1 comments/ 14582 views/ 0 favorites Roy's Bachelor Party By: AnonAndAnon "Rivers of life divine I see, And trees of paradise, I see a world of spirits bright, Who taste the pleasures there." ------------------------------------ They snatched the baby early one morning. At five the baby fell asleep having cried the night through, teething and an ear infection its issues. If its parents had then dropped into exhausted slumber nothing would have happened. But outside lay a beautiful crisp late spring morning, the sun had just risen behind their house and clean new light bathed the street. The couple needed to get out and be together and enjoy the stillness. Together they walked the dog around the block. They were gone no more than 10 minutes. As time is infinitely divisible, 10 minutes to them is as long as ten days. They counted the infant abandoned. Further, they reckoned they had cause. If both conditions not been met, they would not have taken her. The consequences for the parents were grim. Given their evident grief, no one, not police, investigators, reporters or social workers, thought them guilty of more than irresponsibility and horrible bad luck, still they barely escaped a charge of criminal neglect. The loss of their child destroyed them. ------------------------------------ Often she would slide along her life. Her life, thanks to them, was like a video and she both player and viewer. And like a video, when viewing, it was look but not touch, experience but not change. Sometimes she would settle into the happy times not long after her taking. When she lay with a toddler's scant self-centered awareness crowded amongst their own offspring. Sometimes, though not often, she would skip earlier and be again the baby crawling across the carpet in a world of fractured shapes and sounds and textures. She would strain to sort out from the baby's unformed vision what the couple who owned the feet she'd targeted looked like, but all she ever knew was the sound of their encouraging laughing voices. Sometimes, like a child picking at a scab, she'd visit her death. The ambulance would collect her, derelict and drunk, from the steps of the Boston Public Library. Her body a husk, dirty, her clothes indescribable rags. She would lie in the crowded intensive care, gasping, filled with drugs, surrounded by noise, aware only of their quiet calm eyes. Sometimes she would shift to the time in her 40s when she worked as a waitress in a bar. As any who took food or drink from her were hers, those she fancied she took home and they'd wake the next day dazed and drained, the others she'd ply with drink they couldn't refuse and she'd make bets with herself (or one of them) as to whether her toy'd make it home, or wreck, or get arrested. It was more fun than keeno. Sometimes she'd live the time when on her 18th year birthday, their richest prince (the word is not quite right) took her from the crowded dorm which was all she'd ever known, took her and her friend Chrysanthemum and two other friends as well which showed how he valued her, and made her his consort and the pleasure of their union lasted and stretched till when she looked at the world outside, it lay barren and airless, blasted by a swollen red sun. Sometimes she'd visit the horrible moment, when she'd turned 28, when she was at the apex of her beauty and pride. She stood before them restrained, regarded and ruined. She stood while their calm voices explained the consequences of her crime. Her transgression, what it was they never said, could've occurred anytime in her life. For they, like us, punish to please the punisher, not to warn or correct the punished. Sometimes she'd revisit the Christmas of her 19th year, when she and her companions descended upon a busy mall. Laughing they'd zeroed in on a pod of teenagers going to the movies. The film filled just before the kids got to the ticket counter and they wandered through the stores to kill time before the next showing. Every motion of their hands looked like shoplifting and they were repeatedly searched. Every mall guard thought them loitering and chivied them along. In front of Targets they happened upon similarly harassed kids from the next town over, loud and furious fighting erupted. Early on she'd cut out the top boy, a senior, football captain and class president. He bought her a slice of pizza, and though he'd paid for it, he ate a bite from her fingers and that was that. When his girlfriend of two years escaped the mall, talking loudly and distressedly with her friends about their horrible afternoon, wondering repeatedly about what could've happened to her Stevey. Why hadn't he been there to defend her when she was scratched, slugged and nearly stomped? Oh my god, there he was, in broad daylight, a girl bent under him on the hood of his car, he more dog than man. The experience wouldn't leave the boy. He became haunted. He hunted for the girl and not finding her, gave himself to drugs. ------------------------------------ "Heather, yours is the one to the side of the group over there," Chris told her, "The old guy. Mine's the big guy in the middle." Heather'd just come off the stage and was catching her breath from dancing before moving out into the crowd to mingle. She squinted across the dim space and picked out her guy. He looked to be in his late forties, hair graying, face tired. "Swap?" she asked hopefully. "No way." She sighed. Her friend was the same height as she, but rounder with the short copper colored hair appropriate for a girl named Chrysanthemum. Heather frowned. She'd rather have the big guy. She had a mental image of being fucked by him. Her eyes'd be looking up at his nipples. Oh well. She'd just have to get what fun she could out of her old guy. "Oh Heather, maybe yours won't be so bad. Maybe he'll be like sweet and considerate. And you got the stud last time, right? ------------------------------------ His phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the picture then answered, turning away slightly from Tod, the guy next to him, and bending over to shield the phone. "Hey Tom, how's it going?" Joan's voice asked. She was the only member of their team not out with the bachelor party crowd. This being the twenty-first century, she'd been asked but'd turned it down, as Roy'd hoped no doubt. She was the smartest member the team and the hardest working and the only woman. She was recently divorced with a grade school aged son. Even when young, she'd been attractive by way of her personality and her brains and her health so now in her thirties she'd lost nothing. "Oh it's just swell," he said without enthusiasm. He hadn't been to such a place in 20 years at least. In fact, not since the guys at his job of the time'd dragged him out prior to his own marriage. The girl up there now was a redhead with large breasts that seemed to be doing their own dance unconnected to the music. He'd watched the one who'd just finished, a slim taut thing, with idle pleasure. She'd known how to dance, she'd seemed to bind and mold the awful music into something exciting and live. He added, "I've been thinking a bit about why the databases are blocking under load. Maybe the indices on the video rights table could use some looking into." "Oh Tom," she laughed, "I bet you're the life of that party. Has our bachelor boy been behaving himself?" "He's telling Chuck about the Red Sox game he and Linda went to last night." "What was that? It's too noisy there. Talk