Mora gave me a white terry bathrobe that reminded me of my judo jacket. I wondered fleetingly who its last owner had been. Then, while I sat on the sofa and enjoyed the panorama of the Bay at night, with its myriad lights twinkling around the shoreline, she made dinner. For me a T-bone steak, vegetable, mashed potatoes, and a large pot of coffee; for her, a small hamburger, vegetable, one piece of dry toast, and a glass of cold vodka.
I was very curious about her and asked a lot of questions, but the answers were always evasive. Mora had lived in the city for three years. She was twenty-three and had been a model since she was nineteen, after attending a famous modeling school in New York. She couldn't make it in the East, but -when she moved out to the Coast she became an instant success, and was now making a very good living. She was born in Philadelphia and her parents were wealthy, but beyond that she didn't want to talk about them, As far as her personal life was concerned, she wouldn't tell me anything. "You'll learn little by little," she said. "That way you won't get so bored with me and we'll enjoy each other more."
She was surprised at the life I had led, and said that she didn't know whether or not to believe it all. I got pissed, because after all I had told her, the first person I had ever really told, she doubted me. I asked her to bring up some of the fruits from her model agency and if they had enough cash I'd let her watch. She could see that I was angry, and to my amazement her eyes filled with tears. Mora was not used to being spoken to crossly, and she was hurt.
For the first time I really looked at this girl sitting across the dining table. On the stage that afternoon she had been glamorous, in her high-fashion way, with the fancy clothes. I think it was the glamour that excited me. Me, with a real model, a girl paid for her looks, living in a fast-moving, beautiful-people world that I had only read about. But here at the table there was none on it. Soft brown hair, wet at the ends from our shower, hung straight around her shoulders. Her face, plain-featured, was lovely without makeup. A simple, white linen robe draped her body, and her eyes, gentle and expressive, told me of the longings, the emptiness, the hunger for something that I knew she had seen in mine. And she wasn't a glamorous fashion model anymore, she was just a girl. And if she was beautiful or not didn't seem to be so important.
I couldn't think of any words, so I reached my hand across the table to her, and she took it in her hands and squeezed gently. The touch of her hand was different now, it seemed to go inside of me somewhere.
By the time we finished dinner it was ten-thirty, and it was pretty obvious that I was dead tired. I could hardly keep my eyes open, and the Daniels hadn't helped any.
Silently Mora got up and turned off the light over the dining table, leaving the room in darkness. I felt her hand on my arm as she led me to the large bed with the purple spread. "Wait here," she said.
I heard the rustling of material, then her form in front of my as she slipped off my robe. We moved onto satin sheets. I had never slept on satin. The feel of it was like a woman's skin, soft and very sensuous. The head of my rod was banging against my belly. I had never wanted to fuck a woman like I wanted to fuck Mora. It was like the first time, I was anxious to do it, but at the same time afraid that I'd probably blow by goodies before I could satisfy her. A row of mocking female faces filled my memory as the familiar doubts and fears surfaced.
I started to take her into my arms but she put a finger to my lips, stopping me. "No," she whispered. "You're very tired. Let me just hold you." She took me very gently, cradling my head between her shoulder and breast.
"I'm not that tired," I said, and moved my head to nuzzle her breast and suck her nipple.
Then I felt her hand on my forehead, pushing me back. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. You don't have to hurry. Mora's here, she's yours. When you wake up in the morning I'll still be here. You have nothing but time, so don't be anxious, because tonight I want to hold you and love you all night, and I don't want anything in return. I just want you here with me, so close your eyes and sleep, now."
I gave up. Her skin was so soft, her shoulder so warm, the mood she induced in me so somnolent. I felt my cheek rise and fall slightly with her breathing, the outline of her breast and nipple silhouetted against the light from the Bay. My eyelids became heavier and presently I fell asleep.
The rest of the night was like a beautiful dream. I don't know how long I had been sleeping, or even if I was fully asleep. I felt Mora's lips caressing my belly, brushing against my skin ever so softly, while her hands did the same on my chest. She seemed to kiss me forever there, finally moving down, stroking my legs and the insides of my thighs, rubbing her cheeks into my pubic hair, nuzzling slowly.
I started to move, but she whispered, "Lie still, love, I'm going to suck you all night, so just lie still and sleep."
