Chapter I
Up and Coming
“Sandy Jamieson here.”
“Hi Mr. Jamieson. This is Curtis Green from Fairgreen Ford. I’ve good news. The car you’ve ordered- it’s just come in. Our man’s going over it. Can you…”
“I’ll leave the office in fifteen.”
“That’s great. But the car won’t…”
“Thanks Mr. Green. Bye.”
I pressed the com button. “Tina, can you come in here for a moment?”
She brought in her steno pad. “Mr. Jamieson?” She wagged her pencil.
“No memo. I just want to tell you how much I’ve appreciated your efforts over the past year. I wish you all the best on your new job.”
She lowered the pad. God I’ll miss her sweet face. Twenty-two and natural blonde. She reminds me of the front end of my brother’s ’58 Cad.
“Have a seat Tina.”
She held down her skirt and sat opposite my desk, crossing her legs. I never knew that knees could be so god damned stimulating. I lifted my eyes. “Any plans for the evening Tina?”
“Packing.”
The word induced images.
“I’m getting my car. Care to go for a drive and celebrate?”
She looked up, the eraser resting on her bottom lip. “Won’t Stacy get upset?”
God I love white blouses on deep breathing blondes.
I smiled, “She’s on a run to New York.”
Her knuckles turned white. The pencil snapped between her fingers. “Yes. and won’t Stacy get upset?”
C’est la vie. I stood up. Tina’s face dropped and her breasts lowered.
“Good luck to you Miss Wilson. If you ever need any references, I’ll be happy to tout your praises.” I looked for co-workers and lowered my voice, “Why don’t go home sweetie? I’ll tell payroll you stayed until five.”
Her eyes questioned. The nearly forgotten voice from the bedroom, “But Sandy, it’s only 11:30.”
“It’s also Friday Tina. You can get a jump on your packing.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
“You’ve got the first one in Southern California Mr. Jamieson. You’re a lucky man.”
The scent of virgin vinyl. Polaris white. Sky blue interior. The top down. And the first drive in my 1964 Ford Galaxy 500.
The kiss of the Santa Ana’s. Dry, hot wind carved through Brylcream. I tooled along Pacific Coast Highway, past miles of oil derricks and blackened sand, over the iron and concrete bridges to downtown Long Beach. I saw my home- a stack of concrete records that reached into the dusty blue sky. The windows reflected the gold of a late September afternoon.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I stepped from the shower and stood nude on the balcony. Dried in the wind, I admired the Palos Verde Peninsula and the slow burn of the setting sun. Chet Baker played in my living room. I closed my eyes. My God, his tone and phrasing. Some day.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I pulled up at Stacy’s near eight.
She’s the only stable woman in my life. The others blow in and out like the devil winds, the Santa Ana’s; the winds that have kept me alive; seasonal and hot.
She answered on the second knock.
Dark haired in powder blue with silver wings on her breast, pinned above the unseen black bra and sweet beauty mark I’ve admired for six months. She wore stiletto heels. The flight cap still on her head.
Stacy slammed the door in my face.
Three knocks later.
“I told you to get out of my life Sandy. You’re a philandering snake and I don’t want to have a thing to do with you.”
I rested my forearm on the doorjamb. “But darling, you love my snake.”
“You bastard.” Her eyes lied.
“Let me take you out Stacy. Let’s talk.”
“Talking to you always gets me in trouble.”
I lowered my head. “And not being with you always gets me in trouble.”
In three heartbeats, her shoes moved towards me. “Why do you do this to me Sandy? I got a six a.m. flight tomorrow.”
I looked up at her. So beautiful. “Come darling. Let’s eat and go
dancing.”
“I’m tired. I just walked across America.”
“I’ll massage your feet.”
In her eyes. “Feed me first.” Sweet surrender.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I let her shower in private while I mixed two martinis. She came out of
the bath half an hour later, fresh and floral in a black and gold kimono, the ends of her hair wet. Stacey’s the only woman I’ve known that allows me to see her with out make-up.
She sat beside me on the sofa and took a sip. She winced, “This will go straight to my head.”
I leaned towards her, “Interesting you should say that. You have that same effect on me.”
She took another sip, her eyes eating me. “A corpse would have that effect on you.”
I followed Stacy in her room and sat on the bed. I’ve always enjoyed watching her dress.
She turned her back. The kimono piled around her feet, revealing a sixteen-year-old ass attached to a well-heeled twenty-four year chassis. She stepped into her sheer white panties- the latest silken wonders from France. She spoke into the mirror, “Did Tina have an enjoyable final day?”
Even reversed, she’s beautiful. “I let Tina go. Early.”
She looked up at me, hooking her bra. “That was kind of you.”
She turned and faced me. The glorious silk covered triangle of womanhood three feet away. With effort, I looked up into her eyes.
“I won’t tolerate anymore of your lies Sandy.”
I nodded. “Stacy, I never meant to hurt you.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
We drove to San Pedro, in an oil flavored night; the top down, Stacy’s eyes blissfully closed to the wind. Her long legs reached out to the purring engine; skimpy black dress flirting on the edge of her silk stockings. I placed my hand her upper leg.
Stacy smiled at the moon.
* * * * * * * * * * *
We ate crab in the darkest corner where I leaned over in Dungeness intimacy and kissed her buttered lips. I pulled away to a softened moan and the sight of an exquisite tongue that wanted more.
I took her hand and led her to the dance floor. A combo I sometimes jammed with, The Earl Redmond quartet, smiled and swayed with California cool over the changes of an old jazz standard.
I took Stacy in my arms, her hips against mine while her hands roamed my back. Her lips hovered below my ear, “Is this prelude to a seduction?”
I smiled and whispered in her hair, “Definitely.”
She looked at me with bedroom eyes. “Sandy, will you massage my feet first?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
We stepped into the paneled elevator. I stood behind her and pressed the eight button. Stacy leaned back into my arms, her sweet bottom tight against my crotch. I kissed her neck; delicate hairs basked under my lips.
