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Can't Get No

By: sr71plt



Scott felt him going soft. He'd been straddling Tyler's hips and riding him. He'd felt Tyler jerk and sigh, knowing that he'd come, but Scott hadn't come. He'd ridden on. He looked down now and tried to see into Tyler's face. It was too dark in their bedroom. But Tyler began to snore, so there really was no question.

Scott gave up and climbed off Tyler and stretched alongside him, on top of the sheets. The ceiling fan was going whoop, whoop, whoop overhead and Scott was sweating from the exertion, but he ran his hands over Tyler's chest and belly and down onto his thighs and found Tyler's skin cool to the touch.

Tyler was achingly beautiful, his facial features blond and ruggedly handsome, his muscles with the perfect definition that only long hours in the gym brought, curly down on his chest descending to trimmed and shaped pubes and a nicely plump cock and balls. Scott was lucky to have him. Tyler was probably the most popular guy at the small "jock's" prep school they attended, using their first two years of college to improve their grades enough to enter a university with academic qualifications to meet their athletic prowess. Scott was a swimmer. Tyler was tops at any sport he wanted to be. He was working lacrosse and tennis now. He said, only half jokingly, that he didn't want to mess up his face with sports not protecting it better lest his commercial worth was diminished when he went pro.

Any other guy saying something like that would draw a derisive laugh, but when Tyler said it, everyone took him seriously. All of the guys who wanted guys wanted Tyler.

But Scott had him.

Sort of.

Scott lay there, awake, most of the night, fretting and frustrated. They'd been together for a year, a year tomorrow—or today, he thought, as he turned and looked at the luminous dial of his nightstand clock.

As the fingers of light stole through the broken slats of the blinds on the bedroom window, Scott turned toward Tyler again. The young blond god's privates were captured in a shaft of light, and Scott couldn't resist sitting up and leaning over and sinking his lips over the shaft. He allowed his hands to wander, one to Tyler's day-old whiskered chin, down along his pecs and belly, and the other between Tyler's legs, cupping his balls and fondling them.

Tyler moaned, half awake. And as he slowly came awake, he hardened and his hands went to the back of Scott's head, holding Scott's lips over his skewering cock, and his hips began to roll.

Scott gagged as Tyler increased in size and his hands trapped Scott's head in place, not giving him release—not letting him disengage until Tyler had come, giving no warning, and shooting his load down Scott's throat. As Scott pulled away and coughed and fought to clear his passage, Tyler bounced out of the bed and bounded into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

While Scott was fixing breakfast, Tyler came into the dinette and sat up on a stool at the counter. He'd spent most of an hour in the bathroom. Scott was familiar with Tyler's morning ritual. Tyler had to have everything "just so." He was very particular about his appearance—even when he only was going to the gym. Which appeared to be what he intended to do this morning, what he'd dressed for.

"It's Saturday, Ty . . . and a special day. I thought after breakfast we might—"

"Can't today. Goin' to the gym and to the hair stylist after. Then tennis. We're going to Sean's tonight, remember. Thought you'd make that dip that went over so well a couple of weeks ago."

"Ty."

"I think I'll wear the red T tonight. It's dirty, though. Maybe you could run a wash."

Scott didn't make another effort. Tyler was already gone—and he hadn't asked why this was a special day.

That night, at Sean's, Tyler was the center of attention, as always. Scott sat in the corner, watching him, and wishing and hoping. Maybe tonight. Tyler had a buzz on and sometimes when he was half high, he was playful.

"He's quite something, isn't he?" Jackson had plopped down beside Scott on the arm of his chair and wrapped his arm around Scott's head and tilted it up so he could look down at him with pouty eyes. Jackson was a bit too flamboyant and obvious for Scott. And, besides, Jackson, who was also a swimmer—a diver really and probably better at that than Scott was at swimming, Scott thought, really wanted the same thing that Scott wanted.

Jackson had tried with Tyler—all of the guys wanting to be topped had tried with Tyler. But Tyler contemptuously called Jackson a girl. Jackson took it, though, because when all else was said, he still wanted Tyler.

Scott was thinking just then that most of the guys who pined for Tyler were ones who hadn't had him yet. Still, just looking at him made Scott melt—and wanting something, something he'd yet to have. Not just with Tyler, but with anyone. Scott had long ago decided maybe it was his fault. Maybe he wanted too much. Maybe what he wanted wasn't to be had.

Jackson had left him while he was still thinking about this, flouncing off with a "You're no fun," which Scott might have felt sorry about—but that was Jackson. There weren't any hard feelings over it. Jackson knew Scott didn't have what he wanted—just as much as Scott knew Jackson couldn't bring satisfaction.

