8 comments/ 61805 views/ 7 favorites Case of the Very Physical Therapist By: ronde It had not only been one hell of a day, it'd been one of those days that make you think about changing careers. I wasn't sure that Jase Conrad Investigations had a long future, at least, not if I had many more days like this. Surely, somewhere in Nashville, Tennessee, there was a rich widow who needed a live-in someone to polish her pipes, so to speak. I've seen some really sexy grandmas out there, and it'd probably be interesting to say the least. I mean, after sixty, a woman knows enough to get pretty creative, and if I could get paid too.... Damn, I gotta start getting more sleep. As Mondays go, mine didn't start out all that bad, I guess. I woke up, showered with the last little piece of the soap I had forgotten to buy, and warmed up the coffee from yesterday morning, because I forgot to buy that too. I have a good excuse; Carla had come to Barney's just as I was finishing the last of my cheeseburger, and stayed at my place for the night. Carla owns a recording studio, and I helped her divorce her husband. My exclusive video starring him and one very young, very horny blonde got rave reviews from both Carla's attorney and the judge. The defense attorney was less than enthusiastic in his comments, but I noticed he didn't return his copy of the tape. My reward, besides the generous cash payment, was the most shattering session of sex of my life, and she has sort of selected me as her on-demand lover. She never expects anything except really great sex, and after screwing me deaf and blind, she waltzes out of my life for a week or so. Then, she'll show up at Barney's or at my office/apartment ready for a scotch or two, or three, and we retire to my bedroom for the evening. Actually, my life hasn't changed all that much because of Carla. I did buy a bed, because it seemed tacky making love on my old couch, and I kept falling off on the floor on those occasions when we tried to sleep together. I've also started drinking high protein supplements, and it only takes me half a day to recover now. Somehow, scotch and pizza don't give you much staying power. Carla says I taste better too, so I guess the occasional bout of the green-apple quickstep is a small price to pay. As I drank my coffee, I went over my schedule for the day. This means that I read the notes I had scribbled on the desk blotter calendar in the little box for Monday. Someday, I thought, I would have to get more professional with a real date book, but so far, I was doing OK. "Bk-Ck" reminded me that I had to go down to 1st National and deposit the check from Mr. Clarence Downwoody. Last Friday, Mr. Downwoody had graciously paid my fee after I found his missing daughter. His little princess, Jennifer, was comfortably married and living happily with a Mr. Melvin Tibbideau. This revelation, gleaned from an hour's search at the county clerk's office, might seem rather mundane, until one understands that Jennifer is nineteen and the daughter of a Southern Baptist Sunday school teacher from Gallatin, while Melvin is thirty nine, and had, some years ago, crawled out of the swamps of southern Louisiana. A couple of searches through the on-line databases to which I subscribe told me Melvin owns a Harley Davidson motorcycle, so I headed out to the bar where some of the hard-core bikers hang out. It was just a hunch, but the guys who ride the big iron are usually hooked up with a club somewhere. The place was empty at one in the afternoon, except for a forty-ish looking blonde in leather pants and top, and the bartender looked really bored. I sat down at the end of the bar and ordered a beer. As I looked around the bar, I saw the blonde motioning for me to join her. Evidently, she had something to say, so I picked up the bottle and walked back. On the way, I decided flattery would get me everywhere and mentally composed my compliments. She drained her drink, and spoke before I could turn her into a blushing, gushing font of information. "You look kinda outta place, Honey. Nobody ever comes'n this place dressed like that. Yur lucky none o' the Satans are here; they'd stick a pool cue up yur sweet li'l butt out and throw you out the door. I figger yur lookin' fur somebody. You a cop, 'cause if you are, you can stick that beer up yur ass, compliments of me? I ain't gonna help you do nothin' to one o' my boys." Well, so much for the blushing part, and I figured any gushing was pretty much out of the question, too. I was going to have to play this easy. Her last drink was definitely not her first, and I had a feeling that she could probably handle that pool cue trick pretty well all by herself. My asshole sucked up to about the level of my ears at the thought. I took a pull on the beer to give myself more time to think. "Well, I'm not a cop, but I am looking for somebody. Melvin Tibbideau." "Well then, who the hell are you and just why the fuck would you wanna find Melvin?" I started to tell the truth, I really did, but you know, sometimes I just can't. This little wave just sweeps over me and I have to lie. I can't help myself, but at least I'm good at it. "I'm Harry Rumford, and I need to talk to him. My cousin in D.C. met him last Memorial Day. He called me last night and asked me to find out how to get in touch with Melvin. He's riding down with his girlfriend in a couple weeks and wants to hook up." "Just tell him to come here on Thursday. He'll find Melvin sometime after midnight." "Well, gee, I don't really know how to put this. My cousin's girlfriend and Melvin kind of hit it off, I guess, and my cousin says Melvin's wife likes her too, so they want to meet them for..., well he wouldn't tell me what for, but I can guess. My cousin's kind of from the wild side of the family, and his wife's right there with him; she even tried to get me in bed right after they were first married, but I couldn't do that to him. Anyway, they asked me to get Melvin's phone number or get directions to his house." "Buy me a drink, and we'll talk a while. Melvin never said anythin' about any Rumford in D.C, but maybe yur tellin' the truth. Melvin always did have a way with women, and it sounds like him. His li'l bitch is hotter'n the doors o' hell, too, so I could see that too. She took on the whole club up at Sturgis last year. And you can call me Lucy." I paid for her rum and coke. She took a healthy swig before standing up and leading me to some pictures of the club members that hung on the wall. She pointed out one of Melvin during a rally somewhere in North Carolina. Lucy was sitting on the bike behind him, wearing boots, a black leather thong, and a slightly drunken smile. The rest of her was pretty red from the sunburn. Her drink was gone again and she seemed to have loosened up some, and I decided this was the time to stroke her a little. I asked who the woman was behind Melvin. "Why, that's me. Can'tcha tell?" I made a show of looking at her, then at the picture, and then back at her. "Well, I'll be, it is. You just look different now." "Well, my hair was longer then, and I'd burned the shit out of myself riding around with no top. It was a blast, though. Melvin and I had a ball. I was really pissed when he got married, but after the first month, he came back and brought his wife with him. Yur cousin's right about Jenny. She's as good with a woman as Melvin. Last weekend, out at the lake, I thought she was gonna make me pass out." "I can see why Melvin would come back. If I may say so, you're quite a woman." "Shit, if you think that picture's good, you gotta see me for real." She reached behind her back, and untied the top. "Melvin says I got great tits. Whadda you think?" They were really pretty nice, and I told her so. "Only pretty nice?" She grabbed my hand. "Here, feel. My tits are just as good as any of them young chick's. And they don't hang down to my belly either." Far be it from me to ignore a lady's request. I squeezed gently, and risked a touch to one of her really long nipples. Lucy smiled and shivered. "See. You won't find 'em like that on most girls. Melvin liked my nips a lot." She smiled again. "You can do it again if you want. You got great hands." I obliged, said they were fabulous, and then reminded her about my reason for being here. She tied the top back, and after I sat down, she slipped into the chair next to me. She and Melvin had evidently been a pretty steady thing for a while, and she enjoyed talking about him. I could see why Melvin liked her. I figured Lucy would be a handful, possibly two, if one were to really get to know her. She certainly seemed to want to know me. She kept bumping her chest against my arm while we talked. The picture and her information were most helpful. Melvin is a about five-nine, and at almost three hundred pound, is a walking example of why incest is illegal in most of the civilized world and is a strong taboo in the in the rest. He rides a 1967 Harley