We arrived at John's place about eight o'clock. It had been darker than usual that night, and Jack experienced some difficulty negotiating the road up to the house. It turned out to be every bit as winding as John had described it, and I could imagine the road after a heavy rainstorm.
Jack was in high spirits. Helen had promised to return the pony the day after next, but only because Jack had carried on so. Pleased at her acquiescence, he had mixed himself a few highballs after dinner and had become jolly company for us ever since.
John's house turned out to be more of an oversized cabin than a regular house. As we pulled up, I noticed another car next to John's pickup.
John met us at the door and we trooped inside en masse. The interior resembled a lodge. We entered first a narrow hallway lined with coat hooks, but this led directly to a huge living room with a fireplace at one end and a balcony all along one side. A small fire burned in the fireplace.
Stereo speakers were placed on each side of the fireplace, which was very wide and made of a white stone of some kind. Music was coming from all sides of the room, however, and I noticed another pair of speakers at the opposite end of the room. The walls were covered with paintings.
A large polished oak bar had been installed near the fireplace just under one end of the balcony. It was heavily carved and looked like it might have been European. There was a man standing behind the bar, leaning on his elbows and swishing a drink in his hands. He was staring right at me with an almost imperceptible smile on his face.
John introduced everybody calmly, and asked what we were drinking. All of the men had either bourbon or Scotch, but Helen as usual asked for a cocktail. I settled for some bourbon on the rocks with a little soda.
The man behind the bar was introduced as Perry Somers, John's lawyer and drinking partner. The latter designation brought smiles to both of them. He had dropped by unexpectedly, and there was a lot of repartee about where to find a girl for him to round out the party.
Some jokes were made about sharing the girls who were already there, and I was certain that the idea was not entirely a matter of humor to Somers.
John passed out the drinks and we grouped ourselves around the fireplace. He explained that we were hearing quadraphonic, not stereophonic, music being produced because there were four speakers instead of two. The music sounded like early ragtime piano.
As I sat there, I thought of the difference a few years made in terms of a get-together like this, or perhaps it was a matter of geography.
The last gathering I had attended in New York had involved people a good decade younger on the average. There had been no booze, just pot for those who wanted it, very loud rock music, and low, low lights. There wasn't all the talk about sex as there seemed to be here, but there was plenty of action although none of it was very private.
I wondered what kind of a sex scene was going to evolve out of the five of us. My personal preference was to have John all to myself somewhere for the rest of the evening, but the independent streak in me was telling me maybe that would just lead to unwanted complications.
John was friendly but seemed to be making a point of not appearing possessive with me. I was annoyed that that should bother me, which it obviously did. Somers was acting like he had a clear field with me. It made me wonder what John had gotten to tell him about me before we arrived.
"As a writer," Somers was telling me, "you must have some opinions about today's young people."
"I do," I said. "I think they are just as you named them. Young people."
"I detect then a note of disapproval. You feel, perhaps, like many of us, that parents and the nation as a whole have been too permissive?"
"When there is affluence, much leisure time, and a high degree of technology, permissive attitudes are a natural consequence," I said. "I myself could not, as a woman, be as independent as I am in a poor, struggling society such as exists today in Latin America, for example."
"I should expect you to express your independence quite agreeably wherever you lived, Miss Starr," he complimented me.
"Beatrice," I informed him.
"Ah yes, Beatrice. Bay-at-trichay." He gave it the Italian pronunciation. "Dante's distant vision of loveliness, and you are very lovely, Beatrice, too." He kept his eyes on me as he drank. "And very intelligent as well."
He was spreading it on thick. I figured then he had me all staked out for the bedroom. I glanced at John. He was taking it all in from across the room, all smiles. I pretended complete bemusement.
"You feel then, Bea, your independence, or your freedom, whatever you want to call it, exists only because men have permitted it?"
"In a patriarchal society, such as we have, it could not be otherwise," I said.
"I think you must hate us men very much," he imagined. "Tell me then, Bea. I'm calling you Bea, I hope you don't mind. Tell me that you don't hate me. I should feel terrible if you said otherwise."
"Why don't you fix me another drink?" I asked, tiring of his game.
"By all means, Bea," he replied, getting up and going over to the bar.
John was sitting in between Jack and Helen and came over when he saw Somers head for the bar.