My hands drifted across her tummy; she turned her face, her breath of white dinner mints. My hand roamed to her right hip. Under the dim elevator light, I looked into her eyes. My lips touched her shadowed cheek. She turned around, held my face and kissed me. Lingering and sweet.
Stacy liked our love slow. I would always deliver.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Clothes dropped like leaves in the Santa Ana’s.
Her shoes were the first to fall. Her back to the door, I dropped to my knees and reached under her dress, sliding down her black stockings, kissing her upper thighs, following the trail of silk with soft fingertips and lips. I took her hand and led Stacy to the sofa. She lay back; her right hand draped over her forehead.
I settled to the South and faced her. I cradled her feet, supporting her ankle under my left hand. My right thumb slid over her arches followed by gentle squeezes to her toes. Her heels fit beautifully against my palm.
I drifted upward, above ankle and calves. Her eyes closed. Accepting. Knowing of the prelude.
I found the zipper, painfully small and hidden in jet black folds. Down it went; long inches surrendered in the dark. Stacy moved her hips and arms. The dress departed.
I moved up to her side and dropped to my knee. My lips found hers. The sound moist, the sensation: a blend of Santa Ana sparks and tropical heat. I took her hand and kissed her palm.
The winds blew outside, the curtains stirred like my cock.
I pulled aside her lacy bra; the strap, a ribbon of feminine enchantment. With a painter’s flourish, tongue touched nipple. My trumpeter’s lips blew upon the pink bud. Her breast swelled under the autumn wind.
Stacy touched my hair and whispered my name. While in the dark, I found the beauty mark I adored- just under her left breast. My kiss brought a sigh to her lips.
Slowly, I ventured south, like Monarchs in exodus.
I kissed the tops of her panties, my lips playfully pulled at the few dark hairs that rose above the French silk. She pushed my head lower. I flirted over her mound and along the curve of upper thigh, bathed in floral scented skin.
Her legs parted.
And I kissed Nirvana.
Her voice, muted by her bitten finger, “Sandy, you’re a tease.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I carried Stacy into the bedroom. She lay back on the bed, her bra partially removed, her panties moist from kisses and nature.
I bent over and tasted her lips. My tongue caressed, and danced in slow lazy circles around her soft mouth.
I removed my tie and shirt, my chest heated from restrained lust and Santa Ana’s. I stood up and unbuckled my pants, my manhood very much awake.
However, Stacy wasn’t.
She lay on her back, legs parted- a French invitation. And the most charming snores escaped from her sweet lips.
It wasn’t personal- after all, she did walk across America.
I placed a satin blanket over Stacey and kissed her forehead. I raised the cover and lay beside her, cheek to cheek.
I closed my eyes. My erection slowly faded while the winds gained force through out the night.
Chapter 2
Monday morning. The winds shifted and the evil sister appeared. These were the Santa Ana’s from the Arctic, the biting winds that cut through clothes and shriveled cocks and balls. This was the wind that brought Dorothy to Oz.
I drove to the office, catching a glimpse of my blue eyes in the mirror. I smiled, thinking of Stacy. She was somewhere over the Great Lakes. “I’ll make it up to you honey.” I could still feel her lips on me. And that was two days ago.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I stepped into the office and remembered I was to select my new secretary. I turned into the waiting room where four women sat in opposite corners, locked in a silent battle of perfume, hairspray and tight skirts.
Three other execs stood in line, huddled together in deep discussions about actuary tables. But in reality, their eyes fucked the girls. I hope to God I’m never that obvious.
The girls were called up and assigned to their new bosses. The Matron (our name for her) looked up from her desk. “You certainly burn through your secretaries Sandy.”
“No. I develop careers.”
“This time, I’ve got a seasoned one for you.”
“What, my mother’s here?”
I looked at the remaining girl, a saucy blonde with sky blue eyes and thick ankles.
The Matron called out towards the hallway to her left. “Barbara Bristol!” Christ, was that a fleck of oatmeal that flew across her desk?
The scent of Joy. I heard the click of high heels on tile. I looked towards the hallway.
“There she is” The Matron nodded at me. “Mrs. Bristol, this is Sandy Jamieson, you’ll be reporting to him. Don’t let his youthful charm put you off. He’s our up and coming executive. He’s in charge of our West Coast new accounts service group.”
“Good morning Andy.” I took her hand. My tongue refused to work.
The Matron shook her head. “Sandy Mrs. Bristol. With a S. Like…”. The matron looked at me. “You’ll get it soon enough…”
“May I have my hand back?”
“Yes. Of course.” Mr. Happy moved on his own. “Nice to meet you. Mrs. Bristol is it?”
“Mrs. Bristol if you please.” She bit her lower lip. “I like to keep things professional.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I have been given the gift of foresight. I can look at a woman and know her sensuality as if reading a map. With Barbara Bristol, I needed my Raybans.
I spent my day looking at her. Auburn hair with vivid green eyes, a heavy bottom lip, with an aura of raw sex lying below the pearls and professional demeanor. Barbara Bristol was a time bomb. I certainly had the fuse.
She had hips of a fertile valley; wide and rounded, her skirt followed the contours of her delicious ass. She was a woman of experience, a woman accustomed to the finer things of life, a woman who could dominate a man in the bedroom and support him in the board room. I’d been waiting for her since my first lay at 13.
I understood Barbara Bristol the moment she came into my office and began to clean up. She looked over her shoulder, held my eye and bent over giving me an impossible to miss view of her glorious bottom. Her skirt raised, revealing a scant inch just above her knees- not much of a view really, but it was the way she used that inch. Her hand slid down her leg, in a deliberate, slow movement. Then as if pulled by a thread, back up, the skirt moving under her long nail. “Oh dear, did I tear my stocking?”
