The Last Two Days

a Short Story by Kellis

November, 2000



“Did Sarah’s frankness intrigue you?”

He arched an eyebrow at her.  She could see him hesitate over a stab at irony, then decide against it.  He smiled disarmingly.  “Yes, I guess it did, a little.  Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t that why you followed me into these trees?”

He chuckled.  “Mary, we’re looking for the Jameson kid, remember?”

She tossed her head but her eyes twinkled.  “Clay, how can anyone so fit as you be hard of hearing?”

“You think I should’ve heard Hardin’s shout that they found him?”


They were standing under a huge oak, mostly screened from the other picnickers by a hedge of red tips.  Her long brown hair was held away from her neck by a pony tail secured in a gold clasp.  Brown eyes sparkled above a nose glowing with perspiration.  She wore a tube top and short culottes of the same pattern and material, with white sneakers.  Face, bare arms, belly and legs were lightly tanned.  She was rubenesque with more than enough flesh to fill out and support the tube top.  A large diamond glittered beside the wedding band on her left hand.  Despite that, he thought she was easily the most attractive woman on the field today.

He smiled down at her.  “Maybe you’re right.  I was watching you listen to Sarah, particularly when she talked about the kneeling grocery boy.”

“She didn’t know you were standing behind her.  What did you see?”

“Your face.  Your lips.  Your tongue licking your lips.”

“Only that?  And it gave you an idea?”

“It gave me a hope.”

She took a deep breath.  “Are you married, Clay?”


“I don’t recall meeting your wife.  Is she here?”

“She’s in London.  I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“English, is she?”

“No.  She’s an assistant editor for Reuters.  Loves her job, applying the American idiom, don’t you know.  I met your husband.  What does he do?”


“For whom?”

“That doesn’t matter.  Work is all he does.  So let me understand.  When Sarah told of that boy eating her out, you saw something in my expression that made you think I wanted it, too.  Is that about right?”

His eyebrow arched again.  “Sarah’s not the only frank lady here this afternoon!  You’ll laugh, but what I thought I saw was envy.”

“‘Envy,’” she repeated with a shiver.

He studied her.  “What’s the matter?”

She stared back.  “I didn’t realize it myself.  That’s exactly right.  Just now I do envy Sarah her kitchen adventure.  In two days I’ll shrug in disgust, but just now …  It’s all a matter of timing, you see.”

He cocked his head.  “Your period?”

“Right.  I’m a two day firecracker, Clay.”

“Are you?”

She was leaning against the tree trunk.  He stood between her and the voices of the picnickers.  Eyes locked with hers, his right hand rose deliberately, fingers sliding under the bottom elastic of the tube top blouse.  He cupped her soft breast, feeling the nipple harden in his palm.  The areole grew lumpy.

She took another deep breath.  “Oh, god, Clay!  If I told you to stop, would you?”

As he answered his left hand slipped under the cloth over her other breast.  “Of course I would.  But you won’t say it, will you!  How daring are you, Mary?”

She gasped but responded articulately.  “I don’t think a man could imagine how it feels.  It starts like a fever, then the hormones converge in your privates.  It’s awfully hard to care about anything else.”  Deftly her hands unzipped his fly, found the overlap in his shorts and invaded him as he had done her, also with both hands, one to grasp his erection, the other to cup his testicles.

Her eyes glittered.  “How nice!  A long one has so many uses.”  She brought him out through the folds of cloth while her other hand pulled up one leg of the culottes.  She flushed slightly but not from embarrassment.  “How daring are you?” she demanded, eyes wide and shining.

He pressed himself against her.  She clawed her clothing aside with one hand while the other guided him perfectly.  She raised her pelvis as he stooped.  She was so wet that her labia felt cold even to the heat-insensitive glans.  He penetrated her easily.  Their hips synchronized immediately into long, slow thrusts and partial withdrawals.

“My god, Clay,” she murmured into his neck, “I believe you’re fucking me!”

“No, I’m not.  I’m fishing a gnat from your eye.”

She laughed.  “Going around my elbow to get it, are you?”

“Such soft elbows, too!”  He squeezed both her breasts.

“Damn these clothes!” she muttered aggrievedly.  “I want you all over me.”

“I’ll play grocery boy for you, Mary, but not here.”

“Let’s go deeper into —”

A man’s distant voice penetrated clearly.  “Mary?  Mary Schofield!”

“Oh, shit!” she whispered in disgust.  “It’s Arthur.”

Quickly he stepped back, restoring himself with difficulty to his britches.  In contrast, two hand sweeps smoothed away all visible evidence of her dalliance.

He directed, “You go out the way we came.  I’ll swing around to the other side.”

“Clay …”

“No, no.  Go on!”

He turned away through the underbrush.  She sighed and raised her voice, “Here I am, Arthur.  Did they find the kid?”


  *  *  *  *


For a moment they were alone over the deviled eggs.  Turned sideways to her, looking off at children throwing frisbees, he asked around his yellow mouthful, “Can you come to my place tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, Clay.”

“But the … the next day, you said —”

“Tonight, Clay!”

“Oh.  Okay!  Can you call a taxi?”

“I’ve got a better idea.  Pick me up behind the Wilfred Steak House.  At eight o’clock.”

“At eight?  Why don’t I have dinner there, too?”

“Go ahead, but you won’t see me.  Behind it, Clay!  Get there a minute before me.  I want you sitting beside the back door when I step out.  What do you drive?”

“A blue Caddy.  At eight, then.  Or seven fifty-nine.”

She smiled off to his right.  He turned to see Sarah reaching for an egg.  “Mary, are these as good as my recipe?”


  *  *  *  *


In fact she was 25 seconds early according to his wristwatch, set by the car radio.  He leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open.  She came directly from the restaurant’s barred rear door, almost leaping into the car, slamming its door behind her, sagging into the seat with her head against his side.  She was carrying a large leather purse on a shoulder strap.  It thumped into the floorboards in front of her.  “Go,” she commanded.  “Go!”

He caused the powerful machine to surge ahead, twisting expertly past parked cars and onto the street.  She remained low, one hand clutching his knee, until they had mixed with the evening traffic.  He advised, “You can get up now.  Who’s after you, by the way?”

“Nobody, I hope, but you can never tell about that when you’re being wicked.”  She raised up cautiously, looked up and down the street then settled back with a sigh.

“Nice dress,” he said admiringly.  “Are you being wicked?”

“Thank you.  Going off with a strange man?  Don’t you call that wicked?”

