Red Dick’s Girl

a Short Story

Copyright © May, 2001, Kellis

Edited by Ruthie



Hey, was that guy bare-assed?

Dan had risen from adjusting the camcorder tripod when the corner of his eye caught a flash of skin through the bushes.  Quickly he snatched up the binoculars and moved to one side for a clearer view.  A touch on the focusing knob revealed a blond haired man standing buck-naked, facing the surf with his back toward Dan, untanned buttocks in bright contrast with dark legs and back.  Two dark-haired men, one slim, the other heavyset, were standing to either side wearing sunglasses, swim trunks and open shirts.  The heavier was bent, smiling, towards the naked one’s middle.  Both were watching something with evident concentration.

Blondy spread his feet farther apart, revealing another pair of tanned legs folded Indian-style before him under the tiny strip of a blue bikini bottom:  a woman.  Dan was able to see her navel dimple beyond the naked man’s parted legs and a bit of the cleavage between blue-clad breasts before dangling testicles blocked the view.  What was she doing kneeling in front of Blondy?

In front of naked Blondy!

The answer seemed obvious.  That was verified when her hand slipped high between the hairy legs to clasp the testicles.  Shortly a finger extended from that hand, sinking deeply into the crack between the bright cheeks.

Both kibitzers were bent close now.  Dan’s concentration on the center had caused him to miss their disrobing.  Each was naked except for sunglasses, and each had taken a swollen manhood in hand.

The little tableau was enlarged in the ten-power binoculars enough for him to see the white streak that appeared suddenly on the side of the arm whose hand played with Blondy’s balls.  Hands extended behind to catch himself, Blondy sagged backward to the sand.  Briefly his hips were uppermost.  The penis thrust straight up between the woman’s lips as she followed him down, seminal fluid escaping from both sides of her mouth.  Dan heard distant cheering, apparently emanating from the two kibitzers.

Blondy squirmed on the sand.  She released him and sat up.  Briefly Dan saw her face, anonymous in large sunglasses of her own, under dark brown hair drawn back into a ponytail by a blue clip.  She closed her mouth to swallow.  A few white drops had gathered on her chin, but little evidence of the recent climax remained.  Suddenly her blue bikini top sagged forward.  One of the other two men had stepped behind her and unfastened it.  She shrugged out of it, a maneuver that jiggled her brown-nippled breasts delightfully despite their maidenly modest size.  Overall she was slim but not bony.  He decided that instead of a woman, she was most likely a girl in her late teens.

She turned immediately to the man on her left, grasped the proffered organ and sucked it into her mouth.  The third man crouched behind her, bending to cup her breasts in his hands.

Dan’s shock was abating, though he rubbed his eyes in disbelief at this wonderful luck.  Did she intend to suck off all three?  Quickly he moved the camcorder’s tripod to give it the view.  Maximum telephoto, he soon saw, designed so that a bird’s nest would fill the view at that range, was more than adequate to record the details of a human fuck-fest.  He started the recorder, then moved the second tripod, the one supporting the digital still camera, to look over the shoulder of the first.  Its special long-focus lens was likewise more than adequate.  The girl’s bobbing head filled its viewfinder.

Dan, president of the local bird watching club, of which his wife was nevertheless the acknowledged leader, had set up his cameras in this vantage point for the purpose of photographing the Blue-Beaked Vireo, now adjudged extinct in this range.  One nesting pair of the birds had apparently failed to get the word.  Dan, who was not above a spot of trespass in a good cause, such as an inventory of the local wild birds, had spotted the nest earlier while ranging through the Cameron estate next door to his summer cottage.  He had returned today with his equipment.  The nest was in a yaupon bush next to the dunes.  Dan had set up his tripods in a loose stand of yaupon 50 yards above the skittish Vireos where he could look down into the nest containing two or three eggs.  He was unsure of the count because of the width of the hen’s body.  She had not departed the nest since his arrival.

Dan was 55, childless and so closely watched by a no-longer interested wife that sexual opportunities aside from his fist were out of the question.  He had compensated by developing a large repertory of stimulants, mostly obtained via the Internet’s newgroups, to aid his fist-work.  Now in a single snap of fate’s fickle finger the Vireos had led him to live fist-bait, as he called it, while shifting themselves from first place in his mind to far last.

At this point the yaupon grove formed a dark green peninsula of foliage, following the similar peninsula of an old sand bar that extended a few hundred yards into the ocean.  The sand bar was topped with a pattern of dunes that formed a 10-yard hollow at the foot of the yaupon projection.  Persons occupying that hollow could not be seen from up or down the beach nor from the sea.  They need concern themselves only with airborne observers or spies in the yaupon grove.

Dan thought about that aspect of his setup.  The beach faced east, and it was now afternoon.  The licentious four below would get no reflection from any of the lenses turned upon them.  Quietly he took twine from his kit and tied boughs of yaupon closer together around the equipment, pausing occasionally to trigger the still camera.  As he completed that task, he heard another wind-born cheer.  A glance at a viewfinder showed the girl backing away from Heavyset, her chin dripping cream, and turning more to her left, partly away from the camera, as Slim, having moved, presented himself from beside his sagging partner.  Oh, yes, she would suck off all three.

Where was Blondy?  Off to the left slightly and — Christ!  Looking straight up into Dan’s lenses.  Dan froze, but shortly the man turned away.  The wind!  A stiff sea breeze was blowing, twisting and tossing the multitude of wrinkled leaves.  Of course Blondy noticed nothing unusual.  Dan sighed with relief, thanking himself for his foresight in tying the yaupon leaves closer.

The third cheer was hardly a minute after the first.  Dan nodded sagely.  Having watched the first two and handled the woman, Slim was predictably quick-triggered.  Dan regretted only that he had not anticipated it in time to make close-up zooms of the third climax.  Still, the drip from her chin for the second one had been very clear in the viewfinder.  He smiled in anticipation of the use he might make of these scenes tonight.

He reached to stop recording but froze.  What was this?  Blondy or someone had spread out a blanket.  For the girl?  She stepped out of her bottoms, exposing well-trimmed pubes.  Quickly Dan zoomed on her torso.  Her sunglasses now sported a white glob on the left lens; Slim must have surprised her, too.  She was bent forward, facing the camera, her intermediate-sized breasts drooping most satisfactorily.  He could see between them past her flat belly to the puckered labia outlined against brightly lit sand behind her.  He unzoomed hurriedly as she flicked away, and found her atop the blanket on her back, knees drawn up while Blondy sank between them.  The man’s buttocks began to bob without hesitation.  Slowly her legs straightened.

He backed off further on the zoom.  The two dark-haired men were sitting together to one side, watching the spectacle.  Their mouths were moving in talk.

Suddenly Dan remembered the sound.  The cry of the Blue-Beaked Vireo was most distinctive and a common proof of discovery.  Parabolic microphones were unusable most days at the beach, however, because of the wind.  As the first part of his setup, he had crept near the Vireo nest and installed a Nerf-ball-muffled transmitting microphone just inside the bush line.

