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The Hook

By: MasterWolf4kitten



We had been walking around looking and selecting different outfits for you to try on. Walking over to the changing room I remove your leash placing it in my pocket. Watching you walk over and open the curtain turning you smile and wink at me closing the curtain.

Sitting there the attendant walks over handing me a cup of coffee saying if she can help just ask. I thank her and as she walking away you open the curtain walking out in the first outfit a black evening gown that you look so sexy in making me smile.

You walk over and model the gown for me as your slowly turn showing me every angle you notice a couple guys admiring you from a distance. 

I tell you very lovely and it will do and what do we have next. You bend down kissing me whispering just wait. I see your turn with a grin and mischief look in your eyes. That's when I notice you accidentally leave the curtain open a little which I can see you moving around changing.

Opening the curtain, watching you walk seductively towards me in a very tight short mini-skirt and a black shear lacy top. My blood starts to heat with need to have you.

Turning you accidentally knock the napkin off the table, bending over I notice you have taken off your thong which places your shave pussy off to me. I now know you are teasing me and grin as you walk back noticing you don't even try to close the curtain this time.

While changing you look in the mirror noticing me watch you, and even the guys from earlier still watching along with a few more people. Grinning to yourself thinking now for the real test slipping on the last outfit. You walk out noticing the hungry stares watching you. Not sure that Master has notice your audience you make sure to really model this outfit a purple see through teddy. It shows off every part of your body. Smiling but upset you turn to go put your clothes back on, thinking well I ever push his button.

Slipping the shoulder straps off your arms jumping as arms reach around you. You moan leaning back against me as I slip my hands down your arms. I love you kitten but. Your eyes pop wide open as I clip your wrist cuffs together. You're mouth opens to speak as I place my finger on your lips to be quit. I tell you no speaking my naughty kitty as I remove the outfits from the hanging hook. I pull your hands up hooking the cuffs to it.

Now listen to me kitty for you have been very naughty today. I know you have been putting on a little show just to see if you can make me jealous seeing how I would respond.

Will kitten you should know by now I never get jealous, but your little show has cause a stir here. Looking in the mirror you see a large crowd watching with interest. I slip the teddy off leaving you totally naked roaming my fingers over your body.

Now how shall we punish such a naughty little kitty? Closing your eyes moaning as my fingers excites your body. But you scream as my hand smacks your ass hard. Looking you in the eyes yes I think the price will be worth it. I start smacking your ass turning it a bright pink. Seeing the crowds mouths drop open and this display of punishment in public. My hand begins to burn with the pleasure of the pain your receiving.

I move to the side to give our viewers a better view and remove my belt. Doubling it I smack it against you leaving its marks. After several minutes

Of this ministration your ass looks so good, and I cad tell your close as I pinch your clit telling you no no my naughty kitten punishment doesn't deserve a reward today. Groaning in frustration as you stretch up on your toes from the pain of the pinch, and the fire in your ass. Several minutes later I reach up your sweaty body lifting your cuffs off the hook. You slip to you knees with tears of shame but also joy flowing.

You also notice my cock straining in my slacks as I unzip it removing it. I grab your hair placing the tip of my cock against your lips. You close your eyes opening your mouth taking me in. I grip your hair harder making you're eyes open. I tell you a show you wanted and now you must watch as you put it on.

You see the shocked excited look on the crowd which has grown as you suck my cock. After several minutes I feel the cum boil up in my balls as you suck me deep inside your throat. I can feel your excitement knowing you want my cum deep inside your throat tasting me. But just at the last moment I pull from you and jerk myself as I shoot all over your face and chest. I have never cum this hard as I cover your from forehead to your breasts.

As I finish feeling the last of it drip from me. I watch you lift hands to your face, just to stop at the look in my eyes. I look at you and reach down placing the leash back on your collar telling now time to go home for the rest of your punishment. You smile at the look in my eyes knowing it will be worth paying. As you stand reaching for your clothes as I pull them from you saying not until the price is paid in full baby.

You see the shock look on the crowd grow as we walk out with you naked being lead with cum all over your. I tell the attendant thanks for the coffee and give her a tip as we walk by. You should see the looks of the crowd as we walk into the parking lot and grab a cab to return home. I let your cuddle next to me as we ride home hiding your grin as you think what test will I place him under next time as your pussy begins to tingle with thoughts of what will happen went we get home.

The Hook Up



Josh wasn't the most popular kid in high school. He was outgoing enough that everyone knew who he was, and he had plenty of friends, but he wasn't the most popular. Like many boys his age he still fantasized about many of the girls in school. Josh had even had girlfriends, a few of them too. He had his first kiss in 8th grade and even got his first blowjob in 10th grade. Though, Josh was ashamed to say as an 18 year old senior, he hadn't lost his virginity. 

As the year passed on it grew increasingly important to Josh that he lose his virginity, although he didn't want to sacrifice the sanctity in it. He wanted it to be special. One day in early April, the last of the melted snow had dried away and the sun was getting hotter by the day, Josh began a conversation with a girl names Alicia. Alicia was a very petite brown haired girl in his class. Although he had no classes with her, he knew that Alicia thought he was 'cute' and he also knew she wasn't a virgin. Josh knew that this was his chance.

He drove to the park in the center of town where Alicia and a couple of friends were hanging out. He sent he a quick text 





The Hook Up



"What the hell am I doing?" I wondered to myself as I continued down the freeway toward a destination where I should not have been going and a rendezvous I should not have. The twinges of guilt and shame weren't quite enough to extinguish the passion that drove me forward, however. Like water tossed onto a roaring fire, the immediate result is steam. In my case the steam made me squirm in the leather seat of the BMW and drop a hand to the shaved and oiled flesh that my leather mini skirt barely covered. My panties, discarded according to instructions, lay crumpled on the seat beside me. I picked them up and used them to protect the leather seat from the seeping fluids of anticipation. Too late. 

Twenty more miles to go. Twenty miles until I broke my vows of fidelity. Twenty miles before I put the need for passion and excitement above the mendacity a 21 year marriage, two kids and a husband who seemed to be gone more than he was around. Despite the guilt I felt excited and more aroused than ever. My entire body was tingling with anticipation and more than a little fear of what this encounter could begin. The half diluted and almost empty Mountain Dew in the cup holder did little to moisten the arid sensation in my mouth and on my lips; lips which would soon be wrapped around the cock of a man I'd never met. 

This man that I was about to give myself to had never seen me. I knew him only a "Steve." It had started as a random internet encounter and had gone much further. We never exchanged pictures because we were both married, and because he said it was much more erotic to describe ourselves in intimate detail. This wasn't about destroying our families, but rather finding the passion and excitement that neither of us could find any more with our respective spouses. How would I compare to whatever image he had of me? How would the way I see myself compare with the way he would see me? 

My breasts were nearly spilling out of the low cut white blouse I told him I would be wearing. Time and gravity had augmented what nature had begun. Where I was once a firm 32C, now I'm more of a 36D; sagging a bit but with slightly upturned nipples that I think look even better than before. Granted, I would love to have the body I had at 17, but on the eve of my fourth decade I think I look pretty good. Maturity added curves and in my case about 20 lbs, but I can still turn heads. I work out to stay healthy and attractive; not that my husband ever seemed to notice.

We used to have such a hot sex life. A memory of that time at my father's hunting cabin still sent a shiver over me. We were two young lovers and the thrill of the forbidden made it all the more exciting. How we nervously undressed so quickly in the cold; how he lifted me and tossed me on my parents' bed, following on top of me and smothering me with kisses while pawing my body; how he stopped with his penis at my entrance, looking into my eyes for the longest time before claiming my shivering body with a single hard thrust; how we ignored the cold and refused to get under the blankets because we loved how the heat from our bodies contrasted with the cool air. The memories returned and drove my fingers down to caress my clitoris.

Where had we gone off track? I remember when we were engaged, lying together on the sofa in the front room under a blanket; snuggling. The air smelled of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon as my mother was making breakfast. We had slept in separate rooms, though we had snuck together for a time in the darkness. Even though I was of age, my parents would have been pissed had they known that my pajamas were pushed to my knees and that his well lubricated cock was buried in my ass. It was such a deliciously naughty thing to do. Keeping quiet was the hardest thing; his fingers gently rubbing my clit; his hips working a slow rhythm as he took me where I had never let anyone else take me. We barely got away with it. I had the hand towel in the back of my PJ's to capture the seeping fluid his passion had deposited in my rectum, but our PJ's were up and we looked almost innocent when my mom walked into the room and said "Good morning, Sleepy heads."

As the miles slipped by I thought back to other memories. The first time my husband ever drove to meet my parents I had taken a pillow for the drive. Before long the pillow was on my lap and his hand was under it. My jeans had been discarded altogether, as well as my shoes and panties. The car was a two door Mercury with plenty of room to get comfortable for the long trip. We hadn't made it much past the first hour when touching lead to caressing, and then to me leaning over the seat and sucking on his thick cock while he drove. He caressed my face and stroked my hair as I continued. When at last he erupted in my mouth I swallowed it all without hesitation. I usually would have spat it out, but there was no place to do so. A few miles later he reached for the pillow and told me to unfasten my jeans. He kept his eyes on the road and his fingers on me until I came. It should have been enough, but moments later when he pulled off down a two track county access road I knew his passion had not been sated. The pillow went under my rump, the seat went back, and my future husband moved between my legs to fuck his future wife. Something about the whole scene was so hot that I must have masturbated to the memory 100 times; the way he looked as he leaned over me; the feel of his hard cock as he took me; the excitement that drove me to orgasm three times before he finally came; the risk of being seen; and the wild, sweaty climax. We kissed as he erupted inside me. Later, we cleaned up at a rest area so we didn't arrive smelling like sex. 

The buzzing of my tires on the rumble strip jolts me back to reality and I quickly steer back into my lane. I've got to be more careful. Getting stopped by a police officer would require some painful explanations. If I could turn back now I would, but it was too late. I couldn't turn back the hands of time, and I so desperately needed to feel that fire again. I removed my finger from my wet pussy and sucked on it. Slut! Tramp! The only time I ever tasted myself was to tease him, unless I was sucking my juices off his cock. When was the last time that had happened? Was it all his fault, or mine? We had to grow older, but did we really have to grow up? How many nights had we waited to have sex until the kids had gone to bed, and then had tried to be as silent as possible so they didn't wake up? How many times did we just give up and go to sleep? How many nights did we sleep apart and pretend it didn't matter? How did we let things go so wrong?

I rolled down the window to cool myself, because I know my face is flushed. My body is ready for sex. If my husband can't stoke my inner fires any longer, then I'll have to meet people like Steve who can. I don't want a new love, just a hot lover. Why can't I have both; a husband and family that I love and the sex life that I used to enjoy? Maybe my husband had as well. If he had, I really didn't want to know.

As I pulled into the motel I let out a sigh. A rented blue car was at the end of the building, as promised. I pulled up beside it and nervously reached for the door. Was this the end or a new beginning? Fighting back the fear and guilt, I walked to the door and knocked three times. 

When the door opened my jaw dropped in disbelief as I stared into the eyes of my husband. He simply reached for my hand and pulled me inside. "Hello, Baby," he said to me in a calm voice. Soft music was playing in the background and the flicker of a dozen candles illuminated the room. "It's been so long. I was afraid I'd lost my wild, sexy wife forever."

With that be picked me up and carried me to the bed. When I started to speak, he put his finger to my lips. "I know," he said. "I needed this as much as you do." He sat me gently on the bed and leaned down to pull off my skirt. There were so many things I wanted to say, but he didn't need to hear them. 

His hands pushed my legs apart gently. Though I've felt the touch of his tongue on my flesh many times, this time it was different. His tongue plunged deep inside me and then trailed almost in perceptively over the edges of my labia. I squirmed under his touch as his large hands caressed the inside of my thighs. My eyes closed tightly as he swirled his tongue around and over my clit. It felt so amazing. This was just about us; two people in love sharing the most intimate of passions together. He made me cum with just his tongue. When he eased his fingers into me and curled them to massage my G spot, I gripped the sheets and rolled my head. He wasn't furious at me. He knew from our conversations that I had never cheated and had never wanted to, that I just needed to feel the fire again. The fire I was seeking had been there all along, buried under work schedules, last minute dinner cancellations, report cards and PTA conferences.

I had tears in my eyes as I came for the third time. My husband looked up at me, smiled, and climbed up beside me on the bed. I immediately rolled over on him and took him inside my....HIS... pussy. "Oh, baby, I love you so much," I whimpered. His strong arms held me as we began a slow steady rhythm. We locked into a kiss that neither of us wanted to break. It was as if we had come full circle; from passionate lovers to parents; to business people with schedules and commitments; and finally back to the passionate lovers we had been in the beginning. We didn't need other partners, we needed to rediscover each other.... and that part of ourselves that we had lost sight of. We promised each other that night to never let the world come between us again. If we made too much noise in the bedroom, then the kids could turn up THEIR TV's or stereos. It IS our house, after all.



The Hooker and the Marine



Highly trained, elite recon Marine cleans up his neighborhood and finds love along the way.

*

Another hot one, 3 in a row, it was an official summer heat wave, after just having had one last week and the week before. Judging by the extended weather forecast, next week didn't offer much relief from the 90 plus degree, high humidity weather. The kind of day that Frank could fry an egg on the sidewalk, he'd be too hot to eat it.

He was looking forward to seeing snow; it had been a while since he saw any. Yet, he should have a problem. He was alive, when so many of his best buddies were dead. Compared to what he endured during his 4 tours of desert duty in Afghanistan and Iraq and before that, during the Gulf War, in Kuwait, and special op missions in between, this weather was a relief.

Now that he was finally home, the chow he had here was better than eating baby food, mushy ready-to-eat meals, MRE's. Still coughing up and spitting out sand, he was looking forward to grilling out later. A linguist with an expert ear for dialects, fluent in 10 languages, he could curse in Pashto, Dari, Arabic, Kurdish, Urdu, French, Italian, Spanish, German, and English. Even at his age, with his skills, he was still highly regarded by the CIA and a dozen private, mercenary outfits, that pay by body count, dead or alive. They all enticed him with money to return to active duty. 

This hot summer weather was nothing like the deadly weather Frank endured, when wearing a vest and a helmet, carrying a weapon, and shouldering a full backpack of gear when in country, all while watching his ass and protecting the backs of his buddies. Relaxing, but never fully relaxed, always on edge, he remained vigilant. Continually on and never off, he couldn't help himself, that's how he was trained to be.

With his back to the wall, much in the way how Wild Bill Hickok sat when playing poker in the saloon, so that no one could surprise him from behind and shoot him in the back, he sat on his stoop having a beer in his shorts and tee shirt, while wearing his ever present unlaced combat boots. Sitting in this way from his perch on the top step, with a commanding view of the street, his back was one side he didn't have to watch. Normal men hate it when their backs are up against the wall but Frank preferred it. Besides, there was nothing normal about Frank. He was a trained killer, an assassin. 

Already in a foul mood, he hated how his old neighborhood had deteriorated in his absence. Hoping to improve his mood, he listened to his favorite team lose a ballgame on the radio. His team losing another game, when in a pennant race, always put him in a lousy mood. Bored and antsy, bouncing off the wall, he was thinking about re-upping. He rubbed the sweat from his crew cut and spat his indecision on the sidewalk.

"Marine Corps! OORAH!" 

Programmed to die for his country and for his buddies, removing him from combat was akin to bringing a cage fighter to a formal dance. Out of his element, he didn't belong here. He more belonged in the desert with his buddies, the guys who understood what they needed to do and did it to survive. The conscience that never came into play then, reared its ugly head now. He was having the headaches and the bad dreams again. He couldn't sleep. 

He took a good look at his street. Foreclosures had taken their toll and every other house on the street was boarded up or had a for sale sign in front. With transients replacing familiar faces, now a stranger in his own neighborhood, he didn't recognize anyone. Not hard to find, the gutter collected needles and spent condoms; there was litter everywhere. The trees that lined his street were dead or dying. Pit bulls walked wanna-be tough guys and, in a four-on-one confrontation, he convinced the gang members that sold drugs on his street to find another corner in a different neighborhood to do their dirty business. With him home now and on duty 24/7, the Marine has landed, this neighborhood was on its way to being secured.

He grew up here and this used to be a beautiful street with kids playing and families gathering. Now, look at it. Symbolic of the state of the economy and the empty political rhetoric on the war on drugs and on gun control, his old neighborhood was no different than any other slum anywhere in America. A war zone and an unsafe place where residents had to watch their backs, this street could have been a street in Bagdad. What happened to his country? 

Frank watched a woman walking on the other side of the street. He didn't recognize her and even though he never saw her before, he knew what she was. She was a young, pretty thing, petite but with big tits. She was a prostitute. He's been with enough of them all over the world to recognize their gait and their stare. They all had the same walk and look about them, especially when approaching a potential customer.

"Hi ya, baby," she said with a wave and a smile, as she neared. "Wanna date?"

There was always a man behind the woman and when he woke up from his drunkenness and put his pants and shoes on to leave, he felt bad about taking advantage of these women. Impossible to overcome what they had endured, he felt bad about leaving them behind to fend for themselves. Yet, if he let his guard down, they'd slit his throat. Had he been somewhere else, anywhere else, he'd take care of their man and set them free. Yet, where would they go and what would they do? Akin to indentured servitude, some women were born into that lifestyle and it was the only life they knew.

Suddenly, his mind morphed into a stew of naked body parts, tits, asses, and pussies. When not on duty, when not in combat, drunk out of his mind, he just wanted to forget and how better to chill than to be with a woman. Faceless women, as foreign to him as he was to them, they all looked alike. Yet, when with him, they all had one thing in common. No matter what language they spoke, he taught them all to say God bless America.

"Say it now, say it. Say God bless America," he'd tell them, just before he was about to cum. 

"God bless America."

Some said it better than others, but it was the sentiment that counted. Most times, most women, didn't even understand what they were saying. Repeating his words phonetically, they smiled their cooperation for the money he gave them.

"Louder. Say it louder."

"God bless America!"

Appropriately, his way of indelibly stamping their brains with those words, after he fucked their bodies, maybe they'd make the connection in their minds. Certainly, if they repeated those words to the wrong person, they'd be targets themselves. He fucked them, just as his country fucked him with non-existent help from the Veterans' Administration for the emotional wreck that he was now. How could some Army doctor, who had never been in combat and who had never taken a life, help him? He was too far gone. Keeping him out there too long, his country fucked him up real good.

"God bless America," he said softly. 

Needing to chill not to lose his mind, needing some sense of comfort from someone, he had been with so many women in so many countries, he lost count. More dangerous for the women than it was for him, in the part of the world where he was, stoning was the sentence for adultery and worse for prostitution. Yet, no matter, where he went, there were always women willing to do anything for money and anything to survive.

"Don't tell me your name. I don't want to know," he'd say to them. Not knowing their names was his way of staying disconnected from them and from the real world. Caring for someone other than himself and his buddies' backs would slow his reactions. He didn't have time to think and knowing their names would clutter his mind with all the women he's fucked and with emotions he couldn't afford to have. "I'll call you Robin."

His favorite bird, he called every woman of the street Robin and no matter if they understood him or not, they'd just smile. Then, when he was done with them, in his mind's eye, he'd watched them fly away.

"Fly. Fly. Fly away little birdie, my beautiful robin. You're free. Bye, bye."

Unfocused thinking, fantasizing about pumping her pussy or her sucking his cock, daydreaming about some woman, while pumping rounds in the enemy, would get him killed. He needed to stay focused. He needed to stay in the zone, the war zone. 

He was the sweeper, the cleaner, and they called him in as a last resort. He cleaned up the political messes that the Generals made. There was no place for love in the Hell where he was stationed and where he was going, when he died. He only had room for hate.

He had the instincts of a veteran street cop, but one without the attitude, the backup, and the badge. He didn't have time for attitude. When in country, it's that cockiness that will get you killed. Besides, already the best of the best, better than all the rest, he was a Marine.

"Oorah," he mumbled under his breath, now that he wasn't alone and now that he had an audience of one watching him.

Wrapped too tight, he was having difficulty loosening up without unraveling. He's seen some stuff, too much stuff, and he's done some stuff he's not proud of doing. Yet, when it was him against the enemy, either he did what he had to do to survive or die trying.

He watched her walk closer and it was obvious that she was inexperienced. He wondered if this was her first time and if he was her first, potential customer. She looked that raw. She had to start somewhere, why not with him?

He could tell from her body language that she was nervous. Was she wondering if he was a cop? He certainly looked like one. All he needed was the uniform and patrol car. Too dumb to know any better or maybe she was too desperate to care, he knew she was going to solicit him anyway.

His neighborhood had gone to shit, since he left. After an IED nearly killed him, he was home for good or so he thought. Even after he got his hearing back, he still had the headaches. Tortured with physical pain and mental anguish, even when he didn't have the headaches, the bad dreams kept him awake.

