Chapter 11
The spicy, fragrant odor of food and the clatter of silverware and dishes synchoronized into a sharp smell and sound as Rick sat stiffly at the dinner table in a mesmerized state. He'd been that way ever since he'd answered the knock on the door and found himself staring into his mother's face. Now her voice closed like a trap around him.
"It was getting to the point where I almost forgot what my son looked like. So I thought, why not pay him a visit." She glanced over at Paul who was serving the salad. "And his roommate," she added.
Rick's look went to Paul. He did not seem disturbed by his mother's surprise visit. As a matter-of-fact, he seemed to be enjoying her. Ever since they'd been introduced they seemed to be coyly playing a little game with each other. Paul's dark eyes were humorous and boyish beneath arched, corrugated brows. He was smiling, listening to her speak, looking disdainfully youthful. Rick had never seen him look like this before; there was something strange about his appearance, about the way he conducted himself. It was as if he were putting on a show for his mother.
"I gave the servants the weekend off. You should have seen them beam. Oh, Rick, I brought your tennis rackets. I thought you'd want to play." This his mother said with an affectionate tap on his hand. Then to Paul in the way of an explanation, "Rick and I often play tennis together-course I have to force him into it. We're pretty good as a team."
"I'll bet," Paul smiled.
"Rick, I've missed not having you around." When his mother looked at him, her face seemed to become larger, encircling him.
He flexed his knees agonizedly together. Panic! That's what he felt every time he looked at her; but she was unaware of the way he felt, her high-pitched voice flowed on obliviously, her stuffed mouth chewed her food obliviously.
"Rick," Paul said, "you're not eating."
"Yes, yes, I am "
"Rick's always been a slow eater. Haven't you, Rick?" Her voice droned on, explaining episodes out of his childhood to Paul. It had been weeks since Rick had seen his mother. He had not missed her, had had no desire to contact her, was hoping to keep the distance between them permanent. Then suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, here she sat at the same dinner table with him.
"What a gorgeous table you've set, Paul," his mother said, her heavy-lidded dark eyes roving with voluptuous appreciation over the sparkling dinner table.
"Thank you, Susan." Paul beamed.
Rick raised the wineglass to his lips and saw that his hand was shaking. He swallowed a few drops of the red wine, then put down the glass. She had that effect on him. She made him nervous, insecure-damn it, he hated her. And he was annoyed at how well Paul was treating her-angry and annoyed.
"I must confess I didn't make the salad. Rick did. He's quite good at it."
His mother's face darkened, but only for a split second, then she imposed a half-smile on her lips and wrinkled her nose. "Rick? Rick made the salad?" Then to him. "Why, Rick, how domestic of you. I'm real proud of you." Quickly turning back to Paul she said, "I never thought he could even make a peanut butter sandwich."
Rick chewed his food, the lamb was like leather in his mouth. He had a subliminal thought of tearing off his mother's diamond bracelet and shoving it down her throat. He watched in silence, watched as his mother adopted one of her usual comical poses, her fingertips at her chin, wrinkling her forehead into a brooding frown. "See what happens when my son meets up with a man of the world?" she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and speaking in a purring voice.
A stifling irritation surged through Rick as he watched his mother's gestures. There she goes, he thought, being bitchy, getting her digs in. Why was she here? Did she know? The questions burned through his mind.
"You'd be surprised at the things Rick does. He built that brick bookcase over there," Paul gestured, throwing Rick a complimentary smile.
She spun her head around to look. "You're telling a fib," she said, putting the back of her hand to her mouth in a theatrical gesture of surprise. "You're joking!"
"No, I'm not. He also did a miniature oil painting. I have to say, it's pretty good. He shows promise."
Her look quickly went to Rick, her eyes widening dramatically, and she let her mouth fall open; the grimace turned her face into a mask of astonishment. "Rick, but this is marvelous."
