The Bastard   
Chapter Three: "Sodomy"



I arrived, at 9:17, at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. J. Carlton
Brevard.

"He's gone," said Mrs. J. Carleton. "His flight just left." She was
wearing a dressing gown.

"I hope he has a nice trip, Erica. The Folk Arts Museum thanks you both
for this generosity. Did he sign the check?"

"Oh he signed it, Ed. But you have to earn it. And in honor of Sunday,
all the servants have the day off." Here we go, I thought.

Erica Brevard thinks she's something special. In her own way, she is.
She has a lovely body. Men still hit on her and she loves it, but that
isn't what makes her special. It's her enthusiasm. Bill would be
disappointed, I think, because I did nothing to get into her pants
except have a wiener and work the Brevards up for donations. Her type
seems to be represented among the arts people and the moneyed elites--
how to put it? --disproportionately. She isn't the only one, although
she's the only one I'd call a nymphomaniac. She's probably the least
discreet. Once I asked if any of her friends knew about me. "I couldn't
ever let anyone know I did something like this," she protested. "I have
a reputation to protect." But I had inside knowledge. At least one of
her friends knew -- one who liked the same forbidden fruit.

She hit on me the very first time I went by their estate, and she let
me know she expected good service. She flirted right in front of J.
Carlton, who thought it was funny. After he left she came on seriously.
"We help you, Ed Hyde, you help me." She pulled my face down and gave
me a wet kiss. She wanted to be in charge. That time I did what she
wanted. Afterwards, while we were lying tangled in each other and the
air was permeated with the smell of cologne released by the sweat
between her breasts, I told her what I liked. She breathed rich, hot
air into my ear and said, "I pay the bills, dear, and I call the
shots." She is a challenge.

"What if I have HIV?" I had asked that when she first asked me to
strip. She wanted me naked while she was still dressed. An interesting
power game that I decided to win.

"I have condoms."

"Many?"

"Dozens of all kinds. Colored. Flavored. Ribbed."

"I don't use condoms."

"You have to."

"If you want me, you take the risk. I tell you I'm clean, but you have
to trust me."

"I don't know."

"What about toys?"

"Vibrators, beads, dildos, whatever you want. I need condoms, Ed, but I
like to play."

"Silly me. I was always told women didn't like sex all that much."

"Whoever told you that doesn't live where I live."

Erica wants orgasms almost every day, but she doesn't like to
masturbate. She's obsessed with having men make her come.
Unfortunately, she's limited by her social position, which is
especially tough for a woman who wants to dominate. So she took me on
without condoms. Poor girl, we all have our problems. This Sunday
morning it was time to use that against her again.

We went up to her bedroom and stripped. While she pulled out a box of
her sex toys I played with myself to keep it up, and I palmed a plastic
ointment tube. This whole thing could fall apart. It could lose me a
big donor. Well, life should be played on the edge.

"Come here, sex-goddess. We're going to play `The Master and His Slave
Girl.'"

"You mean `The Queen and her Page.'" She lay down beside me on the bed
and tried to pull me down to her.

"Oh? I get what I want. Who got you to give up condoms?"

"You know I get what I want. I made an exception because I felt sorry
for you."

"Not anymore. Now you get to learn how to serve." I knelt between her
legs. "Try this new lotion." I put something from the tube onto my
fingers and spread it up and down through her lips, all around her
hood. She began cooing but it changed to a yelp.

"Oh! That burns!"

"It's just for a minute."

"Ed! What are you doing?" She sat up and pushed me away.

"Be still. Wait." I held her. "There. Is it stopping? I told you." I
pulled her arms behind her back. "Kneel down. You have something to
do." Erica sat cross-legged. "On your knees." She did. "Now, today you
get to give pleasure, not get it."

"What do you mean?"

"Suck me. Do me all the way."

"You know I don't do that. If you want that check you do what I want." 

I slapped one of her breasts. It knocked into the other one. Knockers.
I had a flash of Elizabeth's small breasts. It would have hurt her to
slap a breast like that, but Erica hardly gasped.