While Scott watched Jackson shimmy away from him, his eyes stopped at a quiet guy who was sitting across the room and looking at him. Now that Scott thought about it, he realized that the guy—Dixon, who was in one of his classes—seemed to have been looking his way before. But Scott didn't keep his eyes on Dixon very long—they just slid off him and he was looking around for where Ty had gone off too. Dixon was on the wrestling squad, and he'd had an elbow catch him in the nose one too many times, it looked like. A good body, as far as Scott could see, but a pretty messed up face. And he seemed a little creepy in class. Mostly sitting there and looking intensely around. But that was because he didn't seem to want to wear his glasses, and his eyesight appeared to be for shit without them. He had them on now—old four eyes—and was staring Scott down.

After checking out that Dixon was watching him again, Scott moved his eyes to the corner of the room, which was dark—and occupied by a couple of guys moving beyond the definition of "making out." He felt a jog at the arm of the chair and Cody was there now. Cody was quiet—except when he was on the football field, when he was a lion. Cody was almost as good looking at Tyler was, but Cody couldn't give Scott satisfaction any more than Jackson could. All three of them were looking for the same thing. But Cody seemed comfortable with himself. Scott and Tyler had discussed Cody before.

"He's gettin' it from somewhere, I'm sure," Tyler had said. "He walks with a strut and hums. He's gettin' it from somewhere. And I don't think it's from anyone at the prep. I think I would have heard, if he was."

Scott had asked then if Tyler wanted to do Cody himself, but Tyler had unexpectedly gotten angry about that. It was only later than Scott decided that Tyler saw Cody more as competition than conquest. Cody was almost as hunky as he was. It wasn't a sex thing. Scott was beginning to think that none of it was a sex thing with Tyler, really—unless Tyler could have sex with himself.

"Frustrated?" Cody asked when he sat down beside Scott.

Scott looked at him in surprise. "No, of course not. Do I look frustrated?"

"Yes, a bit," Cody said and then he gave a low laugh. "You don't have to be frustrated, though. Let me give you a tip."

"A tip? That's something I don't think I need, is a fuckin' tip," Scott said.

"Yeah, you do. See that guy, Dixon, over there. He's got a monster and can go all night. Eight, maybe closer to nine juicy inches. And I think he's got the hots for you. He'd treat you right."

"Him? Give me a break. I've got Ty. Ty's a god against that guy over there. What would I need with him when I've got Ty?"

"You'd be surprised," Cody said. And then he laughed. "Well, I got another tip for you if you don't like that one."

"Full of good tips, are you?"

Cody didn't take offense. "I've been watching you. I think maybe you do. Remember this in case you want to try it out: Thursday, late afternoon, the truck stop out on 81. Look for a dark blue Volvo semi and ask for Elmer."

"Elmer?" Scott exclaimed, almost spitting out the beer he was drinking. "You putting me on?"

"Nope."

The noise in the room had changed, and both Scott and Cody look up. Tyler had moved toward the door out of the apartment and he had Alphonse, the hunky half-back of the football team, who Tyler had been going with before he and Scott had gotten together.

Scott watched as the two of them left the apartment together—without Tyler so much as looking back at Scott. On this, their one-year anniversary.

"What was that second tip again?" Scott asked as he turned back to Cody.

* * * *

Scott was standing in the truck lot behind the 81 rest stop. He'd parked his car in the auto lot in front and sat there for a good twenty minutes before getting up the courage to walk past the restrooms and to the back of the lot.

There were picnic tables in a grove of trees between the back of the restroom block and the asphalt of the truck parking lot. There were several rigs parked back there. A couple of them were dark blue, but Scott had no idea whether any of them was a Volvo. Three guys were sitting at one of the tables, drinking Cokes in cans and shooting the bull.

One of the guys was old and flabby, but the other two were younger and in pretty good shape, especially a red head with a florid complexion who had tattoos running down his arms from the armless T he was wearing.

They all noticed Scott walking up at the same time, and they all gave him sort of a knowing leer—enough so that he almost turned and walked away. But he didn't do that. He wanted satisfaction, and he wanted to know if that was possible. Cody had told him it was. But he didn't know whether to believe Cody or whether satisfaction for Cody would be much different than for him.

"You Elmer?" he asked hopefully, looking straight at the red-haired guy.

"Nope. You want Elmer do you?"

"Yes. Is he here?"

"His rig's here. And there he is climbing out of it," the fat guy said. He was looking out toward the trucks and Scott followed his gaze, and he felt the disappointment surging through his body.

Elmer was no spring chicken—or hunk for that matter. He was tall and rangy, wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy shirt, and a Stetson hat. In fact everything about him from this distance cried out of old, weather-beaten cowpoke loser.

"So, what'er you lookin' for, sonny?" the third guy asked. "Maybe the three of us—"

But Scott was already on the move, walking out onto the asphalt, toward Elmer's truck. That's the name Cody had given him. What he actually felt like was bolting altogether, but he'd come too far down this road not to give it a try.

The closer Scott got to Elmer, the uglier Elmer looked—all angles and stringiness. His face was long and thin and looked like he'd been hit with a shovel earlier in his life. He did look like he had all his teeth, though, which was a plus. As Scott approached, he lifted his hat up off the front of his face and his leg up on the running board of the sleeper cab—a pretty big one—behind the truck cabin.

