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Subject: {ASSM} ME AND MARTHA JANE '99 (m/FF,teen) MJANE15.TXT
Date: Wed, 9 Feb 2000 01:10:06 -0500
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SJR
<1st attachment, "MJANE15.TXT" begin>
**** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING ****
THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL,
EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND
A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF
10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON-
FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF
SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN
BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT.
THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1999 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN
COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 15A:
Saturday. In my mind, it was Anita Day.
Anita didn't attend the Saturday class. I called her on the tele-
phone the day before. She said she had a busy schedule and wouldn't
be at Fiore's, but I was to meet her for the party with her friends at
her godparents' home.
My exhausting Friday night with Martha and Ronnie had me in a calm
mood for handling myself in a sexually civilized manner with Anita.
In fact, I found myself hiding out again when I met Anita and we
strolled to the expensive home where the gathering of Anita's friends
was being held. It was a very mixed group, including a couple of
faces I had seen at Fiore's now and then who turned out to be young
clients whom Anita had introduced to the place. One was a budding
ballerina who was taking the summer class just to stay in shape during
summer vacation.
The party was supervised by a couple of housekeepers, one of whom
managed the soda and snacks in the huge kitchen area and who seemed to
know most of the kids. The affair seemed to be a regular weekend open
house of sorts, frequented by a group of teenagers who drifted in and
out as they brought their dates in for a visit on their way to or from
a movie, play or other event in the city. Among the kids, everyone
knew each other and most of them attended the same schools in town.
And they were, as far as I could tell, local rich kids and their dates
or buddies. This left me feeling somewhat like a fraud; fortunately,
I'd attended similar gatherings held by some of my wealthier relatives
in Memphis. But this was a level of wealth and sophistication that
was new to me. Anita was diplomatic enough when she introduced me to
include sparse detail about my background.
In fact, Anita didn't seem to fit into the wealthy milieu any more
than I did. The difference was that Anita had been raised within it
without becoming a subscriber to much of it.
What had me really feeling out of place was not so much the afflu-
ence on display as it was the accepted behavior of these teenagers who
were supposed to be my peers, if not in economic background then in
age and development. The lame sexual innuendoes and the showing off
and the phony camaraderie were as foreign to me as the social mores of
interplanetary aliens. As with any group of teenagers, there was an
obvious, overstated pecking order. Kids stood around with nothing to
say or do except to herd near local heroes. Then there were the
"steady" couples, with either the guy or the gal getting a stiff look
or frown if either party was seen talking privately to a member of the
opposite sex. And I found the rich kids taking much for granted in
the material world, mentioning their cars and clothes and their trips,
with much name dropping. I stayed to the side during most of the
conversations, having little to contribute.
Unfortunately, Anita interpreted this early on as boredom. She
sat beside me at a table where several other people had gathered to
talk. She said, "Perhaps when the people from my theater club show
up, you'll have a better time. They went to a play tonight that you
and Martha have already seen."
I asked, "What makes you think I'm not having a good time?"
She said, "You seem to be staying on the sidelines."
"There is a slight difference in backgrounds to contend with."
She said, "Oh, I...I realize that, but I didn't think of it when I
invited you. I didn't think of it because you have a look and bearing
that make it seem that you belong wherever you want to be. It's my
fault. I know how you feel, I have the same problem. But you don't
seem to believe me when I mention that."
I said, leaning toward her and taking her hand. "I'm fine. I'm
enjoying myself. It's like a whole, separate vacation. Please don't
take me away. I'll pay, I'll beg, I'll fall on my sword, if only
you'll let me stay. A thousand guns and ten thousand bullets
couldn't take me away..."
She laughed. "All right, I get it." She looked at me and smiled.
"You're sweet."
"Oh, please don't say that."
"Why?
"Don't say I'm sweet."
"But you are."
"No. I'm not."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because I'm not so sweet. Not really. I'm very uncivilized.
You have no idea."
Her eyes played with mine again. "How dare you talk about your-
self that way. You'll destroy all my illusions about you."
"It's true."
Her eyes glanced around and she lowered her voice. "I'm not
sweet, either."
"That isn't possible."
"Very possible. I have a self centered streak."
"You'll have to do more than just say that to convince me."
She said more quietly, "But I do have my self centered side."
She looked down at my hand that held hers, and she touched a finger of
her other hand to mine, and she said, "But let's not plan on finding
out about that."
I said, "I can't imagine us having to do that."
She gazed at our hands, thinking, and started to speak, but
thought again. "Don't credit me with too much. It...creates so many
expectations. They're so difficult to live up to."
I squeezed her hand. "It's a deal."
She squeezed my hand in return and asked, "Have you chosen a piece
for the drama club next week?"
"Uh, well...something from The Sound and the Fury."
"Oh. Faulkner."
"Yes."
"Good. That's very clever, sticking with a story about people and
places you should be very familiar with."
"Very familiar. Sixty miles from Memphis."
"Oh, that's right. Faulkner lives in Oxford, Mississippi." She
looked up at me. "Oxford is that close to Memphis?"
"Yes'm. Mah home town. Memphis, Tenn-e-ssee."
She grinned at me. "So didja know Elvis Presley."
I laughed.
The handful of kids from the drama club arrived just after ten
o'clock. They raved about the short off-Broadway play they had seen.
Martha had taken me to see the same play a few weeks earlier, so I did
find that I could contribute to the conversation. But I found myself
treading on thin ice; like most cliques of theater people, they gave
an icy reception to my differences of opinion. I thought that the
play had been executed with second rate performances, due mainly to
misinterpretation of the meaning behind several key lines. When I saw
the group's reaction to my opinion, I conceded that I might have seen
the play on a bad night.
And in particular the leader of this handful seemed to be a nice-
looking guy named Maury, who seemed to know everything that could be
known about anything and whose word reigned as gospel for this group.
Maury's impression of the performances of this fairly popular play was
based on personalities, not on performance. He knew all the cast
members, and in particular he knew the lead player, an actor who,
according to Maury, was equally appreciative of Maury's performance
"at the academy." And anything that Maury did "at the academy" was
the last word, including his award winning portrayal in 'Charley's
Aunt', a role that won Maury an award that no one outside "the
academy" ever heard of.
Maury asked me, "You've heard of 'Charley's Aunt', naturally?"
I nudged my chin and said, "The most performed play in theater
history. So far."
"I've had the lead in three productions."
"Very good." I took a cue from Anita's charming manner and avoid-
ed the whole issue of wanting to kick his ass by saying, "It's a, uh,
very demanding part. You need a sense of humor and a lot of energy to
make it work well."
"The reviewers said that my sense of timing was excellent."
"The part definitely requires a talent for that."
He shrugged, "Of course, even with a good sense of timing, it's
not that easy. Charley's role is the only one in the play with good
laughs. It's up to Charley to keep the other characters alive,
y'know?"
"You're right. Good thing you were on hand."
Maury prepared himself a glass of cola and was nervy enough to add
some bourbon he kept in a small, expensive silver flask in his coat
pocket. He spiked several other drinks belonging to his chosen co-
horts. The girls fell all over Maury, who was very good looking, and
the guys seemed to jockey around him to identify themselves as offi-
cially recognized cronies.
I didn't like Maury. I spent more time with a "minor character,"
so to speak, a wiry kid who didn't talk much but whose eyes seemed to
pick up on what was really happening. His name was Chris and he asked
what I planned to read at the drama party. When I mentioned I would
read a long narrative section from Faulkner, Chris and I got into a
lengthy conversation about the culture and environment down South.
At one point I mentioned to him "You seem pretty familiar with
parts of the South. You've spent time there?"
"L.S.U. I started a year early." He added sarcastically, "I plan
to be one of those shyster lawyers that so many Southern writers talk
about."
By eleven o'clock Anita told me she was ready for me to walk her
home, so I called Martha on the phone and told her I would be home in
a while.
Martha said at the other end of the line, "When you get home, go
to Ronnie's. I'll be with her."
I said, "Again?"
Martha said, "Ronnie has something I don't have, in case you
haven't noticed. She has a television set. It only gets one channel,
but that's what we'll be doing."
"Oh. Okay, I'll go to Ronnie's."
"And, uh, what do you mean by 'Again'? Were you're complaining?"
"Well, I --"
"Ronnie and I have been having a great night, talking about guys.
How is it with Anita?"
"Fine. I'm getting ready to walk her home.
"Oh. I thought you'd be at the party until later. She wants to
go home early?"
"No, she has a busy day Sunday."
Well, then, take your time."
"Take my time? I'm walking her home, it's four blocks."
"Take your time, Steven. All right? Take your time."
"Oh. Okay."
"See you at Ronnie's, hon."
Anita and I left and she suggested a stroll the long way around,
down Madison Avenue to the Plaza Hotel at 59th Street, and back up
Fifth Avenue along Central Park to Anita's home. I began to see what
Martha meant by "take your time", as this walk would take at least an
extra half hour. How did Martha know these things?
We ultimately spent nearly two hours strolling. We stopped at the
traffic circle in front of the Plaza Hotel and sat on a bench to watch
the clients going in and out of the famous, expensive hotel.
Anita said, "You see? Not everyone who stays at the Plaza is a
big shot. That couple there looks like Ma and Pa Kettle."
I said, "Ah! My kinda people."
Anita said, "Oh, everyone's your kind of people." She looked at
me. "I thought you handled Maury well."
"Maury? Oh. Well, I've had practice. Theater groups are full of
Maury's."
"Well, I agreed with you. I saw that play. What you said was
true."
I shrugged. "It wasn't worth an argument."
She said, "Everyone hates Maury."
"Then why is he so popular?"
"Because his family is richer than all the rest of them put to-
gether." She sighed and said, "And that's one of many things I don't
like about my life."
We got up from our bench and headed across the street to Fifth
Avenue.
As we strolled I said, "You could be living in Mississippi."
"Yes. And I'd show the poor how to grow their own food and start
their own businesses. And take care of themselves. And get some
dignity."
"I don't know. It's rough out there. I've met people from Miss-
issippi who don't even know where Mississippi is. And they don't own
the land."
She said quietly, "I know. I know what it's like down there."
"And that's where you want to go?"
"Yes."
"I'm not trying to discourage you, you know. I just wondered if
you really thought about it."
"I don't think about it that much. I try not to. It would scare
me away."
I said, after a pause, "I hope you get what you want."
She smiled, and reached for my hand. "No one gets what they want.
There are just moments, times when it seems close. After four
countries and a whole parade of people from all over the world, I've
yet to meet someone who gets what they really want. I wonder if it's
possible."
I looked at her, and thought about it. "You could be right."
"I could be." She looked around, at the park, and toward the
summer sky. "Have you ever known anyone who gets what they want? I
mean overall, in the big picture of their lives. Do they get what
they want?"
"Mmm. Not yet."
"Have you?"
I laughed. "I haven't had time to work on it yet. I did get my
newspaper route. I got myself built up for the delivery bikes. I
made the money to get me to New York."
"Yes, Martha told me that story."
"And what else did Martha tell you?"
She grinned. "That's the fourth time you asked me that."
"That's the fourth time you wouldn't tell me."
She walked on, and squeezed my hand. She said, "Oh, she didn't
tell me that much. But she told me about how you earned your way
here, single handed. When she told me that story, I knew I had to
meet you."
I blushed, and she watched me blushed, and she smiled at me.
She asked me, "Why *did* you come to New York? Why did you go
through all that?"
I shrugged. "It was here."
"Oh. Well, that's why I want to work in a poor village and change
the world. Because it's there."
We walked on, and she looked down at the sidewalk, and she asked,
"But why *did* you come to New York? There are so many other places.
Why New York?"
I said, "So I could walk down Fifth Avenue at night, holding hands
with the prettiest young woman in town."
She blushed so hard she showed her teeth. "Oh, my."
"I thought that was a pretty good answer."
She said, "I don't know what to say to that."
"Why say anything?"
"Are you sure you don't get your lines, like, from the movies or
something?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Because people don't talk the way you talk."
"How do they talk?"
"Well, they -- they don't talk like that."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, they don't. They don't say things like that."
I stopped, and she stopped beside me.
I said jokingly, looking into her eyes. "They don't kiss the most
beautiful girl in New York City? On Fifth Avenue? On a warm summer
night?"
"Kiss me? Why?"
"Why?" That stopped me. I rubbed my forehead and though about
it, wondering if she were serious about that, and I said, "Is there a
way I can answer that without getting in trouble?"
She held back a laugh, her eyes playing with mine again, an
amused, patient smile on her face. "In the first place, I'm not the
prettiest girl in New York. Martha's at least as pretty. And so is
Ronnie, her friend. And so are lots of other girls in New York. And
there were prettier girls at the party."
I shrugged. "You might get an argument there, but...okay."
"But I'm not the prettiest. You mustn't idealize me like that.
That's what I mean. People always do that to me. They put me on a
pedestal. And it's so hard to breath at those altitudes."
"Okay. So, let's say...you're a serious contender."
She laughed. "You're so stubborn."
"Well, I'm determined to be nice to you."
She sighed resignedly, "All right. Then you can be nice to me."
"Done."
"You can't say, though, that I'm the prettiest girl in New York."
"Okay."
"But you can kiss me."
I looked at her.
She said, still amused, still in the game. "On Fifth Avenue. On
a warm summer night."
I was overjoyed -- not only that she was so willing, but also that
I'd sneaked my glasses off my face before we left the party. I took
the one footstep that was necessary to put my face close to hers and I
dipped my head, grateful that for once I was going to kiss someone
shorter than I, and as I slowly moved my mouth toward hers our heads
tilted -- and she tilted at just the right angle, lowering her eyelids
suitably before closing her eyes, her hands rising to my shoulders.
And our mouths met, exact, geometrically correct. So: she had kissed
before. I didn't have to show my prized, demure, pristine princess
how to keep from crashing noses.
And her lips were soft, lipsticked but not tasting of the soapy
stuff, and they were fleshy silk, moist, soft, creamy, and she knew
how to mesh, to tenderly churn and tempt. And she knew how to lean
into me from the neck down, to press her body into mine sincerely but
unprovocatively, how to place one hand at my temples caressingly. But
she also knew something I didn't; my delicate princes knew how to open
her mouth and cleverly angle it so that her lips could toy with mine,
give them a little tug, and how to open her mouth just wide enough to
slither her tongue into my mouth and find my tongue and caress it,
caress my damn tongue in my own damn mouth as if she had done it time
and time again.
But I would not be outdone. I held her to me in a loving clench
that I somehow, automatically, unthinkingly executed, moving into it
smoothly, one arm around her shoulders and across her upper back, my
hand enclosing her opposite shoulder so that she would be cradled,
owned, entirely in my arms, and my lips pressed her lovely face back,
slightly back, until her head rested against my arm behind her neck,
then my other hand caressed and held her face, and I deeply kissed
her; and as I held her tenderly captive, I felt her give, surrender,
from mouth to feet, and she gave a barely discernible whimper, and she
sighed with her mouth on mine, and my tongue flowed out to lick her
lip and then her tongue, and when her tongue sought my mouth in
return, I closed my lip and gently sucked her tongue into me, gently,
kneading her soft mouth with mine. And after a moment I relinquished
her tongue, replacing possession with affection, not just ending the
kiss with a jerk and the sudden absence of my face, but continuing to
cradle her and to brush her lips with mine, to give her a smaller,
softer kiss, and a second, and a third, almost innocently, pampering
her mouth with my inner lips. Then I let my lips trail across her
cheek to kiss her temple, and I held her face to mine and gave her a
nip close to her ear, and on her neck, and I held her in a light hug.
