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Subject: {ASSM} ME AND MARTHA JANE '99 (m/FF,teen) MJANE17.TXT
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**** 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 17A:
Saturday, August 24, 1957.
I woke up at six. Martha slept like a log beside me. Even after
a good night's sleep, I was grumpy; I was ready for life to ease up.
Nothing was turning out the way I wanted it to.
Two weeks left in New York. I had a hard run through Central
Park, trying to run past unease and frustration but feeling it keeping
pace with me. When I arrived at Martha's I was covered with sweat.
Martha was in the kitchen shower. She swept aside the shower
curtain and peered out at me. I stood in the living room, panting,
pulling my soppy t-shirt over my head and then hurling it to the
floor, where it landed with a loud, wet slap.
She said, "You don't know when to give up, do you? It's too hot
to run."
I didn't answer. I was pissed. I lifted a leg and untied my
shoe. Sweat dripped off my forehead.
She asked, "What's the matter?"
I lifted my other foot and yanked at the laces. I said spiteful-
ly, "Memphis! Memphis, I guess!"
"Come on in the shower, I'll leave the water running. Come on and
rinse off. You're all sweaty."
I removed my other shoe and walked to the shower, pulling down my
cotton running pants.
She said, rubbing the bar of soap in her hands. "Come on."
I took off my jeans and started on my jocks. "I thought you were
in the shop and didn't like --."
"It's almost over. Come on, I'm all right. Let me rub you down a
little, you're overheated -- in more ways than one."
I stepped into the shower with her and closed my eyes and let the
water run over my face.
She said, "Turn around. I'll get your back."
I turned around, facing into the kitchen.
She slid her soapy hands over my shoulders and back, kneading my
shoulder blades. "That better?"
"Yeah I guess so. Better."
She got more soap and lathered my butt, kneading. "You're hard as
a rock back here."
"Sore, too."
"From the workouts?"
"Yeah."
She slid a slick hand under my crack and massaged my balls.
I said, "You're getting' me started."
"I know. You're very tense." She cuddled against me, her nipples
hard against my back. "Be still, now." She was blocking the water.
I could hear it hissing and slopping as it sprayed on her back and
shoulders.
I said, "You have enough room?"
"Yes. Be still."
A soapy hand held my cock and milked slowly, her other hand hold-
ing my nuts.
She whispered behind my ear, "That all right?"
"Mm. Yeah."
"Just be still."
She milked me slowly. I moaned.
She said, "Let's make it nice and easy, now."
I didn't last long. Within half a minute I lowered my head and
started gasping.
She asked, "Almost there?"
"Ah! Yeah."
"Turn around, hon."
I faced her, my legs wobbly. I had to raise my arms and hold onto
the top edges of the shower stall. She aimed my cock at her tummy and
pulled slowly.
She said, "There's nothing we can do about Memphis. Get rid of
that anger. Come on, now. Squirt it out."
She pulled and pulled, looking down at my cock. Her other hand
squeezed my balls. A moment later I grit my teeth and we watched cum
squirt on her, hot and thick and angry.
Saturday, 10 AM.
Fiore's class was wearing me out again. The instructor yelled at
me to reduce the poundage. I did, and I was able to work harder and
longer. But I remembered Fiore's cautions about pacing myself. I
remembered, but I tried anyway, and I paid the price with arms so sore
I could barely turn the shower spigots on when I got home.
Saturday, 1 P.M.
Martha, Ronnie and I had lunch at a cheap deli. I ate two tuna
fish sandwiches on rye and some potato salad and slaw and fries.
Ronnie said, "What are you trying to do? Clean this place out?
Save some for the other customers."
Martha said, "I think he's fortifying himself for Jessica."
Ronnie looked at me and said, "Yeah? Tonight's the big night with
sexy Jessica, huh? Here, Steven. Want the rest of my sandwich too?"
We returned to Martha's and I rested for an hour while Martha and
Ronnie chatted in the dining room. Then I put my running outfit back
on and headed for the front door.
Martha frowned at me from the kitchen. "You're going out there
again?"
"Yes," I said, and I went out the door. For an hour I jogged up
and down the promenade along the East River between 77th and 89th
Streets. I was amazed at how long I kept going, even with weak legs
from Fiore's earlier workout. I was fueled by anger and frustration.
At the end of the hour I had burned up the physical urge to strike
back at history and time. But I was still angry. I still felt
trapped and confused.
Saturday, 6:30 P.M.
I stood in front of Martha's dressing mirror, all done up in
slacks and sport coat and tie, all ready to go out with someone I
didn't want to go out with.
Martha said, "You look great. Jessica should be impressed."
"Yes," I muttered cheerlessly, working on my tie. "Jessica."
"Well, if it's going to be so agonizing, why don't you call her up
and cancel the date?"
"Steven doesn't cancel. Steven's going to go through every
process, every step. Steven will prevail."
"Good lord. What a mood to go out with. I hope Jessica
survives."
Saturday night.
It was a disaster. As soon as I met Jessica at her parents' home,
she announced that the two teenaged couples we were going with would
show up in a taxi soon. While we waited in front of her building I
tried talking to her. Being with her felt like such a letdown, al-
though she seemed pleased and cheerful. She was even a little flirty,
commenting on the shape I was in. And I felt I was being nice as
well, telling her she looked very attractive -- and, in fact, she did.
But I didn't seem able to connect with her or pin her down. She was
illusive, opening conversations and then cutting them off, remaining
at the same, cursory, impersonal level about everything.
She described her friends as part of a "special crowd" she hung
around with. They were middle class kids in their late teens, rowdy
and equally superficial, and often rude.
"Hey, don't they have cowboys in Tennessee?"
"Naw, stupid, not in Tennessee. Hillbillies, not cowboys."
"How do you know, stupid? Hey, stupid, get off my foot."
The taxi was crowded and I sat in the right front seat, with
Jessica on my lap, grinning into my face and making flirty jokes. I
wondered if she were really interested sexually, or if she were just a
tease.
The good part of the evening was sitting in the movies watching
Jimmy Stewart in 'The Spirit of St. Louis.' I didn't care much for
the sappy ending, and most of the comedic scenes fell flat, but Stew-
art's performance was up to his old standards. The idea of Lindberg's
lone daring during the overseas flight sequence intrigued me. I found
myself identifying strongly with it. The bad part about watching the
movie was trying to ignore one of the guys in our group, who kept
flipping popcorn everywhere and thinking it was cute. After it hap-
pened a couple of times Jessica giggled and said, "He's so retarded."
I was in full agreement, but I kept my mouth shut.
We stuffed ourselves into another taxi and headed for Greenwich
Village, with the two guys in back making bad jokes with the cab
driver while their two dates giggling senselessly. Jessica sat on my
lap again, not joining the fun and apparently becoming aware of my
discomfort. She kept staring out the window or gazing at my mouth,
saying little.
When we stopped in a traffic jam, Jessica suddenly lowered her
face and kissed me on the mouth. The four kids in the back yowled
and made lame jokes about it, and one of the guys kept yelling out
the window for a cop. When Jessica ended the kiss I looked at her
and said, for want of anything better to say "Well, that was nice."
She grinned at me. "Yeah, it was."
Getting me heated up in front of this juvenile crowd was not to my
liking. I didn't expect to get anywhere on a first date, especially
since I hadn't brought condoms along and I wouldn't have used them
anyway.
But I decided to test the waters. As we ate at a Chinese place I
put my arm around her chair, touched her frequently on the hand or
arm, played footsie under the table. There was no resistance. Most
of the time, she seemed to hardly notice. After a half hour in the
restaurant I began referring frequently to my being "in training" for
some fictional athletic event that would make it necessary for me to
get home before midnight. At least this lie caught the interest of
the two guys, who kept asking me questions about it. I managed to
answer them from the knowledge of working out that I'd learned at
Fiore's.
By eleven I was back at Jessica's building, standing on the
sidewalk alone with her, talking. She asked if taking a short stroll
down Central Park West, four blocks away, would keep me up too late.
I figured, what the hell, let's see what she's up to.
What she was up to, as far as I could tell, was some random flirt-
ing and a load of information about my folks back home. Apparently
having a family in the restaurant, grocery, and liquor business was a
much bigger deal in New York than in Memphis; Jessica had the idea
that my family's restaurants were along the fancier lines of estab-
lishments in Manhattan. I let her believe that.
