Cooch

by Robert Cook

  They walked back across the gym toward the outside door.

  “Thanks, Coach! I appreciate the workout and the use of the gym. Is it okay if I come back a couple of more times?”

  “No problem,” the coach said. “Any time. If you get time, come by in the afternoons from four ‘til six and give some pointers to my kids. I’d appreciate it. They might like advice better coming from you, particularly after a fall or two with you.”

  Later, Alex walked into the living room of his parents’ house, freshly showered and wearing clean shorts and a T-shirt. His mother and Elena were sitting together talking, while his father casually watched a Winston Cup race. His mother looked up and said, “Linda called and asked if you would mind helping her move some furniture today. She’ll pay you, of course. I told her that you’ll call. The number is by the phone.”

  Alex shrugged, and then walked to the phone, feeling a distinct stirring in his crotch. He dialed Linda and told her he’d be happy to give her a hand. She asked him to come over as soon as he could, so he told his mother he would be back a little later and walked out of the house. Elena gave him a strange look, almost as if she was going to laugh, or maybe cry.

  He found Linda’s small house after only one wrong turn, parked by a broken curb, and moved easily from the small car. Whistling to himself, he bounded up the steps two at a time, then walked up to the open door and rang the doorbell. Linda was wearing a white shirt with the top four buttons open, the shirttail out, and a pair of jeans. She was clearly braless, her breasts swaying as she walked across the room to him. The nipples painted little circles on the thin cotton.

  What the heck do I do now? Alex wondered, as he felt himself stir and swell. Maybe if I work my ass off, I’ll get lucky. He walked into the house behind her, watching her buttocks undulate beneath her jeans and feeling optimistic. The small living room was cluttered with magazines stacked on the end tables and old clothes strewn about.

  “What can I do to help you, Linda?” he asked.

  She walked to the kitchen and pointed to the open cabinet doors under the sink. A large, rusty pipe wrench was lying on the floor of the cabinet. “The drain pipe is loose and leaking under there, Alex, and I’m not strong enough to tighten it. We’ll get to the furniture later.”

  Alex picked up the wrench and got onto his back under the sink. Linda got on her hands and knees and looked inside, then leaned forward and put one palm on his thigh, pointing to the pipe with the other. Alex could feel the heat of her hand on his leg as he put the wrench on the pipe and tightened it; his erection felt like it was going to burst from his shorts. As he started to slide out from beneath the cabinet, his crotch came under her hand, as if by accident. There was a little squeeze.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Alex,” she said, moving her hand away. “That was an accident!”

  Alex came to his feet and sat the wrench on the counter. Linda was on her knees in front of him, looking up. His excitement was obvious and pounding against his shorts, just in front of her face.

  She looked up at him, and then at his throbbing crotch.

  “Are you all right, Alex? I didn’t hurt you or anything did I?” She reached for his shorts and clasped her hand around him. “Do you mind if I check? Your mother would be furious with me if I hurt you,” Linda said with a soft voice.

  “Your face is all flushed, Alex. Slip out of those shorts until I make sure that everything down there is okay.” Linda was still on her knees, but smiling at him in anything but a motherly manner.

  Alex watched her face while he worked his shorts and jock down, then stepped out of them. Linda reached up with one hand, then two.

  “It’s all swollen, Alex. Is there anything I can do for you to make it better?” she asked in a coy whisper. “Here, let’s keep you from getting a chill.” She stood and took off her blouse, wrapping it around his shoulders, then reached again for him and leaned forward to whisper hotly in his ear, “By the way, Alex, you seem more than adequately up for things.” Alex looked at her massive breasts, then down at her hand.

  “Nooo!” he groaned, then felt himself release across her hand onto her bare stomach and to the floor. As she felt it, Linda leaned forward and put her tongue into his ear.