He plugged his earphones into the jack on the camcorder and heard Heavyset’s voice, as determined by the moving lips, say clearly, “— did you hear about her?”

The higher voice of Slim answered, “Galen told me.”


“Him."  He pointed to Blondy.  "That’s right, I didn’t do intros.”  A sudden laugh.  “Kinda funny, getting sucked off together without knowing each other.  I remember my uncle telling about that kind of thing happening in Vietnam.”

Though the leaves around him hummed and fluttered in the strong wind, he heard no interference of that kind in the earphones, and realized he was benefiting two ways from the sand formation.  The dunes shielded the hollow from the wind and their three walls of sand slightly focused sounds in the hollow toward his microphone.

Heavyset again: “Who is she?”

Slim shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Galen said to meet him here.  He’s the one that picked her up, I guess.”

“What do you think, she’s maybe 18 or 19?”

“Who cares?  She’s old enough!  What she is, pal, is a hot chick.  And she knows what to do with a dick.”

Heavyset nodded.  “Wa’n’t half bad head.”

“Huh!  Where’d you ever get better?”

The talk ceased for a while.  Blondy’s hips plunged on monotonously.  Dan tentatively changed that one’s identification in his mind to Galen.  Odd, classical name!  Not likely to be a doctor, though.

Heavyset spoke again.  “You’re right, that was really good head.  Do you suppose she charges for it?”

Slim chuckled.  “If she does, she’ll have to put it on the tab.”

“You got a tab?  How would she carry off the money?”

“Pockets in that terry-cloth jumper.”

After a pause Slim added, “Galen didn’t mention money.”

Heavyset conjectured, “’Cause she didn’t come out here for that.  You heard her.  She sucked us so we’d last on the second go.  She came out here to fuck.”

“Well, why not?  So did we.”

Again the conversation flagged until Blondy’s beat increased.

“Looks like Galen is about to shoot.”  Slim rolled forward onto his knees, closer to the now writhing couple.  He looked back.  “Ask him about her when you get the chance.”

Dan heard a male groan, accompanied by soprano whimpers merging into a soft scream.  Galen froze, muscles standing out on his shoulders, then backed slowly away from the girl, who twisted side to side, her head thrown back so that Dan could see only the point of her upthrust chin.

Soon she grew quiet except for heaving breasts.  Her torso gleamed with perspiration.  She drew up her knees, turning her head to the waiting pair, and said in a distinct soprano, “Who’s next?”

“I am,” said Slim with the high voice, rising to his feet.

“What’s your name?”


“Okay, Jim.”  She stretched up a hand.  “Give me a kiss.”

“What’s your name?”

From his hidden vantage Dan had zoomed on her.  Her eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses but her lips formed a crooked grin.  She answered, “If you get me off, I’ll tell you.”

Jim responded with his high laugh, now bearing a touch of uncertainty.

She grated, “Kiss me, damn you!  I swallowed all the come.”

Jim looked back once, blushing, at his low-voiced friend but sank beside her, faces together despite the sunglasses.  After a long moment he craw-fished his lower body between her legs.  His hips, like Galen’s, began thrusting immediately.  The angle was a little closer to Dan and the legs more separated.  Dan was able to see the point of contact clearly.  The girl’s labia were redder and puffier than they had seemed earlier.  Again he looked forward to a comparison in the sanctuary of his computer office tonight.

This time the girl drew her knees up, crossing her lower legs behind the man’s thighs.  Galen took a turn around the hollow, still with a partial erection.

The seated man asked when Galen approached, “Who is she?”

Galen paused, his back to Dan.  “Who’re you?”

“Pringle.  They call me Pring.”

“I’m Galen.  She’ll tell you who she is if she wants you to know.”

“Jim says you told him about her.”


“What’s with her?  She likes dick?”

Galen paused before answering.  He said finally, “You ever heard of a gift horse?”

“As, ‘Don’t look one in the mouth?’”


“Okay.”  Pring chuckled.  “But I don’t guess they’s any doubt about it.  She likes dick.”

Galen grunted.  He sat down beside the other and drew his knees up as support for his elbows.  “Where are you from?”

“Upstate.  Jim and I got a room in a motel up the road.”

“The Eight-Ball?”

“That’s it.”

“Anybody else staying with you?”

“Another couple of guys may show up tomorrow.”

“If they do, bring them here, will you?”

“Huh?  What for?”

“She’ll be back here at the same time.  Two o’clock.”

“No kidding!  You mean … two more to fuck her?”

“Maybe.  She blows them first.  If they’re too slow to blow, or she doesn’t like their dicks, she won’t have them.”

“What if I can find more than two?”

“Bring them all.”

“Jim’ll come, too.”

“That’s fine.”

“Is it?  How come she don’t care about rubbers?”

Galen visibly shrugged.  “You can wear one to fuck her if you want.”

The conversation lapsed while the bodies oscillated before them.  Again the girl had relaxed her legs, though now her arms encircled Jim’s back.

After awhile Pring chuckled.  “Once they get here, how’s she gonna stop them fucking her if they feel like it anyway?”

“She won’t stop them,” Galen replied in a curiously soft voice.  “I will.”

It was not a far-fetched claim, Dan saw, at least by appearances.  Galen’s chest was twice the thickness of the other’s despite his heavier middle.

Pring’s low voice showed surprise.  “She’s not …  She couldn’t be your girl!”

Galen barked a laugh and said harshly, “Do you think I’d let a bunch of strangers fuck my girl?”

Curiously it was the girl’s soprano voice that answered him.  “You would if she told you to.”

Dan saw Galen shake his head but hold his peace.

For another five minutes nothing occurred except the monotonous pounding of hips on the blanket.  Then Jim ceased, raised up on his extended arms and looked around at Galen.  “I … I’m sorry.  I ain’t gonna make it.”

“It’s still pretty hard,” noted the girl.

“Yeah, but … but …”

“Okay, then, it’s my turn!” cried Pring, jumping to his feet.

Jim rolled away from her and eager Pring, pausing only to wet his organ with spittle, replaced him.  Again the girl’s knees came up, her lower legs enclosing the man.  She whispered something to him.  He answered, “That’s right: Pring.”

Jim came around them and sat beside Galen, who snickered.  “What’s the matter?”

“She … just lies there.”

“I know it.”  After a moment Galen added, “The funny thing is, she still loves it.”

“How can you tell?”

“Why else would she let you keep humping?  Believe me, when it stops feeling good to her, we’re out of here.”

The girl’s voice sounded from behind the man’s shoulder.  “Pring, bend your head to one side.  Jim, come here.”  When he stood over her, she added, “Put your feet under the blanket and dig them in, then squat down behind my head.”