After he was released from the hospital and home for only a couple of months, his Colonel called him wanting to know if he'd accept a special op mission, going deep undercover, and kidnapping a bad guy from Pakistan. It was suicide, but it sounded like fun. It sounded like something he'd do and had done, so many times before. Suddenly, pumped with adrenaline and feeling like Rambo again, he slept like a baby.

"Oorah!"

Now with a mission on the horizon and real purpose to his life again, he felt alive. He felt needed. A key player, he was part of a team.

"God bless America."

Just like Rambo, his motto was they drew first blood, not me. The same as Rambo, that was always his justification to kill, not that he needed any. Pulling the trigger was easy. It was the consequences of his decision to kill or to set his adversary free that he had to live with later. The judge, the jury, and the executioner, he was God when out there. He was okay with those roles, that is, until he was home alone with his bad self and all those he killed returned as ghosts to haunt him.

Assembling a team of the best of the best, he was first on the list. Only, if they were captured in Pakistan, they'd be on their own; the United States couldn't help them. He didn't even have to think about it; he said yes. After just two months home, with nothing to hold him here, he was already stir crazy and ready to re-enlist.

"Semper Fidelis."

Trying to make herself appear sexy, he watched her walk her walk. Strutting her stuff, she was laughable. He's had plenty pay-as-you go pussy the world over and she had much to learn. Yet, there was something about her that he liked, a veiled innocence that made him feel protective of her, as a father would lookout for his innocent daughter, only he could see that she wasn't so innocent.

"Either you have money in the bank or you're crazy," she said crossing the street and walking closer. "You talk to yourself more than I ever talked to my dog," she said with a laugh. 

"You have a dog?"

"I did, but he died."

"I don't have any money in the bank," he said with a laugh.

She was so young, younger than his youngest daughter. She was just a kid. Figuring she was older, guessing she was in her early twenties, she looked 18-years-old. He wondered how life could get so bad so quickly for someone so young? Two of a kind, a paradox and a quagmire with both selling themselves short, the parallel of her selling herself for money and him selling himself for his country wasn't lost on him.

Judging by her complexion and her hair, she looked like a natural blonde and after spending so much time with women who had dark hair, dark skin, and brown eyes, he was attracted to her blue eyes. Nearly as tall as he was, she wasn't a bad looking woman. With a bit of makeup, her hair done, and some nice clothes, she'd be pretty.

He had been with worse, only, even when he was in Bangkok and offered supposed Thai virgins, he had never been with anyone as young as he imagined she was. Maybe he felt bad for them, but he preferred the older whores to the younger ones, and he always chose the ones that the others didn't want. They were the ones more appreciated of him selecting them and they always showed him a better time. 

It had been a while, since he had been with a woman, one who could speak English, that is, and he was already thinking about accepting her proposition, before she even asked. How old was she, he wondered? Eighteen? Nineteen? He'd be surprised to learn, later, that she was twenty-five.

"Twenty bucks for a blowjob, Mister," she said stopping in front of him.

She had a lot to learn. If he was a cop, he could have arrested her. Maybe he was underestimating her. Maybe she knew he wasn't a cop. Maybe she didn't care, if he was.

For some reason, he could see his cock in her mouth, while fondling her enormous tits. It's been a while, since he's seen, felt, and sucked a rack like hers. Feeling a bit tense, he could use a blowjob right about now. She looked hot and tired and he thought about inviting her upstairs to his air conditioned apartment for a cool drink and some hot sex. Yet, if he was going to make the effort to take the time to be with her, he'd want more than a blowjob.

Tired of paying for sex, he wanted a commitment. He needed a girlfriend, someone to love him for who he was. If he had a girlfriend, a woman to come home to, he wouldn't even think about re-upping. Suddenly, he felt as tired as he was old. His mind wasn't right. A suicide mission, he knew if he went back in county this time, he wouldn't return. 

"That's pretty cheap," he said giving her the look over. 

"It's a tough economy and I go with the flow to make a living," she said.

"Are you any good at sucking cock?"

"I've sucked my share without complaints. Put it this way, no one has asked for a refund," she said with a laugh that made him laugh with her.

She was cute and he liked her. Only, instead of feeling excited to have his cock sucked by her, he felt sad. She made him feel bad. This is America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. It saddened him that his buddies, better men than even him, better men than she'd ever meet, died for her right to walk the street to solicit him.

With three daughters of his own, he wished he could help her. As his way of continuing to give back in hopes of fixing all that is so wrong with his country and his neighborhood, he had a sudden need to help her. His ex, after she remarried, wanting to get as far away from him, as she could, took his daughters and moved to California, when they were still young.

Perhaps, his need to help her was a manifestation of a need he had to still be in the lives of his daughters. Out of control with Post Traumatic Stress, something he didn't even know he had, until he was diagnosed with it and given therapy for it, his ex-wife, his daughters, and their marriage were all victims of his rage.

Now, when he wasn't filled with adrenaline with the thoughts of re-upping for the sake of a mission, he had nothing but headaches, heartaches, and bad dreams. It hurt his head and pained his heart to think of all that he sacrificed for his country for the likes of this streetwalker and everyone else who now plagued his neighborhood. Forsaking ballgames, barbeques, and long drives through the country on a nice sunny day, ever since 9/11 and Pappa Bush before that, he hasn't been around much. Always gone and landing on some makeshift runway in a God forsaken place, there was always some fire, somewhere in the world, that needed to be extinguished. He hadn't been much of a Dad, and he wondered if his daughters even remembered who he was, but he loved his girls.

With all the death and misery he saw and had an active role in creating, he had a difficult time trying to live a normal life and feel real emotions. Standing on a tightrope of indecision, if he felt anything, if he waivered while walking the line of his call to duty to God and to his country, he'd die. If he needed to feel, then he needed to stay home. If he could still sever his emotions, then he was fit for duty and could return. 

With his head turned around by all that he's been through, he had a hard time severing his feelings. Returning home and returning to everything familiar made him feel and made him realize all he had done in the name of his country. When he was 6,000 miles from home, in a foreign land so far from home that it was surreal, he didn't have time to feel. He didn't have time to think. He only had time to react or die. Now he needed to make a choice. Either he was a Marine or a civilian.

"Oorah."

Everything he felt was gag reflex. He didn't even have to think about his next move. He was trained not to think, just to do. With a flick of his hand, a kick of his boot, or a butt of his head, he just reacted. He was trained to get his opponents down on the ground, where he could control them and put real hurt to them. Don't let them get up, never give them an inch. No mercy. Stand tall. Be brave. You're a Marine.

He wasn't a regular Marine. Most times, when working for the CIA, he didn't even wear a uniform. Able to mingle with the locals, he was invisible. He was a ghost. He was a specialist. He was a killer. He was the one they called when they needed someone to be found or someone to disappear. The only fear he felt was failing his mission. He couldn't die. They couldn't kill him. He was dead already.

"No, I don't think so, but thank you anyway for offering to blow me," he said with a little laugh, while giving her a smile and studying her. She walked away looking rejected, as if just having interviewed for a job she didn't get, and he felt bad.

She had a nice ass and he'd do her, just to spend some quality time with those big melons. Maybe some alone time with a woman was just what he needed to quell his headaches and stop the bad dreams. For sure, he'd never call her Robin and with that, he wondered what her name was.

He had the urge to give her the twenty bucks. She looked like she could use it. Except for her big tits, she was so gangly thin. She looked like she could use some grub and he suddenly had the need to feed her, to take her under his wing, and to take care of her. Maybe he was reading her all wrong, but she looked just as broken, as he was.

Whether putting his adversaries at ease with conversation and a kind word or beating them senseless in hand-to-hand combat, he always engaged the enemy. It's funny how he perceived her as much an enemy to his neighborhood, as was her pimp and as were those drug dealers he relocated. He loved to meet up with that guy. Just as he did with those four gang members selling drugs at the corner, he'd make it so that he'd never run another hooker on his street again.




The Hooker and the Marine



"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she said stopping in her tracks, a few feet past him, "for five bucks you can," she said with a smile. "It doesn't mean I'll answer it, though. I'll just allow you to ask it."

He loved the repartee of teasing and he imagined she'd be fun in bed. She turned back around and walked to him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, white teeth, and big tits, if she lived in Texas, they'd make her a beauty queen but here in New York, she was a hooker. Go figure. He reached in his wallet, pulled out a five, and handed it to her.

"What's your name?"

"Robin," she said.

He laughed wondering if that was really her name. Robin was too pretty of a name for a woman in her profession, yet it served him right that would be her name; that's what he called them all. He imagined her proud parents when they named her that. For sure, she was prettier when she smiled. She looked so sad otherwise. She was pathetic, but there was something about her that made him want to know, protect, and shelter this little, wounded bird.

He had slit the throats and shot better women than her, women who believed in something and women who were willing to die for their beliefs. Stopping them from blowing themselves up and everyone else around them, he facilitated their departure from this life to the next with his razor sharp knife or a few rounds from his gun. It was his job to make sure that they got to their promise land without taking him and any of his buddies with them.

That was a funny way to put it, he thought. He was a facilitator. Now he had something to write on his resume. His government spent a lot of money to train him and thousands of men, just like him, to be the Grim Reaper, the harbinger of death. A highly trained killing machine, he had lost count of how many bodies he had left to rot in the desert heat. For sure, with his bullets flying on errant pathways and ricocheting off walls, he had killed more than he even knew he had. It wouldn't surprise him, when in the rage of war, if he was responsible for accidentally killing one of his buddies.

Serves them right for attacking us on our own land. Serves them right for bringing down the Twin Towers and killing all those people. Serves them right for starting the downward avalanche of our economy. If he could kill them all again, he would. 

"Oorah. Once a Marine, always a Marine."

"What? Did you say something?"

"Sorry, I have this uncontrollable urge to blurt out my thoughts sometimes. It's a way for me to get things off my mind and to release stress."

"Like that Tourettes Syndrome?"

"I guess you could say that, only in my case it would more be called, Marine Corps Syndrome."

"Yeah, I figured either you were a cop or a soldier. I was hoping you were the later rather than the former."

Yet, suddenly feeling as if he was a reverend on a mission to save a soul, he thought he could save her. As soon as he thought that, he felt foolish. He felt like every other John. After they fuck her, use her, and abuse her, they all want to save her. Only, this woman was different. There was something about her that made his bones ache and his heart melt.

He didn't know what it was, it was something indefinable and indescribable that made him unable to let her go. For some inexplicable reason, he had an instant connection with her. He liked her and would like to get to know her better, if the hooker thing could be put to rest for a while. He wasn't the jealous type and, as far as he was concerned, especially since he had so much of it, what's in the past is history, but having a girlfriend as a hooker was an extreme case of unfaithfulness. Once he committed to someone, he was too possessive to have his woman be with another man.

Certainly, he was more than twice her age. Other than for money, why would someone like her be interested in someone like him? Suddenly, he felt like a dirty old man about to take advantage of a woman young enough to be his daughter.

"Why do you do this? Are you on drugs? Do you have a pimp? Do you have kids to feed? What is it that makes you have sex for money?" He fired off his questions in the way that he fired his M60 machine gun, in a controlled spray leveling anything that moved.

"You already asked your question, Mister, and I answered you."

"I did?"

"You asked my name. Your five dollars already bought you my one answer, Mister. Then, you asked me five more questions."

"Frank. My name is Frank."

"For another five bucks, Frank, do you want me to pick which one of those five questions not to answer or do you want to chose?"

She was funny. He liked her sense of humor. Just like any normal couple, with his arm around her and his hand fondling her big tits, he could picture her sitting next to him on the couch and making out, while watching a movie. He yearned to have a normal life with a normal woman. Only how can a killer expect to live normally with a hooker? 

"You're not a bad looking woman. You could interest a nice, young man, get married, have a couple of kids, and live a normal life," he said looking at her. "Why do you do this?"

He looked at her more closely. She had a pretty face, but her massive tits controlled where he looked, as well as his horniness. Definitely, she was a D cup. Yet, because she was so thin, her tits looked even bigger on her slim frame and, because of that, it wouldn't surprise him, if she was only a C cup. Only a C cup. She still had big tits and he was enamored with her huge breasts.

"Why? Duh? For the money. What do you think? I have no education. I have no skills. The only job I can get is at some fast food joint standing on my feet to make $50, after taxes, when I can make more than that on my back or on my knees."

Her confession made him realize that they had much in common. They were much alike in that regard. With him a killing machine, what kind of job could he get, after being discharged from the military? They'd have to debrief him and after years of psychotherapy, maybe he could live a somewhat normal life, but doing what? He could always become an instructor. An instructor for what, on how to kill? Only, never having to think about it, he was better at doing than teaching. 

She had plenty of attitude, but he could tell she was all bark and no bite. He could tell she was scared. Someone had put the fear of God in her for her to do what she so obviously hated doing. He could see that in her eyes. He's killed enough people to know the good from the bad and deep down inside, she was a good woman.

Just by looking at her, he could see she wasn't happy. Just by looking at her, he could tell she was a survivor. She was miserable having sex for money and, if she survived this low point in her life, with a bit of tender, loving care, she'd make someone a good woman, a good wife, and a good mother. Someone was forcing her to do this, but who? He didn't have to wait long for an answer, when a new Caddy rounded the corner and screeched to a stop.

"Shit!"

"Who's that?"

"Desmond. My pimp. Pretend you agreed to date me," she said looking from him and back to her pimp. Now she really looked scared. "Okay? Okay, Frank? Please?"

Frank watched it play out, before giving her his answer. A tall, muscular, black man got out of the car and walked towards her. Stereotypical in the car he drove, the clothes he wore, and the swagger he had. He looked like a real asshole.

"You got my money, bitch," he said walking up to her face and talking to her as if she was less than human, when he was dog crap that he'd wipe from his shoe, if he had the pleasure of stepping on him.

"I'm still working on it. I haven't had a lot of takers. There's been cops, but this guy," she said looking over at him and pointing, "he--"

Nearly knocking her down, he slapped her hard enough across the face to blowback her hair and leave a handprint on her pretty cheek. The expression on her face went from shock to anger to submission. It was then that Frank knew she had been beaten before, probably as a little girl because in an instant, she was somewhere else. Disappearing within her sad self, her pimp could do anything to her and she'd never feel it. He had seen enough of this show to know he'd intercede and help her.

"You don't give me excuses, bitch. You just give me my money," he said grabbing her purse and taking what little money she had, before tossing it back at her. 

He grabbed and pulled open the front of her blouse and stuck his hand down her bra.

"All you whores hide my money on me."

"All I have is what you took. I'm not hiding any money. I swear. That's all there is. You took my last dollar, I have no more," she said palming the five dollars that Frank had given her.

"Hell you ain't," he said reaching up to hit her again.

"Don't do that," said Frank.

"Say what?" The pimp looked over at him, before turning back to Robin and slapping her again, this time even harder. He turned towards Frank and, with a nod of his head, gave him a hard look. "You a cop?"

"Nope," said Frank standing.

"Unless you're buying, best you get your white ass off my street, old man."

"I told you not to do that and you did," said Frank stepping down from the top step and squaring up on the sidewalk in front of him. Slowly, he shook his head, as if he was tired of having to correct the bad behavior of others by teaching them a lesson they'd never forget.

Able to sever his emotions, a man you'd never see coming, Frank had a relaxed, calm, matter of fact manner about him. A waste of energy that interfered with what he had to do, it served no purpose to get angry. He had the dead-eyed stare that Javier Bardhem had in No Country For Old Men, when he played Anton Chigurh, the man with the cattle gun, who fired compressed air to kill his victims. A walking, talking, breathing weapon, Frank didn't need a cattle gun to kill someone. 

Sensitive about his age, he didn't like being called old man. The last man who called him old is no longer breathing. Admittedly nearer to sixty than he was to forty, he could do anything a man half his age could do without breaking a sweat.

The pimp moved his shirt aside to show Frank the butt of a handgun. Unless this guy was a quick draw, the gun was useless where it was. The sight of the handgun was all Frank needed to go into automatic mode, kill or be killed. As if a fast forward movie played across his mind, he saw all the faceless dead men and women, who made the fatal mistake of pulling a weapon on him.

He wasn't a cop. He was a Marine in a war zone and in war to save his neighborhood. He didn't have to warn his victim first, before launching his attack, a preemptive strike, that left little doubt in the mind of the victim, who had just been attacked by Frank, that he was lucky to have survived and still be alive.

Usually a fatal mistake anywhere else outside the United States, Desmond made a mistake in showing Frank his gun, a telltale sign that he was too much of a coward to use it. Much like Arnold Schwarzenegger, when he played Julius Benedict in Twins, against the Klane brothers, this man had no respect for logic. Defenseless even when possessing a handgun, this poor excuse of a man wasn't even trained in life and death, hand-to-hand combat to give him the time to draw it and the opportunity to use it.

"You don't tell me what to do with my woman, asshole," said the pimp walking up to Frank and shouting. "And you don't tell me what to do on my street and in my neighborhood," he said jabbing a stiff index finger in Frank's chest, leaving it there and turning it, as if it was a corkscrew. "You dig?"

Suddenly, the neighborhood was alive with people watching. Frank didn't have to look away from his intended target to know there were eyes staring to see what would happen. He could feel them. An innate level of awareness, as if walking in a hamlet or a village with little or no cover, as if having eyes behind his head, he had the benefit of a sixth sense, when confronted with danger in a life and death situation. Like rats hiding in a hole, not only did he know they were there but also he knew where they all were.

Looking nowhere else but in the man's eyes, Frank could see all he needed to see with his peripheral vision. With Desmond already showing Frank his violent intention, the fight was over before it began. Even though the man towered over him by a good six inches, had him by more than 50 pounds, and was half his age, in one fluid motion, as if performing a choreographed dance, faster than a blink of an eye, Frank snapped the man's finger's, bent him forward with a sidekick that crushed his kneecap, broke his nose with a head butt, and busted out both his eardrums with a two handed, cupped clap to his ears.

If he felt threatened, if he had wanted to kill him, he would have given him a fatal chop to his neck or a deadly palm to his chest. Allowing him to live, instead, he took his gun away from him for good measure, before reaching in his pockets and taking his money, too.

"This isn't your street, shithead. I live here. This is my street and my neighborhood, and my name isn't asshole, it's Captain Frank Parker," he said nearly lifting the man off the ground with a one handed choke hold to his neck. 

"You lied to me. You're a cop," he said with blood gushing from his nose and his ears.

"I told you I'm not a cop. I'm a Marine and if I see you on my street again, now that I have your gun, I'll kill you with your own weapon. You dig? Who are the police going to believe a decorated war hero or you, a lowlife pimp, who hits women?"

He tossed the man sideways across the sidewalk. Desmond crawled back in his car and left faster than he came.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Why? I just saved your skinny ass," he said handing her the money and when she wouldn't take it, he grabbed her wrist and stuffed it in her hand.

Her face was red and swollen from where Desmond slapped her. She could use some ice to reduce the swelling and lessen the pain.

"My skinny ass didn't need saving, Frank," she said with tears welling up in her eyes and putting the money in her purse. "Now I have no one to protect me. I can't make any money. And I have no place to stay."

"Stay? You were staying with him?"

"Yeah, a bunch of us girls live together in an apartment he rents. We have nowhere else to go. He takes all our money in exchange for a place to live and food to eat."

"I have a spare room," said Frank. "You can stay with me."

That was the start of their co-dependent relationship. The one thing that Frank needed that was missing from his life was a woman. Both a work in progress, they helped one another. Frank even turned down his Colonel to go to Pakistan to stay home with Robin.

Instead, she was his mission and he accompanied her to get her things. Fortunately for Desmond, he wasn't there to receive another beating. After she was cleaned up and ate regularly, she filled out and turned out to be a very pretty woman. Prettier even than his ex-wife, she was the prettiest woman that Frank ever had.

Not wanting to be like the rest of the men in her life, he gave her some space and respected her privacy. That first night, the gentleman that he is, he gave her his bed and he took the couch. With her sleeping in the next room, if he had trouble sleeping before, he was definitely having trouble sleeping now.

He wondered what she wore to bed. He wondered if she was naked. He wondered if she was thinking about him, in the way that he was thinking about her. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Now that she's here, now what? Thinking with his cock, instead of his brain, what was he thinking to get involved with her? 

Will she just stay the night and leave in the morning? Where will she go? Who will she go with? Will she continue being a prostitute, working out of his apartment and taking guys home with her, whenever he wasn't there? Will she use him, in the way that so many men have used her? 

Still, even though he knew it was wrong, even though she was younger than his youngest daughter, he was horny for her. There was something that he really liked about her. Her voice, the way she moved, and how she looked excited him. Horny just thinking about her pretty face and big tits, he should have taken her up on her offer of a blowjob. He could use a release right now.

He was so horny for her that he'd pay to have sex with her but that would make him no better than her pimp. He wished he could have more than that with her, a real relationship, something he thought he had with his ex-wife. Because of his job, with him being away so much and because of his rage, when he was home, finally, he was unable to have a loving relationship with a woman before. Thinking about not re-upping, retiring from the military instead, and not going back to active duty, he could have a relationship with her now.

Yet, what in the Hell would a young, good looking woman want with an old, broken down man like him? Why would Robin want him? It wasn't bad enough that he had anger issues from the effects of Post Traumatic Stress, he was a trained killer.