"What do you think of the old family retainer?" he asked me.
"Who is he retaining tonight?" I wanted to know.
"Are you interested?" he asked, pretending surprise. "I'll relay the message, that is, if you haven't already. But Perry's a little dense that way."
"He's only dense when it comes to saying 'no'," I informed him.
Somers returned with two drinks. "Here you are, Bea." He sat down across from us. "Your little friend is quite charming, Johnny. It's a pity you can't tie her up or something. New York's such a dreadful place." He sipped his new drink carefully.
"Maybe a lot of people might think the same of Dallas," I said to him, a bit ruffled.
"Perhaps. But you never hear it," he said. "And you always hear it about New York."
I refused to be baited into defending the place I had chosen to live in, particularly when I wasn't sure why he was hoping I would lose my temper. He probably hoped to work the old ploy of women being unstable, emotional and the like.
He could then say to John, "See, your free-flying little bird is just like all the rest. Clip her wings and she'll keep house for you."
"How long have you lived here?" I asked John.
"About six months, Bea. How do you like it?" he asked.
"It's cozy," I said, "and isolated. It's such a funny place to live in all by yourself."
"Haven't you told her, Johnny?" Somers interrupted.
"Told me what?" I looked startled.
"It isn't perhaps that important, Perry," John said. "Bea wants no involvements."
Somers laughed out loud at that. "You naive boy," he almost choked. "At, what is it, forty-one? Two? There hasn't been a woman born, Johnny, who doesn't want that ball and chain welded on. This lovely girl is no exception."
I hated to see John let himself become embarrassed but his friend had succeeded.
"Perry is very opinionated, Bea. He also is not going to be satisfied until he can find that chink in your armor where he can dig the old knife in. Don't let him find it," John said.
"Bravo, Johnny!" Somers roared.
"Forewarned is forearmed, Bea. My terrible secret is out."
"What is it that he meant before, John?" I asked, my curiosity still aroused.
"This house was built for me and my future wife, Bea," he said. "We were to have been married last June, but Pat's mother in Los Angeles developed terminal cancer, and we put things off until January."
"You mean you're engaged, is that it?" I asked.
He nodded.
I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know what I had expected him to say, but the news of his engagement was anticlimactic. Somers was examining my face for the faintest sign of disappointment.
"Ten to one, Johnny," Somers said, "Ten to one, she starts acting differently with you."
"I'll get in on that bet, too," I said. "There may be a lot of angles here you haven't even thought of, Mister Attorney." I said it and wasn't even sure myself what I meant by it. It had an effect on him.
"What's happening over here?" Helen interrupted.
Somers was looking at me and thinking.
"What do you say we get more comfortable?" John suggested. "Bea, I'll show you the rest of the house." He walked over to the wall and turned a switch, dimming the lights in the room to a very low level. "Come on," be said.
I got up and followed John to a stairway leading up to the balcony. We walked up together, arm in arm. When we reached the top, he took me in his arms and kissed me. All I could think of was Somers down below, watching my every move.
"Your mind's not on your work," John informed me.
"Your friend. How does Pat get along with him?" I asked.
"Hate each other's guts, naturally," John informed me.
"Seriously," I urged.
"Well, actually, he thinks Pat would make a good wife for me, like he thinks of a wife, a housekeeper, mother, mistress combination thing. But in reality I don't think he wants me to get married at all. We've been bachelors all our lives, and he sees no reason to change."
We walked slowly down a corridor to a large bedroom.
"This is the master bedroom," he said, turning up a dimmer switch. Several colorful paintings on the walls attracted my attention.
"Who did all these wonderful paintings?" I asked.
"You're looking at him."
"John, you're an artist!" I exclaimed, amazed I hadn't found it out sooner. "You must think me awfully uninterested in you." It had not even occurred to me before to ask him what he did.
He seemed embarrassed. "Some of these are Pat's."
"Those downstairs, are they all yours?" I asked.
He nodded.
I shut the door and walked over to the bed, unbuttoning my blouse. I sat down on the bed to remove my shoes.
"You're not bothered, knowing this belongs to someone else?" he inquired.
"I said no strings. How could I be bothered?" I lied. I was down to my bra and panties when he came over and sat down beside me.
