by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)
“You Henry’s brother?”
“Unfortunately, I have that distinction,” I said, “if such it can be called.”
“Yeah, you’re him,” the woman said. “He said you talk like a fag.”
I was nonplussed. “He said what?!”
“Yeah. He said you’re straight, though. And you have a huge dick. Is that right?”
“Um …” I said. “Ah … why don’t we sit down at this table, Miss …”
“Call me Yolanda,” she said, as we seated ourselves. “So, do you?”
“Look,” I said, “I don’t know what Henry’s told you, but—”
“I just told you what he told me. He said you got a schlong like a gorilla’s. So is that right or not?”
“I assure you Henry is prone to exaggeration. Besides, he has no way of knowing—”
“Hey, I don’t do this with just anybody, ya know,” Yolanda said.
“I’m sure you don’t,” I said.
“But Henry says you got a really big one, ya know? Almost as big as his, he says. Jeez. I mean I wanna see that, for sure.”
“Probably bigger,” I said. “But tell me about your name, Yolanda.”
“My name? What about it?”
“It’s very pretty,” I said. “Henry tells me it’s your real name. Is that true?”
“Hah!” She gave a snort which would have done justice to a prize boar. “Shit, no. Who’d have a real name like Yolanda, for Christ’s sake?”
I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved. “What is it, then? Your real name.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “What’s the difference?”
“Just curious,” I said.
“Well,” she said. “If you must know. It’s a stupid name. It’s Yetta. It’s an old Jewish-type name. I’m Jewish, okay? At least, my parents were. Why, you got something against Jews?”
“Not at all,” I said hastily. “It’s just an unusual name. And you kept your initial when you changed it.”
Again I wasn’t sure if I was glad or sorry about that.
“Big deal,” she said. “So are we gonna do it or not?”
I hesitated, but not for long. “I suppose we are,” I said. “Do you live close by? Or would you like to come to my house?”
“No,” Yolanda/Yetta said. “We can just go upstairs. Henry’s got a room here. He’s waiting for us.”
With some difficulty, I avoided choking on my drink. “He’s what?”
“Yeah, he wants to watch. Actually, I think he wants both of you to do it to me at once. You know, like a sandwich. You ever do that?”
I put my glass down very carefully. “Yes, I have,” I said. “Not with Henry, however. Nor do I intend to. Not ever. Not under any imaginable circumstances. Not even to win—well, not for anything. I’m sorry, Yett—ah, Yolanda. But if that is the only condition under which—”
“Hey, fuck Henry,” Yolanda said. “I don’t care. Just you and me is cool too, okay? Where’s your house?”
In the taxi on the way to my house Yolanda put her hand on my thigh, then ran it up to my crotch.
But even as I was stiffening under her questing fingers, her attention was caught by something else.
“Hey,” she said in what she probably thought was a whisper. “See that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The driver. He’s got a towel around his head. See that?”
“Of course.” Our driver was indeed wearing a turban, a not uncommon sight among New York cabdrivers, many of whom nowadays are natives of India or the Middle East.
“Those guys have enormous cocks!” Yolanda said. “Those Indian guys, especially the towelhead ones. Honest to God!”
“Is that right?” I said. “All of them?”
“Yeah.”
Yolanda was checking out the driver’s identification card posted on the back of the front seat as required by law. “Pravda Singh,” she read. “Hey, cool!” Then suddenly she leaned forward and addressed the driver directly. “Hey Pravda! How you doin’? You’re Indian, right?”
The driver turned his head slightly, but kept his eyes on the road. “I am from India, yes,” he said, and his accent verified the statement.
“Great!” Yolanda said. “You got a big one, Pravda?”
He looked confused. “I’m sorry, what is the question, madam?”
“I said, do you have a big one? A big dick, you know? A cock, a nice big Indian cock. You know, like for fucking.”
Pravda understood now. At first he looked surprised, and then a big smile came over his face. “Oh, yes!” he said. “For fucking, yes. Big, yes!”