When we reached a quiet, dark place near the brick wall along
Central Park, I embraced and kissed her, moving my hand toward her
breast.
"Now, now," she whispered. She removed my hand, but put her arms
back around me and returned to the kiss.
As a New Yorker might have said, I didn't need this.
And so, at about eleven thirty, I bid a fond farewell to Jessica.
As I rode the crosstown bus back to Martha's I did have some regrets,
for Jessica was definitely a beautiful girl. But there was no sex
appeal, no romance, and little communication.
When I got to Martha's she was half asleep in bed. She woke up
and yawned and lay on her side, her eyes still closed.
She asked, "How's Jessica?"
"Jessica is Jessica" I said, hanging my coat in her closet.
"Wanna tell me about it?"
"There's nothing to tell."
"That's what you kept saying about Anita. I don't want another
Anita on my hands."
"I don't think we'll have to worry about that with Jessica."
"Well, you sound angry. So tell me."
"I told you, nothing to tell."
"Steven."
"Oh, all right..."
I told her everything, exactly as it happened, blow by blow.
Martha listened, yawning. By the time I finished talking I was
yawning as well, lying naked beside her and ready to fall asleep.
"So there you have it," I said, turning onto my tummy for a good
night's rest.
Martha said, "If this had been Memphis, or if it had been two
months ago, you would have been in a fit of despair by now." She
raised on one elbow to give me a kiss on the cheek. She whispered,
"Good work, hon." She lay on her side facing me, all curled up, and
closed her eyes.
I waited a moment, watching her, and said, "You knew what Jessica
was like. You did that on purpose."
"Mm-hm. Sort of."
"What if I'd fucked her brains out?"
"You could have, but I doubted you would have wanted to. Anyway,
it takes more than looks to seduce you. Don't you think I know
that?" She
yawned. "You better get to sleep. You're meeting Ronnie in the
morning."
I watched her fall asleep. Darn if Martha wasn't right again.
Darn if I hadn't learned a lot from her and Ronnie since I came to New
York.
Sunday, August 25, 1957
Martha's living room phone rang at ten after seven in the morning.
She got up and I heard her mumbling on the phone. She came stumbling
back into the bedroom and slid into bed, her eyes closed.
She moaned, "Ronnie's up. Get dressed and go to her place."
I rubbed my eyes. "I didn't mean for her to wake you up."
"I'll meet you at the park later. She knows where. G'night."
I showered quickly. Martha's apartment was humid, even with the
big ventilator fan going in the kitchen window. The thin morning
layer of sweat was becoming very familiar.
I dressed, went downstairs, and knocked on Ronnie's door.
She was in a plaid shirt and bluejeans. She looked cute as hell,
her fluffy black hair still mussed. She gave me a kiss at the door.
"Hi," she said, smiling and hurrying back in to get her coffee.
I wanted to fuck her.
In Central Park at eight o'clock we hooked up with a dozen Audubon
Society members and went for a hike through the part of the park known
as the Rambles, which was a favorite haunt with bird watchers. Ronnie
let me use her binoculars. I learned about sparrows, robins, blue-
jays, titmice, cardinals, and a number of other birds.
After a while we split away from the group and went exploring on
our own.
We sat on a huge boulder atop a hill that overlooked a big lake
known as the Rowboat lake. Several people were in rowboats in the
water.
Ronnie said, "I didn't think you'd take this up as well as you're
doing. You must be a real nature lover."
"It's nice." I stood up to get a better view of the lake and the
skyline beyond it. I reached down to the ground and pulled up a hand-
ful of grass, holding it by its dirt-laden roots to my nose and taking
a whiff. "Reminds me of Tennessee. You smell this in Tennessee all
day long."
"I know. I used to smell it in Michigan. It's the only part of
Michigan I liked. That's why I like it here."
I let the grass and dirt fall from my hands and I rubbed my hands
together, smelling the grass. "Mmm. It's been so long since I've
smelled that." I looked out over the lake, stretching my back and
jamming my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. "I had no idea
this part of the park existed. I'm glad we came here this morning."
"Hey."
I looked down at her. She sat on the rock, her knees up and her
arms folded. Her face toward the sun, she squinted up at me.
I asked "What?"
"I like you."
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
She asked, "You like me, too?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Then tell me."
I blushed.
She said, "I can be every bit as tough as Martha can. Tell me."
I took a breath and sat beside her, and I said, "I like you, too."
I kissed her on the cheek, and she smiled at me, her eyes scolding
amiably. We looked out over the lake.
She said, "If you lived in New York you'd probably be part of the
beat crowd."
"Beatniks?"
"Yeah. But maybe not. You might hang around, maybe wear the
uniform. But you'd get bored with it, like I did."
"You were a beatnik?"
"Yeah, for about six months."
"I don't think I ever saw a beatnik. A few, maybe, coupla weeks
ago."
She chuckled. "Well, they look like everybody else in New York.
It's really an attitude. Wanna go down to the Village and take a look
sometime?"
"Sure."
"Okay. I'm off next week, but I don't have any money to go on a
vacation, so I can show you around."
I got another handful of grass. I joked, "Martha has you assigned
as my parent while she's at work next week?"
She looked out at the lake and said frankly, "You oughtta stop
that, Steven. You may think you're just a kid, but I don't see you
that way."
Sunday, 9:45 A.M.
We strolled out of the Rambles across a long downhill path that
led toward a restaurant in the park at one end of the lake. I asked
Ronnie to tell me more about Martha's chart.
Ronnie hesitated, looking down at the ground as we walked and
frowning. She said, "If you ever learn any astrology, Steven, there
are certain things you have to remember."
"What's that?"
"They're very important. When you look at a chart of someone
who's close to you, or at your own chart, you tend to see what you
want to see, and you magnify the best and worse of everything."
"Okay. What else?"
She sighed and looked straight ahead. "Second...Never, never use
someone's chart against them."
That seemed to close the door on the subject of Martha's horoscope.
I asked her, "Okay, tell me some more about mine."
She thought for a moment. She said, "The symbol of your rising
sign is the chariot driver. He wears the white robe of knowledge.
With one hand he holds the reins that guide his horses into the heav-
ens. With the other, he holds a wooden spear that is his connection
with the earth. You'll always be in love with what's on the horizon,
with what's far ahead. The conflict is that you feel the need to
cling to where you are, to what you have -- but your sight is always
out there, looking for what's next."
"Sounds like I'll never be satisfied."
"That's what keeps you going. You have two great fears: That
something will end, and that it won't end."
Sunday evening.
Chris gave me a seat in the huge living room of his parent's home
on East 64th near Central Park I sat on a long, wide sofa that
stretched more than halfway across the room. He sat in a smaller
sofa, his back to a panoramic window that looked toward Central Park.
"Take it easy," he said, "the place is ours. The folks aren't
home. They're in Denver, making more money. They'll be back Tuesday,
though. So I'm having my party tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow's your birthday, huh?"
He crossed his legs. "Birthday's in July."
"July? You're just now having a party?"
"I was in Baton Rouge, picking up a summer course. So, can you
make it?"
"Sure. Who's coming?"
"Me and you and Susan."
"That's it?"
"Well, like I said, a very select group. Anita's out of town, so
it's just the three of us, so far. 'Course, you can bring your date."
"Nah. Don't know any girls I could bring."
"Well, we can't have that."
"No, it's okay." I leaned back in the sofa and put my hands be-
hind my head and looked around. Everything looked very, very expen-
sive."
Chris said, "You want something to drink?"
"Uh, water."
"Water, that's it? You a Southern Baptist or something?" He rose
to go to the bar at one end of the big room.
I said, "No. I'm at ex-Catholic."
"Yeah? Want me to find a nice ex-Catholic girl for you for tomor-
row night?"
"No, that's okay."
He retrieved a glass from a built-in cabinet on the wall and took
an ice tray out of a small refrigerator under the bar counter. "Well,
Susan'll be here with me. She's Catholic, you know. The better kind,
know what I mean? Not the suffering type. Very liberal family, nice
people. She's a sweet girl. I wish I had her in Louisiana with me."
He dropped ice cubes into the glass. "Not too great in Louisiana
right now. I was talkin' to a guy down there this week. Hurricane
Audrey made a mess of the place. Lotta people hurt down there." He
carried the glass of water and a glass of Coke to me and handed me the
water. Then he went back to his sofa and sat with his feet on the
glass coffee table.