He was staring Scott down real hard, like it was him deciding if Scott was good enough rather than the other way around.

When he got close enough, Scott stopped and drew a breath and said, "I'm told you'll give satisfaction for $50."

"How old are you, son?" The accent was sheer Texas. Scott looked at the man's hands. They were big, his fingers long and thin. Calluses on his palms attested to the hard life he led. His arms were randomly covered in tattoos and he was so rangy and hard-bodied that his veins stood out in blue, competing with the design of the tattoos.

"Twenty. Twenty and a half."

"You got ID? You comin' from the jock's prep school on the other side of town?"

"Yes to both." Scott took out his wallet and flashed his ID. He started to take bills out of it as well.

"Put that away for now. I guarantee satisfaction. You sure you want this?"

Scott hesitated a nanosecond, but then he gulped and said, "Yes."

"You gotta be sure at the start. You'll be tied. I won't stop once I start."

"Tied?" Scott asked, the concern showing in his voice.

"Yep. You don't want that, you don't want it bad enough." He reached for the handle to his sleeper cabin then and opened the door and stepped up on the running board and turned away from Scott.

Scott didn't know if he was being dismissed or being told to follow Elmer into the truck.

"I can go $75," he blurted out. "And however you want to do it," he added in desperation.

"Well, come on up in here, then. It ain't gonna get done out here on the tarmac."

The cabin was surprisingly commodious, although the single bed along the back wall took up much of the space. There was a shelf over the bed, so the headroom wasn't all that great. What gave Scott a pause, though, when he looked at that bed was seeing wrist restraints hanging down from the top of the side wall at the head of the bed.

"You can fold your clothes and put them up on the shelf over the bed."

As Scott was doing this, Elmer came up behind him and wrapped strong, sinewy arms around him. Elmer had already stripped—and Scott could feel he was ready for powerful action.

"Umm, I don't know. I—"

But that's as far as Scott got before he was fully under Elmer's spell. Elmer turned and gently pushed him down on the bunk spanning the back of the cab, holding him in strong arms. When Scott was seated, Elmer just continued on down on his knees between Scott's spread legs, and for the first time in as long as Scott could remember, someone was giving his cock and balls—and eventually the rim to his ass channel when Elmer rolled Scott's hips on up on the bed—total attention and loving.

Scott closed his eyes, not looking at the man making love to his cock—not seeing an old, wiry, weather-beaten cowboy. Just enjoying what that man could do with his lips, tongue, teeth, and hands.

Scott was moaning and moving his hips in an involuntary waving motion and gritting his teeth and groaning when he finally couldn't take any more and blurted out, "God, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."

"Why yes, son, yes you are. If you got it in you, I'm gonna get it out. Let it go."

And Scott did let it go, jerking and flopping around and coming for all his might, while Elmer took it, humming, and telling him how good his flow was.

Already exhausted, Scott was flopped back on the bed, his head on the pillows, but pushed into the back corner, as Elmer stood up in the cabin. And when he did, Scott gasped and moaned at the size of the man's erect cock.

He whimpered softly and made hesitant moves to leave the bed, which was prevented immediately by Elmer, who reached over and took Scott's wrists in his strong hands, pushed them over his head, and trapped them in the wrist restraints.

Elmer moved his hands to Scott's hips and lifted Scott's pelvis from the surface of the bed to where the head of his club of a dick was kissing Scott's well-prepared entrance.

What happened after that was the fuck of Scott's life—and not just once, but twice, with Elmer riding him hard and deep, raising Scott on waves and waves of ecstasy at how well Elmer anticipated where the edge of the next plateau to heaven was. He'd linger there until Scott was begging for more, and then he'd have Scott burst through to a new level of satisfaction.

When he was finally done, having made Scott the center of all sensual sensation for nearly an hour, he reached up and released Scott's wrists. Scott couldn't move, he was so used and exhausted—and he didn't know what else.

"If you're satisfied, leave the fifty on the countertop right over there. You're a good fuck. If you're not satisfied, sorry I can't be a help to you."

Satisfied. That was it; that was the word Scott was striving for. It was what Tyler wasn't giving him. But now he knew it could be had.

Elmer was dressed and gone out of the cabin before Scott could even regain regular breathing. He dressed—rather painfully, but with a sense of awe—and left the $50 on the counter at the side of the bed. He would have been happy to have left more, but he was pretty sure that Elmer would take that as an affront to his pride and a put down to his class status. When he stepped gingerly down from the cabin of the semi, Scott looked over to the picnic area and saw that Elmer had joined the other drivers there and was jawing with them. None of them overtly seemed to be watching him as he stumbled to his car, but Scott got the feeling of three sets of eyes boring into the back of his head. But not Elmer's, he didn't think. He thought that Elmer probably was fully confident in the worth of himself—and of his fucking mastery—and Scott would not have argued with him.