"I had hoped downstairs, after you had found out, that it might make a difference," he revealed.
He was showing me a side of him I didn't like. He was sincere in letting me know he cared, but I felt it was unfair under the circumstances.
I cared about him, too, but I wasn't sure how much. I was certain, though, that if I admitted to caring, the very act of admission and its results were likely to be out of all proportion to the game.
"Let's just make love," I said, lying down on the bed.
He got up to dim the lights and began undressing very slowly and quietly. I could hear the voice of Somers downstairs talking very loudly, followed by Helen's laughter.
Lying naked on the large bed I was conscious for the first time in ages of being outside my body. I was standing beside the bed looking down at my nakedness, only it wasn't me looking but somebody that had part of me forever inside him, and that part made it be me.
And it wasn't me lying on the bed, but somebody that had a part of me forever inside her, and that part of it made it be me.
John climbed up on the bed. In the dim light I saw his erection bobbing between his legs and I wondered what part of me he was going to touch first. I felt his fingers close over one knee, linger a moment, and then move forward caressing my hip.
He moved his knees in close, and I felt the hair on his legs brush against my thighs. As he moved forward the hardness of his body enveloped me and brought tears to my eyes. Closing my eyes tightly, I fought them back and reached up around him with my arms.
I opened my legs for him to enter as he must, for what other way is there? The rigid penis with the bulging head so hard and yet so soft, a velvet cushion perched on the end of a steel rod, punched lightly at my vulva.
My vagina was drier than usual, and the fat organ did not immediately penetrate. It pushed in very slowly, the want of lubrication giving me the impression his prick was much bigger than it was. I could feel the pressure of entry tugging at the skin as the shaft moved relentlessly forward.
"Oh, John," I whispered.
The feeling of tightness persisted even after he was in and began pumping the organ back and forth. The juices started flowing then, generously covering his rod, and the tugging ceased. He drove deeper and deeper, determined to make his penetration of me a part of his life and my life together.
I could feel his heaving chest as it expanded against my breasts, the hard ribs of him against the soft flesh of me. He was kissing the tears off my face and then kissing the source of those tears. He was able to do that.
I was letting myself go with him, not holding back, and it brought me to climax quickly. The churning of the stiff male instrument deep within me soon brought little pulses of pleasureful feeling at the end of each downstroke, each one greater than the one before. They began to build to such intensity that I was hurting for release. And I needed release. I needed it and wanted it that moment more than I ever had.
I clutched him to me as the exploding pleasure suddenly spread throughout my system, filling every nerve and every capillary. It spread like morphine through a dope-starved addict's body, reaching out to toe and fingertip alike, bringing peace and love and happiness.
And while I lay there filled with ecstasy, he came inside me, filling me with the hot butter from his balls, pumping shot after shot of the sperm that had been his, which he now willingly, gladly gave to me in quick, hard spurts.
We lay in each other's arms for a long time, sleeping the sleep of two who had seized a moment without reservations, without guilt, and had won.
I awoke after dreaming dreams that left my memory on awakening. Dreams that left only sadness at having forgotten the Eden I must have been dreaming about.
I felt the bed for John and he was no longer on it. Where had he gone? Perhaps he was still in the room. I called his name softly and got no reply. I noticed the lights had been turned all the way off.
"John!" I called, more loudly.
"How about John's alter ego?" a voice I recognized at once declared.
My first thought was, Why did John let this happen? My second was irritation at the first. I was independent, wasn't I? John was not my lord protector, nor did I want him to be.
"Methinks the lady's silence doth protest too much," Somers said.
"What in hell are you doing in here?" I asked, controlled fury in my tone. "Get out!"
"Melodrama from the lady. Get out at once, you cad, you scoundrel!" he declared in mock theatrical tones.
I peered through the darkness of the room. He was somewhere over near the door. A likely place, I thought. Cut me off if I made a run for it.
"Somers," I began, "You wanted me to tell you that I didn't hate you tonight. Now it's my turn to ask why you dislike me so much."
The voice moved over nearer the bed. "I don't dislike you, Beatrice. I'm afraid of you. There is something in you that threatens me."
He was talking like a crazy person. "You've seen too many horror movies," I said. "Get out of here!" It was hard to take him seriously, talking nonsense like that.