She brought in folders and placed them on my desk. Not the top, but second button undone on her blouse, ensuring I caught glimpses of the delicate lace treasures that kissed her fair skin.
But where had I seen her before?
* * * * * * * * * * *
Quitting time. We took the elevator together. Along with a dozen others.
The parking lot swirled; dust devils kicked up from the Santa Ana’s. Her hair blew across her face. Another tease. I envisioned her at 5:30 in the morning after an evening of…
“Good night Mrs. Bristol.”
She came over to me. The wind tore at her blouse. “You can call me Barbara when we’re not in the office. May I call you Sandy?”
“Of course.” She walked along side me.
“Barbara, I have the feeling I’ve met you before.”
She shouted into the wind, “I worked here ten years ago.”
“I was in high school ten years ago.”
“How old are you Sandy, if I may ask?” A stray hair touched her lip.
“Twenty-five.”
“That young?” We stopped at her car and waited. Her key slid into the lock. “I see someone’s trained you.”
“Meaning?” I headed towards my car. I’d parked next to her.
“You didn’t ask my age.” Barbara groomed her hair.
“I’ll wait till I know you better.”
“I’m ten years older than you.”
“So?”
“Yes. So what…” She watched me unlock my car. “Nice car. New?”
I came back to her. “I was going to a little club. Care to join me?”
“No thank-you.”
“You’ll be safe. I promise.”
Deep, sexy laughter, “But will you?”
I smiled. “I‘ll take that chance.”
“My husband.”
“My girlfriend.”
“Only one?” She slid into her car, giving me a view of stocking tips and the button of a garter belt. She fired up the engine. “And my job…”
“Is safe. You do good work Barbara.” I put my hand on the open window.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She lowered black sunglasses over her freckled nose.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Mrs. Bristol.” I could feel her masked eyes on my ass. Two of us could play this game.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I heard Carly’s voice from the parking lot. I popped the trunk, grabbed my trumpet and stepped into the club.
Carly was my High School sweetheart and over the years we remained close friends. Hey, if you can’t remain friends afterwards- then why love them in the first place? I’ve know her most of my life.
Carly’s a stunner. High cheekbones and brown eyes. And tall with a dancer’s legs. She’s curvy and sweet and feminine with a dark, dusky mezzo that oozes of golden honey.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I love dinner music. She’s doing “My Funny Valentine”, her fingers floating over the keys. Carly smiled and sang to me, “Yet, you’re my favorite work of art….”
I put a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, popping a dollar in the 3-gallon brandy snifter. I set up my trumpet and on cue, closed my eyes and doodled over the changes, serenading a nude Barbara Bristol.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I turned on the light to my pad. Carly went to fridge. “Any Champaign Romeo?” The chingling of bottles. “And Sandy, no Jackie Gleeson again. I want sex, not sleep.”
“Good idea.” I put on Julie London.
Carly sang with Julie. I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water. She handed me a glass along with a warm, soft kiss. I’ve always enjoyed Carly’s lips- she kisses like her mother.
“Thanks sweetheart.” I dimmed the lights and placed my glass on the counter top. Carly lifted her hair, humming along with Julie. The zipper surrendered under my fingers. I put my arms around her while Carly swayed in my arms.
She turned around and unbuttoned my shirt, her voice blended with Julie’s, “oh is it any wonder I’m in the mood for love….” Her fingers drew shapes around my nipples. She slid her hands upwards, encircling my neck, drawing her lips to mine.
Connected, I eased the shoulder straps from her dress, over smooth shoulders. I hooked my index finger under her slip, the strap falling over curve and swell. I cupped her lovely breasts and teased her nipples with my tongue. I began my slow decent and lowered to my knees, kissing the line between her breasts, freeing the dress; it vanished in a satin hush, down the sweep of her waist, beyond her glorious hips. I looked up at Carly, her eyes focused on my tongue. She smiled at my expression. “I didn’t want to waste time by wearing underwear tonight.”
“I appreciate your consideration.” My tongue gave her a standing O.
She slid down the wall, her legs shaking. Sound entered the room. I quickly tuned off the bath. Water began to overflow the tub. “Tubs full.”
“So are you.” Carly reached out and traced a nail along the ridge in my pants.
Her tongue touched her upper lip. She unzipped me, her fingers slipped under the waistband of my underwear. I held her face and kissed her. She pushed me onto my back. Her carmine lips drifted above my foreskin, the Santa Ana’s of her breath, her tongue floated over the…front door opened.
“Sandy! I’m back.” The click of high heels across the marble foyer. “We had a tail wind.”
Chapter 3
I closed the bathroom door and flipped on the fan.
Her voice muted, “Sandy- where are you?”
Carly gave me her wicked smile and dropped to her knees. In one swell swoop, her lips wrapped around the head of my cock. “Sweat mother of god.”
“Sandy are you in the bathroom?”
“Hi Stace. I’m on the pot. I’m sick. Had to be something I ate.”
Carly’s teeth- she could open a side business as the worlds first orally skilled Mohel.
“Sandy, do you need anything?”
I ran my fingers through Carly’s hair. Her hand crept along my ass. “I want to lie down.” Carly flicked her tongue over my knob in a series of pirouettes. God, if she ever took up yodeling…She lay back and pulled me towards her.
Stacy’s voice a bit louder, “Sweetheart, do you need anything from the drug store?”
I gave a rather disgusting, inhuman noise to mask Carly’s moan as the mushroom pressed between her wet petals. Carly’s eyes shot open. “Well that was certainly sexy…”
“Did you say something Sandy?”
“Can I call you tomorrow. I’m really beat.” I pushed deep into Carly’s moist folds. Her legs wrapped around my neck. I kissed her ankle. An easy glide into the enflamed jungle.
