26 Nights

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

  I tried to avoid staring too greedily and blatantly. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you Miss Kanel—um … Miss Xenobia Kanellop—”

  “I am Ms. Kanellopoulos,” Xenobia said. “Can I help you?”

  “I think you can,” I said, giving her my irresistible charming smile. “And I’d like to explain how.”

  Her expression was mildly curious.

  I continued, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  She hardly blinked. “No, thank you,” she said. “What is it you want, Mr. …?”

  “Walling,” I said. “Steven Walling. And what I want is—well …” What lie or half-lie I had on my tongue I cannot now recall. But whatever my story might have been, it was apparent from the way this woman looked at me with those dark all-seeing eyes, that it would be insufficient. Nothing but truth could pass muster under that gaze.

  I took a breath and plunged. “What I want is to have sex with you,” I said.

  The heavy brows rose, but that was the only sign of surprise she gave.

  “That’s very flattering,” she said, in a tone which revealed that it was anything but. “And why, may I ask, do you want to do that?”

  “Because your first name begins with X,” I said.

  I wondered if the glint I saw in those deep dark eyes was one of amusement. Probably not.

  “I see,” Xenobia said. “Not a very common quality in a woman, I’m aware, but I hadn’t realized that it was an erotic stimulus.”

  I had the sinking feeling that my mission was hopeless, but I couldn’t give up yet; where was I going to find another X? Again I felt instinctively that the only thing that might work was total honesty—the more total the better. Since making my wager with Miss Greenglass I had not divulged the existence of said wager to any of the women who had been instrumental in my attempt to win it, except right at the beginning, with Abigail. Much as I believed—theoretically—in being straightforward with women, I had not thought that such a disclosure would do very much to further my cause. In this case, however, it seemed the only thing to do.

  “The fact is,” I said, “I have a bet. A wager. With … uh, with a colleague.”

  Xenobia simply looked at me, unmoving, but her eyes told me exactly what she believed—and what she didn’t.

  “With a woman who works for me, actually,” I said hastily. “She’s my assistant. Anyway—what I’m doing is, for this bet. I’m—well, I’m going through the alphabet. With women. Their first names, you see—A, B, C and … and so on.” I was aware that I sounded awkward telling this tale, and almost absurd—in a way I had certainly not been with Abigail. But this Xenobia was unnerving in a way sweet innocent Abigail could never have been.

  She gazed at me silently for another few moments. Then she threw back her head and laughed loudly. It was a good laugh but not very encouraging.

  “And tell me, Mr. Walling,” she said when she had subsided. “What are the stakes in this interesting wager of yours?”

  I told her.

  “I see,” she said. “So that’s why you want to have sex with me. So that you can have sex with someone else. Very flattering indeed.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” I said. “I mean, that’s the reason I looked you up, yes. But you must know that you are an extremely attractive woman, and any man would want you under any circumstances.” As if to confirm this, I let my eyes travel slowly down over her splendid body, then back up to her eyes. I did this deliberately. My instincts told me that my only chance with this woman lay in being bold as well as forthright. Any sign of weakness and I would be blown away.

  Xenobia looked coolly at me, unfazed by my frank survey of her body. “Have you had a good look?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “I could look at you forever.”

  “I take it you approve of what you see,” Xenobia said. She was, I fancied, a little less glacial now.

  “Very much indeed,” I said. “You have a marvelous body.”

  Her mouth twitched just a bit. “Thank you,” she said. “But I think I should tell you, Mr. Walling, that I am a virgin.”

  I stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

  “I am not.”

  “You’re a virgin?!”

  “That’s right.”

  I couldn’t believe it. But I couldn’t believe she was lying, either. “Why?” I asked. “For God’s sake why? It can’t be for lack of suitors.”

  “Hardly,” Xenobia said. “But I have yet to meet one who is worthy of the gift.”

  “Is that right?” I asked. “And you’re telling me you have never had sex?”

  “Oh, no,” Xenobia said. “I didn’t say that at all. The Greeks are an earthy people, Mr. Walling, and I am a very passionate woman.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Are you a virgin or aren’t you?”

  “I am,” she said. “Technically.”

  “Technically.”

  “Yes. My maidenhead is still intact. No one has had me that way.”

  “But there are other ways,” I said. “Is that it?”

  “Exactly,” Xenobia said, still looking into my eyes. “I am Greek, you know.”

  I was—so to speak—a little taken aback. “I see,” I said. “I think.”

  There was a small pause before Xenobia said. “Would you like to have me in the Greek way, Mr. Walling? If you could?”

  “I’d like to have you any way I can get you,” I said, truthfully.

  “Then you may,” Xenobia said. And with what seemed one continuous movement she turned around, pulled her long skirt up around her waist, bent sharply over the front of her desk, and pulled her panties down to reveal the most magnificent derriere I had ever seen.

  I stepped toward her, taking in the delectable sweep of her legs and the mouth-watering curves of that splendid fundament. It was right there before me and all I had to do was take it.

  But this was a little too cold, even for me.

  “Not so fast,” I said. I pulled her up and turned her around.