He continued to grin at her, and then turned his head to include me in the merriment. I rather churlishly advised him to keep his eye on the road.
As he turned back around, much to my relief, I felt Yolanda’s fingers moving again on my crotch.
“Hey, how about him?” she rasped into my ear. “Let’s invite him in with us, okay? I mean two cocks are better than one, you know what I mean?”
“Ah … I don’t think so,” I replied. As she frowned I added quickly, “I’d prefer to have you all to myself—at least the first time. Okay?”
She looked mollified. “Well, okay. But hey, you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, do you?”
“I—” But before I could answer she was leaning over to the driver again.
“Hey, Pravda! Pull over someplace, okay? Someplace nice and dark, know what I mean?”
“Yolanda—” I began.
“This won’t take long,” Yolanda said. “I just gotta take a look at that cock, you know? Don’t worry—I’ll make him so happy you won’t have to tip him for the ride.”
“I don’t mind tipping him,” I protested, but by now Pravda had turned into a quiet side street and found a spot to park, where an overhanging tree blocked the light of the corner lamppost. With a final pat to my crotch, Yolanda swiftly opened the door and slid out. In a moment, she had joined our driver in the front seat.
“Okay, Prav, let’s see it,” she said.
Pravda seemed startled. He turned to look at me, but I couldn’t help him. Yolanda recaptured his attention quickly by going for his crotch. I heard his zipper being opened. The meter was still running.
“I, ah … I think I’ll get out here,” I said.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Yolanda said. “That’s a big one, all right!”
“I’m happy for you,” I told her, and reached for my wallet, fully intending to pay the fare and get out of there. But at that point Yolanda crouched up on her knees on the seat, leaned over to Pravda, put her head down into his lap and, as far as I could tell, took the entire length of his presumably sizeable cock into her mouth at one gulp.
My planned departure was momentarily arrested by the spectacle of Yolanda crouched over on the seat that way, with her very shapely behind thrusting up and out, barely covered by the short skirt, and swaying back and forth with a deliciously erotic rhythm as her head began to move up and down on Pravda’s tool while hungry whimpering sounds came from her busy mouth. I could also make out the swaying motion of her breasts under the tight blouse. I admit to thoughts of how pleasant it might be to move up there, flip up that skirt and take her from behind, a course of action I was certain Yolanda would not object to; but I preferred to wait until we were alone, and besides, the scene was a little too exposed for me, in spite of the fact that there seemed to be no traffic on the dim, quiet street. Still, I didn’t leave, but sat there and watched as Yolanda’s head moved faster, Pravda’s groaning got louder, and my cock got stiffer.
Pravda appeared to be rapidly approaching a climax. My attention was fixed on the hypnotic gyrations of Yolanda’s body as she worked on him, when I suddenly became aware that a car had moved up beside us and stopped. I had just time to turn my head and realize, to my great consternation, that it was a police car, when a spotlight flashed on and flooded the interior of our taxi. Just at that moment Pravda came, and as Yolanda lifted her
head in surprise at the unexpected illumination, heavy jets of sperm spurted out of his convulsing phallus.
The spotlight stayed on as the car doors opened and two policemen emerged, with that deliberate, vaguely menacing manner that is endemic to cops the world over. Pravda’s groans of passion turned into a frightened bleat, and he hastened to stuff himself back in his pants and zip up as the cops approached. Yolanda stayed as she was. So did I, not having much alternative.
One of the cops came up to the front window of the taxi and peered in. “What’s going on here?” he inquired.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing, officer,” I said as calmly as I could. “We were just—”
“Nothing, huh?” the cop said, his gaze on Yolanda, who was now trying to shade her eyes from the light with one hand. “Don’t look like ‘nothing’ to me. Looks like something. How about it, lady?”
“How about what?” Yolanda said.
“How about telling me what the hell you’re doin’ here?” the cop said.
“Actually,” I began, “we were only—”
“I was giving this guy a blowjob,” Yolanda broke in. “So what?”