I stared down into the face of my longtime lover; her parted lips, her eyes accepting, knowing, trusting, wanting me. Carly’s hair cascaded over the carpet, her breasts trembled with my rhythm She wrapped her arms around my neck and so began the floor dance. I felt the surge, but I didn’t want the minute waltz. I slowed down.
“Will you be in there long Sandy?”
I lifted my lips from Carly’s. “I’m sure I will.” Carly nodded as my balls came to rest on her ass. She wiggled her hips, massaging every nerve of my penis. “Let me call you tomorrow alright? I should be…” I gave a deep grunt to match my deep thrust. “You better go babe. This place is about to become toxic.”
I saw the shadow pass under the door.
“Bye Sandy. Hope you feel better.” I heard keys crash into the wall. “Carly, make sure he gets some rest tonight, o.k.?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I pulled out. The slap of foreskin against navel. I flushed the toilet for effect, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. I saw the back of Stacy’s head just as she slammed the front door. I ran out into the carpeted hall and caught her at the elevator.
She turned. Cat slits. “Sandy, you bastard. Was that “coitus interruptus” or do you always shit in the nude with an erection?”
“Stacy, I’m alone.”
She grabbed the towel and with a magicians flourish, pulled the table cloth. Nothing wobbled- the stability of stone. She eyed me. “Alone heh? I had no idea you could kiss yourself there. And since when did you start wearing lipstick?”
The ding of a bell. I was done. Cooked. Baked. And flambéed.
Mrs. Lipshultz, a fowl tempered neighbor in her 100’s, and her leashed, overly coiffed poodle, Princess, stepped off the elevator. I covered up. Stacy jumped into the elevator and pressed the button while Princess ran circles around my ankles. There, trapped in the torment of canine bondage, I looked up into stained eyes as the steel doors closed. The elevator ate Stacy. The poodle yipped at the chew toy between my legs.
I stared at Mrs. Lipshultz. She tugged on the leash while I lifted my leg, trying to untangle myself. I reached for the lead but the towel slid down my legs. I grasped it, somewhere around my knees and the fire escape. My version of the San Andreas fault aimed perpendicularity at Mrs. Lipshltz. Meantime, Princes pounced, and the highland games were on. While the battle raged, Mrs. Lipshultz screamed and somewhere in the background I heard the voice of enticement, “Oh Sandy…”
I turned. Carly stood at the doorframe, gloriously nude, Venus rising. Her hair tumbled off her shoulders between pale breasts, with eyes that promised wonderfully wicked deeds. The flame trees of Thika between her tender thighs.
A clunk. I turned.
Princess sat on the old woman’s chest and practiced her French. She licked Mrs. Lipshultz’s prehistoric lips; the dog’s tongue prying, sliding between mummy-brown lips and tainted dentures. The old gal died. Or worse, fainted.
I crouched and approached the prone woman. The dog growled.
Carly ran towards us, pink tipped boobies be-bopin’ in 4/4 time. She looked at me. I looked at Mrs. Lipshultz. The cadaver snapped opened her eyes and stared at my cock. She screamed. I screamed. Carly screamed. The dog howled. Then wet the carpet.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“No officer, I don’t make it a habit to walk around in the nude in the hallway. It won’t happen again.”
Mrs. Lipshultz sat against the wall, shaking her head. “God it was hideous. I thought it was a snake.” The ambulance attendant, a middle aged sailor chaser, the name Carl embroidered in blue script across his shirt, smiled at me with capped teeth. Princess licked her lips.
Carly looked at the officer and put a hand on my arm. “Sandy, I think it’s best I go home now.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The Santa Ana’s had died. I missed Stacy. I rubbed my forehead. God, the shit I could get myself into.
Carly pulled me from my thoughts. “I’m opening at a new club this Friday. Won’t you come and play with me Sandy?”
The streetlamps cast roving, soft shadows on her lips. “Any time darling. Anytime.” The Galaxy purred through the empty street.
Carly bit her cuticle, “How did she know it was me?”
“Your perfume.” I breathed her in. “Joy. Stacy knows you wear it. She knows I love it.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Barbara Bristol wore dark green. “How was your weekend Mr. Jamieson?”
“Please call me Sandy. You can save the Mr. Jamieson for when you meet my father.”
Monday morning and the aroma of Joy. The start of another testosterone rich week at the office.
Barbara brought me coffee. I looked around to ensure our privacy. I whispered her name in my bedroom voice, “Care to join me Barbara?”
She stood upright, her curves screaming at me and in her best bedroom whisper, a husky pull that would stir erections in the dead, “I don’t think that would be very appropriate Mr. Jamieson. Like I said before, I like to keep things professional in the workplace.” Her smile, molten. She closed the door behind her.
I shook my head at the sight of her. “Wish I had a bigger office and she had a longer walk. Damn.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
After lunch I was about to say farewell to my lunchtime martini. Two execs came into the bathroom and stood beside me.
“She’s here. I saw her.” He stared at the wall.
“Is it true about the last one?” This one stared at his wingtips while doing the splatter dance.
“Yeah. She found him here. He set her up real well.”
“But she only goes for the old ones right?”
“Yes.”
He waggled. “I understand he came and went.” A metallic zip. “If you know what I mean. Who’s she working for?”
“I don’t know but the poor bastard should be warned.”
I shook and flushed. “Who you guys talking about?”
“New sexitary. Last name’s White.”
“You can’t miss her. Mid thirties. Auburn hair. Tits like a zeppelin and hips like a ski slope.”
“She’s on the loose. She finds rich older men, marries ‘em, then fucks ‘em to death.”
I soaped my hands, “Well there are worse ways to die.”
“Made a killing on a fellow here. Took her ten years to do him in though.”
“Yes. He had great stamina. Understand he played a lot of tennis…”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I walked into my office and opened my file cabinet. I heard Barbara on the phone. “Oh he’s a pussycat. Nice fellow. Handsome. A shame he’s too young for my blood…. No, that’s too close to home. Too many complications.”
