26 Nights
Page 14
“You hate pretty good yourself,” I said. I stroked her inner thighs, and that incredibly soft, warm flesh made it hard to concentrate on conversation.
“Yeah, well where you think that came from?” she said. Her voice was a bit huskier. I slid my fingers under the panties. Opal caught her breath and moved forward in the chair. I explored her moist crotch for a while, then reached to pull the panties down. She lifted her hips to help me.
“I don’t hate women,” I said, and my own voice was not exactly steady. “You can take that to the bank, Opal. If there’s one thing I love, it’s women. All women. All colors, all types.” I took hold of her legs and hoisted them over my shoulders as I knelt there, pulling her forward still more, so that she was sitting almost on the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, right,” she breathed. “You love to fuck, that’s all.”
“Among other things,” I said. The words were muffled because my mouth was pressed against the inside of her thigh. I began to kiss and lick my way upward. The taste of her skin made my head swim.
Opal was breathing faster. “Eat me, honkie. Eat my black cunt.”
“Try and stop me,” I said. And then my mouth was jammed against the moist opening between her legs, and I was tasting and licking and kissing and breathing in the sweet dark mystery of her. Opal drew a sharp breath, then pressed harder against me. My tongue probed deeply as my mouth moved on her flesh, exploring her depths before searching out and finding her clitoris. I could almost feel it pulsating as my tongue moved over it, stroking and circling and teasing.
“Oh, yeah, do it, honkie,” Opal panted, twisting her pussy against me. “Eat me, lick that thing … Come on, whitey, suck that black pussy … harder …” Her body was squirming in the chair, her soft thighs clutching my head. I could hardly breathe, but the essence of her was all the oxygen I needed. I nibbled and sucked and licked, and she writhed harder, her buttocks rising off the chair, her legs twitching against my cheeks.
“Come on, you white bastard, don’t stop, you honkie son of a bitch, you pale-ass motherfucker, Jesus yes … right there … yeah … oh shit yeah … Now, you white fuck … now … now, honkie … Now!”
Her words turned into a near-howl as all of her convulsed at once, body, legs and pussy spasming and twisting as she came. It was some minutes before her trembling thighs opened enough to release my head. But I didn’t mind. I was quite happy where I was.
“Damn!” Opal said finally.
“See?” I said. “You have to admit there are some things a white man is good for.”
“Yeah? That all you know how to use, your mouth?”
“Let’s find out.” I stripped off the rest of my clothes. I was hard and very horny. Opal inspected my erection with some interest.
“Not bad for a white boy,” she said.
“Well, thanks. Lie down here and let me show you what I can do with it.
“Uh-uh,” Opal said. “You sit down here.” She sat me down in the chair, then climbed onto me and straddled my hips, guiding my stiffness inside of her. “Let a white man get on top of you, he’ll kill you for sure.”
“Cut that out,” I said. “I never killed anybody.” And then I gasped as she sank down on me. Her vagina was slick but tight, in spite of her recent orgasm.
“Right,” Opal said, and she began to move. “What about Medgar Evers? And James Chaney? And—”
“I wasn’t there,” I said. She was still wearing her brassiere, and as her hips rose and fell rhythmically, I reached up to unfasten it, then pulled it off. Her breasts didn’t sag at all. The nipples were hard and dark, and I leaned forward to take one in my mouth.
“And Fred Hampton,” she said breathlessly. “And George Jackson, and—”
“I swear I didn’t do it,” I mumbled against her breast.
“And Martin,” she said, panting now. “And Malcolm. And—”
“Damn it, I—Wait a minute!” I said. “Malcolm was killed by black men!”
“So what?” Opal gasped.
“Oh, right,” I said. “I should have thought of that.”
I think she came up with a few other people that I had killed, but by then I couldn’t hear anything but the roaring in my ears, and she was moaning too loudly to make herself understood anyway. And in a few minutes we were both shouting and holding on to each other as the world came apart …
“Okay, white boy,” Opal said. “Time to go.”
