Chapter 1
WITH HER SAFFRON-COLORED TAN AND GLISTENING flaxen hair streaming in a blinding array down the firm sloping planes of her strong bare back, she was still the Golden Girl of the 1960 Olympics.
That had been a big year for her. The year of Lita Leary, the lithe, leonine Golden Girl of the Golden West. Every national magazine in the country, including Life, Look, Time, Vogue every big name in the business gave her tremendous coverage. Lita was a publicist's dream. The new Grace Kelly. The forerunner of Jackie Kennedy.
Both the Associated Press and U.P.I. carried her picture time and again around the world on their Unifax and Fotofax machines. Thousands of words about Lita were filed by both wire services around the globe, on their leased cable lines. You couldn't so much as look at a TV set or a movie news show without seeing Lita Leary swooshing down the slopes at Squaw Valley, zigzagging through the gates of the slalom course at Suger-loaf, or schussing the giant downhill trail at Garmisch.
It is seven years since then, yet the legend of lush Lita Leary still lingers in the land. For everyone who is the least bit nostalgic or sentimental, she remains as fresh and as vibrant as in those days when she soared her way to international fame as a teen-age daredevil on skis.
Close your eyes, mention her name, and the familiar beautiful face flashes on the cinerama screen of your lowered eye lids. The piercing blue eyes are the first feature that grabs you. They are set wide apart and invitingly in the coppery tan skin stretched tautly and caressingly over her amazing bone structure. The classic nose bears two small nostrils which always appear to be flaring disdainfully, as though bored with all the attention.
While the image is still before you, Lita slowly wets the swollen fullness of her red lips with the tiny darting tip of her long tongue. Then just before the vision fades, she leisurely parts her gleaming lips to reveal the brilliance of her even white teeth.
That was Lita Leary of the PR man's dream six-years ago. But if she was the Golden Girl then, she was a Golden Goddess now as I held her locked to me in the extra bedroom I had reserved for myself in the boss' name at the Statler-Mason. The blue eyes that once gazed so imperiously out from the cover of a hundred magazines now flashed down at me, vividly reflecting the intense pleasure she was receiving with each thrust of my rigid rod into her tight wet pussy.
The moist lips that in the past only uttered the carefully prepared words of the public relations writer now formed a big 'O' while her tongue continued to snake in and out. In our sexual embrace, she imagined she still was assaulting my mouth.
"Man," she exulted, "I thought my old Senator was good. Thought he was big and knew how to use it like it should be used. But you are the greatest, Mark Vista. Man, I love it," she cried, her voice husky and sensuous and fully signifying the pleasure and satisfaction she was deriving from our coupling.
"Feels, Mark, like it is going to come right up through my belly into my hot mouth. Man, would I love that. Imagine getting it both ways at once. I could die just thinking about it"
That was one thing about Lita. Since I first had met her as a U.P.I, newsman covering the Olympics, I never knew her to be unimaginative or bereft of the right words to express her thoughts, especially if they had anything to do with screwing.
And quite obviously from the way she was sticking fast in the saddle, she had been putting her imagination to work between times when I rode her. I had all I could do to hang on.
"We'll have to wrap it up on this shot, Lita," I said, breathing sort of heavy. "I've got to get upstairs shortly to my man or he'll be all over me. He can be a bastard when he wants to be."
"You mean that the public doesn't see the real Johnny Cataldo," Lita asked facetiously. She knew better.
"Don't put me on, baby. You know what he is. Let the public think he is one hell of a guy. Kissing the kids all the time. Flashing the pearly whites. Giving all that dough to charity and the church. He's a real phony like the rest of them. A first class one. But he is going places and I'm going right along as press secretary-even to the White House with a little bit of luck."
Lita laughed between strokes. She cocked her head, sending ripples through her blonde tresses. "It won't be luck with you, Mark. It will be you know what."
She was silent for a moment as we kept at it, grinding away. "Don't forget, Markie baby, my man is running for the nomination too. And I aim to get it for him!"
"Great, Lita. That's what I like, loyalty. Fight for him, just as hard as I'm fighting for Cataldo. The wop bastard."