He said, "I used to drink. I used to do a lot of things. But my
folks wouldn't leave me alone about it. So I decided to behave.
They've left em alone ever since." He took a sip of the soda. "So,
how do you like all this?"
"Must be nice to be rich."
"That's what everybody thinks. There's a very rich guy used to
live on the floor above us, in the penthouse. He's not there any
more. Shot himself in the head. Really screwed up."
"That's too bad."
Chris shrugged. "Money didn't solve his problems. The only prob-
lem money solves are money problems. If you're fucked up before you
get the money, you'll still be fucked up after you get it. I know. I
used to be fucked up." He took a sip of soda and grinned. "I'm still
fucked up. Just in a different way. I'm fucked up, but I found some-
thing to do with myself."
"I don't think of you as being fucked up. Just different."
"Stick around." He set his glass of soda on the coffee table. He
leaned back on the sofa. "You don't strike me as being fucked up,
either."
"Don't let appearances fool you. I live a pretty strange life
down in Memphis."
"Yeah, no, I didn't say you don't have problems. I just said you
don't seem to be completely screwed up." He folded his arms and
looked straight at me, unsmiling. "You know, I don't like the idea of
you being at my birthday party by yourself, when I'll have Susan with
me."
"No, it's okay."
"No. Lemme show you about being rich." He picked up a telephone
from the side table near his sofa and held the phone in his lap while
he dialed a number. He waited a moment, then he hung up. "Busy. Hold
on." He dialed another number. "Hello, Mrs. James? Hi, this is
Chris. Yeah. Yeah, fine, how are you? Good, that's good. Hey, I
was trying to get Susie, but her line's busy. Could you let her know?
Tell her to call me? It's kinda important. Hey, thanks, Mrs. James.
Say hi to Mr. James for me, okay? Thanks again." He hung up.
He said, "Show you what it's like. It's not all you think it is."
He grabbed his soda off the coffee table and took another sip. "So
tell me about all that civil rights trouble down there. I know all
about Louisiana. Tell me about Tennessee."
I told him what I knew in the newspapers.
Chris said, "No, tell me how it really is. Day to day. On the
streets. You know Negroes down there, don't you? You know whites.
What do they do? What do they say, how do they act?"
We talked about my experiences in Memphis. I told him the story
of Stepper, the black kid I knew years ago. Chris said he'd like to
get into civil rights law at LSU.
The telephone rang in Chris' lap. "Hello? Hi, Suz." He blew her
a kiss. "Hi, gorgeous...Sure, you're beautiful. You were beautiful
last night, what happened?" He winked at me. "Sure you are...Sure
you are, don't argue with your attorney. I love you, right?...Yeah
...Yeah...No, don't worry about that...No, I'll take care of it.
Listen, you know Steven, guy from Memphis? Yeah...Yeah, he's here.
Hold on." He covered the handpiece and said to me, "Susan says she
thought your reading was fabulous. Fabulous." He grinned. "She
likes you. Says you're not fucked up. He put the handpiece back to
his ear. "Listen, can we find somebody for Steven tomorrow night?...
Yeah, really...Yeah, but I want him to meet somebody new, you know?
>From New York...No, he didn't ask me, I'm just doin' it. On my
own...No, it's my idea, he's sitting here shakin' his head no...Yeah.
Anita, yeah, I know...Yeah, I know...Yeah, who?...No, I don't think --
No, not her, no, she's not right for him...I know, but she's not right
for him."
I straightened up on the sofa and waved a hand at him and shook my
head no.
Christ silently mouthed the words "No. Wait." He talked into the
phone again. "Oh, yeah! ...Yeah, that's good...Is she? Yeah. Yeah
...So if she's not around, then...yeah, that's good, too...Oh, yeah!
Gina! She's around this summer? ...Yeah, I know...Yeah...Suz, that's
great, you're my girl. What would I do without ya?...Ha-ha, yeah, I
know I would...Yeah, I know...Okay, then, get back with me...No,
that's okay, I'll pick you both up...Sure...Sure...Oh, what's that
ta-ta stuff, c'mon...Okay, sweetie...Okay. Love!"
He hung up. He settled back in his sofa.
I said, "Look, I don't know if you and Susan ought to go through
all this --"
"Naw, c'mon. Be rich for a day. One day. It ain't what you
think it is."
Sunday, 9:45 PM.
When I arrived at Martha's she was on the telephone on her sofa.
She was just saying goodbye when I went into the kitchen for a glass
of water.
She hung up the phone and rose from the sofa and stretched,
looking out the window. She said, "That was Howard. He invited me
out to Queens Thursday to see him and his daughter. I haven't been
out there in so long." She turned to me. "Is Thursday okay with
you? I might be back a little late, not much. The subway's so un-
predictable and a taxi from Kew Gardens is expensive."
I lied, "Yeah, I guess it's okay." Howard. Shit.
"Well, Ronnie'll be here Thursday." She walked to me and put her
arms around my neck, smiling playfully. "Want to have a date with
Ronnie Thursday? She's very fond of you."
"You keep saying that." I turned my head to drink from my glass
of water.
"Well, she is."
"Yes. I know. I'm fond of Ronnie, too. I guess you know that."
She nudged her lips forward, looking at me for a second, then
changed the subject. "So, is the party for Chris set up for tomorrow
night?"
"Yeah. I won't be back late, though."
"Good." She leaned back, looking me over with her arms around my
neck. "You're getting so strong. You hardly look like you did when
you got here."
"Yeah, a lot has changed since I got here."
"Yes, it has. Hey. Gimme a kiss." She pursed her lips.
I gave her a quick smooch.
She hugged me and turned to go into the bedroom, taking bobby pins
out of her hair. "And next week I'll be off from Wednesday through
Friday, and the weekend too. We'll finally have a lot of time to-
gether. And Ronnie's off. You'll be sick of both of us by the end of
the week."
I stood in the kitchen holding my empty glass. Howard. Again.
PART 17B:
Monday morning, Martha went back to the same old grind. After she
left for work I went back to my same old grind, jogging to Central
Park and hanging a few chin-ups from a tree limb. I was closer to
Memphis, no closer to staying in New York or finding ways to get back
more often, no nearer to a conclusion about my feelings for Martha or
Ronnie. I did have cash in my pocket and a bundle of traveler's
checks I'd earned from posing.
While I was cleaning up at Martha's, Ronnie called on the phone.
She said, "Hi, what's up?
I told her I was getting ready for a posing session at eleven.
"Oh, that's right, I forgot about that one. Well, I do have a
couple more people I can call, but...I think that's the limit of my
resources. I wish I knew more. What are you gonna do with all that
money you made, anyway?"
"Get myself back to New York."
"Well...it's your money. You couldn't use it for school down in
Memphis?"
I changed the subject. I said, "Wanna meet me somewhere this
afternoon when I get finished"
"Why, Steven! Are you asking me for a date?"
"Come on, take it while I still have the nerve."
We set up a meeting downtown at Union Square at three in the
afternoon.
I posed for a guy in his fifties whom I'd worked with earlier. He
was in a cross mood, constantly badgered by telephone calls while we
worked, and another guy in his late teens worked with him, apparently
taking an art course from the older guy. But while they worked and I
posed, I watched and listened. It became more evident that any
fantasy I might have about being an overnight success in New York
was not just fantasy; it was simply bizarre. The two people working
as I posed were highly skilled, talented, and hard working. I heard
them talking about the difficulty of merely making a living in the
arts, the complex politics of it, the competition and backbiting. I
knew, more than ever, that I had a long way to go before I could make
my own way in New York.
It was enough to put me into a mild funk by the time I met Ronnie
in Union Square. That, and worrying about Martha and Howard again.
Ronnie greeted me with a kiss and a hug. She carried a shopping
bag filled with several of her drawing tablets. She hooked her arm in
mine and said, "Come on, let's walk home up Seventh Avenue. You can
take a closer look at New York and see what you're getting yourself
into."
While we strolled I said, "Want me to carry that bag?"
"It's not heavy."
"But I'm supposed to carry it."
She said, smiling and handing me the bag, "My god, you guys from
the South..."
I said, "I guess being so polite would identify me as a hick to
every girl in town."
"Then you don't need those girls."