When he had obeyed, she threw off the sunglasses, tilted her head far back until her sharp chin was outlined against the man’s pubic hair.  Dan heard the sound of a distinct slurp.  Her jaws worked for awhile.  Her hands left Pring and went to Jim’s hips, obviously urging him to piston her mouth.  Dan had to assume that Jim had recovered his firmness.

Pring could see that contact and craned his neck the better to do so.  Shortly his hips redoubled their plunging.  The girl’s legs enclosed him again.  Jim rose up on his knees, hands on his hips, to deepen his own thrusts into the girl’s mouth.  In fascination Dan studied the rhythmic swellings in the girl’s upturned throat, unwilling to believe despite this evidence that she was taking the shaft so deeply as it seemed.  His camcorder viewfinder was tripod mounted and rock-steady.  He had no need to keep his eye stable.  He reached up the leg of his shorts and caught his own painful erection, gently fingering the head.

His earphones were reporting an odd snuffling sound that soon added a soprano quality.  The girl’s arms left Jim and enfolded Pring’s back, pulling him down tighter upon her.  Masculine grunts, then groans, joined her.  Pring reached down and back to clutch her buttocks cheeks.  He was driving into her relentlessly now.

The girl’s head began to twist side to side.  She spat Jim out and squealed in harmony with Pring, who suddenly went rigid.  Her body bucked beneath his.  Shortly he rolled off and flopped on his back, panting.  The girl’s hands flew to her vagina, working the flesh as her body writhed.

Jim looked inquiringly at Galen, who nodded.  “Go for it.”  Hurriedly the restored man crawled around her, opened her twisted legs with his knees and fell upon her as before.  This time he penetrated flesh that was far from passive.  As his partner had done, he caught her buttocks cheeks and drove into her powerfully.  She was mewling now with every breath.  Her arms closed tighter, crushing their bodies together.  Her hips rolled to match his thrusts while her legs alternately closed and opened around his thighs.

Such intensity could not last, nor did it.  In less than a minute Jim rolled off her to flop, panting, in the manner of his partner.  She lay quietly now, breathing hard.  As her panting eased, she raised her head and looked at Galen.  “Can you?”

For reply he opened his legs.  Dan could not see what he exposed.  She said, “I can get it up.”

He responded, “You’re reaching the point of little return for a lot of work.  You’ll wear yourself out.  Don’t forget about tonight.”

She snarled, “Fuck tonight!”

“Tell me that an hour from now.”

She ground her teeth but her face calmed.  She sighed.  “The problem is that I can’t fuck tonight.”

Dan studied her face, zooming to fill the viewfinder.  It was a pretty one, heart-shaped, full lips pouting in disappointment.  She was brown-eyed to match her dark hair.  A dark mole, probably real to survive this, adorned her face on the right cheekbone.  Her skin was otherwise fair.  He could detect no makeup.

Galen raised up, found the halves of her bikini and passed them to her.  He addressed Pring beyond her.  “You’ll remember what I said about tomorrow?”

The man nodded.  “I’ll be here with a couple more.”

“You hear that?” said Galen to the girl.  “He means a couple more guys.  Think about tomorrow.”

All four set about brushing off sand and slipping on their trifles of clothing.

“You gonna tell us your name?” asked low-voice Pring.

Her back was to the camera, but Dan could see her cheek tighten and knew that she had smiled.  “You did well,” she judged.  “I’m Gracie.”

Both repeated it in unison.  “Gracie.”

“What did your mothers teach you to say at a time like this?”

They looked blankly at each other, then the same idea occurred to both.  They exclaimed simultaneously, “Thank you, Gracie!”

“Good boys!  Come on,” she suggested, grabbing Galen’s hand.  “Let’s go rinse off in the surf.”



* * *



His wife having retired to the bedroom with a slushy novel, Dan locked the door of his office behind him and fired up his computer.

First he uploaded the digital camera’s flash RAM.  He had not made as many of the high-resolution stills as he wanted; the initial action in the hollow had proceeded too swiftly, but his top “dick-stiffener,” a profile of Gracie with thick seminal globs on her chin and a streaky glans penis arriving from the right to touch her protruding lip, was one of the best “facials” he had ever seen.  Appearing edge-on, the sunglasses did not disguise her at all beyond the dark shadow around the eyes.  The mole on her right cheek was prominent and clear.

She was unidentifiable in the several missionary views, though the close-ups of penis in vagina were of superior quality, in his opinion.  He had taken one still, zoomed close, as she leaned back on extended arms at the end of the outing, that could have served as a police mug-shot, except that she was smiling slightly, a Mona Lisa smile of satisfaction — despite her protests otherwise at the time.

Dared he post these shots on Usenet?  He selected five that begged to be released, none showing a man’s face, four with a recognizable Gracie.  Studying them, he decided that any of the four principals could determine approximately where the camera had been located, but they were all young people with the possible exception of blond Galen, all apparently on vacation at the beach.  If they should download these pictures, surely it would happen well distant in time and space from the current dissolute week!

For a long time he simply stared at the image of the girl’s bare face.  It seemed faintly familiar.  Finally he shrugged, recalling none of his few relatives that matched it in any significant feature.  Whimsically he touched it with his photopaint program, adding a duplicate mole on the left cheek but finally removing both.  He likewise removed the mole in the fellatio profile.  On the Internet he uploaded the five to his anonymous offshore shell account and prepared a short blurb for each, describing Gracie’s Lark in the Dunes.  He paused, one keystroke away from broadcast to the net.  Of course, he had no reason to be precipitous.  It wouldn’t matter if he waited a month and checked around for —  Bah!  With a savage blow he punched the Enter key.  One after another the pictures went out, a flicker for each on his ten megabit cable.

When he began to copy the tape in the camcorder, he again applied the earphones.  He spent a mesmerizing 52 minutes, according to the elapsed-time indicator, watching, listening and carefully synchronizing his expression of appreciation.  Not the least part of his satisfaction was the knowledge that he alone of all the world’s voyeurs had access to the full scenes!  He hid the copy in his secret hollowed-out wall-panel, went to bed beside his snoring wife and slept the sleep of the just and satisfied.



* * *



He was in position by one o’clock the following afternoon, another beautiful sunny day.  He had fetched a second camcorder that he positioned in a yaupon projection off to one side of the farthest extended bushes, carefully tying branches to cover it but not obscure the lens.

Back in his high perch he began to peer north through the bushes in earnest as two o’clock approached.  Soon he saw the first distant figures descend upon the strand and turn toward him.  Quickly he scurried down to his second camera, keeping low, and turned it on, ignoring the screams of the male Vireo hovering above him.  Having returned to his stand, he watched the young people approach in two groups about a hundred yards apart.  The girl walked with two men in the first group, wearing the white terry-cloth jumper open in the front to expose a pink bikini today.  As they drew near Dan recognized Galen and Jim.  The second group consisted of six men.  Presumably it contained Pring, though the binoculars were not good enough at this range to be certain.

