Chapter 14
The Sex Experiment
Evon unscrewed the cap on a bottle of strongly scented bubble bath and emptied several capfuls into the bathtub. She set the bottle on top of the lavatory and started the water to running in the tub. She raised, stripped off her bikini and flicked it into a corner with her toe. Naked, she moved over to a large full-length mirror set into a wall of the bathroom.
She put her hands to her hips and examined her golden-olive body critically. Tony had pleased her when he had said she was the most attractive woman he had ever seen. Was it only pillow talk? However, she had often been told that she had some of the dark-haired beauty of Elsa Martinelli.
She smoothed her hands up her hips and across her flat stomach where her deeply inset navel shown like an elongated star over her triangle of ebony luster. Her hands moved to her perfect breasts, tanned down to her rosebud nipples. She leaned forward, frowning critically. She could vaguely see the circular outline of her bikini halter where the flesh was more deeply tanned. She would have to spend more time nude under the sun if she wanted to keep her tan uniform.
Her finger touched a small bruise on her left breast near the nipple. She rubbed it gently, almost caressingly. Tony's strong fingers had left the mark when he had made love to her that morning. She cupped her breasts in her hands, letting the glowing pink nipples peek through her fingers. She closed her eyes, imagining Tony was holding her. She moved her fingers in little circles, pinching and massaging the sensitive nipples. They curved like opening flowers, then thrust forward in excitement.
"Oh, Tony, Tony, Tony," she whispered. "You've awakened a glorious new feeling in me." She imagined Tony standing before her, naked, and she let her eyes travel up his hard, muscular body in her imagination. In the past she had cringed from the touch of a male, now she found that she yearned for Tony's hands to caress the erotic areas of her body. She loved the feel of Tony's sleek, olive-toned skin against her own.
Eyes still closed, she moved forward, pressing her breasts, tummy and hips against the mirror, pretending she was in Tony's embrace. Involuntarily, her lower tummy nipped against the cool glass.
How long would her new-found passion last? she wondered dreamily. Would it wear away like the luster of cheap jewelry? She hoped not, for she liked the new sensations. She felt all-woman, as though her lower stomach, hips and breasts were wild fruit, fully ripened, craving to be harvested.
An icy thought penetrated her dreamy stream of conscious thinking: Was Tony the only man who could excite her? When they said goodbye, would that be the end of her new sensations? Tonight she might find the answer.
Evon realized suddenly that it was getting late. She turned from the mirror and closed the water taps in the bathtub. She leaned down, spread the creamy bubbles, then stepped into the warm, fragrant water. She eased her golden body down into the tub, letting the bubbles close over her arching breasts and stomach.
She relaxed for a full minute, eyes closed, as she savored the warm luxury of the bath against her tingling flesh. Then she raised, took a wash cloth and began to scrub rapidly. She had to hurry. Spade Yorty was sending a car for her at eight.
As she washed her body, she indulged herself in a smug little smile. She knew Tony would be pleased with the progress she had made with Yorty.
When she had left Tony that afternoon she had gone to her apartment, put on one of her most wickedly revealing bikinis and returned to the beach. She had walked by Yorty, who was sitting under his beach umbrella. "Accidentally" stumbling, she had brushed against the umbrella, knocking it over. Apologizing profusely, she had helped him raise it. They talked, even swam together and Yorty had asked her out to dinner. When they parted, she made it a point to let her body brush against his and she had noted the wolfish gleam in his eyes with quiet satisfaction.
She had finished scrubbing her body and scooted down deep into the tub to rinse off the soap. She rose from the warm water, body glowing. She pulled a large, thick bath towel off the rack and dried herself.
Evon wrapped herself in the towel and walked into her bedroom. The apartment was empty, silent. Frankie hadn't returned from her sailing date. She was probably lying naked under a blanket with some beach ass, Evon decided. Not long ago, she would have been terribly jealous, but now she felt nothing. Several times that day she had thought about moving out into an apartment by herself. It was as though Frankie was an unpleasant memory, a link to her lesbian past that she wanted to forget.
She unfurled the towel and hung it over the back of a chair. Naked, she picked up a jar of dusting powder and removed the glass lid. She took a fuzzy powder puff, swirled it in the scented powder, then dusted it lightly over her breasts, shoulders and lower stomach. The puff tickled like the flutter of a little bird's wings.
She dusted her hips and upper inner thighs, then returned the puff to the jar. She picked up a bottle of her most expensive perfume and uncapped it. The spicy fragrance always gave her a feeling of Far East mystery. She dabbed it lightly under both ears, at the nape of her neck under her flowing, dark hair, then on both inner wrists. She recapped the bottle and returned it to the dresser top.