As we strolled toward uptown she pointed out the blocks where
Houdini lived and where Teddy Roosevelt grew up. We saw a character
near Herald Square who was dressed like Jesus, haranguing a small
crowd on a street corner about sin and salvation.
Ronnie said, "And I'll bet you thought this only happened in the
Bible Belt."
We saw what Ronnie identified as a couple of beatniks, smoking
marijuana openly on another street corner. They appeared to be in
their late twenties or early thirties, hanging around on a junky
street corner, lounging on the benches at a bus stop like derelicts.
One of them appeared to be in mid-thirties and looked dirty and greasy.
Ronnie said, "This is one reason I'm not in that crowd any more.
I know I smoke too much, but not that stuff any more."
We walked on, and she said, "They're not all that way, believe me.
So many of them are very creative people. Writers, artists, screen-
writers. Stock brokers. It's just copy cats like those guys that
give the whole movement a bad name."
We strolled into the West 40's and 50's, and the neighborhood
looked more and more rundown. Some of the older, orange-brick tene-
ments looked as if they might crumble into dust at any moment. The
street had a sour stench to it, made worse by the August heat. I was
surprised to see so many people on the sidewalks, so much chaotic
activity, in a neighborhood that didn't seem habitable.
On one street corner we passed a couple of overdressed girls who
were obviously prostitutes, lounging in a doorway and sizing up the
clientele. I glanced at them; I had never seen streetwalkers before.
They certainly didn't look like the heavily made-up glamour girls I'd
seen in movies. One of them was fairly chubby, dressed in tight green
toreadors and a skimpy halter. She looked me over as Ronnie and I
passed, and her eyes followed me as I sneaked glances at her.
She said jeeringly, "Hi, honey, lookin' for a party for three?"
I muttered bashfully, "Hi," and kept going.
Ronnie gave me an elbow in the ribs, grinning and shaking her
head. "I can't believe you're so polite. This isn't Main Street in
Memphis."
"Well, she said hi."
"Sure she did. She's open for business. You don't have to
respond to that. She's a prostitute."
"I know." I added sarcastically, "Thank you, Aunt Ronnie."
"Oh, you. I'm trying to tell you, that's how a lot of people make
a living in this town, playing on insecurity and desperation." She
strolled along with me, looking ahead. A shadow came over her face.
She took a deep, sad breath. She said, "I used to be one of those
girls. I guess Martha told you."
"Yeah. A little."
She glanced at me quickly, her eyes not meeting mine. "That must
considerably lower your estimation of your Aunt Veronica."
"It doesn't."
"I was hungry. I was scared. I didn't think I'd ever get so
hungry and scared in my life. Every time I got a few bucks together
I'd think about getting on a bus back to Michigan. Thank god I didn't
end up there again."
I hugged her arm that was hooked into mine. I didn't know what to
say.
Ronnie said scornfully, looking ahead as we walked, "Guys think
those girls know so much about sex. What a joke. Most of them don't
know a thing, and they care even less."
We dodged several people coming out of a busy shop, and Ronnie
went on.
"The worst part was lying, making them think it was love. They
all thought it was love. They didn't know it was robbery. That's
what you had to do keep some of them coming back without hustling for
new guys, make them think it was love and that they were attractive.
See, I didn't have a pimp. I knew what they were like. Most of the
girls get so hardened, though, they don't even pretend. But the same
guys keep coming back. They keep hoping, this time she'll see what a
great guy I am. But most of them...most of the guys..."
I said firmly, "Ronnie."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Half a block later she said
quietly, "It only lasted a few days."
Soon we entered Central Park near Columbus Circle and headed East,
across the park.
I said as we walked through the entrance gate, "Here. This is
better."
Ronnie said, "Whew. Yes."
But for a while she was still dim and cheerless, untalkative. We
neared the Bethesda Fountain and headed down the East 72nd Street
transverse toward the Fifth Avenue side of the park.
I said, "Did you show me that part of town on purpose?"
"Yes. I haven't been there in so long. It hasn't changed."
"But you have."
"Yes." She fell quiet again.
I said, "But that's all over, Ronnie."
"Yeah, I know." She smiled, and she blushed. "I'm a hell of a
tour guide. See New York with Ronnie. Watch Ronnie stumble over the
past. Watch the -- I mean, plenty of people have suffered worse, and
I guess being in the bus station was actually worse than -- " She
continued walking, looking down. "Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about."
"Yes there is. Plenty. I was lucky, I managed to slip through
the cracks. But don't dare come to New York with nothing under your
belt. The gentler you are, the more honest you are, the more trusting
you are, the easier it is for this town to beat the hell out of you."
I had to change the subject. I said, "Look, there's a cardinal."
"Oh, look at him! He's so red, so bright red. He's beautiful."
"Where's his girlfriend?"
"She'll be around somewhere. Look, here she comes. There she is.
They're always together. That's so sweet. I wonder if cardinals are
aware, how sweet that is."
I was falling more in love with Ronnie. It wasn't the consuming
passion I had for Martha, but it was a loving friendship whose pro-
gressive development continually surprised me. I began to think that
Anita paled more and more in comparison to Martha and Ronnie, and so
did all the others I'd met in New York. The episode with Anita seemed
more a transgression against both of the young women who filled my
days and nights in the city.
My feelings toward both of them had me guilt ridden as I set up
Martha's dinner for her and prepared to leave for Chris' birthday
party at around six thirty that Monday night. In her dining room,
Martha looked so tired and listless that I didn't want to leave her
alone and was tempted to change my mind about the whole thing. There
was the nagging thought of her pending date with Howard as I gave her
a little kiss before I left. That thought had me ambivalent and
insecure. I felt that leaving her for the date that Chris set me up
with was like abandoning Martha to Howard as her only recourse.
I said as I kissed her, "I'll be back early."
"No, you have a good time. Just call me."
I said again, "I'll be back early."
The conflict roiled inside me even as I entered Chris' house and
found that he had already driven out to Glen Cove, Long Island and
picked up Susan and my date, Gina.
The same conflict tugged at me when I saw that Gina was an attrac-
tive, outgoing, long haired seventeen-year-old with a sexy, low-
pitched voice, smiling brown eyes and a wide, sensual mouth. And
brains. And an open, poised manner and a dry, candid sense of humor.
She looked and behaved older than her years and we got along famously
as we sat in Chris' house and had a small dinner.
Chris and Susan and Gina enjoyed hearing my hilarious stories
about my family in Memphis, and I was having fun going over much of
the same material I'd used to entertain the people I'd met at the
restaurant with Martha and Howard and his friends. And conflict,
doubt and need began to collide more forcefully while I observed the
interaction between Chris and Susan. They were familiar and affect-
ionate, but there was something formulaic about the way they conducted
their relationship, a certain formality, an undertone of mild bicker-
ing. There was much in their conversation with each other that seemed
to come out of a tv family show like Ozzie and Harriet. Susan would
have made a good Harriet Nelson, and as the evening wore on I could
almost imagine her growing into a wealthier Mrs. Nelson when she was
older.
Not so subtle was the way Chris and Susan seemed to set me up with
an encounter with Gina. After our lengthy dinner and table talk, we
settled in the living room, Chris turning down the lights and settling
with Susan on one sofa while Gina and I found room on the bigger sofa
across from them. The two of them chatted quietly, growing more
intimate as time wore on. I glanced at them now and then as I spoke
with Gina, who smiled continually and seemed to totally ignore the
couple who sat across from us and who were soon kissing.
Nor did Gina seem fazed when Chris rose and led Susan out of the
living room, with Susan smiling demurely at us as they passed and left
through a door behind us. Gina's only reaction was to glance briefly
at them out of the corners of her eyes as she smiled and spoke with me.
And let's face it, Gina was a tempting morsel. She was perfectly
at ease when I gave in to her charms and kissed her. She leaned into
me and fell back easily when I put my arms around her as we kissed and
I moved her into a reclining position on the sofa. While my lips were
still on hers I felt her kicking off her loafers and heard them thump
softly onto the thick shag carpet near the sofa.
I wondered what the hell I was doing and why I was doing it. Gina
was affectionately responsive, sighing a quiet "Mmm" as I ended the
kiss and trailed my lips along her soft neck.
She whispered "You can kiss."
And I whispered, "So can you." And she could. She was very good.