Thinking about her sucking him, while he fondled her big boobs, he started fingering his cock through his underwear. Not needing much sleep, anyway, accustomed to sleeping with one eye and both ears open, Frank was a light sleeper. Tired from thinking too much about re-upping or retiring, he finally closed his eyes and slept for a few minutes. When he opened his eyes, she was standing at the end of the couch in her nightgown watching him sleep.

"I can't sleep," she said with a sad smile.

As if she was naked, the moonlight from the window behind her revealed every contour of her slim but curvaceous body through her sheer nightgown.

"Why not?"

Accustomed to seeing in dim light, he couldn't help but stare at the mountainous impressions her huge breasts made in her nightgown. With her nipples pushing against the shear fabric of the material, he wondered if she was cold or excited.

"I never slept in a bed before."

The irony of a hooker, who had never slept in a bed before didn't escape him and he thought it funny.

"Seriously? You never slept in a bed before? Where'd you sleep?"

He imagined her a vampire and sleeping upside down in a closet or in a closed coffin.

"When I lived with my Mom, I always slept on the sofa or the floor. She always had company, if you know what I mean. Then, I was homeless for a while, lived on the street, until Desmond found me sleeping on a bench in the bus terminal and offered me a place to stay. Not a real bed, all he had were mattresses on the floor."

He imagined a half dozen mattresses side by side with two prostitutes to a mattress, pick-a-dilly.

"So, what's wrong with my bed?"

"It's too hard. Besides beds are only for fucking and I'm horny," she said with a sexy smile.

Good God, she's horny. Frank thought of all the things he'd do to her to help her through her horniness, while satisfying his sexual desire for her.

"Robin, I--"

"Can you sleep with me? Please? I'll make it worth your while...Frank," she said pausing before saying his name.

One never at a loss for words, he was too excited with the thoughts of sleeping with her to think of what to say now. It almost didn't matter to him, if she really wanted him or was using him. Seeing her standing in the moonlight in her nearly transparent nightgown was a vision come true.

"I don't think--"

"Don't worry," she said. "You don't have to pay me."

It bothered him that she played the prostitute card. He didn't see her as a hooker. He saw her more as a desirable, young woman, someone who he was interested in developing a serious relationship and for her to mention money soured his desire for her.

"I don't intend to pay you for something you should learn how to give to a special guy for free."




The Hooker and the Marine



She looked at him and smiled and he felt his cock twinge for her. She was so damn pretty, when she smiled.

"Will you be my special guy?"

Imagining having her in his life, as her special guy and her his special gal, he softened with her words, that is, until reality kicked him hard in the nuts.

"I'm too old for you," he said looking away from her tits to look at her face. She was so damn pretty that he didn't know where to look. "I'm old enough to be your father."

He wished he had met her twenty years ago, when he was 35-years-old, but then she'd only be 5-years-old. This won't work. This will never work. What's wrong with him to even think she'd be interested in him.

"I've been with older men, before, some of my mother's boyfriends had their way with me."

"I'm sorry. That's terrible."

"It's just the way it was, back then," she said so matter of fact, as if not expecting any more out of life. "Her Johns would beat me, if I didn't give them what they wanted and when my mother found out that I was giving it away for free, taking away her business, she threw me out." 

He knew she was a survivor. He recognized it in her eyes. She was the type who'd do whatever she had to survive. He had been right about that with her. Yet, is that what she's doing now? Is she playing him for a place to live and for food to eat? When she sat on the edge of the couch, he scooted over to make more room for her and when he rested his hand on her exposed thigh, when he felt her warm, soft skin, he didn't care if she was using him or not.

She reached out her hand and fondled his cock through his underwear. He watched her toying with his cock, before looking up at her face. Immediately he became hard with the touch of her hand and when they made eye contact, he wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed a prostitute before. Just as he called them all Robin, so as not to get emotionally attached, they didn't want to be kissed for the same reason. Only, even though she was a hooker, he didn't see her as that.

"Robin, I'm not in a good place right now."

"I can make you forget your problems," she said fingering his cock with her fingertips, before tracing the length of his penis with her fingers, and cupping his balls with her hand.

"I'm too vulnerable and I--"

"Shut up, Frank," she said.

She reached her hand in the pee hole of his boxers and removed his cock from his underwear. She held his cock in her hand looking at it, fingering it, and fondling it, before stroking it. Then, she leaned down and took him in her mouth.

He reached out his hand and felt her body from her shoulder, down her back, to her round ass. Soft, yet firm, a ripe piece of fruit, she felt so young, unlike so many of the foreign, prostitute women he had been with. He reached down and around to fondle her breast and finger her nipple through her nightgown. She had such big tits and her nipples were so hard. He couldn't wait to see them. He couldn't wait to suck them.

He moved her hair out of the way, so that he could see his cock in her mouth and when he did, she looked up at him and smiled. With all the hookers he hired over the years, even though he found that so erotically exciting, not one has looked up at him with his cock in her mouth and smiled. None of them teased him in that way and looked like they enjoyed what they were doing. A total unexpected contrast with Robin, he was pleasantly amazed at how lustfully she sucked his cock. He loved seeing her pretty face, while he stroked her long, blonde hair and fucked her warm, wet mouth. 

Unaccustomed to having a woman actively participate in his lovemaking, she actually appeared to enjoy blowing him. He's had a lot of blowjobs over the years, but this blowjob from Robin, was the best, by far. He put a hand to the back of her head and ran his fingers through her lush, blonde hair. Then, lifting her up to him, he kissed her. She was the first woman he had kissed, since his ex-wife, and he could taste himself on her lips.

Unable to remember the last time he French kissed a woman, he couldn't get enough of her soft, full lips and her warm, wet tongue. She totally blanked his mind with her kisses. With every kiss and with every touch of her oh, so young body, he had reached an excitement he had never felt before. 

At first he was uncomfortable because she was so young, younger than his youngest daughter, but now that he was with her and she was such a willing and giving sexual partner, he could get used to having her in his life. She made him feel younger. She made his cock the hardest it's ever been and he liked the feeling of protecting her, comforting her, and having her in his life. In one fluid motion, she removed her nightgown and took him by the hand to bed.

From that first night that she took him to bed, they had sex every night after that. The best sex he ever had, it was more than the sex. It was the connection. It was the relationship. It was love. Definitely, she was the best kisser and never had he experienced a woman with breasts so big.

A warm and generous lover, when he was on top of her and inside of her, kissing her with her big breasts flattened against his muscular chest, he'd reach down and cup her sweet ass with both hands. Pulling her up and closer, he was able to go so deep inside her pussy that he felt he was one with her. Including his ex-wife, never had he been with a woman who had an orgasm from intercourse and she had one nearly every time they were together.

"Oh, Frank! Oh, Frank! Oh, yeah, that's it, baby, don't stop. Fuck me, baby, fuck me."

Between her kisses, her good looks, her big tits, and her screaming his name every time she had an orgasm, she made him feel special. He loved it when she rolled him over and got on top of him. Sitting upright on his cock, he loved watching her big tits bouncing, before he reached up to corral them with his big hands. Then, while still sitting on his cock, with his prick deep inside of her, he loved it when she leaned down to kiss him. He loved the feel of her long, blonde hair on his chest, before she lowered herself further and, as if being electrified, touched his chest with her big boobs.

"I love you, Frank," she said looking in his eyes and he knew she did.

"I love you, Robin," he said looking in her eyes and meaning it.

Since his ex-wife left him, able to sever his emotions to be with every hooker he called Robin, never did he ever think he'd say he loved a woman again. She wasn't kidding about her cock sucking skills, either. Never has he had his cock sucked like that. Sex is one thing but love is another dimension and never has he had anyone make love to him in the way that Robin made love to him.

No matter the difference in their ages, they had made a real love connection. After spending a season of summer lovin', they were married and bought a house in a better neighborhood. A year later, she was pregnant. Finally Frank was home for good and Robin had a home with a bed.



The Hooker and the Psychologist



Author's notes:

1. This is a work of fiction. The activities and practices described in this story are not necessarily either condoned or recommended. If you choose to do anything described in real life with real people you do so at your own risk.

2. All characters are fictional and any likeness to any living person is purely coincidental. The story is purely imaginary and, to the author's knowledge, bears no relationship to any factual occurrence.

3. Notwithstanding the above, the wilderness situations and first aid treatments described lie within the author's realm of expertise and, in many respects, are based on personal experiences from several trips into the wilderness. 

************************

The Hooker and the Psychologist

A psychologist spends a life-changing weekend

Jim drove into the small car park at the end of the gravel road and was pleased to see it was empty. He was looking forward to a weekend in the wilderness area, away from city life, from people, from his work as a behavioral psychology researcher and, yes he admitted to himself, away from his wife and children. He felt guilty when he realized this latter fact, knowing he had what to others appeared to be the idyllic marriage to Raelene, his wife of seven years. Together they had produced two wonderful children, David, aged four and Jessica, aged two, who was giving a new meaning to the concept of the 'terrible twos'. He and Rae had become an item at college and had slowly and naturally become lovers and drifted into marriage. He realized now, belatedly, that they had just gone with the flow, never questioning whether or not marriage and a lifelong commitment was what they really wanted. Rae had resigned her job as a clinical psychotherapist just before the birth of David and was now a full time devoted wife and mother. Now he felt it was all turning to custard and he was striving to resist labeling it as the seven year itch.

Although from the outside his life appeared to be wonderful, inside, in his time away from researching the lives of psychopaths, many of whom were serial killers and all of whom had destroyed the lives of many people, with a view to finding some common factor in their genetics or upbringing, he had a gradually dawning feeling that he was missing out on life. It had all been too easy; he had no challenge, nothing to strive for, no goal to attain. He was part way through writing a book, needless to say on the psyche of psychopaths, had published numerous papers and was a sought after speaker for psychological conferences worldwide. He had the world on a plate, but spent much of his time disconsolate and depressed, while trying to hide these from fellow psychologists including Rae. Not an easy task. So he was looking forward to a rare free weekend hiking through the forests and into the rugged mountain areas a short drive from his palatial home in an attempt to 'find himself', as the current jargon would state it. He knew from experience there was something about the mountain air that cleared the mind and cleansed the soul, giving him time to make some decisions about his life with the clarity of thought necessary for such momentous contemplations.

He sorted his gear in the trunk, filling his rucksack with the necessities for staying overnight in an alpine cabin. The weather forecast was for a band of frontal rain overnight, but the day looked good and these fronts usually passed quickly. Packing completed, he eased himself into the harness, feeling the old familiar pressure on shoulders and hips, locked his car and set off jauntily up the ridge trail. He knew from experience that steeper trails may be more tiring going uphill but were certainly easier than going downhill, so he was taking the shorter, steeper trail today, leaving the more gentle trail down for tomorrow to complete the loop. As he entered the forest the old familiar smells came to him, the pine scented foliage, the rotting vegetation underfoot, and here and there signs of animals , the gnawed tree branch and the flattened grass where some animal had spent the night in shelter.

He climbed rapidly, breaking out of the forest after nearly two hours, hiking through a belt of low scrubby vegetation before the trail began wending its way through jagged rocks and boulders. Jim stopped to take in the view, rest his shoulders and have a bite or two of his nutritious food bars, washing it down with some crystal clear cold water from the tinkling stream that crossed the trail. It was perfection; the sun shone down warmly, evaporating the sweat from his back, a few wisps of hazy cloud all that disturbed the perfect blue of the early spring sky. The horizon disappeared into the distance in a blur of city smog, which did nothing to pollute the pristine mountain air. What a great day, thought Jim, forgetting for a while his despondency and the looming problems of his life and relationship.

****************************

Skye drove into the car park noting that there was one other car there. Oh well, she thought, I could probably do with some company. She felt tired and stale; tired from the hours she was keeping, from the need to dance all night and entertain her male clients all day just so she had enough to make rent and to eat. Stale because it was the same old same old, every day the same, different people, same problems, guys who wives didn't understand them, who had problems with work, with everything. She was tired of being the listening post for everyone, for having others' problems lumped onto her, of living a lie, being one person to herself while lying about her work to others. Legal secretary indeed! Her mother must have realized by now she couldn't possibly be a legal secretary without years of training, which they both knew she didn't have. However, her mother had enough problems of her own with her second alcoholic husband so tended to stay out of her life.

She'd had several boyfriends but each had left once she had been forced to confess her real job: a stripper and hooker specializing in tantric sex therapy. She was unemotional about this work as it was, after all, providing what had become a necessary service for many men; it just seemed that men in particular judged her harshly and didn't want her to share her body with others. Hypocrites! They were quite happy to watch a girl strip or to spend a night and many dollars for her company in bed, yet if his girlfriend did that, he would want nothing more to do with her. Talk about a double standard!

But the day was far too beautiful for these thoughts to stick around for long. It was one of those rare weekends she'd given herself where she could lose the tawdry seediness of clubs and bedrooms and rejoice in the fresh mountain air, birds soaring overhead, the fresh clean pine scent and the rocky peaks rising above the surrounding plains. While she'd done a few day hikes, she'd never been away on an overnight trip before so she was really looking forward to the experience. The weather was perfect, as far as she could see, just a bit of hazy cloud but that was no problem. The early spring was also a wonderful time of renewal, sprouting grasses after the snows of winter, birds courting partners in the trees, soon to bring forth the next year's progeny. No discouragement or harsh judgements when they had sex, she thought.

She threw a few things into her borrowed rucksack, locked her car and felt the unfamiliar weight and pressure on her shoulders as she set off along the valley. The friend who had told her about the cabin in hills had mentioned there was a loop trail so she decided the best way was to go the slightly longer but less steep way so she could come back down the steep grade instead of having to climb it first off. At least by then I should be a bit fitter, she reasoned. 

She meandered her way through the valley, following the clearly marked trail, stopping frequently to rearrange her rucksack on her back and to look at places of beauty; a small waterfall, birds flitting amongst the trees, water tinkling over boulders in the stream. Such a marked contrast with her everyday life. I wish I could live out here forever, she thought wistfully. Gradually the trail steepened and she began the inevitable climb beside the cascading stream, stopping frequently to catch her breath and gaze at the beauty. After a couple of hours she rested and had a few bites of cake to eat, left over from some party last week. She also tentatively sampled the stream water, hoping it was fit to drink. It certainly tasted good, far better than the chemically treated city stuff from the taps in her flat. She was in the shade of the trees and was beginning to get cold. Maybe she should have taken a woolen top, she thought with a shiver. No problem, I'll get moving and that will soon warm me up again.

******************************

Jim saw the cabin in the early afternoon, perched high on a ridge, and he followed the trail markers, winding up the last steep climb until he sat on the small porch. He rested, taking in the superb view, nibbling on some more nutritious bars, at peace with the world. It seemed very difficult to even think about his troubles or any work problems up here; it was as though he was in a different world, just him and nature; maybe if he ignored his problems they would just vanish, he thought, but he knew in his heart this rarely occurred. He noticed small things; the chirp of a bird on the ground seeking food, the increasing sigh of the wind as it moved across the rocks and around the cabin, the thickening layer of cloud forming a circular rainbow around the sun. This latter, he knew from experience, was the precursor to the storm due tonight. He was pleased he had reached the cabin.

*******************************

As Skye left the shelter of the trees she felt the bite of the cold wind. The sun was no longer warm and appeared to have a ring around it. This led her to notice that the clouds were thicker as well. However, she must be nearly to the cabin; she'd been hiking for what seemed like weeks. Her legs and shoulders ached and she felt hungry. I'll eat when I get to the cabin, she thought, but right now I need to push on as fast as possible. I certainly don't want to be caught in the open if a storm's coming. She walked slowly, desultorily, plodding one step after the other. She no longer felt light and free but rather tired, sore, heavy, dull and wanting nothing more than to find the cabin and rest. She stopped again and pulled on her windproof jacket, a light nylon anorak that barely reached her waist. Still, it would have to do, she thought as the wind seemed to whip away her body heat. She wished she'd brought some gloves and a hat.

*******************************

Jim looked in amazement at the approaching cloud. It stretched from horizon to horizon, from well above him to the plains below, a complete wall of dark gray, ominous looking, impenetrable murk. It appeared to be stationary but a closer look showed it was racing across the landscape. He turned back inside to find his camera for a photo of this weather phenomenon but too late; before he could return it had arrived. The wind rose to a howling gale, rain, sleet and hail lashed the cabin. Jim went around the windows, ensuring everything was fastened shut. He felt the temperature drop rapidly and amidst the deafening din of the hail on the tin roof, set about lighting a fire in the old pot belly stove. Fortunately there was plenty of wood and twigs in a corner of the main room.

The fire was soon burning brightly and the room was warming up, as was Jim since he'd put on his mountain jacket and pants. He put a pot of water on the stove to heat. He pitied anyone who was out in this weather. He listened to the storm beating away at the cabin, noticing that it was no longer a steady roar but seemed to come in waves. There would be a wave of torrential rain and hail, then a break for a short time, maybe about 15 to 20 seconds, then another wave of sound. He was puzzling over this phenomenon when a break in the sound came and very faintly he thought he heard a cry in the distance, sounding like a cry for help. He quickly stood and went to the window on the lee side of the cabin and threw it open, listening intently. Nothing. He thought he must have imagined it but then he realized that for the sound to reach him it would have had to come from the windward side. He went to the other side of the cabin and waited for the next lull in the weather. Once it came he opened the window and again listened.

"Help. Help me."

The cry was faint but definite. Somebody was out there and that somebody needed help - now. He quickly pulled on his outerwear, reasoning that the person out there would be hypothermic and he was useless if he also was hypothermic. He waited for the next lull then opened the door and walked into the gale. He was only a few paces from the cabin when he heard the cry again.

"Help me. Please someone help me."

He followed the sound, bracing himself as the next icy blast hit him, waited for the next lull then walked towards the sounds, now fainter than before. Either the person was walking away from shelter or was failing rapidly. He hurried onward into the teeth of the gale, ignoring the next blast as he plodded determinedly towards where the sound came from. It was fortunate that it hadn't happened a bit later because it was already nearly dark due to both the lateness in the day and the grayness of the murk enveloping the mountain. The cry for help came again during the next lull, closer now, but fainter. He adjusted his course slightly, kept walking during the next blast, then found a person lying across the trail during the lull.

At first he didn't know whether the body in front of him was alive or dead. He assumed alive as it had been calling for help a short time earlier. It seemed he was just in time and the body did not stir when he shook the shoulder. He eased the rucksack off the shoulders and put it on his own back, then picked up the body in his arms and began making his way back to the cabin. The body appeared lifeless, draping over his arms without movement. Fortunately he now had the wind at his back so despite the rucksack and body, and because of adrenaline no doubt, he made it back to the cabin in rapid time.

He placed the body on the floor of the main room and removed the rucksack. What to do now? He knew all the theory of treating hypothermia, the theories about rapid compared with slow rewarming, but had never had a real live situation like this. He felt for a carotid pulse, present but weak and slow. He noticed she was a female, slight build, wearing pitifully inadequate clothing for these conditions. He opened her rucksack and found little of any use, no woolen clothing, not even any dry socks. Her clothing was completely saturated and was rapidly sucking what was left of her body heat away from her. He went to a bunk-room and grabbed a mattress, placing it beside his unconscious patient, then lifted her onto the mattress and proceeded to strip her naked, removing all her cold wet clothing before using his towel to dry her gently. He searched for his spare warm clothing, pulling it onto her easily as it was much larger than necessary, fitting his warm woolen hat on her head. He resisted the urge to try to rewarm her hands and feet, knowing that this would seriously decrease her core temperature, and he ignored the thin summer sleeping bag in her rucksack, instead unrolling his own bag. He unzipped it and wrapped it around her as she lay unconscious on the mattress in front of the fire.

What next? A cold body can't generate enough heat to warm even the warmest sleeping bag. He had to warm her from the inside, but for that she needed to be conscious so he could give her a hot drink. If he tried to give her anything while she was unconscious she could choke to death. He remembered a lecture he'd heard on alpine treatments for hypothermia and a suggestion had been made about getting the victim to breath steam off a pot of hot water. He already had his patient lying in the recovery position as she was unconscious, so he repositioned her head so her face was close to the edge of the mattress and placed the pot of hot water on the floor alongside. He racked his brains for something else to do but every other form of heating was going to reduce her core temperature, so he knew he had to be patient. He checked her position was stable and then filled another pot with water and placed it on the stove to heat. 

It must have been about ten minutes, which to Jim seemed like ten weeks, before she showed any signs of life. During that time he checked her carotid pulse and breathing many times, each time finding her pulse present, though still slow, and her breathing also slow and shallow. Then she moved and let out a groan. Jim quickly checked the pot of water, making certain her face couldn't fall into it if she moved. It was still steaming a little and at least warming the air she breathed. She moved slightly and groaned again, then moved her head. Jim stroked her cheek gently, reassuring her that she was going to be fine. She seemed to settle a little after that and Jim exchanged the cooling water for the warmer water on the stove. After a short time she stirred again and tried to lift her head, also trying to speak but her speech was too slurred to be understood.