"This isn't about money. It's about you. And sucking. If you want to
play it your way we can stop all this right now. You can always find
some pussy-whipped guy like J. Carleton, who'll do just what you want.
You want me, you play by my rules."

"Do you want that check?"

"Don't be too impressed by your money. There are other donors, or I can
get it from hubby at the office. He likes me. I'll tell him you and I
have had a disagreement. That will have the advantage of being true.
And remember --  your precious reputation is hanging by a thread."

That threw her.

"Ed! Don't!"

"So do it now."

"Ed!"

"Do it."

"Maybe. I'll think about it. But will you get me off, first? I was
thinking about it all night."

"Today you only give."

"You've got to help me get off!"

"I don't think so. Feel your pussy. Go on. Feel it."

Erica touched herself. She got the most dumbfounded look and felt
again. She jerked her head down toward it, then looked back to me.
"It's numb! What did you do to me?" She rubbed herself again, hard. No
good.

"Anesthetic cream. You don't get off this morning at all."

"Ed! You bastard!"

"You can frig in a few hours. Or, if you're a very good girl, I'll take
you all the way there tomorrow. But you have to wait."

"Ed!" By now Erica was almost crying, a big change for a blousy,
arrogant woman used to getting her way. I could almost like her like
this. She has enough breasts for Bill, and enough brains for me. She
simply needed an attitude adjustment to make things worthwhile.

"Now!" And in the end she did it. She leaned forward and pulled me into
her mouth and began jacking me. She has a wonderful mouth, hot and wet,
all lips and tongue and throat. Whatever she said about not sucking,
she has plenty of technique. It took awhile to get me there, since I'd
just done Elizabeth the evening before, but I didn't mind. Let her get
used to working at pleasuring someone, the bitch! 

In the end I had a satisfying orgasm. Dear me, yes, Ms. Erica! I held
onto her hair and ejaculated nicely . I had her hold me in there for a
few minutes, catching the dregs while I caressed her face and told her
what a sweet, obedient little bitch she actually was. I found excuses
to use the word `bitch' about three times. I half thought she'd be
vicious afterwards, but everything worked out perfectly.

"Can I come to your place tomorrow? Ed? Can I? I need you to help me
get off! Please?"

Her eyes were wide and her voice was shaky. Do dominant women have a
submissive side? I'd always been told that, and it could be true.

"Will you be a good girl?" I folded the check carefully.

*****

I didn't call Elizabeth Sunday or Monday.

*****

Monday morning Erica came by my apartment. I made her strip and kneel
in the middle of the kitchen floor while I puttered around. This was
better than I had imagined. I made her stay that way a full half hour.
Damn, it was hard to wait! No pun intended. After awhile she called to
me: "Ed? Honey?"

"You want to get off?"

"Ed?"

"Then you'll be a good girl! When I'm ready for you, you're getting
punished!" What a great game. Erica didn't seem to realize we really
were playing `The Master and His Slave Girl.' After I'd spanked her and
reamed her out and let her have her orgasms, she lay curled against me
with her face to my chest, licking my nipples, and she said, "Ed,
you're such a complete asshole." What could I do but laugh?

*****

I didn't call Elizabeth Tuesday morning.

It had been long enough now, with no word, to make her worry, even with
the flower. The tactical question was: should I let her twist in the
wind a couple more days? The flower would have held her most of Sunday.
By Sunday evening she would have begun to get concerned. 

She'd think, why doesn't he call after we made such sweet love? I
thought he liked me. I was sure he did. Maybe it's because I didn't use
my mouth? 

It wouldn't be long before her heart would fall into her stomach. I
know a guy who will torture women with uncertainty about his feelings,
who will string them along, make them wait, and generally cause them to
obsess about him. He swears it addicts them. Maybe so. There's a fine
line between not letting them take you for granted, and being cruel.

*****

"Edward!" I could hear Elizabeth collect herself. "Hi. How are you?"

"I've been thinking of you."

"Me too."

"You've been thinking about yourself, too?"

"Edward! If you were here I'd have to hit you."

"Then I should come on over, shouldn't I? To get my punishment? I'd
like to see you."

"Now's not a good time."

"Oh." I let it dangle.