I kissed her again. She was damn good. She got better as we went
along, her mouth getting warmer and softer and her face and arms
heating up. I began indulging in what was known in the vernacular of
1957 as a heavy make-out session. I was soon lying on top of her,
both of us fully clothed, and she opened her legs and we kissed and I
pressed my cock against her over her full skirt and she pressed her
hips against me, and soon she was breathing hard and getting hot. And
her hot breath was exciting against my ear while she stirred her
pelvis against mine.
It all went well until I realized that, regardless of what Gina
might be feeling, I wasn't experiencing much emotionally. This wasn't
Martha, this wasn't Ronnie, this wasn't even my illusion of Anita.
This was a fit, attractive, alluring girl who, after nearly three
hours of conversation, I still didn't know personally. She was a
stranger. Pretty, sexy. But she was a stranger and what we were
doing didn't fill the big space inside me.
I rolled off her, settling close to her on the big sofa, and I
looked down at her. She seemed so overheated she looked distraught,
her head thrown back, eyes closed tight and full, red lips parted. I
couldn't believe I felt sorry for her. I had my hand under her skirt.
I began caressing her legs, finding her skin soft and plump, and her
thighs moved farther apart. I slipped my hand under the edge of her
panties and fingerfucked her, holding her on the edge for a while so
she could have a good cum. While I pleasured her she found my zipper
and pulled it down and she rubbed my cock over my underwear and then
found the opening and pulled my cock out. Her hand was soft and warm
and gentle with me, getting me hard. By the time she came I had my
very first, first-class case of blue balls, but I resisted climbing
onto her. She came quietly, with a single, brief, muted moan, the
heat rising from her with her damp scent.
I held her and kissed her while she settled down. After a moment
she cradled her face against my chest. She whispered, "That was
nice."
And I thought: oh, what a sweet, sexy, whispery voice. Why don't
I feel anything? Possibly, it was because she reminded me too much of
two other women.
With her face against my chest she looked down, and her hand went
to my cock again.
I put my hand on hers, stopping her.
She looked up at me. "Something wrong?"
I bent down and kissed her temple and whispered, "Not right now."
She whispered, "Oh." She put her arms around me again and snug-
gled, relaxed. After a moment she said, "You don't have to worry. I
know what to do. I mean...it won't be a problem later."
I said gently, "It's okay. It's not that." I looked down at her.
She watched my face, her own face placid, her eyes revealing that
soft afterglow I'd seen in other eyes.
After another pause she said, "You must be thinking about some-
body."
My cock was softening quickly. "Why do you say that?" I tucked
my cock away, having to bend it uncomfortably, and closed my zipper.
She said, "Just a guess. It's obvious, you're not a virgin."
"Yeah?"
"You just stopped all of a sudden. Maybe you were thinking of
somebody."
"Mm-hm. Yeah."
"Mm." she smiled, her eyes on my mouth. "That's too bad."
"Yeah. Sorry."
"Well...You sound pretty sure about it. Who is she?"
"That's a long story."
"Mm. Well..." She blushed, grinning against my chest, and she
gave a soft laugh. "I was thinking about the same thing."
I smiled, relieved. "Yeah? And where is he tonight?"
"Boston."
"Looks like we're in the same boat, then."
"Yes. You're good, though."
I smiled at her. "You, too."
That soft voice and those moist lips. Very persuasive. By then I
was tempted to fuck someone's brains out, but not hers.
She went to the bathroom and freshened up, and then we sat on the
sofa talking for a while. As surprised as I was by my own lack of
response, I was even more surprised at Gina's good nature and friend-
ly, smart conversation while she lounged at one end of the sofa. I
began feeling doubly guilty, about Martha and Ronnie and now about
Gina.
After a while she smiled and said graciously, "You're still think-
ing. I guess you want to go."
I shrugged. "I could hang around."
"Well...yes. But I was thinking, too."
A few moments later I walked to the door that Chris and Susan had
disappeared into. It led me down a narrow hallway, and I found a door
near the end that was slightly opened. Putting my ear to the door, I
heard whispering inside. I knocked lightly.
Chris called out, "Yeah?"
"Hey, I hate to interrupt but I have to get going."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, fine. But I have to get up in the morning."
"Hey, wait outside. I'll be right there."
I waited in the living room, where Gina had gone to the bar and
was looking for some ice and wine. She grinned greedily and joked,
"May as well take advantage of the free stuff."
I watched her while I waited for Chris. Gina was a sweet, bright,
sophisticated gal. I could have gone for her. But there wasn't time,
and there was no longer any point to it. Gina was great, but Gina's
background was far, far too expensive. And there was Martha and
Ronnie.
Chris spoke with us for a few minutes and then told me he'd see me
to the door, and I gave Gina a kiss, which she returned with a warm
hug. She winked at me and said, "Thanks."
Chris showed me to the door. He asked as I was leaving, "Hey, so
how do you like being rich?"
"You're right. It doesn't solve the problems of the world, does
it?"
"Well, uh...and Gina?"
I said sincerely, "Gina's really nice. Thanks."
"Okay."
"No, really. Tell her from me, she's a sweetheart."
"Yeah. She is."
I was fortunate enough to catch the uptown bus just as I reached
Second Avenue. I sat up front, my blue balls sore as the bus bounced
along. I thought I was lucky to get that bus at that time of night.
And lucky, just lucky period. Lucky to know Martha and Ronnie. Lucky
to have had one hot night with someone like Anita. Lucky to be fif-
teen, able to pass for seventeen and eighteen, able to make my own way
to New York. Lucky to meet a gal like Gina, even though little could
be done about her. In fact, I could hardly believe my luck at fucking
three beautiful women in less than two months, and a fourth if I'd
wanted her. More sex and romance in New York than in two years in
Memphis. And it was wonderful, far beyond that girl Karen I knew, far
beyond the fantasies to which I used to masturbate, something I hadn't
done since I arrived in town. Lucky, and yet too full of Catholic
bullshit to use my luck the way I could have. And too needy, far too
needy. Needy enough to squander what had been right in front of my
nose, unpredictable though it might be.
At eleven thirty Martha was in bed, nearly asleep. She said, "You
didn't call."
"I was on my way anyway, and the bus was on the corner."
"So how was it?"
"Okay." I hung up my coat and started on my shoes. "Made some
friends. Talked. Laughed. Had a nice dinner. It was okay."
"No Anita's?"
"There will never be another Anita."
She yawned, and snuggled into her pillow. "Silly boy. There will
always be another Anita."
Not for me, I thought, wincing as my swollen balls were freed from
my underwear. Never again.
Not knowing yet, of course, that Anita was being replaced by
Martha and Ronnie.
Tuesday morning my body finally started catching up with Fiore's
class. I felt I could have done more, so I hung around the club for
another hour and worked with some weights until another class shoved
me out.
I went to Ronnie's place and made a quick lunch for her, showing
her easy ways to make tuna salad. She stood beside me at the kitchen
counter and watched.
I said, "Next come the hard boiled eggs. You just mash 'em up
with a fork. See?"
"Eww. Mashing poor little chickens."
"Well, what about the tuna? They've been more than mashed."
"Steven, stop. I won't be able to eat."
She was so cute. I caught myself feeling strongly for her again,
and I was shying away. And my scrotum was still on the tight side,
the affects of Gina taking their time going away. As I sat across
from her at the dining table, listening to her chatter away about all
the things the three of us could do during her week off, I wanted to
give her a big hug and hold her close and tell her that she was good,
she was lovable, that her life would go spectacularly well, and that
she deserved it. But when I saw myself holding back from that, I
realized that I wasn't ready yet to take my place with confidence with
these two women.
Ronnie let me borrow one of her astrology books and put scraps of
paper in the pages she thought I should read. I gave her a hug at the
door when I left to get Martha's dinner ready. I told Ronnie, "You're
sweet."
She hugged me back and said, "You too, guy. Get some sleep so we
can have a good time at the beach tomorrow. And tell Martha to give
me a call tonight."
While I worked in Martha's apartment I grew hornier. I realized
that being around Ronnie had done it to me, and that being around her
was doing it more and more.
Martha came home and dropped her briefcase at the door and ran her
fingers up and down her temples. "Lord! My last day for the rest of
the week! I haven't had time off in so long, I have no idea what I'll
do! I'll go crazy."
"Don't do that," I said from the kitchen. I walked to her and
gave a kiss.