Evon pulled out a drawer filled with silky, frilly under things. She searched through the clothing, then picked up a yellow pair of panties with letters embroidered across one side. She studied the panties, then frowned and shook her head. She dropped them back into the drawer and picked up a pair of sheer black lace ones with a little red bow across the front.
Evon stepped into the panties and let the elastic band snap lightly against her firm stomach. She searched in the drawer until she found the matching black lace bra and slipped it over her shoulders. She bent forward, reached around and hooked it in back. She snapped on a black garter belt, then sat down on the bed and pulled sleek, dark hose over her slender legs. She rose, walked over to the dresser and, standing before the mirror, combed her long, dark hair.
She finished, tied her hair back in a pony tail with a black ribbon, then walked to the closet. She stood, frowning contemplatively before a wide assortment of fine clothes. Finally, she selected and slipped on a white taffeta dress, to accent the golden-olive tone of her skin. She clamped on black pumps with very high, spiked heels.
Evon had just walked out of the bedroom when the doorbell rang. She picked up her handbag, went to the door and opened it. She was startled a little as the light fell upon the bestial, flat-nosed face of Yorty's bodyguard. His little round ape eyes gleamed with lust as they raked over her body. Evon felt a surge of nervousness. "I guess I'm ready," she said uneasily. "Are you going to drive me?"
The Negro made a rumbling, beast-like noise deep in his barrel chest and nodded his bullet head vigorously. Yorty had told her the bodyguard's name was
Henry.
The Negro made the rumbling noise again and pointed toward a car, a late-model Cadillac. She wondered if he could speak at all.
Evon followed the Negro as he shambled to the car. She was hoping Yorty would be there, but he wasn't. The Negro's little animal eyes made her shiver.
Evon got into the back seat. Henry clambered behind the wheel awkwardly, and started the engine. The car lurched forward abruptly, engine straining.
Evon smoothed the taffeta dress down over her legs. She glanced up and saw the Negro watching her in the rear view mirror. She shivered again. Those animal eyes! It was like something looking out through the bars of a zoo or through the dense grass of a jungle.
Several times during the ride to the club she caught him watching her. She was relieved when the car finally stopped in front of a fashionable nightclub with a tropical South Sea decor. She got out of the car hurriedly and walked inside, spiked heels clicking.
The inside of the club was even more luxurious than the outside indicated. There were massive, ornate mirrors and potted plants by the hundreds.
"I'm meeting Mr. Yorty here," Evon told a waiter.
"Oh yes. This way, please." Evon sensed by the waiter's attitude that Yorty was well known at the club and was probably a big tipper. She followed the waiter to one of the tables, nervousness mounting in her stomach. If only she knew more about handling men: She'd spent most of her life rejecting and hating them.
She saw Yorty and tried to smile casually. He rose and seated her. He had exchanged his cowboy garb for a tuxedo. In a rugged way, he was almost handsome. But his hands and ears were too big and his large freckles made Evon think of a spotted tiger.
Yorty sat down and returned her smile. "You're a knockout in a bikini, honey. But you're just as lovely in a dress." His front teeth were widely separated and had the deep yellowish stain of a tobacco chewer.
"Where did your chauffeur learn to drive?" Evon asked. "I thought he was going to wreck us a dozen times before we got here."
Yorty grinned. "Henry is better with his fists than with machinery."
"Oh? You mean he's your bodyguard, not a chauffeur?" Evon asked, knowing the answer full well, but trying to channel the conversation into a productive area.
"Sometimes I have to keep quite a bit of cash around. Henry's a good watchdog, although not much smarter than one. I gave him a job to keep him from going to a loony house."
"Don't you trust the banks with your money?"
He laughed. He had a bass .voice, and his laugh seemed to echo up from his shoes. "I'm a gambler." He signaled the waiter.
They ordered dinner with Yorty asking for a thick Texas-style steak. "Make sure it's rare," he reminded the departing waiter for the second time.
"Have you always been a gambler?" Evon asked innocently.
He shook his head. His face was severely square cut with a blunt, protruding chin. "I was a ranch hand in the Texas panhandle for a while. Then I was in the navy." He laughed. "I got court-martialed for creaming a guy I caught cheating at cards."
He rubbed his large fingers together lightly. Evon noted that although his hands were large and rough like those of an outdoorsman, the fingers were soft as a woman's. The nails were well-manicured, as if to heighten the sensitivity of the fingers, perhaps for card dealing.
"We do a little gambling in our dorm after our housemother goes to bed. But our pots rarely exceed a hundred dollars."
He laughed. "The last game I sat in on I won twenty-five Gs," he said boastfully.
Evon felt a surge of excitement. He was taking her bait.
"Twenty-five thousand," she said with innocent wonder. "I'd like to watch a game like that. I'll bet it's fabulously exciting."