Sportster with a skull mounted on the handlebars, and is a prominent, if somewhat less than dashing, member of the local chapter of The Satans motorcycle club. He has a tattoo of a snake on his forehead, and has never, at least within the ten years that Lucy had known him, remained employed for more than a week at a time. After I bought her another run and coke, she did say that Melvin had worked in a furniture factory for a couple of years. Upon further questioning, she admitted it was while incarcerated for a little misunderstanding at a convenience store. Melvin punched out the cashier and then helped himself to six cases of beer. We both agreed that it was tough luck that the security camera had recorded the whole transaction, and also agreed that since he had been forced to work, it didn't count as real employment. After another round, she was trusting enough to give me Melvin's phone number. I thanked Lucy and she asked me to drop in anytime, just to talk. The drinks probably helped her along a little, but it's good for my ego to believe she asked because she wanted my body. On Thursday morning, about eleven o'clock, I called the number. "Mmmmmmmm...,Hello?", answered a sleepy sounding female voice. "Yes, is this Mrs. Tibbideau...Mrs. Melvin Tibbideau?" "Who want's to...oh yeh, mmmmm... , who wants to know?", followed by a quick gasp. "This is Bobby Jack Borchers, down at Borcher's Bug Busters. We're running an advertising campaign and if you agree to let us inspect your house for termites, you'll win fifty dollars. I'd like to come out today, if that's possible." There was silence on the other end of the line for a while. Sometimes I can be a little slow on the uptake, but by now I had realized she wasn't sleepy. I heard a muffled, "Oh God, yes. Harder baby, harder", and the distinctive sound of creaking bed springs. A few seconds more of waiting and I was rewarded by an unmistakable male groan and a high, lingering squeal. After a few more seconds her breathless voice came back on the line. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, we were...well, I kinda got busy there. Who did you say you were again?" I repeated my line, and she yelled to someone, "Honey, were gonna get fifty bucks. Gitcher naked ass in some clothes", then back to me, "you can come over right away if you want to". She gave me the address and directions. I put the magnetic signs with the big termite on the sides of the minivan, and drove a few miles out of Nashville to what once was a small farm house. From the outside, the house looked a little shabby, but livable. I thought the shiny, black bike in the yard gave it a special class all it's own, and did much to distract one's attention from the two old pickups and the rusting Yugo beside the rotting tobacco barn. I put on my red ballcap, picked up my big flashlight and clipboard, knocked on the door, and was greeted by Jennifer. She was wearing a thin, cropped tank top that barely covered her ample breasts and jeans cut off at the crotch seam. The seam wasn't quite wide enough to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing underwear, and the smooth, pink lip that hung over the seam made it apparent that she shaved her secret locks. I couldn't be sure, but I surmised the glint of sliver I saw when she turned was a little jewelry to replace the missing curls, and probably matched the nipple rings that showed beneath the shirt. Jennifer didn't seem like the daughter Mr. Downwoody had described, but she did look like the pretty blonde cheer leader in the picture he gave me. She led me to the basement, and I flashed the light around the small room for a while. I didn't mention the spiders I saw hiding in the floor joists, or the rat that scurried behind the stack of empty beer cans. I'm sure there was at least a state termite convention going on there somewhere, if I had known how to find it, but I didn't see anything on the surface. I didn't say anything while I looked, and neither did Jennifer. She just sat spraddle-legged on a wobbly chair placed under the one bare bulb that lit the basement. She kept looking at me and licking her bottom lip, and her tongue stud clicked against her top teeth when she slipped it back in. Occasionally, she yawned and raised her arms over her head. This was particularly distracting, because her large, brown, pierced nipples peeked out from under the bottom of the top when she did this. She also kept rubbing her hands up and down the smooth inner parts of her thighs from the knees to the tiny strip of denim at the crotch. The girl was trying to turn me on; she obviously wanted my body, and it was becoming difficult to maintain my professional poise. I guess it's just my curse, making women feel this way. OK,OK, maybe she was just lusting for the fifty dollars, but I decided to cut my inspection short anyway. I didn't need to have Melvin find me, with her, and see her doing what she was doing. The view was nice, but not worth a trip to the hospital. "Well, Mrs. Tibbideau, I can't find any termites here, but you still get the fifty dollars. I just have to get some information for our files. We claim these promotions as a business expense, you see, and we have to prove to the tax people that we really talked to everybody we claim. I'm sure you understand." "Hey, sure" The hand traveled from her thigh to slip just under the waist of the shorts, and she began gently rubbing. "I need your name, your full name, please, and your place of employment, just in case we need to verify that I talked to you." "Oh, I'm Jennifer, Jennifer Downwoody-Tibbideau. See, I wanted to do what the movie stars do, so I kept my other name too, when I got married to Melvin. Sounds kinda cool, too, huh, Downwoody-Tibbideau, I mean? I think it's real sophisticated soundin', like one of those models or an actress or somethin'. Maybe someday, you'll see that name and remember -" I interrupted her. "Hey, Jennifer, I really like that. I do. Now, where do you work?" 'Oh yeh, well, I work down at The Kitty Corner. I'm just a waitress now, but next week I get to try out as a dancer. That's where the real money is. D'you know some of those girls get a hundred a night stuck in their panties, and more if they do private dances? Melvin says I got what it takes to make big money, and he otta know. That's where we met. He was there stuffin' dollar bills in Queenie's thong. I walked up and asked if he wanted anything, and he gave me the funniest look. Then he said, "Yeh, Babe. I want you." We got married two months later, and we've been here since." She smiled coyly, and said "Melvin don't look like much, but he has talent, if you know what I mean." I decided that I already had more information than I wanted, and was likely to get more if I stayed around, so I smiled and handed her the fifty dollar bill. Well, thanks a bunch for your time, Jennifer. If any of your friends think they have termites, tell 'em about us, OK? "You got it, honey, and if you ever come in the Kitty Corner, I'll do a special dance, just for you." That sultry voice was back again. She walked me to the door, and it was back in the sunlight that I noticed the cock and balls tattooed on her left breast. I was about to thank her again when Melvin called from somewhere inside. "Hey Babe, the big guy's ready to play again. Shag that hot little ass in here." Jennifer blushed, absently rubbed two fingers over her left nipple, and said, "Well, I gotta go. Thanks for the fifty", and almost slammed the door in my face. The next note was "Continental,JS". I had gotten this call on my answering machine on Friday, and called Continental Insurance to get the details and purchase order. For a year, Jimmy Dale Samuels had worked as a loader for Overland Express Delivery, a small trucking company that made their niche by promising overnight delivery to any destination within six hundred miles of Nashville. Two months ago, Jimmy was lifting a box of machine parts, and hurt his back, or so he claimed. Overland had sent him to three doctors, and none of them could find anything wrong with him, but Jimmy still said it hurt too much to work. Apparently, the doctors couldn't prove that he wasn't in the intense pain he claimed, and Jimmy was at home, drawing short term disability. Overland's insurance carrier, Continental, was paying for the in-home therapist one of the doctor's had prescribed, and they hired me to find out if Jimmy was faking. The proof I needed was video of Jimmy doing something that a back injury would have made impossible, and it was for assignments such as this that I had bought the minivan. It's that popular shade of dark red, with dark tinted windows. It attracts about as much attention as a fat man on a nude beach, and most people would think it just belongs to another soccer mom doing her errands. After I took out the back seats, I had a perfect place to set up my spotting scope, video camera and a stool. I can park