We were both silent for a moment. Our breathing was in unison and picking up. The first faint slapping sounds became discernible.
"I don't give a damn really who wins, Lita. Just remember our deal. Your old man wins and I go along as his press secretary. One way or the other I'm riding someone's coattails to the top. I've earned it for all the lousy deadlines I kept as a newsman. For those nine years with the goddamn wire services. For all those lousy cups of coffee I drank and stale doughnuts I ate covering stories. All the death watches I've kept. For all the weekends and nights and holidays, including
Christmas and New Year's, I've worked in one cold dreary city after another. The wires are good experience for a young man but they'll kill you after a while."
Lita continued to come down hard on me, revolve once or twice, then shoot back up the stick to relax for a split second before again descending. Her enormous tits bounced up down and down; the projecting points bobbed about like the red noses of two frolicking puppies.
"You can't complain too much, Mark. Look at the experience you got, especially in all those European capitals. Hell, you were in Stockholm alone for one year. And then there was Paris, Rome, London, and don't forget Munich and those islands ... Capri, Ischia, Majorca. No wonder you are so talented. If you know what I mean?"
"No more than you, Lita," I said smiling reflectively. We did them all together, remember? I think we made the scene in every ski town in Europe and then some. I don't think there's a jet-set resort in which you didn't haul my ashes."
Lita blushed becomingly, but pressed down more determinedly on my joy stick. She began to pick up the tempo with the fullness of her full round buttocks. Her firm thighs revolved simultaneously. Our nude bodies slapped hotly, wetly together.
"Definitely going to have to drop it soon, Lita," I panted out. "Time is getting shorter. The old bird is on the wing."
In the early evening, like it was now, before I have a couple of J & B Rare Scotches, I can usually go four times. I'm hitting thirty-two but I have always made it a practice to take good care of myself. Plenty of exercise, good food, including lots of milk and eggs, and lots of sleep or naps whenever possible.
I decided a long time ago that if you want to get on in this crummy world you are a fool to let yourself go, especially after thirty. You've got to keep in shape. If you don't, the top-drawer types quickly conclude that you're nothing but a fat slob. You don't see any fatsos among the rich and the successful. At least not very often.
Image is everything today. Not only with the candidates going for the top spot like my man Cataldo who is hoping to pull off the gubernatorial nod at the State convention getting underway at the Statler-Mason but for any guy who is hip and wants to keep on making the scene.
JFK started it all in a really big way. Bless his soul. He was a great guy. Real class. But the image-making began with him. He was the first to fully comprehend the advantages of television to a political candidate and to implement them. It isn't enough to have the dough, even though you can forget about winning any high office without it you've also got to have the image, the appeal bit. You know what I mean: the steady honest gaze, the strong jaw, the manly demeanor, the rugged profile, the deep male voice. And, of course, the big smile to display the dazzling teeth. And the produce should be packaged in Brooks Brothers type clothing.
Yes, JFK saw you could win the big prize with television. He realized most people in this country are clods who seldom read anything, much less news columns or editorials. Get your message over with the image on the boob tube, that's what he believed. Say it simply and concisely. Let the other bums get all the coverage they want in the dailies and by the wire services. Grab all the TV spots possible. It's a great big world of shadow and very little, if any, substance.
All the while these thoughts were flitting through my mind, Lita was working harder and harder, striving for that big peak up there in the sky where your being becomes a quivering, sensitive mass of unholy delight. We sure could scale that height together.
So, just like the smart boys, I keep up my image. Candidates like to have sharp guys around them. That's the main reason for the exercise bit every morning. And I am not talking about mattress pushups, although I get more than my share of that. But even then I save my love juices for the right broads. The dames who can do things for me.
Why waste the juice on dumb broads who can do you no good? I have even given broads in their forties and fifties a workout if I figure they can do me some good on my climb up that stairway to the stars. I'll take a big-titted matron over a young chick every time if it's worth my while.