And so I had kissed her, and down below my navel a little cream had
kissed my underwear, and the moment was complete.
She sank against me, her head bowed, her forehead against my
chest, her hands draped around my neck. A couple of people walked
by. They ignored us.
Anita sighed and said against my chest, "I'm so embarrassed."
"About what?"
"I was the one who was going to teach *you* how to kiss." She
raised her head to nestle it on my shoulder and her arms reached about
my neck. She said against my shoulder, "Confess. Who taught you to
kiss like that?"
I said, at least partially in truth, "You did."
"I did?"
I nodded against her face. "Yes. You. Just now."
She gave a small, resigned laugh, and she pulled her head back and
shook her head ruefully and said, "Do you just think up sweet some-
things like that?" She kissed my nose. "Or do you keep them
somewhere in a book?"
That made me a little angry. Was there something wrong with being
in love with a girl and giving her a good kiss? I suppose my anger
showed, for she pulled back a little farther and said, "I'm sorry.
Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say."
I said, a little miffed, but too much in love with her to take it
very seriously, "If a guy's a lousy lover, the girls make bad jokes.
If a guy's too good, the best you can hope for, I guess, is that the
jokes get a little more polite."
She smiled an enchanting, contrite smile, and she said softly,
touching my mouth with one finger, "Well, let me try something along
more standard lines. How about, 'My godmother warned me about guys
like you'?"
I said, "My godmother told me the same thing about girls like
you."
And she smiled, teasing, and she asked, "Did she say anything
about what to do, once you found one of those people?"
I shook my head no. "She didn't mention that."
Anita said, "Neither did mine."
She lifted her lips to mine and made me kiss her again.
Several minutes later we made it to the ornate wrought iron doors
of her limestone building. She retrieved her keys and opened the
outer gate.
I looked up at the massive building, the second floor lined with
wrought iron balconies. I said, "What's it like to own something like
this?"
"Oh, we're not wealthy enough to own this," she said. "The gov-
ernment owns it. We just live here. We're government employees.
We're Tenants."
"Yeah? Where do I get a job like that?"
"You wouldn't want a job like this," she said, opening the inner
door and stepping back to me. She closed her purse and held it in her
hands, folded before her. She was very pretty in the soft glow of the
front lights. She said, "If you had my godfather's job, you'd have to
caution your goddaughter about going out twice in one week with the
son of someone you never heard of. And if you were their goddaughter,
you'd have to respectfully tell your godfather, who has otherwise been
a very good and kind person, that you are respectfully going to dis-
obey, and go out anyway."
I firmed my lip and frowned. I said, "Oh. I'm sorry."
She said, "I'm not." She stepped closer to me and put her hand on
my cheek and softly kissed my lips. She kept her hand on my cheek
long enough to whisper, "Good night."
I squeezed her hand. "G'night."
She went into the door and before she closed it she peeked out and
smiled. "Call me. And don't forget next week." Then she disappeared
into her big limestone building.
As I strolled the several blocks to Martha's building, it was
after one a.m. and it was Hollywood True Love Sound Track time. What
tempered it was Martha's words, ""Take your time, Steven. All right?
Take your time." How did she know what was going to happen on that
long walk to Anita's? What did Anita know about me from Martha? What
was Martha cooking up? Anita was only seventeen -- okay, nearly
eighteen, and where did *she* lean to kiss like that? And where do I
come in, virtually a newsboy from some hick town, messing around with
international types and thinking I could snatch up this not-so-
innocent, sophisticated gal and carry her off into the sunset?
I marched up the stairs and knocked on Ronnie's door. Ronnie
answered and said, with overdone cheer, "Hi! Come on in! Steee-ven!"
She closed the door behind me. "Do tell us about Anita."
I smirked. "Anita who?"
She smirked back. "So? It took two hours to walk four blocks.
Told ya she'd eat you alive."
I said, striding into the middle of the room, "It almost came to
that."
Martha, sitting on the sofa, raised up. "Really? Well, well!
What happened?"
I stretched and said flippantly, "Nothin'."
Ronnie settled onto the sofa next to Martha, folding her arms.
"Ah-ha! Nothing. Just as I thought. Two hours. Nothing."
I pointed at the television set, which was one of the oldies with
a small screen and a huge front speaker. I said, "What's that?"
Ronnie said, "Several people have asked me that. You know what it
is. I found it in the street and had it fixed."
"I mean, what's wrong with the picture?"
Martha said, "It's the antenna upstairs. It only brings in one
channel, and not very well."
I walked to the ancient tv set and pulled down a small door in the
middle of the cabinet just under the picture tube, and I worked a
couple of controls. The vertical hold straightened up, and the fine
tuning knob made much of the snow disappear. Still not a very good
picture, but now one could recognize things like eyes and ears and
small letters.
"There," I said, standing up. "It's fixed."
Martha said to Ronnie, "What did I tell you?" She looked up at
me. "Ronnie and I sit here in suspense, expecting you to come back
over an hour ago."
I shrugged. "We walked slow."
Martha said, "All right, we won't pry. Ronnie, let's get down-
hearted Steven and creaky old Martha upstairs for bed. And please,
throw that television set away. Steven has it working better, but
there's still nothing on tv look at." Martha rose and went to the
door, and turned and waited for me.
I got up. "Well, Ronnie. It was nice."
Ronnie said, scratching her hair, "Yeah, well...next time, don't
eat and run." She got up and slapped me on the back. "Dinner
tomorrow night, Valentino."
As we left Ronnie's, Martha blew her a kiss and I blew Ronnie a
kiss, and Ronnie closed the door. Upstairs in Martha's bedroom, as we
prepared for bed, Martha said, "You haven't said anything, cowboy.
How about giving me a little assurance about what happened? Hm?
Earth-shaking? Illegal? Dangerous?"
I slipped off my sport coat. "Nothing."
"Okay." Martha unsnapped her bra. She looked at me as I sat on
the bed to take off my shoes. She asked, "Heartbreaking?"
I looked up at her. What was my problem? Three absolutely beau-
tiful, lovable, deserving women, all of them complete mysteries to me.
In answer to Martha's question, I held up two hands, palms up, and
said, "Nothing. N - O - T - H --"
Martha grinned and came over to me, her lovely shoulders and tits
and waist bare, and she unfolded her pajama top and she squeezed my
knee. "Now you're sounding like a New Yorker. Good." She donned her
pajama top and walked to the bedroom window and turned on the fan on
the window sill. As she buttoned her top she said, "Do you realize
that when you first came here a month ago, you couldn't give a
straight answer to a straight question? You blushed and trembled and
beat around the bush. And you never would have had the nerve to
introduce yourself to someone at a party. Or to go out with a girl
like Anita." She pulled the sheets back on the bed. "I'm proud of
you. And you should be proud of yourself, too. You worked hard, and
you put up with a lot from me, but..."
She didn't finish speaking. I had taken off my last shoe and
stood up to unbuckle my slacks. I said, "But, what?" She didn't
answer, but I heard her fiddling with the bedclothes, so I turned and
asked, "But, what?"
She was climbing into bed and I caught a glimpse of her face, and
she looked as if she had just started to hold something back. She saw
me looking at her and she shook her head no quickly and she gave me a
little go-away wave of her hand as she settled her pillow against the
headboard.
I sat on the bed, looking at her. I said quietly, "But what?"
She set her mouth firmly and shook her head no, and when I made a
move to reach toward her, she moved farther away on the bed, so I got
up on my knee on the bed and she said, "No, hon. I'll lock myself in
the bathroom." I moved my other knee onto the bed, and she started
laughing and scrunched down in the bed onto her side and covered her
head with a pillow, and as I came closer to her on my knees she said,
"No!" from under the pillow.
I lay on my side near her and craned my head toward her and said
softly into her ear, "But what?"
She shook her head no. She said, "No!"
"Why?"
She didn't move.
"But what?"
"I don't even remember."
"But what?"
She sighed. She lifted the pillow and put it under her head and
lay facing away from me, smiling mischievously. "But I wish we had
more time. That's all."
"That's all?"
She insisted gently, "I wish we had more time."
"So what was all the rest of that?"
"Rest of what?"
"You know. Come on."
She sighed again and turned her head to glance at me. She said,
"Can't I be happy for you in my own silly, mysterious, crazy way
without being interrogated?"
I waited. This was getting too complicated. There was more, I
was sure, but I knew she was being stubborn and I wouldn't get it out
of her that night. What could it be? Anita? No, how could it be
Anita? It was Martha who fixed me up with Anita in the first place.
I got out of bed and without a word I got undressed while she lay
unmoving. I walked to the night table and turned out her light and
walked around the bed and settled behind her. Then I spooned into her
with her lovely round bottom in my lap and I put one arm around her
loosely, and she took my arm and hugged it to herself and put my hand
under her neck and lay still.
I kissed her ear. She hugged my captive arm and she whispered,
"Good night, hon."
I lay still trying to fall asleep, and she didn't move. What the
hell was going on?
PART 15B:
Sunday night after dinner we went to Ronnie's apartment again.
The previous Friday's coupling had left the three of us less needful.
Sunday night began as a languid body massage session, without lotion.
We caressed and teased, and lay for some time doing little more than
running a finger along an arm or leg while we talked.
A long time after we lit a candle and undressed, I was lying on my
back with Ronnie sitting up on my right and Martha lying alongside me
on the left, and while Ronnie played with my cock Martha was running
her nails across my chest and, well, chatting.
She was saying, "Steven always had visions of New York that he
gets from the movies. Everyone's rich and sophisticated. Everyone
has glamorous jobs, everything's a miraculous success story. Yet he
has a boring Saturday night, and he comes home to find you and I half
asleep, watching that awful television." She grinned at me. "Right?"
I shrugged. "It's homey."
Ronnie joked, "Getting a little like Memphis, huh?"
I looked down at my cock, which Ronnie had caressed to its full
hardness.
I said, "Not exactly."
Ronnie asked, "Don't people do this in Memphis?"
"Not while I was around."
Martha said, "It's not something we could write home about."
I lay my head back and closed my eyes, enjoying Ronnie's hand as
it gripped and pulled slowly up, and held. I said, "Mmmm. No, they'd
die. They'd choke once, and then they'd die."
Martha kissed one of my nipples and I smiled, my eyes still closed
peacefully. She said, "A month ago you would've been shocked out of
your own mind. You couldn't even get undressed on the beach without
having a crisis."
Ronnie began another slow tug upward. She teased Martha, "You
wouldn't have gone for it either, Martha."
Martha admitted quietly, "You're right, I guess."
"You know I'm right."
Ronnie tugged upward slowly as Martha licked my nipple. Precum
oozed from me as Ronnie squeezed, and she let go for a minute to
caress my tip with the wet smear.
Martha kissed upward, then along my neck, then she ran her inner
lips around my earlobes. She said, "We're spoiling you. You know
that?"
I nodded, my hips settling onto the bed again.
She said, "We're spoiling the hell out of you."
I said, "It feels good."
"Yes. I know it does."
For a long moment I let her deposit light kisses all over my face
and torso, and I let Ronnie do her slow, tight upward hugging. After
another several minutes, my reclining position was far too passive for
me. Being with these two women taught me something about myself sex-
ually and emotionally: I was not comfortable just lying down and
soaking it in forever. I was not the one in control. I wondered how
long it would have taken me to learn that if I had never left Memphis,
had never taken a chance elsewhere.
I told Martha, "Here. Let's spoil you for a while." I sat up and
rolled her onto to her back, and Ronnie said, "Looks like you're in
for it, Martha. The beast is aroused."
I lay on my side beside Martha and leaned over her. "I feel self-
ish just lying here."
She smiled at me and stroked my hair. "You're allowed. We're
just playing right now."
"And I'm tired of being told I'm spoiled."
She said, "But you are spoiled. Want me to unspoil you?"
I didn't answer. I kissed her breast.
"Hm? Want me to stop spoiling you?"
I kissed her breast again. "No."
"I didn't think so." I sucked her nipple. She stroked my hair
and watched me suckle. She whispered, "I wouldn't want to."
Beside me, Ronnie shifted onto her side, partially leaning against
the headboard and looking down on Martha. She caressed Martha's hair.
"Let's spoil her, Steven." With one hand she traced a slow line from
Martha's hair and down her neck. She whispered again, "Let's spoil
Mama Martha."
Martha closed her eyes, and while she lay restfully I nursed at
her nipples, and Ronnie watched, stroking Martha's shoulders while
Martha caressed my hair and I mouthed her breasts. I stayed on her
nipples while my hand stroked downward, teasing her tummy and wander-
ing over her pussy to her legs, idly tantalizing her thighs and
pelvis. I worked leisurely for a long while. When Martha began
sighing enjoyably, Ronnie whispered, "She's liking it," and Martha
grinned with her eyes closed and said, "Yes. I am," and Ronnie said,
"Keep spoiling her, Steven." Ronnie shifted down a little, bending
over to kiss Martha's shoulder. She raised her head and saw Martha
looking sleepily ecstatic. She murmured to Martha, "You look so
impressive when you're having sex. I wish I knew more about working
with oils. I'd love to paint this."
While I attended to Martha's breasts, my finger started exploring
her pussy, finding her wet. I easily located her clit, which was
swollen and starting to peek from her inner folds. I surrounded her
clit with two fingers and massaged it dotingly, and her legs opened
wider and she exhaled a quiet breath, her eyes still closed as if
resting. Ronnie watched Martha sink into pleasure, watched her with
sensuous fascination as her fingers caressed Martha's neck and
shoulders, her eyes seeming to feel what Martha felt.
Slowly I circled Martha's clit. Martha breathed a low sigh that
seemed to float from her lips and through the air. As I circled with
a slow rhythm, her closed eyelids began to tighten and her lips
parted, her teeth showing in the candlelight. Her slippery flow
increased around my finger. She seemed so absorbed that I moved my
mouth farther down and slid my body lower very slowly, not wanting to
break the spell, and I settled my head between her thighs and licked
her tummy and legs and then began carefully, carefully licking her
pussy. And Ronnie watched her, her own excitement beginning to glint
in her eyes. Ronnie seemed more excited and more deeply involved in
our three-way coupling than ever before. While I languidly licked
Martha's clit, Ronnie lowered her head closer to Martha and her eyes
watched Martha as she gave Martha's neck a soft kiss. Martha arched
her neck a little and Ronnie smiled, pleased. She kissed Martha's
neck again, this time holding her lips on Martha's skin and closing
her eyes as if savoring the simple contact. Then she raised her head
and looked at Martha's face and whispered, "She likes it. I love to
see you liking it. You two have taught me so much about just...watch-
ing...and listening."
I licked and licked, and Martha's breath gradually quickened, but
she lay still, enjoying. Ronnie kept watching her, murmuring softly,
"Listen. Listen to us. I love it when we're slow and quiet, and we
can hear our sounds together. I wish I could draw the sounds of
pleasure." Ronnie watched Martha's face intently as she inched her
fingers from Martha's shoulders to Martha's uplifted breasts. Her
fingers slowly roamed onto Martha's pink, raised nipple and then
caressed it, then enclosed and squeezed. Martha arched her head back
again, and I could hear the subtle, nervous change in Martha's breath-
ing, and Ronnie held the gentle squeeze until Martha relaxed again. I
sucked Martha's clit and she moaned, her fingers tightening in my
hair. I wondered if Martha felt the same dizzying effect that I felt
when two sets of hands and lips worked on me; she appeared to be
floating closed-eyed in another universe. Ronnie watched Martha's
face and squeezed the nipple again, and kept watching her as she
kissed Martha's shoulder and kissed a little lower on Martha's
collarbone. Then she kissed the swell of Martha's breast and Martha
tensed a little, and I couldn't tell if she had tensed because Ronnie
kissed her breast or because I had sucked her clit, but Martha lay
with closed eyes and was starting to hold her breath intermittently.
