“You know how to use one of those things?” she asked, motioning towards the vacuum cleaner.
“I guess so,” he replied cautiously.
“Then get busy, you old fart."
When she had the living room looking decent, she turned her attention to the bedroom. “At least the floor's not littered with trash in here, but don't you ever do your laundry?” she asked, nodding to the huge pile of dirty clothes in one corner of the room.
“Yeah,” he replied, “but I have to go all the way to Charlotte, so I wait until I have enough dirty clothes to make it worthwhile."
“I'll bite. Why do you have to go to Charlotte?"
“Because there's no laundry or launderette in Dot."
“Hmm. Sounds like a good business opportunity for somebody,” she said.
“I checked into it. Everybody in Dot uses well water and septic tanks since there is no central system. It would cost far too much to build a septic tank that would accommodate the heavy use of a launderette."
Jan shrugged her shoulders. “You have any clean sheets?"
“I think so.” He checked in the hall closet and returned with sheets and pillowcases.
She stripped the linens off the bed and spread a soiled sheet on the floor. “Dump your dirty clothes in the sheet and put it in my car. I have a washer and dryer in my apartment. I'll take them with me in the morning."
“Does that mean you're going to spend the night?"
“I'm thinking about it."
When the bedroom was in good order, Jake said, “You're working my butt off. I need a break."
“I've been on my feet waiting tables for eight hours and you're the one who is tired?” she teased.
“I have a few years on you,” he retorted, stretching out on the bed. “I noticed you didn't bring any liquid refreshments with you tonight. All I have is beer. Will that do?"
“Oh, you have something better than that,” she replied and she jumped on the bed, ripped down his faded, dated, Bermuda shorts and took his flaccid penis in her mouth.
“Jan,” he mildly protested. “You don't have to do that."
She ignored him and filled her mouth with his testicles. She felt a tingling sensation all over her body when he began to moan and gently caress her hair. Immediately after his last outcry she trotted to the living room, took a bottle of mouthwash from her handbag, trotted back to the bathroom, spat his semen into the commode, and rinsed her mouth. She saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked pathetic. He put his arms around her, cupping her breasts.
She grinned at him through the mirror. “You don't like my boobs, remember? They need implants."
“I lied,” he said looking very sad.
She pressed her back into his chest. “What's wrong, Jake?"
“I feel so guilty."
Anger flashed in her eyes as she spun around. “Guilty?” She spat the word out.
“Yes,” he replied, recognizing but not understanding her anger. “You give me so much pleasure, but there's nothing I can do for you."
Her eyes softened and she looked at the filthy tub. “Fill that thing up with nice warm water, Jake. You're about to receive a sex education lesson."
* * * *
“I really am an old fart,” he said, pulling her to him while reaching around and generously soaping her breasts. “I knew a man could give pleasure with his mouth and fingers, but I've never done it before and I just didn't think about it."
She wiggled her bottom against his scrotum. “Don't tell me you've never kissed a pussy before."
“Well, when I was a kid there was this kitten..."
“You know what I mean."
“No, I haven't. Mary wouldn't let me."
“Mary?"
“My wife."
“I didn't know you were married."
“It was a long time ago. She's dead now."
“Want to tell me about her?"
“No."
“You loved her very much, didn't you?"
“We were both virgins when we married—childhood sweethearts. She made the sun rise every morning for me. When she died, I died with her, but my damn heart kept beating."
“How long ago was it, Jake?"
“About fifteen years. I went into a deep depression. We owned a little gift shop in Virginia Beach. I sold it and the house. There were too many memories. I moved to Norfolk—I don't know why. When my money began to run out, I started this mail-order business. That way I didn't have to meet the public and pretend to be happy."
“How did it happen?"
“Heart attack. Can you believe it? She was only thirty-seven years old. We were having sex. I killed her."
“Bullshit!” Jan exclaimed scrambling to her knees and turning around to face him.
“No, I did,” he insisted, tears trickling down his face. “She said she didn't feel good, but I insisted. I was always so damned horny. I should have taken her to a doctor, but instead I forced myself on her."
“Jake,” she cried out, pulling his face to her breasts, “it just happened. All these years you haven't been just grieving for the wife you loved. You've been punishing yourself for something that was not your fault."
“I haven't even looked at another woman until you came along."
“When you said you felt guilty a little while ago, this is what you meant, isn't it? You felt you were being unfaithful to Mary."
He pulled his head back, but held onto her. “No,” he answered. “I swear to God that isn't it. Mary would want me to find someone. I know she would. If the situation were reversed, I would want her to find someone."
He brushed his lips over each nipple. “Jan, why are you being nice to me? I don't have much to offer, certainly not love."
“What?"
“I won't allow myself to ever love again. It hurts too bad when it's over."
“I never said I was in love with you, Jake."
“What then, pity? I don't want your pity, Jan."
“What do you want, Jake?"
“I don't know."
Jan kissed his ear affectionately. “I don't know why I am attracted to you, Jake. It may be that I feel sorry for you. It may be pity. But if it makes you happy, and it makes me happy, what is the harm?"
