by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)
“Never mind,” she said. “Here we are now. Come sit on the sofa. Just like that night. Just think about that night.”
She led me to the sofa and we sat down. She was very close. Her hair was long and loose, just as it had been back then …
“What about that girl?” I said. “The blonde, is she—”
“Don’t worry about her,” Marcia said. “She won’t bother us. Nobody will bother us. Except maybe my parents. They might come home any minute. Isn’t that exciting, Steven?”
“Oh, God …” I said. Then I kissed her. I kissed her for a long time, and her kiss was innocent and yet searching, just as it had been then, and after a while my hands started to roam.
She broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. “Oh, Steven,” she breathed. “You make me so excited. But we shouldn’t …”
“I know,” I said. My hands slid slowly onto her breasts and squeezed them gently. I remembered the first time I had done that. I remembered how it had made me feel … just as I was feeling now.
“Oh, Steven …” Marcia moaned. But she kissed me again, and her lips and tongue said yes. One hand left her breast and slid down over her body to her thigh, and then underneath her skirt. She gasped against my lips.
“No, maybe we shouldn’t …” she murmured.
“Marcia, I love you,” I panted. I had said that then, in the heat of my need, with one hand on her breast and the other up her skirt, and I said it now.
“Oh, I love you too,” Marcia breathed. “Oh, Steven!” she whispered as my hand found her soft moistness through the silk of her panties. “Oh, you’re making me so hot …”
“Marcia—” I grasped her panties and pulled them down.
“My parents might come home …” she protested faintly, but her body was moving against mine, and her hands were fumbling with my shirt buttons …
And soon my shirt was off, and her panties gone, and her sweater was pulled off over her head, and it was amazing how much easier it was now to unhook a bra than it had been then …
It had been at this point, as I was kissing her beautiful breasts and struggling to open my pants, that her parents had come home and found us, turning our love and passion into a horror of embarrassment and recrimination. But now there were no interruptions, no barriers; there was only Marcia, as I remembered her, moaning and ready; and my rigid, clamorous, long-frustrated desire.
Her body was so warm, so sweet, and as I entered her she gave a sharp cry and clutched at me tightly. And then I was inside her, moving with her, and I was at last doing it with Marcia, loving her, and she was writhing beneath me, holding me with arms and legs, gasping and panting and calling out my name, our lust slowly but inexorably building higher … and higher. And then she arched strongly underneath me, and gave an ecstatic groan as her body convulsed and shuddered. And a moment later I, too, exploded inside Marcia’s loving and marvelous body.
We said little as we cleaned up and dressed ourselves. I was still a bit lost in a fog of nostalgia and fulfillment and youthful dreams of love.
“Did you enjoy it, Steven?” Marcia said after a while. “Was it good for you?”
“It was—it was wonderful!” I said. “Fantastic! God, Marcia—”
“Good,” she said. “That will be three hundred, dear.”
The fog dissipated swiftly. I stared at her. “What?” I asked blankly.
“Well, I assumed you knew the price when you called,” Marcia said. “Didn’t whoever told you about us tell you that?”
“Wait a minute.” My head was spinning again, but not so pleasantly. It was all coming together, and I felt stupid and humiliated. And dirty. “Wait a minute. Marcia. You mean … you mean this is—this place is a … Jesus Christ … a whorehouse?”
“No, it is not!” Marcia snapped. “Don’t be so crude, Steven. This is a house of fantasy. We cater to special needs, to men who have particular scenarios they like to enact, roles they like us to play. Like you did.”
“Oh, God!” I groaned. “I don’t believe it. All this was … Christ, Marcia, you mean you don’t remember me at all?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was so long ago. There’ve been so many men. And then when I inherited this house, I started this nice little business. So many men, you forget …”
“But I was the first … almost, right?”
“By senior year?” She laughed. “Don’t kid yourself, dear.”
“Oh, Christ,” I said. “I was a sucker even then.”
Marcia shrugged. “All men are,” she said. “That will be three hundred, dear.”