I relaxed, feeling her teeth and then her lips encircling the base of my shaft, as she rested her head on my stomach. Her tongue licked slowly back and forth across my shaft, and after an eternity started to run up it to the tip. Then I felt the bed move as she shifted position to lie between my legs, the length of her body on top of-them, her breasts pressing a delicious feeling into my thighs. I felt a warm wetness on my balls as her mouth engulfed them, drawing out gently and kissing them long, as though she were kissing me on the lips. Her tongue moved up my cock again as her hand encircled the base of it.
Her movements were not fast and frantic like the Johns who had sucked me, or the few other women. They were slow, deliberate, unhurried, loving movements. Finally her mouth settled over me and began the same, slow, up-and-down motion.
My hands went to caress her hair. She took one of them in hers, rubbing my fingers lightly against her face as she sucked. Then she inserted my finger into her mouth, along with my cock, rolling her tongue deftly over both. It was more than I could stand. I arched my back, shoving myself deeper into her mouth, but she raised her head with me, removing her mouth and laying my pulsing cock alongside of it. She took the first couple of spurts on her face, moaning and rubbing her cheeks over the hole as the white liquid discharged onto her. Then she put her mouth barely over the head but didn't close it, so that as the rest came out it ran back down my shaft. When I had finished, she started sliding her mouth up and down again, but very slowly and lightly, so as not to hurt me. As my cock went limp she sucked all the cum off of it and, when it had shriveled up small again, she kept it still in her mouth, in the pocket between her teeth and her cheek.
We went to sleep again, me drowsy from my orgasm and Mora with my soft cock in her mouth. Time passed. We slept until I became vaguely aware that she was sucking me and kissing me all over my genitals again. When I came this time, she pointed it back toward my face, sucking and licking my balls as I shot of! all over my belly. I felt her slide up on me a bit, and then her lips and tongue on my stomach as she slowly licked the little pools of sperm.
Jesus! I thought, and dropped back to sleep; but I remember feeling her take my limp organ once more into her mouth. Again, she kept it there, still, moving her tongue lightly on it from time to time.
Still later, I was almost at the point of orgasm, before I realized that she was doing it again, taking my load fully into her mouth, and we slept again with my spent penis under her tongue.
Light flooding through the window awakened me, and I looked drowsily down at Mora. My cock had slipped out of her mouth, but she was still tying with her head on my belly. I could see crinkly, flesh-colored streaks on her cheeks and nose, where my ejaculate had dried.
With a newfound feeling of tenderness, I stroked her disheveled hair until her eyes opened. She looked up at me sleepily and smiled. "Lie back, I want to suck you again."
Oh, Christ! I thought. I didn't know if I could take any more of that.-I felt her mouth on me, slow and loving and great. She slid up and down my soft cock, drawing it out gently each time and moving her fingers on the inside of my thighs and underneath my balls, until I was hard again. She licked it from base to top like a lollipop, and then, using her hands, jacked me off, turning me onto my side. When I came she moved back her head about an inch from the tip, put out her tongue a little, and we both watched it squirt into her mouth, dribbling out the corners where it had almost missed.
Again she put her mouth over it, as it deflated, keeping it awhile and barely sucking.
"The whole night was like a dream," I told her. I wasn't sure that all that had happened was real. I wasn't even sure, lying there right then, that Mora was real. Maybe it was just a wild masturbation fantasy and I would awaken soon, in my own bed at home.
Mora crawled up next to me, took my head in her -hands, and kissed me. Our mouths opened and I felt her ejecting a starchy-tasting liquid into me. At first I thought it was spit, but then I realized that she was passing my own cum to me, for me to taste. Still kissing, I passed the viscous fluid back to her. We continued, holding each other loosely, until it seemed to disappear, lost in our own salivary juices or swallowed. It was a tremendously erotic experience, the two of us sharing my semen.
Later, she finally let me hold her, and snuggled her head down In the hollow of my shoulder. She seemed, right then, like a little girl. "Did you like last night?" she asked.
"It was the greatest night I've ever had," I said, and I meant it.
"It gave me great pleasure to suck you," she continued. "I'm a very oral person. I think most women are, but they're afraid of their orality, they smother it under feelings of embarrassment or shame and end up cheating themselves."
She laughed. "But even I couldn't do what I did to you last night with just any man. The thought of doing it with some of the men who take me out repels me. They may be handsome enough or nice enough, but I just couldn't enjoy doing it with them. It has to be a person who affects me in a very special and personal way, a rare person. And when that happens, and it's only happened to me a few times in spite of all the men I've known, then I enjoy it, I more than enjoy it. I'd been looking forward to it since the show yesterday afternoon.