Paul and the mother talked of other things; Susan kept it going in a steady, forceful flow. She was using her finest mannerisms, thought Rick; her voice was huskily low, and she dramatized with vivacious posturings and outlandish facial expressions. She was forty, he thought, looking at her breasts. She kept her body in shape with swimming and tennis and obviously no amount of hard drinking showed or took away from her beauty. He wondered if she were flirting with Paul. And did Paul think his mother beautiful? Was that why he was so attentive?
"What does one do around here for excitement?" his mother asked.
What you really mean to ask is, Whom does one fuck around here for excitement, thought Rick. He knew that's what she wanted.
"We have several theaters that show the latest films. There is The Playhouse and the shops. Got a few good restaurants, expensive but good. Then there's the beach," Paul explained.
"I'm the indoor type," Susan said.
You sure are, thought Rick. He stiffened when he saw his mother's eyes race over Paul's body.
"Tomorrow night I'll take you both out for dinner. I was hoping there'd be a nice restaurant."
"Tomorrow night?" Rick was surprised the words left his throat.
"Why, yes, Rick. Are you free?"
"Uh-asamatterfact," he tumbled the words out, "I'm not. I'm leaving for Los Angeles tonight. I'm meeting Mr. Arlen," he lied.
"Arlen? Since when do lawyers work on Sunday?"
"I'll be seeing him tomorrow. Tonight I've got a date and tickets for-for-Plaza Suite."
His mother looked disappointed, but he knew better. "Oh, that's too bad. Then, of course, I couldn't stay-"
"Oh, sure you can," Paul cut in. "I'll take the couch."
"I couldn't think of taking away your bed," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
The moment held a curious stillness, and amidst the quiet, Rick got suddenly to his feet. His mother came-saw-and was about to conquer Paul. He knew that without a doubt. She'd done it before with his teen-age buddies and she was about to do it again. Only, and he had to stifle a smile, she was in for a surprise. She didn't know that Paul was queer. Well, he had that going for him at least. He didn't feel so bad now that he realized his mother would be in for a bit of a disappointment. This was one time she wouldn't have her way.
He didn't want to stay around while she was here. He'd leave, check in at a motel here in town, spend tomorrow on the beach, and wait until his mother left the house. Paul would be busy all day tomorrow with the art show and she would be left alone. She'd have a miserable time in gay Laguna and would think twice about visiting again. It was that simple.
"I better be going," he said.
"I wish you didn't have to, Rick. It's not often I can get away and-"
"Good night, mother," he interrupted.
She held her chin up and tilted her face, waiting for him to kiss her.
He brushed his lips against her cheek lightly, nodded a good-night to Paul and left the house.
Paul knew that Susan was drunk by the time they parked the car in front of the house. They had gone to Victor Hugo's restaurant for drinks, then stopped on the way back at Dante's Inferno for a nightcap. Susan was fascinated with the gay crowd at Dante's, and after her fifth drink made a spectacle of herself by dancing with a lesbian and falling on her ass. It had been in good fun and Paul didn't mind-that is, he didn't mind until she really got drunk. All evening he had been concerned about Rick. It had been a mistake letting Susan come to Laguna. Rick had clamped up, wouldn't eat, and seemed tense and moody. He felt guilty having kept secret the fact he'd met the mother on his own. It was stupid pretending through the introductions; he was sure Rick had seen through it. In a way he was sorry he'd gone out of his way to meet Susan. In one short evening he'd discovered she couldn't control her liquor, that she flirted outrageously with every male she met, was loud and undignified, and, to top it all, got bitchier with each drink. He just could not control her. Take, for instance, the queen in the back seat of the car. Susan had insisted he come home with them for coffee. But Paul knew exactly the reason Susan wanted the boy. He hadn't missed that look of hers when she fastened her eyes onto the kid's basket. He had told her he did not think it a good idea, explained to her the guy was a queen and not the least bit interested in her, but she ranted and raved so that he had to give in. Well, she could have the queen. He'd take the couch.