on any street, and voyeur to my little heart's content. Most people don't look in the back of a minivan, but I did have some black curtains made for the side and back windows, and for behind the front seats, just in case. At ten o'clock, I loaded up a cooler of water and sodas, a couple of sandwiches, and an empty milk jug, along with scope and camera. When I arrived at the street where Jimmy lived, I knew I was in trouble. Jimmy lived in a brand-new subdivision which meant, among other things, that there were no trees. Now, trees are usually in the way when one wishes to video unsuspecting people, but they do have one redeeming feature. They keep the sun from baking the occupant of a dark red minivan into a gasping, dehydrated husk. It was going to be a long afternoon. I located Jimmy's house and was pleased to find it on the corner at the bottom of a small hill. The hill was high enough that, by parking at the top, I had a clear view of Jimmy's fenced yard, including all of the above-ground pool and most of the deck around it. I set up looking out through the back glass, and waited. Jimmy was evidently a late riser, because there was no activity by noon. I ate a sandwich and drank my second bottle of water. By now, the beautifully clear Tennessee sky was doing absolutely nothing to filter the sun, and the inside of the minivan was like a crematorium. I was sweating like a pig, and put on a headband to keep it out of my eyes. A red sportscar drove by and, judging by the hospital scrubs she wore, the driver looked like a nurse. The car turned at the street that Jimmy's house faced, and then I lost it. At two, Jimmy did come out of the house, and I could see why he probably didn't stir about very early in the day. He was in a wheel chair, and the driver of the red sportscar was pushing him onto the deck. I assumed the afternoon sun was supposed to be good for his condition. If I had been Jimmy, the therapist would have done more for me than the sun. Case of the Very Physical Therapist As I cranked the lens of the spotting scope, the tall, slender brunette came into focus, and what a view it was. She was wearing the requisite white nurse's scrubs, but she didn't wear them like any nurse I know. She either bought them three sizes too small, or she just filled them out a lot better than the girls down at Mercy, because they did little to hide her tight butt and really big breasts. The butt hinted of lots of hours of aerobics or weights, the boobs screamed "surgery", and the way she walked as she pushed the chair was entrancing. Some women have a way of walking that causes their breasts to give a little double bounce with each step, and the therapist had perfected this to an artform. Since the sight was coming to me through the twenty power scope, my head was bobbing like one of those little plastic dogs you see on the back deck of some cars. If Jimmy could endure that, he really did have a bad back. She pushed him under an awning, knelt, and began lifting and stretching his legs. Jimmy flinched a couple of times, but then looked bored. After about fifteen minutes of leg lifts and stretches, she wheeled Jimmy to a folded-out chaise lounge, and helped him from the chair. He stretched out on his belly, and the therapist went back in the house. She returned with a couple of plastic bottles of something, pulled up Jimmy's shirt, and squirted a liberal amount on his fish-belly white skin. She then began massaging his back. I don't know how Jimmy felt, but if it were me on that lounge, I would have had turn over before I bored a hole in the pad. It really looked like Jimmy just went to sleep. In an hour, I was finishing the fourth bottle of water, and the milk jug was a third full. The therapist had massaged Jimmy's back long enough to turn it to Silly Putty, and I had a cramp starting in my left calf. I wished I could invite her to do a little massage on me, but as I squinted through the scope, she helped him back in the chair, and wheeled him back into the house. As the sun went down, I finished the last bottle of soda, and tried to stretch. My shirt was soaked, my slacks were soaked, and the minivan smelled like my grandmother's old outhouse. I figured I was no bed of roses either, but it was hard to distinguish between me, the stale sweat, and the milk jug. Nobody had gone in or out of the house since the end of Jimmy's massage, and I decided to call it quits. I pulled the minivan into my private space behind the drugstore, retrieved the scope, camera, cooler and milk jug from the back, and climbed the stairs to my office/apartment. The milk jug got dumped first, then I put the rest in the back room, and headed for the shower. After fifteen minutes under the spray, I felt almost human again, and my stomach reminded me that two bologna sandwiches do not a meal make. I let myself soak another five minutes for good measure, because I was still out of soap. I selected my last remaining clean shirt, the jeans that I only started last week, and mostly clean socks and boots, and headed out for the two block trip to Barney's. Barney's is one of those little bars you read about, but can never find. If you didn't know where it is, you'd walk right past to someplace with lots of neon and a fold-up sign outside advertising the band and the drink specials. There is never a sign outside Barney's, and the only neon is on the two beer signs on the inside. The front door does have "Barney's Grill" painted above it in ancient gold script, but it's so faded that you really have to know what the letters say to read it. Inside, it's a quiet place with no juke box, and a few regulars quietly talk as they nurse their beers. Barney's is a great place to unwind after a day like today, and the cheeseburgers are out of this world. "Ohhhhhhhh, did Jasey have a bad day?", cooed Joyce when she came to take my order. "You're all white, and you still have dirt behind your ear. Let Joyce get that." Before I could stop her, she stuck a cocktail napkin in my ice water and wiped my ear. "There, that's better. Seriously, you look beat. Uh, Carla didn't spend the night with you, did she?" "Yes, but that's not what caused this. I just spent the last seven hours steaming myself in the back of the van. You ought to try it sometime. It'll do wonders for that excess water weight you women worry about so much." "Well, Sugar, I don't worry about it. I think I'm just fine the way I am. Whadaya you think? She pushed out her already generous chest, stretching the tight T-shirt that said "I LIKE GIRLS", and turned all the way around. Joyce is a really beautiful woman in her forties, and her breasts and hips are what make up male teenage fantasies. They also play a prominent role in my fantasies, which Joyce would be happy to tell you is indicative of my psychological development. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for Sheryl, her roommate, Joyce is a confirmed lesbian. She does this to me every so often, because she knows she looks good, and also knows that, although I'm very attracted to her, I respect her choice and won't try to take things further. It makes our relationship a lot simpler, and we've reached an agreement; she teases the hell out of me and I tease back. I guess that's why she's probably the best friend I have. "You really ought to ask Sheryl that question." "Oh, she likes me this way, or at least that's what she said last night when we...uh, I probably shouldn't tell you what we did, not with you in this condition. Might be bad for the old ticker, and ambulances are bad for business." I leered at her. "You could give me mouth-to-mouth, and bring me back to life." "And have you faking it every chance you got after that. I don't think so. Besides, I know how you are. As soon as you came 'round, I'd be peelin' your hot little hands off every part of me. You can try that on the paramedics, but not on me. " "Not every part, just some carefully selected parts. I'm picky, and, as always, you look great." "You know, I wouldn't want to hear that from many men, but it's nice, coming from you. Now, what can I get you, and I'm not on the menu, so don't ask." Sheryl brought my usual scotch while the burgers fried. Sheryl is a pretty little blonde, and after some initial misunderstandings, we get along well. I think she still wonders at the flirting that goes on between Joyce and myself, but she knows it's all in fun. I like her, because she's the strong one of the pair, and I have this thing for strong women. I have a thing for most women actually, but strong is definitely right up there on top. She's a fighter who won't quit, no matter what, and I like to think we're somewhat alike in that respect. The cheeseburgers were great, as usual, and the scotch was even better, as usual. By eleven, I was feeling really great, and ready to hit the town, or so I thought until I stood up. Actually, I only tried to stand up; I didn't get to really stand up until Joyce