Chapter Twenty-one
Sarasue sat in a lawn chair in the shade of a towering oak tree, watching the children playing on the backyard swing set. Working for Rita Holder was much easier than for her previous employer. Brad, five years old, and Troy, three and a half, were well behaved, but Rita was very concerned for their safety. With that fact in mind, Sarasue questioned the wisdom of owning a house with a yard that backed up to a golf course. One of these days an errant golf ball was sure to strike one of the children, and Sarasue was certain that Rita would blame her for it. How could she prevent it? Make the children wear helmets when outdoors? “Maybe a suit of armor,” she laughed aloud.
With little interest, she watched workmen on the course digging a trench across the fairway. She had heard someone say Bo Nading discovered that the contractors laid the wrong gauge of underground wire and he was making them replace it at their expense. Frankly, she didn't care if the course construction was ever completed.
The sound of hammers and saws beyond the narrow blind of white pines beside the house caught her attention. She wondered if the man was over there—the man with the bulging muscles and handsome face that caused her to become aroused on more than one occasion since moving to Dot. Mrs. Holder said the man's name was Carl Elliott, a contractor who worked for the Dollars and was responsible for most of the new housing construction in town.
“Kid's,” she hollered, “play in the sandbox for a little while.” Without question the children scampered to the big red box filled with white sand where pails, shovels and sifters awaited.
Sarasue headed to the house, thinking the children would be safe in her absence if they stayed away from the metal swing. She moved down the hallway towards the bathroom, and noticed tha
t the door of the master bedroom was closed. She was certain she left it open that morning after cleaning and making the bed. She paused and heard muffled noises inside. An intruder? Slowly and quietly she turned the knob and pushed the door open a few inches. Mrs. Holder and guest were naked on the bed. Rita's head bobbed in the crotch of Bo Nading's wife.
Quietly Sarasue closed the door and shook her head in disgust as she sat on the commode, emptying her bladder. How in the hell can one woman do that to another woman? she wondered. She choked back an urge to regurgitate. Now, if Mrs. Holder were beating that bitch's ass with a whip, that would be another matter. She grinned and without thought her hand slipped between her legs. She fantasized about two white bottoms submissively turned up to her while she inflicted deep red gashes with a thick belt.
Sarasue returned to the backyard and panicked. The kids were not there. “Brad! Troy!” she called out over the sound of a ripsaw. There was no answer. “Oh my God, my God, my God,” she shouted as she ran towards the white pines. Did that woman get them? “Brad! Troy!"
Visions of a kidnapping by the woman Rita warned her about added to her growing panic. Did that Jan Patrick take them while I was in the bathroom? she thought as she plunged into the pine thicket, panic rising.
“Brad! Troy!” she cried as she emerged from the trees. There they were, playing with short blocks of two-by-fours and sawdust.
“Don't you ever scare me like that again,” she scolded with more relief than anger in her voice when she reached the children, grasping each child by the shoulder and shaking them gently.
“They're not in the way.” She looked up. The deep baritone voice startled her. There he was, coming up from the basement of the house under construction, stripped to the waist, his lean ebony body glistening with his own perspiration.
“I used to play on construction sites when I was a boy,” he said, grinning as he approached her. “Wood blocks and saw horses are far better toys than you can buy in a store."
“They slipped away when I wasn't looking,” she explained.
He looked sternly at the frightened children, then smiled, receiving their smiles in return. “What's your name,” he asked the older child.
“Brad, sir."
“I Toy,” the golden-haired brother added.
“Little fella,” he said to Troy, “I believe your hair has been dipped into pure sunshine."
Troy hid behind Sarasue's plain housedress.
“And what is your name, pretty lady?” Carl Elliott asked.
“Sarasue.” To herself she thought, Did he say ‘pretty lady'?
“Let me guess. Your parents couldn't decide on Sara or Sue so they compromised."
“That's right,” Sarasue laughed.
“I owe you an apology, Sarasue."
“You do?"
“I'm your neighbor, Carl Elliott. I have my office and also live in the Dollar building too, apartment 3G. I heard you moved in, but I haven't gotten around to welcoming you to the building."
* * * *
Sarasue dried the last of her supper dishes and faced another boring night of watching television. “I need a social life,” she sighed as she sank into the sofa and clicked on the television. Her thoughts immediately went to the glistening body of Carl Elliott. Why not? she asked herself as she pulled the hem of her dress above her waist, but just as her finger found its mark there was a knock at the door.
“I thought it was time I did my neighborly duty,” Carl Elliott joked when she opened the door. He motioned with his head to the case of beer he was holding. “If you don't care for beer,” he said, “I'll take your welcoming gift to my own kitchen."
“I'll drink anything that's free,” she replied.
He moved past her and sat the beer on her kitchen table. “They're still cold,” he said, removing two and offering her one. “I stopped by the Dot Grocery on the way home and got them out of the cooler."