This silenced the questioner for a moment, but his partner was beside him now.
“Pretty public place for that kind of thing, isn’t it?” the second cop said.
“If I could explain—” I said.
“Shut up,” the first cop said. “We’re talking to the lady here, okay?”
“You a hooker, honey?” the second cop asked.
“No!” Yolanda said indignantly. “I’m a respectable woman, for Chrissake!”
“Then how come you’re giving blowjobs to two guys on the street?” the cop said.
“I wasn’t—” I began.
“ ’Cause I like big dicks, okay?” Yolanda said. “What the fuck is wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with that is, you’re under arrest, honey. All of you.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” the first cop said. “Maybe she likes cop dick too.”
“Do cops have big ones?” Yolanda asked interestedly.
“Are you kidding?” the second cop said. “Cops have the biggest!”
“I got one bigger than my billy club, baby,” the first one said. “You wanna see it?”
“Hell yeah!” Yolanda said.
“Then get out of there and get in the car,” the cop said. He looked at Pravda and then at me. “Okay, you guys can take off now. We’ll take care of the lady.”
Pravda, who had been trembling with fear, hastily turned on the engine. But Yolanda said, “Hey, wait—” indicating me. “Him and me got a date, okay? Let him stick around.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’ll call you another time.”
“You heard the lady, bud,” the second cop said. “She wants you to stay, you stay. Get in the damn car.”
So both Yolanda and I got out of the taxi, barely getting clear of it before Pravda gunned the motor and roared away. Following the cops’ instructions, I got into the front seat of the police car, while the two of them piled with Yolanda into the back.
Standing in the middle of the street, the police car was far more exposed than our taxi had been, but the cops didn’t seem to mind. I heard the sound of two zippers being unzipped, and then a soft exclamation of delight from Yolanda. I deduced from this that their proportions met her standards.
At first I just faced straight ahead, looking out the windshield, but I couldn’t help hearing, and soon the sounds coming from the back aroused my natural curiosity, as well as other things. So finally, I turned around to watch.
Yolanda was kneeling on the floor of the car while the two cops sat side by side on the seat, their flies open and their exposed phalluses sticking up in the air. Yolanda was sucking them alternately, leaning first one way, then the other, taking each in turn into her mouth and pumping her head a few times, then switching to the other one. Happy gurgling noises came from her throat as she did this, and the policemen didn’t seem to be suffering either.
Finally Yolanda paused. “Oh Jesus,” she gasped. “Big cocks, Jesus.” And she pulled off her tight orange top, making her big breasts jiggle and bounce as she pulled it over her head. “I want them in me,” she said.
Both cops leaned forward eagerly toward that naked bosom. Their heads bumped together, but that didn’t stop them from each taking one of her breasts in his mouth. Yolanda groaned and opened her skirt. In a minute they were pulling her up onto the seat. They all tugged at each other, and Yolanda’s panties got pulled off in the process. When things settled down, Yolanda was straddling one of cops, who was still seated, while the other knelt sideways on the seat beside them, so that as she moved wildly up and down on the cock that impaled her, she could lean over and take the other one into her voracious mouth.
But she still wasn’t satisfied. “Both,” she panted, her body still pumping rhythmically. “I want both of you in me. Both at once. Two big cop cocks in me, yeah!”
So they changed positions again. As the first cop lay down on the seat with Yolanda above him, the second one crouched behind her and worked himself gradually into her rear passage while she howled with delight. Then, slowly at first but soon picking up speed, the three of them found a rhythm, and Yolanda had two cocks moving in and out of her as her twisting body bucked ecstatically back and forth.
As I watched now, her glazed, wandering eyes came to rest on me. Her lustful face had a strange kind of passionate beauty in the dimness, which enhanced the provocative scene.
“Come on,” she gasped, jerking her head at me. “Come on, let me suck you, come on!”