He'd have to ask Cody if it was acceptable to have a return visit.

* * * *

The encounter with Elmer had been three days previously, and Tyler hadn't seemed to notice that anything was different. What he most didn't notice was that Scott wasn't asking him for sex—and wasn't coming for it, and didn't make any moves when they were in bed.

Tyler didn't make the moves either. And this gave Scott pause to think back. He couldn't remember the last time Tyler had made the moves on him.

What was the use of a beautiful body if the guy was going to be no better than a mannequin. Elmer had been old and ugly as a fence post. But he'd had a cock and a technique that sent Scott over the moon. What's in a face and toned body then?

Satisfaction. What constituted getting sexual satisfaction?

When Cody called with an invitation to a party at his place, Scott said he'd be there. But he said Tyler couldn't make it. He had no idea, of course, whether Tyler could have made it or not—or whether he'd even want to go. He wasn't going to give Tyler that option. He didn't need or want Tyler at the party.

"By the way, Cody, thanks for that tip . . . the one about the Volvo semi."

"Glad you decided you'd give the tip a chance," Cody answered.

There was a pause, in which Scott didn't say anything but neither one of them clicked off.

"Umm, Cody, about the other tip—"

"Those two tips went together, Scott. The biggest difference is that with Dixon you don't have to pay the $50."

"Well, umm. Is . . .?"

"Yes, Dixon's already said he's coming. I can certainly tell him you'll be there too. You want me to put a reserved sign on my bedroom door?"

"Yes, please." 

Can't Get Used To Losing Her...



By Shuttlepilot, copyright 2014





I felt empty. The president had been well liked by many and the whole nation had come to a standstill following the assassination. And yet, the loss I felt was nothing compared to the death of my marriage when my wife decided to abandon me to my own grief following the death of my son Billy.

I had heard once that she was doing well but since Belle had moved to San Francisco after the divorce that was all I knew, all I cared to know. I missed what we had had before everything went crazy. I missed having a family to come home to; my life was as empty as my house near the beach.

What we had had was gone. She had made that crystal-clear the day she walked out on me, saying the only way she could live with herself was to start a new life. What was that supposed to mean? And why should that mean away from me? Wasn't that what marriage was all about?

Instead of staying to work things out, Belle had run away, away from me and what we had shared. I had been willing, so willing, even with everything she had done, but she hadn't. I had been deeply disappointed when she refused to have another child after Billy had died. It had bothered me ever since... and now, five years later, here she was, standing in my father's house, looking at me like I was the uninvited guest. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying hard to keep the anger under control although I wanted to lash out, to scream 'what are you doing back in my life?'

Belle turned and walked back into the kitchen, picked up a coffee cup, and leaned against the wall. She took a sip, then another, watching me until I could stand her presence no more, for I left the room, went into the living room that I remembered from growing up, took one long, last look around and left the house.

As I pulled away from the driveway, I saw my father standing in the front doorway, his arm around Belle and then the door closed. It was going to be a very, very bad Thanksgiving.

*****

"Brian, why did you leave? We had dinner ready. Your mother was very disappointed."

"What kind of stupid question is that, Dad? How could you have her there? I mean, what the hell!?" I stared at the phone in my hand, unable to believe what my father was saying.

"You shouldn't have left," my father replied, as if that explained everything.

I could hear talking in the background. "You shouldn't have had her there. What were you thinking?" My hand was shaking so hard I had to put the phone down.

"Brian? Brian? You there?"

I could still hear my father's voice from the phone and chose to ignore it. Of all the things my father could have done, inviting Belle for Thanksgiving... and not even informing me of it before hand. Dead silence from the phone. I almost threw the receiver across the room but at the last second, realized that I would only be destroying it. I didn't have that kind of money to waste, no matter how angry I was.

I hung up.

The phone rang again but I decided to just let it alone. Tomorrow, I thought, I'd change my number, even though it would cause a problem with my clients.

*****

...then she was in my arms. I didn't know how she got there. I didn't remember moving toward her. I only knew I couldn't seem to hold her close enough.

Taking her mouth, I plundered her, parting her lips with my tongue, sweeping past any defenses she might have raised. I claimed her mouth fiercely, thoroughly. Again and again, my tongue mated with hers, twisting, exploring and tasting. I sought her treasures, her secrets and once I found them, searched for more. My hands moved up and down her back, over the curve of her bottom where my fingers grabbed hold and squeezed, pulling her tightly to me.

.

.

.

And then I woke, sitting up in my bed, wondering what had happened as I had tried to sleep. After all this time, Belle was back, haunting my dreams.

*****

The next morning, I realized changing my number was more trouble than it was worth. They'd eventually give up, I decided.

By the time I reached the office the following Monday morning, Gailene, my secretary, handed me several new contracts. "Your phone's been ringing all morning," she said, impatiently.

"That's too bad. Just so you know, I'm not taking any calls this morning so don't worry about it."