"You're warming up in the cabin," Jim told her, "You've got hypothermia. Just rest and you'll be fine. I'll give you a warm drink in a few minutes when you're able to drink it."

She relaxed once again, the effort of speaking and moving possibly taking the last of her strength at that time. Jim kept monitoring her, stoking the fire, checking the water on the stove and waiting for his patient to awaken once again. When she did he poured some water into a cup, stirred in some chocolate powder and sugar, then offered it to her. She wasn't able to hold the cup but Jim used a spoon and fed the warm sweet liquid to her a spoonful at a time. Once she had drunk about half of it, she was more alert and he held the cup to her lips and she drank the remainder. She lay down again, allowing the warm chocolate to revive her and warm her inside. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Jim.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jim. You've been hiking to a cabin in the hills and you were caught in a storm that is still raging outside. I rescued you and brought you here. You have hypothermia and you're slowly warming up, so just rest and everything will be fine. What's your name?"

"I'm Skye. Thank you for rescuing me, Jim."

This effort seemed to exhaust her for a few minutes and she lay down and closed her eyes again. She was obviously very far from stable and would require careful management for a while yet. Patience was the key. While she lay there, unmoving, Jim prepared some pasta and dehydrated meat for dinner from his food stock. He hadn't found anything suitable in Skye's rucksack so was very grateful that he always carried an emergency supply with him. He cooked it on the stove and dished some out for himself, eating it quietly while watching Skye.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, he figured, about five years younger than himself he thought, and had a well-toned, trim body he remembered from when he'd stripped her earlier. He chewed his food ruminatively, wondering what her life was like. She had a pierced navel he remembered but wore no rings so probably was single. His thoughts were interrupted by Skye's eyes popping open and she looked around herself without attempting to move, just taking in the situation, looking at Jim, looking at the cabin. She suddenly realized she had been very close to death and how lucky she was, lucky that she'd got that close to the cabin, lucky Jim had decided to hike to the cabin today, lucky that he was experienced in the outdoors and knew how to treat hypothermia. She took a deep breath and sighed. She was quite fatalistic about life, believing that what happened, happened and when it was time to die, you died. Obviously it was all meant to be and it wasn't her time to die yet. She wondered why it all had to happen, what was the bigger plan? Why had they been brought together like this?




The Hooker and the Psychologist



Gently at first, then with increasing confidence, Skye moved to an almost sitting position, then she started shivering uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered, her legs, arms hands, torso all moving quite violently as she shivered. Jim smiled to himself; she was going to survive, he thought, remembering his lectures in which he learned that in moderate to severe hypothermia the victim does not have enough energy to shiver. If they're shivering, they're usually going to survive.

"Would you like some hot food?" he asked her.

"I don't have any. I just packed some cheese and crackers for tonight."

"No, I have made some hot food for you. Would you like to eat it now?"

She looked at him and smiled, chagrined that he had taken care of even this detail while she had ignored her nutritional needs on this trip.

"Yes, please. I'd like some hot food please. You're very kind."

"Well," he grinned, "If I rescued you from the blizzard it would be a pity if I let you die of malnutrition. Besides, you need hot food to continue the warming process."

"Mmmm, I feel like an iceberg. My legs, feet, arms and hands are numb and feel like they're permanently frozen and are hard to move. My only warm bit really is my head and stomach."

"Yes, that will be right, and those are the important parts. Here, get this in you and it will help the warming process."

She slowly reached for the proffered plate and her hand slowly clasped it, but as Jim tentatively released his hold on it he knew she didn't have the strength to hold it, so strengthened his grip again.

"Here, you sit there and I'll feed it to you."

He offered her a spoonful and she chewed it then swallowed. He only wanted her to eat slowly so her stomach would become accustomed to the warmth and the food; he couldn't risk her vomiting it up. Once she'd chewed and swallowed that mouthful she began giggling.

"I'm sorry," she spluttered," I haven't been fed by anyone since I was a little baby."

It took time but Skye managed to eat all the food on the plate and to keep it all down, much to Jim's relief. 

"I'm really, really cold," she said.

Jim noticed that night had fallen and the only light was a glimmer around the door of the stove. There was nothing more to do except to gently warm Skye overnight. The problem he had at present was how to do this. If he left her wrapped in his bag she probably would keep her torso warm and her extremities would remain cold. He also would freeze, well, maybe not, but would certainly get little sleep due to the cold even if he used her bag. If he reclaimed his sleeping bag and wrapped her in her own bag, she would certainly not warm up and would probably be far worse and possibly even die overnight. What the experts recommended was that a warm person lies next to the cold person with skin to skin contact. He also remembered the warnings about the warm person suffering from hypothermia from the cooling effects of the cold person, with the suggestion that the warm person was changed frequently, but here it was only himself who was warm. It was a risk that was quite justified and that he would have to take he decided. 

"Listen, Skye, to warm you up I'm going to lie beside you so that my body heat will warm you. Now it's best done with skin to skin contact. Are you Ok with that?"

Skye considered the question for a short time, realizing she was wearing his clothing and could see her clothing and underclothing drying beside the fire. She was also a hooker, she reminded herself, so had seen, touched and lain alongside plenty of other men with skin to skin contact. That held no mysteries for her. She was, however, deeply touched that this older, though probably quite naive man, would have these concerns for her.

"Well, I guess so. Thank you. After all, you've already seen me naked so go for it."

Jim lifted her gently in the sleeping bag and propped her against a wall, then placed a second mattress on the floor alongside the first and opened her sleeping bag out to make a quilt, which he spread over the mattresses. 

"I'm going to have to unwrap you and remove the clothing you're wearing. Otherwise I'll leave the room and you can do it yourself. Which would you prefer?"

"Hey, you've already seen me naked once in daylight. I hardly think it'll matter if you strip me a second time by firelight. Quite romantic even, I would think."

Jim felt his penis give a lurch at this last statement. His sex life with Rae had declined until it was now almost non-existent so the even slight sexual innuendo was interpreted by his subconscious as something far greater than it actually was or was intended to be. Jim ignored it, putting it out of his mind, or so he thought. He was a married man with children and a loving wife, so nothing could possibly happen. However, the mind is a fickle thing, as he knew only too well from his work with psychopaths, and he sensed that somewhere in a dark recess of his mind a thought had taken root and he would have to be very careful that it was not nurtured to grow to fruition.

He gently but quickly removed his sleeping bag from around Skye, then removed the baggy clothing, exposing her bare skin. He felt her back, which was slightly warm, and arms and legs, which were cold and felt lifeless. However, he knew they were not and had not been frozen so there was no danger of frostbite and they would recover, but they did need to be warmed as soon as was safely possible. He picked Skye up and placed her on her side on her sleeping bag then lay down beside her, his front to her back, and pulled his sleeping bag over them both, reaching over Skye to tuck it in tightly underneath her. 

"Does that feel alright?" he asked, hearing her teeth chattering.

"Y-y-y-yes th-th-thank you."

He placed his upper arm around her down her upper arm, feeling the icy cold beginning to cool him down immediately. He also noticed the same thing happening where his legs touched hers. His front torso was a little better off as it was pressed against her back, which was slightly warmer than her extremities, but her buttocks certainly remained cold and cooled his ardor considerably. The thought flashed through his mind, completely unbidden, that some energetic sex would probably warm them both up but he again rejected that out of hand, mentally chastising himself and trying once again to control his thoughts.

They lay together for a while, Skye warming slightly while Jim cooled down considerably. They dozed fitfully until after a considerable time Jim asked if she was awake.

"Yes."

"What say we turn over and change sides so I car warm your other side."

"Hmmm, Ok, if you like," she replied sleepily and noncommittally.

Jim managed to roll her onto her other side then crawled back into bed where she had lain. The bags were both cold from her body. This was a lot harder than it seemed, he thought, reviewing in his mind all he had read and heard about rewarming hypothermic people. It took a while before he could warm the sleeping bags up and by that time he was cooling down still further from contact with Skye's cold parts. He moved away from her limbs, conserving his body heat for where it was most urgently required. He relaxed, warming slightly though now feeling hungry from the energy he had used to generate heat. He should have re-stoked the fire when he was out of bed, he realized too late.

They both must have slept for some time during the night. The body has a funny way of looking after itself, grabbing sleep where it can to replenish its supply of rest despite adverse conditions. This was how people slept when caught out on a mountain slope without shelter; it was also how they died, he reminded himself, not that there was much chance of that inside a cabin with a fire going. When he next awoke it was still dark and the glow from the fire was very faint. The wind was still howling outside, the rain and hail beating a staccato rhythm on the roof and windows. He shivered, partly from cold, partly from relief that he was inside and not out there. Then he became aware of himself as he awoke a little more. His upper arm was draped over Skye, his hand on her breast, his groin pressed closely against her buttocks and, shock horror, his penis fully erect and pressing itself between her upper thighs and into her vulva.

Thank God she was still asleep, he thought. He slowly and gently moved his hips backwards away from her and she stirred.

"Leave him there, I liked that," she muttered.

Jim froze, not from cold, but he held his breath and remained absolutely still. He heard his heart pounding in his ears. What do I do now, he pondered. I could pretend to be asleep, could stay where I am, could roll over even, or could put it back as she requested. Later on he would realize that this was not the best decision making time and that his choice was possibly not the best one he could have made. However, he didn't have the luxury of hindsight, so he followed some primeval instinct and moved back to where he had been. He was rewarded by Skye snuggling harder against him and almost purring as she settled back into her sleep.

He awoke again probably several hours later. The wind was still howling, but the rain and hail seemed to have ceased. He opened an eye and looked towards the window where a small amount of light was coming through, the remainder being blocked by the snow that had piled against the glass. He wasn't equipped for snow travel and Skye certainly wasn't. Skye; he checked on her, feeling her feet and hands. Both were warm against his own so he knew she was out of the woods, so to speak. It would still take some time for her to fully recover her strength, especially on the food they had and the additional time they would need to stay due to the snow. But he was now certain they would survive.

It was only after his weather and Skye checks, when he was in the process of working out how they could return and how long they would need to stay marooned in this cabin before travel was again possible, that he realized something which, at the time, he considered to be far worse. Skye had turned over in her sleep, or at least he guessed it was in her sleep, and now lay alongside him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her upper leg wrapped over his upper leg and his fully erect penis nuzzling between her bare labia. It would have only required a small movement on either of their parts for him to actually penetrate her vagina and engage in sexual intercourse with this stranger. 

He had to move; had to remove himself from this predicament. He remembered the last time he'd tried to move away from her and been told to move back again. This time his resolve was firm; he must move back and stay moved back, preferably lying with his back to her. He began to pull away, only to have her pull herself closer and actually pull herself downwards so the head of his penis penetrated between her labia and was resting right at the entrance to her vagina. He realized something else. She was wet, her juices were running from her vagina onto his penis and there was next to no resistance to further penetration. He couldn't resist; the primeval dark part of his mind that he'd tried earlier to silence made his hips push forward and upward. He compared this with some of the stories told to him during interviews with psychopaths and shuddered. Maybe in future he would have more sympathy for the 'something made me do it' line he was so often fed. He felt himself slide an inch into her vagina and, horror upon horrors, felt her settle herself further downwards, compounding the illicit entrance so that now he was inside by at least two inches. 

He admitted to himself that it felt nice. The dark part of his mind was congratulating him, challenging him to go deeper, forming such unanswerable questions like 'what's the harm in it?' and 'don't you like it?'. His will power seemed to have vanished. Try as he might, he just simply did not have the resolve to withdraw, making all kinds of excuses to himself that Skye needed the sleep, she needed warmth inside and he was giving it to her, she deserved this for staying alive, he deserved this for rescuing her and, of course, it was all her fault. He dismissed this last one by quite intentionally pushing his hips forward and upwards, feeling his penis slide into her slippery vagina still further. She now had just over half his eight inches inside her.

Whether she was awake all the time or woke with the last thrust Jim never found out. The next thing he knew was that her upper hand cupped his upper buttock and pulled them together. He felt his penis slide the rest of the way into her and his pubic bone press against hers as her hand continued to exert the upwards pressure. He suddenly realized that for the first time ever his penis was inside the vagina of a woman other than Rae. He also realized that this was something that he could not undo; he could never un-penetrate Skye's vagina. The deed was done and he had to live with that. How he lived with that was definitely up to him and also very dependent upon what happened next. He felt Skye snuggle into him, pressing her hard nipples against his chest as she mumbled incoherently, apparently in her sleep, but maybe not; he didn't know for sure.

What to do now? That was the question that passed through Jim's mind repeatedly as he lay there assessing the situation. His reason for lying naked beside Skye was totally innocent and one recommended in all the first aid manuals for treating hypothermia. However, he had no manual for the situation that currently existed. He thought of his wife, Rae, and knew she would be absolutely devastated if she ever found out about what was now occurring, but then he thought of his home situation, the fewer and fewer times that she would meet his needs in bed, and more worryingly maybe, his growing acceptance of this after only seven years of marriage. Then there was the problem of his training; as a psychologist, and being married to a psychologist, they both theoretically had the skills to deal with the situation as it existed between themselves and as it existed now that Skye was part of the problem. Or was she part of the solution? Jim had no prior references to answer the questions that churned through his mind. He didn't have Skye's philosophical attitude that what was meant to be would be and nothing we did could prevent that; that life would sort itself out in the process of life itself.

He tried to put the future out of his mind and focused on the situation as it existed right now. There was no doubt that he was firmly implanted inside Skye. The other thing about which he had no doubt was that it felt really nice. He could feel her warm vagina clasping his hard penis, muscular spasms clenching and unclenching slowly and rhythmically. Was Skye doing this consciously, meaning she was awake, or was it a muscular reflex, meaning she may still be sleeping, he wondered. He slowly moved his hips away and down, feeling himself withdrawing. There was no reaction from Skye until just the head remained inside, then she again moved herself closer and downwards, firmly implanting him inside once more. He repeated the process, so did she. She must be awake, he thought.

"How're you feeling, Skye?" he asked softly.

"Better now you're fucking me," she replied quietly, "Thank you darling. Are you enjoying yourself? I wanted to thank you for saving me in the best way I know how."

Jim groaned inwardly. It had all been her plan, she'd been awake all the time, offering her body as a thank you gift. She didn't need to do this. He felt he had to tell her, to stop the sacrifice of her honor just to show her gratitude.

"Skye, you don't need to do this. Just your thanks is enough, you don't need to give yourself as well."

Skye opened her eyes and regarded him for a few seconds.

"Don't you like it? If not, you're the first man I've met who didn't, and I've met a lot of men."

Jim thought for a few seconds before replying. One of the difficulties he had was that he thought like a psychologist, considering all the ways in which his response could cause emotional harm before choosing the least harmful response. He'd actually forgotten what it was like to actually say what he thought, even if he knew what he thought, which in this situation he did not.

"Yes, I like it and I do thank you, but I have a wife and children at home and she would be devastated if she knew what was happening right now."

Skye had heard lots of lines from lots of men and knew when they rang true and knew when a guy was simply appeasing his conscience. This was the latter. For him to agree to continue would create immense cognitive dissonance, pitting his male animal desires against the indoctrination of church and society as regards the sanctity of marriage.

"Well, you can just rest easy and tell yourself and anyone else you wish to tell that I raped you against your will, if that makes you feel any better. Now, can we continue please because it feels really nice to me too. Most men I have, and as a hooker I have lots, rush their love making so I don't get to feel all the wonderful sexy feelings, but this time it's way different, darling. Just relax and I'll take you to heaven."

Jim was stunned. This whole situation was getting completely out of hand. He felt he had lost control totally, and he did not like losing control and did his absolute best to avoid that at all costs. However, he remembered an old saying that when rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it. And it certainly didn't feel like he was being raped. It felt wonderful, in fact, possibly the best lovemaking session he'd ever had, he admitted to himself guiltily. In any case he had no answer to Skye's statement. A hooker? That explained her wonderful techniques. Then another thought crossed his mind.

"If you're a hooker, shouldn't I wear a condom? I certainly don't want to pass on anything to my wife."

"I have a test every week and I know I'm clean, but I guess I can't say the same for you." she grinned. "However, I'm assuming that you and your wife are monogamous, you just have that demeanor about you. Not one to play the field. Am I the first apart from your wife?"

"Yes. Is it that obvious?"

"Well, to a pro like me, yes. You really need to live a little, to let yourself go, give yourself permission to enjoy life. So just relax now and let me give you the time of your life."

Lots of questions went whirring through Jim's head as he thought about the whole predicament and Skye's admittedly seemingly wise words to him. Who was the psychologist here? She was acting as though she was my therapist, he thought. Maybe that was what I needed. Maybe I should take her advice? Maybe I should just crawl out of bed and leave her there. Jim realized that leaving the warm bed with snow outside and chilly air inside was not the most pleasant of prospects; far nicer to just stay where he was. So he did.

Skye continued to gently and slowly fuck Jim's cock, clenching and releasing her muscles to give him a beautiful cock massage while gently pulling upwards on his ass cheeks to re-implant him fully on each stroke. It felt wonderful, he admitted, far better than he'd ever felt. He relaxed, consciously placing his doubts and fears in another sector of his brain as he soaked up the delicious and previously unfelt sensations. He entered a wonderful, seemingly timeless place where his whole focus was on his sexuality. It was more like he had expected a meditation to feel, not that he'd ever felt that either. He resolved that when he returned from this trip he would live a little, would seek different experiences. He realized just how staid his existence really was and how life-changing this trip was becoming.

In his timeless state, Skye's gentle movements went on seemingly unchanged forever. Whereas with Rae the aim for them both had always been to give the other an orgasm, then roll over and sleep, here there was no pressure, no goal. The joy was in the journey, not the arrival. He continued to lie there and relax, feeling the sensations wash over him, taking away anything which wasn't right here, right now. It produced an experience unlike any he had experienced before, but he hoped even then to experience it again. For a split second he had time to marvel at the addictiveness of ecstasy, no matter how it was obtained, before relegating that thought to another plane of his mind and surrendering once more to the hypnotic movements and sensations.




The Hooker and the Psychologist



In this timeless state Jim had no idea how long they lay together like that, the slow hypnotic movements and wonderfully erotic sensations seemed to have become part of his life and to have existed forever. He was unaware that Skye had gradually increased the stroke length, just as he was also consciously unaware that he had cupped one of her breasts and was idly playing with her erect nipple, which Skye was really enjoying. All he did know was that this timeless space which he occupied was wonderful and he wanted to stay there, forever.

But even such bliss loses its attraction without some change, just as we can only experience this bliss to the extent that we have experienced its opposite, despair. Skye forced the change; pushing against his upper shoulder she rolled him onto his back, staying impaled on his erect pole and ending up lying on top of him, grinding her needy clitoris against his hairy pubic bone. She shuddered, not from cold this time but from an overload of sensations. Ever mindful that his aim was to warm Skye thoroughly, Jim repositioned the top sleeping bag to ensure no cold air entered the warm conclave of their bodies.

With greater freedom of movement Skye now began making love to Jim in a more rapid and active manner, pulling herself up and down on his hard erection, feeling it sliding inside her, pressing the end of her vagina, squeezing her clitoris. She felt that she was approaching her release and was hopeful that she could take Jim with her. Her breathing, for so long shallow and slow, was now rapid and deep as her lungs sought oxygen to fuel her muscles to bring joy to them both.

Jim felt the change in tempo and responded. He had never been in a situation where Rae had taken control; always he had been the driving force, he was the one in charge, he was the one who dictated when and if each would reach orgasm. Here he was not in charge, not in control, and he enjoyed the freedom this brought. He felt, for the first time ever, that he could just let things happen without having to make them happen in a certain way. He felt the sensations washing through his body intensify, felt his orgasm approaching, and for once, the first time, didn't wonder if his lover was ready or not. It was thus with a huge feeling of freedom that he came, spurting his seed in the end of Skye's vagina as he held her tightly, fully engulfed in her throbbing vagina.

Skye felt Jim's responses to her more active love making and sensed, from long experience, that he was about to blow. She also was nearly there and knew she could achieve her orgasm whenever she wanted. She really enjoyed simultaneous orgasms and this was her most cherished goal during normal intercourse. The feeling of a man spurting his hot seed into her was so overwhelmingly powerful that it inevitably made her cum hard. As her movements became more strenuous she felt him tense then felt the first spurt of his sperm deep within her, the beautiful sensation catapulting her into a massive orgasm with whirling lights in her head and uncontrollable sensations coursing through her veins. She tensed, felt him spurting four, five, six times maybe, then relaxed in his loving arms, feeling them wrapping around her, holding her, caressing her, protecting her just as he had done from her near death experience.

They lay together for a long time in their post-orgasmic bliss, neither thinking anything in particular, both content to just be as they were, lovers in this cold mountain cabin with the blizzard blowing itself out on the other side of the thin walls. Inside, however, there was love and fulfillment. 