Eight men, one girl!  Dan felt a fluttering of excitement in his chest and bit his lip.  Anything might happen!

The first three sat atop a dune and waited for the others to arrive before dropping into the hollow.  They gathered in a circle around the girl who looked from one to the other.  At first Dan thought he had a problem with his sound equipment until the girl said clearly, “I want to see all the cocks.”

One of the men responded, “Show us yours and we’ll show you ours.”

That drew a laugh.  When no one moved otherwise, Galen spoke, his voice recognized from yesterday, “Better take the duds off, brothers, if you want to fuck.”

Several men bent to obey.  Shortly the dune sides were decorated with men’s beach attire, though two men stood unmoving with hands on hips, still wearing ragged shorts and T-shirts.  Dan noticed that Galen also remained clothed.

Gracie threw off only her jumper.  She approached a man and bent forward.  His back was turned to Dan, obscuring her actions.  Presumably this was a stranger because Jim and Pring stood to one side among the naked group.

She did not linger today as she had yesterday.  At the second man Dan saw that she was content mostly with a manual examination of her objective.  She introduced it between her lips only briefly before moving to the third man.

“You call this fucking?” asked one of the clothed pair, looking at Pring.

Galen responded for him.  “What’s your rush?”

“Who’re you?” the stranger demanded.

“He’s Galen,” said Pring.  “Galen, this is Bud.”

Galen and the stranger nodded at each other.

The girl smiled at Jim and Pring but bypassed them in the examinations.  Shortly she stood before Bud.  “If you want to fuck, show me what you’ve got.”

“Show me yours,” said Bud, “and I’ll show you mine.”  At the repetition Dan recognized that it was Bud who had originally lodged this demand.

The girl sniffed.  “Tell him, Galen.”  She turned away to Bud’s partner in cloth.  “What about you?  Don’t you want to fuck either?”

But Bud’s hand clutched her bare shoulder.  “I said, ‘Show me yours,’ slut.”

Galen was standing beside her.  In an instant he slammed the man’s arm up.  Bud staggered back a step, eyes wide.  Galen declared gruffly, “You play it her way, pal, or you don’t play.”

The two men glared at each other within arms length.  Galen was half a head taller and better muscled.  “What’s it to you?” Bud demanded, his mouth twisting.  “You her pimp?”

Despite the angle, Dan could see the corner of Galen’s lip tighten in a smile.  He answered calmly, “I’m her bodyguard.”

“Her what?” Bud repeated incredulously.

“You heard me.”

“Some bodyguard!  You gonna let all these pricks fuck her?”

“If she wants them.”

Gracie stared from one to the other, Bud’s finger traces reddening on her shoulder.  The clothed partner sidled closer to Bud.  “We can take him,” he judged softly.

“Huh!” Galen snorted.  “You can try, if you’re that foolish.  But let me ask you, did you come here to fight or to fuck?”

“Either one is fun,” said the man with a glaring grin that exposed his fangs, face-on in the viewfinder.  Dan stared in horrified fascination.

Galen stepped in front of the girl.  From that position he advised softly, “Make up your mind.”

The man stepped back, hand plunging into a pocket of his shorts.  It reappeared grasping something.  A wickedly gleaming silvery blade snapped out.  Immediately the wielder lunged forward, his arm slashing across Galen.

But someone had trained the blond man’s reflexes.  In the same second he ducked low and turned his back.  His bent leg straightened powerfully upward, driving a callused heel into the attacker’s face.  Lifted almost off his feet, the man flew backward onto the sand.  The switchblade sailed out of his hand to bury its point in the nearby dune wall.

Bud stood watching with wide eyes.  Galen whirled to him and asked softly, “You want a piece of this?”

Bud raised both hands, palms out.  “Not me.  I want a piece of her!”

Galen’s voice grew even softer.  “Then apologize for what you called her.”

“I’m so—”

The girl interrupted.  “I am a slut, Galen.”

The blond man turned to look at her.  He sighed.  “And a few red marks more or less don’t mean much, do they?”

“No.  Long as they’re not like his red marks.”

Everyone looked at the fallen man, now sitting up, hands pressed to his face, copious blood staining his T-shirt.

Galen turned back to Bud.  “Take your pal down to the surf and wash him off.  Then if you want to play, come on back.”  He sniffed.  “I guarantee you they won’t wear her out.”

“Okay.”  Bud helped his friend to stand, throwing the man’s arm over his shoulder.  As they marched up the dune face, he said over his shoulder, looking at Gracie, “You’ll like what I got for you, honey.”

She sniffed and turned away.  In a few deft moves she had removed her bikini.  The naked men stared.  She sank to her knees in front of Jim.  Quickly Dan zoomed on her profile as the flabby manhood disappeared.  Her mouth worked for most of a minute.  Today she wore no sunglasses; he could see her peering up to Jim’s face inquiringly.  At last she backed away, exposing a respectable erection.

She said in wonder, “I didn’t think it was going to rise!”

“Fights put me off,” Jim explained.

“Not me,” she retorted grinning at him and around at the others.  “Blood is hot stuff to a pussy.”

That brought a chuckle, though not an enthusiastic one.

Galen had spread the blanket.  She caught Jim’s hand and pulled him down upon her.  Again his hips began at almost full thrust.  Apparently, Dan thought, the girl was right about the stimulation of blood, at least for her.

So the program was different today!  She took no other organ orally and took no ejaculate by mouth.  Each of the five available men — Galen remained clothed and aloof — climaxed within a minute or two.  When Jim applied for his second turn, she was sweating and panting.  He endured well.  Unlike yesterday her body became animated under his.  She began to moan and whimper, occasionally rising to soft screams.  Pring spelled Jim and her response remained high, recovering as the third man replaced Pring and again as the fourth began his second turn.

Pring and Galen stood together near the foot of the hollow.  Otherwise Dan could not have understood them over the girl’s noise.  Pring asked, “Will she be all right?”

Galen grunted.  “Aren’t you a bit late worrying?”

“But … how can she keep it up?  Look how red that pussy is!  Don’t it get bruised?”

“A bruised pussy?  Ha!  You want my opinion?  A pussy is meant to be pounded.  Not much a dick can do to harm it once it’s breached.  And when Gracie gets wound up like this, she’s hard to stop.”

“But … ain’t it a little strange?”

Galen warmed to his subject.  “What’s strange to me is that women aren’t proud of their sexual capacity.  I bet there was a time a woman in the mood would welcome every man in the tribe.  The old records speak of women taking on hundreds of men, one right after the other, while the wine flowed during festivals of the gods.  Hell, I’ve seen police reports of it in American cities, usually some high-school girl who finds out what that hole is good for and right away gets every man and boy in her neighborhood to stuff it.  Gracie’s far from alone in this.  Women must be designed for it, even if most of them won’t let themselves go that far.  If it wasn’t designed-in, none of them could enjoy it so much.”

