26 Nights

by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)

  “I’m finished,” she said.

  “But I’m not.” I moved up and down as strongly as I could beneath her.

  Fern sighed again, more loudly this time, and wiggled her hips a bit. She had gotten what she wanted and didn’t give a damn about anything else—but what was I supposed to do? Her squirming was bringing me to climax. At the last minute I tightened my hold on her and, with a supreme effort, lifted her body just enough to allow me to slip out of her. I held her against me as I began to spurt strongly, and the silver jets shot up into the air and fell onto her body, splashing across her breasts.

  Fern slithered out of my slackening grip. “Nice going!” she yelled. “Now I’m a mess.”

  I got up. She didn’t look half bad, actually. In fact I had to smile. “Relax,” I told her. “Think of all the TV fans who fantasize about Fern Forrester with come all over her tits.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said under her breath as she turned to the mirror. But I guess I’d said the right thing. Her eyes softened as she gazed at herself with the slick white stuff dripping from her flesh. Slowly she raised a hand to one breast and began to rub it over her skin, while all those unseen men lusted and jerked themselves off in her mind.

  I’d had enough. I got dressed as quickly as I could. By the time I was ready to leave Fern wasn’t mad at me any more. She even kissed me good-bye and offered to give me her autograph, but I told her I hadn’t brought my book with me.

  Chapter 7

  GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” THE MAN shouted. As well he might have, considering that I had just opened the bedroom door to reveal him standing with his pants and shorts down around his ankles, while a lovely young blonde lady knelt in front of him, her head bobbing steadily as she pleasured him with her mouth.

  “Oops,” Grace said. “Wrong room.”

  Although I didn’t know the man, I recognized the girl. “Sorry, Ginger,” I said, and closed the door.

  “You know her?” Grace asked.

  “Just met her a while ago,” I said. “Your husband introduced us.”

  “Russell does like to pamper his guests,” Grace said. “I don’t think he’d approve of his wife doing it, however.”

  “Then let’s not tell him.”

  “What a good idea,” Grace said.

  I hadn’t been to one of Russell’s parties in years, though I was always invited. This time I was there for only one reason, which was that Russell had a wife who was considerably younger than he was, that she was an attractive, effervescent brunette with an extremely alluring figure—and that her name was Grace.

  Grace and I had never had the pleasure of each other’s intimate company, but I had the feeling that, given the opportunity, this unfortunate situation might well be rectified. And I intended to create such an opportunity that very evening.

  Russell’s parties were always the same. Only wealthy and successful men were invited, and with the occasional exception, men who have devoted their lives to the pursuit of wealth do not make the most stimulating company. (Since wealth managed to find me without any pursuit on my part, I of course do not fall into that category.) Fortunately there were also the women. Many of these men had, like Russell, divorced their first wives and married younger, more attractive ladies. Others brought their mistresses. And there were always a number of highly decorative and apparently unattached young women, hired by Russell to be friendly and amenable to one and all.

  Upon my arrival Russell had greeted me warmly, escorted me to the bar and, while waiting for my drink to be served, introduced me to several men whom I already knew.

  “Where’s Grace?” I asked him.

  “Oh, around somewhere,” he said vaguely. “Probably fixing her makeup or something. You here alone? That’s not like you, Steven.” He grinned. “Or are you here to see what you can pick up?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “Look around,” Russell said. “Anybody I can introduce you to, just let me know.”

  “Actually I’m looking for a particular … ah … type,” I said.

  “Name it, we probably got it.”

  “I need a G girl,” I said.

  “A what?”

  “A G girl. Someone whose name begins with the letter G.”

  Russell gaped at me. “You kidding? Why a G, for God’s sake?”

  “Personal reasons. You know any?”

  Russell looked around the room. The fact that his wife’s name began with a G never occurred to him, as I had expected. “G … G …” he muttered. “Let’s see … nope … nope … Oh, hey! Yeah! I got one!”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Over there by the bookcase. See the blonde in the green dress? Name’s Ginger. Pretty nice, huh?”