to you tomorrow," she said and was gone. Roy was a large man who was beginning to go to fat. He was noisily and publicly happy with his fiance, a woman named Linda who worked in sales support. His conversation consisted solely of either sports or what he and Linda'd done the night before and since they often went to Fenway Park or Foxboro or in to the Garden, his two subjects were often indistinguishable. Actually he really had three subjects because he liked to talk about eating and diets. His happiness annoyed Joan and when she and Tom had lunch together, she could be merciless. Mimicking Roy's somewhat high pitched ultra sincere voice she'd say, "Dude, after mass yesterday, me and Linda went to this little barbecue place. I had the pulled pork in blueberry sauce, Linda the blackened catfish, Dude, both were excellent and we both had cheesecake for desert. And neither of us will gain a pound because Dude, we've started this new diet. You drink 3 glasses of water before each meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner and it fills you right up and Dude, water has no calories! I only had 3 orders and normally I'd've had 4!" Joan also pilloried Linda's tweets. Joan followed Linda solely for the purpose of ridiculing her to Tom. "Made Lasagna! Made Brownies! Made Nachos! Made water! Roy's coming to watch the Sox! Not gonna leave my sweety even for a pee!" Tom actually liked Roy's enthusiasm for Linda. He didn't know exactly why. If Joan was smartest of their group, Roy was definitely not. Joan was infinitely patient in trying to help him understand the delicate dance performed in a modern ajax driven website, by the browser, the webserver and the database engine. When she was done, Roy would have at least enough of the puzzle under control that he could fix the bug he was assigned. He glanced about the dim room and froze. Not far from him stood the dancer he'd admired. She stood in a group of guys. They were dressed like guys after work, some in slacks and button down shirts with their ties missing or askew, some like his group, in jeans and knit shirts and running shoes. She wore nothing but a scant triangle over her crotch. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. She looked so tiny and so naked. He watched her laugh and look up at one of the guys, her loose blond hair drifted in front of an eye and she brushed it behind an ear. The motion of her arm raised a breast. He'd admired them during her performance, but aesthetically. Now he felt like he was on fire. Their waitress came by. Her large breasts wobbled freely, prominent blue veins crisscrossed them. Her ass threatened to pour out of her red vinyl hotpants. He felt her to be an alien insulting creature. He had been going to finish his beer and say so long. His departure wouldn't be missed. Now he ordered another May Day Ale and grimaced again as his fellows ordered Buds. He stood. Roy, the groom, reached over across the table and grabbed his arm. "Hendon, I'm glad you came out man!" Tom grinned and shouted, "You gotta put up with me a bit longer! I'm just going to the john!" "That's great man!" Roy shouted, then he let Tom loose and turned back to the guy on the other side, "When he came to the plate, Linda and me gave him a standing O. We were the only ones up in my section, but I didn't care. I miss him. It was good to see him. The Sox were fucking assholes to trade him. There's no loyalty anymore. And, just like old times, he got bruised by a few foul tips". Tom headed across to the nasty men's room. He'd been trying to avoid another trip, but with another beer coming the need couldn't be postponed. And his path would take him right by the girl's group. She was looking up at another guy, her hand on his arm. He wondered if they were friends, if she knew the guy, if she was just chatting him up. As he drew near she looked over, grinned and called, "Hey, buy me a ginger ale?" He flushed, stunned, but managed to say "Sure," his path to and from the john did take him by the bar. On his way back, hands still damp from the sink, he hadn't been willing to stay in the fetid air long enough for the blow dryer to work, he stood by the bar and shouted for the ginger ale. She grinned at him from her group, maybe twenty feet away. Another fellow pushed past her. He saw the guy's hand reach out and pinch her bottom. "Hey," she called angrily, "Keep your hands to yourself." The guy just laughed and moved on to the bar. "She's a hot one," the guy said to no one in particular. "That'll be 5 bucks," said the bartender. Tom winced and paid. Tom handed her the ginger ale. She took it and smiled her thanks, listening with apparent interest to a guy in her group who was going on about something Tom didn't comprehend: "Since the advent of the spoiler on the COT, those guys have been just fucking horrible." He sat back down and sipped his beer. He watched her miserably. After a time she went over to the bar. To his surprise he saw her stand next to the oaf who'd pinched her. She rubbed her bare shoulder on the guy's side. She looked such a little thing, like a kitten or a kid. She took the guy's drink from his surprised fingers, took a sip and then lifted it up to his open mouth. After a moment she stood on tiptoe, leaned against the guy, her breasts pressed to his shirt. She kissed him on the cheek. The bartender shouted, "Hey there! NO TOUCHING!" She turned to the bartender, made a face, then she slipped away and Tom watched her vanish through a door marked "Employees only". The copper haired girl had finished. After a few moments, the taut little blond thing strolled onto the stage to a goodly welcome of cheers and catcalls. The music roared and she moved and he felt locked in place. It seemed both an instant and age to the end of her performance. When she vanished he felt a wave of despair and loneliness. "This is stupid," he told himself and stood. "Hey guys, I'm heading out. Best of luck Roy!" Roy stood, "Hendon, I'm glad you came out man! Hope you enjoyed yourself." He made his way across the room. He didn't see her anywhere. He stepped out the entryway, into the harshly lit night. The parking lot looked dark and hard and surreal. To his right he saw a little semi-circle of guys. In the open space in the middle, facing the cement wall of the bar, stood the pincher. His pants puddled about his ankles. He held his hands out before him, maybe a foot and a half apart like he had something in his grip. His ass made the jerking motions all males've found so natural since the first amphibian invented internal fertilization in the primordial swamp. The guy's dick was hard and reaching. His fleshy face grimaced with pleasure, effort and dream. He rutted vigorously with the air. There came a shout: "Hey asshole! Stop that!" from the door and several burly bar guys hurried out. Tom'd been transfixed for a moment, gawking like the other guys. Just as the bar security pushed through, the thrusting untouched dick spurted, splashing semen on the wall. Feeling disgusted, Tom pulled himself away as the first punch flew. He turned his car onto the highway. It was four lanes and it stretched for miles through a land of strip malls, car dealerships, restaurants, and nightclubs. He would follow it 10 miles, the lights annoyingly frequent, then his house was a couple miles to the south. Traffic was light. It was almost 1 in the morning. After the second light, he saw up ahead the nightmarish blue and red