  I stood very close to her, and looked into her eyes. She looked back, but this time I could tell it was an effort for her. She thought I was going to kiss her. So did I. But instead I raised my hands and placed them on her breasts.

  “Ah,” she said in a breathless voice.

  We stood face to face, and I hefted her soft, resilient mounds. She drew in a slow, audible breath and even through her blouse and brassiere I felt the nipples harden. With her next breath her mouth opened slightly. Without releasing her tits I leaned forward to find that full, luscious mouth with my own.

  She was passive for a moment, merely letting me kiss her—not resisting but not cooperating, either. But her lips were soft and warm, and when after a moment I slid my tongue between them, she gave a small gasp. Then her tongue came forward to meet mine, her mouth opening wider and fitting itself to mine.

  We were still kissing when I slid my hands from her breasts to the buttons of her blouse. Her tongue did not stop its delicious investigation of my own, and she made a tiny whimpering sound in my mouth as I began to undo the buttons. Her hands urged my wrists to work faster. Once I had undone the blouse and it hung open, I caught a glimpse of her magnificent curved shoulders as I slipped it down over them. For the moment, it dangled from her waistband unattended. We had urgent matters to deal with.

  Xenobia’s skin was soft and exciting under my hands. Still kissing her, I deftly unhooked her bra. She pulled away from the kiss to look at me, her eyes wide and unfathomable, as I slid the flimsy cloth off her bosom. My own eyes dropped from that gaze to her breasts, and I caught my breath. The perfect smoothness of her flesh combined with that unique Mediterranean coloring seemed to impart a particularly erotic glow to the firm solidity of her bosom. Her nipples, of so deep a red they were almost purple, stood stiffly in the exact center of those lustrous melons. I dropped my head to one of them. My tongue sought and found the silkiness of the skin and I licked slow circles around the nipple bef
ore taking it into my mouth. I nibbled and tongued it and then drew it in deeper and devoured as much of her breast as I could. After a minute or two I released it and licked my way to the other breast. Meanwhile my hands slid over and around her body.

  I heard her gasp close to my ear and then felt her fingers at the front of my trousers. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned the waist and pulled down my zipper. In a trice my trousers and shorts were down around my ankles and those fingers were playing on my very stiff phallus.

  “Now,” she whispered breathlessly. “Do it now.” And she turned and bent over the desk again.

  “Please,” she said.

  This was better.

  I gazed again at that lovely out-thrust backside, and then I put my adoring hands on it and grasped and stroked it. This brought a soft, pleased gasp from Xenobia. Her ass felt as good as it looked. I slid one hand down between her legs, and some instinct made her press her thighs together, preventing me from reaching the center of all this femininity.

  “No,” I said. “Let me touch you.”

  She moved her legs apart slightly then, and my fingers found her vagina. I explored it gently, not too deeply but enough to coat my fingers with her sweet vaginal juices which I then brought up to her anus, spreading the moistness around and inside it for lubricant while she hissed and sighed in anticipation.

  I spread her cheeks to expose her little asshole, then moved forward and placed the tip of my throbbing spear against it. At first it seemed it would never fit; but as I pressed forward gently and experimentally, and Xenobia pushed back into my prick, the puckered pink opening expanded somewhat. Soon I was able to slip the tip inside. She gave a soft gasp and pushed back harder on my cockhead. Now the head entered the sanctum, and I felt the walls of her anal passage tight and quivering around it.

  “More,” she said. “Oh God, more.”

  I gave her more. “Christ—Christ—Christ,” she said.

  She was squirming her buttocks from side to side as I pushed gradually deeper. Finally I felt secure enough to start a short back-and-forth stroking movement. She made hoarse whimpering sounds, and then she said, “Yes. Yes. Do it. Yes …”

  I slid my hands between her upper body and the desk till I was holding her breasts. The nipples were hard and rigid against my palms. I hunched more deeply.

  She moaned and sobbed and pushed back against me, working to take more of my staff into her anus. I gave her everything I had. Her body jerked and writhed and twisted, and the clutching of her tight passage around my tool was like nothing in all my experience. I heard myself grunting like a pig, and I had to concentrate hard to avoid losing myself entirely and ending it right there.

  I didn’t want it to end yet. I stopped moving and lowered my head to lick her slightly sweaty back.

  It tasted salty; it tasted, in fact, like ripe olives. I licked my way to her neck and nibbled at it, and her body writhed and twisted beneath me.

  “Do it,” she moaned. “For God’s sake do it. Aah …”

  I tried to move slowly but she increased the pace. She pumped her buttocks back and forth against me and I was soon lost in her rhythm, in the sound of her moans and gasps and the sweetness of her flesh. Then her moans turned to sobs—sobs of joy—which soon became loud cries that culminated in a sudden raucous shout as her body convulsed repeatedly, then shuddered and went limp. The narrow passage that held my cock in its tight grip continued to twitch spasmodically, making it difficult for me to maintain self-control. I held on, however, and now that she was still I was able to moderate my rhythm again, pumping firmly but slowly back and forth in that clutching tightness, savoring the sensation of her firm but yielding buttocks against my loins, her stiff-nippled breasts quivering in my hands, her soft gasps and groans rising once more into urgent pleas as her desire came to life again.