His washed-out blue eyes looked at her searchingly. "Maybe it can be arranged. We'll be having another, one of these days."
She smiled at him sweetly. "It'll have to be soon. I'm due back at college. I've already missed two days of classes."
Yorty reached over and lifted a frosted bottle of champagne out of its silver bucket. He filled Evon's glass, then his own. He returned the champagne to the bucket, raised his glass in a giant, freckled hand and sipped the drink almost daintily. He grimaced.
"God, we slopped our pigs with better booze than this back in Texas. I've got some real good stuff I've been saving at my place." He glanced at her and she met his eyes sultrily. She understood perfectly what was going on in his mind: Come up to my place first, then I'll let you sit in on one of my poker games.
The waiter, a fat, little balding man, brought their dinner to the table. Yorty took one look at his steak and his face reddened, the blotchy freckles seeming to stand out from the skin. He turned on the waiter. "Idiot! I said rare, not burned to a frazzle." He thrust the steak back at the embarrassed waiter. "Bring me what I ordered, or you won't be working here tomorrow."
The waiter retreated to the kitchen like a frightened little fat lamb.
Evon was feeling a little tipsy as they entered the elevator. Her nervousness and self doubt had mounted steadily through dinner and she had tried to bolster her courage with champagne.
"Good evening, Mr. Yorty," the elevator boy said subserviently. He pressed the button for the penthouse. The hotel was one of the finest on the beach.
Evon swayed, then leaned against the elevator's paneled mahogany wall to steady herself. Yorty grinned and moved a long arm about her waist. Expectant lust burned in his eyes.
Evon's insides cringed at the touch of his hands. But she forced her mind to be coldly objective. She had to find out. Could she enjoy any man, all men? Or was Tony the only one?
Yorty opened the door to his apartment. Henry was there, sitting on a couch and thumbing through a comic book. Yorty jerked a thumb at the Negro who rose, grinning stupidly, and shuffled out of the apartment.
Yorty bent down and kissed Evon on the neck, his breath a hot blast on her ear.
"Please ... your special champagne," she said. "I'd like a drink."
Wordlessly, Yorty left the room. Evon sank down on a luxurious white couch. Her hands were damp and trembling. She had an impulse to run from the apartment. But her scientific curiosity checked her. Was she cured? She had to find out.
In a few minutes Yorty returned carrying a silver bucket from which a bottle of champagne protruded. He set the bucket down on a table, pulled out the bottle and uncorked it. He poured her a drink and she took it almost greedily, raising it to her lips and gulping it down in a single breath.
"Now isn't that a better taste than that stuff at the restaurant?"
She nodded dumbly, feeling the champagne gush to her brain in a numbing, bubbling shower. Yorty moved out of her blurring vision. In a moment she heard the soft purr of stereo music. Then all the lights except a lamp in a far corner went off.
Yorty sat down close to her on the couch. He had shed his coat and tie. He leaned forward and embraced her suddenly, his lips seeking, then finding hers.
Desperately, Evon blanked out her mind and pretended it was Tony who was kissing her. Despite her efforts, she flinched slightly as one of his groping hands closed over her breast and squeezed it. His other hand slid beneath her skirt and moved up her nylon-stockinged thighs. She forced herself to lean back on the couch and passively open her legs to his exploring hand like a professional whore.
He lifted her skirt to her navel and his hands fumbled at her underclothes. He had trouble with a hook on her garter belt and attacked the garment fiercely, ripping it from her body. "Tony ... Tony..." she whispered faintly. His rough hands tugged at her black panties, and again, with the submissive movement of a wbpre, she hunched up her hips to let the garment pass beneath her buttocks. She kept her eyes closed tightly as if expecting someone to pry them open. She concentrated on memories of Tony's muscular, naked body.
She heard the rustling of Yorty's clothing. Then his naked, hairy chest descended upon her. He kissed her lips, then her neck and ear. She cried out in a sharp moment of pain as his giant hulk lurched forward. Then she lay like a dead woman as he spent his passion, his breath rasping in her ear. But toward the last, as his thrusts became frantic, sensations began to penetrate her alcohol-fogged brain. Her lower stomach began to whisper and tingle as though a covey of quail had taken to circling flight inside. Her dead-woman's hips came alive and began to nip. Above her, his body stiffened, then thrust down hard in retching spasms. He groaned in tortured rapture, then his body moved up and away from her.
She lay there, her heating body unsatisfied, aching hips and lower stomach screaming in ungratified passion.
She suddenly became conscious of the way he had taken her half dressed, in spiked pumps and hose with white taffeta dress gathered in folds above her waist. She was sickened. Yet, in the deep recesses of her womanhood, she felt exultation: She could enjoy other men.
But she had learned that, unfortunately, not all were as skillful in their lovemaking as was Tony.