flashing lights of a prowl car. The traffic slowed and moved to the left lane. The cops had pulled a car over. A quick glimpse was enough to let him recognize one of the guys the girl'd been chatting with. He took a mental inventory, a little late now that he was behind the wheel. He'd had 5 beers over maybe 4 hours. He'd eaten before coming and'd shared an order of slimy nachos. He should be fine. He felt like he was driving fine. There was a ding and the near-empty idiot light on his dash began to flash. "Shit," he muttered. There'd been a quarter tank, he was sure. He thought about the distance. He'd need gas. He pulled into a Mobil station, 4 lines of angled pumps and a convenience store. A gray Civic was on the other side of his pump. Someone short and slim had her back to him, filling her tank. She straightened. He felt such a jolt. It was the little dancer. He almost hadn't recognized her. Her smooth face shown from within her hoodie which was pulled up against the chill spring air. Below the sweater she wore jeans and flip flops. She looked like any young high school or college kid. A girl you'd admire in the mall. His mind superimposed images of her standing near naked in the crowd of guys and on the stage with the gleaming pole. Here, she looked like she'd just stepped off a school bus. He was so turned on, his cock positively hurt. He forced himself to go through the motions of sliding his card in the slot, pressing his pin, fumbling with the nozzle. Soon she would finish and be gone. Of course she wouldn't recognize him! "Hey!" she said with apparent pleasure, "I remember you. You were sweet and bought me a ginger ale." He flushed. He couldn't think of anything to say, then managed, "I really enjoyed your dancing." She smiled in the harsh light. "Well thanks. The parents put me in dance class through high school. Come see me tomorrow I mean tonight? I'm on at 9." He looked at her, of course he'd had no thought of going back. He felt numb and lost. Her pump clicked loudly and she said "Shit." She took the nozzle from her car and looked at it. "I paid for like 20 dollars worth, (my Visa's maxed and I had to prepay cash, I was like totally humiliated), and now it's only taken 15. There's almost 2 gallons left? Here!" She held her nozzle with the hose snaking behind it through the gap to his side of the pump. He looked at it stupidly. "Hey take it. You haven't even started pumping." When he took it her fingers touched his hand and he almost dropped it. He now had a nozzle in each hand and seemed unable to sort out what to do. She grinned at him. "Hey, you gotta like stick it in her hole. And don't try to save time and push the other one up her back hole. She'd come in a flash, but you'd be blown to bits." She smiled, a smile sweet and clean as a spring sunrise, then seeing his incomprehension, added "Your car, idiot." She flip-flopped to her Civic's door and slid in. She paused, "My name's Heather. It'd be nice if you came tonight. You haven't said thanks." Her door slammed. Her car hummed to life, rolled over the concrete and then accelerated hard down the highway. ------------------------------------ Home, in the dark, he first drank several glasses of water as a hangover preventative, then, thinking about how wired and how turned on he was and how much he needed sleep, he masturbated. It took him a long time to come off, once he almost gave it up, but he always thought if he was ever unable to finish, it'd show he was old. His thoughts kept veering to memories of the girl Heather, how she'd looked on the stage, how she'd looked standing all but naked surrounded by drinking clothed guys, how she'd looked at the gas station and he had to force his mind back to his normal sequence, remembering one of the scenes in Fanny Hill. It'd always been his rule, right from when he'd started, never to think of a real person. It seemed rude. After he showered, he lay in bed for a time, feeling dead. He remembered that he'd forgotten to do something. He stood and went into his dark kitchen. He turned on the stove light. It gave enough illumination to see his calendar. The next day, a Sunday, was blacked out. Below the calendar, on a bulletin board were baby pictures. He looked at them a time, finally touched one, turned off the light and went back to bed. He had no sense of falling asleep, but he must've because he found himself in a dream. Afterward he realized that it'd been framed by a bit of Victorian erotica he'd read as a kid. His family'd visited his aunt and uncle's for the afternoon and in his cousin's closet, an older kid who was off at college, he'd found hidden behind some science fiction this thick paperback with the picture of a maid, hardly dressed, bending forward on the cover. It'd had some name like the Jewel or the Clam. He couldn't remember. When they'd left after dinner, the book'd left with him. Ever since, whenever he met that cousin, he felt guilty. Roy's Bachelor Party Anyhow, in it, a guy goes to a party in Paris, meets a bevy of girls dressed in Turkish costume, all gauze, Turkish pajamas low on their hips, and he picks one and as an initiation, he has to fuck her on a couch on a dais, with everyone watching. What we read when we're young to turn on has a lasting influence on our imaginations. In his dream, he and the other guys of the bachelor party walked down the sidewalk of one of the failing malls that lined the highway. At one end stood the immense shape of a dead superstore, an early Home Depot competitor, "Your Hardware", which'd built a mammoth box and then gone bust. For the last ten years an increasingly frayed sign'd proclaimed in huge letters: "145,000 Sq Ft for Lease". It remained empty. They walked through its glass doors which amazingly still worked, sliding open before them and closed behind them, and into another world. Right in front of them was a dark ornamental stream, 10 feet across, which stretched to the left and right along the walls of the box. In it the dim gold shapes of carp could be seen hovering, as though suspended in air. There was an arching bridge, then an area of gravel paths and ornamental trees in wooden pots. From the left, there came the sounds of a band. A woman's beautiful airy soprano voice floated over the guitars and drums. He recognized a song he'd liked when young. He was sure it was Sandy Denny singing. For a moment he listened: Oh, I forbid you, maidens all Who wear gold mixed in your hair, To come or go by Carter Hall For young Tam-Lin awaits you there. There's none that goes by Carter Hall But must leave him a pledge; Either gold ring, or green mantle, Or else a maidenhead. They crossed the bridge, it echoed under their feet. Then they followed the sound of the band and came to a raised dance floor. The band was to one side, just before the stream and the wall of the box. To the other was a bar. The bar was staffed by a couple women slightly older than those who danced with each other or who lay on the silk red and gold cushions that were scattered about. Lounging on a large leather couch on a raised platform in the center of the dance floor sat the largest man Tom'd ever seen. Later in the night, when the man and Roy faced off, Roy who was 6'5 appeared to be at least a hand's length the shorter. Roy'd gotten into a who's strongest argument and was trying to hold his arm out straight with one of the girls, the copper haired dancer, sitting on it like she was perched on a tree limb. Roy managed