He grinned.  “If it was some other man.”

From the corner of his eye he saw her watching him.  She continued in the same vein, “Going to his place and taking your clothes off.  Is that wicked?”

“Hey, we were all born without clothes.”

“And letting him stick his tongue in you.  What about that?”

“Maybe.  Some say I have a long tongue, too.”  He thrust out the organ, touching it to the tip of his chin, knowing that she could see the action clearly in profile, lit by the oncoming headlights.

He heard her take a breath.  She immediately crossed her legs.  “And playing with his long dick, letting him put it anywhere he wants so long as he wants it a lot.  Now if that’s not wicked, I don’t know wicked!”

He chuckled.  “Did you ever live in Boston?”


“The girls there speak of a ‘wicked smooth martini’ or a ‘wicked good movie.’”

She chuckled, too.  “That’s right.  I mean a wicked long fuck.”

“Just one?”

“Huh!  You’re in better shape than that.”

He laughed.  “How many, then?”

She shrugged.  “As many as you can do in two days.”

“Your car will be all right in Wilfred’s lot?”

“It’s not in Wilfred’s.  Arthur’s office is next door.  It’s sitting in his reserved space.”

“What will Arthur say about that?  Hell, what’ll he say about you being gone for two days?”

“Nothing.  He should be airborne for L.A. by now.  He won’t be back till Monday.”

“You sure he went to the airport?”

“I’m sure.  He likes me to drop him off, saves all the parking hassle.  Where are you taking me?”

“To my place.”

She grunted.  “You sure your wife means to stay in London?”

“Says she’s coming back for Thanksgiving.  I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Then the coast is clear for us.”

“The coast is clear.”

She hitched herself against his side.  Her hands went to his lap, opened his fly and fished out his manhood.  “Needs work,” she observed, proceeding to work it gently.

“You have a nice touch,” he noted.

“This is a nice fellow.  Now he’s taking an interest!  I’m going to learn all there is to know about this boy.”

He wiggled his hips restlessly.  “You know, if I let this seat back …”

“Try it,” she suggested.

He touched one of the buttons on the door panel.  An electric motor whined and the seat slipped backward several inches.  “That’s enough room,” he observed.

“You can still reach the pedals?”

“Not as comfortably, but, yes.  Don’t give them a thought.”

“Clay, we’re going 50.  You mean you’ll actually let me suck while you’re driving?”

“Well, of course!  Why not?”

“Tried it once with Arthur.  Made me quit.  Said it was too dangerous.”

He grinned around at her.  “I’ll bet he thinks kissing is too dangerous, too.”


She raised up slightly, lips pressing his cheek.  He dropped his right hand between them, wormed it under her arm and around her back, closed it on the back of her head and forced her face in front of his, tilted sideways.  He kissed her lips, watching the road over the curve of her cheek.  Her arm went around his neck and her mouth opened immediately for his tongue.  Her free hand continued to pump him gently.  He tasted mint.

The traffic was lighter now that they had left the thoroughfare, so he was able to give her more attention.  He felt her throat constrict but she allowed his tongue to probe the back of it.  When he withdrew, her tongue followed his, exploring his mouth as he had done hers.  It was a long-lasting kiss that would have endured even longer if, reaching his residence, he had not required both hands to maneuver through the parking lot.

“Where are we?” she asked, backing away and looking around.

“That’s my apartment house.”

“Oh, well.  Probably for the best.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You might’ve wrecked the car.”

“Huh?  Oh.”  He grinned.  “You really thought of that?”

“I thought of it.  Made the idea more exciting.”

“You’re one of those, are you?”

“One of those what?  Dick suckers?”

He grunted.  “You can’t prove that by me!  No.  I meant the people who think danger makes sex more fun, like bungee jumpers or skydivers who jump with it in.”

“‘Jump with it in?’  Good god!”

He chuckled.  “You like that idea?”

“Not bungee jumping.  Nobody’s that fast!  But skydiving …  Do you really know anybody who’s done it?”

“Oh, yeah.  I knew one California couple who got so carried away they forgot to pull their rip cords.”

“My god!  I wonder …  Do you know if they …”

“They what?”

“This sounds terrible, but I’m so curious!  Did they find semen in her vagina?”

“That was California.  I think they found some in his ass.”

What?  Oh, you!”  She sniffed.  “Are you going to park this thing?”

“My cock’s still hanging out.  What say we tool it back out on the highway?”

Her answer to his whimsy was to thrust her buttocks toward the passenger door and drop her head between his belly and the steering wheel.  Her lips slid surprisingly far down his length.

“Mary, I was only kidding.”

Her shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug.  Her head began to bob, producing slurps audible above the idling engine.  He shook his head, wheeled the vehicle into a parking space and killed the ignition.

He let her proceed briefly before remarking, “That’s really good, my dear, but remember how you envied Sarah.”

The head ceased to bob.

“Let’s go where we can both do it.  You can even get on my kitchen table, if you liked Sarah’s style.”

She raised her head.  “You got any butter?”

“Butter?  Well, margarine.”

“That’ll do.  I’ll show you something on your kitchen table if you’re up to it, and, pal, I mean to see that you stay up.”

He waived her ahead of him up the long flight of brick stairs to the entrance.  “May I carry your bag?”

“Sure.  It’s heavy.”

He took it from her and followed close behind her up the steps.  “That’s a slinky dress,” he told her.

She grinned over her shoulder.  “I’d have to pull it up to run.  You’d like that.”

He slipped a hand between her alternating thighs and raised it into wet, hairy heat.  “God!  I see what you mean.  Do you always go out without panties?”

“Only when I expect to get fucked.”

“Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Now you’re getting the idea.”

She sniffed when she saw the cluttered living room of his apartment.  “It’s easy to see your wife has been gone awhile.”

“About three months.  Bedrooms are to the right, kitchen to the left.”

She paused at the first bedroom door.  “Who made the bed?”

“That’s my guest room.  Come on.”

In the larger room she grinned around.  “What a mess!  That’s more like it.  We can truly be comfortable in here.”  She went to the closed side of the closet and threw back the sliding door, exposing a nearly empty rack.  The few hanging articles were clearly feminine.

“Get my zipper,” she instructed, looking back at him.

They proceeded to undress.  Her last removal, along with finger rings, wristwatch and earrings consigned to her bag, was the band, now silver, that restrained her ponytail.  Her hair floated down behind her shoulders as she faced him.