After an endless, timeless period this blissful condition did evaporate and the cares, worries, problems and guilt returned for Jim. He had been unfaithful to Rae, his darling wife and mother of his children. Not only unfaithful, but what was even worse, he had enjoyed the experience, immensely. How could they ever live as husband and wife together again? How could he live with himself knowing he had hurt the person most dear and most precious to him? From the peak of joy and bliss he sank, rapidly and inexorably into the black abyss of despair, grief, remorse and regret. He lay there and sobbed, heart-rending, soul destroying sobs born of all the years of living a lie, staying together for the children, frustration with a non-existent sex life, anger at having to put a cheerful face on for the world while deep inside he was drowning, crying out to be saved but unheard until now, when the beautiful woman he saved became his savior.

Skye knew what he was confronting, knew the agony of guilt and fear that he was just now feeling. Many of her first-time clients felt these feelings. She also knew from experience that she was just the catalyst, not the cause; the marriage was on the rocks and it was only now that Jim was becoming aware of that and aware of the lie he'd been living for many years. She knew he needed to release these damaging emotions so she simply held him, lovingly, gently and passively. One part of her mind registered the feeling of his cock deflating inside her, sated, but only temporarily she hoped. His body-racking sobs shook her as she lay on him, just being there for comfort without any attempt to suppress the releasing of the emotions that had been stored so deeply for so long.

Gradually his sobs lessened and he drifted into a timeless nothingness, empty of all emotion. Jim felt that for the first time he could see clearly, could identify what he wanted to do in his life, where he wanted to go, goals he wanted to achieve and how he should go about achieving them. He realized that emotions were the fog which clouds so many judgements, so many decisions, and that you cannot see more clearly by moving closer; you must move away to gain perspective. He had moved away, physically. Emotionally and mentally, and could now look back at the blank and devastated plain of his life and see how devoid it was of any real worth, any real excitement. It seemed more an existence than a life, and it had taken an incident like he was still living to bring awareness of this to him. 

"Thank you, darling," he whispered in Skye's ear, "Thank you for allowing me to release my emotions and gain a perspective of life."

He hadn't known whether she was awake or asleep so was slightly startled when she bent upwards away from him and looked at his face, then smiled.

"That's Ok, honey, thank you. Seems we both saved each other this weekend, except in different ways. Don't seek out what you should do yet, simply accept that at the time when it needs to happen, everything will happen exactly as it's meant to happen. Release control."

Jim lay there and thought about that for a while, then nature called and he knew he had to face the cold.

"I need to get up," he said, "You'll be fine now without my warmth. How're your fingers and toes feeling?"

"They were tingling before as the blood began flowing but now they're fine. In fact, I feel fine. How about you?"

"Yeah, all good now. That emotional release was amazing; I never thought I could ever do something like that."

"True, it is something guys have great difficulty with because it requires them to let go and be completely out of control, and they don't like that feeling. Most guys also think it's sissy to cry, so they bottle their emotions up inside until they finally explode, just like something else I felt this morning," she grinned.

Jim gulped, embarrassed that she could joke about something that to him was so serious and so life-changing.

"Yes, well, enough said on that subject. It certainly won't happen again."

"Why not? Would twice make it any worse than once? It was a natural release that you needed as a result of living a lie in your marriage for all these years. Has any of that changed? Do not blame the symptom and ignore the real cause."

Jim was silent, recognizing the truth of her words.

"So you're saying you would be quite happy for us to make love together again?"

"Not happy, ecstatic. I really enjoyed being your lover today, you were fantastic. I hope I was also for you."

"You were, darling, certainly the best I've ever known, but then I've only ever made love with Rae before, and of course we just did what came naturally. Why is it that we're taught how to eat, how to talk, how to walk but not how to make love? That's just as important as any other bodily function, yet it's something that nobody talks about. It's just expected that people will find their way. So you get stories of women being unable to conceive because all the time he's put his penis in her urethra, and things like that, not to mention women who have no idea what an orgasm is because their husbands have never given them one. What a stupid society we have really."

"Yes, I have many clients who have little idea of female anatomy and even less about female orgasm. Very often I run an educational session, teaching a client how to please a woman. Many are quite surprised to even find we have a clitoris, let alone where it is. It's all this puritanical religious nonsense that is basically to blame."

Jim didn't reply, knowing that what Skye said was often very true and thinking back to the times he had attended church with his wife and family, the times when the priest had given his eternal damnation sermons, damning pre-marital sex. Jim thought that maybe if he and Rae had experimented they would never have married and then he wouldn't have the situation that he was going to have to face when he returned home. It certainly was unlikely to be the loving reunion he had hoped for.

"Yes, you're so right," he replied at length. "And you're also right about a second time not making it much worse than the first. So maybe for once I'll apply your philosophy and just let what is meant to happen, happen. So no judgements, no anticipation, no promises. Anyway, I really have to get up now."

He kissed her and wriggled out from under her warm body, feeling the chill of the air as he dressed and opened the door to relieve himself outside. He stopped inside the open doorway, taking a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. Light was coming through, but the outside of the doorway was covered in a sheet of glass-like ice where the wind had pressed the snow against the door, then partially melted the snow to form a thin sheet of ice. He called Skye's attention to it and she examined it quickly from the warm bed, then he shattered the ice with his fist and stepped outside into the moderating wind.

Once he returned he noticed Skye was also braving the cold and was attempting to find some warm clothing so she could also pay a call on nature outside. He watched her, for the first time appreciating her loveliness as a woman and lover, not as a near-death patient. He felt a stirring of his penis and felt a quick surge of relief that he hadn't burnt his bridges in respect of future love-making sessions with this gorgeous and worldly woman.

As he helped her dress in his over-sized warm clothing he thought how different people were and how naivety took many forms. While she was very naive regarding outdoor survival and hiking, an area of his expertise, she possessed a greater worldliness and practical psychological understanding than he, a trained and qualified psychologist, had ever had. For the first time he realized that from a psychological viewpoint, he was indeed the naïve one. This awareness monetarily shook him to the core of his being and he knew that he had much soul-searching and many questions to answer before he could successfully integrate this knowledge into his world view.

After she had dressed warmly she went outside to relieve herself and spent a few minutes in the shelter of the cabin looking at the beauty of the snow-covered world. The cloud was clearing, but insufficient yet to see the plains, and the mountain vista with its new covering of white was truly breath-taking. The cold wind soon found a chink in her warm clothing and she began to cool off, so headed inside once more where Jim was preparing some hot soup. Together they ate that and some of her cracker biscuits, both aware that they were unable to leave today and needed to conserve their meagre food supply. Jim dug out his cellphone from the safety of his rucksack and turned it on, hoping there would be some signal to notify at least Rae that he was still alive and would be late home. But there was nothing. In the hope that maybe a text would get through where voice communication was not possible he wrote a text then went outside to send it. While there was still no reception indicated outside, the text appeared to be sent so he left his phone on a tree stump to see if there would be any reply.

In Jim's opinion Skye was almost fully recovered from her hypothermia. He was aware that it would have taken a toll on her body's resilience and it would be several days before she would have fully recovered, but he surmised that she was fine now and so long as she didn't exert herself unduly she needed no further special attention. He smiled wryly to himself as he told her this, one part of him hoping that she would indeed get some further special attention and some of it would involve exertion. However, another part of him cringed at the thoughts.

A while later he went outside again to check his phone only to find the phone had switched off. The phone was very cold and the battery was dead so he brought it inside, hoping that there would be some life in the battery once it was warm again. The other problem he knew was that in areas of marginal reception the phone goes into a higher power mode than normal, so the combination of low temperatures and marginal reception was the worst possible for battery life.

"I don't know if Rae received the text and certainly didn't receive a reply, so we'll just have to hope that she doesn't start a full scale search. The battery's dead now so it's useless. Anyway, they usually wait 24 hours before starting to search, especially, I would think, when a storm of this magnitude has passed over. The authorities must know we can't move until the snow has melted a bit, or at least compacted so we can walk on it without sinking to our waists. Amazing how quickly conditions can change in the mountains. Less than 24 hours ago I walked to this cabin in sunshine and warm temperatures, now look at it."

"Yeah, and I arrived in a full on blizzard and nearly died," added Skye ruefully. "However, I didn't, thanks to my wonderful heroic rescuer."

She cuddled against him and gave him a kiss on the lips. He didn't pull away, as he would have earlier, and kissed her back.

Then they were faced with the difficult problem that has assailed hikers and climbers for generations: what do you do in a mountain cabin when you can't go anywhere? Often there were board games, left by generations of previous occupants. In some situations bored, marooned hikers, trapped by flooded rivers or adverse weather for days or even weeks, have made their own games up. There's a limit to the amount you can sleep, and a limit to the amount of food and cups of tea you can drink. However, when you're young, fit, of opposite gender and unknown to your conscious selves, falling in love, there is one very pleasant activity that rarely loses its charm. It also has the effect of maintaining body heat. Jim rekindled the fire from the embers and stoked it well, bringing in some more wood from outside to dry, then they returned to their cozy bed, naked once again.

"You know, there is abysmal ignorance generally about making love as compared with having sex," began Skye. "Fucking is something people do to make children. It is only a small part of lave-making. It's rather like hunting, I guess to use an analogy. For a hunter a great deal of the thrill is in the patient stalking of the prey, then the accurate shot to bring it down, followed by the pleasure of eating the meat. In love-making these days, the stalking has largely disappeared and the emphasis is on the final shot, after which even the eating of the meat is largely ignored. In the old days when girls were chaperoned on dates, the chase was both long and often arduous, requiring years of acting in public how the other partner's parents expected a person to act. I certainly don't recommend returning to those hypocritical times, but today the sex act is seen as somehow dirty and to be carried out in private behind closed doors and it is more giggled about or denigrated than admired for what it is, the single most beautiful and joyful gift that a loving couple can give each other. 

"This then leads to all sorts of dysfunctional sexual attitudes and practices including even inflicting pain as a means of providing sexual fulfillment. Then, with the advent of printing and more especially the internet, the sex act has become a spectator sport with people watching others enjoy whatever depraved sexual activity they choose while the voyeurs often masturbate to achieve their release. A bit sad really."

"Yes, I totally agree," interjected Jim. "In my work I have interviewed a great many people who have been classified as psychopaths and the vast majority have some perverted sense of sexuality. This seems to largely stem from their parents, particularly their mothers for men, and relates to either no sexual education or an incorrect and over moralistic sex education where the main message has been that sex is bad, dirty and don't do it. Obviously, if it's bad and dirty, then people who overtly practice this, like prostitutes, need to be punished. Some psychopaths then set themselves up as God's avenging angels and kill prostitutes, hence Jack the Ripper. In their twisted minds they are simply meting out natural justice."

"Yes, that's certainly one extreme and I can imagine it must be fascinating to talk to these people and find out what makes them tick. The other extreme is one where both men and women think sex is dirty and must be avoided at all cost, but they also feel the social expectation to have a wife and family. They are confused and overwhelmed by these two conflicting pressures, so these may become wife-beaters, carrying out their social responsibility to have sex to produce children, then beating their wives for their part in making them feel dirty. Some men, of course, turn to prostitutes for the sex because that way they can put their wives on a pedestal, leaving the poor women in loveless marriages from which they often seek relief in lesbian relationships or extra-marital relationships. Interestingly, whenever they are caught in such relationships it is always the wife's fault."

They lapsed into a companionable silence for a few minutes before Skye wrapped her arms around Jim, pulled him closer and kissed him deeply.

"Anyway, darling, we're not them, fortunately. From what you've told me about Rae, it seems that you and she are suffering from a lack of passion in your relationship. This often occurs when the sexual relationship becomes boring, largely because time pressures mean that sex is rushed; something to do for a few minutes between climbing into bed late at night and going to sleep; more a duty than a celebration of love for each other. One of my areas of expertise is as a teacher and practitioner of tantric sex, where an arousing and fulfilling journey is the goal, not simply a quick orgasm, which for the women may never be achieved. Would you like to learn some of the techniques?"

Jim had no idea what tantric sex was, although he recalled hearing her mention the word earlier. However, he realized his relationship was on the rocks and if there was any chance that this could help save it then that would be great. If not, he would possibly be better informed for the next relationship, if that ever occurred. He had nothing to lose and at least one afternoon and evening to fill in with this fascinating woman.




The Hooker and The Spy



Sal waited until her husband Ben was out of the door before going into the bathroom to prepare. Perching precariously on the edge of the bath, she spread her legs and shaved carefully before stepping under the shower. The warm, stinging spray felt good, and she stood for a few moments with her eyes closed, thinking about her plans. Her soapy palm against the fresh slickness of her slit made her tremble with anticipation, and it took a great effort of will to resist temptation. "Plenty of time for that." she thought as she towelled herself dry and headed for the bedroom to dress. Standing before the full length mirror, she studied her figure, pleased with what she saw. Firm high breasts, tight rosebud nipples, trim waist, and flat tummy above a neatly pouting slit with the merest suggestion of a protruding clit. Perfect. What normal man wouldn't want this? 

Turning from the mirror, she pulled on a pair of black fishnet stockings and a tiny g-string. Of all her brief underwear this was the garment she liked best for special occasions, because when she opened her legs wide it slipped neatly between her pussy lips, so it was a perfect choice for today. Sorting through her wardrobe she selected a short skirt, slit up the side almost to the waist to reveal a long shapely leg. To complete her ensemble, she donned a skimpy bra that accentuated more than it concealed, followed be an equally revealing blouse.

Slipping her feet into a pair of high heeled sling back shoes and donning a black beret, she surveyed the overall effect. "Perfect, you look just like a Parisienne street whore." she grinned, "Someone is going to have fun today." Not wanting her neighbours to see her dressed like this, she put on a light raincoat and left the house.

When she was a safe distance from home, she removed her coat and strolled another couple of blocks, to an area that was well known as a popular pick up spot. With her coat over her arm she stood with her back against a wall, watching passing traffic as she waited. She had only been there a couple of minutes, when she saw a man approaching. Trying to suppress a giggle, she looked him up and down. Sporting a bushy moustache and dark glasses, and with his hat pulled down over his eyes he looked like a comic book spy. He looked around furtively as he sidled up beside her, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hey babe, do you fuck as good as you look?"

"Beyond your wildest dreams," she returned smoothly, "but it will cost you a thousand to find out."

He hesitated for a moment "OK doll, but you better be worth it. Wanna find a motel?"

"I have a better idea. How about you call a cab and we can go back to my place? It's not that far but I don't feel like walking."

He hailed a passing taxi, and Sal gave the driver her address, and although he grumbled about it being a waste of time for such a short trip, he nonetheless pulled away from the kerb and drove his passengers to their destination.

As soon as they were in her house, her companion tossed his hat and glasses on the hall stand. "OK babe, let's get to it. Where's the bedroom or do you wanna do it right here?"

She held out a hand. "First things first, where's the thousand?"

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a roll and peeled off ten hundreds. "There ya go, now let's have a look at those tits."

She smiled seductively, and led him towards the bedroom. "It's your show, so how about you raise the curtain?"

"Sure sounds good to me." He opened her blouse and cupped her bra covered boobs, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples, before unfastening her skirt and letting it drop to the floor. As she shrugged out of her blouse, he stood back, studying her and removing his clothes. With a pleased smile she grasped his hard tool, leaning back for him to take off her bra and seek her stiffening nipples with his lips.

Her breath came in tiny panting gasps under his ministrations, growing heavier with each silky caress of his tongue and lips, and, fluttering her fingers along the length of his shaft, she arched her back, pushing her tits tight against his mouth. He eased her gently down on to the bed, and, aware of the effect it would have, she raised her legs and spread them wide.

His eyes widened as he watched the crotch of her g-string slip into her bald crack, and he whistled softly. "Man oh man, I gotta have me a taste of that." Slipping the flimsy garment down her stockinged legs, he lowered his head, making her giggle as his bushy moustache tickled her smooth pussy, then began licking up and down her slit, gradually parting the pouting lips until his tongue pressed firmly against her clit. With a contented sigh she made a mental note to talk to her hubby about letting the hair grow on his top lip, then she undulated her hips, Her sigh quickly changed to gasps of passion as his probing tongue brought on her orgasm. Body shaking, she pulled his head closer, frantically fucking his tongue as she started to cum on his face.

Each time her climax started to wane he redoubled his efforts, squeezing her tits, twisting her taut nipples, and sucking on her clit simultaneously until it felt as though her body was ready to shake itself apart. All too soon for her liking he finally raised his head, and gasping for air he rolled onto his back.

"OK doll, it's your turn."

She grasped his tool lightly, stroking her fingers up and down the hard length, running the tip of her tongue over the head before leaning over and pressing her boobs together around his shaft. He groaned softly and began to move his hips, tweaking her nipples as he fucked her tits. After a few moments he tensed, and she gripped the base of his cock to prevent him from cumming until she was ready. Once the critical moment had passed, she slid down and engulfed him with her mouth, sucking enthusiastically.

Maintaining her grip, she gently cupped his balls with her free hand, bobbing her head, sucking and licking, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he had just given her. Each time she felt him approaching the brink she paused for a few moments then resumed. Slowly kissing and licking along the underside of his shaft, she took his nuts into her mouth one at a time, rolling them gently on her tongue, before working her way back to clamp her lips around the head of his throbbing tool. His hips started to thrust and she relaxed her fingers, eagerly swallowing the deluge of pent up cum that gushed into her mouth. As the last few drops slid down her throat she moved up his body, stroking her nipples across his chest and pressing her cum coated lips to his. "How about some coffee?" she smirked, squeezing his now limp cock. "Give old John Thomas here a chance to recharge for the next round?"

He followed her as she padded naked into the kitchen, and as she prepared the coffee, he stood close, fondling her tits and fingering her hairless snatch. His touch on her clit made her shiver, and she reached behind her, groping for his flaccid rod. Even though she knew it was futile, she tugged hopefully for a few moments before she abandoned the attempt and concentrated on making the coffee and enjoying his exploring fingers.

Carrying the hot drinks into the bedroom, she squatted on the bed facing him, knees apart and ankles crossed, affording him an unrestricted view of her open slit. With a mischievous grin he stretched out a foot, stroking the inside of her thigh, moving up gradually until his toes were caressing her clit. She sighed and leaned back, spreading her legs wide. This unusual contact was as exciting as it was different, and she rotated her hips, maximising his touch. A pleased smile lit her face at the sight of his stiffening tool as he worked a toe into her hole, but as it occurred to her what he might have in mind, she shook her head warningly. There were many things she was prepared to try sexually, but a size nine up her cunt was definitely not one of them.

He shrugged ruefully and continued to manipulate her clit with his toes until her breathing became ragged. As she started to cum he coaxed her face down with her legs parted, and lying on top of her he eased his cock into her oozing crack.

"Oh yes, that's the way big boy. Ram it in deep. Fuck me good."

She shifted slightly to accommodate him as he pushed deeper, until his length was tucked comfortably into the wet warmth of her hole, and he began to fuck her with long satisfying strokes. Pinned down by his weight, there was little she could do to meet his thrusts, so she just lay panting, tightening and relaxing her inner muscles on his plunging shaft, as her cum dripped out of her crack. She always 'leaked' profusely during sex, and she was glad she had the foresight to spread a towel on the bedcovers, but right now her attention was focussed on the pleasure pole being rammed in and out of her freshly shaven twat.

Little by little he increased the tempo until he was fucking her vigorously, the head of his cock continually probing her g-spot until her entire body trembled like one huge out of control orgasm. He squeezed his hands underneath her, kneading her firm boobs, and she buried her face in the pillow, stifling the scream of passion that rose in her throat. With a long drawn out groan he dug his fingers into her resilient tits, making her wince as his cock jerked, pumping a flood of sticky cum into her already dripping cunt. 

He remained on top of her until his prick softened and slipped out, then he rolled off the bed and started to dress. "You sure are one hot babe for a whore." he smirked as he headed for the door. "I'd give it to you again but I got to save some for the little woman."

After he left, she rinsed the coffee cups and went into the bedroom to tidy up before Ben came home. As she worked she thought about what had happened. Despite her reservations when he had first suggested it, she had to admit her husband had been right. It had certainly added an exciting new dimension to her marriage.

A few minutes later she was still wearing only her high heels and fishnet stockings, when the door opened and Ben walked in. 

"Nice outfit" he grinned, then he frowned as he saw the fading fingermarks on her breasts. "Doesn't look too bad." he remarked, opening a beer and dropping into an armchair. "So how did you enjoy your day?"

"It was wonderful" she giggled, pressing the ten notes into his hand as she leaned down to kiss him. "I met this really weird man with a really silly false moustache, and brought him back here. He sucked my tits and ate me, then I sucked his cock and he fucked my brains out."

He laughed gleefully at her graphic description, then returning the notes to the Monopoly game on the coffee table, he pulled her down on to his lap, fingering her still sticky snatch as they tried to decide what roles they could play next time.



The Hooky Hike



Copyright 2001 Del Edwards

"Let's play hooky and go to the tall pines and walk together from sunlight to shadow and back again," he had suggested. He wanted her all to himself and she knew it. She wanted it too.

"You mean take a whole day," she asked, her brown eyes sparkling, an irrepressible smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah, walk and talk and stuff," he replied.