"You're the boss," she said, returning to the portable television she had brought in to watch the funeral procession, the muffled rumble of the drums echoing along the capital's streets.

I tried hard to read through the contracts but found myself staring at the same page an hour later. I got up and walked to the door. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later."

Walking down the hallway, I suddenly saw my parents leave the elevator. Turning quickly, I took the fire stairs and went down flight after flight until I finally reached the ground floor. Looking around, I headed down the street and turned the corner to the next building, went inside and entered the coffee shop there.

Looking at the menu, I ordered a BLT and an iced tea and slouched down in the booth, nervously moving my silverware from one side to the other. I was surprised my parents had shown up at my office considering the nation had all but shutdown in honor of the slain president but then my father always was a persistent bastard when I wanted to be and this latest episode just truly showed what a son-of-a-bitch he was.

What possible reason could there be for Belle to come back into my life? I slowly chewed my sandwich, wondering. My world had exploded when Belle had told me she was leaving and wanted a divorce. With barely a backward glance, she had walked out... out of our home... out of our marriage... and out of our life together.

And now... she was back.

The morning Belle had told me she wanted a divorce would stay in my mind forever. She couldn't seem to get away from me fast enough. She retained a lawyer and coldly informed me that all future communications would be through him. The less contact, the better, she had said. A clean break...

Her decision had struck me with the force and unpredictability of a hurricane. I stumbled blindly through the next few months, trying to hold my life together, clinging to a semblance of normality while my world disintegrated around me.

At one time I dreamed she would regret what she had done, that she'd seek forgiveness and come crawling back to me. I wanted her to suffer for the way she had treated me, for the hurt she had inflicted when she turned her back on me.

In the years since the divorce, I had gradually found my footing and in the process, discovered a self I didn't know existed... a stronger man, forged in the fire of despair.

I ordered pie, lemon meringue, admitting to myself that I was just killing time, hoping that my parents had left by the time I returned. I couldn't stay away from the office forever... I had clients to take care of and contracts that needed to be carefully read through and stocks to watch as they did their financial dance up and down.

I laughed. Carefully reading the contracts was almost an impossibility the way I felt. It was way after two-thirty in the afternoon and I was starting to feel guilty leaving Gailene to face my parents all alone.

Throwing five dollars down on the table, I brushed the crumbs away from my shirt, stood up, waved at the waitress and left. If my parents were somehow still there, I would quietly but strongly tell them to leave. The days of letting my father control my personal life were long gone... forever gone.

Walking into the office, I found Gailene still watching her televison.

She just smiled and shook her head. "After all that, I want a raise."

"You'll get one," I promised. "How long were they here?"

"You knew? And left anyway? That's not nice, Brian."

I couldn't tell if she was upset or not. "OK, a bigger raise."

"They want you to come for dinner, tonight."

"Fat chance of that happening..." I said to himself.

Gailene looked up from her newspaper. "He said that it was really important. Your mother was crying."

"Crying? That's interesting. Was it for Kennedy? Did they say anything else?"

"Just that they'd really like to see you. It seemed like it was almost a necessity, as if it were life or death."

"Hah! Narcissistic bastard is more like it. I'm sorry you had to be here for that; I didn't think they'd show up here. I'm sorry." Even as I spoke, I knew I was fooling myself. Why else had I left the building?

I turned toward my office and then turned back again. "What do you think I should do?" I asked and immediately regretted my question.

Gailene looked at me. "I've had a little time to think about it. I don't know what they've done to anger you this time but something's up. You're going to have to make up your own mind but there's a mystery here, that's for sure."

*****

I drove down the street I had grown up on, looking carefully, seemingly recognizing the car that didn't belong. A tired Edsel was parked in front of my parents' house and as I passed it to park further down the road, I noticed a UCLA parking sticker on the rear bumper. She must have moved, I thought, although I had no idea why she would be attending the Los Angeles campus.

I walked up to the front porch and knocked on the door that one time I would have just opened and entered. Somehow, it didn't seem right, anymore.

"Come in," my mother said, opening the door and standing aside, an anxious look on her face.

"Mother," I greeted, rather than the more intimate 'Mom', wishing I knew what was going on. I noticed that she had on her favorite blue and white checked apron, usually reserved for special events and holidays and was nervously wiping her hands with it.

The house looked almost the same but there was a different smell to it, a scent that had been missing ever since... ever since Belle had left my life.

And now, she was back... bringing the almost forgotten pain with her. Why? And, why did I suddenly care?

My father was on his Lazy-Boy, watching the television's flickering blue-white image of Arlington. He stood up and turned the set off. "Why'd you...?"

"I can leave again, if you want," I said softly, turning back to the door I had just entered.

"No!" my mother cried out. "Please... don't go. I made your favorite pie... I mean, just in case you'd stop by."

"Thank you," I replied, hoping that the anger I felt would stay under control. Besides, it had been weeks since I had had my mother's apple-crumb pie and I missed it... and her.