What could I do? I paid.
I returned home depressed, disgusted and disillusioned. Not only had I, for the second time within months, been tricked into paying for sex, something I had vowed never to do; not only had my long-cherished memory of my first romance been ground to dust; but my self-image as a suave, sophisticated ladies’ man had taken a beating from which, right now, it seemed doubtful that it would recover. Generally I drink only on social occasions, but that night I disposed of half a bottle of bourbon before I took myself off to bed.
And then I had the problem of informing Miss Greenglass of this latest stage in my progress. I didn’t need to tell her anything at all beyond the fact of the accomplishment. I knew she trusted me not to lie to her, but I was highly tempted to simply omit any mention of the end of the evening. Somehow, though, Miss Greenglass seemed to elicit total honesty, and at last I found myself telling it all.
I had no idea whether she would be contemptuous, derisive or totally indifferent. But once again I was taken by surprise. She listened calmly, and after a brief pause she looked at me with that level glance of hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Walling,” she said.
What could I say to that?
Miss Greenglass resumed her work. “Thank you for being so honest with me, Mr. Walling,” she said, and then after a moment she added, “In return, I think I should tell you that I have no plans to go out with your brother again.”
“You don’t?” I said, perking up. “Well, that’s good news. I knew you’d come to your senses sooner or later.”
Miss Greenglass had nothing more to say. But Henry did. He called me to complain that she wouldn’t see him anymore. “I told you she has good taste,” I said. “Though why she ever agreed to go out with you in the first place—”
“Ahh, the girl’s a nut case,” Henry said. “All she ever wanted to do was talk about you anyway.”
“What?” I said.
“Yeah. Crazy as a bat. Kept asking questions about you, what you were like as a kid, stuff like that. Listen, I still think she’s a dyke, but I think you can have her if you go after her.”
“I intend to,” I said, and hung up.
I was feeling a lot better now.
Chapter 14
NOW, AFTER MY DEPRESSING, AND EXPENSIVE, experience with Marcia, I was halfway through my designated task—halfway to the winning of my wager and the possession of the delectable Miss Greenglass. And I was still technically ahead of schedule, as only two months and some odd days had elapsed of the six months allotted for that task’s completion. But I was not nearly as far ahead as I would have liked, and I was determined to press on with dispatch and vigor in order to eliminate any risk, however slight, of failure due to unforeseen complications. I was also anxious to free myself up once more for the uninhibited pursuit of any female who crossed my path, mindless of her monogram; and, of course, to hasten the time when I could at long last consummate my desire for my remote yet tantalizing assistant, who seemed to become more alluring with each passing day.
Accordingly, I already had my next target firmly fixed in my sights. Nancy Dahlgren was a redhead in her late twenties whom I had met at some charity function. She was the type of woman one frequently encountered at such affairs (which is the chief reason I occasionally attend them), a type succinctly referred to as “beautiful but bored.” Wives of wealthy husbands in whom they are no longer i
nterested, they play their parts in society’s rituals and alleviate the tedium wherever, however and with whomever they can.
Nancy was definitely one of those, and I had no doubt I could provide her with the kind of diversion she would enjoy.
My suspicion that she had harbored similar thoughts was confirmed by the fact that she was not the least bit surprised when I called her. “What took you so long?” she asked.
“Timing is everything,” I said. “And since the time seems to have come, why don’t we get together tonight?”
“Why not?” Nancy said. “Come over to my place. You know where it is, don’t you?”
I did. Her apartment, in an exclusive building on Sutton Place, had been featured in several design magazines.
“Bruce will be out, I take it,” I said.
“Don’t worry about Bruce. See you around nine.”
So I didn’t worry about Bruce. Until he answered the door.
“Ah … good evening,” I said, trying to seem casual. “I was just …”
“I know,” Bruce said. “You’re here to fuck Nancy. Come in.”
Nonplussed, I think, is the word generally applied to the way I felt at that moment. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I went in.