“I take it staying overnight is out,” I said. “Can I call a cab from here?”
“I better do it,” Opal said. “They hear your white voice, forget it.”
As I was putting my clothes on, I said, “Will I see you again, Opal—sometime?”
“Nope,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t fuck honkies,” Opal said.
“Oh,” I said. “What was it we just did?”
“We did nothing,” Opal said, and her voice was belligerent, and very final. “It never happened, and it’s never gonna happen again. You understand me?”
“Not really,” I said. “But what can I do?”
When the cab honked, I went downstairs. Outside the building a man came out of the shadows. It was Calvin.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Did you fuck her, you white-ass motherfucker?”
I did my best to appear unintimidated, which was quite a trick. “That’s really none of your business, Calvin,” I said.
For a moment I thought he was going to attack me. But he glanced over at the cab driver, who was watching, then turned back to me. “You fuckin’ better stay away from here, honkie!” he snarled, his eyes blazing at me. “You come up here again, I’ll fuckin’ carve your guts out! You don’t come up here no more, you got that, shithead? You ain’t never comin’ up here no more!”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t look like I am.”
Chapter 16
PLEASE UNDERSTAND,” I SAID TO MISS GREENGLASS, “that there is no question of special dispensation here. We have agreed on several occasions that there is nothing in the rules of our wager that disqualifies any woman simply because I have had the pleasure of knowing her, however intimately, before that wager was made.”
“Technically that is true, Mr. Walling,” Miss Greenglass said. “But you did agree with me some time ago that the abundance of women with whom you have had erotic liaisons in the past did make the challenge a great deal easier than it might be otherwise; and you did state that you would attempt to limit yourself, for the duration of this wager, to those females, few as they may be, who do not fall into that category.”
I ignored the little sarcasm. “What I said—as you know, Miss Greenglass—was that I would, out of pure goodness of heart, and despite the fact that the rules do not call for it, concentrate whenever practical on women whom I have not previously enjoyed. And so I have. All the stations of my progress, as it were, have been accomplished with new women since that discussion; and in fact, from the very start of our bet there has only been one lady—Belinda—who was a previous amour. And that, as you may recall, was under rather special circumstances.”
Miss Greenglass said nothing. She had a way of saying nothing that spoke volumes.
“However,” I continued, “I definitely also made clear that this was not an absolute commitment, and that there might be occasions on which it might not apply. I recall making specific reference to the case of one Xanthippe, whom I am still hoping to locate before I have to deal with X.”
“If you get that far,” Miss Greenglass murmured.
“Fear not,” I said. “Now in this case there’s Phyllis. I know you are aware, Miss Greenglass, that the delectable Mrs. Dilsey has been importuning me incessantly every time her husband goes on another of his little trips. We were in the habit of spending a lovely night together on every such occasion, and poor Phyllis has been extremely perplexed and, I fear, a bit wounded at the plethora of excuses I have had to employ to avoid her since our wager. Though she is not perhap
s the brightest lady in the world, she is beginning to get suspicious, and—”
“Especially since you seduced her cousin Irene virtually under her nose at the Statue of Liberty,” Miss Greenglass put in.
“That didn’t help,” I admitted. “And now that Phyllis’s opportunity has at last arrived, and I am in a position to assuage her suspicion—as well as her body—while taking the next step in my progression toward your body, it seems only decent that I should give the lady a break, don’t you think?”
Miss Greenglass favored me with one of those looks. “How unutterably kind of you,” she murmured.
“And of course it would be a relief to get her off my back for a while,” I said. “So I just want it understood that I am not bending any rules here: Phyllis is a perfectly legitimate P. Okay?”
“If you are so certain of that, Mr. Walling, why bother explaining it to me now? Can it be that you actually have some inner reservations about Mrs. Dilsey’s eligibility in this situation?”
“Not at all,” I said firmly. “Not a bit. I merely wanted to forestall any possible objection based on false premises, that’s all. Just making everything clear.”
“I see,” Miss Greenglass said, turning back to her word processor. “Then I will leave the matter entirely to your conscience, Mr. Walling.”