  Thus I was able to bring her to climax a second time before giving up the struggle myself, nearly collapsing on top of her as I shot burst after burst of pent-up passion hard and deep into that wonderful body.

  Limp and spent as I was, I was still reluctant to withdraw myself from that snug harbor, or to take my hands from her heaving breasts. “Xenobia,” I breathed close to her ear, “you don’t really want to stay a virgin, do you? Just give me a few minutes and I can—”

  I was interrupted by an elbow in my ribs. In the extremely unplayful circumstances, that took me aback. I straightened up.

  “Wow, Xenobia,” I expostulated. “What was that for?”

  Xenobia stood up too, and quickly slipped into her blouse before turning to face me. Her eyes were ablaze with righteous indignation.

  “Men!” she rasped. “Why are they never satisfied? Did I not tell you there is not a man on earth worthy of that gift?”

  “What you said was that you had never met one,” I said. “I thought … I even hoped that I might be the one.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Xenobia said.

  And as far as I know she’s still a virgin.

  Chapter 26

  YOU MUST KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE THIS wager,” I said smugly to Miss Greenglass. “Why not give it up now and save time?” Miss Greenglass did not even bother to glance up from her keyboard at this provocation. I had not really expected her to.

  “You have only a few weeks remaining, Mr. Walling, as I’m sure you realize,” she said over the faint clicking of the keys. “The outcome is not yet certain.”

  “Just about,” I said. “I’ve got Mrs. Burlesdon—Zelda—all ready and waiting. Raring to go. Champing at the bit, as it were.”

  “How elegantly you put it,” Miss Greenglass murmured. “It is no wonder so many women find you so irresistibly charming.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “And as for a Y,” I went on, “it happens that I’m meeting with a lady this very evening whose name is, I understand, Yolanda. And who, with any luck, will provide the last link in the chain. Yolanda, and then Zelda—and then you.”

  Miss Greenglass gave that faint noise of hers which is far too ladylike to be called a sniff. “Even assuming that rather dubious name to be a real one,” she said, “I’m sure you will understand, Mr. Walling, if I postpone my concession of our wager until it has actually been decided.”

  “Fine,” I said. “And as for the name, I’ll check it out all right. But the gentleman who told me about this lady assures me it is quite genuine.”

  I wasn’t nearly as certain as I sounded, however, because what I didn’t tell Miss Greenglass was that the gentleman in question was my brother Henry.

  Those of you unfortunate enough to have read previous parts of this saga in which my brother Henry has appeared may be unsurprised at my reluctance to bring up his name in the presence of my lovely assistant, in whom he had once evinced an interest which, although evidently not returned, I found deplorable, to say the least. In fact, I deplored most things about Henry, and the only reason I am once again inflicting him, however briefly, on my patient readers is that he had been instrumental to the next step in that interesting wager which is the subject of this chronicle.

  Henry had called me just after my session with Phyllis.

  “Hey, Steve-O,” he said. “How’s it hanging, big brother? How’s that sexy secretary of yours?”

  “She’s not a secretary,” I said. “What do you want, Henry?”

  “Listen, forget that lesbian bimbo.” Henry had decided that Miss Greenglass was a lesbian because she had rejected his advances. “I got a real woman for you. She’s dying to meet you.”

  “Is that right,” I said. “And why is that?”

  “I told her you had a big cock,” Henry said.

  “What?!”

  “Not as big as mine, of course,” Henry said. “See, she likes big cocks, okay? So of course she loved mine, and when she heard I had a brother, she wanted to know—”

  “Henry,” I said, “go to hell.”

  “She really wants to meet you,” Henry said.

  “Well, I’m not—wait a minute. W
hat’s her name?”

  “Yolanda,” Henry said.

  “Yolanda? Are you sure? Is that real?”

  “Sure, why not? About this girl …”

  I wasn’t listening any more. Though at that point I was really looking for a Q-lady, I was making slower progress generally than I had expected. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea not to throw away any possible future options.

  “Give me her number,” I said. “Maybe I’ll call her sometime.”

  Which, when the time came, I did.

  I suggested we meet at the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel—which may not have been the ideal venue.

  But the name Yolanda had led me to half-expect someone exotic, sophisticated and a bit mysterious, with an air of aloofness and a foreign accent.

  This girl wasn’t it.

  She was in her mid-twenties, of medium height, with a figure whose charms were anything but hidden. She wore an orange pullover top which clung to her very substantial breasts and left no doubt that there was nothing underneath it. Her extremely shapely legs, covered by sheer white stockings, were enhanced by very high heels and almost completely revealed by her short blue skirt.

  Her blond hair, obviously not its real color, was piled carelessly on top of her head, and her heavily lipsticked mouth moved almost constantly in the rhythmic process of gum-chewing.

  This was the kind of woman I would expect Henry to be acquainted with. I had to admit, however, that in spite of her lack of refinement she made quite a libidinous picture, and since at the moment I had no other Y-lady in prospect, I was not about to be overly fastidious. I rose as the waiter led her to my table.