"No, I want to see you. I just have a job tonight. I have to leave in a
little bit."

"Can I drive you? I could pick you up afterward and we could get some
coffee."

"Okay." There was hesitation in her voice. Maybe she was worried I only
wanted sex. Or maybe I was a complication.

"Or we could go out, maybe this weekend? The Museum of Fine Arts has an
Art Deco exhibit."

"We could do both..."

But she wouldn't let me in. Was she more into games than I'd thought?
Was it more complicated? After her gig, after coffee and a pastry (on
which she scarcely nibbled), after the drive to her apartment, holding
hands all the way and feeling her up at stoplights, Elizabeth left me
at the front door.

Oh she didn't reject me there. She didn't put me out like old
newspapers or beer cans for recycling. That's not what I'm saying.
Something was amiss. And amiss is as good as a mile.

I'm sorry. Sometimes these things just come out. My mind generates them
on its own, little word plays that help take it off... what I want my
mind taken off. Elizabeth is what I want my mind taken off. I'm sorry.
It comes like a flood. Not about that night. No. That was funny in its
way. I could tell she was concerned well before we pulled up. What I
don't want to think about is later, long later. I do things to forget,
but it's no good.

That night there were leaves skittering across the streets and the
street lights had that glittering quality they get when there's ice in
the air. The look was perfect, but Elizabeth had her own look, a
worried one, while she told me she had work to do and had to get to bed
early.

"So you're sending me away?"

"I'm sorry, Edward. I love being with you. It's just... I can't tonight."

"Then let me make out with you here."

"On the steps?"

"Against the wall will do nicely."

Making out was nice. There was nothing cold about her except her
cheeks. I can still see it, feel it, remember the whole experience.
Everything. I can see so many scenes from my time with her. My left arm
was between her neck and the wall and my right was, usually, at her
waist. I ran my mouth up and down her neck and I felt her up some more,
and she pushed her body out against me. Her breath was tinged with
coffee when we kissed. She broke the kiss to move her mouth over my
neck, to give me back the chill bumps I'd given her, on the way giving
me a hickey, then licked me all the way up to my ear. Her breath was
loud, rich, full. It shared my ear with her tongue, and then with her
voice. I had a hard time making out what she was saying, with that
susurrus. "My Edward. Think of Saturday. We'll have so much more time
then." It was the most sensual rejection I've ever experienced.

I didn't call her the rest of the week, to punish her a little for
Tuesday. I had to maintain my advantage. Don't let her get too
confident. I began to think she was more experienced than she'd seemed.
Almost everything made sense, except for the two words she'd said that
would have been fine if they'd been separated from each other: "my" and
"Edward."

Saturday happened. Elizabeth loved the exhibit, and the dinner, and the
drive through Beacon Hill at dusk. Her hair was unbraided, pulled back
in a long ponytail she used to tickle my face while I drove, until I
grabbed her hand to make her stop. After that she lay her head on my
shoulder and rested her hand on my thigh. The evening was building
toward the inevitable. I was ready to push far beyond where she thought
she was willing to go. Step by step it was unfolding, up the steps to
the porch, to the door. Then,

"I have to tell you something. I don't think we can... you know...
tonight."

I must have looked stunned.

"I'm sorry. You know how much you mean to me. And I want to do things
with you. It's just that I'm ... well... I'm..." And I knew.

"Having your period."

"Yes!" She hugged me. Wait a minute!

"Since Tuesday?"

She stepped back. "Well, I was spotting then."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Edward!"

"Elizabeth!" I put my hands on my hips like I was going to scold her.
"We can do everything."

"I can't!" She got a look. It was almost like panic.

"There are other things we can do, too. Hot things." 

We're going to have fun, you and I.

"I don't know..."

"Trust me." I tickled her neck with my lips. "We'll lay a towel across
your bed, to protect your sheets."

She looked away, then back, then away, considering something. She gave
me a one of those sweet kisses that mean something, if you could ever
interpret them properly. Finally she took my hand. "Come in."

We kissed all the way up to her floor, in her tiny elevator. I didn't
try to touch anything. Sometimes you make more progress by letting
things develop on their own. Direct things by indirection.