And Ronnie, keeping her eyes raised and focussed on Martha's face,
bent down and extended her tongue and gave Martha's nipple a fleeting
lick, and Martha seemed to shiver a little. The two of them were
getting me hot as hell. I sucked Martha's clit and she raised her
pelvis closer to my mouth. Then Ronnie looked at Martha's nipple and
licked it again, and then again, and then slowly again, and then she
ran her tongue's tip in several slow circles around the nipple. Then
she put her lips around Martha's nipple and caressed the nipple with
her inner lips, and Martha took in a breath, and I watched Martha's
breasts rise and fall as her breathing deepened. Then Ronnie let her
lips close around Martha's nipple, and Ronnie sucked, and with her
sucking mouth she massaged the nipple gently, and Martha's hand went
to Ronnie's head as Ronnie's sucking lips tightened and sucked a
little harder. Martha's hand tightened in Ronnie's hair and Martha
winced and whispered, "Too hard," her voice barely audible. Ronnie
raised her head and whispered back, "Too hard?" Martha nodded,
relaxing, and said, "Do it gently, the way Steven does it." Ronnie
looked back down at Martha's nipple, and she enclosed the nipple with
her mouth again and sucked slowly, lovingly. Martha whispered, Yes,"
and her hand eased on Ronnie's hair while Ronnie suckled on her. And
I sucked Martha's clit, and Martha whispered "Yes." more excitedly.
And after Ronnie had sucked the nipple for a moment, she raised her
mouth and licked her lips and swallowed and looked adoringly at
Martha's breast while she cupped her hand around it and then let her
fingers enclose the nipple again, and she watched Martha's face while
she played with the nipple.
The scene had me hot and hard. I raised my head. Martha seemed
in a trance, holding her breath longer now, her face to one side, neck
stretched taut. I rose slowly, hovering over her, moving carefully,
unwilling to disrupt the spell of the moment, and I looked down at her
spread thighs and waiting pussy and aimed my cock into her. My tip
nestled into her slit. She was warm and very, very wet. I slid into
her, slow and deep, and she raised her hips and her mouth opened in a
silent Ah and when I was all the way in she breathed a soft "Ahhhh,"
and she churned her hips once and gripped me tightly inside her and
sighed a more quiet "Ahh." I drew back, halfway, and slid back and
forth near the mouth of her cunt, wetting me with her creamy slickness
and enjoying the pull of the ring of muscle just inside her entrance.
Then I started gently fucking, and Ronnie watched her face and toyed
with the nipple. While I fucked, Martha lay with her eyes closed and
her face turned to one side, unmoving except for the subtle tightening
of her pelvis against mine now and then as she breathed hot little
sighs. I would fuck her for several strokes and pull halfway out and
fuck shallowly for a moment, and then I would resume the deep, easy
fucking. Soon Martha's cunt began to tighten and she whimpered and
grew tense, and slowly, slowly but smoothly, during several deep
strokes, she approached her climax. When she stiffened and began to
whimper more anxiously, I saw Ronnie lower her head and suck the
nipple, and while Martha's cunt tightened around my cock and she got
closer to her release I whispered to Martha, "So wicked...so wicked to
fuck you like this...watching you cum," and Martha's head arched back,
and she whispered "oh god," her lips hardly moving. Then Martha came,
her body stiff, hips raised, eyes shut tight, her hand in Ronnie's
hair trembling. For a long time she came and her cervix sucked
pleasure from my sliding dick, and her passion and her sucking cunt
pulled a pleasurable oozing from my cock. I throbbed inside her, my
jaw clinching with the twinge of lust that shot through me. Her
climax ended with a single, tight churn of her pelvis against mine,
and she relaxed and whispered loudly, "Ooooh, god!" and her face fell
to the other side, toward Ronnie, and she gasped and sighed wearily.
Ronnie lifted her lips from Martha's nipple and kissed her neck. And
while Ronnie's lips nurtured Martha I kept fucking toward my own
orgasm, steadily, inside Martha's snug cunt. Martha put an arm around
my neck and lay with her eyes closed, waiting for me. And soon I felt
it starting for me and I whispered hotly through my teeth, "Yeahhh...
There," and stroked slowly inside her to prolong my orgasm's slow but
inevitable build. Then the searing delight flooded my groin. I
looked down at her arching torso and raised pussy and open thighs as
my undulating pelvis grazed hers, my vision filled with candlelight
glowing on flesh and muscle and sinew twisting and joining with
ecstasy, and I fucked slow and deep let out a loud sigh and started
drenching her cunt with thick cum. Martha smiled, groaning a low
"Mmmm," her cunt gripping, and I gasped again and again, my hips
pumping ardently and my stiff dick gushed, deep inside the sucking
sheath within the belly that writhed under mine, and in one corner of
my eye I saw Ronnie smile, watching my face while I came. My mid-peak
was wrenching, forcing the air from my lungs and driving my dick into
Martha, and as the finishing slurps poured into her my vision slowly
returned.
I stopped, breathing loud and hard above Martha. It took me a
moment to return to earth. We began to caress Martha, Ronnie and I,
babying her heated flesh. Ronnie stroked Martha's chest and waist,
whispering with an impish smile on her face, "Steven, that was good,"
and I panted "Yes," and Ronnie whispered, "That was really good."
Martha blushed, wiping sweat from her temples, and she said, "Good
lord. That really spoiled me." And we smiled back at her, all of us
feeling wicked and very pleased at what we had done, and we caressed
and kissed Martha for several minutes while she sank into a post-
orgasmic languor and was soon breathing restfully.
The two women spent a long time in the bathroom together, giggling
and bumping around, often squealing and breaking into laughter like a
couple of teenagers. I took a quick, tepid shower in Ronnie's
kitchen, looking down at my body, amazed that it felt so strong and
contented. It had been a strange coupling, with Martha and Ronnie. I
realized, as Martha had said, that had this happened earlier I would
have been shocked senseless. But now I felt possessed by a sensual
charge that left me giddy. Something primal seemed to flitter in my
chest and balls. I wanted more.
I was lounging in the bed when Ronnie came out of the bathroom, a
big smile on her face.
"She'll be here in a minute," Ronnie said, hopping onto the bed
and sitting back on her heels. She used the candle to light a ciga-
rette and she placed the ashtray on her knees and took a puff. She
fiddled with a bobby pin in her hair and said, "God, she really liked
that. I haven't seen her in that good a mood in days." She gave me a
pat on the knee. "Good work. Goo-oo-ood."
I said "Thanks," sitting up against the headboard and looking at
this nude, willowy woman, a bobby pin in her mouth as she gathered her
hair into place. Women, I thought; flesh and eyes and soft lips, and
breasts stretching pertly when they raised their arms to fix their
hair. Eyelashes and pussies and long legs. And whispers and finger-
nails. And secret glances and inscrutable emotions. And pleasure.
And cumming.
She took the bobby pin from her mouth and shoved it into place in
her hair. She eyed me curiously. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing."
She smirked. "There you go. Only women are allowed to obviously
stare at somebody and then say they're staring at nothing." She
looked at me and picked up her cigarette. "What's that stupid little
secret smile on your face? You look very proud of yourself."
I didn't say anything. I looked down at myself, wondering how
soon I could get hard again and fuck this cute, fuckable woman.
Ronnie exhaled smoke. "I'm jealous of Martha. It's so easy for
her to climax like that."
"You're not doing bad for yourself."
"But it's so easy for her."
I said, "Not that easy. Not always."
"Oh. So you know."
"I'm not snitchin'."
"Yeah. I'm getting you two figured out." She took another puff
and blew it out. "That was nice. So gentle and sensual."
"Yes." I looked at her and asked, using my fingers to indicate my
neck, "You have a piece of jewelry? Like a thin necklace or some-
thing? Something, you know, simple."
"Sure. Why?"
"Can you put it on for me?"
"On you?"
"No. On you."
"You want me to wear a necklace? Won't it get in the way?"
"Well...I don't think so."
She took a drag and exhaled again, looking at me, smiling curious-
ly. "But why?"
"It's very, you know, feminine. Sexy."
She blew out smoke, an amazed little laugh building up. "But they
get in the way. What are you up to?"
"Oh, nothing. I just like the idea of looking down at you and
seeing it on you. You know?"
"You mean, while we're, uh...?"
"Yeah."
She laughed. "What's with you?"
I blushed. "Well, forget it."
"No, wait. Let's see..."
Ronnie got up and went to her little dresser in font of the bed,
standing with her back to me. I had seen her naked so many times, in
so many positions. But I somehow felt, in that room, in that light,
at that moment, that I saw her for the first time. She was slim,
making her seem taller. She had delicate shoulders whose rounded
edges gleamed in the candlelight; and a small-muscled back; high-
waisted, she had a slender midriff and a narrow waist, gently flaring
hips, and a soft little butt; and long, slender, well shaped legs, a
slight swell along each side, and my hands remembered what they felt
when they stroked her there, and my hips remembered the feel of her
thighs cradling me while I fucked her. I couldn't believe I had just
had Martha and was still so horny for Ronnie.
She turned to me and held up a small, pearled necklace. "This?"
"No. You know, one of those little metal things. Gold."
"Oh." She turned around again and gave me another look at her,
and then she held up a thin metal necklace. "This?"
"Yeah."
She turned around, facing me, and as she put the necklace on and
reached behind to fasten it I looked at her nice arms and her breasts
with the kissable nipples like currants, and the black silk below her
navel and the flat tummy and the rounded, smooth tops of her thighs.
What the hell did just looking at her do to me?
She had fastened the small necklace, and she held her fingers to
it and smiled at me. I could have fucked her dark eyes. She said,
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Nice."
She looked at me. "You should see the look on your face."
"What look?"
She moved to the foot of the bed, propping a knee on it. She had
a playful smile on her face. "That look." She crawled to me and
pushed me onto my back and put her arms around my head and sat with
her hips on my tummy. And she looked mischievously into my face, hers
inches from mine as she held me captive.
She said, "Your eyes were screwing me."
"They were?"
"Yeah." She smoothed back my hair with one hand and let the hand
rest on the side of my face. She grinned into my face. "You have a
stupid grin on your face."
"So do you."
She raised her head and laughed, and looked down at me again.
"Steven, you're drunk."
"Not me."
"Yes. The minute I put that necklace on, this strange look came
into your face. Really." She looked down at the necklace hanging
just below her throat. "That's what this does to you?"
"Yeah."
Her voice softened. "That gets you hot?"
"Yeah. Sort of."
She looked at me, her eyes soft and playful. "Guys are so crazy."
"No we're not."
"Mm-hm." She touched my hair, looking at it, playing with it.
She whispered, "You can be really sexy, you know that?"
"Nah."
"Yes. Sometimes, Steven, you can be so very, very sexy. When
you're not blushing. When you're nekkid, nekkid as a jaybird. When
you're doin' it. When I was drawing you, I don't think I've ever --"
"Ever what?"
She gazed into my eyes. She stroked my cheek.
I said again, "Ever what?"
She whispered, "Nothing."
I said, "Unfair answer."
She said, "I don't really know what to say. I'll draw it."
"Okay."
We watched each other's eyes. I didn't have the slightest idea
what she was thinking. But she looked deeply into me, and at my mouth
and nose and hair. And I looked back at her face, and her expression
seemed so sweet, so searching, so pleased with what she was finding,
and I couldn't resist. I put my hand on the back of her head and
pulled her face to me gently, and I kissed her. A long, loving kiss.
And at first she seemed surprised, but her mouth settled onto mine,
her thin, soft, twenty-two-year-old mouth, and I used what I learned
from Anita and gently tongued her and sucked her inner lips with mine,
and then I took control of her mouth with mine again and kissed her
with a gentle firmness, and while we kissed I could feel her pussy on
my navel and it sent pressure to my cock, and I enjoyed her mouth for
a long, sumptuous moment. Then I let my head fall back.
She stared at me, only inches from my face. She said, "Steven.
Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
"Why does everybody ask me that?"
"Where did you learn to do that?"
I played with her hair. I said, "Your pussy's on my navel."
She laughed, out loud, her body jerking on mine. And she sighed
and grinned and said, "I know." She pressed her pussy against me, and
it was damp. "Feels good."
Martha came into the room and saw Ronnie on top of me. She stood
near the bed, gloriously naked, and put her hands on her hips. "Hmp.
So this is how you two carry on behind my back."
Ronnie looked up at Martha and grinned. "Hi. I'm fucking his
navel."
Martha shook her head. "That's pretty gross, Ron."
"Yeah, it is." She smiled at me and churned her pussy on my tummy
a little and asked, "Feel good?"
"Yeah. Do that when you're cumming and it'll feel great."
"Yeah? You know so many tricks. Where do you learn all those
tricks?"
"I think 'em up as I go."
Martha settled a knee onto the bed. "Hey, you two. Remember me?"
I looked up at Martha, and the sight of her and the feel of Ronnie
on me sent a shot of love and horniness through me that was so intoxi-
cating I felt drugged.
I rose, my arms still around Ronnie, and rolled her onto her back,
and she gave a little "Oops" and kept her arms around my head and let
me settle on top of her, opening her legs, and I settled on her with
my dick on her little patch. She lay under me, waiting.
Martha crawled across the bed and settled where Ronnie had been
before, half-leaning on the headboard and looking down on Ronnie and
me.
Martha said, "You up to spoiling Ronnie now?"
I said, "Yep," looking into Ronnie's eyes.
Ronnie looked back into my eyes, smiling, her fingers roaming in
my hair. She said, "Spoil the hell out of me."
I lowered my head and skimmed my lips slowly down her throat. She
turned her face aside, and I skimmed up. She breathed, "Ahhh. He
knows so many tricks."
The tendons along the side of her neck stuck out. I let my lips
enjoy the feel of her soft skin along its length.
Martha said to me, "Her skin feels nice, doesn't it?"
I whispered, "Yes."
"Ronnie has such nice skin." Martha ran a finger along Ronnie's
shoulder.
Ronnie chuckled and said, "He has such nice lips."
My lips found her necklace at her throat and I gave her soft
kisses along its curved length, from left to right. Ronnie lay en-
joying it, stroking my hair listlessly, her eyes closed.
Ronnie said, "Mm, so that's why he made me wear the necklace."
Martha kissed Ronnie's shoulder. "Necklace?"
"He wanted me to wear this. I put it on for him."
Martha looked at me, surprised. "You like that?"
I raised my head a little and said, "She looks very appetizing,
wearing that."
Ronnie turned her face to us again and said, "You should have seen
him. He looked drunk. I thought his eyes were melting out of his
head."
Martha leaned over me. "You know, you're very sensual tonight.
You were so sweet with me, and it you made it so nice." She bent down
and kissed my ear, and then my neck.
Blood went to my dick. I kissed one of Ronnie's nice tits and
began nipping at it, pinching with my lips a little, and her head
leaned away again to one side, and she breathed, "Mmmm."
And Martha's lips left me and she settled closer to Ronnie again
and put a kiss on the side of Ronnie's throat, and Ronnie said
sleepily, her eyes closed, "This feels so nice. It's so quiet and
dark. Very dark."