“She’ll be out in a minute,” Bruce said, leading the way into the sumptuous living room. He was a man in his early fifties, a bit stocky but in generally good shape. “You want a drink?”
“Uh … no. Thanks anyway,” I said uncomfortably.
Bruce smiled, but it was not really a happy smile. “Don’t feel awkward,” he said. “This happens all the time. Nancy Nympho, I call her.”
“Look …” I’m not sure what I was about to say, but I didn’t have to say it, for at that moment Nancy came in. She wore a green dress which set off her lovely red hair, and she looked ravishing.
She smiled at me. “Hello, Steven. Did Bruce offer you a drink?”
“Yes. Um … I wasn’t exactly expecting to see Bruce, you know.”
“Oh, Bruce is going to watch us,” Nancy said.
“What?”
“He enjoys it,” Nancy said. “No matter what he might say. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“You’re a bitch,” Bruce said.
“Whoa,” I said. “What’s going on here?”
“Nancy Nympho likes to show off,” Bruce said with some bitterness. “It’s her way of thanking me for marrying her and making her rich.”
“Don’t mind him,” Nancy said. “He’s just going to have a few more drinks and watch. Aren’t you, Brucie? And if he’s a really good boy, we might even let him join in.”
“Hold it,” I said. “I’m not sure what this is about, but it’s not what I came for. I think I’d better just leave.”
“Come on, Steven, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Nancy said, moving toward me.
“If you leave, she’ll just find someone else,” Bruce said.
“Good night, Nancy,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Nancy smiled at me. “Can I just say one thing before you go?”
“Of course.”
“How about this?” Nancy said, and she moved into me and pressed herself against me, bringing her mouth to mine. Her lips parted and her tongue brushed my lips, then slid into my mouth, searching. Her arms went around me and her body molded itself to me from shoulders to knees. She made a soft moaning sound deep in her throat as her tongue played with mine, her mouth opening still wider, as if to devour my soul. As the kiss went on, she started to squirm against me. Her breasts rolled, mashed so tightly into my chest that I thought I could feel the hard nipples through our clothing, and her writhing hips rubbed her loins sensuously against my crotch, until I knew she could feel the rapid swelling there. The kiss went on for some time, and after the first few moments I was no longer a passive participant.
We were both panting slightly when we broke apart. “See?” Nancy said. “You don’t really want to go, do you, Steven?”
I had to admit she’d made a persuasive argument. At that moment I don’t know if I could have moved even if I’d wanted to.
“Let me convince you some more,” Nancy said, and she went down to her knees in front of me. Her hand stroked softly over the aforementioned rise in my trousers, and then she was pulling down my zipper. In a moment she had released my obviously eager manhood.
“Are you watching, Brucie?” she asked.
“Bitch,” Bruce said. He was sitting on the sofa, drink in hand, and he was watching all right. I had almost forgotten him, and this reminder might even then have brought me to my senses if it hadn’t been for Nancy’s mouth.
Kissing me.
Licking me.
And then inviting me in.
All the way in.
I closed my eyes, shutting out Bruce, shutting out everything but the feeling of that moving, loving mouth. Then I opened my eyes, because I sensed her doing something else.
She was taking off her clothes.
Without releasing me, without missing a beat or disrupting the steady rhythm she had established, she proceeded to unbutton her dress and slip it from her shoulders. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, but as she did so, she turned her head toward the sofa to make sure her husband was watching.
He was.
The bra came open, and she slid the straps down. Then, on her knees, she moved closer to me, close enough that she could press her breasts against my thighs as she continued to suck me.
I felt weak, and my head was spinning. Reluctant as I was to lose Nancy’s mouth, even for a moment, I didn’t want to stand up any more. I lowered myself slowly to the floor.