It probably sounds cynical. Yet, I'm not a cynic, just a realist. This is the kind of world we live in, believe me, I know. I've been around. You play it my way or you're dead, daddy-o. D-E-A-D.
Now deep down, way below in the furthermost region of that bottomless pit of my being, I could sense the first stirring of my fourth load. Soon it would be rising like a heavenly geyser to fill my personal sky with a myriad of stars and exploding rockets. No one, but no one, shoots the moon like me when my missile takes off. It puts the Gemini and Apollo programs to shame. They shape up like sputtering firecrackers when I take off.
It was rapidly getting near lift-off. I could feel the charge gathering in that unknown, unseen part of my body. It was slowly gathering a head of steam to jump off to a fast start on the race through my loins for the final triumphant jetting through my throbbing connector into Lita's high-powered box. Her cup would 'runneth over' on this parting shot.
"Pretty soon now, baby," I grunted, writhing about on the sheets of the huge bed like it was sort of a hot griddle. I like my beds big. Gives you a good chance to really gallop while high in the saddle.
"Yes," Lita groaned between genuine moans of ecstasy, "let's make it a good one for the road. Hold it, I want to roll over so I can get the full impact of your cock and every drop of your juices. No-keep going. I've changed my mind. I want to see if we can still swap positions without becoming disconnected. like before, remember?"
Remember, she asked. How could I ever forget? I figured it out once that Lita and I had made this same scene in different variations some two-hundred and eighty-two times in thirty-four cities and burgs around the world. We did that too. She still, however, is only my second-best record.
"Hold it, Lita," checking my reminiscing. "I want to look you over one more time. My old eyes can't get enough of you when you are up top. Just a moment and then I'll give you a jolt."
Lita smiled knowingly, confident of her youthful charms. She was ever aware of the tremendous body she had to display. At twenty-four, she could outpoint almost every broad I knew.
She was straddling me. Her muscled hips and thighs rippled caressingly against my moist loins. Hovering over me, she appeared like a wanton goddess of illicit love. The silken length of her corn-yellow hair framed her beautiful face and dropped away to brush my tingling breast ends. Her mouth was a yawning cavern of delight as she came nearer to the heavenly time. Her breath gently touched me, smelling of toothpaste, cigarettes, and her own womanly heat. It was coming faster and harsher. Her tiny nostrils flared sharply, they were like two dark recesses beckoning me into the depths of her feminine mystique.
My eyes narrowed, filling with male anguish and climactic wonderment, roved approvingly down the length of her lovely tanned neck to fasten hungrily on the heavy fullness of her bulging tits. Hard pink nipples capped the great bulk of those twin globes.
My hunger and thirst for the ripe flavor of Lita's love cones became almost unbearable. I took one of those big dangling beauties in each hand. Crying out with pleasure, Lita pressed her great mounds of flesh into the forest of my fingers.
I fingered and kneaded the rigid tips. Out they popped even further. Their great aureoles reddened as I squeezed and pinched them. Lita groaned with happiness.
Lita leaned closer to me. She teasingly let one of the swinging globes pop into my eager mouth. I nearly suffocated in the swollen mass, but managed to grab a few quick breaths through my nose while sucking the hard rubber-like tip. The odor of that exquisite melon enveloped me from head to toes.
One of my hands trailed down the silky loveliness of her golden back to seize one big round buttock. I pulled her to me. Ever so slowly, our legs tightly entwined, I slowly revolved about to take the dominant male position. This maneuver was accomplished without a lost stroke. I managed also to keep my teeth fastened to her heaving breast.
"No one makes that switch like you, Mark," Lita gushed admiringly. "Now, baby, make it good. Pound the hell out of me. Make it hurt me."
It was her request, lady's choice you might say, so I dug my toes into the bottom of the bed and began our fierce race neck to neck. I figured I could make the scene in twenty strokes. As we rhythmically rocked in tandem up and down and around and around on the sheets, I counted out the strokes. The slapping of our glued bodies grew louder and louder, and I swore every guest in the hotel could hear us going at it. By then, of course, I couldn't care less.