While I pleased Ronnie's body with my mouth I expected Martha to
do as Ronnie had done for her. But after skimming near Ronnie's
breasts, Martha leaned forward and started on me, her lips and hands
caressing my back. I spent a long time on Ronnie's body. She was
slow to arouse, which was just as well; Martha's pussy had drained me
too well. But for some reason I stayed hungry for Ronnie, hungry in a
way one wants a tasty, unhurried, meal. Patient work on her nipples
and my finger on her clit soon had her breathing hard, with long sighs
and fervent whispers that soon became whimpers and gasps. And Martha
was doing a similar job on me, surprising me with her lips on my butt
while her hand reached underneath and worked with my balls and cock.
But even then, I was not raging hard until Martha changed her position
on the bed, moving down and slithering between my legs and Ronnie's so
that she could torment my cock with her wonderful mouth, sucking
slowly for a while and then nipping wetly at my tip, and sucking
again. After several minutes of this treatment I was almost ready to
finish in Martha's mouth. But the sight of naked Ronnie, her head
thrown back as she heated up, eyes closed, teeth clenching when my
finger circled her clit and entered her and then withdrew to stroke
her clit again, and the sight of her neck tendons stretching under the
fragile necklace -- all of it had me wanting to bring her to a fever
pitch, to see her climax easily and quickly, and then I would finish
inside her, inside that unique, perfectly contoured pussy.
My lips and fingers searched her out, using every trick I knew she
enjoyed, and finding a few new ones. And after many minutes Ronnie
was arching her neck and holding her breath, and then whimpering with
excited little cries, and my finger's slow circles on her clit and the
gentle dipping into her had her small clit swollen and warm. My mouth
and hands brought her closer and closer, until she opened her eyes and
looked at me, pleading and gulping and whispering feverishly, "Go
inside me. Go in me." I looked at her eyes as I circled her clit,
watching the tempest rage in them, hearing the tension in her breath,
and she gulped again and her nails clenched my neck, and she whispered
desperately, "Don't let me cum this way," and I said, "I won't. It'll
be good, Ronnie," and I kept my eyes on her while I rose to mount her,
and Martha moved away as I settled between Ronnie's legs and I watched
her eyes and said, "It'll be good." As Martha moved upward beside us,
leaning over Ronnie and watching her intently, Ronnie's eyes watched
mine as I lowered my cock to her. Her hand slid down to guide me and
she gulped hard and whispered breathlessly "Yes" and she raised her
cunt to me and I slid in, grinning at her with the pleasure of the
snug, upward curve inside taking me in, and she exhaled a slow breath
as I went all the way in. I started fucking her, deep and slow, and
she was already on the edge of climax, holding her breath and watching
my eyes anxiously, and while I stroked inside her she whispered tense-
ly "Yes." After a few more strokes I felt her cervix start to suck
and I knew she wouldn't lose it this time, knew she was going all the
way, and then she gasped happily "Yes!" and her eyes widened for a
second, and then her eyes snapped shut and her head jerked forward and
she grimaced and came, came hard, and Martha whispered to her, "Yes,
honey. Yes." Quickly I leaned my head down and found the hollow
between her collar bone and neck and I sucked a love bite while she
came, and she jerked several times with sharp little groans, and her
fingernails on the back of my neck were doing some damage. But it
felt so good to have her cum so intensely, the bristle of her nails
digging into me starting the first glimmer of my own orgasm, and
Ronnie stiffened even more and whimpered faintly, "Little girl," and
again "Little girl..." I humped against her, buffing her clit with my
shaft the way I knew she liked it, and she finished with a rapid
twisting of her pelvis and exhaled a weary "Oohhh!" Her head fell
back and I raised my head and stopped moving. I watched her panting,
watched the little necklace on her rise and fall as she fought for
breath. And Martha smiled, watching her.
Ronnie opened her eyes again, looking up at me, her mouth open and
gulping air, her eyes loving. She moaned, "That was so good! So good
and so easy...Oh! Oh, look at me, I'm so wet," and she swept the back
of her hand across her shiny forehead and looked at the wet on her
hand, and she looked at me and smiled again, her face flushed bliss-
fully, her chest heaving. Then she coiled her arms around my neck and
pulled me down onto her sweaty chest and hugged me tight.
Martha chuckled when I groaned. She said, "Ronnie, he can't
breath."
Ronnie moaned against my neck, "I can't either!"
Martha sat up beside me and kissed my ear and said, "You two just
can't get out of the clench, can you?"
I raised higher on my arms, trying to get air as the breathless
Ronnie clung to me.
Martha began stroking and kissing my back. After a moment Martha
raised her face from my back and said, a little alarmed, "Ronnie.
Look what you did."
"What?" Ronnie asked, lifting her head from my shoulder.
"Did you do this? Or was it me?" I felt Martha's fingers on the
back of my neck.
"Do what?" Ronnie asked, trying to look over my shoulder.
"These scratches."
Ronnie pulled her upper torso up, holding me against her, and she
craned her neck over my shoulder and she gasped and said, "Oh, Steven!
God, you're bleeding! Oh my god," and she raised my head and looked
at my face and asked, shocked, "Was that me?"
I nodded yes, not caring one way or the other.
Ronnie said, frowning with contrition, "Oh, I'm sorry," and she
hugged me to her tightly and said, "I'm so sorry."
I said, "Come one, it's okay. It felt good."
Martha's lips whispered against my ears, amused, "You liked that?"
"Well, I wouldn't want to make it a regular feature of her tech-
nique."
Ronnie asked against my neck, "Does it hurt?"
I said impatiently, "No. It doesn't hurt."
Martha said, "Atta boy. Take it like a man."
Ronnie said, "That's what you get for torturing me."
"I didn't torture you."
"You did, you were driving me crazy." She hugged me tighter.
"Mmmm, but you were so nice about it."
Martha stretched her arm to the little table by the bed and yanked
a kleenex, and she sat up beside me and dabbed at the back of my neck.
She said, "Steven, it must have been very good, whatever you were
doing. A couple of these scratches...there. You were bleeding."
Ronnie moaned, "Oh," and she raised my face above hers again and
pouted, and she said sweetly, "I'm sorry. Really."
I looked down at her, seeing her breathless and sweaty and
noticing a whiff of her humid scent. I said, "But I did make your
little girl cum."
"My little girl?"
"When you came, you kept saying something about little girl,
little girl."
"I did?" She blushed. "God, I said that out loud?"
Martha settled beside us and said, "You were babbling, Ronnie."
Ronnie blushed again, wiping sweat from her temples. "Oh, no.
Was I silly? Martha, did I get silly?"
Martha said softly, "No, hon. It was very exciting. Hearing you
talk that way almost got me started again."
Ronnie said, "Well, I did feel for a second there, I was going off
the deep end. Just for a second." She sighed with a little "Whew!"
She looked up at me and wiped sweat from my eyebrows. "And how about
you? Did I make your little boy cum?"
I shook my head no, smiling.
"Oh," she said. She smiled naughtily and said softly, "Well,
you're still pretty big in there. Now's your chance."
I took in a breath and said resolutely, "Yes," and I sat up onto
my heels, my hard cock slipping out of her, and grabbed one of her
legs and held it raised in the crook of my arm. Ronnie looked up at
me, taken aback, and as I reached to lift the other thigh, Martha
said, "Uh-oh. Ronnie, I think he means business."
"What's this?" Ronnie asked, her mouth open in mild shock as I
leaned onto my arms again, Ronnie's legs propped high, draped over my
elbows, her knees near my shoulders.
I looked her in the eye and whispered, "Little boy's getting ready
to cum," and I looked down and aimed at her cunt, missing, and she
reached down and led my tip to her slit, and I went in about halfway
and slid back and forth a few times, enjoying the sticky cling of her
pliable outer lips on my root, and Ronnie smirked up at me and put her
hands on my shoulders and teased me, "Another one of your tricks?" and
I whispered "Yeah" and pushed in, deeper and deeper, and Ronnie's eyes
closed and she whispered, "Oh. Oh!"
I starting fucking, pulling back about halfway and then all the
way back in, into that narrow tapering deep inside her, that little
nook of a vacuum that seemed just in front of her cervix, and I could
feel it better with her legs raised and her pussy angled that way.
She was wonderfully wet and hugging along my entire length, and she
watched my face with that calm, relaxed expression of hers that seemed
so incongruous with the humid glaze in her eyes, and she whispered,
"Good...That's good."
I said, fucking slow and steady, "Ever do it this way?"
"Yeah, but I was being pounded to death. So much better this way.
Nice and easy. And deep. It's so deep."
I whispered shakily, "Yeah, it is. Ahhhh. Ah, you feel good."
Then Martha's lips were near my ear, kissing, her hand floating
down my back. And she started whispering, her voice beguilingly lewd,
whispering the dirty words and phrases she used when we fucked,
whispering "Does her pussy feel good that way?" and "Is Ronnie's pussy
making my nasty little boy feel good?" And I thought: Uh-oh, Martha's
gonna start the eerie, lewd talk again. I could hear it in her voice.
I hoped it wouldn't make me crazy. I'd scare the hell out of Ronnie
if Martha made me crazy. And Martha went on, kissing my neck and ears
and whispering, "It looks so dirty, fucking her that way." And while
Martha whispered, her hand crept over my behind, and underneath,
toward my balls. And Ronnie watched my face, smiling, and said, "You
two are so crazy." She put a hand against my face. "Does that get you
hot, talking like that?" And I gulped, and panted "Yeah," and Ronnie
said, "Teach me to talk to you like that." I grinned, breathing hard,
starting to fuck slower and staying deep longer, "Too busy right now."
And Ronnie grinned back, her breasts jiggling with a little laugh, and
she said, "Then let's see if I can make it better," and her hand crept
down my tummy and two fingertips cradled my root, and she whispered,
"Let's make it better for our dirty boy." And Ronnie saw my eyes and
face tense and she smiled up at me and she tightened her pussy inside
and while she watched me her smile grew more knowingly sensuous. And
I groaned and shut my eyes, and the orgasm crept up, up, infuriatingly
slow, and Ronnie whispered, "Cum for little Veronica, dirty boy.
Little Veronica wants your cum." And oh shit it was too damn much,
both of them at me at once again, and Martha's fingers were pressing
the muscles under my sack that were swelling with the pressure. The
two women and their deliciously provocative voices had me making
strange noises, muted, strained, bearish grunts, animalistic and
greedy, and then the first gush, and the awesome pleasure, and my gut
went crazy and the squirts began, and Ronnie's lower wall hugged my
cock and I shut my eyes and my brain could focus only my cock in her
and I thought oh damn she's so sweet and soft and tight in there, and
my twice-emptied balls ached with the effort to get the last out of
me. The squirts were thin but the pleasure sharp, the spasms
wrenching, and under me I heard Ronnie whisper a savory, "Yeahhhh."
And I finally let my head drop, my wet forehead on her chest as my
fatigued hips slowed. It had been good and my sack felt drained.
Ronnie kissed my shoulder as I struggled to breath, and Martha nestled
close to me and laid her face on my back and caressed my shaking arm.
I let my body settle atop Ronnie's with a low "Mmmm!" Then I rested,
my lips against the flesh of her shoulder. I felt Ronnie pushing hair
from her face, her warm, sleek, sweaty cheek feeling good next to
mine, and she sighed, wearily, "God!"
While I recovered they babied me with hugs and kisses and soft
stroking, both of them giggling now and then.
Ronnie said, "Martha, it gets a little crazier every time."
Martha said, "And better."
Ronnie hugged me and said, "Yes. It gets better. And easier."
She rubbed my shoulder and asked me, "Hey. You like the way I talk?"
Too tired to speak, I nodded yes against her shoulder.
Martha said, "Ronnie, you surprised me. You sounded so lewd. I
was surprised."
Surprised and pleased with herself, Ronnie chuckled close to my
ear and said, "Hey, I liked that. That's so hot, making you crazy
like that."
Then my softened cock slipped out of Ronnie, and she jerked and
looked at my face. She said, "Uh-oh. Guess what?"
I said, "Yes, I know," and I rose onto my arms, knowing that I had
made a deposit inside her, knowing she'd have to get to the bathroom,
and wishing I could just hold her for a while after such good loving.
Ronnie touched a finger to my lips and said, "Now, don't you go
away til I get back." She slid from under me, grabbing a kleenex to
hold at her crotch. She said, "C'mon, Martha."
Martha followed her into the bathroom. I lay waiting, hearing
water in the bathroom and more talking. I felt like holding someone,
holding flesh close to me, hearing soft whispers in my ear. I needed
something else. More.
After a couple of minutes Martha came into the bedroom alone and
she crawled onto the bed and leaned over me. She said, "Hon? It's
getting late. We'd better get dressed and get upstairs."
I looked up at her, saying nothing. She looked so beautiful.
She said, "What's the matter?"
I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell someone I
loved them, but I didn't want saying it to cause an atomic disaster.
She leaned closer, her breasts touching mine. "Hey. Something
wrong?"
I reached up to placed my hands on her shoulders, and I pulled her
down to me and held her, and she chuckled and hugged me. Then I
rolled over and she was under me and I embraced her, snuggling into
her neck and kissing her shoulder, and just holding her.
I felt her arms going around me, and she snuggled her face against
mine. I kissed her neck, and she hugged me and kissed mine.
She whispered, "Well. What's all this?" And her whisper sounded
like a mother's whisper and like a lover's whisper. There was no
sexuality in it. I wanted to be romantic, say the kinds of sweet
somethings I'd said to Anita. That would be impossible.
I said, "Just saying thanks. For tonight."
"Oh," She caressed the back of my neck, careful with the scratch-
es from Ronnie. She said, "That was good, hon."
Well, I thought to myself, that wasn't the totality of what I felt
I needed to hear.
PART 15C:
During the week, Ronnie set me up with two posing assignments.
They went well, although I found myself very restless while trying to
hold a single pose for more than fifteen minutes. I posed twice for
the same artist, a middle-aged woman in Greenwich Village whose
apartment walls were literally flooded with drawings, paintings, and
photographs by herself and others. She seemed quite pleased with me,
and she gave me some pointers on how to promote myself and register
with various services. I didn't tell her I wasn't quite sixteen years
old yet.
I saw Anita a couple of times at Fiore's, and recognized a couple
of her friends there. One of them asked me out for a snack after the
workout, but I politely declined. I was not in a mood for superficial
socializing. I began to recognize this withdrawal as a habit of mine,
and not a very constructive one. Somehow I was getting into another
funk, a slow downward mood slide. Although I was still attentive to
Martha and Ronnie, I was less talkative, and definitely less frolic-
some with Ronnie at lunch on Tuesday.
As Ronnie dug into her food Tuesday I gazed out the window,
chewing slowly and absently.
Ronnie said, "Hey, you. Knock knock."
I turned to her.
She wiped her lips with her napkin. "Remember me?"
I said, "Sorry. I was thinking."
"Mm, Steven's thinking. I've always wondered what goes on in that
strange little mind of yours. Come on. Tell Aunt Ronnie."
I said dryly, "Aunt Ronnie would be bored to death."
"Oh, I don't know. I know I kid around a lot and talk people's
head off. But Martha knows I can be a serious listener." She lifted
her glass to her lips. "And I'm sure you don't have any aunts back
home like me that you could talk to."
I smiled. "No aunts at home like you, period." I stretched my
arms and straightened up in my chair. "Just tired, I guess."
"These things go in cycles, you know? The moon. Natural body
rhythms. Ever have anybody do your horoscope?"
"Horoscope? You mean astrology, planets and all that?"
"Yeah."
"You know about that?"