it for almost a minute then he began to tremble and his arm collapsed, sending the girl tumbling onto the cushions. There she lay, grinning up at him like a cat. The huge man squatted, stretched out both his arms and a sweet young woman placed her rear on either. He seemed to breath out and stand without effort. The girls balanced themselves by putting a hand on his head, then they lifted their arms and he could've stood there mocking Roy forever. After what felt like an eternity, each girl swung a leg over so she straddled her supporting arm. They each slid out further, rubbing their sexes along his suit coat, till they were at either wrist. The man bent his hands up and caressed their slits with his middle fingers. After a moment the girls began to shiver and bounce. His outstretched arms held steady. The girls each shook and orgasmed. One fell off, the other he tossed in the air, like a boy playing with one of his sister's stuffed animals. He caught her, turned her so her back was to him and casually impaled her on his rampant cock. She shrieked and shook in renewed pleasure, affixed to him like a strange figurehead on a ship. Now, as they first approached, the man sat on the couch. He wore a dark business suit, tie loose about his neck. The girl, Heather, sat calmly beside him, her side pressed to his. Though she sat erect, the top of her head was well below the level of his shoulder. Tom wished that he could call Joan, he imagined talking to her about what a clear example of sexual dimorphism this was. There was supposedly less size difference between males and females in people as opposed to our great ape relatives. Here was clear counter example. Heather's eyes met Tom's, they were calm and proud. Tom saw that the man's pants were open. Heather's hand held his cock coolly, like she owned it. Her fist, at its base, only covered a third of its length. Another woman knelt between the man's thick thighs, licking his balls. A third, the red haired dancer bent over his lap from the other side, her mouth made a wide O to circle him with her lips. Two other women stood behind the couch, their hands in his wiry hair and on his shoulders. Elsewhere young women lounged on cushions, and towards the band, some danced with each other. Steve, standing by Tom, whispered, "Hey, there aren't any other guys here, just that dude. This place rocks!" The huge man stood up, seeming to shed the women about him, save Heather, who also stood. She held his cock a moment longer than relinquished it, allowing the kneeling girl to straighten his clothing. "You are all welcome!" the man proclaimed in a loud voice. "You are my guests and may eat, drink and yes fuck without fear or obligation. The bar, like my women's legs, is open! Enjoy!" The girls flowed from him like a mist. The red haired dancer went to Roy. Heather came toward Tom. She passed close to 2 of the other guys, they sought to catch her arm but she slipped by them and stopped in front of Tom, head tilted back so she could grin up at him. "Hey," she said. Her trim little body - hardly hidden at all by the mist of her cloak, by her blouse whose thin material merely colored the light as it passed through, by the translucent gauze of her loose fitting, low hung pants - her trim little body filled him with almost uncontrollable desire. "So what's your name?" she asked, gazing up at him with amused eyes "Oh sorry, Tom, Tom Hendon." She looked up at him with continued amusement. He felt he had to say something. He managed, "He is the largest man I've ever seen," looking at the huge man. "As you are dreaming and it is your dream, he is the Tam Lin of the song," she said, "Who inspired the ballad so long ago." He asked, "Of the gold rings, green mantles, and maidenheads?" "Gold rings and green mantles - no. Maidenheads - yes. And the owners of the maidenheads always did best to keep their distance. Most of the ballad is crap." "Let's dance," she said. And in the way of dreams they were instantly dancing in front of the band. To his surprise, he actually knew how to dance well, none of that bobbing about like a duck that'd so irritated his wife. He moved in perfect synchrony with Heather and the music and since it was music he liked, he felt such a surge of excitement and electricity. He caught her and spun her and lifted her, he saw a semi-circle gathering to watch. Somehow he knew all the moves and steps and kept the patterns going when the slightest foul up in where he stepped would cause them to wind up a tangle of limbs on the floor. Somehow, the slightest pressure of her hand, or a look of her eye and he'd keep up with her lead as she took their dance in some new direction. If this had been all of the dream, if he'd just danced and danced and danced and then awoken, he would have counted it the best and happiest dream of his life. After a time, they stopped, he panting, she hardly seeming to breath at all. She led him to the bar. "Here, I can drink," she grinned. She took a Strawberry Daiquiri. He another beer. There came shouting from near the dais. Men's voices chanted "Roy! Roy! Roy!", these shouts mingled with the women's calls of "Chris! Chris!". Loud wild hoots and whistles echoed from both women and men. Heather took his hand and led him across the dance floor to where they'd been greeted. Roy stood on the dais before the couch. Chris'd glued herself to him the way a girl greets her lover when he returns from a long trip, her hands clutched behind his neck, her legs scissored around his hips, her eager excited face turned up to meet his lips. What guy would not kiss the girl who has freed his cock from its confinement and settled herself down onto it? Saving him the wait till they're home and he has her in bed? Even if she has met him in a crowded airport concourse? The girl, Chris, wore nothing but her glittering high heeled slippers and as Tom and Heather settled on a cushion, she began rocking herself up and down, assisted by Roy's hands under her ass. "I should make myself wake," Tom said, looking at Heather, at how her soft breasts barely took support from the film of her blouse. "This dream is nasty. I shouldn't imagine people I know this way. It's nasty." She put a hand on his thigh and took his hand and kissed his palm. Two softly giggling women stepped up onto the dais, knelt on either side of Roy and made stirrups with their hands. Chris set the toes of her slippers on their hands and with better purchase fucked Roy the harder. Roy grimly rocked his ass forward and back. Tom realized that Roy stood in exactly the same attitude as that of the man who'd fucked air outside the strip club. Heather stood, touched Tom's shoulder reassuringly and carrying her daiquiri, stepped up onto the dais. She held the glass out to Chris. Chris clutched it and drank with the thirsty grateful efficiency of a marathon runner at a water station. Heather sank down on the cushions again. Timidly Tom put his arms around her. She leaned back against him. He felt her hand work its way into his jeans. He forgot to breath and when he started again, he found it impossible to make up the deficit. Roy lifted the gasping girl off his cock. Chris moaned and shook her head in complaint. Roy set her on the couch, facing away from him. She gripped the couch back and spread her thighs and waved her butt in desperate entreaty. Roy wasted no time in entering her from the rear. She cried out her pleasure at feeling him again. He began to fuck harder