Her eyes twinkled.  “I liked what you said.  This is what I wore to see my first man.  How about you?”

“Your first man?”

“The doctor who delivered me.  I presume it was a man.”

“All right.”  He snatched off his socks.

“Almost,” she commented.

He grinned, removed the wristwatch and after a moment’s hesitation, his wedding band.  “I believe that does it.”

“Very nearly.”

His eyebrows rose.  “What’s left?”

“One more morsel to expose.”  She came to him and took him between finger and thumb, withdrawing the foreskin.  “There.  The snake.”

“The what?”

“Doesn’t it remind you of the head of a snake?  Perhaps not; you never see it from my perspective.”  She giggled.  “I often dream that a forked tongue is hidden in the slit but never comes out unless it’s buried inside me.  Don’t you have a brighter light in here, Clay?”

“Reading lamp next to that recliner.  You want to look for a forked tongue?”

“Why not?”  She whirled away to the indicated chair and turned on its adjacent lamp.  “Oh, yes.  Take a seat, Clay.”

He obeyed her, commenting as he collapsed on the cushions, “This isn’t the way Sarah described it.”

“I’m not Sarah.  She’s ten years older and her boobs sag to her belly button.”  She knelt between his legs.

“You’ve seen them?”

“We swim in each other’s pools.  Mine are nearly big as hers but they don’t droop so far, not yet, at least.”

“Yours are larger, I think.  Well?  Forked tongue?”

“Who knows?  Remember, it won’t come out unless it’s in me.  I’ve tried a banana this long before.  I wonder …”

He took a breath, watching her lips slowly engulf more and more of his manhood.  The glans passed through feathery folds.  He said thickly, “It’s almost time for the forked tongue.”

She giggled through her nose.  Her nostrils flared in a deep breath as she tilted her head further back.  Her lips proceeded to engulf the remainder of his manhood.  Her shoulders spasmed twice but her eyes twinkled up to his above a nose buried in his pubic hair.

“My god, Mary!”  He raised his hips in a thrust, feeling the first dribbles escape him.  He groaned with the next, but she had lifted her head.  She substituted her hand and pumped his ejaculate into her open mouth and all around her lips.  When he ceased, her lips closed barely past the head, causing him to twitch, but she removed her mouth immediately, leaving him glistening cleanly.  A watery white drop dangled from her nose, much more from her chin.

She grinned.  “Mr. Rabbit, I see.”

He took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, Mary.  Don’t believe I ever came so fast before.”

She nodded, adding whimsically, “And a long forked tongue it was, too!  Now you won’t be so anxious.”

“My cock must’ve been into your vocal cords!  I can’t believe it didn’t gag you.”

“Well, it did.  I can only keep it there a second.”  Her smile widened.  “But I didn’t need to, did I?”

She stood up, went to the unmade bed and wiped her face on the tangled sheet.  “You must have something to drink in this place..”

“Oh, of course!”  He lunged to his feet and passed her into the kitchen.  “Excuse me for not offering.  Beer?  Wine?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing that dulls the glow.”

“Then how about coffee?  I’ve got instant.”

“How about a coke?  But start your water.”

He took a drink bottle from the refrigerator and opened it for her.  She gargled, then drank thirstily.  He filled his kettle and set it to heat on the range top.  When he turned back, he found her sitting on his table, buttocks on the edge, legs spread and dangling, leaning back on extended hands.

“Now we play Sarah?” he asked, eyebrows elevated.

I play Sarah.  Did you ever deliver groceries?”

“As a matter of fact.  But I wasn’t as lucky as Sarah’s boy.”

She smiled.  “Then your luck has changed.”

“I believe it!”  He pulled a chair to face her.  She rolled her legs over his back as he bent under them.  He grunted when his fingers parted the pouting lips..

“What’s the matter?”

“You’re already dripping.”

“Well, think what I’ve been doing!”

“Cock sucking stimulates you?”

“Everything about this stimulates me.  As to being so wet, maybe some of yours went on through.”

He chuckled.  “I could almost believe it.  I wondered if you spat into the sheet.”

“I didn’t spit.  The funny thing about seminal fluid is, just the thought of it in my mouth makes me throw up, except for these two days.  Now it tastes …”

“Go on.”

“It’s always nearly tasteless, but for two days that little hint of flavor is …”  She shivered.  “It’s incomparable.”

“Does that mean you like it?”

“I’m crazy about it.  Just wait till you get me going and you’ll see.  Turn your hand like this and put two fingers in me.”  She showed him her hand, palm up, fore- and middle fingers extended with the tips raised.

“With pleasure.  God, I love a wet pussy!”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.  Now press to the front with your fingertips and start licking.”

“Again, with pleasure.  Finally a woman who’ll say what she wants!  And the way you smell is making my balls ache.”

“We’ll fix that, too.  Ah! …  Not right on the tip, Clay.  Feel the little ridge above it?  Lick there.  Press hard.  And don’t forget to gouge with your fingers.”

Soon she was grunting in rhythm with her rocking hips.  Grunts changed to moans, then a mild soprano scream as her body went rigid.  He backed away.

She took a breath and looked down at him through the valley between her breasts.  “Mrs. Rabbit,” she declared with a smirk, “and now your mouth is as wet as mine was.”

He shrugged from under her legs, went to the sink, pulled a paper towel off the roll and dried himself.

As he turned back she said, “You look ready for Betty.”

“Who’s Betty?”

“Think of her as the very greedy girl you just tasted.  She loves snakes with forked tongues …  Actually any kind of tongue.  But I promised you something different.”

“You did?”

“Also on your kitchen table.”

“Should I get the butter?”

“I’ve got a better idea.  Sit down in your chair again.”

When he was in position before her, she leaned further back on the table and rested the soles of her feet on his shoulders, rolling her hips up.  “I took two enemas this afternoon, the last with bourbon in the water just before I left for the airport with Arthur.”  She opened her knees so wide that her heels pressed against his neck.

“You mean …” he began.  His thumbs stretched the flesh on either side of her perineum.  Her rosebud unfolded.

“See if it still tastes of bourbon,” she said, watching him without blinking.

“You’re about to get a cherry,” he admitted, leaning far forward so that her heels slid down his back.

“Oooo!” she breathed.  “Your tongue is so hot!  How far can you reach? …  God, Clay, you do have a long one! …  Make it very wet, Clay, then give me something longer.”