helped me. She was laughing her ass off at me as I tried to stay upright, and finally told Sheryl she was going to help me home. She put my arm over her shoulder and we went out the door. We made the two blocks to my place with only a couple of stumbles, and I was walking on my own the whole last block. Well, Joyce still had my arm over her shoulders, but she wasn't carrying me, at least for the last half-block. I assured her I could make it up the steps by myself, and thanked her for her help. "You're sure you can make it. I mean, I can help you if you want." "No, I'm fine, really. I think the scotch just got to me because I got so hot today. I'll be OK, and thanks." She started back and as I started up the stairs, I remembered that I had forgotten to remember to replace the burnt-out bulb that lit them. The streetlight made it about half-way up, but from there on it was as black as a coal mine. I was doing fine when I came to the trash bag in the middle of the steps. In true investigator fashion, I stopped to examin it for clues as to its origin, but it just looked like an ordinary trash bag to me. I opened it, thinking this might tell me something, and was surprised to see thong panties and bras of all colors. I remember thinking that the bras looked very large, and that I should continue the investigation in the morning. The next couple steps were easy, and then I entered the dark zone. I was stepping on the landing when my foot struck something soft. In the split second between that and the scream, I wondered what else had been left on my steps. When that shrill shriek hit my ears, I lost all semblance of balance and started to fall. I knew the only reason my head didn't explode was that I couldn't open my eyes. It was morning, or at least it was daylight. I could tell that because of the red glow I saw through my eyelids. I felt the couch cushions under me, so I was reasonably sure I was home. I tried to get up, and decided that was a bad idea when the pains shot from my gut to my already dangerously unstable head. I groaned and tried to be motionless, but some asshole outside was beating on a steel drum and the noise kept pounding away at my ears. It took a while to realize that the noise was only my heartbeat. It had been a while, but I was starting to remember what a hangover feels like. The only thing was, hangovers never affected my nose before; I smelled fresh coffee and bacon. I was going to have to talk to Joyce about her ice. The scotch couldn't have been bad. I was taking inventory and feeling for broken bones when I heard my toilet flush. "Oh, you're awake. Mister, are you OK? I was really worried." A crucial point to remember when dealing with a hungover man is to never say anything louder than a whisper. A whisper will do just fine, because the man's ears are the only things left that work right, and they try to compensate for the other the other things that don't. The worried sounding female voice smashed into my eardrums like a fire siren, and this set off a chain reaction in various muscles throughout my body. I jumped to my feet, and after coming to the realization that moving anything at all hurt, I doubled over in pain, lost my balance, and fell toward the floor. I cleverly broke the fall with my head, and this cause a whole new series of sensations; my personal pick for the most painful and incapacitating were the blinding shafts of light that stabbed through my brain when my eyes popped open, but the enormous throb that multiplied my headache by ten ran a close second. I lay on the floor, trying not to whimper, and hands pulled at my arm. I finally made it back to the couch with the help of the woman I had not yet seen, but this time, I stopped at the sitting position instead of trying to make it all the way down to prone. At least if I fell again, I would fall on soft stuff instead of the floor. It took a minute for my eyes to stay open, and a few more to get them to focus. When the colored blobs around me finally began to take shape, I found myself looking into the face of a strange woman with long, black hair. Something was wrong, though. The face was sitting on her naked hips, or at least that's what it looked like. If I hadn't been pretty sure I was sober, I wouldn't have given it much thought, but even one of those Chinese contortionists on TV couldn't have managed that trick. I blinked, the white tank top came into focus, and it dawned on my fuzzy, aching brain that I was staring at the largest cleavage I had ever seen. I remembered the bras from last night, and figured they probably belonged to this woman. Things were becoming clear pretty quickly now, and I could move my head, albeit slowly, to see the rest of her. She was leaning down in my face with her hands on her knees, and her breasts were bulged up and almost out of the tank top. From what I could see in my sitting position, the rest of her was pretty nice too, and I especially liked the way her little white shorts didn't cover much of the tanned thighs. "Mister, I said, are you all right?" The booming voice caused me to squint my eyes and jump again, but this time, I managed to keep myself on the couch. I held a finger to my lips and croaked, "Not so loud." "Whew, I was afraid you were gonna die on me, or somethin'. You didn't walk too good after you rolled down the stairs last night, and when I got you back up here, you just crawled over to the couch and passed out. How do you feel?" Now I understood the pains that wafted in gentle waves over my whole body. It was probably fortunate that I had been so relaxed or I would have been in worse shape than I was. "I hurt like hell, that's how. Who are you, by the way?" "Oh, sorry, but there wasn't time to introduce myself last night. I don't think you'd have remembered anyway. I'm Melody." "Melody, why are you here?" "Well, I was sleeping on your stairway last night until you kicked me. I yelled, and you fell down the stairs, and I couldn't just leave you laying on the sidewalk. I got you up and helped you back up to the door. I asked you for the key, and you mumbled something about it being in your pocket, so I fished around until I found it and opened the door." She gave me a stern look. "You know, when somebody reaches in your pocket, you get kind of grabby. I had to fight you off. Anyway, when we got inside, you fell down again and I couldn't get you up. You just crawled over to this couch and laid down. I decided I'd better stay with you until morning, so I slept in your bed, and here I am." "I smell coffee." "Oh, you were out, so I borrowed some money and went to the store down the block. I hope that was all right. I got some eggs and bacon too. How do you like your eggs? I can go fix you some." "Just the coffee first, until my gut stops hurting." I couldn't taste most of the first cup, but then it takes a while to get rid of that furry feeling on your tongue and to flush out the taste of scotch and onions. The last couple of swallows tasted great, my stomach had stopped churning, and I decided to risk a couple aspirins. About half way through the second cup, they started to kick in and my headache was down to a normal migraine. "So, Melody. Do you have a last name?" "Chase, my last name will be Chase, as soon as I get my divorce." "You're married?" This was just what I needed. My experience with husbands, while very limited, you understand, is that they can be particularly narrow-minded about their wives spending the night with another man. They can be so unsympathetic, in fact, that they resort to physical means for teaching the unfortunate man the error of his ways, and I have a long-standing policy of avoiding hospitals at almost any cost. "Well, yes, but I walked out yesterday." "And how did you happen to be in my stairway?" She hung her head. "You'll think I'm stupid." "How can I think you're stupid when I just met you twenty minutes ago? Now how did you manage to go to sleep on my stairway?" "I forgot my purse, and by the time I realized it, Harold would have been home, so I couldn't go back. I figured I'd just wait until he went to work this morning, and go back home and get it, but I didn't have any money for a hotel. Your stairway was dark, and I figured nobody would come up and get me if I stayed there. I just hadn't planned on you kicking me." "Harold?" "Oh, he's my husband, Harold Leadbetter." It sounded lame to me, but I didn't feel like arguing. Besides, my stomach was starting to react to that bacon smell, and had said she would make some eggs. I moved to the kitchen and finished the coffee while she cooked. I guessed her age at about thirty-five. She was pretty in a natural way, and her expertly done makeup accentuated the bright blue eyes, a perky little nose, and full lips. The body connected to the face was curvy in all the good places, and flat in all the places that should be. As I connected with reality a little more, I realized that the description "curvy" didn't