She slipped out of her shoes. "You fixed something again? We
could have just gone out. We have plenty of time."
"It's just tuna salad."
"Well, okay. Let me get changed."
She walked to the bathroom. I stood in the living room in my
Disneyland apron, wiping a bowl with a dishtowel, and I watched her.
She left the bathroom door open and removed her top jacket and rolled
up the sleeves and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white
blouse. She bent over the bathroom sink and splashed water onto her
face. She was simply beautiful, and as she straightened up and wiped
her face I looked at her in her straight skirt and white blouse, and I
undressed her trim body with my eyes, and I knew what she looked like
under the clothes. I knew that under the clothes she was a perfectly
proportioned female, tight-waisted, with smooth flesh and a flat tummy
and a luscious, thick-lipped mound, and trim, long-muscled thighs and
a firm, round tush and gently flaring hips and a sinuous torso with
soft-nippled breasts, and she had warm, puffy, girlish lips.
I set the bowl and towel on the dining table and sauntered into
the bathroom as she used a cotton wad to rub off her lipstick. I
stood behind her and looked at her in the mirror, and she looked back
at my reflection, rubbing another cotton wad over her face.
She said, "Need something in the cabinet?"
"Just looking."
"Yeah?" She got another cotton wad out of a jar on the sink and I
put my hands on her shoulders and put my lips against her hair. She
said, "You know, I get self conscious when somebody watches me remov-
ing makeup."
"Really? What do you need with makeup?"
"All us girls need makeup, hon. So we can keep the legend alive."
I paraphrased a line from the movie 'Treasure of the Sierra
Madre.' I said with mild scorn, "You don't need no stinkin' makeup."
I kissed the back of her neck.
In the mirror she gave me a dry, skeptical look, holding back a
smile. She pitched the cotton into the little trash can by the sink
and she got another wad out of the jar. She said, wiping her face
again, "What are you up to?"
"You tired?"
"Oh, just a little."
I kissed her neck again. "Still in the shop?"
"Things have cleared up." She threw the wad away and picked up
the glass jar of cotton wads and screwed on the cap. It was an old
mayonnaise jar. While she screwed on the lid she looked at me in the
mirror, unsmiling, very businesslike. "Want to fuck me?"
I kissed her neck again.
She said, "If you want to, tell me. I want you to tell me."
I mentally took a big breath and I whispered against her ear, "I
want to fuck you."
She set the jar down heavily on the top of the toilet and turned
around and put her arms around me and she brought my head toward hers,
and her eyes were closed and her mouth was opening before my lips
touched hers, and she smothered my mouth with hers, writhing gently,
pulling all of me against her. Then she pulled back and started
unbuttoning my shirt. "Fuck me right here. In here, right now."
"There's no room in here."
She said firmly, "Yes there is."
We undressed each other quickly, throwing clothes everywhere. She
hung her clothes on the back of the bathroom door, and she looked
provocative in her hose with the garter belt still on, and she pulled
her panties off and left the garter on and kissed my neck and helped
me unbuckle my belt.
She said, pulling my shirt off, "Don't you ever go crazy? Don't
you ever want to fuck so much you go crazy?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
I looked at her eyes. "I want to look in your eyes while you
cum."
I saw her eyes immediately narrow and fume. This worked! This
really worked!
She brought her face close to mine. She whispered, "Tell me.
Tell me."
I gulped. "I want to watch you cum. With my dick inside you."
She grabbed my face and kissed me hard. She pulled back and
helped me get my jocks off, and she started to unsnap the garter
belt so she could roll off her hose, but I said, "Leave them on."
She looked at me and said, "Steven, I'm going crazy."
I said, "Me too."
She knelt down, slowly, her palms sliding down my chest, and she
held my balls with one hand and put her wet mouth on me and held me in
her mouth, and I leaned back against the wall behind me, wondering how
the hell we were going to fuck in this little room. She moved her
mouth on me, slow and wet the way only she could do it, and I was
getting very hard very fast, and she got me harder with moist nippings
at my tip, and she squeezed my cock and licked the precum off.
She stood up, and quickly she looked around, and she put a hand on
the bathroom sink. She said, "Will this hold me up?"
I looked. The sink was propped on the small cabinet under it. It
looked substantial enough. It was worth a try. I didn't give a damn
one way or the other. I said, "Yes. Looks okay."
"Lift me up."
I held her under her arms and she used her hands to lift herself
onto the edge of the sink and she wrapped her legs around my waist and
looked at me. "Fuck me like this." She grabbed my dick and pulled me
to her. "Like this."
She watched me while I entered her a couple of inches, and she
whispered, "Yes," and I pulled back and forth, getting wet, and she
said, "Yes," and I put my hands under her firm tush and pulled her to
me and grit my teeth at the pleasure of squeezing and kneading her
wonderful butt while I pushed all the way in and she closed her eyes
and whimpered, "Yes!" I started fucking, deep, faster than I was used
to, and her cunt gripped me tightly, and I whispered, "Open your eyes.
Let me see your eyes." And she watched me, her eyes fuming, and then
after I fucked her steadily for a short while her eyes were pleading,
her mouth open as if she wanted to speak, and her fingers gripped my
hair and her hand tightened on my shoulders, and I stroked and stroked
into her, my jaw clinching, and after several deep strokes she
breathed a short, broken "Ahh-hh-hh" and after a few more strokes a
look of rapture came over her face and I saw her eyes narrow and she
jerked and started cumming, and I thought my god she just goes right
into it sometimes, she just lets herself have this wild, hot, fast cum
when she's excited, and I smiled at her and panted, "Yes. Cum. I
feel you cummin'," and her eyes lost focus while she came. Near the
end her head fell forward and she winced hard, her mouth opening, and
she made that animal sound in her throat that she made, that brief,
little sound that was like a groan and a whimper at once, and then her
upper torso fell forward and she clung to me, gasping, her breath hot
and wet against my chest. She clung while I kept fucking, and when
my fucking slowed and deepened and I probed far into her, breathless,
holding back my finish, she leaned back again, hanging with her arms
around my neck, and she watched my face. Her eyes were molten. She
was firm-lipped, her jaw set and resolute while her cunt tenaciously
milked me, demanding my orgasm, and when she felt the throbs start
inside her she grit her teeth and hissed, "Cum! Cum in me! Cum!"
And breathless with the first gush I gasped, "Ahh! It's good!" And
and she hissed back, commanding, pleading, "Yes! Tell me it's good,
tell me it feels good!" But I could only gasp, "God! Oh!" And
her cunt sucked the air out of me along with the cum, and the steamy
whispers went on, "Ahhh, baby. Yes! Cum hard! Cum hard, honey," and
she grit her teeth, staring at my face, and she whispered, "Oh, you're
so good when you let yourself go with me!" I finished with slow, deep
lunges and she reached down and squeezed my last drops into her.
I held her on the sink, and she clung to me, and we covered each
other with kisses until I was soft in her and she could get onto her
feet. And, yes, it was good, crazy and loving and good. I had let go
again -- stopping just short of telling her I was madly, madly, madly
in love with her.
I wanted more of Martha. But we had to eat, and Martha had to
call Ronnie, and there were things to get ready for Fire Island. We
turned in just after nine o'clock, our arms around each other. She
fell asleep before I did. I might have dozed off earlier, if only I
could have stopped thinking about that goddamn Howard.
PART 17C:
Wednesday.
The nude beach at Fire Island, again. A breezy, slightly cloudy
day.
Martha grumbled, "Out here in broad daylight." She glanced
quickly up and down the beach.
"So who's around?", Ronnie said. "There's nobody for miles." She
sat Indian style on our big towel in front of me. I sat upright, my
knees under me, while Ronnie's left hand cradled my balls. Her right
hand, lathered with suntan lotion, rhythmically squeezed my cock in a
well controlled milking motion.
Martha shook her head ruefully. "I had no idea I'd created such a
monster. I should have stopped you two before it got this far."
"Just good clean fun in the sun," Ronnie said. She grinned at me.
"Getting close?"
I said, "A little slower." I panted, beginning to lose control.
She slowed. "Like that?"
I nodded yes, and then she grinned at me and grit her teeth play-
fully and she started that corkscrew twisting with her hand.
My mouth fell open and my eyes rolled up. "God!"
Ronnie whispered, "Come on. Come on."