Shortly he stood up between her knees.  Her hand slipped around, caught and guided him with precision.  He entered her with only slight resistance.  Her flesh expanded around the head, then closed behind it.  He began to thrust.  “Ah, Clay, I love it!  Faster, pound it faster!  You’re not in any danger of coming, are you?”

“Not … yet.”

“Tell me what you think.  Is it tight?”

“It is … when you squeeze … like that.”

“But do you love it, too?”

“Of course.”

“My hands have to hold me up.  Won’t you put your thumb down and rub me, please, dear?”

He had hardly begun before she exclaimed, “God, that’s good!”

“You … prefer this?”

“What’s to prefer?  Oh, god, I’m coming!”  She produced the same soft scream that his tongue had elicited, repeating it several times before demanding, “Let up, damn it!”

He removed his thumb but continued to piston.  Apparently it was the right interpretation.  “Oh, oh, oh,” she breathed, a red flush descending her chest from her face.  Her sphincters were clipping him, but her hips and legs had gone rigid.  He studied her in rising amazement.  Mouth and eyes were clamped shut, nostrils flaring as her breathing increased.  The tops of her breasts, flopping gently in response to his shoves, had reddened distinctly.  Was she having some kind of uniquely feminine continuous orgasm?

The thought of it stirred his own juices.  “Mary, I’m on my way.”

Her response was to tighten her legs around his plunging hips, restricting their motion.  Her anal sphincter massaged him instead.  Groaning, he took his relief in her entrails.  Her mild scream made soprano harmony.

It weakened him enough that breathing hard, he had to drop his hands to the table edge to support his torso.  She hooked her legs behind his thighs and sat up against him, thrusting her breasts into his chest.  Her cool arms went around his shoulders and she kissed his sweating neck.

“Oh, god, Clay, that was wonderful!”

“I think so, too,” he said, seeking her mouth with his own.

She kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, but only briefly.  She lifted her head to grin at him with cocked eyebrow.  “I love your tongue, too, Clay.  How did my ass hole taste?”

“Well, I … think —”

“I’ll find out,” she proposed roguishly.  Her hands dropped to his hips, pushing him back.  His calves struck the chair behind him and he fell into it awkwardly.  She dropped off the table, squatting between his legs, and took half his manhood into her mouth, lips puckering around it.

He stared at her incredulously.  “B-but …”

She sucked gently.  He felt her tongue laving the glans.

“Jesus, Mary!  Is there anything you won’t do?”

She raised her head.  “For two days not much.  I couldn’t taste any bourbon.  How about you?”

“I tasted it.  Maybe I washed it out.”

“Fucked it out, you mean.  Do you mean to let that water boil away?”

“Good Christ!”  The kettle, hissing and dancing on the hot burner, had long since come to a rolling boil.  He rose hurriedly and tended it.  At his direction she found his jar of instant.  They sat across from each other at his small table to sip from their steaming cups, legs intertwined beneath it, her foot caressing the side of his calf, then rising to tuck toes between testicles and thigh.

She grinned at him.  “This is very domestic.”

“Is it?  Do you often sit naked in the kitchen with your husband?”

“I have in the past.  Not any more.  How about you?”

“I don’t think my wife has ever been naked in this room.”

“Why not?”

“You’re the first woman I ever knew who seemed to be really comfortable in her skin.”

She chuckled.  “When my period is over, I’ll cringe at the thought.  That version of me thinks I’m too fat.  What do you think?”

“Huh!  You’re not fat.  You’re a far cry from skin and bones, but you’re definitely not fat.”  They were both leaning on their elbows over their cups.  He reached easily across their small separation to lift her breast.  “This is heavy and perfect.  I love it.”  He chuckled.  “And I love the way that nipple pops right up.  But what do you mean?  You talk like you’re two people.”

“I think I am.  That’s Betty’s foot that’s stroking your balls.”

“You’re serious?”

“Well, no, none of that Three Faces of Eve crap.  But the hormones make an awful difference.”

“How is that, Mary?  I’ve known a few women.  They’re different, sure, at that time of the month, but not so drastically as you seem to be.”

She shrugged.  “People vary.”

“Did it always affect you this way — your period, I mean?”

“No.  Well, I think it did to begin with.  My mother caught me with two boys in the basement when I was fifteen and put me on the pill.  Ask any woman:  the pill tends to smooth you out.  It did me.  I even developed some girl friends.  For the next —”

“What do you mean about girl friends?”

“Until then I chased nothing but boys, saw all other girls as rivals — as enemies, if you want to know the truth.  But once I was on the pill, boys became a lot less fascinating.  I stayed on it for twelve years, until a couple years ago.  My doctor was worried about uterine cancer.  And Arthur’s company went public.  I quit my job.  It was time I got pregnant anyway.  Only that hasn’t happened.”

She took a sip of coffee.  “Why am I telling you all this?”

He shrugged.  “Why not?  I’m genuinely curious.  You’re a very interesting person, Mary.”

“Just now a very uninhibited one,” she agreed dryly.  “That’s what you mean.  But, yeah, why not?  This is only a two-night stand.

“With no pill I guess my hormones went natural again, natural for me, at any rate.  For eighteen days after the flow dries up I’m the mousiest person you ever saw, a real stay-at-home housekeeper.  If not cleaning house, I read trashy novels and watch the soaps.  I don’t have a prurient thought.  If Arthur wants to fuck, I submit, but I’d rather suck.  It’s neater.  He doesn’t want it very much.  But on the nineteenth day I can feel it start.  I speed up.  That’s the best way to put it.  I have more energy.  A room that was cold the day before is now too warm.  I can’t sit still.  My clit is sensitive to the rubbing of my panties and my nipples to the bra.  I have to wear loose clothes or preferably none at all.  If Arthur is home, I try to seduce him.  Again and again.  Until he invents the need to go to work.  Lately he’s been scheduling his business trips with me in mind.  When —”

“You play the same games with him you did with me?”

“Heavens, no!  He won’t play.  He’s older than I, you know.  I think he’s lost most of his juice.”

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully.  “Was it the same before you went on the pill?”

“It may have been worse.  I found out I needed more than one boy at the time.”  She frowned.  That was a lot easier to arrange then!  Why do men so hate to share?”

He grinned.  “They’re afraid to, of course.  You say boys aren’t?”

“In the beginning I had to chivvy them a little.  My parents both worked.  Pretty soon all I had to do was tell one or two of the guys I was having a private party after school, and bring a friend.  We had a basement entrance surrounded by tall shrubbery.  They could come and go without the neighbors knowing it.  I had more fun the year before Mom caught me than I ever had since.”