do justice to her figure. The shorts fit her tight little butt well, a little too well considering we were alone, I was starting to recover and she happened to be married, but it was the tank top that kept pulling at my eyes. Melody had been blessed with the breasts you rarely see unless they're mostly silicone. Her's didn't have that "too perfect" round shape and peculiar jiggle that denote the art of the plastic surgeon. They were full, soft, and moved with a life all their own. The tank top fit so tight that it looked like a part of her skin, and the bra was failing at the task of hiding the big nipples that swelled out from time to time. Her legs were slender and muscular, and I figured the running shoes she wore over the white socks weren't just for style. She had an all-over tan, or at least I couldn't see any tan lines anywhere, and the contrast with her black hair and white clothing was marvelous. She sat the eggs and bacon in front of me and then filled my cup. I had forgotten how good breakfast can taste. She sat and watched me eat, and smiled any time I looked up at her. As I ate, I tried to think of a way to tell her that she should leave, but the bacon and eggs kept confusing my thoughts. I've never been good at throwing women out, so this was going to be hard. "Melody, I could drive you to your house to get your purse, and then take you to a hotel. I owe you that much for getting me back up here last night." "That's OK, it's not that far, and I love to walk. I'll just leave when you go." It was noon when we left. I had an appointment to do some department store surveillance, and we said good-bye at the bottom of the stairs. I saw her walking up the street with her garbage bag in one hand. I realized I hadn't asked her why she didn't have a suitcase. At about five, I finished up at the department store without catching the guy they thought was taking pictures in their dressing rooms. One of the clerks had seen a man lingering near the dressing rooms with a gym bag, and when someone went in to try on clothes, he moved very close and set down the bag. He must have decided to go somewhere else today, because the only thing I saw was women of every shape and size trying on clothes without buying anything. As I drove back home, I decided to eat at Barney's again. I also resolved not to drink any scotch. I would stick to club soda for a while. Joyce would have a field day with me, but I was not anxious for the sequel to last night. I needed a shower first, and cursed when I remembered that I still hadn't bought soap. I was still berating myself when I opened the bathroom door, and the scream caught me off-guard. Melody was sitting on the edge of the tub naked as the day she was born, and had been shaving her legs. She grabbed a towel and quickly wrapped it around her, but not before I saw the red welts on her lower back and hips. As she looked back at me, I saw the faint grey-purple bruise below her left eye. "Melody, what happened to you? You were fine this morning." "No I wasn't, you just couldn't see it. I covered up my black eye with makeup, and the top covered my back." "Who did this to you?" Her face pinched up as she started to cry. Why do women have to do that? There ought to be classes in school for what to do when a woman cries. I assumed the I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-to-do-so-I'll-just-stand-here-like-an-idiot position that I have adopted for these situations and waited. "Harold", she sobbed. "Why in the world would he do that?" "Harold got religion about six months ago, or at least that what he claims. He calls me a harlot, because of my bre...because of the way I look. He didn't seem to mind when we got married last year. I thought he liked me. But now, he says I'm a sinful woman, and he beats me when I have impure thoughts." "Impure thoughts, what impure thoughts?" Case of the Very Physical Therapist She sniffed, trying to stop the tears. "I thought he liked being in bed with me, and I tried to get him to, you know...make love. He said I was evil, and said he had to punish me. That's why I left, only I didn't forget my purse. He took it; he took everything. He always does, and this time I decided to leave. He knew I would try, one of these times, so he had locks put on the door and windows of the bedroom that need a key to open, even from the inside. Yesterday morning, he did this to me, and then locked me in there. I found the garbage bag, put as many clothes in as it would hold, and unscrewed the window lock with my nail file. I just walked off, and when it got dark, I was here. I can't go back anymore, but I don't have any money or anywhere else to stay. This morning, when I got the groceries, I stopped by the locksmith and had another key made for your door. As soon as you drove away, I came back. Please don't throw me out, not until I can figure out what I'm going to do." She slowly opened the towel, and I saw that I had been right about the tan. I also saw that her legs weren't the only thing Melody was in the habit of shaving. Her flat, silky smooth belly invited my eyes down to puffy, silky lips. Her breasts were even larger than they appeared in the tank top, and although they hung down a little from their weight, they were full, round and topped with perfect, wrinkled nipples. She casually lifted the right one, fondled it gently, and then squeezed the nipple between her middle and ring finger. It immediately stood out proudly and I thought I detected a small shiver running through her body. She looked up at me from under her eyebrows. "I could be very nice to you, if you let me stay here tonight." Shit! Why do I only find myself with beautiful, willing women in situations where I can't take advantage of the offers. I have morals; actually, they're somewhat flexible depending on the situation, but I just couldn't do this. "Melody, you're very pretty, and I wouldn't be a man if the thought didn't appeal to me, but I couldn't. It wouldn't do anything for me, knowing you were just trying to get a place to sleep. I'm sorry, but I need the woman to want it too." She closed the towel, and started to sniff again. "Then you're throwing me out?" Shit! What could any man say in this situation? "No, you can stay here for a while. You take the bed, and I'll take the couch, but you need to figure this out pretty quick." I wasn't prepared for the soft squish of her breasts when she hugged me, and was even less prepared for the wet sloppy kiss. "Thank you, you won't be sorry, I promise." As she dressed in the bedroom, she asked, "What's this video tape I watched? It's just a house, and a few minutes of a woman giving a backrub to a man." I explained the case to her, and told her I had been taking video in hopes of catching Jimmy doing handsprings or bending over, or some other act that would prove he was faking. She came out of the bedroom, and I forgot about the case. The green shorts and bikini top were about as much as I could stand without throwing her on the couch and..., well, you get the picture. She snapped me out of my trance with, "Shorts and tops were all I could get to when I left. I'm not still trying to proposition you. As soon as I can, I'll get something else. Now, I have a question. If this guy is smart enough to fool all those doctors, why would he screw up and do something in broad daylight that would prove he's really all right? Wouldn't he wait until night when nobody could see him? It's just a thought." She had a point, and I told her so. "So, why don't you go back tonight, and see if he does anything? I'd like to go too, if that's OK. It sounds exciting." Dusk found us sitting in the same place above Jimmy's house. Melody looked at the camera screen while I manned my trusty spotting scope. It was another hour before the deck light flashed on and the therapist wheeled Jimmy out onto the deck. She pushed him to the same chaise-lounge and helped him out, but this time, Jimmy laid down on his back. I started the camera. The therapist went back inside, and the deck light went dark. She came back, walked around the deck to light four bug torches, and then started back to the chaise-lounge. As she walked, she began pulling off the scrub top. Her hips swayed as she inched it off in stages, and when it reached the level of her breasts, she stopped walking and started pulling the back over her head while holding the front down. Soon she stood with the scrub top in her hands but still covering her front, and then began to saw it back and forth. We could only see her back, but I could imagine what was happening to her nipples. She turned around and dropped the top, and her small, but cute, round breasts met the night air. I had been right about the nipples. The light from the torches highlighted the erect buds and gave the whole scene an artsy flavor. I knew the camera had enough light to capture every detail. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the scrub pants and dropped them over the curve of her hips, bent at the waist, and then swayed back and forth. As the front came down, it was very apparent that not only was she sans panties, but she liked her bush full. From Jimmy's viewpoint, it must have been a sight to behold, and when I swung the scope to him, the bulge in his shorts said it was. When she dropped the scrub pants to the deck, I saw that she had chosen to accent her long legs with lace topped black stockings and black spike heels. It wasn't exactly the outfit the girls at Mercy wear, but then, she wasn't exactly like the girls at Mercy either. She strode to the lounge, flicked one long leg to the other side, and began grinding her hips only inches from Jimmy's face. She slowly lowered her body, and just before his face disappeared, I saw Jimmy's tongue sticking out and waggling. I didn't blame him. Mine was ready to waggle into something, and as I glanced at Melody, I saw that she was getting into the swing of things too. She was not blatantly exciting herself, but her nipples stuck out through the thin material of the bikini top, and her hand was gently rubbing the inside of her thigh. She seemed to be breathing deeper, and occasionally I heard a faint raspy sound as she sucked in an especially deep breath. I turned back to the scope, and saw the therapist rubbing herself furiously over Jimmy's face. Her hands were squeezing her breasts and tugging at her nipples, and from the looks of things, she was about ready to explode. Her head was thrown back, her mouth was open, and I could almost hear the moans of ecstasy as Jimmy lapped her into an orgasm. Suddenly, her hips began to shake, and then she bucked hard, over and over. When she stood up, I could see the smile on her face. It was Jimmy's turn to smile next; the therapist took two straddle-steps back, and quickly pulled down his shorts. His underwear followed, and she fell on his cock like it was the straw in a cherry sundae. Jimmy was definitely enjoying himself, and started pushing up against her enough that she wrapped her hand around his shaft to keep him from pushing into her throat. This girl was not new to this type of therapy, and Jimmy was taking full advantage of her skills. His back didn't seem to be bothering him much now. I checked the camera to make sure it was still recording. Melody didn't even notice. She was rubbing her thighs and breasts in earnest now, and I hoped I wouldn't get raped before the night was over. Not that I would have especially minded, but this was business, and business has to come before pleasure, right? I told myself that again when I heard the soft moan from Melody. Back on the deck, the therapist had chosen to impale herself on Jimmy, and he was doing his best to satisfy her. He was thrusting hard enough to lift them both off the lounge, and his hands were fondling her breasts. She must have been a quick-starter, because her mouth was already working as she voiced moans we couldn't hear, and her head kept lolling from side to side. Her left hand disappeared between them, and she picked up the pace of the rolling hip thrusts with which she was treating Jimmy. In a few seconds, Jimmy's mouth opened in a contorted smile, and he thrust high and hard. The therapist ground into him, and the shudder started at her hips and ended as her head fell back. Even as far away as we were, we heard that scream. I wondered what his neighbors were thinking. Jimmy kept pumping up and down as the therapist squatted over his cock, and her body became a mass of quivering convulsions as the waves swept over her. The rest was over quickly. The therapist pulled on the scrubs while Jimmy pulled up his shorts, and they both walked back into the house. The therapist ran back out after a few minutes and retrieved the wheel chair. I shut off the camera. "Well, Melody, your hunch was right on. I owe you dinner for this one." Her voice was dreamy at first , but quickly returned to normal. "It was...fun, doing this." She laughed. "And I'll collect on that dinner, but I need to get some proper clothes first. Most restaurants wouldn't let me in like this." We settled for a fast food hamburger and fries, and while we ate, I explained some about my business. She was either very interested, or very polite, because the time passed quickly and soon it was nearly midnight. Back at my apartment, she took the bed, and I took the old couch. I left her in the apartment the next day while I went back to the department store. Nothing much happened until about two. This geeky looking little guy strolled into the women's department with a gym bag, just like the clerk had described. He looked around, a little too innocently, I thought, before stationing himself at the rack of nylons that stood next to the end dressing room. He made a great show of examining the stockings, but as soon as a young woman pulled the curtain closed, he casually turned around and sat the bag just outside the partition. I would have bet my left nut there was a video camera in that bag that almost matched the one in my hand. I stayed through three repeats of the performance, and as the fourth woman entered the dressing room, I called security on the radio they had given me. Two uniformed men quickly appeared and collared the guy, picked up the bag, and escorted him through a door behind the cashier's desk. I followed them through, popped open the camera, and handed the tape to the man I knew to be the senior guard. I didn't stay for the questioning. I had him cold. I knew it, the guards knew it, and so did he. I almost felt sorry for him since taking those videos was probably the only thrill he was likely to get for a while. I wasn't sorry enough that I would regret accepting the fee of five hundred dollars. When I got back to my apartment, Melody was sitting at my computer. "I've transferred all your scribbles to your date book, so now, all you have to do is look at the calendar every day. There's one I can't figure out, though. It just says "C/W". What does that mean?" "I don't know. It must not be important, or someone would have called." "Oh, and who is Carla. She called a while ago; something about tonight." Shit! Now I remembered. Carla, in one of her infrequent planning moods, had told me she would be coming over Wednesday night. C, Carla, W, Wednesday. Shit, shit, shit. I had to get ready. I headed for the shower, and then remembered Melody. This was going to be a problem. I didn't think Carla would understand a woman living in my apartment, and she certainly wouldn't understand a woman built like Melody. I couldn't just tell Melody to find someplace else to spend the night; she didn't have anywhere else. She couldn't stay here. Maybe if I sent her to a hotel..." "Hey, Jase, I'm going to be gone tonight. I called my mother and she's coming in to see me. Since I don't have a house anymore, she's staying at a hotel. I'd like to stay with her tonight, just to talk. I won't be here to make coffee tomorrow morning. Can you manage?" I have always believed that fate takes care of small children, stock car drivers, and private investigators. This is not to imply the we share anything in common, although Joyce would have some comments about me and small children. It's just that when things really need to go our way, and aren't, fate usually steps in and takes care of us. "Well, sure. You ought to see your mother any time you can. I'll be OK. I'll just heat up what was left from this morning." "Yuck, and you can't. I washed the pot. Little green hands were trying to grab me when I filled it with water this morning." "Very funny. They were my friends. Go ahead, I'll still manage." She walked out the door, and I ran to the shower. I noticed that Melody had bought soap, and silently thanked her. The water was soon running warm and I jumped in and started lathering. It took about five seconds for the strong scent of lavender to hit me. Oh well, at least I wouldn't smell like a rutting boar. I shaved, used a little extra aftershave to tone down the lavender, and was buttoning my shirt when Carla unlocked the door and walked in. She walked up and kissed me the way only Carla can kiss. It's not that her kisses are so much different than any other woman's, but she puts so much of herself in them. They make you want to throw her on a bed and make love until you die. She knows this, and loves to tease me this way before we go out. Her hand checked my fly. She giggled, "Damn, it still works", and then wrinkled her nose. "Uh, Jase. Why do you smell like a my mother's underwear drawer?" I made a lame excuse about using one of those little bars of soap you get in hotels because I had run out. "Must have been a different hotel. There weren't a bunch of really soft-looking guys staying there, were there? The hotels I stay at all have pretty neutral soap." It's best not to lie to Carla. She has an instinct for lies, and I start to feel like I'm six years