I was just counting number sixteen when I felt my charge moving out, blasting off from that base deep in my groin and coursing wildly headlong through my body.
"It's that magic moment again, Lita. I'm coming. Hold on now. I'se a coming, hot and heavy. Loaded for bear! You're going to get a bellyful. . . right now!"
"Let me have it, Mark baby," Lita cried. "Fill me up!"
I blasted off with a titanic roar. My liquid fuel shot me to the moon as it zipped into Lita and turned her into a quivering torch of rapturous bliss. How we hooted and howled and then groaned and growled with joy as both hit the apogee together. Lita squeezed me tight as possible with her long legs. She was determined to get that last drop. I guess she always figured me as the Maxwell House man.
"Beautiful, Lita. You really know how to haul my ashes. Talk about getting that last drop. I bet I'm bone dry."
Lita laughed. It was a magically trilling laugh laced with sensual satisfaction and riven with happiness.
"No bone now, Mark," she said, giving it a pat. She slid over on the damp sheets. I rolled over on my back, slightly exhausted. I was filled with visions of our just-completed coupling. I could still feel my final sharp and urgent probing that cleaved her legs. How I had soared as my goodies spouted into Lita's lush loveliness.
I couldn't help remembering the first I had ever seen her. It was at the Olympics. I actually had turned weak with desire to possess her. How I had dreamed of the day when I would find myself between her legs and locked in their vise-like grip.
As I sprawled contentedly on the bed, Lita bounded up, her big bubbies bobbing majestically, to dress. It was time for her to return to her husband, State Senator Tom Ward. She was obviously conscious of my close scrutiny as she washed up with a great detail of style. She dressed the same way.
Facing me in the middle of the floor, standing proudly and stark naked, she casually dropped her bra over her raised arms, hooked it and pulled it down under her great protuberances. Each of her melons then were popped into their loving silk cups. They shot out to attention when she fastened the snap.
Man, what a pair. I could never get over them. It was an eternal joy to behold those twin ivory towers of feminine perfection. I envied the peek-a-boo bra which had so many hours to hug them closely.
There is nothing I like better than big bubbies. Monstrous ones. I suppose Freudians can make a case out of that. With' me, it's pure sex. It's got nothing to do with my parents. It's just a matter of grabbing and sucking.
Lita next picked up her French panties from where I had tossed them. She rolled them up and then stepped into them, one graceful leg following the other. The yellow hair of her love nest was clearly visible through the diaphanous material. The panties hardly consisted of more than a deep V across her loins. I had to look away briefly from that familiar hot spot. I was getting heated up again.
Lita must have sensed my heat. A smile slowly crossed her face. She stood unmoving for a minute. She was dressed only in her bra, panties, girdle belt and black silk stockings, the big thing in fashion this year. The length and curves of her legs were accentuated by the high-heeled pumps she had slipped on.
"Mark, you should pull up the sheet. Laying naked like that gets me all hot and bothered. I might be tempted to come over and bite you. Yummy! A great big bite and you know where."
I laughed. Desire was welling up again. Have to knock off that thought or I would be knocking off Lita again. Then I would really be in hot water with Cataldo. Lita would have to wait. I learned a long time ago that there is a time to work and a time to play. We had played and now it was time to work.
"Nothing I would like better, Lita. But not now. You save those hot lips for later. I've got to check in with Cataldo and see how we are doing with the delegates. You've got to get back to old Tom before he starts getting suspicious."
I jumped quickly out of bed. After scrubbing up, I dressed. Myself, I like conservative clothes. Specially in my business. Dark suit, buttoned-down shirt, rep regimental tie usually blue and red to give people the idea you're a Harvard man executive knee socks ... black, of course, and soft-grained black shoes.
I opened the door a few inches to check the amount of pedestrian traffic in the hallway. Lita brushed up behind me. Clad in a simple black dress, with a string of pearls at the neck and her long blonde hair brushed straight down over her shoulders, she teasingly pressed her hard boobies into my back. Even through the bra and dress, she never wore a slip, their red-nosed tips prickled my skin like two long fingernails. I reached up behind me and let my fingers scamper under her dress to pat her love groove. Bango! It became moist almost immediately.