“I guess so,” he breathed, “once the word got around!”

She nodded.  “It got around fast.  After a while I could count on at least half a dozen every school day.”

“I can’t believe you never got pregnant.”

Again she nodded.  “But I didn’t, and that’s a bit of a mystery.  Nobody took any precautions, yet my doctor says all the equipment is in good order, ready to catch another one every 28 days.”

He studied her.  “That’s a fascinating story, Mary.  Were you never hurt?  I’d expect such behavior to get out of hand.”

“It did a few times.  Fights over who was next, who went in front or in back.  But the basement was empty except for an old air mattress.  Mom was afraid of rats and wouldn’t even use it for storage.  She preferred the attic.  The boys broke a window once, but we faked it up to look like a baseball did it.”

“And you were the only girl?”

“You bet.”

“God, Mary!  How many did you entertain?”

She sniffed.  “You mean, what was the most in one day?  I don’t know exactly.  Some days, you know, were holidays for the school but not for parents.  I could fuck all day long — and did, several times.  I can tell you this:  at the end of Eighth Grade, when I was 14, I checked in the junior high yearbook.  I had fucked every picture in it from the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, except five they said were gay.  I’m sure I got a lot of cherries.”

“How many boys, Mary?”

“How many?”  She shrugged.  “That yearbook had 147 boys’ pictures.”

“Let’s see.  If the average boy took five minutes, which is probably an outside average —”

“Not necessarily.  They almost always wanted seconds and even thirds.”

“All right, give ’em five minutes.  If you started at eight in the morning and went strong till five, with, say, an hour all told for piss breaks and such, that’s twelve an hour for eight hours:  96 fucks.  You must have been covered in jism!”

She smiled reminiscently.  “Sometimes it got pretty squishy.”

“If every boy went three times, that’s 32 boys.  Did you have a big basement?”

“Half the house.  32 boys?  Some days it was a lot more than that.  147 boys in junior high, remember?”

“God, Mary!”

She grinned crookedly.  “I’m definitely not that Mary!”

“Didn’t it even make you sore?”

“I did have trouble with bowel movements.”


“No.  Incontinence.  Shitting my pants.”

“That’s right.  You said you were taking them two at the time.”

“Two?  I’ve done six at once.  In fact one set of boys, five close friends — some said fucking each other when they didn’t visit me — always humped me together, swapping positions around.  They worked on it until they could all come off at the same time.  But no, I didn’t get sore.  A few bruises, especially inside the thighs.  Fucking is great exercise.  I felt good all the time then.  Even my periods were easier than they’ve ever been since.”

He licked his lips.  “The mathematics of this is fascinating.  If you only fucked for an hour after school each day — say an hour and a half — that’s still 18 a day, times five days:  90 fucks a week.  What about the weekends?”

“Nothing doing at home.”  She smiled.  “One of the boys removed the hasp on a basement window at his church.  I met his crowd there on Saturdays after that.  Sunday was the tough one.  But if kids want to fuck, they’ll find a way.  It’s a lot tougher when you’re grown.”

She stood up, rubbing her buttocks.  “This chair is getting hard.”

“Want something to eat?  We can stick junk food in the microwave.”

“I’ve got a better idea.  Do you have a tub with a shower in it?”

“Yes, in the guest bathroom.”

“Then let’s take a shower together.”

He stood up, too.  “Whatever you say.  But while we’re showering …  I’ve got a friend, Mary.”

She had started out of the room.  She spun around to study him.  “A friend?”

“Yeah.  We go back a long way.  I know he’d love to join us.”

“What’s he like?”

“Shorter than me.”

“I mean his dick.”

“So do I.  Shorter but thicker.”

“Is he married?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only to his wife.”

“He’s a technician on call.  His wife’s accustomed to him leaving this time of night.”

Her eyes brightened.  “Call him and see.”

He went to the wall-mounted telephone and punched in a number.  “Buck, this is Clay…  Yeah, I know it’s ten o’clock.  You can tell Laura this is a call out.  I’ve got a hot number here that likes two at once.  Remember Gretchen in Utrecht?  This one would clean her clock.  How soon can you get here?”

He winked at Mary as the receiver rattled.  “She’ll stick around…  How do I know?  Because she’s right here listening.”  He put out his hand to her breast.  “I’m squeezing her tit right now.  Look, we’re going to take a nice, slow shower together.  I’ll leave the door unlocked.  Just slip in and join us, how about it? …  That’s my boy.”

He hung up the telephone.  “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

She cocked her head.  “Just like that, eh?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen porn movies where lots of men fuck the same woman, but they’re getting paid.”

He grinned wryly.  “You think this is odd, do you?”


“Maybe you just don’t know the right people.  If it was next week I could probably get you a third.”

“Another friend from Holland?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.  Four of us spent a summer in Holland on an assignment with Phil— that is, with an electronics outfit.”


“Yeah, but one of the guys took a job with Microsoft.”

“I’ve never been with three men!”

He chuckled.  “I think your whole face just lit up.”

“Three men!  My god, I could come just thinking about it.”  She twisted her hips and crossed her legs.

“Explain that, will you?  I don’t see how more than one can get on your clit.”

She smiled archly.  “Think of the clit as the starter button.  When I really get going, I can come from a dick in my armpit.”

“Where?” he asked incredulously.

“Actually anywhere on me.  But three men at once!”  She took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Could you possibly get a third tonight?”

He shook his head regretfully.  “No, Mary, not on such short notice.”


“But if you give me a month, I’ll bet I can get you more than three!”

“You know men who can stand to touch each other?”

“Well, I’ll have to sound them out, but I think so, when I tell them about you.  You’re something awfully special, Mary.”

“‘Something!’  Pure sex object, right?”

“Well, I mean —”

She laughed.  “Pure sex object is exactly what I want to be.  And only that, Clay.  Come on.  Where’s your shower?”

“This way.  Mary …  I mean, Betty.  We’ll tell everyone that’s your name.  And one thing you ought to know:  Buck is just as discreet as I am.”

“Make it moderately hot, will you?” she said, stepping into the back of the tub.  “I’ll appreciate that next week, Clay, but tonight I would fuck in the middle of the street.  Get it going and let me soap up your dick.  I do love a nice, slippery dick.”

She detoured by her bag and appeared at the tub with her long, dark hair tucked under a shower cap.  Woman-like, she wanted the water a bit warmer than his preference.  When both were well wetted, he whirled her under the spray.  Her soapy hands cupped his genitals and she pressed her cheek into the hollow of his neck while his arms wrapped around her to clutch her buttocks.

