understatements of the century.
Les was a good head taller than I, towering well over six feet. His body was smoothly tanned and lean and muscular and obviously in magnificent shape for a man of his years. Such chest hair as he carried was darkly blond in hue, interspersed with white, unlike the even-toned bush of curls above his scrotum. His shoulders were sloping and strong, his abdomen ribbed like a washboard with muscles, his legs and arms long and gracefully turned.
But, not unnaturally, my ultimate attention was on the purple-capped pink prick that, at first, hung from the prow of his torso, all but concealing the ample testicles just below. Even as I looked at it, I could see it begin to grow. Slowly but steadily. As it lengthened, it thickened and the blue veins became prominent along the sides of the pillar it was becoming under my fascinated eyes. Like a hooded cobra rising from the charmer's basket, it rose until it was pointed upward toward the air-conditioned vent just beneath the ceiling.
With a little cry, I dropped to my knees in front of it and popped the head of it into my mouth. Now, I had sucked my father and brother off often enough to know that no two men taste exactly the same, just as, from sucking off Joanie and Hotpants, I had discovered the same thing about girls. And Les's big throbbing cock proved no exception to this rule.
It had a healthy ripe flavor, like a good cheese that was both sharp and slightly nutty and altogether fascinating. The faint aroma of spent semen left over from the rim job the stewardess had done on it made sucking it even more exciting. As I worked my lips and tongue over its head, I ran the ball of my left thumb slowly up and down the thick, sensitive seam the length of its underside and felt this super spear give a convulsive little leap that caused me to take more of it inside my mouth--although it was far too long and thick for me to contain more than a fraction of its entirety.
Then his hands had knotted themselves in my red hair and he was pulling my mouth free of his cock. That marvelous voice above me said, "Robin, Robin, that's very sweet, but you have another place I'd infinitely prefer to put this thing into."
As I came upright, still holding on the his prong with my hand, I blurted, "But, from what I saw downstairs, I thought you liked it."
"I do, I do," he assured me, pulling me close against his strong, lean, beautiful body so that the underside of his cock was pressed against my belly, while his balls pushed most amiably against my pubic mound.
"Then why...?"
"Because ..." He lifted me gently and deposited me flat on my back on the bedspread. "... I vastly prefer being fucked to being sucked. And, in that booth, there was no way."
With that, bridging his torso above me, he slowly brought that erect Priapus-prick of his within the heart of the dewy flower of my cunt; and, once there, drove it swiftly home until its tip touched bottom in my womb.