Chapter 3
Susan Lundman was doing what she loved best, admiring herself in a mirror.
She'd been fascinated with her own body since she was ten years old, when her breasts began to take shape. Her body in later years had brought her great happiness and had caused her to suffer, depending on the man. She blamed her body entirely for her promiscuity and for all of her problems, and when things went well it was usually because her body was being loved. She was beautiful, always had been, and thought she'd remain that way. At least, she was determined to make her looks last by carefully watching her diet, by exercising her body, and by spending as much time as she could at the salons. And she used her body ... oh, how she used it. That, too, made her body more beautiful. For, to be loved-often-made her happy. Right now there were dark bags under her eyes, but this was understandable, she'd been boozing it up and screwing too much. Still, for forty she was really something to look at. Of course, she didn't look forty, and she certainly didn't act it. It was all in the mind You are what you feel, she'd always told herself. And right this second, Susan Lundman didn't feel a day over twenty-nine. Why, even the younger men, the real young ones did not suspect her age. She was not very big, only five feet one, but as the men said, she was a package of dynamite.
She wrinkled her nose at the mirror, flared her nostrils, then patted her French twist hairdo. She stared into her own eyes; they were so dark and warm, she thought. Real bedroom eyes. Her fingers came up to touch her lips; small and full and sensuous. Her hands went to her breasts, the full, oversize breasts so many men had desired. Her fingers touched the abnormally huge brown nipples. She remembered so well the jealous stares of the other women at the gym. It gave her a feeling of superiority. This was the day of the big tits, and she could hold her own with the best of them. Forty-eight. Some size. She was proud of that number. Even girls in their teens were jealous of her. It delighted her to see Rick's girl friends stop in their tracks and suck in their breath, their mouths falling open when she was introduced. That's something, being more sexy than her own son's dates. And what about her son's boyfriends? She knew the way they looked at her, the thoughts that passed through their minds. Those looks had started when they were sixteen and had continued right up to when they were nineteen, her son's age. Like her son, these teen-agers walked around with a hard on most of the day and night just asking for it. Once, when she found herself alone with one of them, a really good-looking boy of nineteen, saw the lustful looks he threw her, she'd decided to help him out. That was the start of it. After that she'd helped many of her son's friends out. She smiled at her mirrored reflection. And she's been cool about it, and smart. Rick did not suspect. She did it with style, taking the boys out of town to a really nice hotel, always registering as Susan and Rick Lundman. Hell, most of them looked like Rick anyway. None of this seedy motel atmosphere for her. Class with a capital C.
She touched a bit of perfume between her breasts. Men went mad for her tits. It always delighted her when they saw her naked for the very first time. One look at her breathtaking globes and they were reduced to blubbering, inarticulate puppets before her very eyes.
She turned from the mirror and walked, naked, into the dressing room that led to the bathroom, found a flowing black peignoir and slipped into it, knotting it loosely around her waist. At the tray set on a desk in the bedroom, she made herself another highball-her fifth-then glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty.
She walked to the window and looked down at the driveway, then off to the road. It was pitch-black out. She touched a switch and the driveway was suddenly bathed in light. Her guests were late.
Her look went to the rumpled bed; the bedspread was a big lump under the mangled sheets. The ashtray on the table next to the bed was filled with cigarette butts, next to it was a cup and saucer holding the remains of cold coffee. She'd given the maid the weekend off and the room showed it.
"Fuck it!" she muttered, "they're not coming here to admire the house."
Her look settled on the framed picture of her son. She walked to the bureau, opened a drawer and put the frame in between her undies, then closed the drawer. No use in having a picture of Rick around; they'd only start to ask questions. It was always embarrassing explaining about her nineteen-year-old son. Gave away her age.
She sipped her drink, thinking how lucky it was that Rick had decided to spend the weekend away from home. She'd been wondering how to get rid of him for the two days. Worked out fine. The boy, always sitting around the house, cramped her style. He was a problem especially when she had something planned, like tonight.
The idea had come to her as she sat woozily at a table by herself at the Glass Crutch, a little dive on Western Avenue. They called themselves The Guys; there were four of them in the musical group. One, a Negro, really was quite handsome, with a goatee, and a cigarette constantly dangling from his lips. He played a mean piano. The other three were good-looking, too. It was the Negro who first noticed her. He had stopped at her table during the break. His name was Lindy and he was interested-very interested. And she, well, she was interested in all of them.
The drunker she got the better the idea became. On the third break she asked Lindy, "What are you doing on Saturday night?"
"Making bread," he replied. "We're playing at a private party up in the Hollywood Hills."
"Would you take a better booking?" she'd smiled.
"Chickee," he'd said impatiently, "this job pays three-fifty."
"I'll give you five hundred!"
His eyes lit up. "Where is this bash?" he'd asked.
"At my place. Only it's not a bash. There will only be-me!"
The doorbell was ringing. Susan pulled out of her reverie and quickly crossed to the window. A Volkswagen bus was parked in her driveway. She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts she had not heard them drive up.
Abruptly she turned, walked out of the room and down the stairs to the door.
"Hey, chickee, nice pad ... real nice."
The Negro was standing in the doorway, the other three in back of him.
"Come in," she said, standing aside.