“A new club? Friday? Well now that I’m a widow, I do need a little action. Actually I need something bigger- at least eight inches…. I’m wicked? Roger was a nice man but he’d rather bang a tennis ball than bang me…. I know, I know…. Well after all he was seventy….Listen, I’ve got to go, he’ll be here soon. See you Friday. Bye.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She came back a moment later, minty fresh and sanitized, two buttons down today. She took a stack of meaningless folders into my office. I followed her.
She lowered herself, down to the bottom cabinet, her skirt rising, inch by inch, aiming the dark triangular shadow between thigh and skirt towards me. She looked down at the folders, her thighs parted ever so slightly. She glanced over the auburn hair that fell over her eyes. “How was lunch Mr. Jamieson?”
“Mrs. Bristol, the company would like to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”
“Would they? That’s rather nice but…”
I came around and sat on the edge of my desk. She stared at my crotch. I knew that would get her attention. “Where would you like to go?”
The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip. “Will you be there?”
I smiled, “Of course.”
“And the company will pay?”
“Yes. Very professional. I promise.”
She ran a hand through her hair, “What shall we have? What would you like to eat?” She looked up at me, her thighs parted a bit more. Stocking tops and black garters.
“We can go to the tennis club. Do you like tennis?”
The dry winds of her smile. “Yes. I love the sound of balls getting whacked.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
That night the winds resumed, the palms trees tossed with invisible waves. Near midnight, her bedroom light came on. I crossed the street and knocked on the door. “You shit. What took you so long?” She closed the door and rushed into my arms, my lips tasting tears. “Goddamn it Sandy, I wish I didn’t love you.” She tore off my shirt, taking me with her, walking backwards, her back coming to rest against the door.
“I can’t be away from you. You’re my addiction.” I lifted her skirt, my hands pulling down her silk panties. She was already wet.
“So is this what we’re about? Tears and sex?” She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around my hip. My hand slid around the curves of her thigh and ass.
I bit her neck, “I can’t offer you anymore right now Stacy.” I entered her.
She closed her eyes, her breath a sweet whisper. “Sandy, tell me you love me. Please darling. Love me.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I carried her into the moonlit bedroom, her legs still hooked around my waist, hot tears upon my neck. I set her on the bed. And for the first time, I looked at her, I mean truly looked at her. And I saw in Stacy something profound, something that lay hidden in the blindness of six months of physical attraction, in six months of loveless sex. Stacy was no longer a beautiful piece of ass. I noticed for the first time, Stacy’s heart. I realized before me was a special woman who needed, wanted and deserved to be loved. Something happened, something stirred within a part of me that had never been touched. The immediate frenzy in the living room, the passion of the women in my life, the notches in my bedpost, the names in the black book, gave way. I held Stacy in my arms and touched her face, my eyes reflected in pained tears, in the tears that I brought to her.
She touched my lips with a gentle finger. Her eyes softened, knowing with a woman’s wisdom.
And for the first time in my life, I honestly made love to woman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was not the pre-calculated sex of conquest. Gone were the planned moments of seduction; no dimmed lights and alcohol softened inhibitions, the strategically timed touches and caresses were thrown aside. The need for my pleasure vanished. The need for dominance, for control over a woman disappeared, replaced by something all together more profound, the need to offer something more daunting and dangerous to another human being.
My heart.
We lay on our sides, face to face. Her leg over mine, I eased into her. But there was no movement, no words. Our eyes spoke. The language of touch, words from a finger. She closed her eyes and surrendered her self. I discovered it was the most profound gift ever given to me. Through out the night we were one. We laughed. She trembled with lingering kisses. We held each other close.
In the morning, the feeling remained. And for the first time in my life I told a woman, with out fear and with no interior motive, of what burned in my heart.
“I love you, Stacy.”
Once spoken, there was no turning back. Nor did I want to. The look in her eyes. We made love under an amber sunrise. All that mattered was her pleasure. I lay behind her; her breasts, held in warm hands, kisses on her neck. She lifted her arm and I kissed the sweeping curve of her underarm, while our fingers interlocked. I kissed her nose, her tender lips. My hands flowed over Stacy, down her breasts and belly, into the soft fan of dark hair between her legs, where I nuzzled into the perfumed nest. My tongue found the treasured spot, the flower opened. “Now Sandy. I want to feel you in me.” I pressed forward, the joining of loins, the joining of hearts. Deep inside, I lifted her up as I sat on the bed. Her breasts pressed against my chest, Stacy on a merry-go-round, the joy on her face, the red glow that spread across her breasts. Moist kisses and the heat of her tongue. Her hair; my face buried in a sea of dark brown and her floral scent. She bit my neck, a nibble on the heated throb of my jugular, her tongue on my pulse, on my life. I lay back, the connection unbroken, she leaned forward, her hands coursing through my hair, her mouth soft and open, I pressed her face to mine, our breath, the mingling of souls. Ripples. Ripples of pleasure, ripples on the sheets. Stacy sat up, her nipples hard, I pulled her towards me, pushing my hips upwards, burying myself in further, the desire to be in her overwhelming. I held her breast and brought my lips to the source of man’s first desire. Her sighs filled the room. Stacy wore an endless smile.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Her smile sustained me through out the morning.
Until Barbara Bristol, during our company paid lunch, slid next to me and under the shield of a tablecloth, put her right hand on my lap and squeezed my cock.
Chapter 4
We stepped from my car, onto a burning parking lot, freshly coated and black as sin. The Santa Ana’s rolled in from the desert, the air crackling and red, filled with smoke from an unknown fire.
I opened Barbara’s door. She turned in her seat, knees aimed at my chest, skirt climbing, revealing white skin above her stocking tops. She smiled at the show, through wind blown hair that hid part of her eyes. The wind suited Barbara Bristol- the heat, the unforeseen spark, the traces of smoke; it crept under her white blouse, the unseen lover licking at her cleavage, the scalding hand that cupped and thumbed. She threw back her head and laughed, her blouse fluttering against her breasts like a flag. She, a beacon in virginal white and proud of it.