“How close will you get to Buck?” she asked above the hiss of the spray.

“How close do you want us?”

“I want to suck both your dicks at once.”

He chuckled.  “What will that do for you?”

She answered dreamily, “The shape of a dick … two plump heads in my mouth at once, licking around and between them …  God, Clay!”  She went to tiptoe so that her hand could force his glans under her clitoris.

He grunted.  “I’m beginning to think the idea of this is as important to you as the feel of it.”

“And the idea of three of you is breathtaking!”

“It’s probably a good thing you can’t get three in your mouth at once.”

“Yes, too bad.”  She laughed.  “But I can get three in my cunny.”

“Huh! …  And you have this bridge in Brooklyn you want to sell me, do you?”

“That set of five boys who might have been gay — they worked out a way to get three dicks lined up.”

“Do you remember how to do it?”

“I think so.  I was very interested.”

“Well, then you have another reason to call me next month.”

“You think you can definitely get three men?”

“I believe so.  Here’s our second one now.”

A shadow had fallen on the shower curtain.  She reached past his shoulder to draw it back.  A very hairy fellow, shorter and heavier than Clay, was in the process of stepping out of his jockey shorts.  He sported a mustache beneath snapping brown eyes.  He grinned hesitantly above her as he straightened up, calling over the water hiss, “You did say to come on in.”

“I sure did.  Buck, step right up.  This big-tittied sex machine holding my dick is Betty.  She wants to hold yours, too.”

Buck pantomimed amazement.  “By god, she looks real!”

“Real?” asked Clay.  “Oh, she’s real enough, but she’s still a hot little sex machine.  You’ll see.”

She leered at the newcomer.  Her eyes twinkled with determination and taking a good grip on Clay’s shoulder with the opposite arm, she raised one leg with an arm under the thigh and straightened it with the heel atop Buck’s shoulder.  “Android 4Q2 ready for Freddy,” she intoned solemnly in a squeaky voice.

The startled man opened his mouth to respond, but she corrected herself.  “Oops, wrong mission.  Android 4Q2 to fuck Buck.”

Buck’s hand twitched involuntarily toward the gaping labia hanging within two feet of his thickening manhood.

Her eyebrows rose.  She squeaked, “Push button to fuck Buck.”

His thumb fell tentatively on the prominent clitoris.

“Deeper button,” she advised.

He frowned, then his face cleared and he put two fingers into her.

“More!” she commanded.

So he inserted all four while the thumb rolled back and forth above them.  He asserted, “What an interesting way to fuck this would be, if you and I were on the same floor!  But won’t your leg get tired pretty quick?”

“Too bad I’m not really a machine, eh?”  Her foot came down.  “Get in the tub and let me soap you up, too.”

He slipped quickly under the withdrawn curtain to minimize the escaped spray.  “Oh, by the way, I’m pleased to meet you, ah, Betty.”

She turned her back to Clay and caught Buck’s half-erection in hand.  She shook it solemnly.  “And I’m happy to meet you, too.”  Her other hand remained behind her, holding on to Clay’s appendage.  She thrust out her chest.  “Since my hands are full, would you care to kiss a substitute?”

“Would I ever!”

While he slobbered over her full breasts, she slathered him with soap.  Stroking his manhood, she grinned with anticipation.  “A nice, fat dick.  I know just where it belongs.  Back up a little, Buck, and, Clay, hold me under the boobs, will you?”

In two seconds she had raised her heel again to Buck’s shoulder, leaning back against Clay.  Blinking through the spray falling on her jiggling breasts, she said pointedly to Buck, “Now we’re on the same floor.”

Arching his back, he thrust forward, entering her easily.  One hand under her buttocks cheek, the other clutching her hip, he pistonned her slowly at first but soon accelerated.  Though unable to respond well in this position, she smiled with the pleasure of his attention.  Shortly she put her free hand on his chest.  “Don’t come yet,” she warned him.

“Then I’d better stop,” he responded, gasping.

“Okay.”  She withdrew against Clay, turning her face up to him.  “Remember what I said I wanted to do?”

“Can you do it in the tub?”

“I could, but I think dry would be more fun.”

“Good enough.”  He reached past his guests and turned off the water.

Clay barely had enough towels.  He grinned sheepishly.  “Guess I didn’t do enough planning.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Buck.  “What a great title:  Orgy Logistics!”

“Be sure to get me a copy when you publish,” said his host.

“Are you a writer?” asked the woman, drying Buck’s back.

“Strictly amateur so far, on the Internet.”

“What do you like to write about?”

He grinned over his shoulder.  “Three people in a shower would make great copy.”

“You can publish that?”

“Hell, nowadays you can even publish a picture of it!”

She led them into the messy bedroom, paused in front of the bed and looked from one to the other.  “Here’s where we find out if you two guys can stand each other.”

Buck’s eyebrows rose.  He threw an arm over Clay’s shoulder.  “We’re old buddies, honey.  What’s the problem?”

Clay said dryly, “She wants to suck both dicks at once.”

“She does?”  Buck smiled hugely.  “Another title:  Orgy Maneuvers!”

Chin in hand, the woman said thoughtfully, “We could do it in front of the dresser …  But I have a better idea.  Besides, I’d like to start with them soft.  You got a screwdriver, Clay?”

“Sure.  For what?”

“Take the mirror off the dresser and prop it up between mattress and headboard.”

“Yesss!” Buck agreed with exaggerated delight.  Orgy Furniture!”

The mirror was huge and heavy, but the two strong men managed it quickly.  Supported by the bed rails, wedged between headboard and the combination of mattress and boxed springs, it made an eminently satisfactory reflector for events on the bed.

She arranged them cross-wise on the bed, heads opposite each other, groins together, left legs thrown over right hips, left buttocks on right thighs.  Interleaved in this manner they just fitted on the bed.

Buck warned jocularly, “Keep that dick up!”

“You, too!” Clay retorted.

“Huh!  Your asshole’s in no danger from me!”

The woman knelt at their junction, head toward the mirror.  She had retained the dried shower cap so that her hair did not obscure her actions.  She slipped two fingers under the two flaccid penises, lying side-by-side, and lifted them slightly.

“How sweet!” she cooed.

“‘Sweet!’” Buck echoed sarcastically.  “Never heard it called that before.”

“I think she means two together,” suggested Clay.