Elizabeth went around lighting candles again. I poured two glasses with
a Riesling and turned off the electric lights as I followed her.

She insisted on stripping me. She was as inexperienced at this as with
everything else. She unbuttoned my shirt, then had to stop to unfasten
my belt and slacks. She started pulling them down but had to stop
again, to untie my shoes. She didn't want me to help, except to lift my
legs or shift my body a little. When there was just my underwear she
stared at the impression of my penis. Had she made her decision yet?
She pulled them down, getting my dick caught in the elastic for moment.
When I was finally completely naked, standing almost on top of my
clothes, she asked me to climb onto the bed.

"What about your clothes?"

"I'm keeping mine on tonight."

"Oh, no, cello girl. We don't do it like that."

Finally she gave in. She stripped for me while I watched, but she
stopped at her panties.

"They go too."

"No. I can't."

I knew why. "You're wearing a pad." She colored as she nodded. It was
almost as though the movement of her head, atop that lovely neck, set
off the coloring. Yes, that was it. A pad. It embarrassed her to know I
knew about it. Damn, she was sweet!

"Next time, use a tampon. It won't get in the way as much."

Eventually we knelt facing each other. I'm sure Elizabeth was working
up her courage. When she thought she was ready she pushed against my
chest with both hands, and leaned down to take me in her mouth. She did
it like the other night. I held her hair and pushed my meat into her a
little and we set up the dance of face and cock.

She began to jerk me. "Don't." She looked up, my penis still in her
mouth, the question coming from her eyes. "Slow down. Suck more. Yes.
Like that. Slower. Yes." Shit, yes. I told her to go slowly because I
wanted to stretch out the time.

Her mouth grew hot and so wet she occasionally slurped. It was coming,
it was coming. I gave her warning. Just as the pleasure took over I
grunted to her. "Now," and it came over me and I came into her.

She handled it smoothly, no cough or shudder, no noises. I thought it
had been easy for her. But when she let me slip from her lips and
raised up, she had an odd expression. She was opening and closing her
mouth, and pursing her lips. She held the back of a hand in front of
her mouth and looked me in the face.

"Was I okay?"

"You were wonderful!"

She laughed, suddenly, into her hand.

"Here, love." I handed her the wine. She sipped it and swallowed. She
did it again. She had a bizarre grin. She laughed again, something
between a giggle and a guffaw.

"I did it, didn't I? I gave you a blow job!"

She put the glass down and launched herself at me, her face to my
shoulder. Whoa! I grabbed her and held her while she hugged me. She
moved her head back and forth and talked into my chest.

"Oh, Edward! I was so afraid! I didn't know I could do it. I thought
I'd get sick, or I'd be terrible."

She laughed a third time. It was a laugh of relief, wasn't it? I felt
her soft flesh, her mouth, her little breasts, her eyelashes, but then
it all changed. I couldn't be prepared, and I wasn't, when she began
snuffling. By the time she sat back she was teary-eyed. It was as
though something terrible had happened.

"Elizabeth?"

Her chin began to crumple.

"Elizabeth?"

"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "I'm happy. Really." She smiled
brightly, much too brightly, tearfully, and rubbed her eyes again. "I
wanted this to be special for you." Her voice went to a higher pitch.
"What if I couldn't do what you wanted?" At the end of the sentence her
voice broke entirely and she began crying.

Oh Jesus, no! How did that happen? Come here. Hold her close. Pet her.
Murmur to her. Tell her how wonderful she is. I could feel her damp
face, feel my chest getting wet. 

Oh shit, Elizabeth! You're not ready for the bigs. I brought you up too
soon.

She couldn't seem to stop herself. "I'm sorry I'm being such an idiot."


Shh, my fiddler girl, my little cocksucker. Cry if you want to. I love
your mouth. I love every part of you. I want to do everything with you,
over and over. If only this weren't so strange.

We lay together on her bed for over an hour. I kissed both her eyes,
her forehead, her nose, an ear, a cheek, her mouth, and I told her she
was beautiful. She calmed. I tickled her with my fingertips and sucked
on her nipples and gave her a nip just below her navel. I petted her
through her pad. When she grabbed my hand to stop me I rushed back to
her face and held her arms beside her head and planted kisses on her
face all over again. She grew happy, really happy, and content, so
after awhile we could simply lie side by side, looking at each other
and talking about nothing while we held each other. I began to doze.