The wind pushed us past the tennis courts and the bronze skinned women in white daisy skirts, the matrons of tennis: heavily shouldered with death grips, rippling thighs and squeaky shoes. In the background, the echoed scream of the abused tennis ball. I felt sorrow for their men. Barbara bumped into me, her hands on my arm, her ample breasts compressing into my arms, “God, I love that sound.”
We blew into the oasis of a dark restaurant and were seated in a remote corner under the portrait of a man, who I believed, was the tennis club president. She looked up at the golden Adonis; gray haired and tanned with perfect hair and perfect teeth, his tennis shirt collar perfectly aligned, the portrait of an affluent man who I’m certain knew many secrets from that corner table. “Sandy, I want you to meet Roger. My husband.”
I turned around, hand extended, to empty space.
She guided me, “This was him. Hanging on the wall.”
I looked at Adonis. “Him?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. He’s dead as a doornail.”
“You mean laid to rest or?” The nod of the forlorn widow. Such beautiful, sad eyes. “I’m sorry Barbara. Let’s get another table.”
Her hip rested against mine, her hand leading me towards destiny. “It’s alright. I’d like for him to watch.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The waiter came and brought her second martini. Barbara leaned into to me, her breath hot in my ear, “Let me help you with your napkin.” It was then that her hand, warm and comforting, came to rest on my lap. She looked me in the eye, fishing for my zipper. “Sandy, my husband’s dead. I killed him.” Little metallic clinks. “In bed.”
I placed my hand on her wrist, “When did this happen?”
She spoke into space, her eyes glued to the independently thinking bulge in my pants, “A year ago. I’ve been abstaining ever since.”
“You mean you haven’t…”
“Nope.” Her eyes dared refusal.
I covered her hand with mine. I couldn’t resist; I pressed her hand down on my manhood. “Why me Barbara? I mean I’m flattered as all hell…”
“You’re young, you’re free, I can tell you know your way around a woman’s body.” She rolled a cigar on my thigh. “There’s little chance of you kicking the bucket while filling mine.”
“Barbara. I don’t know how to tell you this…I’m in love.”
“So? I’m horny.”
“No strings?”
Her hair fell over her eyes, “No strings.” Soft, darkened laughter, “Well, maybe rope…” She placed my hand on her thigh. I saw something in her eyes, her need- not only for sex. No I saw something else, a need to feel cared for. And beyond that, something deeper, hidden far below carnality: I saw her Fear.
* * * * * * * * * * *
My mind reached out for Stacy. Her smile, her touch, her love. I looked at my watch. She was somewhere over Colorado by now.
I’d lived a life of guilt-free lies and love, a life steeped in brief encounters, and beautiful women. Women in need, women of kindness. A life filled with women who sought pleasure and a few hours of happiness. I’d lived a life of sexual gratification, a life of hedonistic joy. Barbara Bristol was a woman of silken richness, a living fantasy, a woman of experience that needed the gifts I could offer. Who was I to refrain?
My right hand slid up Barbara’s tight skirt. My warm fingers murmured over silken nylons. I watched her face, the heart of the sensual woman; the closed eyes, the parting mouth. I felt the tremble in her thigh, the movement of muscles as her legs opened. I loitered in the tender space between nylon and panty, my fingertips kissing soft sweet skin. Her eyes opened; she moved closer. My pinky jumped at the touch of her uncovered mound. She squeezed my cock. Her lips rested against my ear, whispering, “I never wear panties”. My pinky pressed, alive and happy; the little explorer, on the edge of an unseen jungle. Barbara’s warmth, the edge of my pinky circling her soft pillow of invisible curls, painting with traces of moisture. I moved my hand away, longing to kiss the deprived pout of her lips. She watched me, lips parting, as I brought my hand to my mouth. The scent of Joy. Distinctively hers. Only hers. Forever hers. I kissed my pinky as the next round of drinks arrived.
Alone again, my hand returned to the shadows while she lowered my zipper. I leaned over, my nose pressed into luxurious amber hair. Millimeters above the curve of her pink ear, my words, private and wet, “I would love to taste you.” Her thighs squeezed against my hand. Fingernails slipped into the pocket of my underwear. The painting above me blushed.
I swelled in her hand. Her thumb, a soft skinned tongue of the desert, floated over the tip of my penis. She looked out over the room as her thumb took a magical journey over glans and the underside of my cock, along the swelling ridge. She looked down at her hand, then into my eyes as she unfolded my expanding length like a wallet. Further down; her hand reached for the base, her index finger sweeping across my soft, hot balls.
The waiter took our order. She held her hand in place. “I’ll have Caesar Salad.” She looked at me, her thumb nail ran down the groove on my glans. “Extra creamy.”
My toes curled, I surrendered the menu, muttering “Sweet, tender veal…and an extra napkin please.” The waiter left; the mercury rose.
She talked of work and the joys of the new copier on our floor, all the while, her left hand moved along my length. From base to tip, her thumb circling at the top of her stroke, up and down she went, a slow easy rhythm, the serenade of a fist. Near boiling, she leaned over, her tongue in my ear followed by, “I want to kiss you. Right there.”
God, she had expressive, compass driven fingers.
I opened my legs further, and pulled back the waist band of my shorts, my napkin covering the beast. “Shall we take this outside?”
Her eyes, frozen on my cock, her grip tightened, her pace quickened, the voice of the near fucked, “No. I want it inside. Now.”
“I live five miles from here.”
“I’m two blocks.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She ran into her house. I pole vaulted right behind her.
The door slammed behind us, pushed by the wind.