"I love the feel of it in my mouth, on my lips and my tongue. It gets so hard, and yet the skin stays so soft and velvety. I love to feel it come, to feel and see your warm, white juice on my face and in my mouth, to see it come out, to hold it and feel it grow inside my mouth. And then I like to feel it grow hard again, to feel it gorge and swell inside of me and push my head up and away from your balls. I love to lick your cream and feel it warm and sweet with my tongue. The mouth and tongue are so much more sensitive than the vagina, you can really feel it so much better."
She stroked my belly absently with her hand, and brought up her knee, throwing her leg across mine for more comfort. "And it gives me such fulfillment. Women think they are fulfilled only when they have an orgasm, which means that a majority of women who can't or won't have orgasms will never be fulfilled." She paused, then went on. "Yes, I got more pleasure out of last night than you did. That may be hard for you to believe or understand, but it's true. The whole evening was a mental orgasm to me. "I bet I'm shocking you, aren't I? Telling you how great it is and how much I enjoy sucking you off. Are you shocked?"
"No," I replied, "not shocked, except maybe at finding an honest woman. But I wonder if maybe you don't enjoy the feeling of power it gives you over me, too."
"What do you mean, power?"
"Well, let's face it. You pretty much made me rise and fall at your command. And I'm so vulnerable when I'm in your mouth. Did you ever stop and think that all you have to is bite hard enough and I'll be a sexual cripple for the rest of my life? Or that by not biting, you're bestowing on me a form of grace? Because I used to think about it all the time, when I was hustling, that all it would take would be just one nut to lose a marble and bite me, and that would be all she wrote. And there wouldn't be a thing I could do about it.
"In a way, getting sucked off is the height of mutual trust, because the person who's sucking you has your sexuality in his mouth, and with one big bite he or she can destroy it forever. Like most guys, I'd rather lose an arm or a leg, or even my eyes, almost anything but my cock. But I lucked out. I figured out once that over five hundred guys sucked my dick and some of those cats were pretty damn creepy, but not one of them ever bit."
She patted my stomach hard with her hand, forcing me to double up laughing. "And I'm eternally grateful to every one of those five hundred," she said.
I moved in with Mora that day. We made six trips from Pacific Heights to my parents' house in the Richmond to load her tiny MG cockpit with clothes, books, odds and ends, and my shoebox. Mora said she would take out a safe-deposit box for me on Monday, as she was afraid to have all that cash around her place.
I left a note saying that I had moved out and giving Mora's phone number, but not her address, and was thankful that both my mother and father were at work so there would be no tearful scenes.
Then we went out to the beach and walked for several miles along the surf, holding hands and stopping every so often to embrace. We looked for seashells and played tag and splashed each other with cold, Pacific water.
Mora was radiant. Her hair was in pigtails and she wore men's Levi's and a plaid, light flannel shirt. As I looked at her, laughing, playing tag, with her pigtails whipping around her face, her eyes bright with life, it was hard to realize that this was the same girl who had sucked me off four times and had kept my cock in her mouth the entire night, the same girl who had pranced haughtily around a fashion stage just yesterday. There seemed to be so many sides to her.
I had to play a job at the Fairmont Hotel that night. We went home (I was already thinking of her flat as home), took a shower together, -and changed. I wore my powder-blue band cardigan and she wore a blue satin cocktail dress. Her hair was up and her makeup on, and she looked very beautiful, but not, I thought, as beautiful as she had looked on the beach.
The other guys in the band just stood there with their mouths open and their fingers up their asses when I introduced her. Herb bitched at me because my drums spent so much time in the back of his car. He kidded that he'd have to start charging me rent. Mora told him to cool it, because in two weeks I would be driving and in a month I would have my own car, which was all a surprise to me.
All evening she sat on the back of the bandstand with me. We were playing a private party and it was strictly dance music.
I learned something else that evening, pride in a woman. Several of the men in the band who didn't play with me often or know me well made veiled hints to Mora during the breaks that they would like to take her out, asking where she worked or lived. Her answer was always the same. "You'll have to ask Richard, I'm his girl."
Only once did I get upset, when the tenor sax man, who I didn't even know, kept referring to me as "Junior" in an effort to put me down in front of Mora. I told him softly that if he called me "Junior" once more they would carry him out of there in about twenty different pieces. I must have looked like I meant it, because he backed down, and Mora squeezed my hand, her eyes holding mine and sending strange messages to me. She had let them all know, in no uncertain terms, that she was with me and that she wasn't interested in another man, not even just to dance with.