  “Let’s go into the bedroom so you can lie down. I’m sure you’ll feel better after that.” Linda led him into the bedroom and pulled the covers down on the king-sized bed. She walked to the bathroom and came back with a warm, wet towel and began to clean around his groin, leaning down with her mouth close to him as she worked.

  After a few seconds, Linda said, “Maybe a little mouth to mouth will help,” as she looked up to him with a grin.

  He watched as she lowered her head to him, looking at him with those big greenish eyes. He felt himself leaping to readiness.

  Linda stood, pulled her jeans off, dropped them to the floor, and said, “Get on top of me, Alex. Now!”

  Alex thought to himself, “Yes! I’m finally going to get laid!” He knelt, oblivious to anything but his need to be inside her. She reached down with one hand to guide him. “Easy now with that thing!” she whispered to him. He felt the rush of another orgasm beginning, so he drove himself forward. Linda’s eyes rolled back into her head and she made strange mewing sounds, her mouth wide open. It was easier now for Alex. He could feel his orgasm rising further, urgently. Sweat poured from his face. Linda’s eyes were wide as she tried to push him back with her hand on his stomach. He was oblivious, driven by his need. Pain and pleasure mixed for her, but she knew he was nearly finished. With a few final strokes, he began to wither and collapsed, chest heaving, upon her chest.

  Linda ran her fingers through his hair, and leaned up to kiss his neck, then pulled his mouth to hers. He stuck his tongue into her mouth, and then moved it rapidly in and out like an amateur well digger. Linda knew she was going to enjoy her role as teacher. She had nearly two weeks to teach him to get it right, and he was already more fun than her ex. After a few moments, she pushed him from her, and got to her feet.

  “Come on, stud, I’ll buy you a Coke,” she said and grinned at him.

  Alex, disappointed it was over so soon, followed her to the kitchen, watching her bare buttocks jiggle. She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two Cokes, handing him one. She pushed the door shut, then noticed him staring at her breasts with a look of fascination.

  “Come on, let’s sit on the bed. I’ll teach you about breasts,” Linda said as she walked back to the bedroom. Alex followed eagerly, happy that it appeared to be intermission and not the end of the game. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the place beside her. As he sat, she smiled at him, then reached for one heavy breast and lifted it to his lips. He bent over and kissed it, almost chastely. She looked down at him. He was already stirring again. She had forgotten the blessing of being with an adolescent.

  She pulled him up to her. “This is the way to kiss, Alex,” Linda said. She put her lips gently on his, then began to lick around his lips, exploring the tip of his tongue with hers. She pushed him back onto the bed and rolled up beside him to whisper, “Maybe you’d like to practice what you learned.”

  Alex rolled to her and put his lips on hers. His tongue slipped out to tease the inside of her lips, then tangle gently with hers. She slipped a hand into his hair, murmured, “Uh-huh,” and smiled.

  Linda pushed gently down on his head. “Slowly and gently is the secret.” He did as she asked, moving from one to the other, moving over her as he did.

  Linda ran her fingernails lightly up his back, then rumpled his hair and pulled his head up to kiss him. “Take it real nice and slow, Alex. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. Her hands went behind his buttocks.

  “Easy now,” she said. “Give a girl time to adjust to you. The last time was way too fast.”

  He began to push forward, telling himself to go slowly.

  “Good. You’ve got the idea now. Kiss me, Alex,” Linda murmured a little later. “Kiss me and hold me and
keep that pace. Learn control.” He kissed her gently for a long time, then moved on to her neck and kissed that. He moved up and nibbled on her earlobe. After several minutes, she felt her orgasm rising, and her hips started to buck a little. Alex increased his pace, but Linda whispered, “No, no. Not yet. Just keep going like you were until I tell you. Later, you’ll know when to pick up the pace.”

  He slowed, trying to follow directions. Her breathing quickened. “Keep up with me now, Alex, but don’t get ahead,” she whispered, and he kept pace. Suddenly her eyes went wide and she moaned, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Now!” Linda’s neck strained and her jaw clenched as her orgasm peaked, and again quickly, then slowly began to subside. Alex continued until he let go with a groan.