old again. "Just forget it. I'll buy some really manly soap tomorrow, I promise." "OK, just checking. Now, where are you taking me tonight." We walked back to my place after dinner. Carla hugged my arm, and asked, "Jase, what would you do if Joyce and Sheryl joined us?" "You mean like, for dinner?" "No, silly. In bed." "Well, I don't really know. I can think of some wild fantasies?" Hmmm, Carla, Joyce, Sheryl and me. I let some of those fantasies roll around in my head for a while. I shook my head to make them go away. "There's not much chance of that happening, though. They might invite you to join them, but I don't think either one has much use for men." "You're right there. I already asked them." "My God, you actually asked them?" "I told you once I was adventuresome. Don't worry, Joyce laughed at the idea. She said she wasn't about to make your dreams come true, and even if she did, it'd probably kill you. She did ask me to join them, though." "And will you?" "I don't know. I've been thinking about it. It might be fun with another woman." At the apartment, Carla used the bathroom, and reappeared in her bra and panties. She seemed particularly horny tonight, and gave me a goofy looking grin before smothering me with kisses. These were not teasing kisses. These were "fuck me now" kisses, and she was soon taking my clothes off. I reciprocated with her bra, and then rolled the panties down over her wonderful ass. I kicked off my boots and stepped out of the jeans. My shirt was long gone, but I didn't care much right then. We walked in time into the bedroom and Carla pushed me down. She climbed on top of me and began searching for my tongue with hers. I was thinking how wonderful she is - her lips against mine, her left hand rubbing my chest, her right hand on my neck, her other hand cradling my balls. Wait a minute! The last time I looked, Carla didn't have three hands, and I don't think I would have missed that little detail. I gently rolled her off me and looked around. "What the hell?" Standing beside the bed clad in a sheer, white teddy and thong was Melody. She smiled at me and pulled the teddy over her head. The effect on her breasts when she shook her hair out was spectacular. I looked at Carla, but instead of the frown I was sure would precede the explosion, there was another smile, and it was directed at Melody. "Did he suspect anything?", asked Melody. "Don't give him that much credit. After all, he is a man." They both giggled. "Um, excuse me ladies, but just what the hell is going on here. I didn't know you two knew each other." "We didn't, not until this afternoon", said Melody. "Carla didn't call you, she came over on her lunch hour to make sure you hadn't forgotten tonight." "Actually, I came for more, but you weren't home. Instead, I find this pretty girl at your desk, so I asked her why she was here." "And I told her the whole story, about Harold, and you kicking me, and me helping you back up, and how you let me stay here but wouldn't..., Well I told her everything. I told her about our surveillance last night too." "And she showed me the videotape." "Yep, we watched it together. Remember the last part, when she was riding him, and he squeezed her breasts? Well, just out of the blue, Carla said she wondered what he would feel like to squeeze another woman's breasts. I said, well, you squeeze yours, don't you? She said yes, but she thought it was probably different, especially if they were as big as mine. I said, well, it's just us girls here, go ahead." "Jase, they feel divine. You really should have taken her up on her offer." "Hey, you two, is there anything about me you didn't discuss." They both appeared deep in thought for a minute, and then Melody said, "Nope, I don't think so." Carla said, "No..., we pretty much talked about everything we know about you." "Well, anyway", said Melody, "I told her she had a very gentle touch and her hands felt really good. She asked if I would like to feel hers, so I did. It is different, feeling someone else, I mean. I said if this is so much different, I wonder what other stuff feels like. Then Carla kissed me." "Without going into too many details", said Carla, "we got rather carried away, and spent most of the afternoon in your bed getting to know each other better. Before I left, we planned this little scheme to surprise you, and it worked." "I'm surprised, all right. But how can I..., I mean, both of you at once..., I only have one -" I was interrupted when both women broke out in snickers. I don't enjoy being laughed at, but all those jiggles made it worth while. "What you need to do right now, Jase, is forget that it's Melody and myself here, and concentrate on doing what comes naturally. Melody and I will do the same, and I'll bet we'll all have some fun." "Yes, Jase, don't worry so much. Now, look what you've done. You're all soft. We have to fix that, don't we Carla." She rolled the white panties down her thighs and they fell to the floor. I remember the beginning, because Carla kissed me again, and tried to reach my tonsils with her tongue. Melody went to work fixing the problem of my limp noodle, and even I was surprised at how quickly the little guy grew up long and strong. Apparently, my cock wasn't the only thing Melody was fixing, because Carla's kissed became wetter, and her little moans kept popping into my mouth. Carla pushed on my shoulders with both hands, and leaned back. As she sank down on my shaft, other fingers held her open. The fingers vanished, and then Melody climbed over my chest. She poked a finger between my lips, and I tasted Carla's familiar tang. I was staring up at Melody's puffy little lips at a distance of about six inches, and she opened them with her fingertips. She stroked herself for a moment, and then offered me another finger. She was different than Carla, but the difference was as the difference between a good Rhine and a good Chablis. I only sampled the flavor for a moment, because the lips settled on my face, and, creature of habit that I am, I just naturally buried my tongue between them. Melody's little button hit my chin, and she shuddered. Her hips started rocking as she attempted to stroke the growing nub against my face. The only thing I could see was Melody's firm, round butt, and I really didn't care anyway. Case of the Very Physical Therapist I heard Carla moan, "Yes, that feels good." and thought she was talking to me until Melody whispered back, "I love feeling them get hard when I pull on them." I thrust up quickly into Carla. I didn't want her to forget I was here. My reward was a gasping, "Oh shit, Jase. Do that some more." Carla ground down on me, rolled her hips, and shivered. I heard the sound of their kisses, and although I couldn't see them, the wet, smacking sound and the little groans were pushing me toward that ultimate explosion, and I thrust into Carla again. Melody was getting lost in the sensations I was creating with my tongue and lips, and she settled her weight over me. At first I was a little worried that I might suffocate, but when I licked her little extended bud, she arched into my tongue and I caught a breath. I don't remember doing that again, but I didn't die, so I guess my survival instinct kicked in whenever I needed to breathe. I felt a fingertip slip between Carla and myself, and the little cry I heard started a series of rapid thrusts that almost pushed me over the edge. I was trying hard to hold out until Carla got there, but when she clamped down on me with her passage, all was lost. That feeling of intense tension flashed over me for a second, and then I erupted. Carla must have felt it, because she clamped down again, her low moan climbed to a high squeal, and I had to hold on to her legs to stay connected. The second spurt splashed into her and her hips ground down again to push me as deep as she could. I flicked Melody's throbbing nub rapidly and she, too, cried out. I felt the ripple start at her knees, travel through her thighs, and finally settle into her hips. She nearly broke my nose as she crashed down over my face, and the only thing I could do was rasp my tongue back and forth over the tip of her little button. Carla mashed down on me again, the fingertip between us fluttered madly for a while, and then she and Melody collapsed into each other's arms in a gasping, panting release. Carla probably didn't notice my third spurt, but I felt her passage grip me as it hit. After a minute of so, during which I inventoried my energy stores and decided I could probably manage one more time before expiring, I heard quiet giggles above me, and felt the ripple of their soft hips as it grew to laughter. "Damn, that was great. Melody, I don't know where you learned that, but you have to teach me." A moment later came, "And I haven't forgotten about you, Jase darling. You did your part in your usual, exceptional way." Melody raised herself off my face, and when I opened my eyes, they