"What kind of 'stuff," she asked dipping her chin to her chest and looking at him out of the tops of her eyes. Her posture was either submissive or seductive, maybe both.

"Stuff you'll like," he replied as he put his hand on her left shoulder and stroked her collarbone with his thumb. A shiver of excitement crawled up her spine and lodged at the base of her brain.

"But what...uuuuh..." she began but he interrupted her.

"You won't be able to resist the pleasure. You'll be restrained," he said as evenly as he could. The ball of excitement slid down her spine and landed deep in her groin. She bent slightly at the waist and her eyes went glassy as she pushed out a breath.

Then she put her hand flat against his chest and said, "Sometimes you almost frighten me, the way your words alone can tie me in knots." Just a couple of seconds later she started to laugh at her own unconscious pun. "Just the same, what makes you think I'll let you tie me up?" she asked, working hard not to make it sound like a challenge.

"Because you want to know what it's like and I will do that for you. What I am asking of you is to pose nude so I can record your beauty on film in a completely natural setting. That means just a dress and sandals. No underwear, no elastic, nothing tight that will leave body marks, no jewelry and no makeup. Agreed?" he asked.

"Whoa...wow, that's the price huh?" she asked.

"No, I'm asking you to do it but saying no won't cancel what I will do to and for you," he replied.

"Oh," she said brightly and added, "I'll do it if you promise me the pictures are only for your private use."

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way," he agreed.

The following Thursday morning, a day she would normally have scheduled fieldwork, she drove to his house, turned into his driveway and parked in his garage. She thrilled at being naked under her button-front dress. The garage door was closing behind her as she exited her car and walked up to the considerably older man who was standing by the door that led into the house. Stopping within arms reach she looked up at him and said, "I'm stoked, are you?"

He smiled and nodded. Five minutes later they were walking to his truck that was parked in front of the house. He held her coffee cup while she climbed up into the passenger seat of the four-wheel drive pickup. She had to pull the hem of her dress half way up her thighs to get enough leg spread to make the climb. Without pushing her dress back down she extended her hand to receive her coffee cup.

They had cleared the congestion of the city freeway traffic in silence though they had exchanged glances several times. When he saw the first seventy-five mile per hour speed limit sign he set the cruise control and bumped it up to a steady seventy four. She saw him unwind his body and realized there was some tension in her as well as excitement.

Sipping her coffee she asked, "Have you done this before?"

"Sort of," he replied, his vagueness signaling that she wouldn't get anything else out of him and she might as well not try. She nodded in agreement several times realizing she would have begun comparing herself to his other experiences if she had the necessary details. She took the conversation in a different direction.

"You know, this is amazing. I show up at your house wearing nothing under my dress having agreed to let you photograph me naked then tie me up and somehow pleasure me. I must be crazy," she said.

"No, just curious," he replied. "You know I won't hurt you, don't you?"

"Oh yes. What else are you going to do that you haven't told me...hummm?" she purred. He glanced at her, smiled and said nothing. 

An hour and a half later they were bouncing along a dirt road at fifteen miles an hour, moving deeper and deeper into the wilderness. "You know, there are only three men who have seen me naked for years; my husband, my doctor and my massage therapist," she said.

"Change your mind?" he asked.

"No, no. Strangely I want this very much," she replied quickly.

"Good," he said, "ten more minutes and we'll be in the big stuff," nodding out the windshield toward the line of large pines not far ahead. Just after they entered the shade of the big trees he maneuvered the truck to the edge of the circle where the road ended. There were no other vehicles there, indicating they had the place to themselves, for the moment at least.

He busied himself with the camera gear as she stood idly by. She voiced her anxiety asking, "When do I take off my dress?"

"On up the trail when the settings get good," he replied. They had to hop a small stream and once on the other side the trail paralleled the laughing water as it spilled down the gorge. He stopped at a pool where two butterflies were in a dance in the air. One was black-winged with a white spot and a dash of scarlet within the spot. The other was exactly opposite; white-winged with a black spot and a dash of scarlet as part of the spot. They seemed in perfect harmony as they fluttered in the warm air above the dark, rich pool of water on its way down the mountain.

"Get bare and beautiful," he said to her. She did as he instructed quite quickly as though it was something she very much wanted to do.

"My god, you're gorgeous," he breathed bringing his camera to his face to avoid being overwhelmed. He needed to put something between himself and the glowing perfection of her body and face lest it consume him before he could record it on film.

At first it was awkward as he began to direct her but she seemed to intuitively know just the right angle of leg and arm, set of her head and look in her eye. She was acting for him, displaying her lean, angular body for his inspection and approval. She found herself enjoying being naked and playing to him and his camera. She had tossed away her inhibitions and was attempting to seduce him. Very much she wanted to look at his eyes but he had instructed her to ignore the camera. He pointed out that figure studies were made as a voyeur would view her; she must pretend she did not know he was there.

And pretend she did. They were perfectly connected spirit to spirit and soul to soul. Each frame said something new about her. The shutter slapped and clacked. She turned and looked off into space ignoring him as he had directed but occasionally locked her burning eyes onto him causing sensations and emotions in his body that were entirely new. Seven rolls of film later he let the camera out of his grip

She stood proudly naked in a puddle of sunshine facing away from him. She thought about Joe, her massage therapist, as she enjoyed the warm sun on her skin. His studio was always dimly lit, just the opposite of this moment. She wanted to masturbate. She turned and moaned at the man with the camera. She imagined Joe pressing his thumbs into the arches of her feet. That always made her groan with pleasure and her hips buck. It was as if he was her lover in the abstract and there was no violation of her marriage vows as she responded to him. She would cry her pleasure with moans and growls as he manipulated her feet. During those last fifteen minutes she masturbated as he instructed, coming again and again until; she was exhausted. When she left his studio she was barely able to walk and sat in her car for a few minutes before she could continue her day.

Yet she loved her husband very much and wondered how it could be that she was in love with two men at once. She and her husband made love well and the ache of loving him sometimes overwhelmed her as the momentary pain of a mouthful of lemon juice can pain and strain the saliva glands. They growled and gasped, grunted and screamed at each other during their lovemaking.

Yet she wanted more. Soon her conflict would be compounded by the man gazing at her nakedness there in the woods. He fascinated her and she fantasized it was him making love to her when she masturbated alone at home.

He was the one who advanced to her the concept of polyamory—loving more than one man romantically at the same time. It was entirely contrary to the requirements of conventional culture.

He was a powerful man well suited to become the third love of her life while she held two others in her heart. She often tried to avoid him since simply talking to him would put her into abject conflict and pain.

She was always torn as he approached, wanting to connect and yet fear welling up in the center of her being. It was difficult enough she told herself to love and be sexual with two men at once. Still she thirsted for his eyes and desire to be upon her. She had already decided that if he came on to her she would welcome seduction. He knew too when he had put his hand behind her neck for emphasis while describing his frustration at only being able to love her visually from a distance. She had moved closer to him very willingly. 

Back at the truck he stowed the camera gear and then centered himself before her and slowly unbuttoned her dress. She stood silently still as he pushed it off her shoulders and it fluttered to the ground. He had her sit on the open tailgate of the truck while he tied four-coil French bowlines around her wrists and ankles. The multiple coils meant the soft, thick nylon ropes would not cut into her skin or impede the circulation to her hands and feet.

He instructed her to dangle her lower legs off the edge of the tailgate and spread them wide. When she did he moved between them and squatted slightly. Somehow she knew what to do. She put her arms around his neck and locked her legs around his waist. They were still in perfect connection as he stood up, his arms locked under her buttocks. He thus carried her to the front of the truck and boosted her onto the hood. She willingly crab- walked on up it until her back was against the windshield. Both her arms were tied out to the rearview mirror brackets. The two ligatures about her ankles were hooked behind the curves of the front fenders and tied snug to the tow hooks protruding from under the front bumper. She was spread wide and totally vulnerable. She stared at the bright blue sky through the gently swaying branches of a large yellow pine. His warm tongue licked her slit. "Oooooh!" she moaned plaintively. Afraid to look she knew she wanted him to continue. He did. Her strained position and vulnerability meant nothing as he drilled his hard tongue into her. He sucked and tongue-flicked her clit until she was about to explode. Writhing on the hood of his truck she was gasping for breath and moaning, "Take me, take me, pleeeze!" He began the slow, steady clit lick that made her scream in ecstasy. Lightening strikes numbed her mind until she was blind and she screamed her release to the blue sky and gently waving branches above her. He took her five more times. She had breathed, "Nooomore," just before she passed out.

She was a beautiful, semi-conscious rag doll after he unbound her and placed her in the passenger seat of the truck. Then he got in, cradled her head in his lap and placed her powder blue sleeveless sheath where she could easily reach it and began the slow journey back to the interstate. Somewhere just short of halfway she stirred, smiled at him and sensuously turned over to display her very slight back, slim hips, muscular thighs and curvaceous calves. For the next fifteen minutes she kept his half-hard dick in her mouth as they bounced along the dirt road. Somehow she knew they were about to turn toward the city. She bobbed and sucked making him scream at her as his whole being shot the creme of creation up her throat. 

Slowly she sat up, moved close to him, encircled his neck with her arm and hugged him. Her legs were spread wantonly wide. "We both loved each other today," she said softly as time stood still at the Stop sign before he turned onto the on ramp of the interstate that would take them back to conventional insanity. 

If you wish to comment on this tale of love send your words.



The Hoot



For at least the last two years, Master has been encouraging me to suck the cock of a stranger. i've always balked at actually attempting it. Not from any objection to the task, but from a belief that i simply couldn't do it. 

i had never been able to go out and pick up a guy to fuck. In college, i went through periods of being desperate to get laid, and somehow i was never able to do it when i tried. A lack of confidence combined with a lack of self-esteem and resulted in my inability to hook up with strangers in bars. 

Several times in the course of our relationship Master has ordered me to find and suck cock, with the incentive of starvation rations on the designated hunting days. Each time i failed, and, each time, He has been pleased. Not pleased at my failure, but at what it meant. He proved to Himself and to me that i am not a hunter. i am prey. i will not resist cock, but i cannot take it. 

The last time He had ordered me to find cock to suck was over a year ago. i no longer gave seeking cock much thought, instead bending my mind to accepting any cock Master might find for my mouth to please. 

Our only goal in going to the sports bar was to watch the game on cable and eat chicken wings. Well, we also wanted to show off my general cuteness and piercings. 

For me, what i had on was conservative. A soft maroon three-quarter sleeve shirt, thin enough to show piercings if the bra weren't too thick, over a dark, tight, pair of jeans that showed off my ass and a cute little pair of orange wedges on my feet. i wore a light dusting of make-up on my face and my short, dark, pixie-like hair was brushed forward but unadorned. A black sparkly choker hugged my neck and both my septum ring and nostril stud were clearly visible.

We arrived at the national chain sports bar restaurant before the game began, and the waitress gave us a good spot with a view of a large flat screen to watch the game. Master, of course, enjoys looking at women, and i also enjoy the sight of fine female flesh, so naturally the place was one of those that have only waitresses, and they are clad in tight showy outfits. Most of them, unfortunately, did not have good asses (standard in this area), but the ones that did were displayed wonderfully. i tried not to ogle too openly, but, especially after i got started drinking, it was hard not to stare. 

There were two occupied tables in our section of the sports bar. One was in the direction we would be facing to watch the game, and it had two nerdy type men. The other was to our right with a shifting group of mostly rowdy looking men that periodically included the delightfully dressed waitresses. 

We started with beer and their famous chicken wings. That's all we ordered really. Just one large order of wings, and periodic pitchers of beer. Master had told me i was to drink and have fun, since He would be driving us home. i tried out different beers throughout the evening, though i really don't remember how they tasted anymore. It was just fun to watch the pre-game show and drink and eat and be cute. I made sure both of the other tables noticed me and my cuteness. 

Despite the table to our right mostly rooting for the other team, i got some to convert when i announced that i would only flash everyone if my team won. Though i have my moments of shyness and reticence, i really am an exhibitionist at heart. It is one of the things that Master has helped me to express about myself. 

As far as the other table, with the two nerdy gentlemen, i suppose i started it. They were in our direct line of sight, as we had to look to our right a bit to see the television with our game on it. We saw them trying to get a tennis match onto another screen, but the bar didn't get the channel they wanted. i suggested they put hockey on that one too as i headed for the bathroom (with Master's permission of course). They thanked me and declined my cute suggestion, since there was, after all, another screen playing the game right there. 

i felt them looking as i walked off and saw them looking when i came back. 

It could have ended there. i had shown off my sexy flirtiness and been a little cutesy girl. i knew it would please Master for me to be flirty, and my job was done. It was time to enjoy hockey, and hope that my team got the series to 3-1. 

Except it didn't end there. Of the two men, one was facing us, and when he made his first move, the dance really began. 

He struck up a conversation across the tables with me. i felt him brazen to do so with me hanging all over Master and that made him interesting. 

He did look like a nice guy. i learned he had been to school in the Midwest and was married with children. His friend at the table was engaged and less chatty, at least with me. Brown eyes, brown hair, pale skin and a nerdy cast to his features, but not unhandsome. And i do have a soft spot for nerds. 

The game wore on and my team was losing so i began to lose interest. Especially since with all the beer i was drinking, it was hard to focus on both television and conversation at the same time. 

Though i didn't think it through at the time, i knew and i know that Master will not let me do something He doesn't want me to do. i am at the point where if i am unsure i will communicate it to Him with words or body language and He will steer me true. So when i went over to sit closer to my new friend and was not stopped, i had no worries. On second thought, the no worries may have been all that beer. 

At any rate, we chatted. He showed me pictures of his kids, but not his wife, which i found amusing. i flirted drunkenly, and kept drinking even as my team lost in the background. 

In a typical drunk girl move, i told him about my nipple piercings and tattoos. When he subsequently, and predictably, expressed doubts about the truth of my statements, of course i had to demonstrate that i was indeed pierced and tattooed as advertised. i lifted up my shirt, and flipped up my bra, gleefully showing off the three nipple piercings and the blue tattooed areolas. Eyes rolled to the floor, needing to be picked up and dusted off, metaphorically speaking. It took me a second to realize that i had, by flashing them, also flashed the window, which faced the road. i was very glad that it was a large and busy road, not a small little lane wherein people might stroll or drive slowly by. Showing off to the men was one thing, showing off to the whole neighborhood would have been a completely different story. 

When i asked him if his wife was hot, he said that she was, but i got the impression that he wasn't telling the truth. i told him i'd fuck his wife while he watched if she was hot. i talked about how much i love being with girls. And i told him how much i love cock sucking. Sitting on stools at the high tables, we talked about many different things. i touched his leg in a friendly and open way now and again. We laughed and chatted and drank, with the fight for the league title going on unnoticed behind me. 

"Well, i need to use the bathroom!" i announced to him. Then i went over to Master, and got permission to go and use it, before walking over the to bathroom. i sat on the toilet and let out a rather large amount of pee, due to the very large amount of beer i had been drinking. i dried myself off, then stood up unsteadily from the rather low toilet. Opening the door, i walked towards the sink to wash my hands. 

The guy was standing there, looking at me with fire in his eyes. i looked down to see his cock straining against his pants and smiled. He moved forward and i moved back, backing into the stall i had just vacated and squatting down with my back braced against the wall of the stall. i waited in readiness, the wedge heels putting my mouth at just the right height. 

He freed his cock, and now i grabbed his legs with my hands, keeping them occupied and using them for balance. i have been trained to use only my mouth on cocks, never my hands. Swiftly, i swallowed his cock down in one smooth stroke, taking in his hardness, and his readiness, knowing that this was right. This was my duty and my pleasure, rocking back on my heels, and sliding my mouth firmly up and down his cock. 

Considering the hours of foreplay, i wasn't surprised that he came quickly, shooting his cum hard down my throat, so that i could barely taste it in my mouth at all. Of course, that was my fault, because i was slamming his cock down my throat as far as it would reach in my eagerness to feed. i cleaned his cock carefully, squeezing it with my mouth and milking every drop of cum out of it. i let go of his legs and leaned back against the wall of the stall, a smile on my face as he quickly walked out, his business complete. 

i felt so used, and it was a delicious feeling for me. i have had strange cocks in my mouth, but they were ones that Master had chosen for me. This one was the first that i had tempted and seduced into using me as a dumping spot for his cum. i felt both powerful and helpless to have stopped him. So important to me, that he didn't ask, he just acted. To ask is tantamount to telling me not to do it. i need to be taken; it is my kink. 

i washed my hands, as planned, and then stepped out after an appropriate interval had passed. i gave him a great big grin and sauntered over to Master. Sitting down beside Him again, i whispered in His ear. 

"Your slut just sucked his cock in the bathroom, Master," I told Him, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. "He came down my throat, right there in the girl's bathroom. Is that okay?" i asked, wanting to make sure that he approved of my actions. "i mean, i figured that if you wanted, you would have stopped it, i know you have the ability to put guys off, but you let him so..."

"It's okay, pet," He told me. "you did well."

He patted my ass and i grinned and poured myself more beer and went back to talk to my new friend. 

i was thoroughly drunk by this point, enough so that i hardly noticed that my team had lost. Instead, i was very interested in the man before me, hugging him and being a cute cuddly little piece of female flesh. He and his friend wanted to take me out to a strip club, and i was totally willing. Master, however, apparently decided that i was a little too drunk for such an adventure, so he paid our bill and got my silly drunk ass into the car. 

i sprawled in the passenger seat, touching myself through my jeans and filling the car with the scent of pussy. 

i smiled at Master. "pet did good?" i asked in a drunkenly cute little girl voice. 

He patted my knee, moving it out of the way of the gearshift in the process, and reassured me yet again that i had done well. i was happy. It wasn't simply the drunkenness. i was riding a high from this first experience with a "one night stand" of sorts. i had seduced a married man, and a father, to enter the women's bathroom in a so-called family sports bar slash restaurant, and stick his cock in my face, a stranger's face. For me, it was a triumph and an entirely new world to play in. 

i imagined that he would be there for the next game in the series, though i would be watching that one from home. Maybe even the one after that, not to watch it, but to hope that i would show up again, and maybe this time accompany him elsewhere. And it was quite possible that Master would let me, were we to see him again. Maybe he'll read this story, and remember that night. 

If you are reading this, i would like it if you dropped me a line. i think Master would let you play with me again.



The Hoover



It was very late and I found myself rushing to get to theatre before curtain time. I didn't have a ticket but I was sure I would be able to get a single at the box office. The outer lobby was extremely crowded, but I made my way to the window and said to the lady, "A single for this evening, please."

I don't recall her asking me whether I wanted a cheaper seat upstairs or a better seat in the orchestra, but she handed me a ticket and I paid for it. I realized that it would be better if I visited the men's room before the performance started.

"Where is the men's room?" I asked her.

"We don't have a men's room," she answered me.

I stared at her in consternation. How could a big crowded theatre not have a men's room?

"You don't have a men's room?" I asked her loudly, my amazement registering in my voice. What was I supposed to do?

"No," she answered. "You'll have to use the one in THE HOOVER."

THE HOOVER? Where the hell was THE HOOVER? Did all these hundreds of people have to go over to THE HOOVER?

"Where is THE HOOVER?" I asked her.

"About a block over," she said. A block over? People had to go a block over simply to use the rest room? I was appalled.

"I know where it is," said a gentleman next to me, who had obviously overheard everything. "Come with me. I'll show you."

We walked out of the theatre back onto the street, then down the block, then we crossed an intersection, and on the other side of the intersection I saw a string of rundown storefronts. And over one of them in large jagged block wooden letters, was written THE HOOVER.

I thanked the man, and crossed the street. I don't think he came with me. And I don't remember even having any conversation with him as we were walking from the theatre to THE HOOVER. But now I was alone, and standing in front of the seedy looking storefront. I opened the door and entered.

Right away I saw that it was a bar. A ramshackle bar in a distressed neighborhood. And this is where they were sending people to use the men's room? It was all so unlikely. 

I looked around the room and there were a dozen or more ruffian-type men, blue-collar workers, in torn crumpled blue jeans and un-ironed shirts with open half- unbuttoned fronts, showing chest fur. They were all young and most had facial hair. Moustaches or beards or both. They were all what I consider to be trailer-trash. They looked tough and they looked mean, and I looked very out of place, dressed for the theatre as I was.

They didn't seem to be paying any attention to me. They were just drinking and talking. Drinking and talking and smoking. 

I looked in the far left corner beyond the bar and saw a wooden door with 'MEN'S' painted on it in red letters. I would have to pass many people to get there. Would I have to buy a drink first? I didn't know what to do. I felt really uncomfortable and a little afraid. I knew I had to use the men's room, and moved toward it trying to attract as little attention as possible. 

I opened the door and looked in. It was white and shabby and thank-god empty. I crossed over and stood before a urinal, and just as I was drawing down my zipper I heard the door opening. I looked over my shoulder and it was one of the handsome rough-looking men I had seen in the other room (though they all looked very much alike). He was coming toward me, drawing down the fly on his pants. In a moment he would be standing next to me and I felt that I would want to look down at the penis he would be holding in his hand at the next urinal.