  I looked. She was indeed pretty nice. “Lovely,” I said. “Who’s she with?”

  “Nobody. She’s a party girl. She’s available. Help yourself.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t pay for it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Russell said. “It’s already paid for. She’s all yours. On the house. Hey, Ginger!” He waved to the girl, calling across the room. “Ginger! C’mon over here!”

  Ginger, who had been talking with two men, excused herself and made her way toward us. Her body swayed alluringly in the brief but tasteful dress.

  “Ginger, I want you to meet Steven Walling, an old friend of mine and a great guy.”

  “Hi,” Ginger said brightly.

  “Nice to meet you, Ginger.”

  “He likes you because your name begins with G,” Russell said. “Well, have fun, you two.” He wandered off.

  “What did he mean?” Ginger asked, smiling at me.

  “Uh … Russell tends to be somewhat impetuous,” I said. “I apologize for dragging you away from your conversation, but actually I’m looking for someone else. Our hostess, in fact. Russell’s wife. Have you seen her?”

  “I wouldn’t know her if I did,” Ginger said. “Does her name begin with a G too?”

  “It does indeed.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of fetishes,” Ginger said. “But that’s a first.”

  “Long story,” I said.

  “Well, won’t I do?” Ginger said. “I bet I’m as friendly as she is. And I’m not even married.”

  “And you are an extremely attractive lady,” I said truthfully. “If only you weren’t …”

  “If only I wasn’t what? For hire?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Nothing against you, I just—”

  “Won’t cost you a cent,” Ginger said. “It’s all taken care of.”

  “I know. It’s the principle of it. I’m sorry.”

  Ginger shrugged. “Your loss,” she said, and turned away.

  I watched her go, regretfully. My pride was intact, but my hormones were not happy about it. But I had other plans for them. I went in search of Grace.

  I soon found her circulating among the guests, a slim, dark-haired vision in a simple but sexy yellow gown. She smiled at me dazzlingly. “Steven! I didn’t know you were here!”

  “How are you, Grace?” I said, kissing her. “You look fantastic.”

  “Good to see you too, Steven. I thought you avoided Russell’s parties like the plague.”

  “I couldn’t stay away from you any longer,” I said. “I’ve missed you, Grace.” I looked into her eyes and felt again that mutual desire which we had never gotten around to exploring. “I’ve missed you a lot. Isn’t there somewhere we could get away from this crowd and … talk awhile?”

  “Talk?”

  “Or … whatever.”

  “You’re still a very naughty boy, Steven.”

  “And you’re still a very enchanting girl,” I said. “I think it’s time for us, Grace. Don’t you?”

  Grace hesitated. But not for long.

  “Follow me,” she said. When we got upstairs, she waited for me to catch up to her and took my hand. She led me to a door and opened it.

  And that’s when we saw Ging
er with the man who yelled at us to get out.

  I told Grace about my brief conversation with Ginger while we found another room. This one was happily unoccupied, and once inside I forgot all about Ginger.

  But Grace didn’t. After our first kiss, which was lengthy, passionate and extremely exciting, she said, somewhat breathlessly, “I wonder if she likes her work.”

  “What?” I panted. “Who?”

  “That girl. The prostitute. Ginger.”

  “Who knows?” I said, kissing her neck as my hands explored her body.

  “Steven …”

  “Yes?”

  She put her mouth to my ear. “Want me to do what she was doing?”

  I pictured Ginger as I had last seen her.

  “The thought is not unpleasant,” I said.

  “Will you reciprocate?” Grace breathed.

  “Of course. Try and stop me.”

  Grace kissed me again, then sank down to her knees. I felt her hands opening my fly, freeing my stiff cock. Then I felt her mouth.