By this time I thought I was hopelessly in love with her.
The dance was over at one; we were home and in bed by one-thirty. Mora was exhausted and I was.horny. I kissed her and ran my hand down her belly, but she turned onto me, cuddling in comfort.
"This is my second night in your bed and I still haven't made love to you," I said.
"Glad you mentioned it," she purred sleepily. "One of the most important things you'll ever learn about women and love is when not to."
She paused, thinking. "It's the one thing that ruins most marriages and destroys most relationships, this business of a sexy man who has to get screwed right away or he'll simply die.
"Take the average husband, he comes home from work tired, has a nice dinner, and relaxes all evening, while old wifey, who has probably been running like hell all day doing household work, does the dishes, puts the kids to bed, and God knows what else. So come bedtime, he's got a hard-on and she's dead on her feet, or ass, as the case may he. If he's like the average boob, he'll just push open her legs, give a couple of quick kisses, and if she's not wet enough he may even be a good guy and run fast for the Vaseline jar before he climbs on. Then he'll shove it in, and after a few minutes of jumping around he'll squirt his little seed, roll over, and go to sleep, probably snoring like a buzzsaw, while his poor wife lies there wondering what ever happened to the lover she married.
"Or like those American Legion guys at the stag show you told me about. How many of those, do you suppose, who didn't get laid at the stag ran home and worked their old ladies out of a sound sleep with a 'Hey, Betsy, how's about?' and a slap on the ass? And after his two-minute marathon he'll congratulate himself on really giving the old lady a good fuck.
"I mean, we girls have wants and desires, too, at least if we're halfway normal. But nothing will turn you off like a hot, grubby body poking at you when you're tired, or groping, clumsy hands when you don't feel like groping, clumsy hands, or to be awakened only to service a hard-on.
"I don't want your wife one day to say over the back fence to some nosy neighbor lady, 'Oh, my Dickie, he bothers me every night, I just don't know what to do with him.' And she thinks she's bragging about your sexual prowess by complaining of what a pain hi the ass you are in bed."
I laughed.
"Don't laugh, I'm very serious. Most men think of a woman's vagina as nothing more than a soft place to rub it and come, but it's so much more than that. The trouble is that men are so hung up on masturbation and self-pleasure that when they finally have a woman, all they really do is jack off into her. Hell, they might as well use their hands, for all the difference it makes."
"You made the point," I told her, stroking her hair.
"I want you to be that rare man," she continued," that rare man with real feelings for a woman. The kind of a man who can ignore his own hard-on and simply hold his woman in his arms all night, if he knows she's tired, or out of sorts. The kind of a man who can feel when the time is right for making love, and when it isn't. Because it's only good when you both want to. The kind of man who enjoys making love, not just fucking, and there's a big difference, who enjoys and gains fulfillment from satisfying his woman, and doesn't just want to get screwed and go to sleep. The kind of man who would never dream of waking his girl just so he could have something to stick it into. The kind of man who doesn't paw, and who isn't all hands and hot breath and horniness, who says in his manner of looking at a woman, of talking to her, that he is a man like this, because a real female woman can sense it."
Lying there, watching the twin beams atop the Golden Gate Bridge rotate endlessly against the black sky, I told her of my fears, my frustrations at lovemaking, my preoccupation with failure. I don't know why, but when I confessed these things to her it was a relief. Somehow, I knew she could make everything right. She seemed to have all the answers. She was so sure, so supremely confident.
Mora tightened her arms around me. "We're just animals, you know," she said. "Did you ever see a bull or a horse or a dog fuck for an hour?"
"Not recently," I laughed.
"The only difference, sexually, between you and a bull is that a bull has a bigger cock and you have a bigger brain. No animal, including man, was made to last a long time, because the main purpose of sex, biologically speaking, is procreation, the propagation of the species. Nice little things like female orgasms don't have a damn thing to do with it. So if you shoot fast, it's because nature intended for you to do it that way.
"You see," she continued, "the only reason the human female gets any pleasure from sex at all is because of her clitoris, and the only reason she has that is because of a genetic fluke from ages past, when both sexes were combined in the same animal. It's really only a tiny, vestigial penis, with all of the delicate nerve endings supplied to the penis. Otherwise, we could hardly feel a thing. That's why the human female is the only female species that can have an orgasm.
"As for the rest of it," she purred drowsily, "don't worry, I'll teach you. I'll teach you well, my love. I'll, teach, you, well."