"Susan?" He reached over and shook her shoulder. "Wake up, we're home."
"What-where the hell am I?" She blinked her eyes and looked at him. "Oh, Paul. Hi, honey."
"Listen, I think I better take you into the house then drive queeny here home."
"The name's Forest," the boy lisped. "Forest Greene."
"Isn't that a lovely name," Susan smiled. "No, Paul, he's coming in. I can't be rude. I promised our friend some coffee."
"But it's late," Paul insisted.
"Never too late," Susan chuckled.
Paul looked toward the back of the car. Forest Greene was staring at him, his eyes dark and flirtatious. Paul hunched his shoulders in defeat, then got out of the car. "Okay, come on," he said, opening the door for Susan.
Once inside the house, Paul made them coffee, excused himself, got undressed, and plopped down on the couch. He was much too drunk and too tired to make idle conversation this early in the morning. He turned off the lamp and turned on his side, burying his head under the pillow.
An hour later he was awakened by the sound of voices. He turned over and lay on his back, looking toward the bedroom. He could see the naked reflections of Susan and Forest Greene in the mirror-paneled ceiling. The boy was lying full length over Susan. She was kissing him and whispering small sounds.
"Nah, I'm not much good at this-with a woman, I mean," the boy said.
"I gave you twenty dollars now, didn't I? Bet nobody ever gave you that much before."
"Yeah, but, just the same, this isn't my bag. Now that guy in the other room, he's more my speed. He's really groovy."
"Great compliment to me," Susan muttered under her breath. "Forget him, he's out," she told the boy.
Paul smiled, leaned back against the pillow, and let his glance roam the contours of the boy's body. Undressed, he looked pretty damn good. Nice, hot ass, he thought, feeling the pleasant thrum of desire as his eyes feasted on the boy's small buttocks. He cocked his head to one side. Susan was working on the boy's cock, but it was limp.
"I'll give you more money if you'll try," Susan muttered. "Maybe if I sucked on it awhile."
"That won't do it. I can't stand lipstick on my prick."
"You do have a nice way about you, I must say," sighed Susan. "Maybe if I played with it awhile."
"I can't get it up. You just don't excite me."
"Thanks a hell of a lot," Susan said.
Paul laughed to himself. She really wanted that cock. Hell, she wanted any cock.
"Well, I can't help it. I thought he was going to get in on it. I can do it then with you, just as long as I've got a hot cock in me."
Paul saw the excitement in Susan's face. "You mean, if he stuck it in you, then you could-" The very thought of it seemed to charge Susan with newfound desire.
Actually, the little queen did have a nice tight body, Paul thought, feeling his cock harden. He swung his legs off the couch and got to his feet. Silently he made his way toward the bedroom. Maybe he should join them. After all, Rick wasn't coming home, and he was aroused. Besides, if Susan received some pleasure on her weekend in Laguna, she might be quite generous with him.
"I thought you two were having coffee," he said, stepping into the bedroom.
"Paul," Susan said, surprised.
The boy turned sharply, his eyes opening wide when he saw Paul's nakedness.
"I see our little friend here needs a little help." Paul stood with his legs spread, knowing the effect his hard cock was having on the young boy.
"Yeah," Susan's eyes glistened, "look at you now."
Forest Greene's prick blooded to life. It was smaller than Paul's, uncircumcised, and purple in color.
"He was telling me-"
"Yeah, Susan, I heard," Paul smiled. He gestured for the boy to resume what he was doing. The boy complied. Immediately Susan wrapped her arms around Forest and kissed him. Then she pulled back and said, "Paul, it's freezing in here. Turn on the thermostat."
"Don't have that kind of heating." He pointed to the gas stove on the floor in a comer of the room. "Gas is all we have."
"Turn it on, it's cold in here."
"Hate to use it. Smells the room up with gas. Besides," he grinned, "you'll be warm in a minute."