  Linda lay for a few minutes, then got up and walked to the shower, as Alex lay on the bed and watched her move. She came out a few minutes later still nude, and toweling her hair. She walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him. She smiled at Alex, and said, “How do you feel? I think I am now a statutory rapist, so you’d better be having fun.”

  Alex grinned at her. “I feel great! That was fantastic!” Linda rolled onto the bed between his legs, with her head just above his groin. Alex relaxed and watched, until finally she pulled from him. She moved up beside him and began a slow kiss. “Alex, there’s something I’d like you to do for me that makes me feel wonderful.”

  “Sure,” Alex said. “Anything.”

  She rolled onto her back and pushed his head down onto her stomach. “Kiss me here, on my stomach,” she said. He slid down and began to kiss her soft, smooth belly. Linda put her hands into his hair.

  “Now just move down a little more, sweetheart,” she said, pushing his head down a little farther. “Mmmm, that’s nice. Now—”

  Twelve days later Alex drove his borrowed car out of Audley, whistling happily to himself, heading back to Williamsburg and the Farm. He wasn’t sorry to be leaving, but was sure glad he had come home. His mother thought he must have completely redone Linda’s house, with the time he had spent helping her, and Elena couldn’t resist giving him little digs each time he came home for dinner.

  The Farm

  Much Later

  ALEX walked from the admin building at the Farm, strolling and shaking his head a little, bemused at the ways things sometimes play out. He was leaving his semi-regular meeting with the agency’s resident psychiatrist. He had been seeing him for eight years or so. The shrink was known by the regulars as Barry the Shrink and had the job of helping the CIA’s special ops warriors deal with the killing and violence they both experienced and caused. There was a little talk that Barry was a pure and impartial shrink and interested in their individual happiness, but more that he was a smart guy who would help them deal with the bad stuff that screwed up their heads.

  Alex knew he was Barry’s special case; he had been seeing him since he was seventeen years old, a third of his life, and got to observe things as they evolved. As they talked, Alex had slowly learned to watch and analyze Barry as Barry watched and analyzed him. He hadn’t taken the drugs Barry prescribed to help him cope, but he had coped. Somehow Alex had become quite talented at the special operations trade, and Barry had been with him all the way, helping him to reason through why he shouldn’t feel too much guilt about the killing and dismembering of sometimes apparently innocent others, albeit with Barry’s contracted agency view.

  Barry worked for Mac, and there was more than a bit of good logic about the way he led Alex to view his life, but of course Alex had slowly learned to put things in context, and often thought about his father’s advice about combat and life. There had been adequate time to study and to take local college courses of choice, albeit with sudden breaks in attendance when the special ops jobs called. Mac was good about influencing civilian professors to cut Farm students a little slack as long as the work was done at the end; he paid a lot of their bills.

  Alex had become one of the government’s best electronics and explosives technicians. After attending every school the military and the CIA could provide, and having taken useful college courses nearby, Cuchulain was one of the few men in the world who could blow up one third of nearly any building, destroying all it enclosed, while maintaining the structural integrity of the remainder of the building. More importantly, he could set it up so that the remaining occupants were troubled merely by severe concussion headaches, rather than suffering the dismemberment and vaporization that troubled the target audience.

  Among his skills were remotely detonated car bombs, airplane engine explosives that detonated without a trace at a particular altitude or time of day, and such household items as pens or rosary beads that could be blown up with just enough precise force to kill only the persons carrying them. He had designed most of his own devices, and his employers had quickly adopted many of them as their standard.

  Alex’s operations partner for the past five years or so had been Jerome Masterson, a career marine with more than twenty years service. Strangely, despite their age difference, he and Jerome had developed a symbiotic operational relationship, each doing what he did best. On an op, it had become a flowing thing where there was little need for overt communication. Things just happened the way that worked best. He had saved Jerome’s ass a few times and Jerome his—all without words; it just flowed. He had decided to wait to see how the flow went this time before telling Jerome about his decision. The conversation with Mac would tell him something about that.