and harder. Her breasts swung and bounced wildly. How long did this go on? At last Roy shouted and pushed the girl flat onto couch. He held her a moment, then slipped out of her, and dropped to his knees. He leaned back against the couch, breathing heavily. Heather rushed back to the couch. She and another girl took the exhausted, shaking Chris in their arms and rocked her as a child. Chris gulped some more from the glass that Heather offered, then with a weak nod in answer to a whispered question, they helped her up, and all but carried her to where Roy now waited on the cushions. He and one of the guys high fived. Tom became aware of a large presence beside him. He looked up and saw the man, their host. He hurriedly got to his feet. Tom was 5' 11''. This man was at least a head and a half taller and twice as broad. He met the man's eyes briefly, they were hard and somehow amused, Tom had the sudden vision of a hunter who having wounded his deer in the cold winter woods, wounds it again and again, solely to watch it start, shake and struggle, not caring what the bullets do to the meat. The man's voice rumbled, "Are you married Mr Hendon?" "No, no sir." Tom desperately wished that Heather would hurry back. He remembered her quiet air of ownership when he'd first seen her sitting next to the man. "Children?" "No sir," Tom flushed. "I have many children," the man remarked. "We, however, get rid of them soon after birth. It's a better system. They rise on their own merits, it's survival of the fittest and there're definitely better things for a woman to do than mothering." Tom had a sudden bleak memory of that horrible day so long ago. It filled him with despair and he felt like he was on the edge of waking in tears. This man knew, Tom was sure of it. Then he remembered that as this was a dream, the man certainly knew everything that he did. "It must be me making this man say these things," he thought. He wanted to wake, but he looked over at Heather, a dream was the only place he had a chance at her. "Sometimes I welcome them back when they're grown. That one," the man gestured to where Heather knelt by her recovering friend, "I remember, was a particularly ugly baby, ill tempered and unwilling to sleep. Now look at her." Tom watched Heather walk back over. He felt sick. She leaned briefly against the man. The man leaned, he almost had to bend double, and kissed the top of Heather's head. Then the man said disapprovingly, his gaze back to where the redhead still lay collapsed, "Chrysanthemum, my daughter, has no stamina." Tom felt a wave of relief. It was the redhaired girl who was the daughter. The man's clear incestuous knowledge of the red haired Chris bothered Tom not in the least. Then in the way of dreams, he stopped thinking of the large man and as he and Heather sank onto the cushion the man was gone. While he had been distracted. Chad and Terry, 2 guys from marketing, had stepped onto the dais. They had with them a slim willowy girl, as tall as Terry, who was but a roundish bald young man. Terry sprawled on the couch and took the girl onto his lap. He put an arm around her, kissed her neck and felt down between her legs. She had a sweet hairless cunt. When she threw one leg over Terry's blue jeaned thigh, her sex lips opened into red folds that resembled a wound. "She's very young," Tom observed as they watched the young woman spread her bottom cheeks and settle her asshole over Terry's cock. She sat upon him carefully and with concentration. Tom was feeling exceedingly critical of everything he saw, except Heather. He wanted to whisper to her, "Let's go, you don't belong here, let me protect you, I will hold you so tight that when I wake, you will lie beside me," but he was silent. Heather said, "She's new. She's only been here a week. Before that she was in, well, in school, that's the best term for it. When we turn 18 we must leave it. It's crowded and both wonderful and horrible. The lucky girls get places in a household such as this. The unlucky wander solitary, becoming crazy and malicious. They don't live long. "I," she went on with cool pride in her voice, "Was one of the very luckiest. Tam Lin took me for his wife. Like you, we have only one spouse at a time." She saw his face, saw him look at the cushions some distance away where the huge man now lay. "Don't worry," she said, misunderstanding his expression, "He is not jealous in that way and the word wife is not really right." He watched as Chad positioned himself between the girl's uplifted legs. "He's the only man among you?" "Boys have it much worse. At 14 they must wander and find a place to start a new household, or perhaps, fight to takeover an existing one." "Which did he do?" "The combat lasted 2 days. One man lay dead at the end." "And you all nursed the winner back to health?" "I wasn't born yet. This was centuries ago and in England. No. Tam Lin was hiding out, on a nearby hill. He watched the fight, then came down and killed the victor. He, Tam Lin, was young and had only been on his own half a year. They were both much bigger and stronger. He assumed the household and has been a great prince ever since." "How did he survive challenges himself?" "His first wife decided to bet on cunning. Challengers did not last long." Chad and Terry were thrusting vigorously, squeezing the girl like the tasty filling of a sandwich. With every rut, she gave a little squeak, like the filling contained a mouse that had been trapped unseen between the slices. In the way of dreams, time seemed to stretch. The two men were tireless. At last the girl, who had been gasping with increased desperation, her squeaks almost painful, her legs waving in the air, her arms gripping Chad's back so hard there were visible red grooves in his flesh, at last she cried out and collapsed in a faint. Her head lolled back against Terry. The two men thrust twice more and then they ground themselves into her so fiercely it seemed a wonder they didn't crush her hips and leave her crippled for life. They remained frozen a moment then they relaxed and withdrew from her holes. She looked about at her enthralled audience and hid her sweating face in her shaking hands. After a moment of murmuring softly, the two men helped her drink like a child from an offered glass, still covering her face. Then Chad and Terry, supporting her between them, tenderly helped and guided her off the dais and across to their cushions. There they collapsed in an exhausted tangle, the girl's face hidden in Chad's lap. Heather took his hand, "It's our turn." When he hesitated she smiled, meeting his eyes with promise. Roy, lolling on his cushion, the now recovered red haired girl looking over his shoulder, her face almost like a cat's, chanted "Hendon! Hendon!" Steve shouted, "Hendon, it's your at bat! Lets see what've you got. We're 2 and O here. Don't let us down man! Destroy her!" Still he hesitated. "There's no need to be shy," she whispered. He murmured, "It's not that so much, well, a little, but this is a dream you know and if we were to," he hesitated. "To fuck." "In the past, when I used to have such dreams, I haven't had one in years, when," he hesitated again, feeling hot. "Just when they got good, you woke up." "Yes. Usually to a mess. And I really don't want this to end. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to wake." She smiled up at him. "Just a moment ago, you were eager to be out of it." Then she said lightly, "If you woke, your dream having no Hendon would be for Heather and so it would be my dream and as mine, I promise there'll be no waking till morning for you. " She looked up at his uncomprehending face, "Don't worry. Don't think. Come." She took his hand and led him up onto the dais and to the couch. She turned to face him and her clothes, already thin as the air, misted from her body. All she wore was the triangle of gold material, tight over her sex, not so much covering as coating its soft lips. She was so pretty, he again couldn't breath. She lay on her back. Several young women clustered around him. Laughing, they tapped him, and where they touched, his clothes vanished. Unlike Roy and the other two, who'd remained clothed, he was not to be spared. Indeed in his dream, he looked handsome, young and fit. He knelt between Heather's spread thighs and touched the triangle and ran his finger down the dip that lay between her soft little sex lips. He peeled the triangle off. Her sex seemed to cling to it, like it was the only part of her with any modesty. He moved up and crouched over her. She calmly smiled up at him. He could not tell if she was eager or not. Her hand touched his shoulder. He could not move. He felt the fingers of one of the young women behind him on his cock, other hands lay on his ass and pushed down, like pushing a child on a swing. As his cock just parted her lips and just pressed in, Heather made a faint involuntary surprised sound in the back her throat, somewhere between a cough and a sigh, like she'd forgotten what it felt like and was glad to be reminded. The small hot hands on his ass pushed him down hard and when he pulled out pushed him down hard again. He could not save himself, she was too hot and too tight. He came suddenly, his face twisted in a grimace. There was some cheering and laughter. He looked down at her and whispered, "I'm sorry." Steve, from his cushions shouted, "Shit Hendon, it's 2 and 1 now! You let the team down, man!" She put her fingers on his lips. "You will have many more chances before morning. And even after you wake, you know how to come again, to see me dance that is." He found himself walking beside her, walking along the black ornamental stream. He spoke of his hopes. He was surprised to discover he still had some. How he still hoped to think up an idea for a web startup. He and Joan sometimes talked of ideas over a beer at lunch. He was always skeptical to balance her enthusiasm. He found that deep down he hoped that they'd hit upon something sometime. He spoke of how he hoped that someday somehow he might have a house which wasn't quiet and dark to come home to. Roy's Bachelor Party As in most dreams, his words seemed to vanish and be forgotten as soon as they were spoken. He did not speak of the hope that his daughter would somehow be found. Though nothing could restore the years that'd been lost, he hoped that he could be of some help to her. Most deeply and desperately he wished the past'd never been. "Were you ever married?" she asked "Once," he said, "It didn't work out." He had the painful memory of his wife the last time he'd seen her. She was leaving to go back to her parents. She'd hung herself a week later. The surface of the stream was thick with lily pads. Their fleshy green leaves sported large flowers, some white, some yellow and some gold. He saw that the water had widened impossibly. Some distance away rose an island. "That's where his cast-off wives live," she said. She looked across at it with a hard impenetrable gaze. "We must go over. Every honored guest gets introduced to Anemone. She was his first, he took her when he'd killed the previous lord, her husband." "Surely the honored guest should be Roy?" he asked stupidly, "It's his party." "Nope. You're the honored guest. They're welcome because of you." "Why?" "Because you're so lucky," she whispered. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. She stepped into the water. Looking down he admired how the reflections on its surface broke about her ankles. Amidst the reflections of glittering lights, of her long legs, of her face seen from below, he could see her little feet tipped by her plastic sandals. He looked at his own feet and saw them to be bare and realized for the first time that he was stark naked. She stepped toward the island. "If you don't come," she said without sympathy, "You will wake." They splashed across, the depth never changed. They stepped onto the island and pushed through low trees, real and rooted he noticed, not potted ornamentals. They came to little opening and there, on a mass of soft deep green moss, stretched an old woman of remarkable beauty. Her hair was white, her skin was smooth, but also somehow hard. He could see her breasts, through the filmy cloak she wore. They were large and firm. About her lay other women. He saw that 2 were enjoying a long bending double ended dildo. They sat facing each other, their thighs spread so they could rest their arms on either's knees. They rocked their hips slowly and easily. Their pleasure further aged their still pretty faces. The one who was likely the youngest of her retinue lay between the old woman's legs. The cloak covered her too. Her lips and tongue were busy entertaining her mistress. The old woman held out her hand to him. He took it and found it impossibly exciting. He knew that if she gave even the slightest tug, he would've forgotten Heather and everything and clung to her and fucked her until he died of thirst and hunger. She smiled at him, "You are welcome here, man. And man, if you are man enough, you can undo the wrong that has been done you." He stared at her. He felt an impossible hope. Then he remembered that this was a dream and that in real life, what was done and gone could not be undone. His baby was gone as was his wife, as was the past To Heather, the woman said, "You, Heather, I look forward to the day when he tires of you and you come to join us." With an elegant hand, she shifted the angle of her active retainer's face. "That," replied Heather, "Won't happen." "You are a fool, you age faster than we. The time will come soon." "I meant," said Heather calmly, "That I won't join you here." The dream changed. They ran and splashed through the water, eager to get away from the island. She dropped to her knees and lay flat in the water and rolled, as if rinsing its pollution away. Her lovely white skin gleamed. Lily pads brushed thickly about her. She looked up at him with a grin. Tom threw himself next to her. He gripped her slippery skin, kissed her wet face. Her wet hair was cold. He started to roll onto her, ablaze with desire. She slipped free and ran splashing and laughing from him. The dream shifted yet again. They stood panting at the foot of a circular glass staircase. Heather on the first step, pulled him to follow her. About him, the hall was now silent and deserted. He watched her taut little bottom sway as they climbed. The stairs led up and up. The dance floor below, the circling stream, the walls of the huge box, all seemed to shrink into insignificance. They climbed up through the ceiling. They now looked down a long hall, doors on either side. "Our bedrooms," she said. She opened one door and on a bed lay a confusion of asses and elbows. Tod, who occupied the cube next to his at work, lifted his face from the crotch he was licking. He grinned at Tom, then buried his face again. At the end of the hall she led him into a large