She bent low and gathered the two soft knobs into her mouth with her left hand while her right forced its way under the nearer right thigh to find both sets of testicles, actually lying in contact side-to-side.  Her lips were unable to seal around the combination; as a consequence she produced distinct sucking noises.

Buck’s hand moved to her.  “You don’t often get the chance to squeeze a vacuum cleaner’s tit.”

“Or pry into its cunt,” Clay responded, extending his hand around her buttocks for that purpose.

“So true,” Buck agreed, supplying additional fingers to the joint venture.

As her mouthful lengthened, she began slowly to bob her head.  She worked her free hand under Clay’s buttocks to join the other in compressing the pairs of testicles.

Buck asked, only partly in jest, “We can trust this girl, can’t we, Clay?”

The latter chuckled.  “She won’t steal your family jewels, my friend.”

“Are you sure?  Feels like she wants to unscrew them.”

She laughed through her nose.

After a bit Buck asked, biting off his words as if under a strain, “Remember that gal in Rotterdam?”

“Yeah,” Clay answered.  “Don’t wait for me, pal.  I’m going to be awhile.”

“Betty made you pop already, did she?”


“Well, it’s been almost a week for me.  Laura’s on the rag.  God, honey, don’t squeeze them off!”

Buck groaned, body stiffening.  His hand left the woman to make a fist.  “Jesus Christ!” he called, though not in supplication.  The woman’s head froze at the top of its stroke, enclosing only the knobs.

“Damn!” cried Clay, head raised to watch directly as white bubbles ran down the sides of both penises.  “I never realized it was so much cooler!”

Buck groaned louder.  Clay’s eyes widened at the quantity of fluid escaping from their junction.

The woman sat up, grinning in the mirror from one to the other as Buck relaxed with a sigh.  Her lips and chin sported a creamy wreath.  As they watched, she worked her mouth, pursed her lips and blew a translucent white bubble that popped when it touched the tip of her nose.  She laughed delightedly and blew another that suffered the same fate.  Then she deliberately pushed more white fluid out of her mouth to splash between her breasts.  She smacked her lips.  “Good stuff!  Not often is it thick enough for bubbles.”

Both men stared at her in fascination.  Buck’s eyes went to Clay’s reflection.  “‘Cooler?’”

“Yeah,” he answered.  “Your juice was distinctly cooler than her mouth.  I’ve read that’s why the balls hang out.  They keep the sperm cooler so it lasts longer.  But I never noticed it so clearly.”

The woman nodded.  “This was straight from the fridge.”

“I get it,” Buck mused.  “That’s why you squeezed my balls.”

“Did it hurt?”

“I think so, but you sure timed it right!”

Clay demanded, “What are you talking about?”

The woman responded, “Those five kids I mentioned: they discovered you can get more from a man if you squeeze him just as he starts to ejaculate.”  She grunted.  “Of course you have to be careful not to overdo it.”

Buck asked, “What five kids?”

“I’m sure Clay will tell you all about it.  What girl in Rotterdam?”

“She tried to get us to come off together.”

Mary sniffed.  “That’s not so hard to arrange, if the guys start in the same condition.”

Clay explained, “Betty knows more about men than both of us together know about women.”

Buck sniffed.  “Where’d she go to school for that?”

She answered, “Would you believe, in my father’s basement?  How about you returning the favor to me while I get Clay back in the mood?”

Rising to a crouch, she twisted her haunches over Buck’s head, though her mouth remained near the male junction.

“Just a minute,” Buck protested with a grin.  “It’s not safe to leave my tender ass within range of Clay’s dick when it’s unsatisfied.”

“Bullshit!” Clay declared.

Drawing up his feet, Buck spun out from under the other man, realigning himself properly in the bed.  His arms enclosed the woman’s hips and he asked, “Is this what you mean?” before pulling her vulva down to his mouth.

“Exactly,” she replied.  Grinning at Clay, she rolled her thumb in the seminal coating around her mouth and chin, then slipped that hand between his legs.  He grunted as her thumb penetrated his anus.  Eyes locked with his, she lowered her mouth over his up thrust organ, slowly enclosing the entirety.

“How in the hell can you do that?” he breathed.

She giggled through her nose as her head began to bob.

They held this arrangement for a minute or so, with only Buck’s tongue and Mary’s head moving, until she moaned and raised her head clear.  Momentarily a line of spittle connected her lips with Clay’s tip.  She clenched her eyes shut as her whole body stiffened.  For a long moment she was rigid, then suddenly she crawled away from Buck until she was fully atop Clay.

“Oh, god, I am ready!” she declared passionately.  Her hand reached under and popped Clay’s organ into her sopping vagina.  Briefly she ground her hips back and forth upon him.  Craning her neck, she said over her shoulder to Buck, “I put some cold cream on the end table.”

Buck rolled away from the mixture of legs, rose up on his knees and waddled back between them.  He asserted, “I don’t need it where I’m going.”

“You might,” she warned.

“Let’s find out.”  He guided himself carefully to the junction.

“What’re you doing?” demanded Clay.

Buck made a sound that could only be called a giggle.  “Joining up with you.  Remember that black-headed girl in Amsterdam?”

“Oooo!” The woman grinned.  “Welcome, gentlemen!”  She shuddered.  “You’ve done this before, have you?”

“Ansela — that was her name,” Buck reported.  “Aha, all the way, by god!  You know, it amazes me how flexible a pussy is.  What else could feel no tighter on two than one?”

The woman grunted.  “Maybe it feels no tighter to you, but let me assure you it feels fuller to me!  Did Ansela teach you how to swing it?”

“Yeah.  She was a math student at the university — except at night, of course.  You and Clay, the one on your clit, are supposed to be exactly out of phase — 180 degrees — while I shove half-way between, or 90 degrees.”

“I think you’re trying to confuse me,” Mary declared, “but it won’t work.  Come on, gentlemen, let’s fuck!”

Buck took care at first that his thrusts were syncopated between the others’, but soon his timing became automatic.  He put his head back and declaimed, “Ride ’em, cowboy!  Hi-yo, Silver!”

“Get ’em up, Scout,” Clay contributed, gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts.

“Oh, Jesus!” declared the woman.  “That’s the most marvelous …  Oh, god, I’m coming!”

Her moans changed to an odd keening deep in her throat.  Her legs and arms closed on Clay’s body and her chin gouged his shoulder.  He felt her hot, panting breath in his ear and her nipples lumped on his chest.