"C'mon, now Lita, I'll give it to you right out on the hall rug."
Lita laughed, baring her big mouthful of gleaming teeth. "Mmmmm, I think I would like that, Mark. Maybe Tom would catch us. I'd like that. Can you imagine the look on his face?"
"Yeh, really great," I replied. "That's all I need. He's the guy you are going to persuade to hire me as his press secretary if he wins the nomination. Remember? I just don't figure I would get much consideration if he found me jabbing his faithful wife in the hallway or any other place for that matter."
"Don't worry, honey. Old Tom doesn't figure us that way at all. You know he has a very high opinion of your professional writing ability. And I am sure he will jump at the chance to have you on his staff. If he has any doubts about hiring you, I'll shut him off for a few nights. He'll come around fast."
"Old Tom isn't going to do anything to hurt his chances for the nomination. I'm his best asset. Together we make a handsome couple. See the millionaire industrialist and his charming young wife: the effervescent and lovely Lita Ward of Olympic skiing fame. Don't worry, Mark, he isn't about to do anything to blur that image in the delegates' mind."
"I'm sure of that," I said knowingly. "You're a PR man's dream of the candidate's perfect wife. Cataldo's old lady," I lied, "can't come close to you. But don't take Tom for a fool. He didn't get where he is today because he is an idiot. Push any guy hard enough and he will turn on you. We can do without that for now. Besides we will have plenty of chances in the next couple of days to jump between the sheets and hammer away. Right now, we have to cool it."
Nodding in agreement, Lita started out the door. She turned and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. Brief as it was her tongue darted out and placed a warm imprint on my face. Silly broad, she was always trying to hold an edge on me.
"Maybe later we can get together with a bottle of daiquiris, lover boy. If you know what I mean," she said, smiling before ducking out the door.
I closed it quickly behind her. I laughed. Old Lita and her bottle of daiquiris. It was a private thing between us. Back about the one-hundred and fiftieth time for us, we had ordered a bottle of daiquiris and really sailed.
It had been like LSD. We really had taken off. like we were seeing ourselves in color on the movie screen. There wasn't anything we hadn't tried that crazy night. I must have popped at least six times. And from every conceivable position. You name it, we did it. What a hot broad! I'm sure that was the evening she was referring to when she said something about wanting to bite me.
We had really gone both ways. In newspaper parlance 'thirty' means finished. Kaput. Done. Over. But before we called it 'thirty' for that night, we added nearly forty additional numbers. Did she ever taste good. Sweetest seam ever. Nothing like it, as Frank Harris always said.
Well, enough of those thoughts. With Lita gone, I had to get down to business. Oops, guess I couldn't get her out of my mind.
In the bathroom, I gave my thick, dark brown hair a few fast brushes straight back. I've got a good head of hair for a fellow my age. The old man always had one before he got knocked off in the war, so I should hang on to mine. Just to be sure though, I stand on my head five minutes a day to get the blood circulating in the scalp and then brush it vigorously for another five minutes.
Brushing my hair also serves as a good warm-up to my daily schedule of bending and twisting. From there I go into some fifty push-ups, a series of isometric exercises, and wind up with ten minutes of jogging in place.
So, as I said, at thirty-two I'm in pretty good shape. The mirror shows it too. Even after the workout with Lita. The whites of my eyes were clear and bright. My skin stretched tightly across fairly normal features. What you might call the Ail-American type. Nothing striking or pretty-boyish. But healthy-looking and more attractive than the average. A minute a day with the sunlamp keeps up my healthy leather look.
What I lack in looks, I always make up for by personal cleanliness, charm, and careful grooming. Add them all up, and I make a better appearance than ninety per cent of the guys in the world. I also gain a few more points by keeping myself well informed, not only about news events but about cultural endeavors the latest books, stage plays, stuff like that. I have also developed the ability to let other people shoot off the mouth while I usually keep my own affairs to myself.