I don't remember when I have ever felt so afraid. So afraid and so excited. My throat was completely dry and I could barely breathe, and something was about to happen. And I woke up.

I had been sleeping. It had all been a strange dream. Whatever did it mean? My forehead was flushed with perspiration, and I sat up in my bed. No. No. No. I wanted to find out what was going to happen next. I wanted to be back there. Back in THE HOOVER. 

Usually when you wake up you can't remember what you dreamed, but I remembered it all so clearly. The jagged wooden block letters outside the rundown storefront, spelling THE HOOVER. I would never forget that place. I wanted to go back at once. I lay down and pulled the covers up over me, but try as I might, I could not fall back to sleep.

Eventually, an hour or so later, the alarm went off and it was time for me to get dressed and go to work. I would never forget that place. THE HOOVER. But by lunchtime at the office, when I started thinking about the dream, the name of the bar was gone. I had forgotten it. How could I have forgotten it? I should have written it down, because now it was gone. I had been stupid. I felt an awful despair, because if I didn't know the name of the place, how would I ever be able to return there? And I wanted to go back there. So very, very much. Damn. Damn. Damn. Stupid. Stupid. 

But then, while I was sharpening a pencil, out of nowhere it popped back into my head. THE HOOVER. The name of the bar was THE HOOVER. It had come back to me. Thank god. 

Yes. That was it. It was THE HOOVER. This time I wrote it down on a small piece of paper, which I folded carefully and put next to my driver's license in my wallet. I needed to get back there. Back to THE HOOVER. I needed to experience what would happen next. I had to find it again. Somehow. Somehow.

Day's passed. Nights passed. Dreams came and disappeared without me even remembering that I had even had a dream. It was all so disappointing. More than anything I've ever wanted in my life, I wanted to be back at THE HOOVER.

Perhaps, I could find it. Perhaps I had seen it in real life, and it become implanted subconsciously in my mind. I went to the telephone book. Nothing. There was a Hoover vacuum repair store. There was a Hoover stationery store. There was a Hoover Dry Cleaners. There was Edward Hoover. There was Helen Hoover. There was P. Hoover. There was Quincy Hoover, M.D. But there was no Hoover bar or bar and grill. 

I drove downtown and walked the streets. I didn't even know what theatre I had gone to in my dream. Had I ever been there? What was I going to see? Nothing, just nothing, looked like the landscape I remembered upon waking that morning.

Well. If I couldn't return to THE HOOVER, perhaps there was someplace like THE HOOVER. I explored the city. I drove into an exceedingly rundown disreputable section of town frequented by lower class laborers. One of the streets had a row of neglected looking storefronts. And one of them was a bar, but the name Maloney's was painted in red on the front window. Still, I thought I would investigate Maloney's.

I drove through an alley into the back parking lot and tried the rear door of Maloney's but it was locked. I walked back down the dark alley to the street and entered through the front entrance.

There were not too many people there. They all looked like day laborers. They were mostly overweight. Nothing like the gangly, long-haired, dangerous looking men I had seen in my dream. There were no scraggly beards. No mysterious moustaches. They were all wearing different sorts of work clothes and drinking beer. All the stools were occupied, with loud loutish type men watching the football game on television, and cheering on the Tacklers. Here, as in my dream, I felt out of place. I was wearing a business suit and a silk necktie and stood out like a sore thumb. And lord knows I had no interest in the Tacklers game. 

I knew I had to order a drink. I looked around. Everyone was drinking beer out of a bottle. Some of them were playing pool in a far corner. There was a lot of smoking, despite the fact that the city has an ordinance against smoking in public places. The smell of tobacco was overpowering. I would have to send my suit to the cleaner's tomorrow. 

I stepped up to the bar.

"What'll it be?" The bartender asked me.

"A scotch and soda," I said. He gave me a funny look. As if I were being oh so high and mighty. But I was not going to order a beer just to be less conspicuous. I hate beer. And I already looked out of place, so what difference did it make?

I stood there primly sipping my scotch and soda, but nobody was really paying very much attention to me. Actually that was comforting to me. But across the room, behind the pool table I noticed a young man. He was very handsome, in a vicious sort of way. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn't help stealing glances. Unfortunately, he seemed to know that I was looking at him. He pretended to look beyond me as his lips twisted into a sneering smile.

I took another sip. I sneaked another peak. He raised the beer bottle to his lips and swigged, his eyes glancing off me on their way to the ceiling. What was I doing here? This was all new to me. What was this strange new attraction?

In my younger years I had dated and partied like all the other boys, but as they all married and had families, I retreated further into my own little world holding down an office job Monday through Friday. On the weekends I drove out to the country to do a little bird watching. Occasionally I went over to my sister's house for dinner and to see the kids. Nothing exciting.

I had never had any desire to wed. I could never understand what people were talking about when they said they fell in love. It had never happened to me. And I was not a terribly sexual person. I had had a few experiences, which did not excite me, and I had had trouble keeping an erection. The women always tried to soothe me and tell me it didn't matter, but after a while I didn't want to put myself through that anymore.

I did occasionally 'abuse myself' as the saying goes, but with no particular fantasy, except perhaps the photograph of a large penis entering a mouth, or a vagina, or even a rectum. I liked looking at it. I just didn't want to do it myself. 

My eyes darted across the room and the young man was not leaning against the wall where he had been. I quickly surveyed the area and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him a few feet away talking to another young hoodlum type person. He registered that I had tracked and found him, and again came that cruel smile, which I knew was meant for me, and not for the person with whom he was now conversing

He had very white skin and brilliant blue eyes, but his hair and eyebrows were pitch-black. A startling combination. He was wearing a baseball tee shirt, and form-fitting trousers, all of which betrayed his every muscle and curve. He was exciting. I wished that I could know him. I didn't know why I wanted to know him or what we could ever talk about or do together. Surely he would not be interested in bird watching. And what reason would I have to go over and talk to him? What would I say? What would we ever have in common? But now I wanted to know everything about him. His name, his age, his interests. Everything. I wondered if we could ever become friends.

He seemed to make a little joke to his companion, and he kind of rubbed the front of his pants, and they both laughed, and he was heading towards me. But no. He was heading to my left, and I saw the door there. It was the men's room. He was drawing his zipper down even as he was crossing the crowded bar. I choked on a small ice cube.

It was at that very instant that I knew I needed to use the rest room. But I didn't dare go in while he was there. He would have thought I followed him. I would wait. I waited and I waited. He did not come out for another ten minutes.

I waited until he assumed his earlier slouch against the far wall, before I dared to down the last of my drink and set the glass on the bar. Only then did I walk casually towards the men's room. I made sure not to look either to the right or to the left. My eyes were glue fixedly to the men's room door. I entered.

It was a small room with rotting wooden walls. There were two urinals side by side, and when you stood in front of either of them, the door to one of the two stalls was directly behind you. There was hardly room to pass. Luckily I was the only one now in the men's room.

I stepped up to the far urinal and unzipped my fly. I was just reaching in for my penis when the door flew open and someone stepped up to the next urinal. I kept my eyes squarely in front of me. I wondered if it were the handsome young man who had been fascinating me so. But I didn't dare to look. I tried to concentrate on going. But I must have had some kind of psychological block, because as much as full as my bladder was, I could not empty it.

My face broke out into a sweat. I heard a liquid stream raining against the white porcelain of the facility to my right, but my own stream would not start. The stream to my right stopped but the man did not leave. I thought he might be looking at me. Could he suspect that I was lingering for some distasteful purpose? Certainly not! This was embarrassing.

I knew I should zip up, but I still needed to relieve myself. Finally I cautiously looked to my right.

The man was kind of a rough construction type fellow in his early forties, I would say. I noticed that his rolled up sleeve exposed some kind of military tattoo on an impressive looking bicep. His hair was just starting to go gray, and he had sideburns. He was not classically handsome, but he was rugged and not unattractive.

When I looked at him, he stared directly into my eyes.

"I'm having a little trouble," I explained, laughing. "I can't seem to be able to go." 

"I haven't seen you here before," he said.

"No. This is my first visit. I was driving by and noticed the place and just stopped in for a drink. Do you come here often?" I asked him.

"Sometimes," he said obliquely, looking into my eyes and then down at his penis, which, I think, he was gently squeezing.

"Do you want to suck my cock?" He asked me, in a very blunt fashion.

"No. No." I blustered.

"I think you do. I think you came down here to suck cock. But that's fine. I like to get my cock sucked. Go ahead."

"No. Really. I just had to use the men's room."

He didn't believe me. "We can go into the stall there," he tilted his head to the stall behind me. "We can shut the door and slide the lock, and you can sit on the seat and I'll stand in front of you, and if someone comes in, you just raise your legs so they can't be seen under. No one will know. It's okay."

His words were stimulating me and I was becoming erect. Now I would never be able to go. 

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you how big it gets. You'll really like it."

I had never even contemplated doing anything like that, but now the idea of it was filling me with a strange excitement. I was being torn in two. Part of me wanted to precede him into the stall and service the penis, which was going to get very large, and part of me was middle-class and offended. And also a little afraid. But the fear was an intoxicant. My penis got hard in my hand. Harder than it had ever been in my entire life. The thought of doing something so unimaginable and so forbidden was filling me with a new lustful desire. My bourgeois sensibilities had suddenly disappeared. I was just about to acquiesce, when the men's room door opened, and two burly middle-aged types came in arguing about the ongoing Tacklers game. That changed everything.

The man beside me immediately flushed, zipped himself up and left the room, and I forced myself back into my pants and followed. I needed to urinate, but I was not good at doing it with an audience. I was shy. I wondered what would have happened to me if I had ever been in the military, with that total lack of privacy. I hear they don't even have doors on the stalls. I would die.

I knew I should leave, but I spotted the handsome slim, blue-eyed, white-skinned, black-haired man again. He hadn't moved. He was still leaning against his wall. His eyes caught mine and only moved away when he threw his head back to pour another swallow of beer into his throat. I ordered another scotch and soda.

I stood there, alone, drinking at the bar, feeling a strange desire to know the tantalizing man across the room. But I was never going to go over to speak to him, and he was never going to come over to me. So finally when I finished my second drink, I put the glass down on the counter and headed for the door. I still needed to use the men's room, but not here. I would find a deserted area and pull to the side of the road.

I went out the door and back into the dark night. I walked ten paces, and heard the bar door close another time as I turned into the alley. Footsteps were following me into the alley. I wondered if I were entirely safe here. But I was probably just being neurotic. 

The person behind me was probably only walking to his car in the parking lot behind the bar, just as I was doing. I did not hasten my pace. I did not, in any way, want to betray that I was afraid. I was casual. Very casual.

I knew that when I got to the end of the alley and turned toward my car, I would be able to get a glimpse of whoever it was behind me. I did and saw that it was him. The handsome young man whom I had been watching all evening. And who, I now knew, had been watching me. But I just kept walking toward my car. 

I thought that at that point his footsteps would go in another direction, toward his own vehicle, but he stayed right behind me. I was sweating a little now, as I pulled out my car keys and inserted the correct one into the lock. 

"Got a light?" he asked me, a long cigarette dangling comfortably from his lips. He was scarcely six inches away.

"No. No. I don't smoke," I told him. Had he followed me into the parking lot?

"I notice you got a lighter on your dashboard," he observed, looking through the window.

"Well, yes, but...."

"You wouldn't mind if I got in and just lit my cigarette would you?"

"I really have to get home," I explained. "I have to get up early."

"Fuck. I really need a smoke. Be a pal."

"I really don't think...."

"Be a pal," he urged me in a very compelling voice. I nodded. In the back of my mind was that I could open the driver's door and jump in and quickly lock it behind me. Yes. That would be my plan. But as I turned the key, and pressed down on the handle, he kind of pushed me aside and climbed in. Now he was in the driver's seat. I was afraid he was going to steal my car. 

I stood there immobile for a minute as he pushed in the cigarette lighter, and then he swung over into the right hand seat.

"Get in," he said. "I'll just take a few puffs." He pulled out the red-hot lighter and touched it to the end of his cigarette. I was afraid, but I got in. It was my car, and hopefully he would get out the right-hand door in a moment.

He drew deeply and exhaled a hearty cloud of nicotinic smoke into my face. He was still holding the lighter, which was still glowing red.

"I seen you looking at me all night," he said casually.

"No. I wasn't I noticed you, of course, but I wasn't really looking at you."

"You're a fucking liar. You were cruising my body. I could see it. I even gave you the chance to meet me in the men's room."

"No. I wasn't." I protested. Both of us knew I was lying.

"I figure you're one of those high class queers who come downtown for a taste of real-man dick. Right?"

That was really offensive. I had done no such thing. Why had I gone in there? I was trying to recreate a dream I had had which had also taken place in a seedy bar. But the bar was not Maloney's. It was THE HOOVER. And the men at THE HOOVER held an unbelievable fascination for me that even this handsome fellow did not. In addition, I knew that I was a lot safer in my dream, than I now was in the front seat of my own car, in this deserted parking lot, down a dark alley, behind Maloney's bar.

He kept the cigarette dangling from his lips, not holding it at all, as he reached down and undid his belt buckle. His pants were tight, so he would have to lower them to really free himself. He drew out his member and started displaying it for me as it grew longer and thicker, and there was even a little ooze of pre-cum on the knob.




The Hoover



"A lot of rich older guys come down here to meet up with guys like me. You don't have to be embarrassed. I understand guys like you. I'll let you have this for two hundred bucks."

I hadn't really intended to have any contact with it at all, and now he was asking two hundred dollars.

"No. I really don't think so. I think you should go."

"I'm between jobs," he told me. "I could really use the dough." And he was masturbating the length of his erection right next to me. I couldn't not look at it. But I also couldn't do anything about whatever crazy desire might be coursing through me.

"I have to get home," I apologized. "I'll come back next week."

"No. I need the money now."

"Please," I said. 

He shrugged his shoulders and reached his arms down to adjust his pants. I thought he was just going to tuck it away, but he reached into his tight right pocket and pulled out a switchblade, which he then switched open.

"I would really hate to have to hurt you," he said. "Give me your wallet."

"Please," I said again.

"Give me your fucking wallet and be quick about it," he ordered now in a very unfriendly voice. I handed him my wallet. He kept the knife poised in my direction while he studied all my papers. I had over five hundred dollars in my wallet. I knew I shouldn't carry so much cash. From now on I would be more careful. I also would not be visiting strange taverns in a depressed part of town in the late evenings after this. I was hoping he would just take the money and go. Yes. Go, before stabbing me in the chest or pressing the cigarette lighter into my face. The lighter was in his lap. It had gone cold, but he only had to plug it in for a moment. 

"Melvin Spenniker," he observed, having seen my name and address on my driver's license and all the other vital documents which one must carry today. I hoped he would not take my credit cards. I also hoped he would not make me drive to an ATM machine and draw out funds from my account, which I would then have to hand over to him under the threat of bodily harm. If I ever got out of this, I would have learned a lesson. It wasn't even fair. I hadn't done anything.

He lifted the bills out of my billfold, and carelessly flipped it back onto my lap. He counted them and smiled.

"You were stupid, man. I would have let you suck my cock for two hundred. It would have been cheaper. And I have a real nice cock, as you can see. Next time, maybe you'll know a little better."

"There won't be a next time," I said stiffly. "And I don't suck cock," I informed him.

"Suit yourself," he said. He stubbed out his cigarette in my ashtray, but hadn't yet put the lighter away. Finally, he put the lighter back in its hole, but instead of removing his hand, he again pushed the lighter in again. I was terrified. But then he reached into his shirt pocket and drew out the pack of cigarettes. He shook one out of the pack and lifted it to his lips. The lighter popped out. He took the glowing hot implement and touched it to the end of the new cigarette. Again he drew deeply, finally exhaling a cloud of blue-gray smoke over me. I knew that the smell would remain in my car for years.

He held the lighter in his hand, the burning end facing me. "And remember. If you every tell anybody. Like go to the police. Or anything. I know who you are. I know your name. I know where you live. Got it?"

"Yes." I said. I had indeed gotten it. He gave me his last cruel, sneering smile and opened the right hand door. Before he got out he leaned toward me holding out the lighter, but he was only reaching in front of me to put it back in its socket. Thank Heaven. "Nice to meet you, Melvin," he said. "Remember. Any time you want to pay me to suck my cock." He laughed at me, as he groped himself.

The moment he was out of the car, I snapped all the locks down, and placed my key in the ignition. I was so nervous that I scraped the side of the next car as I hastily backed out of the narrow parking space. I saw him laugh at me. The minute I was clear, I revved the motor and sped off. A half hour later I got to my apartment. And was I ever glad to be home. I never wanted another experience like that.

I took a hot shower and got into bed. I turned out the light and tried to fall asleep. It had been so unsettling. In one night, two different men had wanted me to suck their cocks. They had thought that I had come into that establishment for the express purpose of finding cock to suck. Was there something about me?

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. And why had I gotten so aroused when it was all happening? More arousal than I had ever felt in my entire life. I would go back to Maloney's. I would pay the two hundred dollars. I would find out what it was like. No. I would never go back to Maloney's. I could be killed if I went back to Maloney's. It was dangerous. 

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. I fluffed the pillows under my head. Try as I might, I could not get comfortable. I could not fall asleep. I needed desperately to sleep. I could not fall asleep.

I had had two highballs at Maloney's, which should have made me sleepy, but they must have worn off. The fright had overcome their soporific effect. Maybe if I had another drink. 

I got up and went into the living room. My liquor was in a cabinet there. I rummaged. I found a bottle of gin. Why did I have gin? I never drank gin. I was not a drinker at all. Why did I have a liquor cabinet?

I opened the bottle. It took five minutes and a sharp knife to get the damned seal off. I poured myself a stiff one and swallowed it in two gulps. Uggghhh. Horrible. Why do people drink this stuff? I sat in a chair holding the bottle for ten minutes but I still wasn't feeling sleepy, and god I needed to sleep. I poured a stiffer one and swallowed it in four gulps. I put the bottle back in the liquor cabinet and went back to bed.

Yes. It was working. I was feeling a little dizzy. Nauseous and dizzy.

At first the room was spinning, but gradually the spinning evolved into a free-floating airiness. I was on a cloud somewhere wafting through the heavens. Where was the cloud taking me? I was anxious to find out. 

I was in the country with my binoculars looking to sight a blue-billed Peckerling, a bird I had never heard of, but I knew was nearby. It seemed very important now that I catch sight of the Blue-Billed Peckerling at least in flight, if not in his nest. I had no idea what he would look like, but I was certain I would recognize him by his blue bill.

As I pushed through the brush, a cluster of fearful birds, flapped into the air. I looked hopefully, but they were all sparrows. Not one blue bill. But wait. Wasn't that one? Way off there, near that other cloud? But now my cloud had reversed direction and was floating away from it, and eventually it was so far away, that I could not focus my binoculars sufficiently to identify the bird.

But then I was suddenly in the theatre. The very theatre. I recognized it clearly. I had been here before. A great happiness overcame me. I was anticipating a wonderful performance. But first I knew I would have to use the rest room. This time, having been forewarned, I did not even ask the lady at the box office where the rest room was. I knew where it was. It was down the street, then a block over, then across an intersection. Over there was a collection of run-down storefronts. Above one would be jagged block letters identifying the name I sought. THE HOOVER. The men's room was in THE HOOVER. I was frightened and excited at the same time. I was going to go into THE HOOVER, and I was going to go into the rest room hidden behind the far side of the bar.

I went in the door. They seemed to be all the same trashy-type rough-looking men who had been here on my last visit. They seemed to be country folk. I didn't know country folk, but I knew that these men were all country folk. I was sure that they all did hard labor on farms and ranches, pitching hay, tending cattle, and were all somewhat inarticulate. Most of them were angular. I have always liked angularity, and their facial hair made them look mysterious and dangerous. I felt my wallet in my pocket. Why had I brought my wallet? I should have left it home.

I ordered a highball at the bar, and stood there drinking it. I wondered when I would dare to go into the men's room. Only ten feet away. So close. So close. If I could only get to the men's room and see what would happen before my eyes snapped open. I somehow knew I was asleep, and was clinging to my sleep desperately. I knew that this was where I needed to be. In THE HOOVER.

Suddenly a handsome young man with a rakish blonde moustache moved next to me. I looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back, tipping his beer bottle at me. When he smiled he didn't look so mean anymore. 

"This your first time here? I ain't seen you before."

"No," I answered. "I was here before. Once before."

"You picked a good place. We got a good crowd here. A lot of nice fellers," he told me. I was glad to hear that, and I was glad he was being so nice to me.

"My name's Luke," he offered, stretching out his hand.

"Melvin," I told him, shaking the proffered hand. "I did not give him my last name. I had not become that trustful. And, anyway, he hadn't told me his last name.

"So what brought you to THE HOOVER?" Luke asked me cagily, his eyes narrowing.

"I have a ticket for the theatre," I explained. 

"This ain't no theatre," he laughed.

"I know. I know. I needed to use the men's room, and it seems they have no men's room in the theatre. They sent me here." 