  That mouth was warm and tantalizing and highly talented. I was soon floating on a soft cloud of exquisite pleasure. Then Grace raised her head for a moment to say, “I’ve thought about being one too, sometimes,” before putting her mouth back where it had been.

  I was breathing heavily and my voice sounded thick. “One what?” I asked.

  Her mouth came off me again. “A whore,” she said. “A prostitute.” And she put it back.

  I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that moment, but this surprised me. “Why would you want to do that?” I asked.

  The head went up again. “For kicks,” she said. She kissed my cock sweetly. “I’m bored.” She licked at me. “Besides, I’m kind of a whore already. I married Russell for his money, you know.”

  “Not the same thing,” I said.

  Her mouth had swallowed me again. “Mmmm-hmmmm,” she hummed around my flesh.

  I closed my eyes, swaying slightly. “Well, you’d certainly make a fortune at it,” I muttered, giving myself up to the sensation of what she was doing.

  “Mmmunnn … nummmm … mmmummm?” she said.

  “What?” I responded. Which was a mistake, for she released me so she could better articulate my question.

  “Would you pay to have me?”

  “I never pay for it,” I said. “But if I did, you’d be—”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a principle of mine,” I said, arching myself suggestively toward her hovering lips. “Can we talk about this later, Grace?”

  She kissed my throbbing hardness again. Briefly.

  “I wonder what it feels like,” she said. “To be a whore. A real one, I mean.”

  “Talk to Ginger,” I groaned. “Later.”

  Then I felt her tongue again, slow and tantalizing along the length of me. “Steven …”

  I sensed what was coming, and I didn’t like it. “Grace,” I groaned. “Let’s stop talking now, okay?” I reached down to pull her to her feet, but her body evaded me—though her head remained in the general region of my crotch.

  “Steven, I want to be a whore. Just this once. I want you to pay me. Please?”

  “Grace, I told you I don’t do that. Now come on, let me—”

  “What’s the going rate?” Grace asked. “A hundred? How about a hundred dollars? Is that a fair price?”

  “It’s a bargain,” I said. “But you’re not selling, Grace, and I’m not buying. We’re here because we like each other and we want each other. Right?”

  “Of course,” she said. “But, Steven …” And she lowered her head and caressed me again with that arousing mouth. “I’d be worth it,” she murmured. “I promise.”

  It took some effort, but I pulled myself away from her. “Grace stop this now, for God’s sake. I’m not going to pay for it, so let’s—”

  “Then you’re not getting it,” Grace said. She stood up and smoothed down her dress.

  “You’re kidding!” I exclaimed.

  “Nope,” she said. “I mean it. No pay, no play, isn’t that what they say?”

  “Cut that out,” I said. “Be sensible, Grace.” I could still feel the moisture of her mouth on my cock, which hadn’t lost its stiffness.

  “You be sensible,” she said. “Come on, Steven. What’s a hundred dollars between friends?” She reached behind her to open the catch and pull down the zipper at the back of her dress. Then she slid the gown off her shoulders and let it fall around her waist. The bra was built into the dress, and her breasts were now bare. And very lovely.

  “Look, Steven,” she said. “Aren’t I worth it?”

  My throat was tight. “I told you, it’s a bargain,” I husked. “But—”

  “Only a hundred dollars,” Grace said, “and I’ll be your whore. I’ll do anything you want, Steven.” And she opened something else and let the gown fall down around her feet. Then she pushed down her panties.

  “Jesus,” I said, and started to move toward her.

  She backed up. “No,” she said. “You stay right there, Steven. Until I get paid. A hundred dollars. Just put it on the bed.”

  “Grace …” I said. “Damn it, I’m not—I don’t—”

  “No?” Grace said. “That’s too bad, Steven. I do want you. But …” She shrugged, which did interesting things to her breasts. “I guess I’ll have to find somebody else to pay me.” And she bent down for her panties and started to put them back on.

  I groaned again. Not only was I dying to have that luscious body, but the thought of Grace getting away from me after we had finally gotten to this point was maddening.