Straightening out my tie, I slipped into my dark gray flannel jacket, making sure the top two buttons were fastened Ivy League style. Then I gave the room a quick look-see. The bed needed a few pats to remove the rumpled appearance. The telephone rang. I debated whether to pick it up or not I was sure it was Cataldo. He would want to know where the he! I was. But I was certain of my end, so I picked it up. I held the telephone a few inches from my ear. Cataldo was one of these guys who talked much too loud on the telephone.
It was Cataldo. Demanding as ever. But I knew how to handle him. Talk right up to his level. Once he loses his respect for you, you're on your way out. I do my job and I do well because of the experience I have had in the business. I don't take anything from Cataldo. He pays me and I do his PR work. I deliver.
I deliver because I'm a professional in one of the toughest, dirtiest fields of work imaginable the field of public relations.
You may think your work is cut-throat, but believe me, it can't compare to mine. You see human nature in the raw. And it stinks. But if you produce and keep your client happy, it pays well and you get around in the best circles. Who wants to be stuck in some insipid, assinine job year after year in Dullsville? I'd rather be back in the paratroops. I figure you only live once and you should try to make that one time as exciting and as colorful as possible. And if you can go first class, all the better.
"Just take it easy, Johnny. Everything is set. Believe me, Johnny." He-likes you to talk to him like he was a film star and you were his agent. "Everything is A-OK. The press is busy getting primed on your food and booze. The news conference is set for seven. We'll brief you shortly on any loaded questions. The wire services have been notified and are supposed to be represented. And we've got the TV and radio people coming."
Cataldo had no comeback to my preparations except to growl his approval. In a softer voice, he asked me to get right up to his room. And he asked if I could pick up his wife on the way. I said I hoped she was dressed and ready and he told me not to worry about it, that she was.
He hung up. I mean he just hung up. No goodbye. Cataldo never says hello or good-bye on a phone. When he picks it up he just starts talking. When he is through, he just hangs up the receiver. The guy has no class. Just money. And lots of it, fortunately. Thankfully too, because without it he wouldn't stand a chance of copping the nomination and getting a shot at the Governor's mansion.
I relished the soft feel of the deep-pile rug under my feet as I walked to the elevator. I was on the seventh floor and Angela was one up. And in more ways than one. Angela was a woman with a capital W. I only had glimpsed her now and then in the five months I had been handling Cataldo's PR. A couple of times at strategy sessions in his house at Merrymount (how's that for a name) and during several high-class social functions in town. Always, she would just chit-chat politely for a few minutes and then move on. Real cool. The coolest.
I still hadn't figured her and Cataldo, unless it was the money. She was a good twenty years younger than Johnny. I couldn't see how he kept her happily tied to him, if she liked her lovings.
I hurried up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. On the cinerama screen of my mind, I beheld a lovely vision of Angela. You need the wide screen to visualize Angela. She's one of these big sexy Italian broads. Misty eyes, long arrogant nose, red warm lips which looked like they could set you on fire with just a touch. She was provided with the standard set of heaving bubbies, flat stomach, wide flaring hips which dropped away into the traditional tight loins above the elongated legs. The dull ache clutched me deep in the groin.
Don't get me wrong. Angela was no easy make. At least I never had been given any indication that she was. There was no talk around of her handing it out. Yet, there was always this certain, indefinable glint deep down in the low burning coals of her black eyes which promised paradise to the man gutsy enough to try. It was as though she were saying: if you're a man, try. I may shoot you down, but you'll never know if you don't take a chance.
My watch told me I didn't have the time. My juices were low anyway. Yet I might just be able to work up some goodies if she seemed interested. Being short on the juices would mean I would last quite a while. But best not try. Cataldo was waiting. I could get back to her later.
I pressed the buzzer to suite 892. Too bad Cataldo trusted me. He would learn like the rest. Hell with him. Guys like him are ruthless. That's why they are at the top. You have to be the same way. I was.
As I heard Angela approaching, I could think of nothing but those fantastic tits she always had stuffed into her tight cashmere sweaters. I kidded myself about biting one of them when she opened the door. Only she didn't open the door. Rather she called for me to come on in.