“My conscience has nothing to do with it,” I said. “My conscience is fine, thank you. Just fine.”
“If you say so, Mr. Walling,” Miss Greenglass said, and began to type.
The woman, as I have said before, was maddening.
Phyllis had been the last woman to grace my formerly busy bed before I embarked on my current challenge. In fact, as readers who have followed this saga from the beginning may recall, she had been there on the very morning of the day on which my fateful wager with Miss Greenglass had been contracted. She was in her early thirties, a bounteously curved lady with short curly blond hair and a generally cheerful manner, bouncy, open and excitable, both in bed and out. I was looking forward almost as eagerly as she was to having her in that bed again—at least so I thought.
I had taken her to dinner and then back to my house, where we proceeded directly to the bedroom. Phyllis knew the way well.
“It’s been such a long time, Steven,” she sighed, moving into my arms.
“I know,” I said. “But we have all night to make up for it.” And I kissed her. It was a long, passionate kiss. Her body molded itself to mine, pressing hard as our tongues met and tangled. I felt the sweet familiar sensation of her buoyant breasts mashing into my chest, her stomach pulsating against mine, her loins pushing to get closer as she moaned around my tongue. My hands roved, finding the round buttocks and holding on to them as that body twisted against me. Nothing aroused me faster than Phyllis’s eager responsiveness, and I knew I was ready to …
But wait a minute. It seemed I wasn’t as aroused as I expected. Or at least not as ready. This was a bit puzzling, but not really worrisome. Not really. It was early stages yet. When we finally broke for air, I picked Phyllis up and laid her on the bed, and as we kissed again I began to unbutton her blouse. I knew the sight of that splendid body would have me hard and throbbing in no time.
Phyllis loosened my tie and pulled it off, and between kisses and caresses we undressed each other. As I took off her brassiere I feasted my eyes on the high, thrusting, mouth-watering breasts which I always found so exciting. They were no less fabulous than I remembered, and I bent to kiss one, taking as much as I could of it into my mouth and running my tongue over the hard, red nipple. Phyllis gasped and clutched at my head. “Oh yes, Steven,” she moaned. “Oh God …”
Oh God, indeed. What was going on here? Phyllis was as gorgeous, as sexy and as eager as always—yet while my mind wanted her as much as ever, my body seemed sluggish and unwilling. And now a faint, unwelcome suspicion began to sneak into my thoughts. Could it be that something in my conscience—that conscience which Miss Greenglass had so unfairly referred to—was troubling me? Did I perhaps indeed have doubts that I was being entirely fair as regarded my wager with that lady?
No! Absolutely not. I was completely convinced, as I had explained to her, that I was entirely within my rights as far as Phyllis was concerned. There was no doubt whatsoever.
And yet … as I finished stripping her, and then myself, and fell to caressing and tasting and reveling in the writhing voluptuousness before me, I couldn’t quite manage to get my body into full gear—or to get the judgmental specter of Miss Greenglass out of my thoughts.
Damn the woman!
I determinedly concentrated all my attention on Phyllis’s soft, creamy flesh. She was moaning steadily now, and her hands and mouth had begun to explore my body as mine were exploring hers. Inevitably, she soon became aware of the fact that my arousal was not manifesting itself with its accustomed aggressiveness. She made a small sound of surprise, and then moved to bring her body tight against me, throwing a leg over my hip and writhing sensually as her mouth moved over my face and neck in an evident effort to stoke my tepid fires.