My grand-mother came out of the kitchen, a cup of still-steaming tea in her hand. I was surprised, never expecting to see her all that often since she had moved to San Diego.

Courteously, I approached her and gave her a hug. "Grandma, how nice to see you..."

"Brian, you look well. How come you don't come and see me?" There was just a hint of a smile on her face that told me of her love for me.

"I don't know. I'm sorry." I was embarrassed at my answer, knowing I had neglected the old woman who had spent so much time with me during my youth.

She moved toward the couch and sat down, patting the space next to her, inviting me to sit. "I'll let you come and get me for Christmas."

I looked around the room, wondering where Belle was, knowing once I sat down, I was trapped for the time it took to get up.

"She's upstairs," my grandmother said, answering my unasked question. "Sit down, Brian; we have so much to talk about... so much you don't know."

I weighed in my mind what to do and then remembering what Gailene had said, realized that I would have to face the situation at some point. Whatever they had in mind, I was man enough, I thought, to deal with it, especially after all this time.

"Why?" I asked. "Why is she here? Now, after all this time...? Do you honestly think I want to see her?"

"It's complicated," the old woman started to say and then she was interrupted by the appearance of a four-year-old child holding a teddy bear and rubbing her sleepy eyes.

I looked at the blond-haired child standing at the top of the stairs in shock. A child! Oh, God, did it mean what my mind was rapidly becoming afraid of?

"Sit down," my grandmother said, waving her arm toward the sofa. "It's time you knew."

I nodded absently and sat down next to the old woman. "What?" I asked. "What could you possibly tell me?" They both knew that, at best, I now had ambivalent feelings toward my ex-wife. She still felt a pang of sorrow remembering her lost great-grandson.

"So..." I said.

She looked at me, her eyes starting to water. "I'm not sure how to say this but..."

*****

Dinner was a strange, quiet affair; unappreciated food passed from one side of the table to the other without a word; even the pie had been eaten without being tasted. My father had attempted to sit me down next to Belle but I moved quickly and sat between my mother and grandmother, occasionally glancing at the small child at the other end of the table and wondering just 'who' she was.

We finished eating just past six o'clock and Belle quickly stood to help clear the table, seemingly falling into a comfortable ease that she had once shown years before the divorce. The little girl, Katy, was excused from the table and she went into the living room to play with her doll. I watched her as she left the room and wondered just what to think.

*****

Driving home, shaking my head from side to side, I refused to believe any of what they had said. Where HAD she come from? It was something that was bothering me ever since I first saw her. How could my parents, my grandmother so easily believe Belle, the Belle who had evidently lied and betrayed my love by leaving?

I shook nervously. What if the child were indeed mine? I would be linked with Belle forever if that was the case... and the specter of child support and everything that went with that even if she wasn't. 

*****

I spoke with several of my lawyer friends but they were no help to me, each with conflicting opinions on whether I was responsible for the young girl. Of course, each had said, it all depended on whether I was the girl's father or not. California state law had me over a barrel.

In my mind's eye, I saw her, so similar to my lost son. Would I want another child with Belle or was that just wishful thinking, seeking to fill that emptiness that had taken residence in my soul. I didn't know. If I were a religious man I would have sought out the guidance of a priest but those days were long ago lost in the past with the death of my son. I had no patience with such an uncaring God, no matter what had been said during the funeral. Even Father Redahan had no real answers to the questions that I had.

"Gailene, I'm not coming in today," I said to my secretary over the phone. "I'm sorry, but something's come up."

"It has to do with your parents' coming over the other day, doesn't it? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, no... not right now, maybe never... I don't know, it's complicated." I ended the call and went back to my bedroom and lay down on my bed, resting my arm over my eyes.

The afternoon came and went and still I lay quietly on the spread, occasionally shifting from my left side to my right. As much as I hated it, this whole mess was bothering me and I fought the occasional tear that found its way down my cheek.

The problem, as I saw it, was two-fold. Was Katy my daughter? And, if she was, what was I going to do about it?

The next morning I ate a lonely breakfast at the International House of Pancakes, getting my eggs 'over easy', wondering who would regain a normal life first: me or the nation?

*****

Several weeks had gone by before I saw my parents again. The nation, in the meantime, had quietly adjusted to the change in leadership. Mrs. Kennedy had quietly left the White House, the broadcasters had stopped referring to the president as Mr. Kennedy and America was slowly learning about Lady Bird Johnson, wondering what was to become of Camelot.

I was shopping for Christmas gifts at the Broadway department store when I chanced upon my mother carrying several large packages. I hurried to assist her and noticed the two dolls inside one of the bags.

"Hello, Mom. What brings you out today?" I know, it was a stupid question but old habits died hard. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"Yes, I'd like that," she replied, giving me two of the large bags. "Don't look," she admonished, "there's something in there for you and I'd like it to be a surprise. It's been a long time since I've been able to surprise you at Christmas."