Resigned, Martha shook her head again. "Ronnie, why are you doing
this? Wait 'til tonight."
"We don't want these sensitive tissues to get burned, now, do we?
Anyway, he's too close now. Oh, Steven, look at you grin, you really
like this, huh? Huh? Oops, I'm starting to feel a commotion down
there...Oh!"
My cock spouted a white glob straight into the air. Ronnie smiled
when it landed on the towel near her. I couldn't speak. All I could
do was grunt. I looked down and saw Ronnie watch my cock squirt two
thick spurts across and past her shoulder, followed by two smaller ones
that slurped onto her forearm.
Ronnie kept squeezing and squishing and drawing more cum. She
said, "It's a good one, Martha. Mm, nice."
Martha gave a little laugh despite herself. "Ron, you're awful."
Ronnie milked upward slowly. "Let's get all of it, honey."
I said, "Ah! Mmm!" I settled down and took in a long gulp of air.
Martha said, "Ron, I hope nobody's watching."
"Too late now," Ronnie said, victorious, giving my shaft a long
pull from root to tip and watching closely as the last pale drop
emerged. "A-a-all gone."
"Well, I hope," Martha said, "he has enough left over for later.
Ronnie, Steven, please don't do this again. You're scaring the hell
out of me. We'd be arrested."
Within five minutes I fell asleep under the sun. Climaxing with
Martha the night before and now with Ronnie, along with the soothing
swish of the waves a few yards away, lulled me into dreamland. Martha
woke me forty-five minutes later and told me to roll over, and while
she rubbed lotion on my back I dozed off again.
Waking later, I turned over to find Martha and Ronnie cavorting
waist deep in the water, both of them lusciously naked in the sun-
light. Martha pointed at something down the beach to their right, and
Ronnie looked and laughed. They were talking, but I could hear none
of it. Then they noticed me, and Martha waved and Ronnie blew me a
kiss.
I blew little kisses at both of them. I thought: Shit, I'm leav-
ing this for Memphis in eleven days?
Martha motioned for me to join them in the water. I saw her mouth
the words "Come on" twice but couldn't hear her, and beside her Ronnie
was sweeping back her hair and looking seaward, her slim, slight back
muscles flexing and her waist sloping gently into hips half covered
with water. I thought: good lord, just looking at them is going to
make me hard again, when will I get enough of this?
I got up and walked toward the water, and Martha and Ronnie waded
a little deeper, up to their navels. The water was choppy and noisy.
I waded toward them, calling, "What were you looking at a minute
ago?"
Martha yelled back, "Some people walking toward us, down the
beach. They saw we were nekkid and they turned around and walked
back. See down there? There they go"
Ronnie cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled toward the
people in the distance, "Chicken! Don't know what you're missin'!"
She laughed and shrugged. "Guess they don't care."
I stood near Martha, feeling the waves cradle me t my waist, and
looked around. The sun was brilliant, low to the west. Except for
three small dots moving down the beach, we were the only ones there.
I looked out at the vastness of it all, at the mix of majesty and
tranquility. There had to be a way for me to get back here. There
had to be.
Martha stood close to me, to my left. She said, "What are you
frowning about? Still sleepy?"
"No."
She touched my arm. "Then, what?"
"You know."
"Memphis again."
"Can't help it."
She moved to stand in front of me. "Hey. Don't think about
that." She nudged her head toward the ocean. "Look at this. Isn't
this wonderful?"
"Yes, it is."
She put her arms around my neck. "But we're here, we're here now.
You and me. And Ronnie. We'll never be this young again, we'll never
be this free. It won't last forever, so at least have something to
remember. Enjoy it and remember it. Good memories feed hope, Steven.
Get the good memories now, while we can."
I looked at her. That face. Those eyes. I put my arms around
her, and she looked surprised, and I kissed her, deeply, longingly.
I heard Ronnie splashing water and coming near us, saying "Hey," and
soon she stood beside me while I kissed Martha.
Ronnie said, "Steven. Does this mean you and I are breaking up?"
I ended the kiss, and Martha's head fell back, and she looked
stunned, and she said, "Wow. What was that for?"
I turned to Ronnie and grabbed her arm. I said "C'mere."
Ronnie backed away. "Uh-oh. Steven, what are you up to?"
I put my arms around her and held her face with one hand and I
kissed her, too, deep, hearing Martha laugh behind me. She said,
"Steven, what are you doing?"
I let Ronnie go. She fell backward in the water a step or two,
surprised. Then I turned to Martha, eyeing her hungrily.
Martha laughed and backed away. "What are you doing?"
I fought the weight of the water, but a receding wave pulled me
backward, away from her. I dived, soared ahead under water, and came
up in front of Martha. I grabbed her and she yelped, laughing, and I
held her in the water with a tight hug, kissing her neck, and picking
her up. She squealed, "Steven!" and I hoisted her higher against me,
her navel near my face, and she pushed downward on my shoulders,
trying to get away. I buried my mouth in her navel, and she yelled,
"No! No! Steven, that tickles! No!"
I grinned up at her and let her go. Then I turned to Ronnie.
She was a few yards away, and her eyes widened and she started
paddling away from me, groaning, "No! Steven, No! What are you
doing?"
I was catching up to her, ready to dive. I said, "C'mere!"
"Steven! No!" She backed away in the water, above her navel now.
She held up a warning hand. "Steven, I'm not ticklish. Remember?
I'm not ticklish. I promise I'm not."
Behind me Martha yelled, "Sic 'im, Ronnie!"
I was getting closer and Ronnie squealed, "Steven! No!"
I dived, floated to her, and grabbed her by the waist as I leapt
into the air. When I reached air I heard her screaming, "Steeevennn!"
I had lifted her above me, holding her waist, loving the feel of
her cunt on my chest. I looked up at her. "Not ticklish, huh?"
"I'm not! I'm not! I promise I'm not."
I buried my mouth in her navel and pressed and licked.
Ronnie pushed down on my shoulders. "Ah! No! Steven!" Then she
started wiggling and laughing, "Alright! I lied! Steven, No!"
I lifted her higher, thanking Fiore for the strength I felt soar-
ing through me, and I lowered my head, craning my neck down as far as
I could, and I was able to lick just below her pubic patch.
"No! Steven! C'mon, c'mon, now, not here! No, Steven! Oh god!
Steven stop it! Stop!"
Then, ZAP! I got tickled from behind. I jerked backward, feeling
my head bump against Martha's, and the fingers tickled my ribs again
and I wriggled violently, dropping Ronnie into the water with a sloppy
splash, and I dove away from the tickler and surfaced again.
I faced Martha. She was holding her chin. "Did I hurt you?"
She said, grinning, "No, it's okay."
"You shouldn't have tickled me."
"But it's our only defense, Steven. I had to."
I began treading water toward her, teasing, "You shouldn't have
tickled."
She started moving backward. "No. Now...Steven. I know I
shouldn't have."
"Shouldn't have tickled!" I dove, soared again, saw Martha's
beautiful, naked hips and legs, grabbed her waist, and leapt into the
air. Martha was screaming. I stood in the water, looking straight up
at her.
She stared down at me, wary. "Now, Steven...I didn't mean it.
Let's just talk about this. Let's talk."
I growled, my majesty offended, "Tar-zan no talk! Tar-zan
tickle!"
Martha started talking faster and faster, "Steven no now don't,
don't do this, don't!"
I buried my mouth in her navel.
She squirmed and squealed. "No! No! Steven!"
I started lowering my lips, biting on my way down.
"No! No, now. Steven, don't you dare. Steven!"
I licked her tuft. But she didn't fight.
She said, "I'll bet you think you're smart, don't you."
I said, with my tongue stretched downward as far as it would go,
"Yellsh."
"Steven. But that doesn't tickle, hon."
I looked up at her from the corner of my eyes, my tongue still
twisting and searching for her.
She was grinning down at me, teasing. "You wanna make me cum?
Huh? Want me to cum?"
I nodded, still trying to get my tongue into a sensitive spot.
She smirked down at me. "You can't do that long enough. I know
you can't."
I nodded again, insistently, still trying.
She hissed, drawing air in, but kept smirking. "You'll never make
it, Steven. Your tongue's not that long."
I tried and tried. I saw her eyes close for a second, knowing it
felt good, but she laughed at me, getting tickled.