"How about that?" Luke said, swigging a swallow of beer.

In his slim angularity, there was a sensuality, which was beginning to beguile me. His teeth were a little crooked. His eyelids drooped a little. He was obviously uneducated, and yet I felt so drawn to him. He took another swig of his beer, and I watched his bony hand as he lifted the bottle. He was so lean. More than lean. Skinny. I knew his legs would be long and skinny inside his jeans, but he had the most beautifully rounded firm buttocks pressing against the aging material that had grown thin and weakened perhaps through sitting on hard leather saddles.

"I have to get back to the theatre before the show starts, I should really use the rest room now," I said.

"Mind if I come with you, Mel? I need to get rid of some of this beer. Make room for more." He howled at his own joke.

"That's okay," I said. But I was nervous. I would have trouble going with someone standing next to me. I knew that.

"Okay, then." He set his empty bottle down on the bar and threw an arm around my shoulder in comradely fashion. I had never had a comrade before. I liked it. We walked to the men's room and went in. It looked a little different than it had the last time I had been in here. Maybe a little bigger? It was probably just my imagination. How could it have gotten bigger? But weren't there only two urinals here last time? I could swear there were only two then. Now there were five.

I walked to the one at the far end of the room, hoping Luke would take the furthest one away. Why crowd together when we had so much space? He took the one right next to mine. I almost knew he was going to do that. We were looking into each other's eyes, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his hands taking it out. If I looked I would be able to see it. I wanted to see what it looked like. But if I looked he would know things about me, so I couldn't look. My heart was pounding. I looked down. I looked down and saw

sunlight coming through the half-closed blinds. It was morning. I had somehow slept through the alarm and now I was late for work. I jumped into my clothes, and raced to my car without even thinking of breakfast. Only later, on my coffee break, did I start to recall fragments of my dream.

And then I remembered it clearly. I remembered Luke. The way he had thrown his arm over my shoulder. If only I had not had to leave so suddenly, what might have happened between us? Would I have done things I had never done before? 

I could barely wait for the day to be over. I wanted to get back to THE HOOVER. I wanted to take up just where I had left off last night. He had been standing right next to me, and I was just about to look down at what he was manipulating with his hand.

But it was too early. I wasn't hungry but I forced myself to eat a little dinner. I watched the local news. I watched the national news. It was all depressing. It was not where I wanted to be. Finally, I felt it was late enough that I could in good conscience turn off the television and retire for the night. 

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. I fluffed the pillows under my head. Try as I might, I could not get comfortable. I could not fall asleep. I needed desperately to sleep. I could not fall asleep.

I went into the living room and poured myself a stiff one and swallowed it in two gulps. I poured myself a stiffer one and swallowed it in four gulps. I shouldn't let this get to be a habit. I didn't want to become an alcoholic. I only wanted just once to spend the night, the whole night, in THE HOOVER. 

I was a little less nauseous tonight, but the spinning began. The world was warm and comfortable and cozy and spinning. And I was in Las Vegas. I had heard about this fantastic slot machine at the Beau Riviere Hotel. The one nearest the last window of the cashier's cage. I would be rich. I had cashed in all my assets and had brought them with me. 

I went to the Beau Riviere, but I had never been there before because I had never been in Las Vegas before, and I didn't know which slot machine it was. There were a lot of slot machines nearest to the last window of the cashier's cage. Suddenly I heard bells ringing and I heard the sound of a woman's voice. She was shrieking. 

"I hit it," she screamed. "I hit it. I hit the forty-two million dollars. I'm rich. I'm rich."

While I was stupidly looking around, she had found the magic machine. She had beaten me to the forty-two million dollars, which I had gone there to win. I felt sick.

I felt sick and got up and ran into the bathroom. I fell on my knees and retched into the bowl. Nothing came up. Just some saliva. Or gin. Or gin flavored saliva. I could not keep drinking gin like this. I was in a hot sweat all over. Finally I felt a little better and washed off my face and dried it. What a terrible dream. To have not won forty-two million dollars when I had been so close. If I had just gotten to that machine a minute before she did, it would have been mine.

I got back into bed and brooded about my bad luck. But now I was standing across the street from the broken jagged block letters that spelled THE HOOVER. Maybe I was going to get lucky after all. I went into THE HOOVER and ordered a cocktail at the bar. I think the men there were beginning to think of me as a regular, and accept me. I didn't feel like such an outcast any more. I felt as if I finally belonged someplace.

And I didn't have to hurry back to the theatre tonight. I hadn't stopped there first to buy a ticket, so I had all night to spend in THE HOOVER. What adventures would befall me here? I needed a comrade to guide me through the rites. A brother. Where was Luke? I didn't see him. I really wished that he were here. 

I felt an irresistible siren call from the men's room. I was desperate to go in there, but I wanted to go in with Luke and he wasn't here tonight. I would have to go in alone. I was a little nervous. I pulled myself together and decided to go for it. I set my empty glass down on the bar. I could still taste the gin on my tongue. I walked casually towards the men's room door. Not looking left. Not looking right. I went through the door.

"Where ya been, man? I been waiting for you. You totally disappeared on me last night." It was Luke. He was standing at the urinal exactly as he had been the night before. I was really glad to see him. 

"You were waiting for me?" I asked shyly.

"Hell, yes, man. Can't do this alone. Gotta have a little company. Gotta have my buddy with me. Right?"

"Right," I answered, the warm glow of companionship spreading through me.

"Well, step on up, man. What are you waiting for, a gold-printed invitation?

I laughed, and took my spot to the left of him. I turned my face sideways and we looked at each other. The crooked teeth and the droopy eyelids now seemed unbearably sensual to me. I wanted to wilt against his lean strength. I wanted.....I wanted.......I wanted to look down.

I looked. He was holding it. Gently playing with it. It was only semi-erect, but still very large. And it was beautiful. I had never thought of a penis as being beautiful. But now..........I wanted to touch it. I wanted to hold it. To feel it grow to iron in my grip. But what would he think of me if I did a thing like that?

"Go ahead, man," he said gently. "I know you want to touch it." I stretched out my right hand and gently massaged him. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. He even lit a cigarette and began puffing on it contentedly. I reached into his underwear and handled his hairy heavy testicles. 

"Nice, man. You really know how to please a guy," he told me. And I was so pleased to hear this. 

I dropped to my knees in front of him, as he turned to face me. It was now clear that we were not there to use the facilities, but for other purposes.

It was so hot and hard in my hand. And so straight. And so beautiful. And now a little drop of moisture appeared on the knob. I was captivated by it. I knew I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste Luke. I wanted to take Luke into my mouth. I wanted to take Luke's penis into my mouth.

"Go ahead, man," he encouraged me putting tender pressure on the back of my head. I opened my mouth and

the alarm went off. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Another day at work. Another fucking day. And who knew when or if I would ever get back to THE HOOVER. 

I could not live my life like this. Filled with strange unfulfilled dark desires. I needed to become more proactive. If this was what I really wanted, well, then maybe I should at least experiment. I tried to work, but I was nervous all day long and kept making stupid mistakes. I had decided what I was going to do that evening. I was going to go back to Maloney's. 

I had had two chances at Maloney's to do what I evidently wanted to do, and I had messed up on it. But this time I was going to Maloney's in a different frame of mind. I knew what I could find there and now I wanted it.

I ate a light dinner and dressed for Maloney's. I wore a pullover shirt and slacks. No suit and tie. Even so, I would not be dressed as the other clientele. I took my driver's license out of my wallet, which might be something I might need, and I took some cash. Around two hundred and fifty dollars. Fifty dollars would cover any drinks I might buy, and if two hundred dollars was the going rate for what I wanted to do, here it was. I put my wallet in the bottom dresser drawer.

I parked my car tightly between two others behind the bar. I hoped that tonight I would not have to make such a hurried departure that I would scrape one of the neighboring cars. I walked down the dark alley to the street and entered Maloney's. 

There was a Tacklers game on the TV and most of the guys sitting at the bar were watching it and cheering. There was a pool game going on in the far corner of the room. I looked around hoping to see the construction man who had offered to let me suck him off on my last visit. He had been quite nice looking, and clean, and seemed to be a decent guy. I didn't see him. I also did not see the handsome white-faced, blue-eyed, black-haired man who wanted two hundred dollars to let me suck him, and had then taken five hundred because I wouldn't give him the two hundred. 




The Hoover



Many of the men either had bulging beer bellies or did not appear to be too clean, both of which turned me off. If I was going to suck on someone's penis, at least I wanted him to be somewhat attractive, and I wanted the penis to be clean.

I thought longingly of Luke, with his rakish blonde moustache and his crooked teeth and his drooping eyelids, which were so, so sexy. And his straight long thick penis with the little drop of moisture on the knob, anticipating what I would do for him. But he was only a figment of my imagination. Someone who'd come to me in a dream to lead me in new exciting directions.

I kept a close watch on the men's room door, seeing who was going in and who was coming out. One of the beer-belly guys got off his stool at the bar and went in. In a few minutes he came out. I would wait. More of the same. More of the same. Eventually I knew I had to go into the men's room. But only to use the facilities. I waited until it was empty and then I went in.

I had just finished urinating, and was about to zip up when I heard the door open. Suddenly I got nervous again. I waited to see who it was. The man stepped up to the right of me, and I cautiously turned my head. He looked at me and smiled.

"Hi, Melvin," he said. "Nice to see you again."

It was him. The handsome one who had taken my five hundred dollars. 

"I was passing by," I said. "I thought I'd have a drink."

"A drink is always good," he said. "I'll tell you what. Why don't I let you buy me a couple of beers? How does that sound?"

"If you want," I said. He was stroking his penis next to me and I tried not to look at it. I wanted him to offer it to me for a price as he had before. But he didn't. He just kept stroking it, and stroking it, and looking into my eyes.

"I didn't see you in the bar," I said.

"I just got here. Seems like I got here just in time to meet my buddy, Melvin. Did you come to see me, Melvin? I bet you came to see me." He kept running his hand along the length of his penis, which I could only see out of the corner of my eye, but it was exciting me, as was the sound of his voice. I felt as if he had total control over me. I knew that I wanted him.

"I came in for a drink," I said. 

"I don't think so," he teased me. "I think you came in to get a taste of my cock. But you know, it's gonna cost you." 

"I know," I said. "All right."

"Not right away," he said trying to put the stiff rod back inside his pants. He zipped up. "Let's have a couple of drinks first. Get to know each other."

"Okay," I said. That didn't seem to be like a bad idea at all. I wondered if we could ever become friends. I wondered if he could ever like me just for being me, and not for two hundred dollars. He followed me out of the men's room and back into the bar. Then he stepped to my side and threw his arm around my shoulder in a comradely grasp. Just like Luke had done. 

We stepped up to the bar, side by side, and he pounded his hand jovially on the wood to attract the bartender's attention.

"A beer for me and one for my buddy," he told him.

"I don't drink beer."

"Have a beer." 

"I hate beer."

"Have a beer. Be a regular guy for once in your life," he told me. That sounded like a good idea. I really did want to be a regular guy for once in my life. I took the beer. He raised the bottle to his lips and threw his head back, imbibing a large swallow. I did the same. Uggh. It was horrible. Bitter. I hate beer. But I drank it and kept my silence.

We stood drinking together, but not communicating. I thought it would be nice if we talked a little. I tried to get him to tell me something about himself, like what his name was....

"You can call me Mitch," he said.

And where he lived.

"Different places," he answered.

And what he did for a living.

"Odd jobs," he said.

It was hard to envision a friendship with someone you knew nothing about, and who was so uncommunicative. 

I kept wondering when we were going to go back to the men's room, but he just kept ordering more beers. Every time he slammed an empty bottle on the bar I thought it would be time, but he ordered more. I was sipping very slowly, so I had only had two beers to his five. Finally he slammed the bottle down on the bar, and belched a little. "Christ. I gotta take a piss," he said.

This was the time. I followed him into the men's room. He took the far urinal, which was really mine, and I had to take the one nearest the door. I heard the sound of his zipper, and then there was a big commotion down below as he tried to extract his heavy equipment. Now was the time. I started to turn to him, when I heard a powerful stream hit the porcelain. He was like a waterfall.

"Christ," he said. "Did I need that!"

"Well. After all those beers....." I suggested.

"Don't you have to take a leak?" he asked me.

"I can't seem to go right now," I said. "Later. How could I go with him standing beside me holding the penis, which I wanted to suck.

"Come on," he said. He started towards the door.

"Shouldn't we go into one of the stalls?" I asked nervously.

"Not here, Melvin. Haven't you got any class?"

He was making me feel ashamed. I lowered my head and followed him back into the bar. We each had one more beer, which I hardly drank at all. And then he said,

"Okay. Let's go."

We went out of the bar together and down the dark alley. He lit a cigarette as he waited for me to open the car door. Again he got in first. I followed him and sat in the driver's seat.

"How about the money, Melvin," he goaded me. I reached into my pocket and took out the two hundred dollars and handed it to him. He counted it and smiled. He shoved it deep into his pants pocket.

And then we sat there, with him blowing smoke into my face. I didn't know how to proceed.

"Shouldn't we get into the back seat?" I asked hesitantly. There would be more room in the back seat."

"You think I'm gonna let you blow me in the back seat of some car?" he asked incredulously.

"I didn't know," I answered. "Where?"

"I like to relax and get comfortable when someone's going down on me. I like to take it slow, and have it last a long, long time."

I didn't say anything.

"Doesn't that sound good to you?" 

"Yes," I admitted.

"I wanna strip down and lie on a nice comfortable bed, with my head up on the pillows, while someone works my cock over. You got a nice comfortable bed, Melvin?"

This was a new twist. I didn't know if I wanted to take him home with me. After all he had virtually robbed me once before. Once inside my home what would he take? But I was afraid to say no. I didn't want him to think that I might think that he might be dishonest. And I also wanted what I had already paid for. I didn't want to throw good money after bad, and have him get out of the car with the two hundred dollars in his pants, which he certainly would not return to me.

"Okay," I said. He smiled, and gave me a playful pat on the cheek, which I kind of liked. It was like a guy thing. We had a pact. I was beginning to look forward to it. Maybe it would be really nice to be in bed with someone.

I drove to my apartment, and we went up in the elevator. I kept thinking how good looking he was as we stood facing each other going up to my floor.

Once inside, I locked the door, and I led him into the bedroom. I pulled back the blankets so that we would be on the sheets. I started to undress, but he had just taken his shirt off. I was waiting for him to take off his pants and lie down on the bed.

"Mitch?" I questioned.

"What, Melvin?" 

"Don't you want to lie down?" I asked.

"You know what?"

"What?" I asked.

"I been working all day and I'm kind of sweaty. I'd kind of like to take a nice hot shower before we start. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. That sounded great to me. I really like clean.

"Why don't you take a shower with me? We can kind of soap each other up and get to know each other a little first. Okay?"

"Yes," I said. It sounded positively romantic.

I led him to the bathroom and got into the shower. I adjusted the temperature and the flow, and waited for him to enter.

"Okay," I said.

Finally, he unhitched his belt and pulled down his tight pants. He was also wearing some worn striped boxer shorts, which he stepped out of and dropped in front of the shower door. And now I could finally see his penis swaying as he stepped into the shower and closed the door. It was hefty. Pretty much near as nice as Luke's had been in my dream. He had a really beautiful body. Hard and muscled, with firm buttocks, and the black hair was not only on his head, but all over his wonderful torso. Just looking at him was giving me an erection.

He reached over my head and adjusted the shower spray so that it was fully on him. "Why don't you soap me up first," he said.

"Okay," I agreed. I took the soap. He turned his back to me and waited for me to begin. I felt his warm skin under my soapy hands. So smooth, so nice. I soaped and I soaped, working up a good lather, then I used my hands. I massaged all over his back, and then I moved down to his rear. I massaged the two taut cheeks, and wondered if I should touch his secret spot.

"Go on, Melvin," he encouraged me, bending slightly so that his rear was more open. "I wanna be really clean for you. You know what I mean?" I wondered if he wanted me to lick him on that spot. Well, as long as he was so clean, maybe I would do it for him. I wanted him to like me. And not just for the money.

My soapy fingers felt the tightness of his sphincter. He seemed to be enjoying it. He was making little 'aaaahhhh' noises. I let my finger penetrate ever so slightly, and he made more 'aaahhh' noises. But then he stood up. "That was real nice, Melvin."

"Thank you," I answered.

"It's like having a handmaiden," he added, and then said. "Do my legs."

I bent down and soaped his legs and feet, and between his toes, and then he turned his back into the water and let the white suds run down his body and into the drain.

"Now you can do my front," he said. I did his chest, and his abdomen but he made me wash his legs again before moving up to his privates. I was kneeling to do his legs, and then as my hands moved up toward his privates, I saw that he was erecting. I soaped my hand, and lathered his balls, and then with a very soapy hand I began to lather his penis. (The head of which was exactly an inch away from my mouth.) I would do it now. I would do it in the shower. I started to edge my head forward, anxious to know the taste of such an instrument, when he pushed me off laughing.

"Not yet, Melvin. You're too anxious. We gotta save that part. I told you I wanna be lying down with my head on the pillows."

"Okay," I said. That seemed to be my phrase for the evening. Everything was 'okay'.

"Now, I'll soap you," he said.

"Okay," I said. He pushed the shower-head so that the spray was falling now on me. He turned me against the far wall and began to soap my back. It was feeling so wonderful. His strong hands on my back. Then on my legs. Then he went to my rear and did to me what I had done to him, and I knew why he had been saying 'aaaahhh,' because now I was saying 'aaaahhhh'.

Then he reached around me to do my chest and his body was pressed tightly against mine as he massaged my nipples. And I could feel his hard cock jutting between my asscheeks. This was so wonderful. So fucking wonderful.

"One sec," he said. Behind me, he opened the shower door and stooped down for a minute. But then he closed the shower door and he was back, and his left hand was massaging my left nipple, and I could feel his hot knob knocking at my rear door.

"You feel my cock, Melvin?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels wonderful," I breathed, and I rubbed against it a little, and soapy as it was, it slid around in my crack and almost penetrated me.

"How would you like to feel my big hot cock in your tight little ass, Melvin? Would you like that?"

"Yes," I said.

"I would do that for you after I let you suck on it for a couple of hours."

It sounded like heaven.

"Yes," I sighed.

He brought his mouth down against my ear, and I didn't know whether he was going to kiss it or nibble it, but he just whispered into it.

"There's only one little thing," he said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I really fucking hate fags, man" And then I saw his right hand, which was holding something shiny, come up in a swiping motion across my throat. I didn't know what had happened. I lifted my hand to my neck, and it came away sudsy and red. I was surprised. I felt my legs starting to buckle a little and it was getting dark.

"Come on, man. Everybody's been waitin' for you. You've been holding up the party," a voice said.

"I have?" I asked. What party was that?

And suddenly there was this blinding bright light, and I was in this great white room. And there was a beautiful long penis at my lips. I raised my eyes and looked. It was Luke. I was back at THE HOOVER. I was back with Luke. But the men's room looked different than it had before. It was no longer a small room. It was endless. And there millions and millions of naked men with blonde beards and blonde moustaches. They looked similar to Luke, and they were all watching me. 

"Come on, buddy." You can do it," said Luke, urging my head forward, and I took it into my mouth, and my mouth was filled with beautiful warm pulsing flesh. At last I knew the taste of a penis, and it was incredible. Even in my dreams I had never imagined it could be like this.

"That's it, buddy, good boy. Keep going. Keep going." And I kept going, and then it was happening. His fluids were erupting into my mouth, nourishing me. Such sweet nectar. Fit for the gods. He held my head to him and caressed it, running his fingers through my hair. Finally I lifted my mouth off of it, and looked up into his kindly eyes. He seemed pleased with me.

"My friend, Bill, over here," he said, pointing to one of the nearby men, "would like you to do it for him? Would that be okay?"

I nodded 'yes'.

He stepped aside, and Bill took his position before my lips. Luke knelt beside my body and began massaging my buttocks, which began to rise and fall as he worked on them.

"Listen, buddy. My friend Fred, over here, would like to go in the back way. Would that be okay with you?"

"I nodded and said 'mmm hmmm," because I couldn't speak with Bill's large penis filling my mouth. 

And then I felt Fred's member feeding into my rear, and he was so large, I couldn't understand why it didn't hurt at all, but just felt so wonderful, and so smooth, and so soothing, and so comforting, and I was pressed between two beautiful male bodies, and this was even more than comradeship. And then I drank Bill's delicious liquor, and felt Fred's warm flood gush into my lower regions. And then I saw that there were lines and lines of men stretching further than the eye could see, all waiting for me. Waiting to fill one orifice or another with scalding jets of their masculinity. I was finally getting what I felt I had been lacking my whole life. They were filling me with masculinity.

And then Bill and Fred were gone, but there were others. So many others. And I was filled with a great happiness. Because I had found THE HOOVER again. It had been so hard to get to THE HOOVER, but I would never have to search for it again on other tortured nights. Because this time I would never have to leave it. I would be in THE HOOVER throughout all eternity.