"Oh, Ronnie knows everything about all the stuff nobody wants to
know about. My former lunch buddy taught me all about it. She even
left her astrology library with me when she moved out. But she's the
only one who ever showed any interest. Most people just get bored
when I mention it."
But the subject stirred my interest. I asked her about astrology
and what it entailed, but Ronnie didn't want to get into a lot of
detail over lunch.
I asked, "Martha doesn't talk about this with you?"
Ronnie said, "Oh, she just laughs. But Martha, you know, believes
she's reincarnated. She ever mention that?"
I remembered a time when Martha and I were in the Memphis State
library and Martha had shown me the photograph of the mother and child
in the National Geographic. I said, "Yeah, she did. A long time ago."
Ronnie nodded, chewing another mouthful. She said, "She has this
sacrificial parent thing." Suddenly her eyes popped open and she said
"Mm!' and swallowed and wiped her lips. She said excitedly, "Hey, I
could do your horoscope, and you and Martha together, and you and me
together! God, why didn't I think of that before?"
"Yeah? You can do a horoscope for two people at once?"
"Sure. The call it synastry."
"Sounds pretty technical."
"Well, there's a lot of math. That's the part that gets me, the
math. I'm such a klutz with that."
"I could do that part."
"Really? You'd help me with it?" She stopped and said, "Oh, but
it takes forever. All those numbers."
"I could buy a calculator."
"No, don't spend your money on that. Mmm, I could borrow one from
the office. Just for a day, they wouldn't miss it. It's just one of
these new Japanese calculating machines, you plug it in the wall. You
saw my television set, so you know how creative I am with electronics."
I said, "Get the calculator and I'll work up the figures."
"Hey, that's great. You can pose for me tomorrow, if you still
want to, and then we can work on the charts." She dabbed at her food
with her fork. "You're serious, right? You're not just humoring your
crazy Aunt Ronnie."
"No. I'd like to see what it's about."
She chewed and said with her mouth half full, "Hey, aren't you
gonna eat?"
I looked down at my food and joked, "Don't say eat to somebody
who's always horny."
She held back a laugh, her mouth still full. She wiped her lips
and swallowed and eyed me naughtily. "That's amazing, I was just
thinking the same thing." She swallowed again and said, "I really like
the way you eat me. You treat me like a really nice meal."
I blushed, and quickly looked around.
Ronnie grinned and said, "No one's listening. This time, I looked
first." She stuck her fork into her food. "Steven, when are you
going to stop being so embarrassed about sex?"
Tuesday evening, while Martha worked on papers in the dining room,
I called Anita at her home. We stayed on the phone for almost an
hour. It was a difficult conversation. I knew Martha could hear
everything I said, so I kept things very tame. We talked mostly about
the reading I would perform on Saturday and my "illustrious theater
experience" to date.
I said over the phone, trying very hard to sound casual and sneak-
ing a look at Martha to see if she were consciously listening, "So what
happens in your life after Saturday? You, uh, have any plans for the
week after? I'll be around all week, every day."
Anita said, "Oh, but I can't make plans for anything after Satur-
day."
"Really? You're that busy?"
Anita's end of the line was quiet for a moment before she said,
"Well...I didn't tell you yet. I guess I was avoiding it, but now...
I guess I have to tell you. I was going to wait until Saturday."
"Wait for what?"
Anita paused again and said, "I'm leaving. I'm going to Cali-
fornia."
"Oh. California."
"Yes. I start my freshman year in a few weeks."
"Oh." It began to sink in. A whole group of New York fantasies
fell to pieces at once. I was hoping for something outrageous to
develop before I returned to Memphis in three weeks. Three weeks!
Now I had only a few days with Anita!
Anita said, "Steven, I've been very selfish. I should have told
you. But I've been having such a good time. Now I've...now I've
probably ruined it for you. I told you I had a selfish streak."
"So. What we have left is Saturday."
"Yes. Unless you'd like to meet me Friday for lunch."
"That would be okay."
Anita said, "I'm sorry. It's not much, is it?"
I said, trying to be noble about everything, "Lunch with
you would mean more than just a 'not much'." I glanced at Martha
quickly, to see if she had overheard that one. Apparently, she hadn't.
Anita said, "No, no, don't be so sweet. I was selfish. I was
going to wait for Saturday to tell you, and that wasn't fair."
I said, "Well, lunch will be fine. And Saturday, well, we'll just
have to make the most of it."
She paused on the line again and said softly, "Yes. Saturday.
Perhaps I can make up for not telling you. I'll try."
We set the plans for Friday and Saturday before I hung up. I sat
on the sofa in a slump, staring dully out the window. There went the
main fantasy that had been driving all the others. I felt deflated.
And thinking about Memphis was making me angry again. The day was
August 13th. I was would be returning to Memphis September 9th, with
one half day to get ready for school.
Martha asked from the dining room, "What's the matter?"
I muttered, "Nothing."
Martha said offhandedly, "I don't believe you."
I stood up and sighed. I said contemptuously, "Memphis."
Martha looked up from her papers and put the top on her ink pen
and set the papers aside. She said quietly, "I know."
A little later that night, Martha slid into bed as I lay facing
the window, listening to distant sounds of the city beyond the curtain
and the small fan that whirred on the sill. I felt Martha snuggle
against my back.
"Hon?"
"Yes?"
"How was your talk with Anita? You were nearly an hour on the
telephone."
"Eh, okay."
"How's it going with her?"
"Fine."
She put her lips near my ear and ran a finger down my temple. She
whispered, "You're hiding, Steven."
"No, no, just...setting up getting together with her this week."
She paused, her finger playing in my air. She cleared her throat.
"Well, you can hide from me but I'm not going to hide from you.
Steven, I'm very concerned about what you'll do when you go home."
I turned my head to look at her. She watched her finger as it
toyed in my hair. I asked, "Do?"
She said, "I won't be there."
I kept looking at her, silently, and she put one hand on my cheek
and lowered her lips to my arm, and kissed it, and she said, her eyes
down, "Promise me you won't become what you were when you came here.
Promise you won't let them do that to you. Promise me you'll keep
working hard, and get scholarships or whatever you can get, and earn
your way out of there. You know I'd help you if I could. But I..."
She swallowed hard. She whispered, "I can't, Steven. I wish I could."
I said, "I promise."
"Promise you'll fight. Fight hard. Promise you won't stay
there."
"Okay."
"Don't say okay if you don't mean okay."
"I promise."
"Good." She kissed my arm and then raised her face and kissed my
cheek, and said, "Good."
She rolled onto her side, away from me, saying "Good night, hon."
I looked at her, at her smooth back covered by the pajama top, at her
hips half covered by them and the round flesh of her beautiful, curvy
tush, and her ballerina's legs half-folded. Even her feet were
gorgeous. Her calves. Her ankles.
I said, "Martha?"
"Hm?"
"It's a little late. If we do it, you'll have to go into the
bathroom again and clean up."
She lifted her head and said, "Yes. But It'll be dangerous again
in a couple of days. Now's a good time."
I rose to get closer to her and she rolled toward me and she held
my face with one hand and molded her body against mine and gave me a
loving kiss. And it remained loving and quiet while I kissed her
breasts and fingerfucked her and she got me hard with her hand.
Neither of us spoke while we prepared each other with our hands and
lips, and I found she was wet and ready quickly. Within a short time
I embraced her, her face sultry with longing. With my head on her
shoulder I entered her, and her hands gripped my waist and she mashed
her mouth against my shoulder, whimpering pleasurably. It was swift,
bittersweet, and she came with her legs around me, gasping fitfully
against my neck. When I spurted, her inner muscles milked me, her
mouth ravishing my neck with wet kisses and hot whispers, then she
used her hand to extract my last drops when I stopped moving.
After nearly ten years of knowing one another, we finally had the
sexual mechanics tuned nearly to perfection. Now emotional issues
began to come to the fore. We had spoken little during sex, yet as I
held Martha and rested, I began noticing clues from her: less talk and
technique, more emotionalism in her responses. It was a subtle
change, but I felt sure it was there. I suspected that perhaps she
felt Memphis approaching as acutely as I did.
While she was in the bathroom I lay gazing toward the window.
Three weeks.
PART 15D:
Ronnie said to me as I sat nude on a three-legged stool and she
started drawing, "Martha won't let me draw her, you know."
I asked "Why not?"
"She sat for me about the time we first met. When we were room-
mates. And she had such a classic, gorgeous figure, I told her she
just had to pose nude for me, just *had* to. Or in a swim suit or
something."
"She wouldn't?"
Ronnie sighed, erasing something. "No."
I said, trying to balance myself with one foot on the floor and my
other foot on the lower braces of the stool, "But she's nude on the
beach."
"Well, that's different. That's public."
"But I thought you came back from the beach and gave each other
rubdowns with the lotion. To keep from peeling."
Ronnie grinned, her eyes on her drawing. "In our bathing suits.
Tops down, of course. But in suits." She worked for a minute and
said, "But it's just as well. Even dressed, she was so restless. She
couldn't hold a pose for more than ten minutes, and she just talked
and talked. And it was so funny, she kept rearranging everything in
the room, bitching about the clutter. I guess she did me a favor. I
couldn't find anything until she straightened up in here."
She had me change poses. We were in her living room this time. I
had helped her move her drawing equipment and the little sofa out of
the bedroom.
She said as she started working with the new position, "You're
doing real well. I've touched you several times, and no sign of
trouble. Very good, Steven."
"Sunday night helped."
"Yes, that was nice, wasn't it? The sight of you and Martha
just..." She stopped, blushing again. "I'd better shut my mouth."
She opened a new box of charcoals and said, "We'll cut this a little
short today, and you can help me with the math on those charts. I
borrowed the electric calculator from the office."
Ronnie's very mention of Sunday night brought back a stream of
memories of having sex with her. I wondered if she'd introduced the
subject on purpose. But she kept working for another half hour,
saying nothing, working faster and faster as she went along. I
managed to avoid developing a boner. Since the time I met Anita, I
had True Love on my mind, displacing raw sex as a priority. But, as
usual, the more I was around Ronnie the more she appealed to me. Now
I held my pose, thinking of her as a lover instead of as Martha's
partner. And she did have a pretty face that seemed prettier every
time I looked at her. She wore a fluffy full skirt and loafers, and
an oversized white shirt with the sleeves rolled, top buttons care-
lessly undone, and the back of the collar was turned up in the fashion
of those days. And her face looked so womanly, but in those clothes
she looked girlish.
Ronnie glanced at me and stopped working. She looked it over,
gave a tired sigh, and said, "Time to stop, I guess. And you're
starting to do that with your eyes again."
"I was?"
She smirked and rose to her feet. "I saw you."
In the living room Ronnie showed me the numbers she needed for
calculating the horoscope charts. I had the heard the story of my
birth from so many relatives so many times that I happened to know my
time of birth as 9:30 at night. Ronnie said the birth time was
extremely important in building the charts. She showed me a book of
tables that indicated my birth time as War Time, so she had to convert
that time to several other versions. I was surprised to find that it
was all more complex than popular astrology books had led me to
believe. I got involved with the electronic calculator, which I had
never seen before. It turned out to be a dandy machine, though I was
disappointed that the small, roll-out prints were so dim and difficult
to read. When the numbers were finished, Ronnie worked with them to
look up planets and other points in a coupleig books while I kept
playing with the calculator. It occurred to me that machines like
these were the wave of the future; if I could learn about them,
that knowledge could be my ticket to New York.
We were sitting on her living room sofa when she finished drawing
the charts. She had a manila envelope that contained other charts she
had done, and she took out hers and Martha's and placed them with mine
on the coffee table before us. "Here's the chart of your birth. Now,
let's see..." She looked it over quickly, and muttered wondrously,
"God, you have so much in your eighth house." She pointed to it on
the chart. "That's your 8th house.
I said, "But there's only one planet in there."
"Yes. Pluto. But every planet in the chart points at it. It
points by aspect. See? These planets are sixty degrees from it,
these two are sixty degrees. And the sun and moon even aspect it,
from your fifth. Oh, and look at this Venus, this Venus in your
fourth house. It trines Pluto. Mm, no wonder you're so good in bed."
"It says that?"
She nodded. "Martha has a lot of the same thing in her chart. But
so many of hers are squares." She kept looking, her eyes quickly
skimming, and she pointed at the planet Venus at the bottom of the
chart. "Oh, look. Venus trines the Ascendant. It's an exact aspect.
That's where your ideal physical proportions come from. And that soft
look that you have about you, that sort of, mmm, that sensitive look
in your eyes. And there's Neptune, in your tenth. Oh, my, there's so
much here. So much creativity. And stubbornness. You're not so
aggressive physically, you're much more aggressive in your emotional
nature. Very sensual."
She told me more, and it was getting to be a revelation.
I asked her, thinking ahead again, "Can people make money doing
this?"
"Of course! People do. But it takes lots of experience."
Then she performed the neat trick of comparing her chart to mine.
She was a Pisces, and the moment she held the charts side by side she
couldn't seem to take her eyes off it. She breathed, "Oh, Steven.
Sweetheart, I don't believe this comparison."
"Something wrong with it?"
"Oh no, it's...it's such a surprise. Some of what I see here, I
know about. I've experienced it with you. You see here, the playing,
the friendship. But this and this, Mars trine the Moon, and all this
with Venus and Neptune..." She ran a finger slowly up the chart, into
the large center circle, and her finger touched the symbol for Saturn.
She muttered, "But this Saturn here..."
"Well, what does that mean?"
"It's so...soooo complex. God, it's complicated." She straight-
ened up from her absorbed position of bending over the coffee table,
and she took a deep breath. "Oh, it's much too complicated right now.
I'll have to look at this."
"Ronnie, don't do that. You get me started and then drive me
crazy."
She laughed, "Oh, don't worry about it, I'm not sure what it means
yet. I have to look at it some more." She got her pack of cigarettes
off the coffee table and shook one out of the pack and lit it with her
lighter. She laughed, "Don't look so worried. It's not bad."
She lifted up a little and lounged back into the corner of the
sofa, her back and head against the arm, and took another drag off her
cigarette. She smiled at me. "It's just astrology, for godssake."
"What about the chart with me and Martha?"
"I'll have to figure that one. This is enough for one day, any-
way. All this work is wearing me out." She stretched, closing her
eyes and taking a deep breath, looking very sexy in that shirt with
the undone collar, and her skirt covering her folded legs.
I sat on the edge of the sofa, near her hips. She rested slightly
on her side, her length along the sofa and her legs half-folded behind
me. I said, "So...how long would it take for someone to learn how to
do this for cash?"
"Someone? You mean you?"
"Anyone."
She took another drag and she gave a low, sexy chuckle that, the
more I got to know her, was a trademark of her easy manner. She said,
"Steven, you're so ambitious."
"Thank you. How long would it take."
"Years."
"Years?"
"Mm, it takes a long time. You need a lot of experience with it."
I repeated gloomily. "Years."
She added frankly, "And age, Steven. Years of studying other
people. Relationships. And studying yourself.
I looked at her, propping an elbow on my knees and leaning on my
hand. "So why don't you do this for money?"
"Don't want to. I want to draw. And fill my books with fantasies
and dreams. And maybe, someday, I'll get paid for some of those,
too." She reached out and flicked her cigarette on the ash tray on
the coffee table. She leaned back at me again and put one arm behind
her head. "You would be good at that. There's fantasy all over your
chart. The theater's a good place for you, it's no wonder you ended
up there."
"Not lately. Not much theater work in the grocery business. Or
pitching the morning newspapers."