I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but I have to go.

*****

What did I think of her? That's what you want to know, isn't it? I
don't know the answer, not exactly, not clearly. She was unstable. Or
she was wonderful. I didn't know. I couldn't tell. I thought something.
I don't know what. I can't say it. I don't know how. I once made a girl
cry by breaking up with her. I'd gotten any number of blow jobs. The
two don't exist in the same universe. No one had ever cried over
sucking me. No one had ever cried because she thought she might not be
able to please me. Not that I know of.

What had I gotten into? When we were done, would she stalk me? Or would
she wither away in that apartment, be a recluse, a ghost, a hermit,
announcing her presence only by the occasional, despairing sounds of a
cello sifting through her door? Would it kill her? 

She's too fragile, Ed! What should I do? I don't know.

*****

I called her Sunday morning. I had some paperwork but would come over
mid-afternoon. I didn't want her to be alone.

"I have to practice, Edward." That was all right. I'd bring food and
would read and cook while she practiced. I'd make dinner. "I don't eat
red meat," she said. Fine. Ed Hyde isn't dissuaded. I'd leave the
ground chuck at home.

I stayed out of her way while she did her exercises. She played the
same set of cello parts, over and over, the music following me through
the apartment, rich, sad strings. I baked a salmon casserole and read
some funding reports while it cooked. I read the reports and I drank
tart Rhine wine, surrounded by the smell of baking and her music, and
sometimes I'd put down my papers to look into the little living room,
to watch her practice in front of the tiny, gas-log fire.

*****

After dinner I led her to the bedroom.

"You have to trust me."

I lay a towel across the bed and stripped her. She already had a
tampon. "Take it out." Then, "Lie down." I played with her body and we
kissed, and then finally we had sex. There wasn't any blood to speak
of.

She has the sweetest, lean, pale body, small breasts, and dark hair but
not too much of it. I ran a single finger everywhere, while she rested.
I got a slippery mixture of juice and semen out of her and drew
sketches on her stomach, sketches that dried into invisible art before
I finished them. Sometimes there was a faint red tinge. "Turn over.
Onto your stomach."

I played with her bottom, an innocent, white, smooth bum, massaging her
gluteus before going between her cheeks. I played with her anus,
letting my finger go around and around it, then taking the finger down
to her vagina and getting it slippery, then back up and pushing it into
her. She tensed but didn't say anything. So it was. I'd gotten into the
back door. I'd get further. Take the next step. I pushed my finger all
the way in. Her anus was tight around it. She still didn't say
anything. I finger fucked her anus for a minute, nice and slow, all the
way in and out. Hold it there.

"I'd like to be in there." I pushed my finger in again.

"Not your finger?"

"No. My penis. I'd love to be inside you here." She thought about it
for a minute while I moved my finger around in her.

"I don't know."

"Oh, you might try it. It could surprise you." I got my finger slippery
again and ran it around her rim, and while I did I told her why and how
she might do it. I didn't tell her the big reason, the one I was
relying on. I told her the other things. "You think it will hurt."

"Uh-huh. That's part of it."

"But it doesn't. Not if you do it right, not if I lubricate you and
play with you a long time and let you open slowly, and especially if I
play with you up front too."

She didn't answer.

"And you think it's dirty."

"Yes."

"But it's usually not." I drew more slippery circles around Elizabeth's
anus. She got goose bumps on her ass, and clenched it. "And it doesn't
have to be at all. I can clean you, so your ass will be pristine." She
lay still while I played with her slippery anus some more. "Do you want
to know how?"

"I'm not that innocent, Edward. I know how. When would I do it?"

"I'd do it. It would be part of the playing."

"You wouldn't go into the bathroom with me, would you?"

"Not if you didn't want me to." I had a thumb in her ass now, and the
other one in her vagina. I was hard again, all the way up.