The movement of his Adam's apple fascinated her as he turned up the brown bottle and gulped down over half of the beer.
He looked at her for a long moment and then said, “I've seen you hiding in the pine trees spying on me."
“I wasn't spying,” she said, realizing too late that she had admitted her guilt.
“I didn't realize until I saw you up close today what a sexy thing you are,” he said, his baritone voice setting her bones into vibration.
She realized she was flustered. She sipped her beer before replying. “You don't know how long it's been since I've heard sweet-talk like that."
He sat down and propped a muddy brogan on her table. “I am a busy man,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I don't have time to play games, and I'm not the marrying kind. I have a hard-on just looking at you and I'll bet your pussy's doing flip-flops over me. If you want sex without love, romance and marriage, get your clothes off. I'm dying to see those dark titties of yours."
She slammed her bottle down on the table. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted.
“I'm the man you've been peeking at from the pines for two or three weeks now.” He smiled lasciviously. “I'm the man you fanaticize about when you play with yourself."
“Get out of my home,” she said coldly.
“It's your call, baby,” he said. He stood up slowly, leering at her, and walked through the living room to the door.
“You say you don't play games, but you're playing one right now."
He turned around. “I am?"
“Sure. You just want the game to be over quickly, so you place your cards on the table face up. Okay, I'll do the same. I'm lonely in this damn town and you are a good-looking man. If you get an erection just looking at me with my clothes on, just think what your reaction would be to see me naked. In one way, I'm just the woman you're looking for. I've had a hysterectomy, so you aren't going to knock me up, and I have no sexually transmitted diseases, so you don't have to wear a raincoat when you do me."
“I always use a rubber,” he interrupted. “I never take chances. I carry two in my pocket at all times, just in case."
“Just two?” she mocked. “If you fuck me, you'll do it without a condom. I like to feel a man's skin and his juices squirting into me."
“Don't you mean when I fuck you—not if."
“No I don't, you conceited bastard. Here are my cards. I like my sex wild and kinky. Are you up to it?"
“You like being on the giving or receiving end?"
“Both."
Their eyes locked as he approached her. She stood motionless as he completely stripped her. Without warning, he buried his fist deep into her stomach. As she rolled on the floor clutching her belly and gasping for breath he said, “I need a bath. Bring me another beer.” He headed for her bathroom.
As soon as she was able, she brought the beer to him. He was naked, standing in front of the commode ready to urinate. The tub was filling with hot water. “You want to drink it?” he sneered.
“Is that an order?"
“No,” he replied and he let the yellow stream flow. Turning to her after shaking his penis he laughed. “It hurts like hell to piss when you have an erection.” He took the beer from her, poured a little on each breast and licked it off.
“Lie on the floor and pull your feet up to your ears,” he commanded. When she complied as best she could he forced the neck of the bottle into her vagina, filled her vaginal canal, and sucked the liquid out. “Best way to enjoy a beer,” he said while refilling the human glass.
To his surprise, she moaned with obvious pleasure.
Following instructions, she bathed him, ending with a vigorous shampoo of his curly black hair.
“Take a deep breath,” he commanded. He grabbed her throat with his powerful right hand, pushed her backward into the bath water and pinned her to the bottom of the tub. He ripped her unlubricated vaginal lips apart with his penis and savagely enjoyed her, ejaculating quickly.
She sucked in the life restoring air when he released her and trembled with the treme
ndous orgasm the near death experience produced in her loins. He allowed her to stretch out on his reclining body. She massaged his chest with her slightly sagging, but still exciting, breasts.
“I'll be sleeping with your naked body until I get tired of you,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “I'm going to my place to get a few things. I want sausage, eggs, buttered toast, orange juice and coffee served every morning at five. If you don't have the groceries on hand, go buy them before I return."
She nodded against the side of his face.
He tightened his grip on her hair, causing a pleasant pain. “And find some tweezers. When I get back, I'm going to rip out your pubic hair."
She grinned broadly. “Promises, promises,” she said while he pinched her nipples.
Chapter Twenty-two
Betty stood at the apartment window that overlooked Old Charlotte Road. “Why does it have to rain on Sunday?"
“The newspaper says it's supposed to rain all day,” Bo replied from the sofa where he was reading the Sunday edition of the Charlotte Observer.
“It figures."
“What difference does it make? We never do anything on Sunday anyway but lay around the place."
She sighed. “Want more coffee?” she asked, picking up his cup from the coffee table.
“May as well,” he replied absently as he turned a page.
“Bo,” she said when she returned with the coffee, “we don't talk anymore."
“Uh huh."
“We used to have so much to tell each other late at night when you'd finally get home from your Tanglewood job. Sometimes we'd talk until the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes we'd talk while having sex. You don't even screw me anymore."
“Uh huh.” He moved to the comic section.
“ Friday I received a bonus of a million dollars."
“That's nice."
She threw a pillow at him. “Bo Nading, you haven't listened to a thing I've said."
He tossed the pillow back at her. “Okay, I'm listening now. I just wanted to see what Garfield was up to today."
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 42