The crush of lips, the collision of teeth, hands grabbing, breath stolen in a kiss, clothes peeled in suspended disbelief. She pulled away, her breath, coming in gasps, a thoroughbred at the home stretch. She sat down on the sofa, eye level with my raging hard-on. I unbuttoned my pants while Barbara grabbed her chest, her hands cupping her beautiful, swollen breasts, her mouth open, lips parted, ready to take me. Her eyes glazed over, the scent of Joy, her breathing strained, I overlooked her bulging eyes that focused on my swollen crotch and the gurgle in her voice, “Sandy…” She slid off the couch onto the floor.
I stepped out of my pants, “Barbara, let’s go to the bed. I don’t want to try to explain carpet burns to my girlfriend.”
Barbara squirmed on the floor, her long legs drawn up, her skirt gathered around her hips, exposing a tuft of amber hair between her pale, clenched thighs. I dropped down between her legs, my hands following the contours of her bottom. I moistened my lips, my eyes on the prize. Her foot swiped at the air in front of me. I looked up, her face blue, a guttural voice from another dimension, “Sandy- I can’t breathe.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She lay on the sofa, her breathing shallow, color returning. She held her medicine with a trembling hand.
“Barbara, I had no idea you had asthma.”
“Stress induced. I haven’t had an attack like this since Roger died. I guess I’m not ready.” The poor woman nearly coughed up a lung. I took her hand. Tears of breath appeared. “He died under me… but I don’t know when. I had my eyes closed sometime between my frenzied up and downs and his final breath.” She shuddered, “I didn’t even know he had expired.”
My feet began to sweat. “I’m sure he died happy.” Reluctantly, I covered up her trembling chest.
She covered her eyes with the back of her hand, “I used to love sex.”
“I’m sure you still do. Like they say, “If you fall off the horse….”
“But I rode the horse to the ground and didn’t even realize it.” I calmed her crying before she had another attack. “I’m sorry Sandy. No hard feelings?”
I looked down at my cock, “Not any longer.”
She smiled, “God you’re cute.” She took my hand between hers. “Can we take a rain check?”
I smiled, anxious to put this behind me, “It will be our secret.”
She kissed my hand, “I wish you were about thirty years older.”
I had a vision: A flogged horse and Barbara on an orgasmic pony ride.
“Sandy, am I fired?”
“Don’t think of such a thing. I would never fire my friend.”
“Are we friends?”
“Of course.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Barbara never returned to work. She never called, she never wrote. I went back to her home on Friday and found the house vacant. Barbara Bristol disappeared, carried somewhere by the hot winds of the desert.
She lingered in my memories, in my fantasies, a lifelong trigger for cum.
Then, in a windswept late fall afternoon, I re-discovered her some ten years later, in a hotel lobby in New York.
Chapter 5
Stacy disappeared from my life, with no fault but my own. My roving eye, my desire for pleasure, killed us. It was my discovery of Barbara Bristol’s identity in 1965 that ruined us.
I had attended a bachelor party and while we sat around drinking our martinis, we watched a grainy black and white 8mm film. There, on the plaster wall, fisting a cock while her tongue twirled in grainy glory, swallowed Barbara Bristol. Three minutes later, the film ended in dignified silence. I excused myself, went into the bathroom, unzipped and flogged my meat and in less than twenty strokes, spewed all over my fist after the initial blast creamed the bathroom mirror.
I married Carly a year later, in 1966.
We settled in the suburbs, and became parents to a lovely little girl and boy. I became a model husband; ambitious and hardworking, rising up the corporate latter, kissing the proper butt and the proper time, coming home late, calling before entertaining and raising my children from a weekend armchair.
In October 1973, I was in New York, meeting with the mucky mucks. I have always found the traffic of New York unbearable. I stepped from my cab a few blocks from the hotel and walked, propelled by the anxiety of the city.
I walked along 44th Street on a late autumn afternoon in New York, up the wind driven steps and into the marbled lobby of the Iroquois Hotel. From the tiny lobby, among the confusion of a mix of voices, the ringing phones, the above the aroma of the restaurant, I smelled Joy.
I turned and recognized her. Sitting in a leather seat, legs stretched out beside a leather suitcase, she applied lipstick while looking into her compact. She closed it with an authoritative snap and looked up at me.
“Dear God.”
I smiled, “I haven’t had a women say that to me for a few years…”
She stood up and hugged me. It was the embrace of friends: she didn’t grind anything against me.
“Have you eaten Barbara?”
“I just got into town. I’m on business.”
“Care for dinner?”
“Sandy, I would love to.” She leaned into my ear, “I’ve got my asthma medicine with me.”
I laughed, “Barbara, you look wonderful.”
She touched her hair, “You’re as handsome as ever. You’re aging well.” She looked at my left hand. “You married?”
“Yes. My high school sweetheart. Six years ago. And you?”
“Single.”
“I can’t imagine why…”
“Asthma.”
“You mean…”
The staccato of a New York girls voice over the PA, “Barbara Bristol- front desk please.”
I walked with her to check-in. She took her key and in heart throbbing silence, we rode the elevator. Our shoulder’s touched. Her room was on the fourth floor. She looked at me, no words were needed. I followed her. She slid in the key, and together we stepped into the room.
I closed the door.
She turned and the meld of mouths. Tongues danced; her hands tore at my shirt. Buttons flew off. I reached under her skirt, my hands touching the coolness of her outer thigh. I walked her backwards to the bed. She lay back, reaching for my shoulders, but I had other plans.
I ran my hands up the underside of her legs, raising her dark blue skirt. She helped me, pulling the hem higher, beyond the blacked stockings, to the dark amber hairs that curled between her legs. She looked at me, her lips parted, breasts rising, her eye’s begging.
I cupped her ass in my hands and buried my face in the Joy scented curls, my tongue, reaching, extending, the first touch of silken labia, the sweetness of Barbara Bristol. Her legs parted, I nudged further, my hands fanning out over her mound, touching the sensitive skin over her bladder and the crease between her legs. I looked up, between creamy white thighs into her beautiful face; eyes closed, her breath luxurious.