"I don't know." But she would. She would, for the big reason. Women,
almost all of them, want to let their guys do things, especially when
the blossom is fresh on the vine. That's the one reason you stay silent
about, or you ruin it. As things go I could have done her right away.
She raised her hips to let me thumb fuck her, and I got up behind her
and fucked her vagina from behind. I kept a thumb up her ass the whole
time, all the way in. She was tight and elastic. Exquisite.

*****

"You don't want to get as old as me."

Mrs. Chandler was almost ninety, and frail. Not like those hearty
octogenarians you run across these days. No, she was the old fashioned
type, all sticks and parchment. There was almost nothing there at all
-- no body, rheumy eyes, wispy hair, whispery voice. She was completely
desiccated. I had thought working with her, of all people, would stop
Elizabeth from running around inside my head. She sat hunched over in
her wheelchair, but she was alive in there somewhere and she wanted to
change her will to leave three-hundred thousand dollars to keep the
music flowing.

It was ten days before she would die. Of course I didn't know that. I
did know she had a clear mind and no one to hold her. This was a
nursing home for well-off folks, so she had brought some old furniture
with her, and the walls were covered with paintings and with photos of
mostly long-dead family members, but she was seldom visited by the
living ones. I felt sorry for her.

"I didn't have sex until I was twenty-six, and it was so good I did it
six days in a row. I rested on the seventh." She laughed, which was a
sound like two blocks of wood being rubbed together. "It was like I'd
created a whole new world. I wanted to do it all the time. I did
everything. Everything!" When she said "everything" the second time she
opened her eyes wide and gave me a look that was almost insane. I
hadn't brought up the subject. She got around to it in her own way, and
on her own schedule. It was what she wanted to talk about, and she was
the patron.

"I wish I hadn't lost those years, but back then you didn't do that
sort of thing, and who knew we were wrong?" I nodded. "I had so many
lovers. I had one-night stands. I knew more about men's bodies than
most call girls, and the whole time almost everyone thought I was Miss
Goody Two-Shoes." I nodded again.

"Then I met Mr. Chandler." Here a sigh came out from some place inside
the shell. "He courted me, and he was a millionaire. What would you
do?"

"I don't know."

"You're not shocked, are you?"

"No."

"I knew you wouldn't be. Well I decided I wouldn't be young forever and
I needed to settle down." She was silent for a minute. I waited her
out. "Sex with him was terrible. He was flabby, and his breath was
always bad, from cigarettes, and he didn't know anything interesting to
do."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Mr. Hyde. But feel sorry for my letting age catch up with
me, not for Mr. Chandler. After all, it wasn't his fault. Not all of
it. And he was sweet, and generous, and he really loved me." That sigh
again. "I found ways to have my men on the side, just not as many. And
when my husband died he left me almost everything, though by then his
family had found out some things about me and didn't approve." She
paused. "I think he knew those things too, but he never showed it." It
was the first time she'd called him her husband.

We sat in silence while I thought of other people, of my mother and how
she'd withdrawn from the world when my son-of-a-bitch of a father died,
and of Elizabeth. Why hadn't my mother gotten a second life, like so
many other widows do? What would Elizabeth be like when she was ninety?
I tried to imagine something else. Finally I asked Mrs. Chandler if she
wanted to discuss her bequest, but she didn't.

"Don't get old, Mr. Hyde. You're young and vigorous. You don't want to
lose it. You don't want to be like me. I haven't experienced desire,
the physical part, for years, and I miss feeling it. Do you have a
young woman?"

"I'm not sure I can answer that."

"Yes." The carved head nodded. "It's often like that. I had many I
wasn't sure of. Some of them were sure of me. I was sure of only two.
One died and the other broke my heart. It was easier getting over the
broken heart." A tear formed in a mottled eye and wandered an inch down
the face, where it spread among all the crevasses. It was as
incongruous as a tear on the face of an old, carved, cigar-store
Indian. "But there were always more young men to play with until enough
years had passed that my body fell apart and they weren't interested in
me except for my money. Then there were older men. Then there were only
impotent men. And then I lost my sexual appetite. It just happened, Mr.
Hyde, all by itself, like sand through an hourglass." Silence again.
"It's terrible to have only your memories."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right. I'm not a believer, but sometimes I convince myself
that when I go I'll join my one, dead love, my dear Jer, and we'll be
young like we once were." She changed the topic, and it was abrupt.
"Well, Mr. Hyde, my attorney has already drawn up and filed the papers.
The bequest is set. I won't change it. But I have a request for you,
and I can understand if you refuse."