Pring was regarding the blond man speculatively.  “You a college boy?”

“Was.  Anthropology.”

“Huh.  Ain’t they the people that go around digging in holes?”

Galen answered dryly, “Just now I’m tending only to the one.”

During the fifth man’s second turn, Bud returned alone.  He slid down the dune face and immediately stripped off shirt and shorts.

Galen blocked his path toward the girl.  “Where’s your pal who believes a knife makes him top dog?”

Bud shook his head.  “Gone to Urgent Care.  He thinks his nose is broke.”

“Did you help him to the highway?”

“Yeah.  A cop came by, gave him a ride.”

“A cop?  What did you tell him?”

Bud grinned.  “A freak accident.  He stumbled on the pavement.”

Galen thought about it.  “My heel felt something crack.”

“That was his front tooth.  Uh, you think she’ll have me?”

“Yeah, I think so, if you get it up before that one finishes.  You’re next.”

Watching the sweating couple on the blanket, Bud stroked himself.  Dan zoomed on the remarkable result, murmuring, “Jesus Christ!” under his breath.  Bud’s equipment was easily the largest that Dan had seen in this hollow — or anywhere else other than the porno newsgroups.

The girl commented on it when Number Five backed tiredly off her at last.  Her curves glittering with sweat, she sat up enough to take it in hand and skin it back.  “Bud, are you a man or a horse?”

“I’m just what you need,” he answered smugly, sinking upon her.  Her moans and whimpers soon reappeared, though to Dan’s ear she sounded no more enthusiastic than with organs half that size.

After Bud only one man of the original five essayed a third attempt.  Though unsuccessful despite the girl’s continuing enjoyment, he lasted long enough for Bud to recover.  Doubtlessly aware that he was her last for the afternoon, the girl abandoned herself completely to Bud’s second pass.  When he finally rose from her, breathing in great gasps, his back sported bloody scratches.  She lay still except for a heaving chest, arms and legs splayed wide.  Her torso was drenched in sweat, her groin in seminal fluid.  Her body exhibited a general flush despite the tan.

All looked at Galen to see if he would take up the common task.  He returned their stares with hands on hips.  “I don’t see a hard dick among the lot of you.  The show’s over, gentlemen.”

No one objected.  Clothing was reassumed with markedly less vigor than it had been divested.  Galen brought the halves of the bikini to the girl, half-lifted her to her feet and helped her into the wisps of clothing.  Her head hung, the ponytail falling sideways.  She seemed completely exhausted.  Her arm over his shoulder for support, she climbed the dune beside him toward the surf.



* * *



“Are you ready to show me your Vireo pictures yet?” asked his wife at supper.

“No,” he admitted, assuming an air of heavy disappointment.  “I still have none better than the few I got yesterday.  Something keeps disturbing the birds.  But I’ll keep trying.”

“Good.  Try to get their call, too.  This will make my reputation all the way to the Audubon Club, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Though he had hours of video tape to compare and exult in, he had no still shot that compared to the “facial” profile of yesterday.  Studying it again, he decided that it truly was an extraordinary picture.  The messy but pretty profile exhibited just enough annoyance to suggest an unanticipated component in the timing or quantity.  Negative touches of personality in fellatrices were rarely photographed.  Suddenly he realized it needed only one improvement to represent the ideal blow-job conclusion.  Clicking it into his paint program and using the same color as the line sagging from her chin, he added a spurt of seminal fluid into the open mouth from the tip of the penis resting on the lower lip, obviously spraying deep into her throat.  Highly pleased with the result, he printed a copy on quality paper.  In this one he did not obscure the beauty mark on the visible right cheek.

The light shown from under his office door late that night.  Seeing it as she rose to relieve her bladder, his wife sniffed and said under her breath, “Better his fist than me!”  She was soon asleep again, dreaming the dreams of the just and satisfied.



* * *



The next morning dawned drearily to a light rain.  By early afternoon the clouds had departed at last and Dan hurried to his stand among the yaupons.  He waited until the sun was half-way down the sky, but no young people appeared.  He did finally capture an excellent sequence of the Vireo family, including many examples of their calls.

By five o’clock he had conceded and arrived back home to find a provoked wife.  “You’re such a mess!  Did you forget?  We’re having dinner at the Camerons.  Hurry and clean yourself up.  I’ve laid out your brown striped suit to match my dress.  What is that on your knee, bird droppings?”


* * *



35 years ago Dan and John Cameron had been roommates in college, both pursuing MBAs.  Even then John was the smooth investor, the risk taker, and Dan was the detail man, doing John’s term papers and juggling his appointments with stock promoters, gamblers and girls.  Though as unlike each other in every respect as two men might be, they had become closer than most brothers, perhaps for that reason.  Now John was CEO and Dan was CFO of the same Fortune-1000 company, aggressively pursuing a listing in the Fortune-500.

John had married several times.  His current wife of three years was 20 years younger.  Nevertheless she and Dan’s wife remained on friendly terms despite the older woman’s frequent criticism.

Of course Dan was intimately familiar with John’s interests and tastes.  Today, abandoning the wives to their own devices while waiting for the servants to announce dinner, the two men enjoyed cocktails in the evening breeze on John’s balcony built flimsily over the surf.  Every hurricane that passed destroyed it, but John cheerily replaced it, remarking, “It’s only money.”  The house itself was steel-framed concrete, set on pilings anchored in bedrock and permanently staffed with a housekeeper charged with closing the shutters in case of hazard.  So far it had survived six major storms, losing only its balcony to each.

“What’s the briefcase for?” John asked genially.  “Don’t tell me you found another loophole in the Atkins contract!”

Dan grinned.  “No, these are documents I downloaded this week.  I thought you might appreciate them.  One is truly extraordinary.”

The chief grinned.  “Documenting the old in-and-out, I’ll bet!”

Dan chuckled.  “You were always a great bettor.”  Opening the briefcase in his lap, he removed the top one, the fellatrix in profile, and passed it across to his friend.

John’s eyes popped.  “Wow!  Extraordinary is the world, all right!  You know, I could swear —”  His expression changed to a poker face.  “Got any more of her?”

Wordlessly Dan passed across the other four prints, comprising along with the first the five images he had published.  Shrugging mentally, he realized belatedly that the printout of the fellatrix differed from the published image in two significant respects.

John leafed through them, studying all four closely.  He turned the close-up of penis in vagina so that Dan could see it.  “You think this is the same girl?”

“It was in the same series.  And check out that dimple in her thigh.  It shows in another shot, too.”

John leafed through them again, looking up at last with a penetrating expression.  “Why did you show me these, Dan?”

“Huh?”  Dan blinked.  Suddenly he grinned.  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous!  This facial beats hell out of the series you showed me last week, doesn’t it!”

“Oh, yeah,” John agreed with odd vehemence.  “It beats it, all right!  You say you downloaded them?  Which newsgroup?”