were both staring at me. "He has a really nice tongue too, but now it's my turn. It's been more than six months, and I need to feel a man again. Not that you aren't really great, Carla, because you are. You can make me do things I didn't know were possible." "Oh, I know all about his tongue, and I intend to sample some of it too. When you think about it, Jase does pretty well at both ends." They both giggled again, and I closed my eyes when I saw them change places. After that, things kind of ran into each other, and about all I remember is being licked, sucked, stroked, ridden, and some other things that I don't think there are names for. I did my best at trying to lick, suck, stroke, ride and those other things too, but after a while, I just pushed my tongue up against, or into whatever was pushed in my face, and fondled anything soft that I could reach. Some things do stand out enough to remember. My neck was stiff the next day from trying to pay equal attention to the two sets of shaved lips that hovered over my face. I had to keep craning my neck up and down to reach them, but the sounds I was hearing weren't complaints. I was glad I had no neighbors. Carla has always been pretty vocal when she gets close, but Melody turned out to be a screamer. I didn't mind, you understand. In fact, I found that a well placed lick on the tip of her little button would result in a loud cry every time. She seemed to enjoy it, so I did it a lot. I also have a vivid recollection of two sets of lips and fingers making me hard after I thought I was finished for about the next month. I defy any man to stay soft while being sucked, licked, and stroked all at the same time. It doesn't hurt to have a double handful of soft breasts, either, and both women kept pulling my hands to their nipples. Since I had to rest from time to time, and they didn't, I sat and watched. It was amazing how gently and slowly they made love. With me, Carla usually was all action, and we both peaked quickly. With Melody, it was lots of kisses, an infinite number of gentle caresses here and there, and ultimately the quick flicks of her tongue as she slipped her fingers into Melody's wonderfully wet passage. Melody's style was a little more inventive, and I almost lost it, solo, when she held her breast and rubbed her nipple over Carla's swollen nub. Carla immediately arched high and groaned as spasms of release flowed through her. Melody was helping herself as well as Carla and quickly followed with tiny, high-pitched cries as her own shuddering release swept over her. I don't know when we stopped. All I remember is that, after a couple hours, the only things that would stay reasonably stiff were my fingers and tongue, and I was beginning to wonder about them. I lost track of whose nipple was in my mouth, which set of swollen lips I was fondling, and which woman was astride, beneath, or beside me. I know sometimes it was both, but other than that, everything is a blur of soft everything touching me everywhere and begging to be touched in return. I woke up with soft fingertips tracing lines down my chest. Both women were looking at me and smiling. I smiled back, and my smile was quickly covered by two sets of wet, searching lips. Sometimes they kissed me, sometimes each other, and, although I still don't know how, sometimes we all kissed at the same time. When they released me, I was gasping for air, and they laughed. "Well, Jase, was this great, or what?" Carla always went straight to the point.. "It was fantastic, and in about a week, I'll be able to get out of this bed." "See", said Carla, "That's why you need a personal assistant like I have." "I can't afford a secretary, I don't get enough work." "You might be surprised at how many people call and don't leave messages", said Melody, "And I'm not your secretary. I'm your personal assistant." "I still can't afford one, what ever you call it. And stop talking like it's already happened." "OK, but I get to keep the fees I earned while you were watching that peeping tom in the department store. Maybe I'll just start my own business and we'll compete." "What fees? I didn't get any cases yesterday." "Yes we did. We found three skips, I think they're called, and that got us three hundred dollars. I told the nice man at the credit agency we could find anybody in three days, or we wouldn't charge. He's sending a list over today. I also scheduled you for six appointments. Two are with women who think their husbands are messing around, and want a divorcel three are employee theft surveillance and workers comp cases. The last call was strange. It was from a Mr. Downwoody. He says his daughter is gone again, and he wants you to find her. That minivan's gonna get a lot of use, and your note said it needs the oil changed, so I'll take care of that this afternoon. Oh, and Carla and I want to see the tapes from the divorce cases." "How did you ever trace skips? You don't know anything about that." "Yes I do, you told me how the other night, remember? I found two of them with the phone; I had to look the third up on the database. You really shouldn't leave your password on a posty stuck to the monitor, you know. By the way, your subscription had expired, so I renewed it for you. The bill will be on your next credit card statement." "How did you get my credit card?" "I didn't, but there are statements laying all over the desk. I just picked one and used that number. They took it, so it must be good." I was losing this battle, and decided to try a flanking maneuver. "You can't stay here, Melody. I don't have enough room." "I know, but I don't have to. Since I have a job now, I rented my own apartment. You know that other door at the top of the stairway? Well, that's my new apartment, or it will be as soon as you pay me. The landlord is very understanding, but I do have to give her a deposit and the first month's rent." "That door opens into the next building. I don't even know who owns it. How did you find out?" Carla cleared her throat. "Um, actually..., I own it. It was part of the divorce settlement. The tenants on the first floor didn't need the space, and I've been too busy to do anything with it. Melody is going to take care of that for me, on her off time from her personal assistant job, of course." In all my life, I've never won an argument with a woman, and it was obvious that the odds were worse with two. "OK, I'll try it for a while, but I'm not promising anything. I'm too tired to fight you both, so I give." They snuggled closer and I felt fingers snaking up my thighs. "We don't want to fight with you, Jase", said Carla. "Heavens, no", said Melody. All the fingers reached my limp dick at the same time, and began slowly stroking me. "God, no. I'm not some super-stud. I'm only a man. I can't do this again for a while." Melody's soft voice whispered in my ear. "That's not what Mr. Willy says. He's getting stiff. Oh! He just jumped. I think he likes us. I have a lot of time to make up, and I spent the last six months reading about how. I need you inside me now, and I think Carla needs you too. She gets so wet." The breathy voice in my other ear said, "Oh, God, Jase, I need to feel that tongue of yours, I need it to taste me, I need it to lick me. I need it now, and I know Melody needs your stiff shaft. She's been so long without it. You'll help us out, won't you sweetie?" I sighed just before Carla's lips found mine, and just after Melody inhaled the head of my cock. I sighed again as they each swung a leg over me. As Melody sank over my length and began to rock, I looked up at the glistening, wet lips poised over my mouth. The lips descended until Carla's little throbbing button bumped my nose. She uttered a tiny moan as my tongue flicked between the dewy petals to the soft ridges inside. Melody was right. Carla was dripping. Carla was right. Melody started with slow strokes, but before long, I had to hold on to keep up. Now, I'm not the complete fool they think I am. I know they planned those whispers too. No two women on earth would ever really talk like that, and it was more likely that I'd hit the lottery than that they would come up with those lines at the same time. Wasn't it Mark Twain who said "It is better to be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt"? I couldn't have said anything anyway, even if I had wanted to; Carla was sitting on my face. I decided to just play along and let them believe they fooled me. From where I stood, or rather, from where I lay, things could have been a whole lot worse. Besides, Melody was starting to pant, Carla was about to rub off my nose, and I was enjoying the hell out of both. "Mr. Willy" was feeling pretty good about the whole thing too. I figured I'd just do my part and see how everybody came...out, that is. * * * * * Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and send feedback if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing. Thanks again, Ronde.