"Refuse?"

"Once more before I go I'd like to taste and feel a man."

"Taste and feel."

"There are rumors you can be generous with yourself, and that you are
creative." She gave another little block-on-block laugh, which turned
into a cough. She couldn't get the phlegm up, so for a minute or two it
sounded as though it were vibrating in place while she tried to breath.
Finally, "I haven't tasted a man in years. Or felt a swollen
Kadiddlehopper." She cackled at her choice of words, and for a moment I
thought the phlegm would come up again. Finally, "I can still taste a
little. If you would indulge an old woman in this, it would give me a
fresher memory. The old ones are so tattered, I don't know what I have
forgotten."

"You aren't joking, are you Mrs. Chandler." It was a statement, not a
question.

"No. Will you?"

I didn't have to consider it long. I stood and loosened my belt. I got
close to her face so she could watch me work it up. She seemed absorbed
by the sight. "All right Mrs. Chandler. Will you do me the honors?"

"Thank you, Mr. Hyde. And it's Dorrie." She sucked me into her mouth. I
was surprised at the heat and moisture, and how supple she was inside.
Getting to orgasm without the desire wasn't very interesting, but it
wasn't hard to do, and after I finished she said, "I had forgotten so
much of what it was like, Mr. Hyde, what the real experience was. Now I
remember. It took me back so nicely. Thank you."

Is it too hard for you to believe I did it as a gift?

*****

I conquered Elizabeth's ass at my apartment because she got a roommate.
"I can't afford the apartment by myself, Henry." That was her
explanation, and I guess it was true. Of course it was. She's no
daddy's girl. The roommate would have the dining room, which could be
closed off. We would still have the bedroom, but not the whole place. I
hadn't a clue about Justine until she moved in.

Yes. Justine. And yes. I'm not the only one who's read de Sade, am I?
She isn't that Justine, though, the virtuous girl abused by others. Not
a chance. This one could be the abuser. You could see it in her eyes. I
could almost smell it on her. Sometimes you can tell when you first
meet them, but Elizabeth couldn't. Justine presented worlds of
possibilities. I knew she wasn't worth the risk.

So I took Elizabeth to my place. She loved it. It's the opposite of
hers. She loved the polished brass and polished, wood floors, the
marble insets, and the windows that reached from the floor. It was
light, bright, with carved touches along the halls. She loved that my
furniture was so different from hers, my square, pale oak pieces, the
mixture of old American and modern Danish. We aren't alike in anything,
or not much. I was hoping we were complementary in sex. I had let her
know at the beginning of the evening what I had planned for us. She
hadn't said a word about it, but she'd been quiet. My fear: would she
cry again?

You've experienced it, haven't you? Being on a different plane than
your lover? She goes along but isn't swept along. It isn't quite right
but you don't want to step back from it. So it goes. I kissed Elizabeth
and touched her and licked her, to bring her over, but what she wanted
was to get on with it. Me? I was pulled by my lust for her ass, going
fast, too fast to consider slowing down. It speeds through me like
riding the mile-high slide at the water park.

Play with her ass, Ed. Push your slicked fingers into her. One, two,
three. I'm ready for it, Edward. She was so tense her anus had
tightened right back up, but I was filling her with water. God bless
it! Her head was down on her arms, her hips up high, such a beautiful
pose of submission for me. Go empty yourself, Elizabeth. Then: ass up
again. Refill her. The bag went from fat to flat and Elizabeth made a
sound in her throat I couldn't interpret. Her belly muscles shimmered.
My Elizabeth. My trooper. Empty yourself. I'll slick you up again. Lie
down here, legs off the bed. Here's my erection at your anus. Push.