I made an effort too. I knew Phyllis herself wasn’t the problem. I never got tired of her eager wantonness, and it had been too long since we had shared this bed together. Then it occurred to me that in fact no woman had been in this bed since Phyllis had last inhabited it. Come to think of it (as you can see, my mind was wandering even as I held Phyllis’s squirming naked body in my arms, an unprecedented phenomenon that only Miss Greenglass could have brought about), it had been some time since I had actually been with a woman in any real bed. I began to think back. Opal had not let me near her bed; we had coupled in an easy chair. My session with Nancy (and company) had taken place on her living room floor. Before that there had been Marcia on the sofa … Li Mai on that hard little table … Katharine in the men’s room … my J-lady in the back of her limo … Irene at the Statue of Liberty … ah yes, I had to go all the way back to Holy Virgin Mary for the last time I had done it in a bed …
Strange, I had almost forgotten about that lissome young lady with the angelic name and the devilish body. I thought of her now, remembering the tireless abandon with which she had shown me the tricks that she, along with her sister, had been accustomed to lavishing on that old mountebank the Reverend Jourdemayne. I recalled how her hips had twisted beneath me as though on ball bearings, how her clutching legs had held me in a vise, how she had screamed so loudly at each orgasm (and she was the most orgasmic female in all my experience) that I had feared the neighbors might call the police …
And as I thought of these things, the blood that had been pumping so sluggishly through my veins began to surge, and the passion that had eluded me began to assert itself in no uncertain terms. Phyllis felt it, and purred happily into my ear as she pressed herself against it.
“Oh, Steven …” she breathed, and her hand moved down to investigate what she quite naturally believed that she had brought about. I remembered young Mary’s talented hands, and the way her fingers had … But this wasn’t fair to Phyllis. I forced Holy Virgin Mary out of my mind. Now that my momentary lapse was behind me, I could get on with the distinct pleasure of enjoying my blond companion—in spite of Miss Greenglass, who I wouldn’t think about either.
I was deliberately not thinking about Miss Greenglass as Phyllis caressed my hardness appreciatively, causing it to … well, it wasn’t exactly growing, but … but it was sort of throbbing … though perhaps not as strongly as it had been … maybe it was even shrinking a little …
Phyllis must have been as perplexed as I was, but she wasn’t giving up. She moved down along my body and brought her sweet loving mouth into play. There was no doubt she knew what to do with it too. Her lips were soft and warm, her tongue was knowing. And I loved what she was doing. That is, I loved it in my mind. Hell, I loved it in my soul. But my body …
This was ridiculous. I concentrated. I closed my eyes to concentrate further. And suddenly I was thinking of another mouth, another tongue. I was thinking
of Katharine, the beautiful flight attendant, kneeling at my feet in that tiny airplane bathroom and taking me halfway to paradise with her impossibly long, agile tongue, before I had reluctantly been forced to put a stop to her ministrations. That recollection brought me back to life again, and as Phyllis moaned with pleasure and took my renewed stiffness deep into her mouth, my mind flashed to still another such encounter. The little Chilean tennis player, Dolorosa, whose compactly athletic body I had first sampled against the wall of the shower in the ladies’ locker room, and who had then urged me onto my back and proceeded to arouse me again with her avid lips, and then to bring me to climax with the same single-minded dedication, talent and pure joy of accomplishment with which she was used to trouncing her opponents on the courts …
These delightful memories had a most positive effect indeed, so much so that I was now getting dangerously close to spilling my seed into Phyllis’s warm, luscious mouth, as I had done with Dolorosa—and as I had never, alas, gotten around to doing with Katharine. But Phyllis, wiser in the ways of the flesh than she was in most other things, pulled away before that danger could become irreversible, and swung herself over me so that she was sitting astride my hips. She guided my hardness to the eager opening between her legs as she lowered herself slowly down around me. It was in this position, I recalled, that we had been disporting ourselves that last morning, when Miss Greenglass had called up from the office and—
Oh-oh. No. Wrong memory. If I wasn’t careful … I closed my eyes again. And remembered lying in Belinda’s bed in her mansion at Monte Carlo, where that beautiful lady, with the skirt of her gown hoisted around her waist, and her dinner guests waiting downstairs, had straddled me in this way, taking me deep inside her, and riding me with a hard, steady rhythm, intent on bringing us both to a swift, dizzying climax so that she could hurry back to her party … I caressed the smoothness of her bare legs, then reached up to grasp her breasts, and felt naked flesh, stiff thrusting nipples. But Belinda had still been half clothed …