room dominated by a huge bed. It had a mirror for a headboard and a mirror hung above it. In the open closet he saw an array of dark business suits. It had to be the master bedroom, thankfully vacant. She led him to the bed and pulled him down. She stretched out beside him. He started to put an arm around her, but she laughed softly and slipped away. A woman's hands grabbed his wrists, another, older, grabbed his ankles. They pulled him round so he stretched crosswise across the bed. He struggled but they were too strong. A voice behind him said softly "Pass one more trial and she is yours for the night. All you need do is identify her, by touch alone. With each girl, say 'yes' or 'no'. Guess right, she's yours. Guess wrong and you lose." Hot hands covered his eyes. A soft hand touched his cock from the side. He felt an arm along his chest. His cock was massaged to fully awaken it, then it was held upright. The bed rocked. He felt something hot and wet and yielding touch his sex. A woman lowered herself upon him, her cunt swallowed him. She hung there a moment. The soft cold voice said from behind him, "'Yes' or 'No' or forfeit. Come and you forfeit too." His eyes teared with despair. There was no way he could tell. "No." he blurted. This one rose off him, his cock stood cold in the hot bedroom air. The bed rocked as she left and rocked again as the next one took her place. Again his cock was encased. "No," he said again, though he had no idea. A third. This time he barely managed to choke out "No". His climax rose in him. Her pussy, as it sadly let him go, was very nearly too much. He thought of ice and saved himself. The next. He felt her start down on him. With the first touch, he heard the soft, muffled surprised sound she'd made earlier. "Heather," he cried. He wrested his arms free, tore the hands from his eyes and looked up at her. He grabbed her hips and yanked her down, driving up at the same time. With an audible knocking sound, his bones collided painfully with hers. He came in her, just as the cold voice behind him said, "Cheat." He woke to a mess and a sense of pure loss. He cleaned himself and lay in bed a long time, staring at the ceiling, remembering what he could of the dream. At last he fell into a heavy, unsatisfying slumber. ------------------------------------ He rousted himself out of bed late and was online by 11. Joan's chat immediately became active. "You were right," she typed, "The indices on the video rights table weren't the best. We stand up well now until the load doubles. And. That was some binge you guys had last night. You can relax, there'll be no repeat after the wedding reception because it's all off." "WTF!" he typed. His phone rang. Joan's voice continued when he picked it up. "This really needs the spoken word to convey." "What happened?" "What didn't. And just so I'll know, you're safely at home? You're not connecting from jail?" "No of course not. What's been going on?" "Well, Linda went to Roy's apartment this morning. About an hour ago I guess. They've been living together but she spent last night at her parents. Didn't want to see her loved one come home in the wee hours and throw up all over the place. She goes over at like 9, bearing gallons of hot coffee and juice. Her plan is to nurse the lamb back to health, his slaughter not being scheduled for a week. She lets herself in, goes up quietly so as not to disturb, and there on his bed are not 1 but 2 bodies. One is his, she said that the only stiff thing about him was the half empty whiskey bottle on the floor, the other body is this little red haired number. A bit chubby according to Linda's tweets. "Well. She tossed the hot coffee over them and stormed out. She sat in her car and began texting with one hand, tweeting with the other and talking to her mom over the car's bluetooth. She's a girl who likes her connectivity I guess." "Jesus." he said "Well may you swear. That's not all. Tod was picked up by the police for drunk driving. His wife had to bail him out this morning. Pete and Steve never came home. They at least had the sense to sleep in their cars. Their wives roused them by ringing their cells. Chad and Terry are missing and presumed shacked up. Their wives are livid. The others? Who knows, they're single so they may not be missed for days. You got home safely?" "Yeah. That's awful about Roy." "And not so good about Tod. Next bachelor's party I'm definitely coming along. You guys know how to live. "Now," she went on, "I think the next place we need to look for bottlenecks is the stored procedure that updates the video log. Its execution plan may not be what it ought to be." Before starting to work, the release deadline was looming, he paused, then he sent Roy an email. For some reason, it seemed that if Roy didn't manage to patch things up, he himself would lose a little more of the little hope he had left. Someone should be happy and he'd always secretly liked how noisily happy Roy was. ------------------------------------ In the cramped dressing room that all the dancers shared Heather watched her friend Chris spread makeup on the large map of Asia shaped burn that spread from her collarbone down over the ample shelf of her left breast. "That must've hurt," Heather observed. "Still does. That bitch had better watch out," Chris said. She touched her left nipple gingerly. "Though I will admit that if it'd been me in her shoes this morning, I'd've fared worse. That guy Roy wasn't half bad. You're still stringing yours along?" "Maybe he won't show," Heather replied. "Heather," Chris said, "I think you like your old guy." Heather shrugged. "And don't worry, he's hooked," Chris said grinning at her reflection in the mirror. "You're the best of us, Heather, even if your parents were just people. You know how to play 'em, just like a cat with its little rodent. You invent these good stories about yourself that raise their interest. They fall for you in all respects. Me, I just take 'em and fuck 'em right off. No finesse." "Something strange is going on with this guy," Heather said. "After our afternoon nap, which you missed, being indisposed," she placed a finger on the vanishing burn on Chris's chest, "So Rose took your place. She lay exhausted and asleep." "No stamina that girl," Chris put in. "I'm lying by his side. I never let him get the better of me, but I'm feeling tired and good. The old bitch Anemone comes in with 2 of her crones. They've drinks for us. Anemone says, 'How goes the game?' "He puts his hand on my thigh, laughs and says, 'Great. The despair will be sweet and will last a lifetime.'" "You're such hot stuff, Heather," Chris put in, "I wish that fucking me for just one night ruined 'em for a lifetime. A day of depression is the best I can hope for." Heather shook her head, "And Anemone goes, 'Be sure to spin him one of your little tales of being adopted. It sweetens their desire, they feel a bit protective, like a brother or a father.' "Then he puts his hand higher, here," she put her small hand over her crotch. "He goes, 'When you've fucked him, my Heather, when you're whispering lover's chat on his pillow, take into your head a whim to see what he looked like when young, when a child even. Pout and plead. Flatter him. He will bring out an old dusty album. Sit on his bed, lean against him, put your hand on his cock, laugh and coo over the inane pictures of his boyhood self. Go through them all.' Heather looked unhappy, "You know, I don't