He lowered himself onto the bed and arranged the boy's legs over Susan's. He ran his hand down the boy's back and over the twin mounds. Then he reached over, opened a drawer, and unscrewed a bottle of vaseline.
Scooping some of it on his middle finger, he ran it to the outer ridges of the boy's asshole. Slowly he slipped his finger in, gently lubricating the tight asshole. With his other hand he reached under the boy and felt the stiff rod. "Now you're all right," he said, guiding the boy's prick between Susan's legs.
"Paul," Susan whispered, "kiss me."
Paul rested his chin on the boy's shoulder and kissed her. Her lips parried for control, brushed gently, and finally submitted, taking his tongue all the way. At the same time she pushed the boy's face into her breasts.
Forest looked at her excited tit an inch from his eyes, at the swollen tip. The pressure of her hand against his head told him she wanted him to nibble her. He opened his mouth and suckled the brownish nub.
Paul meanwhile worked Forest's cock until the head of it swelled double its original size. He guided it to the lips of Susan's cunt, then stuck it in, at the same time pushing the boy's ass hard into her.
"Aagh! Ohhhh," Susan cried, feeling the fiery rod plunge into her. "Oh, good, good, good," she muttered over and over, lifting her hips to meet his lunges.
Quickly Paul climbed carefully over them and swung one leg over so he was kneeling, straddling the boy. His hand caressed the boy's ass cheeks. He looked down at his own cock; he was noticeably aroused. He clasped himself, brought his cock to the boy's buttocks, then, spreading the firm muscles, sank the rounded head of his prick in and lowered himself slowly.
"Oh, shit," Forest cried, his body shivering with pleasure. "Shit, shit, shit," he cried over and over again as he thrust his hips hard into Susan.
Paul saw Susan's body move wildly, one hand on his shoulder, the other on Forest's cheek.
"Two of you," she cried joyously, "hell, this is something."
Paul leaned down when he felt Forest groan in pain. "God, you're a big sonofabitch," Forest whispered.
"Easy, huh?" he said with mounting passion.
Paul's mouth moved against the boy's earlobe, whispering, enticing, encouraging the kid to take all of his meat. The boy's warm, tight, moist ass felt marvelous. His hips seemed to be acting by reflex action alone. As the boy thrust deeper into Susan, Paul lunged forward sending his hot, hard cock deep into the warm hole of the boy.
Now the three bodies moved as one, Susan meeting Forest's, and Paul meeting the squirming, cock-hungry tight ass.
Thinking of Forest's hard prick in Susan; of her cunt, contracting and grabbing his sliding piston, made Paul wild. He could feel his moment was near.
"I'm ready ... oh, shit, I'm ready," the boy cried.
Susan rammed her hips up hard into the boy, clutching both him and Paul. "Me, too," she whispered, "oh, yes, yes."
Their breaths intermingled, their perspiration ran together, and Paul was conscious of the odors; the smell of sex was super strong in the tiny bedroom. Paul lunged; Forest lunged; Susan cried out her joy. As their movements became faster, wilder, Paul pressed his groin hard into the boy's buttocks, pressed with all of his might so that he could feel the crisp patch of hair of the boy's rear. His cock swelled and he felt himself shoot. "Ahhhhhhh," he groaned, sending his prick deep into the boy.
"Ohhhhh, shit," Forest whispered, taking Paul's eruption and sending his own into Susan's hot cavern.
"Jeeeeeesus," cried Susan as she wiggled her body uncontrollably, feeling her climax near.
The three of them spewed their come and moaned and groaned their pleasure as their bodies fused in mutual ecstasy. Susan collapsed back onto the bed, her glistening body in a heap, her disarrayed hair scattered over the pillow. Forest, breathing hard, pulled his now limp cock out and fell facedown on the bed, his small shoulders heaving, his breathing hard. Paul fell to his side, his face buried into the blankets, his eyes closed, exhausted, spent in the complete fulfillment of threesome love.