Suddenly the lights came on full blast. I saw him then, about midway between the door and the bed. He was standing stark naked with an erect penis tilting off at an angle. It was somewhat short but fat. He seemed to enjoy his exhibition of it.
I got up off the bed like a shot and started hunting for my clothes. Someone had taken them from the floor where I had dropped them.
"Clothes are useless commodities, aren't they?" he said. "Especially when there is lovemaking to be enjoyed."
"Enjoyed?" I asked. I had folded my arms over my breasts. I sat down finally on the bed and pulled the quilt over my body, turning away from him entirely. "Maybe if I pretend you're not there, you'll go away."
He walked over very close to me, holding his erection forward.
"I don't expect you to give me the full treatment, Bea. I already know you want to get married, so no amount of convincing me how much you really love John, as you probably just did with him, would change my notion that marriage is all you are after. What is it you really want in bed?" he insisted.
"You're a sick man, Mr. Somers. You have some hang-up about women that's made you sick," I said, feeling myself starting to come unglued.
"You wouldn't be any good for John. If he has to have a wife, the one he's got is more suited to his personality. Your independent ways would destroy his talent in no time. Why, just keeping track of your comings and goings would be a full-time job," he kept bringing his penis closer and closer.
"What is it you want me to do? I'm leaving here in a day or two. John knows that. As far as I know, I'll never see him again." I was beginning to shake.
"The hysterical woman! Spare me, please." He brought his penis within inches of my face. "Here," he said, indicating his stiff organ. "Take this. It's the best medicine in the world for little girls who have lost their way."
He wanted me to suck his cock. It was a symbolic act of some kind. It would prove in his mind that I was inferior.
It wouldn't work, I thought. It wouldn't work because for one thing, I didn't believe it. It takes two people to make a religion. I was determined to turn the tables on him.
I jumped up suddenly. "Lie down on the bed," I commanded. He appeared stunned, too stunned to disobey. I got on top of him in the sixty-nine position, making sure my pussy was full into his face. He began to protest, but I ignored him.
He was not a strong man or he might have been able to throw me off. As it was I had a devil of a time staying on top of him that way. I sat with my muff full on his head.
His erection had fallen off slightly. I picked it up and, holding it by the base, stuck it into my mouth. I sucked hard on it, stretching it out and rolling my tongue down around and along it. It stiffened back up pretty fast.
He must have been standing there in the dark with his erection for a long time, because there was a lot of pre-seminal fluid in the organ. The sweet, nut-like taste of it was unmistakable in my mouth.
His erection restored, I began blowing him in earnest, rising and failing with my head in a steady rhythm, salivating copiously and sucking at the same time.
It was a short cock, but fit well inside my mouth. I could close down on the base with my lips without any feeling of gagging. On the other hand, it was quite fat, and distended the lips considerably.
His balls hung loosely in a rather flabby looking scrotum. My nose kept poking into the sac as I went down. As I was working, I noticed the skin on the sac begin to convolute as the testicles began to rise.
So far he had not made any attempt to perform cunnilingus on me, and I gave up hoping.
I began to pick up the rhythm of my rising and failing head as his testicles pulled up tighter and tighter. The sac had lost its flabbiness and actually became a tight little pouch under his penis. It began to turn a dark purple red.
As things fast approached a climax, he began to move instinctively in rhythm with my movements. His pelvis made thrusts upward as I drove downward with my mouth.
The scrotum pulled up further and became one fat, tight ball. As it almost disappeared into his groin, I felt the head of his cock swell suddenly inside my mouth. Instantaneously the first squirt of hot come jetted deep down into my throat, I gulped instinctively.
The organ pumped out more in successive spurts. I sucked hard and kept swallowing in deep gulps trying to keep up with the load. I didn't hold back on any of it. When I had swallowed the last drop, I let go of it and collapsed, gasping, my mouth tingling and my throat on fire from the hot sperm.
During the hot flush of swallowing the load I had failed to feel my partner's activity down below. He was muffing me rather crudely without any plan or apparent knowledge of what he was about, but he was trying.
"My dearest Bea," he said, "does that feel good?"
He wasn't going to get me off the way he was kissing me, but it wasn't unpleasant. I especially enjoyed the fact that he was down there after all.
"Fine," I said.
For a lawyer, he made a lousy face man.