Nancy let me go only briefly, then crouched over me as I lay down, taking me between her lips again. But when I began to groan and clutch at her hair, she raised her head, smiling at me. She’d slid her dress completely off, and the only thing now covering her magnificent body was a brief pair of black panties. Then she started to undress me, enlivening the process by kissing or licking or rubbing herself against each bit of flesh she uncovered. In the meantime, I managed to pull off her panties. My hands explored whatever I could reach of her body, but I have to admit that I still felt a bit inhibited by Bruce’s presence. When I was naked, Nancy pushed me gently down on my back on the deep-pile carpet.
“Just lie still, lover,” she murmured. She briefly stroked my throbbing stiffness, then swung herself over me until she was crouching astride my body, her sweet, red-thatched crotch hovering just above that erect pole. She’d positioned herself so that she was directly facing the sofa where her husband sat.
“Are you having a good time, Brucie?” she asked sweetly.
“Screw you,” Bruce said.
“No, darling, I’m going to screw him,” Nancy said. “Watch me now.” She reached between us to guide me where she wanted me, then proceeded to lower herself onto me, slowly but steadily. She hissed sharply as she took me into her warm, moist depths, and I may have made a sound or two myself. Then I was buried inside her, and her buttocks were pressed firmly against my thighs.
I raised my hands to clutch at her breasts. She stayed that way for a moment, then began to move, taking it slowly, her fine, shapely thighs flexing as she raised and lowered herself easily.
“See, Brucie?” she panted. “See how I’m fucking him?”
“Yes, I see you, you … nympho slut,” Bruce said.
“Damn it, Bruce,” I said hoarsely. “Go away.”
“Oh, no,” Nancy said. “Brucie wants to watch. He thinks it gets him hot. Are you getting all hot, Brucie?” She was moving harder now, and I was matching her movements as well as I could in my supine position. I moved my hands down to her thighs, which allowed me to watch her full, round breasts bobbing with her movements. “You want to join us, Brucie?” Nancy asked.
“Go to hell,” Bruce said.
“Forget him,” I grated. “We’re doing fine.”
“He’ll join in later,” Nancy said. “After you come inside me,
Brucie can lick my pussy clean. He likes that, don’t you, Brucie?”
“I’m leaving,” Bruce said.
“No you’re not,” Nancy said.
“Watch me,” Bruce said. And he got up.
“Tell you what, Bruce,” Nancy said, never missing a beat. “On your way out, why don’t you send Arnold in here?”
“You would,” Bruce said. “Wouldn’t you, you whore!”
“You know he’s always ready,” Nancy said.
“Jesus,” I groaned. “Who is Arnold?”
“Our houseboy,” Nancy said.
“Forget it,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Steven,” Nancy said. She leaned down to kiss me, her mouth soft and sexy on mine, her breasts brushing my chest. “You won’t get cheated,” she whispered against my lips. “I promise.” Her hips were moving in little circles now as she intensified her rhythmic motions. Any reservations I had about being part of this weird scene were drowned in the sweet, hot sexiness of Nancy’s body.
Bruce had indeed left, but in a moment he was back, followed by a thin young man in some kind of servant’s livery. He did not seem in the least surprised to see two naked people engaged in sexual congress; obviously it was a spectacle he was accustomed to in the course of his duties. Bruce silently resumed his seat on the sofa.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away, Brucie,” Nancy said.
“The more the merrier,” Bruce said. “Right, Nancy Nympho?”
“Of course,” Nancy said. “Come on, Arnold. Take it out, dear. I want to taste it.”
Arnold opened his trousers and took it out. I tried to concentrate on Nancy. The continued stimulation of her moving body kept me in a state of intense arousal, while the annoying distractions she was creating prevented me from getting too close to the edge. It was about the strangest feeling I had ever experienced during an erotic encounter. Except perhaps for the time when—but I digress.
“Come here, Arnold,” Nancy said. “No, come on this side so Bruce can have a good view. That’s it.” The young man moved to stand at her side, facing her, his cock growing stiffer by the moment. Nancy leaned back, not breaking our connection or stopping her movements, but supporting herself with her hands on the floor behind her, her breasts lifting and growing taut. She put her head back and opened her mouth.