“I haven’t checked that one in a couple days.”  He sprang to his feet.  “Come on.  Show me.”

Dan chuckled slightly, rising also.  “You think it’s that good, do you?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s star quality.”  The man’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

But as they entered the house through the sliding-glass doors off the dining room, the maid, standing in the kitchen door, announced, “Dinner is served.”

John casually laid the prints, face down, on a sideboard.  “We’ll discuss this after dinner.  And I think you’re in for a shock.”

The women entered and took seats.  Dan sat on John’s right, as he had at many other meetings, his wife across from him.  John’s wife lowered herself gracefully into the chair at the opposite end from her husband.  To Dan’s right a third woman took her seat concurrently with the others.  He was turning to her when John said, “Dan, I don’t believe you’ve met my wife’s younger sister, visiting us for the month.  Dan Pruit, this is Angela Pelham.  Angela, Dan.”

Dan took in her slim figure before his eyes rose to her smiling face.  He stared helplessly, chin sagging.  This was Gracie, heart-shaped face, beauty mark on right cheek, dark curly hair now down to the shoulders, even a faint sunglass pallor around the brown eyes compared to the tan on the rest of her face.  She was wearing subdued red lipstick and a white evening dress.  He froze, unable to respond.

Not the girl.  She laughed in pleasure, Gracie’s soprano giggle.  “Come now, Dan!  Do you really think I’m so attractive?  John, you have the nicest friends.”

  John was grinning.  “I said you were in for a shock.  Angela is almost as pretty as her sister.”

“Yes!  Ah, yes!” Dan stuttered, shaking his head.  “I am, uh, very pleased to meet you, Angela!”

The girl was still grinning.  “Your mouth says yes but your head says no.”

Dan’s wife declared caustically, “I’m afraid my husband has reached that age.”

“All men are of that age,” responded the girl, smiling at the older woman.

“Fortunately for us,” John’s wife inserted from her end of the table.  “Do taste my new Chardonnet, Melissa.  Even John admires it, but I told him you have the best palate among us.”

Thereafter the conversation dwelt mainly upon the quality of various wines, a subject about which Dan maintained a steadfast ignorance, though the girl upheld her end of it adequately.  As he ate, he stole sidelong glances at her, noting her vitality and sparkle, watching as she inserted prime beefsteak between lips that had recently passed so much meat of a very different kind.  She buttered her bread gracefully and neatly.  Her nails were manicured and of moderate length, but easily adequate to draw blood from Bud’s back.  Dan was consumed with comparing the reality to his memories and hardly tasted the food.  His manhood rose, an event he could not recall ever occurring during a meal.  Once he looked up to find John watching him, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

At the end of the meal the two older women asked to be excused for the usual reason.  Angela remained, however, and regarded John quizzically when she was alone with the two men.

“What’s about to happen, John?”

He chuckled.  “You think something will happen?”

“Perhaps you’ll grant that I know something about the male animal.  You’re expecting something to happen and your friend here thinks it has already.”  As she concluded, she placed her hand upon Dan’s as if to disarm any possible censure.

John cocked his head, eyes hooded.  “Take a look at the pictures on that table.”

“Pictures?  Of me?”

“I think so.”

She got to her feet and retrieved the prints.  Leaning against the sideboard, her eyebrows rose.  “Wow, would you look at that!  Pretty arty shot, wouldn’t you say?  That one looks familiar.”  Quickly she paged through the others.  Her eyes rose to Dan.  “Did you take these?”

Dan opened his mouth to lie but John saved him by declaring, “He downloaded them off the Internet.”

The girl sniffed, looking at John.  “You’re a fool if you pay him anything.”

“Dan blackmailing anyone?  Don’t be ridiculous!  But let me ask you, my dear: don’t you think this is carrying indiscretion a bit far?”

Her eyes narrowed.  She took a breath.  “This is hardly the place to discuss it.”

“We agree there,” retorted John.  “Take them up to my office.  Dan and I’ll be along soon as we can beg off from our wives.”


* * *



They found the young woman waiting for them in John’s office, which was located upstairs in a back corner room.  It was full of books and a computer with a very large monitor.  John went straight to the computer and powered it up.

While the machine was booting, Angela laid the prints face-up on the large desk and pointed to the topmost.  It was an unzoomed shot of two men standing to one side of a coupled pair on a red plaid blanket.  The woman’s legs were wrapped around her lover’s hips.  No face was visible.  “That blanket,” she noted, “and the sandy background …  These pictures were taken day before yesterday less than a half mile from here, John.”

John shook his head.  “How can you be sure of that, Angela?  How many years have you been pulling these tricks?”

“Look at the pattern in that blanket.  It came from your linen closet.”

“Which the servants stocked with generic bedclothes when I moved in here.  The world is full of blankets like that.”

“But, John, as a matter of fact, I was with three men in the dunes on your property two days ago.  They looked exactly like these three.”

He shook his head at her.  “Well, thanks for the confession.  But two days?  How many other times have you gone to the beach with three men?”

She sniffed and looked away.

It occurred to Dan that standing silent and gaping stupidly was not likely to divert suspicion from himself.  He found it easy to feign incredulousness.  “I can’t believe that John’s sister-in-law can be the girl in this picture!”

To his surprise she leered at him in response.  “You see this?” she asked, pointing to her right cheek.

“But … but …”

“But I’m too nice a girl for anything like that?” she asked, still grinning.

“You’re too bright and pretty and … well, you’re John’s relative.”

“Also she inherited a ton of money,” John announced, eyes twinkling at both of them.

She sidled against John.  Her hand slipped around his hip and cupped the contents of his britches’ front, but her eyes remained locked with Dan’s.  “You think John wouldn’t help me with something like that?” she asked, grinning widely.

John snorted.  “He knows me better than that, honey.  He was pacifying my exes long before you were an itch in your mother’s crack.”

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, closing her hand.  “What a metaphor!”

He removed her arm and turned to the computer keyboard.  “I want to know how old those files are.”  A few clicks and keystrokes soon brought up the article list for the desired newsgroup.

Dan stepped closer, pointing.  “There they are, Gracie’s Lark in the Dunes, glark01.jpg through five.”

“Gracie,” John mused thoughtfully.

“That tears it,” proclaimed the girl.  “I only told those two guys I was Gracie day before yesterday.”

John downloaded the first file, which arrived almost instantly on the cable connection.  Double-clicking its icon filled the large screen with the same picture of the fellatrix — less her beauty mark and the squirt of fresh semen.  All three stared.

“Now that’s interesting,” the girl declared.  She held up the print before the men, pointing out the two differences.  “How do you account for this?” she asked.

John looked at Dan, his brow wrinkled.  He said hesitantly, “Could the … original poster have cancelled the one you printed, Dan, and sent another?  Wait a minute.”  He tapped a few keys.  “Let me get the headers back …  No, here’s the posting date: night before last.”  Quickly he downloaded the headers for the other files.  They had all been posted in the same minute.