"Oh, you'll get back to it. And you'll love it and you'll work
hard. You're a very hard worker, very determined. You have very
strong emotions, and you want to give them a physical form. That's
what all creative people do. They don't just feel their emotions,
they have to give them form. Pictures. Poems. Films. Very powerful
emotions. Very primitive. You and I have that in common,"
I grinned at her. "You know that from this chart?"
"Sure. We have a lot in common, you and I. Fantasy. Dreams.
Primitive dreams, loaded with symbols. Violent, sometimes. Dreams of
dying, somehow, of floating in a vast place, out of control."
I looked at her. "How did you know that?"
"From the chart. And just knowing you." Her voice lowered. "Some
of your dreams are prophetic. They seem symbolic and mysterious, but
somehow, in some way, they come true. They're visions of things on
their way, things...things that are part of your purpose in coming to
this life. Lessons you will learn."
I looked at her, wondering if she were serious.
She said, "It's all theory, of course. The idea that we've come
into life with a purpose, a scheme so deeply imbedded in our psyche
that we aren't aware of it. Karma. Multiple lives. All unproven.
So, doubt it if you want. Take it with a grain of salt. I'm only
telling you what the books say about your Neptune."
I didn't say anything.
She said, "Our charts share a strong fantasy nature. A compulsive
sexuality. Some of that's no news, Right? But when I hear you and
Martha talk...and when I saw what certain kinds of talk does to you, I
found that in your chart right away."
"Don't most people have those same feelings?"
Ronnie smiled. "I knew you'd say that. Everyone says that. But
the truth is, everyone doesn't feel the same way. And those who do,
express it differently. Not everyone has a fiery temper. Or the same
sexual preferences." She dragged on her cigarette, and she exhaled
and glanced toward the charts on the table. She said, "Hand me those
three charts, hm? Yours and mine, and that's Martha's in the corner
there. Gimme all three." I handed her the charts, and she spread
them apart, overlapping across her skirted lap as she reclined along
the sofa's length.
She muttered, "Mm, let's see," and she took a drag and said, "Mars
in Cancer. Very caring, Steven. Nurturing. But so untrusting. And
Neptune on the midheaven. Mmmm. So creative. And too idealistic for
your own good. I know about that one, myself. Very familiar with
that."
With the cigarette, she pointed to Pluto on my chart. She spoke
more softly, solemnly. "This is your darkness. It's in a wonderful
position. It has all good aspects, so you're not the violent,
ruthless Plutonic type. You're very aware of your darkness, very
secretive about it. You understand that it separates you from most
people. But you use your darkness to bring light. There's great pain
in doing that, Steven. It's a dark night, and a long journey.
Pluto's journey, they say, is through the dark night of the soul."
She took another drag and blew it out while she glanced at another
part of the chart. "Neptune and Pluto. Venus and Pluto. The Moon
and Sun and Pluto...God, every planet in this chart points to it. So
much like mine, except Neptune is more prominent in mine. But in
yours, you seem...soft and powerless sometimes. You're very gentle,
Steven. A very loving sensuality, but intense. And inside, you have
a secret. You have somewhere inside you, something made of steel.
Lonely. Self sufficient. Indestructible. You'll realize, some day,
that you know how to take what others have rejected or destroyed, and
make it beautiful again. You know how to rise from the ashes."
I stared at her, speechless and fascinated.
She went on, her fingers roaming from place to place on the chart.
"And here, another side of you. There's an outlaw here. A rebel. A
loner. The all or nothing type. And god, so intense, all this hidden
intensity. Overly sensitive, though, so you keep it a secret. Loss
of the mother and father -- Yes, I have that in mine. Alienation and
then passion, and..."
She stopped, gazing again at my chart. and she smiled dimly and
sighed. "I think that's enough of this for now. Maybe too much."
I said, "Ronnie...this stuff is much more than handsome strangers
and black cats at midnight."
She took a puff and said, "No. It's not tea leaves, honey." She
picked up her chart and laid it onto mine. Her voice was still
somber. She said, "I have this same Pluto. But not like yours.
Yours is very strong." Then she laid Martha's chart atop hers and
mine. "And Martha, too. But hers is driven. Darker forces, but more
masterful. And oh so fiery. Martha has so much Earth and Fire.
Fanatical in her needs and beliefs. I hope she succeeds one day.
She'll die if she doesn't."
She cleared her throat and stretched her arm toward the coffee
table and let the charts drop. "Well...Thanks for helping with the
numbers." She relaxed cozily into the corner of the sofa again, one
arm behind her head. "I'll go over Martha's sometime. And over yours
again, if I haven't scared the hell out of you already."
I blushed. "You're very talented. I'm starting to feel a little
naked."
"Well, you were naked, a while ago." We laughed, and she said
confidentially, as she leaned to her left and crushed her cigarette in
the ash tray, "And your eyes had me feeling a little naked, too, for a
minute there."
I said, "Oh. Sorry."
"Oh, don't be sorry. It's just an effect we have on each other.
It's chemistry. It's very unique." She leaned back on the sofa again
and put both hands behind her head. She said, "Not everyone would
think so, I guess, but I think you're very seductive."
I didn't say anything. She looked at me, her dark eyes studying
again, intimate, almost playing. She said, "Steven...have you ever
seduced anyone?"
I gulped, shaking my head, and blushed.
She teased, "Have you?"
"I don't remember."
She gave me a mildly scolding look. "I'll bet."
"No, I didn't. Not really."
"Ever see that movie, 'Tea and Sympathy'?"
"Yeah, I saw it."
"Me too. And the play in New York. What'd you think of it?"
"Kinda sappy."
"Yeah. Yeah, it was. Really overdone." She looked at me for
another moment. "Did you seduce Martha, or did she seduce you?"
"I think...we both did it together."
"But somebody made the first move."
I thought. "I don't remember."
She smiled, gently mocking, "I'll bet you're not kidding about
never seducing a girl. I'll bet someone else has almost always made
the first move. I think you were raised that way, with every move and
every word pre-judged. Until you had to think about everything you
did before you did it. And almost always ended up saying no to
yourself."
"Think so?"
"Sure."
"That's in the chart, too?"
She stretched a little, arching her chest, and relaxed. "Some of
it. Some, I know from Martha. She's told me a lot about how you two
grew up. And a lot on the train that day at the beach."
"I wondered what you two were talking about for so long."
Ronnie shook her head no. "You were asleep then. Napping. But
anyway, I also knew how you grew up because I grew up the same way."
She stretched again, and leaned back against her hands, and closed her
eyes. She said, her voice growing softer. "And like me, you have
many fantasies. But you're so-o-o secretive about them. Much more
secretive than Martha or me. Saturn in your chart says you're very
ashamed of having them. But you'll get over that. I did." She
yawned, a big, open mouthed one, holding her hand over her mouth, and
then putting her arm behind her head again. "Sorry. All this think-
ing makes me so tired. Thinking about all those many, many fantasies
I have. Books and books of them. I have this very Neptunian fantasy,
that someone with eyes like yours would seduce me. We'd be in some
quiet place, and we'd talk. And he'd be very nice to me. He wouldn't
be trying out his bag of tricks on me. He wouldn't be screwing around
with my mind. He'd just like me. And he'd seduce me. We'd seduce
each other. It would all be gauzy, dreamy, luscious pleasure. It
would all be very lovely, and next day we'd go our merry way. And I'd
have that fantasy out of my mind forever. It wouldn't own me any
more." She yawned again. "Yeah, right. That one comes out of every
issue of Redbook magazine."
I said, "But that must have happened to you many times."
"Hmp. You really think that? How could you think that?"
"Because you're so pretty."
She grinned, looking at me. "Steven. You were raised in the
Catholic Church just like I was. Don't you know lying's a sin? Two
thousand years in purgatory."
"But you are pretty. I wish I had a camera and knew how to use
it. I'd take a whole portfolio of you, you know, soft, hazy colors so
your eyes would leap off the page. And even Martha's jealous of your
figure."
"Tch, tch. Steven. That one'll have you burning in hell."
"It's true. She told me."
"Go on." She closed her eyes again. "Martha's the one with the
figure. And that model who lives on the first floor, the one we
hardly ever see. She's gorgeous."
"Yeah, I saw her once, leaving the building. Looks great. But it
doesn't get much farther than that."
"Yeah, right."
"Not with me. I'd be more interested in someone I could really
talk to. Like what we did today, with astrology. And I'd prefer
someone who does really good work, like you do. You're nice to watch
while you're working. I think you let go and forget yourself, and you
seem so happy doing it. And you're so good at it. I think that's
sexier than all the makeup and the glamour..."
She smiled. "Mmm, that's sounds so nice."
I gestured toward the charts. "And you have all kinds of talent.
Look at the way you read those charts. You could make a fortune doing
that."
"I don't think you understand that most people would be shocked
out of their underwear to hear the things I told you."
"Yeah, but we...you could give me the interpretations, or I could
learn them. And we could doctor the whole message. You know? We
could split the money from that, fifty-fifty."
She chuckled, shaking her head, "Right. And if we split it,
neither of us would have enough to live on." She eyed me curiously.
"What are you up to, Steven?"
I avoided her eyes, looking at the charts on the table. I
shrugged. "Just...a fantasy of my own, I guess."
She looked at me with a gently censuring frown. "Steven, don't do
what Martha and I did. I think I know what you're getting at. But
New York is so much, so much, and you have so little to work with
right now."
"You seem to have done okay."
"Okay? You have no idea what Martha and I had to do to stay here,
just to stay alive here. You call this little joint I live in okay?
When I was grubbing my way through college, anything would do. But
this is no way to live in a place like New York. You burn up all
summer, you freeze all winter. The pipes freeze, parts fall out of
the oven and the refrigerator. The windows leak, the paint's falling
off the walls. And I didn't too well in the personal area, honey. I
went from one disaster to another, just for a place to sleep. First
time in my life I found myself thinking how nice it would be to sleep
alone. And then you have that attitude that New York injects into
your head. The pace here, the way of life, it makes it seem that
anything's possible. But it never quite seems to happen.
I looked down at the floor, sighing. "But I thought that's the
price that had to be paid, on your way up."
"Yeah, right. On your way up to where? Sounds like the old
Hollywood success story at first, but it's not. Look at the price
Martha's paying. She has so many advanced ideas. But there's no
market for them at Columbia. All they do is make her miserable." She
looked at me and said sarcastically, "I'm sure that's not what you
wanted to hear your Aunt Ronnie say."
"Well. I thought there might be a way, though."
"There is. Get yourself a good degree. Then get a good advanced
degree. And then some real experience, whatever you go into. Come
here with more ammunition than Martha and I came with. It's not so
much that you might have to be broke for a while, Steven. It's being
pushed around that's hard to live with, not just the rent."
She stopped, glancing at her wristwatch. "And speak of the devil,
Martha oughtta be home soon. Aren't you two going somewhere tonight?"
I stood up. "No, I have to rehearse for my big performance Satur-
day night. But I do have to fix dinner for Martha."
Ronnie stretched again in the sofa, looking like a tempting little
pussycat. "God, he cooks, too."
It was after dinner that I got a call from Anita, who told me
about the conference room where the theater club would be holding
their gathering on Saturday. She asked if I'd like to have a look at
the place. When I said it would be helpful she asked me, "You remember
Chris? You met him Saturday night. He's the guy who just finished
his first year at LSU."
"Yeah, I remember him."
"Chris is an old friend of mine in the club, he lives near me.
Tell you what, I won't be around Thursday, I'm spending the afternoon
with my godfather. But if you can meet me and Chris at my building,
he can show you around."
Not only was that a practical idea, but I thought it would be a
good chance to see Anita, if only for a few minutes. Then, a few
minutes after Anita hung up, Chris gave me a call and said he'd meet
Anita and me at her building at one o'clock Thursday.
This all lent an air of import to the reading I'd been working on
all week. At bedtime I was kneeling on the floor in front of Martha's
tiny coffee table, re-typing my edited version of the selection from
'The Sound and the Fury'. I knew the entire chapter of the book was
too long for the reading, but I was dissatisfied with my edited ver-
sion. While I worked on it, Martha cleaned up her pile of books and
papers in the dining room and sat behind me on the sofa. After a
moment I became aware of her watching me from behind.
She said, "It's nice to see you at work on something. You look so
intent and professional."
"Professional? I'm just going crazy."
"Well, it's nice. And I see you've made another friend through
Anita."
I said, glancing back at her, "Just somebody I met."
"That's how it starts, hon. It has to start somewhere." She
stood up and yawned, and bent down to kiss me on the forehead. "You
keep working if you want. I'm going to sleep."
I worried over the piece until nearly midnight. I had no idea how
I was going to compete with a bunch of sophisticated, probably very
experienced New York kids who had so much of the theater available to
them. Thursday morning, after I made Martha a small breakfast and she
left for work, I made my run to Central Park and took my typed script
with me. I found a small, open grove surrounded by trees and went
over the reading aloud several times, still uncomfortable with it. I
got to thinking it was too difficult a piece, too emotionally complex,
for a simple reading. But I was stubbornly set on making it work.
I called Ronnie at her workplace and told her I couldn't make it
for lunch that day. I was due to meet Anita and Chris at Anita's big
home.
Ronnie joked over the phone. "Aha. Aneeeeeta!"
"Yeah," I said, "the Cisco kid's daughter."
"Moving right in on the princess, huh?"
"She says she's not a princess."
"Mm. Sounds like true love to me, Steven. Like I said, watch
your step. She's very independent."
"What does that remark mean?"
"Hey, I won't see you guys Friday night. I have a date. I'll be
around Sunday, though."
"A date. With the guy you met at the party?"
"Yeah. May as well give it a try."
I said, "Sounds like true love to me."
"Yeah, right."
"Watch your step, though. I hear he's very independent."
"Okay, I promise not to tease you about Anita any more."
On Thursday afternoon I met Anita and Chris at Anita's big house.
She guided us through the house and into a small, presentation theater
on the second floor that held about thirty movie-style seats and had a
small but useful sunken stage area with a couple of spot lights that
Chris turned on from a small closet in the rear of the room.
"So this is where it will be," Anita said, picking up her purse
and getting ready to leave. "This is where you make your New York
theatrical debut."
I said, "Right. This is where I make a fool of myself."
She said sweetly, "I don't think so." She leaned close to me and
said, "Sorry we couldn't have more time this week. It's my fault."
"It's my fault for having to go back to Memphis."
She smiled. "Maybe someday you won't have to go back to Memphis
any more." She gave me a little kiss on the cheek. "See you for
lunch tomorrow."
She left, and I saw Chris coming out of the small closet and
watching us. He had a little smile on his face that told me he saw
Anita give me the kiss, but he didn't say anything about it. He was
in slacks and open collar white shirt with loafers, all of which
looked like fairly expensive goods. He was lean, taller than me,
carrying himself a little lazily, and he flopped into one of the
seats, settling low in the chair and draping his legs over the seat
in font of him. He nodded his head toward the small stage.
He said, "So how's it look?"
I looked around. It was a very small room, thickly carpeted and
fully paneled in light birch except for the backdrop behind the stage,
which was a small, off white projector screen. I said, "Pretty inti-
mate. The audience is right up to the stage. Not much room for
mistakes."
"Doesn't matter," Chris said, folding his hands behind his head
and looking straight up at the ceiling. "Maury will win anyway."
"Win? They give a prize or something?"
"A little five dollar plaque. About the size of a pack of cards.
Maury will add it to his collection."
"Yeah? So Maury's the automatic winner, regardless of who shows
up."
"That's the way it works."
"Why's that?"