I pulled away and unbuttoned my pants. She placed her hand over her mound, fingers circling over her treasured spots. I watched, learning from her, of where she like to be touched, of her tempo, of her pattern.
Her eyes focused on me, her tongue longing, circling her lips. She sat up and reached for me, her hands wrapped around my ass. Her tongue floated over me, butterfly wings over tip and vein. I saw her on the wall: the flickering image and the mighty pull.
“How long will you be in town Barbara?”
She was polite and didn’t speak with her mouth full. “Three nights.” She drew me back into her mouth.
I pulled out and took her into my arms. “I can stay as long as you want.” I pressed into her; she arched her back and wrapped her legs around me. I pushed every fucking inch into her. Her eyes grew.
“Sweet mother of God.”
I rolled over on my back, taking her with me. “I’m all yours Barbara. Don’t worry, I won’t break.”
“Oh Sandy. God you have no idea…”
She leaned forward, kissed me gently and cried. I held her close and ran my hands through her hair. “It’s alright. My God, you’re a beautiful woman. Let’s take our time and enjoy ourselves.”
Barbara touched my face then sat up, sliding down to the hilt. Her smile spread across her mouth. “You’re so fucking big.” She slowly removed her silk blouse, our eyes locked. The silk slid over her pale white shoulders, down along her arm. Her bra strap loosened, tumbling across cleavage. I reached upwards; she took my hands and placed them on her breasts. My fingers fanned out, my index fingers slipping under the cups, moving in circles over areola, her nipples tender. She pulled aside the straps and the bra slid over curves and swell. I sat up, my cock stirring in her wetness; with tenderness, I brought my lips to her breasts. She drew me to her, embraced in a warm circle of Joy. Her hands pressing me to her breast.
I leaned back on my hands, her thighs trembling, squeezing my hips. I looked into her face, whispering, “Take off your skirt.”
She laughed, “Forgot I even had it on.” She moved up on my cock and turned the skirt so the zipped came to the front. She eased back onto my length, her breath passing over parted lips. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, our lips blending into warm, toe curling sweetness. We looked at each other, she laughed, “I haven’t felt a kiss like that since I was thirteen.”
She slipped off of my cock, the skirt falling over her flared hips. My hands reached for her, pulling her to my mouth, my lips grazing in a field of amber curls. Her legs trembled, her hands guiding me into the Joy scented forest. My lips touched her inner thigh, I looked at her sex; moist and open, labia folded back into silken leaves. I placed my lips over her clitoris, and with broad swirls, offered appreciation to her beautiful bud.
“Sandy…” Her hands pressed down on my shoulders, pushing me on my back, into the bed. I placed my hands over her hips and drew her to my mouth. She slid upwards, to my lips, my tongue. I closed my eyes and consumed her like a fine wine.
As my tongue probed deeper, she rubbed against my chin and nose. My hands worshiped her ass, I cupped, I massaged, I fondled. I reached up and supported her breasts as my tongue drew in her nectar. She tasted sweet and floral and salty.
She slid from my mouth, moist pussy trails down my chest and stomach. She draped her right leg over my thighs and rested her right hand on my chest. Her hair fell across her eyes. I reached up, moved the hair and cupped her face. She lowered her head and kissed my chest. “Sandy, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I’ve thought of you ever since that day…”
“So have I. You’ve been the center of my fantasies.”
She looked up into my eyes. “Are you still in Long Beach?”
“Newport.”
“I’m in Laguna Beach.”
I rolled her over, the inside of her right thigh rubbing against my hip, “We’re practically neighbors.”
The head of my cock pressed against her opening. She bit her lower lip and nodded.
I pressed into her. Barbara moaned, her head back, exposing the line of her throat. I slipped further into her, pushing from my knees and toes. She wrapped her legs around me as my balls came to rest. I kissed the warmth of her throat. Her fingers ran through my hair.
“My God Sandy, I can’t believe it.”
My hands drifted along her raised arms, our fingers interlocked. “Hope you have no plans for the next three days…”
She smiled, “This place has room service, right?”
“Darling, I think that’s what I’m giving you now.”
“You’re certain to get a tip…”
“Here’s mine.” And I began my rhythm.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Hours later, we sat in a hot bath tub, Barbara lay against my chest, water dripping from the thick white washcloth over the bubbles that covered her chest. “Sandy, I wish you could have seen my body ten years ago.”
“Barbara, you’re beautiful. I love your body. We were made for each other.”
“We do fit well together don’t we?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
For three days we played in New York; holding hands in Central Park, dinners on the company tab, sleepless nights and mornings of moans and stained sheets.
We shared a cab to Kennedy Airport.
“I’ll call you when we get back.”
“Sandy…”
“Yes?” I brought her fingers to my lips.
“Sandy, I don’t want this to end. But I don’t want to be the other woman.”
“Who said you are the other woman?”
“But you’re married…”
“Carly ran off last year with some singer from Wales.”
The dichotomy of facial expression, “I’m sorry. Why did she do something like that? You’re a great man and a hell of a lover. I would never leave you.”
I saw the cabbies black eyes in the mirror. I’m sure we’re talked about in Pakistan.
“I called her Barbara in bed.”
Barbara placed her hand on my crotch. “Really? That’s one of the most excitingly honest things any man has ever told me.”
I turned towards her, my hand traveling up her skirt. “Yes. And more than once.”
Her legs parted, her hand stroked my expanding length.
I kissed her neck, her thighs gripped my knowing fingers as she whispered, “I never want this to end.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Thirty years later, Barbara died in my arms, on a hot September afternoon at our home as the Santa Ana’s blew, at the age of seventy-five. Today, I released her ashes into the sea.
As she requested, over the course of those love filled years, it never did end.
THE END