“How about you?” Clay asked above the woman’s cries, looking up past the folds of her shower cap to his friend’s sweating face.

“I can hang on awhile,” Buck answered between heavy breaths.  “Let me tell you, from this angle the way her ass flexes is something to see!  The sweat’s running down her crack.  I think I’ll give her what I think she expects.”

“You’re right about that.  She told me she took two enemas before she came out tonight.”

Buck backed away slightly.  Mary’s moans ceased.  When she felt his new touch, she arched her back farther, turning up her buttocks and holding still.  He entered her without difficulty.  “All the way again!” he crowed.

“A nice cool rod up my insides,” she commented.  “Bet it doesn’t stay cool long.”

“Not in this furnace!” Buck agreed excessively.

They began to move together.  Buck picked up his old rhythm.  “Hey!  It works in here, too!”

“No, it doesn’t,” the woman denied.  “You both need to move opposite me.”

Clay suggested, “I think she means we should be in phase.”

“I got it.”  Buck quickly corrected his timing.

“That’s it!” Mary declared.  “Now fuck me, gentlemen!  Oh god, I do love this.”  She turned her head on Clay’s shoulder to study their reflection in the mirror.  Buck caught her eye, grinned and stuck out his tongue, wiggling it up and down.

“If you were twins,” she said between drafts of breath, “I’d suck your other dick.”

“Hell, that’s what it feels like,” he retorted — “and no teeth to worry about!”

She chuckled and said almost dreamily, “The way I feel now, I wish we had four more guys: one in my mouth, one in each armpit and one between my boobs.”

“Greedy Betty!” sniffed Clay.  “I’m just as glad we don’t.  That combination would smother me.”

“You’d die happy,” she promised.  A moment later she resumed the earlier keening.

They persevered in that configuration for many minutes.  A seventy-degree bedroom without a fan is too warm for enduring strenuous activity.  All three were soon breathing hard and copiously perspiring.  The woman’s cries gradually increased to soft screams, produced irregularly both while inhaling and exhaling.  Her back and buttocks reddened, and Buck began to worry about her health.

Then her sphincters clamped down.  Both men climaxed a few seconds later.  She screamed loudly at the feel of it and her body went limp.  Buck backed away from the others and assisted Clay in rolling her off onto her back, before turning and falling on his back beside her.  She threw an arm over him, hand spread on his hard belly.  The three lay quietly, arms and legs entangled, as their heavy breathing subsided.

Some time later Buck roused enough to look at his wristwatch.  He listened to the light snores beside him, carefully extricated himself from the tangle and slipped off the bed to his feet.  His clothing lay in the hall where he had removed it, just outside the bathroom door.  Pausing to relieve his bladder, he dressed and departed as quietly as he had arrived.


  *  *  *  *



“Clayton Harris, please.”

Though he recognized the incongruously raspy tenor voice, he went through the ritual.  “Speaking.”

“This is Arthur Schofield.  Are you where you can talk?”

“Just a moment, let me close the door.”  Clay glanced out into the hall.  No one was visible, though the rest of the building hummed with activity.  After latching the door he returned to his desk.  “Okay, go ahead.”

“I called to get your report.”

“On the telephone, Mr. Schofield?”

“Huh!  Nobody cares about this but you and me.”

“Very well, sir.  First let me ask you, have you been home yet?”

“Yes, of course.  This is Tuesday!  Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure Mary was all right.  She seemed … a little wobbly when I took her to her car.”

“Where did she leave it, by the way?”

Clay chuckled.  “In your slot at your office.”

“Damn!  I certainly hope no one saw that.”

“That was Sunday night.  The place was dark and hers was the only car.  How is Mary, sir?”

“On the rag, of course.  Snapping my head off at the least excuse.  Why?  You didn’t actually hurt her, did you, Clay?”

“No, I didn’t hurt her, if it’s true that after the first time, sex doesn’t hurt a woman.  But I’ll tell you, I was so sore Monday morning I stayed in bed.”

The high voice chuckled.  “Then you had a strenuous weekend with her?”

“Let’s be frank.  She fucked me until nothing she did would get it up again.”

A longer chuckle ensued.  “That’s my little woman.  Tell me, did you take her out anywhere?”

“No.  She’s as careful about that as you are.  We stayed in my apartment from Friday night to Sunday night.  I had food brought in.  You say Mary seems normal, is that right?”

“Moping one minute, raising hell the next, typical of the behavior during her period.  By next week she’ll be a mouse again.”

“The way you like her, eh?”

“Huh!  Let’s don’t go into that.”

“I think we ought to, Mr. Schofield, at least enough to decide what happens next.”

The high voice was suddenly suspicious.  “What did you have in mind, Clay?”

“She told me a little of her background.  Has she ever —”

“She bragged about it, did she?”

“Whatever.  Has she ever had counseling about her … problem?”

“No, and I’m not in favor of it.  That’s another lane we won’t go down.  Look here: you’re a young man.  You like a good fuck, don’t you, and plenty of it?”

“Of course, and Mary is a hell of a good fuck!  But —”

“Then shut up.”

Clay hesitated.  “The fact is, Mr. Schofield, that Mary has an interesting —”

“Look, Clay, I told you what I wanted.  She’s a very satisfactory woman all the time, even with her period, except those last two days.  I need to find a safe spot, a haven if you will, for her to work off her excess energy — actually for her to crash — during that critical time.  From what I saw at home, you’re that spot.  Didn’t you have a good time this weekend?”

“I haven’t decided yet.  But let me tell you a little story.  I’ve got a motorized gadget that shines your shoes while wearing them.  It has a long handle so you can use it standing up.  The rotary brushes aren’t balanced, so it vibrates like hell.  Mary spent the last couple hours in my place with that handle half way up her ass, rubbing the piss out of her cunt with my wife’s old hairbrush.  I really think she needs help.”

The line was silent for a moment.  At last Schofield asked, “Did you make arrangements to meet her next month.”

“No.  But she has my phone number, here and at home.”


“Dammit, Schofield, will you get her some help?”

“You’re it, pal.  Good-bye and thanks.”

With a pop the dial tone returned.  Clay sighed, hung up the phone and keyed a name into his computer.  When the number appeared, he clicked the Dial icon and waited.  A few seconds later he said into the mouthpiece, “Danny?  Clay…  Good to hear you, too.  Listen, I’ve got a problem.  What’ve you got laid on for the, ah, tenth and eleventh of next month?”



Copyright © November, 2000, Kellis

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