Suddenly they didn't look quite as handsome as she had first thought. One of the men was chewing gum, his sunken eyes on her breasts. Another was taking in his surroundings. He had a long-jawed face and long arms that dangled at his sides, his long fingers moving nervously. The third one was short and on the heavy side. He kept tweaking his wide-beaked nose and fingering the beads around his neck.
Her eyes went to the Negro. Suddenly she couldn't think of his name. Rindy? No-but it was something like that. Oh! To hell with it! What in hell does it matter? He was smiling at her, a lipless kind of smile. It was the first time she noticed the bulge in his trousers. God, she thought, is that all him? "Why don't you go into the bar and make yourselves a drink. We're very informal tonight. No maids, no help, nothing," she said, gesturing to the other room. Instantly, three of them turned on their heels and left. The black man remained.
"Don't you want a drink?" she asked.
"Well, chickee, I've got to get one thing straight first off."
"What's that?"
"Well, the evening is probably going to get rough!"
Susan felt a tightness in her chest.
"And we might all really hang one on. So, if you don't mind, I'd like payment in advance. You know, just in case you forget." He tilted his head. "Five hundred?" Again the lipless smile.
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. My checkbook is upstairs, in the bedroom. I'll be right down." She started to leave.
"I'll go with you," he said. "You know, you really must have it to just be able to write out a check for five hundred smackers."
She stopped halfway up the stairs and said, "I've got it, that's right, but don't get any ideas. Don't be greedy. There'll be more if I like-the way you play," she smiled.
After she made out the check, he took it, folded it, and slipped it into his wallet. Then he didn't waste any time.
She watched him unbutton his shirt. Desire stirred her as he stood naked and taut before her. She sat down on the bed and slipped out of her peignoir.
His eyes opened wide in disbelief at the sight of her naked breasts. "Sweet Jesus," he whispered.
Then he was all over her, his hands on her breasts, her legs, her belly, between her thighs. She felt the press of his erection against her thigh. It was without a doubt the largest phallus she'd ever laid eyes on-and she'd seen plenty.
"Please," she whispered, "take it easy. Don't hurt me."
His arm shot out and his fingers encircled her throat. She felt her head fall into the mattress. "Don't tell me that," he said with impatience. "You know goddam well you love it."
His hands kneaded her breasts. His fingers were gritty and hard against her softness.
Her body recoiled when she felt him push his long rod into her vagina.
"Take this, chickee," he said angrily, passionately.
She felt his rod sear into her and she tightened from the rhythmical beat of his long, lean body. It continued unceasingly until the agony turned into pleasure. Suddenly her hands grasped his back. "Do it harder," she groaned. Her legs opened wide and wrapped around his smooth, dark buttocks.
"Like it, chickee?"
"Yes ... yes ... yes," she moaned as his big cock flew in and out of her.
"Ever have anything this big in you?" he asked, his breath heavy and hot against her ear.
Her cunt muscles tightened around his monstrous rod. "Uugghh!" she grunted. "Never ... never this big."
He pulled his cock out to the tip, then sank it back-pulled it out-sank it back, all the time whispering, "Oh, sweet cunt, sweet, tight, warm cunt."
She couldn't stand it. "Fuck me ... fuck me!" Her cry was an animal-like cry. She felt his seed spill into her and she tightened her legs harder around him. He had given, but she had not. Fire raged through her as she sought his lips.
He fell limply to the side. "Oh, chickee," he told her, "you are one wild lay."
Through the doorway she heard a voice. "Hey, Lindy.
Come on already. I got hot nuts."
"Okay, Mac, be right out." He got to his feet and started to dress. He stared down at her. "You'll like Mac. He's smaller than I am, but thick like baloney."
Her eyes slanted and her breath came fast. "Tell him to come on in," she whispered.
Mac serviced her, and so did Tom, and after Tom there was Al. Then her own fire was put out when Lindy fucked her again.
They were all sitting at the bar rip-roaring drunk, the chimes had just sounded three times, when Susan heard the front door slam. She turned her head. The form's visage doubled in her vision. She blinked her eyes a few times, then slowly the figure came into focus.
"Rick!" she whispered in alarm.
With effort she slid off of the barstool and unsteadily made her way to him. Halfway she stopped, realizing that her peignoir was open at the front and revealing her nakedness. She pulled the material over her breasts and knotted the belt tightly around her. When she got to her son, she smiled drunkenly, her head reeling, desperately trying to think of something to say. She wrenched her face to the back bar and peered at the four men. "These," she gestured, "are some friends of mine who dropped by for a drink." She giggled. "Okay, a couple of drinks. She looked into his face. "I-I thought you went to Laguna, Rick."
His features were contorted into a mask of hate. When he spoke it was like a knife going through her chest.
"You whore! One's not enough-you need an army!"
"Rick!" she blustered.
"You dirty whore!" he spat.
She saw him whirl around, then heard the door slam.
"Hey, Susan. Who the fuck was that?" one of the men called from the bar.
Her eyes filled with tears. She lifted her head. "That? That was my baby," she whispered. Then she wiped her eyes, fixed a smile on her face, and walked back to them Their faces were blurs to her, but she didn't care; it didn't really make any difference. She fastened her lips to the blur nearest her. "Anybody for seconds?" she asked.