"Maury's the man of the moment." He closed his eyes and folded
his hands on his chest and sighed. "Doesn't matter. You can make all
the mistakes you want. Maury wins."
I stepped onto the small stage, which was about the size of a
king sized bed. There were two small floodlights aiming down from
the ceiling. I muttered, looking around the place, "Well. Must be
nice to be rich."
"Yeah. It's convenient."
I reached into my back pocket and took out my copy of the script,
which I unfolded and studied for a second.
Chris said, "Hey, if you wanna rehearse in here by yourself, I can
roam around outside. I know where the kitchen is."
"Oh, doesn't matter. I'm not gonna give it the full treatment
anyway, just...thought I'd see how I could physically move around in
here." I looked up at him. "Maybe you could give me a few pointers
on how to do a better job than Maury."
Chris smiled wanly, shaking his head. "Maury always wins."
I said stiffly, looking down at my script, "Thanks for the warn-
ing. I get the point."
"You have a mild accent. At first I thought you were from Okla-
homa instead of Memphis."
"Yeah? You've been to Oklahoma too?"
"I've been everywhere. Wherever I wanna go, I've been there." He
yawned and raised his hands behind his head again. "Oklahoma. Cali-
fornia. Paris. Rome."
"Great. If you can afford it."
"Louisiana was more interesting. Lot of poor folk down there. I
wouldn't have believed people still lived in wood huts in this
country. Got a lot of admiration for people from down there. Hard
workers. Gives you something to think about."
I said, taking a few steps back and forth on the stage to get a
feel for the amount of room available, "Hard work isn't that great."
Christ said, "I admire it. I do. Lots and lots of people at LSU,
and very few Maury's around." He opened his eyes and looked at me.
"You don't like Maury."
I glanced at him, and looked down at my script. "Doesn't matter."
Chris was silent for a moment and then he stretched in the chair
and said, "I don't like him, either. But you I like. You're a
worker."
I didn't know what to say, except to mutter, "Thanks."
He yawned and then sighed sleepily after his yawn and said, "So
what are you gonna read? Is that a copy of it?"
"Yeah. It's from 'The Sound and the Fury'."
"Never read it. Go on, lemme hear some of it."
"Well...I'll do it better in front of an audience. An audience
tends to put me right into it."
"Sure. I understand. I'm the same way. Go ahead."
I was a rigid and inhibited, as I always was when rehearsing in a
face-to-face situation, but I began with a brief introduction to what
the piece was about. The speaker was the character Quentin, who is
agonizing over the infidelities of young Caddy, the girl he's in love
with. Everything takes place in Quentin's mind as he remembers the
events and the tortured feelings that haunt him. Then I took a deep
breath and went into the reading, working up gradually to build an
impression of Quentin's tormented state of mind. Once I got started I
could see Chris only dimly in the theater, his feet hanging over the
seat in front of him and his chin leaning on one hand while he watched
without expression. I didn't finish the entire piece; I did the first
third of it, reaching the point where he begins to mention Caddy and
starts to fall apart.
I took a deep breath and said, "I'll stop there."
Chris said with his chin still on his hand, "Yeah, I get the
point."
I put my hands on my hips and looked around again. "Well, it
feels pretty good in here. I don't think I'll have any problems with
the place itself."
Chris said, "You know...you're pretty good."
"Yeah? Think it would pass muster at the LSU drama department?"
Chris said again, nodding his head, "You're pretty good." He
settled deeper into the chair, folding his arms across his chest.
"There's no way Maury could ever do anything like that. It's really
good. Understated. I really like that."
"Thanks." I folded the script. "Thanks for listening. Thanks,
too, for having the lights on up there. Not knowing what the lights
look like can throw you off sometimes." I waved the folded script at
him before putting into my back pocket. "I owe you one."
"You can pay me back."
"Yeah?"
"Come to my birthday party. My eighteenth. Having it in a couple
of weeks."
"Okay." I moved to the foot of the stage, out of the glare of the
two lights, so I could see him. He lounged lazily in his seat, his
palms joined and his fingertips on his chin. He was a laconic, direct
talker. I liked that. I asked, "Is this going to be a big party?"
"Very select group. So far."
"I guess I can handle that. Thanks for asking."
"Just remember one thing. One thing. And This has nothing to do
with you, or with anything you do. Maury always wins."
"Yeah, you said that."
"Anita...always wins, too."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"She's a very nice person. I grew up with her. Hard worker.
Very different."
"Yes, I saw that."
"Hey, come on. Let's go get something to eat around here."
We walked a couple of blocks to Central Park and bought a couple
of hot dogs with chili and onions, and we sat on a bench and ate and
talked. Chris didn't waste many words, which I found admirable. He
was very direct, and when I mentioned that I thought it seemed very
easy to say whatever he wanted to say, he told me, "Being rich does
that. You can get away with just about anything. Whatever the price,
you know can pay it. You won't lose any friends, because if you're
rich, there are still plenty of people around who to want form a train
behind you."
I asked him why he chose LSU for law school, instead of an Ivy
League school up East.
He said, "Because I was lazy and undisciplined. Too lazy to keep
up with the sharp kids at Harvard or Princeton. Down South, it's a
different kind of effort you have to make. You have to relate to
people on different grounds. I wanted to be a total stranger. I
didn't want people to know who I really was, which in my case was just
another spoiled, arrogant New York snob. I was spoiled rotten. Which
was a pretty good trick, considering how rotten I was to start with.
So I really wanted to be around people who were poor, really poor. I
wanted to know what work was like. Real work. I got a job down
there, workin' in a drug store, afternoons and weekends. So I could
talk to 'em, talk to the real people. See what real is like. A hard
way to go, after a soft life, I guess."
I said, "Being poor can make you old too fast."
He said, "Being rich can do the same thing."
Chris had an offbeat attitude I took a shine to. I made plans to
attend his birthday party. When Martha came home that night, I
mentioned Chris.
Martha said, "I don't know Chris. But if he's a friend of
Anita's, he's probably very unique and worth knowing. Good work,
Steven. I hope you make a friend out him." Then she said, "Let's
see if you can do as well tomorrow night, when you meet Jessica."
PART 15E:
On Friday night Ronnie had a date that precluded our usual three-
way dinner and "extended dessert," as Ronnie called it. Martha met me
for a quick dinner at a diner in the West 70's and prepped me for my
meeting with yet another of her teenage girlfriends, Jessica.
She said while we ate, "The man in charge of the summer drama pro-
gram at Jessica's high school is a friend of mine. His name is
Howard. I told him about you several times, and he's looking forward
to meeting you. I haven't seen him in a while, myself, I guess for a
few months. He's letting us sit in on a rehearsal for a play held by
the girl's school where he teaches. So, hopefully you'll have some
interest in that, just in case you don't like Jessica."
I said, "Or just in case Jessica doesn't like me."
She shrugged, shaking pepper onto her leg of lamb. "That's
possible. But not likely."
"How are you so certain about these things?"
"Because I know Jessica. I know her family, too, and thank your
stars I'm introducing you to Jessica, but not to her family."
"This is another spoiled rich girl?"
"All rich girls are spoiled." She looked up at me from lowered
eyes. "And you're one to talk."
"My family's not rich."
"Not your immediate family, hon, but your folks on the Ricci side
did very well after World War Two. Half your uncles got killed off
and whoever was left inherited everything." She arranged her napkin
on her lap. "Too bad they died without leaving you a few male peers
you could get along with. I hope this friend Chris proves helpful."
I started chewing. "The Ricci gals who were left weren't so great,
either."
"Oh, yes? What about Josephine Louise? I've seen the way you
look at her." I didn't say anything, and she took a bite, eating
cheerlessly, and after a moment she said, "There weren't enough
healthy men around for you to get close to, either. What I really
wish is that they had spoiled you with a little confidence in yourself
instead of with toys and clothes. You've been raised by too many
fussy old women." She sighed and picked up her fork. She muttered
under her breath, "And I'm getting to be one of 'em."
I watched her eat for moment. I asked, "Why are you so crabby
tonight?"
She chewed, and then used her knife and fork to cut her meat into
little chunks. "This wonderful career of mine is making me old too
fast. Much too fast." She sliced and sliced and said, "We don't have
much time, Steven."
I glanced at my watch. "We have over an hour."
She said quietly, "I was taking about Memphis. There are some
very important things you have to learn, before you can tackle Memphis
again."
"Like what?"
She said, "Let's start with Jessica."
Martha took me to an enormous, gothic Presbyterian church on the
West Side, where a group of teenage kids were rehearsing for a play in
the theater, located in the basement of the church. It was a small
theater with about one hundred fifty seats. On stage were a group of
teenage boys and girls standing around in casual clothes, talking and
looking over their scripts. Seated in the center of the audience were
a handful of adults, two of them guys in business suits, and two
ladies with clipboards chatting merrily away, and a guy in a sport
coat and white shirt who was talking with two teenagers.
Martha introduced me to Howard, the guy in the sport coat, who
seemed very glad to see her. He was a nice looking guy in his late
twenties or early thirties, in dark rimmed glasses, with a flock of
unkempt but healthy looking hair and a trim, athletic build. I was
immediately jealous.
He gave me a healthy handshake. "So this is the famous Steven!
Well, well, we meet at last!"
I blushed, my entire body shaking with my hand. "Uh, not famous.
Not just yet."
"Well, you should definitely keep Martha as your press agent. She
gave you great billing over the phone with me, several times."
He introduced me to the two teenagers who were going to be stage
managers for the show, and to the two women with clipboards who sat
nearer the stage taking rehearsal and costume notes, and to the two
guys in suits who were supervisors in the church. Then he had Martha
and I sit a few rows down and told us the rehearsal would start soon.
He said as he seated us, "These are the critics' seats, y'know, best
seats in the house. Now, Steven, don't be too rough on us."
I smiled. "I expect I might be too busy learning a few things
than criticizing anybody."
He raised his eyebrows at that and joked, "Now, there's a diplomat
if I ever saw one. Martha, you've been coaching this guy?"
"No," Martha said, smiling at me, "that's strictly Steven."
He stood rubbing the back of his neck absently and looking down at
Martha as she made herself comfortable in her seat beside me. He
said, "Well, Martha, I was so surprised when you called and asked if
you and Steven could come around. But mainly, I haven't *seen* you,
I've been so busy all summer."
Martha said, "It's very nice having us over. Steven will really
love this."
Howard said, "Well, Steven this is not Broadway, as you've guessed
by now. Just a community thing we do in the summer." He grinned down
at Martha enthusiastically, "Well, it's so good to see you again! You
look so great. Still devastating, as usual."
"Devastating?" She looked up at him. "You mean that in the best
possible way, right?"
He grinned, wider, playing. "Of course. Of course I do. You and
Steven will be around after rehearsal, I hope? We don't plan to keep
you kids up late, but we still plan on a little get-together later."
"Sure," Martha said, "we'll love it."
He glanced at his watch. "Okay, uh...couple of others should
arrive soon, hope you don't mind if they sit here, behind you folks?
Martha said, "It's your show, Howard."
"Well, like you, they're just watching. I like to have a least a
small audience for the later rehearsals, you see, it really helps the
kids in the cast." And he said, laughing, "That way, if not a soul
shows up on opening night, the cast at least gets this much of a real
audience!"
He and Martha joked for a moment, easy and friendly, Martha asking
if any audience interest was evident so far, and Howard talking about
how the kids at the school were pushing the play and that they expect-
ed a good turnout. And I sat beside Martha getting overly warm in my
stiff collar and tie and sport coat, wondering why Martha had never
mentioned this guy Howard, whom she seemed to know very well, until
just a couple of days before. The way Martha behaved among adults her
own age was again evident, as it was when I met her coworkers in the
coffee shop and her acquaintances at the Carreras party; she had
class, Martha did, and plenty of it. Her easy, bantering laughter was
a world away from our own, more subdued behavior together. Again,
Martha was right: I still had a lot to learn.
During the few minutes before the rehearsal got started, Martha
set up an easy rapport with the two women and the guy seated behind
us. She introduced me, and of course the subjects of Memphis and
Elvis and Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry surfaced as usual. I joked
a little with them, trying not to be so polite as to seem disgustingly
obsequious. In fact, I did seem to feel more comfortable than I used
to in such situations.
As the lights were dimmed in the house, Martha took my hand and
gave it a little squeeze. She whispered, "Good, Steven. Really, Very
good. You're doing much better tonight. Here, let me fix that tie
again. How do you get it over to the side like that?" She turned in
her seat to fiddle with my tie.
I whispered sarcastically, "Thank you, Aunt Martha."
She said, "Okay, I get it. You're right, I'm fussing over you too
much. I should just let you be." She finished with my tie and
settled into her seat, leaning closer to me and pointing toward the
stage. "You see that girl over there on the right? In the white
blouse and blue skirt? Next to that guy in the red plaid shirt."
Onstage, the cast of ten or twelve stood up to hear a few words of
instruction from Howard, and I looked at the girl Martha was pointing
to. She was pouty and cute, really very pretty, and definitely looked
sixteen. She had dark, sensual brown eyes with very visible eye-
lashes, curly brown hair, and a small but puffy, sexy red mouth on an
immaculate, girlish face. She was trim, about five-foot-three, long
legged, with firm, young breasts straining against the white blouse.
Her eyes had a nice glitter, even from six rows back, but there seemed
to be something hard in them, tough maybe, or just bored.
I leaned to Martha and whispered, "Martha...she's...she's just too
cute. She'd never go for me."
Martha frowned at me. "Well, Anita's cute, isn't she?"
"Oh, Anita's beautiful. But Jessica's different, she's --"
"If Anita liked you, Jessica certainly will."
"But she's --"
"Hon, stop worrying about looks. I didn't introduce you for your
looks. You happen to look good, but I'm introducing you to people
who--" She stopped and settled into her seat, sighing and shaking her
head. "Oh, you're incurable."
Howard gave the word for the rehearsal to begin with Act Two,
Scene Two, and as the cast shuffled around getting into position,
Martha kept shaking her head, muttering crossly, "Maybe I just should-
n't bother any more. Complaining that the girls I have you meet are
too attractive."
She gave another little huff, and I grabbed her hand and joked
apologetically, "I could have said she wasn't good enough for a
bright, young, rugged cowboy type like mahself, honeh."
"Stop it. Be serious. You're making me angry with you."
Okay, I told myself, Martha's on a rampage, so behave. It
couldn't have been her period. Maybe she was getting as antsy as I
was, with Memphis seeming to appear everywhere on the horizon.
Two young actors on the stage started the dialog in the scene, and
Martha muttered, "Maybe you'll like Becky better, she's more homespun."
"Becky? I thought Kathy was next."
"Forget Kathy. She just lost her virtue to a new boyfriend, and
she won't look at anyone but him." She glanced at me. "In this town,
you have to move fast."
She settled back again. I gave her hand another squeeze, and she
looked at the stage and she squeezed mine back, hard, and then harder,
her mouth firming as her hand gripped mine until it hurt and I stif-
fened in my chair. She relaxed her grip and with her other hand she
stroked mine, and whispered, "Shh. Behave."
They stopped the scene several times. Jessica played one of the
marriageable young women in 'The Importance of Being Earnest', and I
had to admit as I watched her work that she was very, very good. Her
understanding of the lines surpassed her age, and she had the talent
to use her voice, body, and face to express the lines properly. Her
only problem was the way she smiled -- a little cockily, out of one
side of her mouth. And it was a sexy little offbeat smile, but it
didn't jell with the kind of British gentry in Wilde's play. I won-
dered if Jessica was doing that on purpose, or if that was simply the
way she smiled.