“Now that is peculiar!” John stated emphatically.

“Who posted them?” asked the girl.

analflit at scrutile dot T O.  Not much help.”

“There’s a repeat,” said the girl, pointing lower on the screen.

Its header proclaimed that Bigdogjohnson at had posted it four hours after the timestamp on the originals.  When downloaded, it proved to be the same picture of terminal fellatio, except that now the penis was noticeably thicker.

“They like it,” said the girl smugly.

“One of your three gentlemen must have had a camera,” said John, chin in hand, “and a pretty good one, too.  That’s high quality work.”

“Huh!  They weren’t wearing enough to hide a camera!”

“Who else, then?”

She shrugged.  I don’t know.  But from the angle …  That happened in a hollow in the dunes.  A lot of bushes grow at one end of it.  The cameraman must have been hiding in those bushes.”

“Not close by,” John suggested.  “Look at the background in this facial.  Everything is totally out of focus.  That was made with long telephoto.  Have you attracted the paparazzi again?”

“I didn’t think so.  Can you get back the original view?”

When John had recalled it, the girl took up the matching print, her eyes flicking back and forth from it to the monitor.  “Look at this.  My beauty mark is in the print-out but missing on the screen.  Yet all those copies are later than the original.”

“Well, they’d have to be, wouldn’t they?” John asked.

“What I mean is, Dan’s print, which must have been from a later copy, has the beauty mark.”  She looked searchingly at Dan.  “How would anyone know to put it there?”

“Let me see,” John demanded, snatching the print.  His eyes flicked back and forth from it to the girl.  “Your mark is really a mole, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a pink one.  I put mascara on it to darken it.”

“But it has an irregular shape, kind of flat on the front.  And it does in this print, too.”  He turned also to regard Dan.  “How would anyone know to make it exactly right?”

Stricken, Dan looked from one to the other.  He took a deep breath.  “John, do you recall the Jaysmith affair?”


“What’s that?” asked the girl.

John explained, “Arnold Jaysmith was an employee who stole trade secrets from us.  We caught him accidentally with cameras set up to find a timing defect in the assembly line.  What are you getting at, Dan?”

Dan took a very deep breath.  “I want you to know, John, and to believe me because it’s the absolute truth, that I had no idea she was associated with you in any way.”

“Ha!  I see.  It was your bird-watching, eh?”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind a little trespass.  It’s the Blue-Beaked Vireo they said was extinct —”

But John wasn’t listening.  He was frowning at the girl.  “What happened to that guy you hired to worry about stuff like this?”

“Galen?  He’s around.  He drove me over here and he’ll pick me up when I call.”  She sniffed.  “I’ll raise a little hell with him about this.”

“I think you ought to replace him,” John grated.

“You do?”

Dan spoke up at last.  “No, she shouldn’t.”

John demanded, “Why not?  He didn’t even protect her from you!”

Dan smiled.  “I was in a blind, trying to photograph skittish birds.  Of course he didn’t see me.  But yesterday he saved her pretty butt from a knife-wielder.”

“He did what?”

“I’ve got the whole thing on video tape, John.  I’ll get you a copy tomorrow.”

“You what?”

But the girl was regarding Dan thoughtfully.  “You were out there yesterday, too?”

“With two video cameras, a still camera and a microphone not ten yards from your blanket.  I’ve got the whole thing in the can.”

Her eyes flashed.  “What are you planning to do with it, post it on the Internet?”

“No.  I posted those five, I guess, because they’re damn good and the only such luck I ever had.  But I didn’t know it had anything to do with John.  What I mean to do now is give John a copy of it all, if he wants it, and put the rest in my secret stash.”

She chuckled.  “Your what?  How about giving me a copy, too.”

“Why not?  You’re the star.”  He studied her.  “You mean you’re proud of it?”

She sniffed.  “As you say, why not?  I might want to become a porn star, too.”

He shook his head.

She laughed outright.  “You don’t approve of me, Dan?”  She pushed her hip against his.  Her arm snaked around him and cupped his testicles shockingly through his suit pants.  “Then why did you bother to make all that tape of me?”

John interrupted.  “I’m interested in what happened yesterday.”

She grinned at him.  “I fucked half a dozen guys, John, and Dan says he caught it all.”

“Good god, Angela!”  Now John was shaking his head.

Dan sniffed.  “John, this is obviously no surprise to you.”

“On my property it is!  Off it I don’t have any control of her, but —”

“Huh!” she snorted.  “You fucked me, John, on your property, right there on that desk, not a week after you married my sister.”

John looked pained.  “Will you shut up?”

“First you sent me to lock the door.”  She scampered across the room and pressed the lock button on the doorknob.  “Like this.”

She returned quickly to stand before Dan.  “Then you took your pants down.”  Her deft hands unbuckled belt and front flap and unzipped his fly.  She would have lowered his pants but they fell to his ankles before she could grasp them.

Dan stared as she snatched his jockey shorts down also.  “Don’t you have the wrong man?” he asked.

She laughed gaily.  “Me and the Mounties, we always get the right man.”  Her hand sought his manhood.  “Needs work,” she noted.  “Come on.”

He looked around at the door.  “How secure is that lock?”

“Don’t worry,” answered John.  “Doris will keep Melissa diverted.”

Dan observed dryly, “I’m not exactly accustomed to this anymore, John.”

“Yeah, you need help.  Angela, brace him while he steps out of his britches, before he trips himself up.”

She knelt before him, slipping the clothing away, as he lifted his feet.  She looked up and grinned at the first signs of his undeniable interest in the proceedings.  She rose on her knees and slurped him into her mouth.

He looked helplessly at the other man.  “What is going on here, John?”

Leaning against the desk, John chuckled.  “I know for a fact it’s not your first blow-job, Dan, so I assume your question is more why than what, right?  I’m sure she’ll be glad to tell you all about it — she’s fascinated by her own development.  Richard Pelham, their grandfather, had some unorthodox ideas about raising children.  When his son crashed the plane with his wife and himself, Pelham took the girls to raise.  He made them act out devised scenarios, using hypnotism.  He was the despoiler of their virginities.  Curiously the effect on the older was to make her completely submissive in all respects to the wishes of her mate, while this one became sexually insatiable.  Angela might have ended up a duplicate of Doris, but Pelham died when she was 16, her training apparently incomplete.  He kept notes on his treatment of them, some of which I’ve seen.  He believed that the sex drive in humans, as in all other animals, is a psychologically pure compulsion, unrecognized as such only because of its ubiquitous banality.  His purpose was to liberate the girls from the inhibitions on sexual behavior imposed by conventional morality.  In that he certainly succeeded!”

“But isn’t Angela a teenager?”

John nodded with evident admiration.  “She looks like one, doesn’t she?  But she’s been practicing her incomplete indoctrination now for nearly ten years.  Who knows?  Frequent fucking may actually preserve a girl’s looks.”