I held it all the way inside her, as deeply as I could. Hold it. Hold
it. Don't move. God damn just feel it taking in the whole depth of her.
Elizabeth was grabbing breaths and holding them. Now pump. Out, in. She
made a noise, something different, some kind of cry. Out, in. Ah! Out,
in. Keep it up. Fuck that tight, rubber, smooth ass. Do it! Pump again.
That's what it was like.

She made another noise, a real cry. "Edward, please!" Don't stop.
Finish it! Here it comes. It's coming. Push. Push.

It was as good as it could be. I lay atop her for minutes afterwards,
my erection becoming a penis, my penis shrinking, lying there until I
was sure I had pumped everything that I had.

*****

"How are you?"

Elizabeth smiled up at me, my Mona Lisa. I could tell she was going to
dodge the answer. "Was I okay?"

That's my good girl. Keep that attitude. You were wonderful. 

I was too enervated to think about what I would do to her next time --
something exciting, I'm sure -- but she turned the tables on me by
changing the subject.

"Can I spend the night?"

Oh my! You're learning, aren't you? Quid pro quo. I owe you, don't I?
I'm certainly not going to kick you out. I don't want to disappoint
you, especially not now. Let's get you a T-shirt and a toothbrush.

The tee hung to Elizabeth's knees. She held her hands like a ballerina
and made a pirouette.

"Is Madame ready for a snack?"

She followed me to the bathroom, then out to the kitchen and living
room. About halfway out she said "You're it!" and began touching and
poking me from behind. I slapped back at her fingers. I intended to
lock the door and turn off lamps and close the plantation blinds, but
while I did it she poked me again. "You're it!"

It seems, when I think back, that something had changed for her, that
she was able to shed her old skin, to be playful with me, to be at
home. I wouldn't have expected that, not with her ass chafed by my dick
and my semen swimming through her bowels. Not after her sweet
submission to my wants. I hadn't expected her to be kittenish, but here
she was teasing me. I tried ignoring her, but she grew bolder, so I
turned without warning and roared.

She shrieks well.

I was hungry. Well, sure. Sex does that. So I made us a snack of fried
egg sandwiches, on a sliced baguette, with mayo, and I found something
else had changed. Elizabeth had more appetite now. There was no more
picking at her food. She finished her sandwich and a tall glass of
milk. There was some sliced cantaloupe in the refrigerator, and she ate
two slices. 

By golly, Miss Elizabeth! If I keep fucking your ass you'll gain
weight.

After we put the dishes away, she followed right behind me to the
bathroom, poking and pinching me, until I turned and roared at her
again. She hadn't forgotten how to shriek. In the bathroom, she
insisted on our brushing our teeth at the same time, in the single
sink. Then to bed. 

Let's snuggle down, Elizabeth, I thought. I'll lie here quietly, until
I'm sure you're asleep and won't be bothered by my leaving. Then I'll
read out on the couch.

About a half hour later she said "Edward?" from the bedroom doorway,
and I almost jumped. Jesus! She was only half awake, and I was only
half a step from a heart attack. "Couldn't you sleep, Edward?"

"I don't sleep very well. I didn't mean to wake you."

She came over and sat beside me, blinking and yawning but not wanting
to sleep alone, wanting to be with me. She put a couch pillow on my lap
and lay down. Okay. Wriggle around until you get comfortable. I took
the afghan from the back of the couch and folded it over her, working
downward from her shoulders. I leaned far down to tuck it in around her
legs. When I sat back she was smiling up at me. My girl. Never in my
life had anyone slept on my lap. You're the first one, Elizabeth. I
beeped her nose.

"Time for Elizabeth to go back to Neverland." I petted her hair, then
picked up my book with my left hand so I could leave my right hand on
her hair. In a few minutes she was gone.

I never did get any reading done. I couldn't concentrate on it, not
with her breathing so softly and regularly, the occasional tickle of
her breath, the shape of her hand resting in front of her face, or her
face itself, as serene as a cat's, her closed eyes, her lashes resting
just above her cheekbones, everything. I stared down at her for a long
time, and every few minutes I caressed her hair, very softly so I
wouldn't wake her, until finally I grew sleepy, too. It must have been
nearly an hour. 

"Come on, Elizabeth. Let's go to bed."