  Alex had told Barry he was ready to get out of the special ops business—that he wanted a different life, and soon. This was his notice to Mac, delivered in conversation with Barry. He had little doubt that Barry was already on the phone with Mac, and Alex had his regular Wednesday dinner tonight with Mac. It should be an interesting evening—one that might give him a better hint of where Mac’s head was, and how Alex fit into that. Was he just another talented op, or did Mac have some personal feeling in all of this, given the mission he had? How long was Mac’s view of things?

  Alex and Mac walked along the groomed lawn after dinner. Mac carried a small bag. They sat on a bench overlooking the James River, as they had for many years, talking but never reporting. Reporting was done elsewhere and more formally, often even under hypnotism for later recall of essential mission details.

  “I talked to Barry today, about thirty milliseconds after you got off his couch, like you’d guess,” Mac said. “Hey, you’ve done your job better than most; bailing from the killing work is not a problem. If you want to skip this mission, we can find someone else, but it is sort of up your alley. You’re the best for the job. I’ll have to pull both you and Jerome; you’re sort of a matched pair.”

  Mac bent over to open the bag, the quiet of the evening punctuated by the rippling of the river and the discordant background buzz of myriad insects. From it he pulled a 1977 vintage Fonseca port wine, took a fancy corkscrew out of a side pocket in the bag, and began to open the bottle.

  “Yeah, that’s part of the problem, Mac,” Alex said, “I’ve been doing this for nearly eight years, and we have been active. Folks know me, and know about me. I’m getting more active, not less, and Jerome is part of it. In or out, we are indeed a matched pair.”

  Mac unscrewed the cork, and then handed the corkscrew to Alex. “Brand new. I can’t decide if I like it, but the design is nice. Forget what it’s called.”

  Alex turned it over in his hand. The grips were old, red-stained wood and the whole thing was carefully put together. He opened the small knife that was designed to remove the top of the foil bottle capsule, and then closed it again.

  “Nice piece,” he said. “I saw a couple of these in Europe. Has a bumblebee engraved at the base of the blade. I used to call it the bumblebee thing. It’s got a name, though.”

  Mac nodded, busily extracting two Riedel port glasses from the bag, and two white Irish linen napkins.

  Alex sighed. “Barry says I’m starting to get used to being called a wolverine where I ju
st kill everything in sight without much thought and no hesitation. I prefer being called Cooch to being called a wolverine, but that doesn’t change why they all want me, nor who I am. I’m a good boomer, and no one dies from a kid shooting them in the back if I’m watching their back. Jerome says he acts as a useful bonus, since he helps keep me alive. Even the dreams and my nightmares are starting to go away. I’m not sure I like what I’m becoming. In fact, I’m damned sure I don’t like who I am becoming. I’m twenty-five years old, for crying out loud.”

  “You’re fine with Jerome, I assume?” Mac asked. “We can get someone else if that’s a problem.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine with Jerome, and him with me. Jerome is me and I’m him, on a mission. Left hand, right hand. He’s wisdom, I’m action, up close maybe. I guess I don’t know, except that it works. He’s the most patient man I’ve met; it’s unbelievable. I can’t imagine breaking in another partner, or having him break me in. I suspect he feels the same way.”

  “Had to check. I don’t want to lose you for something I can easily fix, but I understand about the dreams. I don’t have those dreams anymore, and I haven’t for quite a few years. I think it makes me less of a person now that they’re gone—less human,” Mac said with a sigh. “You’re better than anyone I have, Alex, because of your skills, your lethality enhanced by wolverine instincts—but most of all by how fucking smart you are. How smart you are, is what bothers me. Do you know how fucking smart you are—the tests—that shit?”