I laughed. I missed my mom and stayed away mostly because of the way my father was. I couldn't understand how such two completely different people could have met and fallen in love, let alone stayed married for all these years.

I carried her bags to my car in the lot and we drove over to Van de Kamps to have a late lunch.

We ordered.

"Well," she said, opening our conversation. "How've you been?"

"Pretty much the same," I answered. "What do you think will happen with Johnson, now?"

"Why don't you ask what you're really thinking, Brian?" She took a sip of her iced tea and looked at me only the way a mother can, knowing her child was hurting.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mom."

"You're going to have to do something about it, sooner or later."

"What can I say? There's no way I can tell if she's mine or not, you know that. Besides, after all this time, what difference does it make?" I took a bite of my sandwich, hoping that this wasn't all going to be a mistake.

The waitress refilled my Coke. I waited until she had left before continuing. "Even if she is mine, that doesn't change what happened with Belle and what she did. I can't forgive her for that."

"We all make mistakes, Brian," my mother answered.

"It's been five years, Mom. That's a long time. And, why now? What's changed, anyway?"

"I don't know. Maybe she realized what she had done. Maybe she realized how much she missed you."

Our "come-to-Jesus" talk continued for a while and when we decided to stop, I saw that it was two hours later. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess.

I drove my mother back to her car, transferred her bags to her trunk, kissed her good-bye and drove home, still unsettled by the reappearance of my ex-wife into my life.

It was Christmas Eve before I saw my parents again, resigned to know that Belle and Katy would probably be there, too. Unlike previous years, I only brought Chanel No. 5 for my mother, deliberately slighting my father, whom I still had a disagreeable relationship with, Belle, whom I still had no love for and Katy, who I still refused to acknowledge.

Dinner was similar to Thanksgiving and the conversation, what there was of it, centered around the expected political changes in Washington and my father attempting to include the girl in conversation, all the while keeping an eye on me.

Unlike my lunch with my mother, dinner seemed to drag and I looked at my watch, wondering when the evening would come to an end.

Belle looked at me. "Brian, when can we talk? We really need..."

"I thought you had said all you wanted... five years ago, Belle. What more can you have to say now?"

My father scowled at me.

"She's yours, Brian. There was no one else."

"Has there been anyone since?"

Her silence and reddening face gave me the answer that I didn't want to hear, didn't really want to know.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, angrily. Five years of frustration had risen to the forefront and exploded across the table. And then, I realized that my outburst had terrified the small girl sitting across from me, for she began to cry and tried to climb down from her chair and leave the table.

"Now see what you've done?" my father furiously said, reaching for Katy and taking her into his lap.




Can't Get Used To Losing Her...



I looked at Katy, her tiny hand covering her mouth, her eyes starting to tear up and I felt like a fool, never expecting my pent-up aggravation to cause the girl grief.

Belle reached for her daughter and held her tightly. "There's a blood test you can take, if you want. You'll see. I know you're mad but don't take it out on her. It's not her fault."

"But," I asked, still furious but trying to control myself, "why now?"

"I realized that what I had done was wrong and that Katy needed her father in her life. She needs you, Brian, no matter what I had done, she's still your daughter."

What little I knew about blood tests wasn't going to guarantee that Katy was my daughter. It could only rule out that she wasn't but if Belle was so positive, it had to be the truth.

"All right," I said, finally. "What do you propose?"

"Be in her life, do things with her, be her father."

With all that said, though, I realized how much I had missed already in Katy's life and a great sadness filled me.





Over the next few months, I filled my weekends with Katy, taking her to the zoo, the beach, the park, just playing with her in my house which now had a room just for her.

One day she was drawing with her crayons on the kitchen table and as I watched, I saw that she had drawn me, Belle and herself in front of a simple square house that children are prone to draw.

"Here, Daddy," she said, giving me the picture. I looked at the picture and began to cry, knowing what I had lost five years earlier when Belle had walked out of my life.

I wondered what Belle was doing on the weekends while Katy was staying with me, knowing full well that I probably wasn't going to like what I found out. And so, like taking medicine that you knew was going to taste bad, I had some friends follow her around on Saturdays and Sundays.

After two months, they found nothing worth mentioning except that she donated time working on Goldwater's campaign.

And yet I couldn't find it in my heart to forgive her for what she had done.

And then, one Sunday evening, taking Katy home to her mother, I found Belle seemingly asleep in bed and yet I knew that she was gone. There was a note on the nightstand, saying that she had breast cancer and couldn't live with it any longer and she was sorry but needed me in Katy's life so that her little girl wouldn't be alone.

And so that's the way life turned out, sharing a lost son and a found daughter but nothing else, wishing that life had turned out differently but living with what it was.

But still, I couldn't get used to losing her...



Can't Get You Out Of My Head



I can't stop thinking about the time with you. You're not my first, but you might as well have been. I felt things that I didn't know I could. It's like you awakened a whole other side of me, the adventurous, wild, sex driven side. Combine it with my soft, romantic, timid side, and I can make you very, very happy.