After the rehearsals, the young performers met with the people in
the audience, and Martha introduced me to Jessica.
"Oh, hi," Jessica said, her voice polite, but I saw her eyes give
me the fastest once-over I'd ever experienced. She looked at my eyes
and then hers dropped down and rose again so swiftly that it was more
like a blink, and she managed to go through that entire sequence
during the mere instant it took for her to say the words "Oh, hi."
Then she gave me that smile from the corner of her mouth, and I knew
that it was her natural smile and not a stage device.
"Martha's told me a lot about you," she went on. And then every-
thing seemed to stop. Martha excused herself immediately to go speak
with Howard, leaving me to contend with Jessica. My brain did a swift
search of possible replies and question.
I said, "Well, Martha told me a little about you, too."
"Yeah?" She stretched her offbeat smile a little more to one
side, looking cocky, and said, "What'd she tell ya?"
I shrugged. "She told me your name is Jessica."
She laughed. "That's all she said?"
"That's about it."
"Well, that's not much to work with." She had a lazy voice, a
little breathy, a sensuous huskiness underlying it, and she was bend-
ing down to gather her scripts and purse from one of the seats, and
she straightened up, and looked at me, her eyes doing that rapid
once-over again, so quickly it was barely noticeable. And she just
waited, giving me that grin that was beginning to look a playful dare,
like saying, "I dare you to think up something phony and clever to say
next."
I borrowed a line from Anita and said, "Introductions are always a
little clumsy, aren't they?"
She shrugged, starting to move away, "I dunno. Sometimes, yeah."
And I thought: uh-oh, mild mannered wimpy stuff won't work with
this gal. Definitely not a sweetie-pie, Jessica. A little less
sensitivity, a little less the princess and more the young sex pot.
She turned to me. "You're coming with Martha to the restaurant,
right?"
"Yes, I'll be there."
She beamed, a nice, cheery smile. She said, "Good. Let's talk
some more when we get there. You can meet the gang."
"Fine," I said, "that'll be great."
She turned to leave, but not before doing that rapid-fire eye
check again, and she walked away with three other kids.
I walked the three blocks to the restaurant with Martha and Howard
and several others, with Jessica walking farther ahead with another
group. Jessica looked and walked as if she'd been to dancing school,
or had some sort of personal training. Her walk was smooth and eff-
ortless, and as she walked she talked and listened to a girl beside
her with that constantly askew grin, and there was a low grate in her
lazy voice, a rough boyish frequency that I could hear from several
yards behind when she said, "Yeah? Is that right?" And I kept
thinking that she looked very, very good, but why did Martha choose
her for me?
In the restaurant I sat a table with her and several cast members,
all within my own age range. They hailed from a lower economic scale
than did Anita's friends. They were more rambunctious, less refined
but just as teeny as any teenagers I'd ever meet anywhere. Jessica
was different in that she had a smoother manner, her remarks less
course and more informed, sometimes a little condescending.
She had a habit of looking directly into my face when she talked.
It was an honest approach, lending her a certain genuineness; and
there was that grin, always present, even when she frowned humorlessly
at an insulting joke someone made, to which Jessica replied with a
sarcastic grimace, "C'mon, I don't like insult jokes. C'mon, it's...
not...funny." But she seemed to have six basic reactions to every-
thing: mildly funny, mildly unfunny, mildly interesting, not even
mildly interesting, I'm mildly interested, I'm mildly uninterested.
And almost always that curl at the corner of her mouth. And a very
nice body and a perfect, young model's face, and that low, scratchy
vibration under her soft voice. All very nice. And my problem was,
no bells were ringing and no fuses were blowing.
She said, "You must know so much about Martha. You grew up with
her for a hundred years or something, right?"
"Seems like it."
"Oh, that's grea-ea-et. It must have been great growing up with
her. I just love Martha, and she's so pretty. You know, she did
sooo much for me."
"Yeah? How did you two meet, anyway?"
"Oh, well, that's another story, I was a...well, I got hooked up
with her, see, my dad's a stock broker and my mom's a stock broker,
and they never spent time, you see. Stock market, stock market,
stocks, stocks, that's all it was, all the time. So they kept sending
me tutors, you know? Counselors and all these types. Nobody could
figure me out. Nobody could get my grades up or anything, I just
wasn't interested. I was a problem, you know? For my folks -- oh,
don't let me get started on my folks, that's another story. You know
what I mean, you have problems with them, too, right?"
I nodded slowly. "Very big."
"So, ah, they send me to Martha, and she gives me tests. You ever
take these tests, where they tell you what you want to do, you know,
your aptitudes and all that?"
"I always knew what I wanted to do."
"Yeah, well, I didn't know what I wanted to do, and nobody else
knew what I wanted to do, so she gave me these tests. And then
Martha, you know, she's always so different, she reads this stuff on
my tests, then she throws it all away. You know? It was so great,
she just ditched all that stuff, and instead of more tests she just
sits and talks to me. *Talks*. It was amazing, nobody ever just
talked to me before. You know what these counselors do, they ask all
these standard questions, y'know, the same questions. People who get
into education or counseling, I guess they all use this same handbook
of Standard Obvious Questions. They think you're too dumb to know
what they're getting at, and they're all the same questions. Know how
she did it? She said we still had hour left and the tests were all
stupid, so let's go shopping. So we go out onto Broadway shopping. I
mean, I just fell in love with her, we were girlfriends right off. You
know? She didn't talk to me like I was fourteen. I mean, I *was*
fourteen at the time, but she didn't talk to me that way. So I guess
you already knew that about her, huh? You two grew up next door to
each other?"
"Yes. For about six or seven years, she lived next door."
"Yeah. So you know what she's like."
"Pretty much."
"So she says, 'You oughtta be in theater, you oughtta keep up
with your dancing.' See, my folks sent me to dancing school, you
know, this place in Brooklyn where they send all these kids who can't
dance and they try to make them dancers. Anyway, I'd lost all inter-
est in that, too. But...well, my folks kept saying, Jessie's such a
problem, such a problem. I heard Martha talking to my mom once,
Martha says, 'Sure, she's a problem. She doesn't have parents.' Well,
that went over like a ton of bricks with them, they wanted me to start
seeing someone else, but the guy at Columbia said there *wasn't*
anyone else to handle it there. So Martha talks me into trying out
for a play. She gets me all built up for it, and I go to try out.
Well...I get turned down. You know? You've been turned down for
parts, right? You know what that does."
I nodded. "Yeah. It's happened." I looked across my table at
Martha's table, a few yards away. She was talking to Howard and some
other grownups and having a nice time. Meanwhile, I was trying to put
Jessica's sentences in correct order.
"Yeah, so...I auditioned, and I didn't get it. And I was really
upset, so...I go to Martha for the next meeting. And I was really
going to give her a good chewing out, y'know, I was gonna let her have
it. I mean, why get me all set up for that disappointment, you know?
But when I got into the room with her, she just started talking to me
again. I said, 'I got turned down,' and she says, you know, very
sweet, she says, 'I know, hon, I saw it in your face when you came
in.' She calls people 'hon' all the time, I guess they do that down
South, you know, so sweet. She's so sweet, and we just talked. So
instead of getting angry we just talked, and...I don't know. She just
grew on me, I guess, she just...She told me about her father, and
where she grew up, and all that, and how she had to work so hard. And
everybody was against her, you know? Well, you should know that, you
grew up with her. And what I liked about her, what I really liked,
was that Martha wasn't like the other school counselors. You know,
she didn't try to twist me around and make me become like everyone
else. She just wanted to find out who I was, and help me be who *I*
wanted to be. My parents even sent me to a headshrinker once. You
ever been to one?"
"A headshrinker?"
"Psychiatrist."
Jessica put a hand over her mouth, laughing for a moment, and soon
settled down and said, "I'm not even getting into that. It was such a
joke. But Martha, well...she was so nice. She was...well, she just
let me reveal myself to her, you know, over time. And we just, we
just became friends, I guess." She sat looking into her glass of
soda, thinking, and she said, "She has this way of getting into your
secrets, you know? I mean, things you wouldn't want anyone to know,
she just... She great, she's just so great. See, everybody I talked
to before her, they were always trying to put me in line, y'know? Make
me typical. 'The typical teenager does this, the typical teenager
does that'. I got sick of it. Don't any of these people have lives?
Don't they see what's happening?"
"Yeah," I said, trying to remind her that I was present, "You'd
think they'd get out and find out what's going on."
"Isn't that the truth? Well, they all said this is what everyone
else does, just be like everyone else. But it wouldn't work, just
wouldn't work for me. But Martha...Martha just wanted me to be who I
was. She liked me because I was different. Not because I was smart
or stupid, not because I looked good or anything, I never let those
things bother me. I just liked the idea of liking myself *because* I
was different, not in spite of it. Oh, listen to that, I'm even using
her own words and phrases now. But that's what Martha wanted me to
be. Just different, whatever I wanted to be. She's just so great."
"Yeah. Yeah, she's wonderful, really. I really do love her."
"So how did she help you?"
"Oh, uh. . .Well, you might say that more than help me find out
what I wanted, she helped me find out...where I was, I guess."
"Yeah? Where? The theater? Some other place?"
"Well," I began, glancing at Martha getting on with the others at
her table, while I struggled it out with a teenage group I couldn't
fit into, "Well, I'm sort of between two worlds right now."
"Yeah?" She looked at me blankly. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"Well, I don't know where I'm going, but I do know where I don't
want to be. And who I can't be any more."
"Oh, that sounds momentous. Really. That's where I am now, too,
I guess." She looked around at the people who surrounded us. "I
could never fit in with this. Only as a cast member. These people
don't have any idea who I really am. All they know is what they see
on stage."
"Mm. That's a point. Maybe that's why I'm mixed up in it."
"Well, it's really safe up there. You get this identity, you
know, this character. That's all they know. It's so safe. Unless
you're playing the bad guy, I guess. But then, you don't care,
because the audience doesn't really know. But I don't think I wanna
plan my whole life around it."
"Why not? You were pretty good in rehearsal."
"Because...well...fantasy's okay, but --"
"But?"
She looked at her glass on the table. She said, "But it doesn't
really happen. What's on stage, it never really happens. I want...
well, I *need*, things to really happen. And when you want that,
well, the things that really, really happen can be stranger, and
sometimes more exciting, than things people just talk about or think
about." She was gazing into her glass, and she snapped out of it and
sighed and looked around.
She didn't say anything else. I wondered if the conversation had
ended. I said to her, "What things do you mean?"
"Huh?"
"You started to say something. You didn't finish talking."
"Oh," she said flippantly, looking away, "We don't have to get
into all that."
I sat at the big, crowded table with her for a few more minutes.
The conversation seemed to disappear into thin air. I had trouble
pinning down her interests, and she seemed unwilling to reveal any-
thing beyond Martha in any detail. After a while I went to Martha's
table.
I said, "I don't seem to be getting anywhere."
She said, "Practice, hon. Just practice."
I returned to the table with Jessica and practiced on her and the
kids. The kids talked about school events, school personalities, the
Yankees, and nothing else.
So I returned to Martha's table and asked her privately, "When are
we leaving here?"
"Soon. You make a date with Jessica yet?"
"No."
"Steven. Just ask. See what happens."
"But why?"
"To see what happens." She sighed and reached up to me and gave
me an encouraging kiss on the cheek and said, "To see what happens,
hon. Go on, take a chance. That's what it's all about."
I returned to the teen table and tried again. After half an hour
I managed to set up a date with Jessica, though it would have to be a
triple because she had already made plans to go out with two other
couples that night.
Jessica said, "Well, I had a date with some college guy, you know,
all of us together, but...honestly, I really don't like him, he has
such a weird sense of humor. I don't think I get his jokes, you know
what I mean? I'm not alone, nobody else gets them, either. Maybe
he's just too conventional, I mean, you know how you meet these people
and something just doesn't seem to fit? I mean, I could just tell him
I had to make other plans, and you could go instead. I guess theater
people are really my style, and he's just kind of stuck in this
engineering thing..."
About four or five paragraphs later, we set up a schedule for her
friends to pick me up at Martha's place on the next weekend. Then it
was time for the party to break up.
On the way walking home, I told Martha I'd set up a date.
She put her arm around mine and hugged it and said, "I'm really
proud of you. You know that? Look at all the progress you've made.
Do you realize what you did? You met somebody at a party, you asked
them out, and despite whether they said yes or no, you did it."
I said unexcitedly, "Yeah."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Well...I really don't think we got along that well."
"You might be pleasantly surprised."
"I might be unpleasantly disappointed."
"Oh, Steven," she said, seeming to grow a little limp with frustra-
tion. "Look. You're making friends. You're getting out of yourself
and you're finding out about people. You're learning to handle
yourself. And that includes going through some people you're not that
crazy about, to get to people you'll like better. Everyone you meet
isn't going to be like Anita."
I blushed, wondering how much she had guessed about Anita.
She said, "Yes. I saw the way you looked at her. You're
smitten." She grinned at me, and chuckled. "You're so smitten, it's
all over you. And I'm glad. You don't need old fogies like me, you
need somebody like Anita. And, look, through Anita you met Chris.
And through Jessica, you'll meet someone else. And maybe through
Chris, too. Then you won't have to put up with meddlesome Martha to
find people for you."
I didn't say anything. It was Martha I wanted, whether or not she
she was an "old fogey". It was Martha I couldn't ultimately get to.
The Anita fantasy seemed to have no future, as far as I could see,
beyond Saturday.
She said quietly, letting go of my arm to light a cigarette as we
walked, "Hon, I want you to learn how to take care of yourself. And
not just physically. I wish I could be here forever for you. But no
one can make a promise like that."
I said to myself, silently: I wish you could be around forever,
too.
That night it was Martha who needed attention. When we turned out
the lights she got into bed naked and leaned over me, caressing my
tummy.
She whispered, "It's a little dangerous right now, but...we can
do other things."
I had other things on my mind. But she seemed needy, and it had
been a few days. I knew it was my turn to do the dutiful thing, as
she had done for me so many times before.
She kissed my nose. "But if you're too tired..."
I whispered back, "I'm never too tired," and I rolled her onto her
back and moved my lips toward her pussy. She was hot and ready under
my tongue, starting to cum so quickly that I had to hold her back to
make it more powerful for her, and then kept licking her until she had
two more orgasms. She was literally faint after the last one, going
into a sound sleep. I lay on my side with my arms around her, wanting
to just hold her more than I wanted an orgasm.
She stirred near sunrise, at around five a.m., and I opened my
eyes to find her caressing my thighs.
She said drowsily, "You shouldn't have just let me fall asleep.
I didn't get to reciprocate."
I rolled over, still half asleep, and buried my face in her shoul-
der and said, "Yes, you did. I don't always get to hold you after you
cum. You always have to go to the bathroom first."
She was quiet for a moment, caressing my arm as I lay still hold-
ing her, falling back to sleep, and she whispered, "I didn't realize
that was so important to you." She hugged me. "It's important to me,
too."
As I returned to sleep, I knew that this kind of closeness was
more important to me than sex. She was right again: I had learned to
fuck. Now I had to learn to take care of myself in other areas.
When I woke up a few hours later she was in the shower. The first
thing I thought of was Anita. It was Anita Day again. And Maury day.
I was actually glad to feel sexually charged. That would be the phys-
ical and emotional energy I'd need to see me through the day.
I got up and gave Martha a good morning kiss in the shower and
dressed in my workout clothes and headed for Central Park, with my
script.
Continued. . .
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