understand what's going on." "Just go with it, Heather," was Chris's advice. "It'll lead to fun I bet." "I kinda hope he doesn't show," Heather sighed. When she stepped out on the stage, despite the lights, despite the fact that he sat in the dark in the back, Heather picked him out instantly. She shaped the music and her body and danced for him. ------------------------------------ Tom sat at a small table in a corner on the other side of the club from where he'd been the night before. It was Saturday night, but early yet and not jammed. The music was loud and unpleasant. Without the bedlam of shouted men's voices, it was less unbearable. That evening, after dinner, he'd looked at his instant Netflix queue, then at his laptop and the work he had waiting, he'd felt empty and almost devoid of thought. He'd gotten in his car and driven down the long, ugly, busy highway. The redhead was up first. He'd watched her with interest because of Roy. He noticed that the skin color of her left shoulder down to her breast was slightly off. Then it was Heather's turn. She came onto the stage, not strutting, but moving in a simple way that made it clear that the music and the night were hers. The sound kicked up a notch and she danced, weaving the music and the lights about her. She seemed oblivious of the audience, sound and motion consumed her. Surely she did not know or care that he was there in the back.. His phone rang. "You're not working," Joan said, as if not looking at database stuff on a Saturday night was a crime, then, in disbelief, "You're back at that club! You're as bad as the others!" He cupped the phone to his ear so he could hear and bent his body to shield it so he could speak. "I've been thinking about dance," he shouted, "What makes it good. I've got a list. I'll email it to you." "Tom, you're losing it. I'm worried about you." He was worried about himself. "It's too loud," he shouted, "Bye". He watched Heather gleaming in the bright lights for a few moments. Then he read over what he'd written. He'd always liked categorizing things. "First" he'd written "The dancer has to have complete concentration on the music. It must wholly absorb her. Even her audience must not exist for her." He remembered the redhead and how she'd straddled guys sitting in front, shaking her boobs in their faces. "Second, she has to be in complete command of the space around her," he watched Heather move, clearly she always knew, whether whirling or backing exactly where she was. The golden pole seemed to bend and sway at her command. "Though athletic, she must move as if she's connected to the music and the space. Their can't be any idle bouncing and bounding and grandstanding, this connection ties those watching to her." Again he remembered how poorly the redhead's gyrations compared to Heather's deceptively easy focused elegance. "Like music, her movements must have a logic and be predictable. You must be able to have an idea of the dance in your head, to play it as you watch her, to know what she will do next. "But also like music, there must be surprise, when she does something outside your expectation but which shows a deeper logic than you'd known before. This, building on the other 4 elements, is what gives you the burst of pleasure that comes with great music and dance." After 2 days and some remembered movie musicals, he was an expert, he thought with a smile. He felt surprisingly light hearted. He noted that he'd left off numbering the points and fixed that. Then he emailed it. He got a text on his phone in short order, "Asshole, what about sex? Isn't that why you're there?" When her Heather's set was finished, he looked resolutely down at the table and his beer. His cheerfulness'd fled. He'd been sucking the beers down at a faster rate than the night before. This had to be about his 5th. He was positive she wouldn't come over. If he looked up, he'd see her again, slim, small and naked, white skin lit, surrounded by admiring guys. While she'd danced he'd noticed several likely groups and'd felt prematurely bitter and jealous. The feel of her presence when she arrived - her hourglass form in his peripheral vision, the gleam of her skin in the confused lights of the bar, the smell of her perfume and her sweat - the feel of her was so painful he couldn't look up. "Hey," she said, "Glad to see you came. Mind if I sit?" He looked up, "Sure," he managed. "I'll have a ginger ale Connie," she said to the ample breasted waitress who swung by their table. "Another beer for me," he almost croaked. His cock hurt with longing. He had confused memories of the dream, they made him feel such heat and longing. He risked a glance. She was pushing at her hair, getting it behind her ears, her sweet little breasts with their little budlike nipples shifted up and down. Her every movement was so precise and controlled. Her being so naked, sitting by him at the table, it was such a turn on. He imagined what she would be like under him. He glanced at the neighboring tables. The guys there were watching them with frank admiring interest. "So what's your name?" she asked. "Oh, sorry," he said, "Tom, Tom Hendon." She grinned and stretched out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, mine's Heather like I told while you were pumping with me last night. Heather Lin." He stiffened with surprise. It was the name from the dream. Had she mentioned her last name at the gas station last night? No. Misunderstanding, she said, "You're like noticing that I'm not oriental, what with my blue, well sometimes green, eyes and this blond hair. My parents are Chinese, or their parents were really, but I was like adopted when I was just a baby." "Do you," he started. "Know who my bioparents were? Nope. I figure some suburban teen who got knocked up. I've never asked and don't want to know." He kept looking at her, unable to think what to say. She put a hand on his arm. He thought that she was about the right age, but she looked nothing like his wife, who'd been a soft almost pretty large boned woman, nor did she have any of his features. He so desperately lusted for her. He felt sick and angry with himself. What was he doing? The waitress came up with their order. "You're not supposed to touch 'em, Heather," she warned. "You'll get in trouble." Heather took her hand back. He felt her knee press his thigh under the table. Her high heeled feet entwined themselves with his ankles. He felt painfully torn. As if she felt how twisted he felt, she rattled on. "You're wondering about me working here? Well. My Dad's a pharmacist and we were always real comfortable. I had just the best childhood. Room to myself, I'm their only kid, everything I ever wanted. All the love you could ask for, just for me." She paused. As she'd said this, he'd noticed that there was a warmth in her voice that had been missing before. She went on, her tone lighter, "Then Dad got to fancying himself an investor. He sank all our money in these like housing developments outside Las Vegas. They couldn't lose. Now all he's got is his salary and Mom's, she's a beautician, and a lot of debts. So to pay for school I work here. I go to Westerly State. One of Dad's investments did like pay off, they sent me to dance class like through my junior year when the money vanished. "When I graduate, I figure on working here another year, maybe two. Living at home I'm not spending a dime. Then I'm going to start a dance studio of my own. That's my dream."