Your kiss alone is enough to excite me and make me want you so much. I love the way that I feel just waiting, hoping that you're going to touch me, kiss me, make me feel so beautiful. 

I love being out with you, going places, but I have the thought and image in my head, how I just want to get back and find the bed with you again. I don't want to be away from it long, the craving is too intense, the urge driving me insane. I shouldn't be thinking these things in front of so many people, and I blush just thinking "What if someone knows? What if they can see that right now, I'm so wet thinking about his hands and how I feel when he's inside me?" But I can't stop. I start to fix it, straighten up, try to be a lady, then you look at me or grab my hand, or touch the small of my back, and I'm craving you again.

All I can think of is feeling you again, wanting your hands on me. I want to feel your mouth on my breasts, kissing and sucking, biting then kissing to soften the sting. I love the excitement, feeling your hands as they move further and further down my body, the anticipation of knowing where your fingers are headed, and getting so anxious knowing it won't be long.

I love the way you tease me, run your hands up and down my legs, making me squirm and beg. You tell me to quiet down, you'll get there, but you want to feel me. I lay back and let you touch and taste, as you lick up my legs. I'm fisting my hands in the blankets, fighting every urge not to just push you back and climb on top of you, ride you until we're both satisfied. But I know you like to take your time, and I love to let you. 

You're working your way closer, and I feel your breath right where I'm hoping for your mouth, your tongue and your fingers. You take pity on me, know I can't take much more, and I know you want it just as much as me. I feel you part me, so gently, and slide your finger in between my legs, right at the crest, making me moan just a little. I won't make too much noise yet, saving that up for when you're inside me. You're teasing me, rubbing me lightly right where you know I love it, where you know I get so weak. I'm squirming now, raising my hips, silently begging for you to take me, give me more. You oblige me and slide your finger in me, finally realizing how much I've wanted you. You're amazed at how wet you've made me. I can see it in your eyes, you're just as hungry for it as I am now. I take that one look as my advantage and make my move.

I lean up and push you back. Your turn. And I want to feel that power you just had. You're already rock hard, and I can see that it would be so easy to just take what I want, what I need. You're so hard and throbbing, and in my head I'm already riding your hard dick, loving how you fill me and make me scream for more. But you didn't rush, and neither will I. I start to kiss down your chest, rubbing my hands up and down your legs, kissing lower and lower. 

I look up while I'm kissing, you're looking at me, so anxious. I tell you to lean back, close your eyes. It's my turn to make you feel good. I start by teasing a little, just licking the tip when I finally reach my goal. I hear you suck in a breath, I know now that this is just what you need. But I want more. I take the tip in my mouth, sucking, moving my tongue over it, moving my head up and down, in and out, while you put your head back and moan with your eyes closed. You knot your hands in my hair, moving my head up and down, bobbing on you just the way you like it. I know just what you want, and I take you all the way in my mouth, clear down, choking a little, but loving so much the sound you make when you feel it all the way. I'm sucking up and down, in and out. I reach down and feel, sucking on you has kept me wet. As you watch, I'm on my knees while you're leaning back, watching me suck your dick and play with myself. You know what I want. I'm keeping wet just for you, I'm so anxious to slide on to you. 

You've reached the point I'm at, you can't take any more than I can and you have to be inside me. You pull me up, kissing me, pulling me on to you. I sit on your lap, my legs wrapped around your waist, my nails digging in to your back, as you find the spot and enter me. I can't help it, I call out. You grab my hips and thrust yourself up in to me, and I'm so filled. You take me and turn over on to my back, never once leaving me. When you have me on my back, you pull out, just to the very tip, take my legs and put them over your shoulders, and you enter me fast and hard. You keep thrusting in to me, over and over, faster and harder each time. I'm digging my nails in to your back, pulling myself closer, getting you so deep. 

You feel me start to tense up, but not yet. You have another move in mind. You move to the edge of the bed, where you sit and have me face away from you. You pull me back on to you and enter me, making me moan again. You should have known I wouldn't last long like this. You reach around me, using one hand to play with my nipples, massaging and playing, little tugs then gentle enough I'm pulsing even harder. With your other hand, you reach down and spread me apart. While your sliding in and out of me, you're using your finger and playing with that special spot, knowing it won't be long before I'm tensing up wrapped around you. 

I'm feeling better than I've ever felt, but it's still in my head that I want you to feel better than ever too. Even though I'm partially distracted, I'm working on focusing enough to tighten up and work my hips, moving up and down on you, doing everything I can to make you feel so good. I lean forward just a little, put my hands on the edge of the bed, so I can really work my hips and slide on you. I want to feel you when you reach that point. I want to feel you throb and tense. I want to know it was me, those movements, being inside me that made you twitch and grunt and grab me against you. 

Why leave the bed, or floor, or chair, or anywhere we can find, and go anywhere when we can do this all the time? I can't get you out of my head...