  And then something else occurred to me. The rules of my wager with Miss Greenglass limited me to just one woman per letter. Though I had not yet consummated my liaison with Grace, we had already had sexual contact, of a sort. It was true that the terms of the wager were not too specific in this area but, rationalize though I might, their spirit was clear. I had come close to bending them a couple of times, but having essentially kept faith with Miss Greenglass thus far, I meant to go on doing so. At this point it appeared that as far as G was concerned, it had to be Grace or nobody.

  I sighed and gave up. “All right, Grace,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “You win. I’ll pay.” I took out a hundred and put it on the bed. “I want you to know,” I said, “that this is the first time in my life I have had to buy a woman! And by all that’s holy, it’ll be the last!”

  Grace came forward slowly, then picked up the money and held it to her breast, a peculiar smile on her face. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “What a lovely feeling. I think I’ll do this more often. Do you think Ginger could get me into the business?”

  “Russell would love that,” I said.

  “Russell would never know,” Grace replied. “I could be one of those wives who are call girls during the day. Wouldn’t that be fun!”

  “Before you do that …” I said.

  Grace’s smile widened. “Of course,” she said. She dropped the money on the floor, then lay down on the bed and reached up for me. I joined her, and then kissed her for a while, quite thoroughly, during which time she and I managed to get my clothes off.

  “Now,” she said, “what would you like your whore to do first?”

  “First, stop calling yourself a whore,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Whatever you say, darling,” Grace said. “You’re paying, after all.”

  I sighed. “Well,” I said, “I’d like to do some more of what you were doing before. Then I’d like to do it to you for a while, as I promised. Then …”

  I stopped, because she was already doing it.

  It was quite a while before Grace was ready to go back to the party, and I was worried that Russell would be suspicious; but she assured me he wouldn’t even have noticed her absence. She also told me she was going to look into some of the better call girl services, and asked me if I would be one of her regular customers. I managed to avoid making a commitment on that
score.

  After a decent interval I rejoined the party myself, and since there was nothing more to stay for, I sought out Russell to say my good-byes.

  “You missed a good thing there, buddy,” Russell told me. “I hear that Ginger girl is just terrific! I’m thinking of trying her out myself. You should too. Forget that not-paying stuff. It’s bullshit. Break down and make an exception. The exception proves the rule, you know? Isn’t that what they say?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s what they say, all right.”

  Chapter 8

  HALLELUJAH!” EXCLAIMED THE REVEREND Jarret Jourdemayne. “And welcome to the Temple of Light, brother. Any friend of Sister Heather is welcome at any time. Day or night, brother. Day or night!”

  “Ah … thanks,” I said, refraining with difficulty from telling him that I was not his brother, and had not the slightest wish to be. I already had one brother, and that was enough. More than enough. I was there only because I wanted to see the man who had snatched Heather away from me, just as I had been on the verge of making her the next step in my alphabetical progression toward the winning of my wager with the tantalizing Miss Greenglass, and thus toward the possession of that very fine lady herself.

  Heather, though only in her late thirties, was a widow—a very attractive widow whose husband had left her considerable wealth. I didn’t care about her money, except as it had enabled me to meet her in the way of business, and thus to pay court to her until the time was ripe—that is, until I had progressed to H. Heather, though not a cold woman, was somewhat skittish and required careful preparation. So I had nurtured her as I had made my way through Edna, Fern and Grace, and with impeccable timing had brought her just to the point of surrender.

  And then she got religion.

  In a fever of excitement she told me she’d been born again. She’d met the Reverend Jarret Jourdemayne, founder and chief preacher of the Temple of Light, and had been swept away by his charisma, his passionate religious faith, and his clear but penetrating blue eyes. She said they pierced her soul and let out the Spirit inside her. She was already preparing to become a member of the Temple. Faith, spirit and purity, in the person of the Reverend Jourdemayne, would be her guides from now on.