I can’t explain why I succumbed to this temptation. My brain said no, but my body was moving, getting out of the car and into the back. It was very crowded back there, and I could barely squeeze myself into the space between the seats. I had to half-stand, half-lean over Yolanda, bracing myself as best I could.
I was surprised that she was able to take my whole member in at once, virtually swallowing it without in the least disturbing the rhythm of her movements; surprised and delighted, especially when her tongue and lips began to move in that same rhythm, until I would not have cared if a hundred cops had been in that car. I closed my eyes and there was only that mouth, that thirsty gulping throat. Soon I was gasping and the cops were groaning and Yolanda was moaning and swallowing.
I remember collapsing to the floor of the car as Yolanda said, “Shit! That was great! Let’s do it again!” But we didn’t. It took some time and awkwardness for us to get uncramped and untangled and into some semblance of decency. Finally we managed, to Yolanda’s obvious disappointment. The cops were nice enough to drive us to my house and let us off with a warning against further public lewdness—but not before obtaining Yolanda’s phone number.
I was prepared to take her home, but Yolanda was offended by this suggestion, protesting that she had expected to spend the night with me. After she graphically described a few of the things she thought we might do together, I could not but agree to that plan. Yolanda said she thought I damn well should. After all, she reminded me, she didn’t do this with just anybody.
Chapter 27
ZONKED OUT ALREADY?” YOLANDA (NÉE Yetta) said to me as I fell away from her for about the fifth time that night, and lay panting, sweating and exhausted on my back beside her. “Hey, shit, man, we got lots more stuff we can do yet!” Now I am hardly what any objective person would call inexperienced, but I have to confess that at that point I couldn’t think of a single heterosexual act that she and I hadn’t done that night, short of a few wild perversions at which I believe even Yolanda would have hesitated—although there I could be wrong.
“Dear God,” I gasped. “Give me a break—I mean, let’s take a break, okay? Get a little rest, a little sleep, maybe …”
“Sleep later,” Yolanda said. Then she burrowed under the sheet. Her mouth searched and found the sweaty flesh of my stomach and then headed unerringly southward. I clos
ed my eyes blissfully as her lips found their goal and worked in concert with that talented tongue to bring me to life again. It was a method that had worked more than once earlier, but this time I knew I was just too worn out to respond even to that warm, wet, wonderful clasping mouth, those soft, sensuously sliding lips, that busy, knowing, oh so sinuous tongue.
Well, maybe just once more …
Yolanda laughed with triumph as she swept the sheet aside and swung herself up and over to straddle me. She grasped my tired but once more alert phallus and lowered herself onto it. She gasped happily as she took it slowly but steadily inside her grasping pussy, and tossed her dyed blond hair back—the hair at her crotch was dark—and arched her back.
“Oh Christ,” she moaned. “Ooh, your big sweet cock. God, it’s so big.” Yolanda, as readers of the previous chapter will recall, had a thing for big cocks. That was what had brought us together in the first place, through the good offices of my brother Henry.
“So big,” Yolanda went on, twisting her body to take it in more easily, until she had it all. “Jesus,” she panted. “Bigger than those cops, honest to God … bigger than that taxi guy.”
“Bigger than Henry, right?”
Yolanda said nothing to that. Which might have disconcerted me if she hadn’t just then begun to pump her squirming body up and down, making her large round breasts bounce enticingly, writhing her hips in a way that kept my battle-worn lance in a state of blissful arousal.
Come to think of it, she never did answer that question.
When I staggered down to the office the next morning, Miss Greenglass took one look at me and understood that my date with Yolanda had been successful, if hardly restful. Furthermore, she knew—and I knew that she knew—that I would be spared the time and effort of searching for the next and last woman in my alphabetical succession. For weeks I had been cultivating the affections of an extremely attractive married lady named Zelda Burlesdon, who by now was only too eager to consummate our mutual attraction. (Her husband seemed to be only a minor inconvenience. She told me he trusted her implicitly. She also said she had never been unfaithful to him before but I, being less gullible than Mr. Burlesdon, took private leave to doubt that.)