`Won't do it. Absolutely refuse to leave you alone in the living room. Now come. Come on.'
I took him by the elbow and led him into the bedroom. The bed was empty.
'Terry?'
`Yes,' came a highly affected voice from the bathroom.
`A young student of mine is here. Young divinity student. Very lonely young man. Desperately needs companionship.
Can he join us?'
What Ray Smith O'Reilly thought of that I didn't know. From the bathroom came silence.
`Who?' she finally asked.
I walked over close to the door.
`A very lonely young anchorite needs your attention. He has a deep need. He's almost crying. Can he join us in bed?'
`Oh yes,' she answered promptly.
Beside the bed where I had left him, Smith stood like an abandoned bulbless lamp. With great gentleness I helped him
undress and guided him to the location of the bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin like an eighty-year-old preparing for thirty below. Soon Terry, clutching the same towel at the same place, came modestly out of the bathroom. Smith stared at her as at another piece of Martian furniture.
`Terry Thrush, I'd like you to meet George Lovelace. George, this is Terry.'
`Oh, hi,' said Terry; with a bright smile.
`How do you do?' said George Ray Smith O'Reilly Lovelace, `How would you like to fuck her, George?'
I asked, my own penis lifting its head in more than idle curiosity.
`You first,' he blurted.
`Okay, me first, Terry. Give me your ass again.'
Terry looked a little surprised, but quickly hopped into bed beside our young man, and stuck her little behind plumply into the air. Her face on a pillow she turned, smiling brightly at George, whose head lay looking ceiling ward on the other pillow a foot away. George looked sick.
I place my penis; prodded and poked, and, with all deliberate speed, it plunged deep into Terry's warm, wet interior. My God, that was good. Terry had helped aim me with her hands but now as I began easing myself in and out she moved herself on her elbows over to silent George and - undoubtedly smiling brightly to the last - moved her face over his and began giving him her sexy, snakelike kisses.
George lay as rigid as a dried straw, except for his central limb, which was as limp as a wet straw. I pulled Tiny Terry's thighs against me and more or less picked her bodily up and deposited her face on Georgie's belly. Discovering a poor, lonely, unloved cock, she did her duty.
The long and the short of it, Reader - and that is the usual sequence in these affairs - was that I made a splendid splash in Terry's interior and Terry did enough favorable groaning and straining to please everyone, presumably including herself. When she finally let go of old Sir George his limb was just as limp as before. However, as Terry rolled onto her back away from him I saw that the rest of him was at last limp too. Sir George too had seen the Holy Grail.
`Terry has a very nice mouth, don't you think, George?'
'Er, yes, she does,' he said.
`You're exceptionally beautiful in the interior, Terry,' I went on.
'Thank you,' she said. My two young friends were lying on their backs side by side while I had settled back on my knees near the foot of the bed. I was feeling very tired and depressed, and my mood was manifesting itself by my heavy-handed irony.
'Is your ass as warm and juicy as your cunt, Terry?'
`I don't know,' she said and she giggled.
`Live and learn, or in the immortal words of Leonardo da Vinci: "Anus delictoris ante uturusi sec."
Tell me, George do you feel now that someone loves you, that life does have a meaning after all?'
`I - beg pardon?'
`I was telling Miss Truss that you came here tonight very unhappy and lonely and unloved. Has she given you the
spiritual nourishment which you needed?'
'A little bit, I guess.'
`Hear that, Terry, only a little bit. George must really be depressed. Don't you realize, George, that Terry kissed you
and caressed you without your even asking? She gave herself unrequested and unselfishly for your pleasure and
enlightenment. Now what do you say?'
His face contorted nervously; he looked at me. Finally he said: `Thank you, I guess.'
`You're welcome,' said Terry. `I like to help people.'
'Terry is unusually helpful, wouldn't you say, Ray?'
`Yes, she is.'
`Let's all have a drink. Scotch for you, Mr. Lovelace?'
`Yes, thank you.'
As I plodded off nude to the liquor cabinet, I found myself for the first time wondering about the reliability of our questionnaires. Little Miss T., the inhibited Catholic virgin, had showed all the juiciness and technique of a forty #161;three-year old nymphomaniac. And lover-boy O'Reilly … Well, back to the old data sheets.
After we'd finished our drinks, during which we had several sporadic conversations on (a) the weather (we need snow),
(b) Renaissance history (Rabelais was actually a serious thinker), and (c) religion (it's frequently misunderstood), I said firmly to George: `Your turn now, Lovelace.'
`Oh yes, thank you.'
Terry lay on her back to receive him, and after several youthful giggles, he seemed to enter the promised land. The doorbell rang.