“He, ah, trained your wife, too?”

“Yes, though would you believe, Doris is the most loyal of all my wives!  Her excesses appear only in her service to me.”  He smiled smugly.  “Which I find delightful.”

“I guess so!” Dan admitted fervently.  “Angela,” he said to the bobbing head below, “I’m not a young man, you know.”

She released a glistening organ and got to her feet licking her lips.  With a sniff she remarked, “Now maybe I can join in this fascinating conversation about me.”

But talk was not her intent.  She raised the white skirt and slip to her waist as she backed against the desk.  She laid herself backwards on it, kicked off her white pumps and raised her knees, bare heels braced on the edge.  She was wearing no underpants.

“Come on, Dan,” she entreated with a twinkle.  “Age has its own advantages.”

He shrugged out of his suit coat and lifted his white shirttails before pressing forward to contact her.  He noted dryly, “I can’t think of any in this game.”

“Put it in and you’ll see,” she advised.

He found her ready.  Her body was a little high off the floor for best effect.  She remedied that by letting her legs fall to enwrap his and raising her torso with arms around his neck while her weight remained on buttocks overlapping the edge of the desk.  “That’s better,” she breathed.  “Now do me deep, Dan.”

She managed to roll her hips, compressing him in agreement with the rhythm he set.  Soon she was hugging him fiercely with all four limbs.  She pressed her open mouth to his and invited his tongue.  Her breath came faster in flared nostrils.  She began to whimper.

Dan felt the old tightness in his chest and thought of pulling out of her.  But pleasure rising to a height not felt in years washed the thought away.  When she emitted the first soft scream, his climax began with a powerful spurt that was intolerably sweet.


* * *



He came to himself and shook his head as if to dislodge a fly.  Looking around, he saw that he was lying on the hardwood floor in John’s office.  The back of his head hurt and was tender to the touch.  The girl, Angela, was sitting beside him, a wet cloth in her hand, while John knelt on the other side.

She patted his cheek with the cloth.  “How do you feel?”

“I …  Did I hit my head?”

“Not too bad,” John answered.  “Angela caught you on the way down.  She’s not a teenager but she still has good reflexes.”

She sniffed.  “When a man pulls out in the middle, it gets your attention.”

“I suppose so,” John agreed with a grin.  “No need to ask ‘middle of what,’ is there?”

“We were coming.”  She put a hand under her skirt and smugly contemplated the result when she brought it out.  “Both of us.”

“What happened, Dan?”

Dan felt a sudden chill.  He had never revealed his dangerously low blood pressure to anyone.  He raised up on an elbow.  How to minimize John’s suspicion?  He smiled weakly.  “I guess I’m getting too old for stand-up fucks.  But, god, it was sweet!”  His hand rose to pat the girl’s cheek.

“You passed out?” asked John, studying him intently.

Dan shrugged.  “Not much point in denying it.”

“How do you feel now?”

“I’ll do.”  He grinned at the girl.  “Can I take a rain-check — in a bedroom?”

“Anytime, Dan,” she answered, eyes resting upon him fondly.

“Let me help you up.”  John took him under the arm and raised him to his feet despite his protests.  The girl brought him his clothing and helped him into it.  Together they pushed him gently into the nearby reclining chair.

“We have a little unfinished business,” John explained, hand under the grinning girl’s skirt.  She sat on the desk as he removed his britches.  Leaning into her, he added over his shoulder, “And I believe this is a first: sloppy seconds after Dan.”


* * *



At the girl’s request Dan strolled out onto the portico with Angela — despite his wife’s glower — to wait for Galen’s car.  A full moon was well risen.  Crickets were loud enough almost to drown the thud of the surf.

“You turned white,” she remarked.  “Is it your heart?”

He answered carefully after a forced chuckle.  “I have a kind of anemia that prevents me from overstressing.  It only recently developed and it’s not dangerous.  In fact it may let me live longer than average.”

“I hope so!  Dan, were you serious about giving me a copy of what you taped yesterday?”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll bring it with John’s copy.  Or mail it to any address you indicate.”  He chuckled more genuinely.  “I could almost believe you were proud of those pictures.”

“I’ll pick them up here.”  She studied him in the moonlight.  “You think I should be ashamed of them?”

Should be?  For most women they would cause a meltdown.”

Her soprano giggle shivered the night air.  “The perfect word!  That’s how it feels between my legs.”

“You’re saying they excite you?”

“Not them!  But I can feel how they affect men.  That excites me!”

“I … see.”

“Oh, Dan!”  Again she giggled.  “If you could hear your tone of voice!  Red Dick was so right about men.”

“Red Dick?”

“My grandfather, Richard Pelham.”

“Another rich man who favored the Communists?”

“Not at all.  His politics were extremely conventional, just not his sexual ideas.  He preferred women during the menses.  He believed that’s when nature originally intended people to fuck, but like everything else we humans skewed it.”

“‘Red Dick.’”  Dan chuckled briefly.  “A bit of an iconoclast, was he?”

“More than a bit.  About men: he said that every man was two men, one before and the other after ejaculation.  I’m glad the second man doesn’t last long.”

Dan chuckled.  “But both admire willing women.  It’s just that your second man prefers to admire them from a little distance.”

“You’re agreeing with him.  He said we’re all compelled to fuck all the time.  Men just have to recharge.”

He took a deep breath.  “You’re incredible, Angela, whether or not he gets the blame.  If I were younger I’d follow you around like a puppy.”

She smiled.  “And I would pat your head for that if your wife wasn’t watching like a hawk through the big window.  Will you tell me something?”

“If I can.”

“Why were you out there with cameras at all?  How did you know?  I found that hollow last year and only told Galen about it after he rounded up Jim and the other guy half an hour before we got there.”

“I didn’t know!”  In a few brief sentences he described his presidency of the local birdwatchers and his efforts in tracking the Blue-Beaked Vireo.

“Then Galen isn’t in it with you?”

“The bird watchers?”

She laughed.  “The Angela watchers.”

“No.”  He laughed, too.  “So far as I know, there is no organization devoted to photographing Angela’s sexual adventures.”

A car pulled up before John’s gate and sat with idling engine.  She slipped her fingers under the door handle but looked back at him, eyes sparkling.  “You don’t take Playboy, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.  Should I?”

“They did ten pages on me last year in the October issue.”

“Then … then …” he stuttered.

“But nothing so explicit as your shots has ever been published.  Until this week.”

“God, Angela, I’m sorry about that!  I could cancel my postings on that newsgroup, but it would accomplish nothing.  You saw.  People are already copying them.  They’re too good.”

White teeth flashed in a grin.  “If you’re there tomorrow, I’ll see that you get even better ones.”

She snatched open the door and fell into the seat.  He had a glimpse of Galen’s face, staring curiously, in the dome light.  She threw Dan a kiss from behind the window glass as the car sped away.



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