She said, "You'll never make it."
Beside me I heard Ronnie say, "Hey, when you finish her, do me."
Martha said, "Watch him, Ronnie. He thinks his tongue won't fall
off trying to do this."
I finally had to let my neck straighten up. I raised my head
back, stretching it, a terrible cramp growing, my twisted tongue sore.
Martha said, "See? Told ya."
I let her settle down, and I closed and opened my mouth, stretch-
ing my jaw. Martha slid downward along me, and settled warmly against
me, her nipples against my chest and her cunt churning against my dick
under the water, her face close to mine. "Why didn't you ever let me
know you were so playful? Hm? Why?"
I took a deep breath. "I was too little then."
"You should have let me know," she said. She pulled my face to
hers and kissed the hell out of me, tonguing me and trying to drown my
mouth with hers.
Ronnie said, "Well, damn. Maybe I can catch somebody walking down
the beach."
Martha drew back, her eyes fiery and playful, her smile teasing.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I was still trying to catch my breath. I shrugged. "I don't
know."
Martha said, "Carry me up on the beach and fuck me."
I stared at her.
She said, "Bet you can't."
I picked her up and hoisted her over my shoulder and struggled
toward shore.
"Steven, No! I wasn't serious. You know I wasn't! Steven!"
Ronnie followed behind me. "Hey, Martha's gonna get some!"
"Steven? Steven? You gonna put me down? You know I won't let
you do it You know it! Come on, put me down. Steven. Put me down!"
Of course there was no way I would go through with it. As I
reached shallow water, Martha's weight was no longer buoyed up and I
was getting out of breath. I reached the point where the water was to
my knees, and I fell into the waves, and Martha gave a squeal as she
landed near me. I sat up, the water around my chest in that position,
and Martha scrambled to her feet, looking beautiful and naked and wet,
grinning at me.
She said, standing a few feet from me, "There, knew you wouldn't."
She relaxed, wiping water from her face.
I looked up at her, panting. Sunlight glimmered on her thighs,
shoulders, and nipples. If I had the strength, I would have fucked
her then and here.
She caught her breath. "But if it were dark, and I didn't think
someone would see us..."
I said, "Next time," still panting.
She bent down and kissed me on the mouth. She said, "You devil,
you've been keeping all this from me. Just wait."
I let out a big whoosh of air, and I heard Ronnie wading tiredly
behind me.
Ronnie said, "Shucks, that's it? That's all that happens? What a
disappointment."
I struggled to my feet, turning to Ronnie, staring at her.
She stopped as she caught me staring at her. She said guardedly,
"Steven? No tickles, now. C'mon."
I stalked slowly toward her. "Thought you weren't ticklish."
She moved back. "I lied."
"Oh, I'm not gonna tickle. No, no. I'm draggin' you up there on
that beach, instead of Martha."
She smiled. "Yeah?" She beckoned me with her finger. "C'mere.
Dare ya."
I strode to her through the water.
She laughed, still beckoning me, still moving back. "Come on.
You hafta move faster than that."
I dove, and in the dim water I saw her ahead, trying to trick me
by moving to her right instead of farther back. I stroked with my
arms, swerving, and surfaced in front of her, my face right in front
of hers. She tried swerving to her left, but the water slowed her,
and I grabbed her, pulling her to me, and buried my lips in her neck.
She leaned against me limply, moaning weakly, making no effort to
get away or to raise her voice. She said lazily, "No no don't. Save
me. Someone save me."
I whispered in her ear, "You struggle to avail."
She raised her eyes and pretended to faint, her head falling back.
She moaned listlessly, "Help."
I picked her up, her legs hooked over one of my arms and my other
arm around her back, and I headed toward shore. Martha was watching
us, grinning and laughing as she sat on her beach towel and lit a
cigarette. I slowly trudged ahead, Ronnie in my arms with her head
thrown limply back, and she chanted lethargically, with no sense of
immediacy whatsoever, "Help. I struggle to no avail. Help. Someone
save me. No no. How dare you? Help. Somebody help."
I got almost to the point where the water dropped to my knees
before my arms and legs gave out under Ronnie's weight. I tumbled
into the surf, making sure Ronnie came away from me in a gentle roll
into the water, and I rolled in the shallow surf, then got up, stumb-
led onto the sand and to our towels, and then tumbled onto my face on
my beach towel, breathing hard.
Ronnie got to her knees, rinsing wet sand off her. "Hey, I thought
I was being ravished."
Martha took a drag off her cigarette. "Later, Ronnie. I think
Superman just collapsed."
Ronnie walked out of the water toward us. " Hey, Steven! Wake
up!"
Panting, I raised one arm weakly and let it fall back to the sand.
Ronnie said, "Martha, you see what guys do? They come on strong,
they make all kinds of loud noises and stuff. And they end up like
this."
Ronnie and Martha lounged on their beach towels chatting, and just
before I fell asleep on my face again I heard Ronnie saying, "Martha,
I think we ruined him for the day," and Martha said, "'We'? You're
the one who couldn't keep your hands to yourself."
They woke me later so I wouldn't fry on one side and asked if I
wanted to walk into the village of Kismet for some food. I told them
I'd rather nap. They decided to bring back a snack for me. While
they were gone I rinsed off in the ocean and rubbed lotion on my front
and went to sleep again. I had no idea why I was so knocked out. The
sex I'd had over the last two days was not enough to wear me out; I'd
been through a lot more sex than that in less time.
I lay thinking it was the calming whoosh and hiss of the waves,
the serenity of the beach. Or the release of many tensions built up
since my arrival in New York, many fantasies abandoned, many limita-
tions accepted. And much learned.
I was asleep when Martha and Ronnie returned. They didn't wake me
up until they noticed clouds gathering from the east. I ate the sand-
which they brought me while I watched the weather creep in. The girls
were disappointed, but I told them it didn't look like rain, just
overcast. Later in the afternoon they concluded that there wouldn't
be a sunset to watch that day.
I said philosophically, "But it was still a nice day. Just a
little short."
Martha looked at me, her eyes on mine for a second. She said
quietly, "Yes, a little short. But very nice. And I saw a Steven I
haven't seen for many years"
On the train back home, Martha and Ronnie talked animatedly until
we reached Babylon and switched trains for Manhattan. For most of the
trip into Manhattan, I sat in the center of a three-seater. On my
right, the window side, Martha lay curled on the seat with her head on
my lap, asleep. On my right, Ronnie slumped with her head against my
chest, asleep as well. And I leaned my head against the back of the
seat, dozing on and off.
At Jamaica the conductor cruised through the cars checking
tickets. He was a tall, older man. He approached me and said, "You
the chaperone for this party?" I nodded yes. I handed him all three
tickets, and he looked down silently at the three of us as he punched
them with his small tool. He handed the tickets to me and moved away,
saying, "Nice work if you can get it, pal."
And I thought: Yes, very nice work.
Later that night, in Martha's candlelit bedroom, after the three
of us had all showered, Martha and Ronnie massaged lotion onto my
back. Martha teased my back with light, sucking kisses while Ronnie
massaged my balls from behind. I rolled over and they lotioned and
teased my front, and Martha leaned over me and slowly sucked until I
was fully stiff. Then Martha got on top, her knees on each side of
me, and bent down and covered my face and chest with kisses, and while
Ronnie kissed my temples and shoulders, Martha put me into her. She
lay still, sucking my nipples, and whispered, "Are we driving you
crazy?" and I whispered back, "Yes." She began to fuck very slowly,
smiling at me, and I told her "Let yourself cum this way. I'll be all
right." She raised up and closed her eyes, concentrating, and she
controlled the fucking for herself, mostly churning her hips snugly
against me and enjoying the stimulation on her clit. Ronnie lay on
her back beside me, watching silently as Martha enjoyed it and
caressing Martha's breasts. Soon Martha was gasping and getting
close, and Ronnie asked her, "You gonna cum?" and Martha gasped "Yes!"
so Ronnie rose to her knees and kissed Martha's back. Martha gave a
start and Ronnie asked her, "You okay?" and Martha smiled timorously,
her eyes starting to squint, and she said, "You surprised me. It's
okay," and Ronnie planted little kisses on Martha's back and reached
around to squeeze a nipple, and then Martha buried her head against my
neck and stiffened and ground her clit against me and gasped, "Oh,
honey!" and she came and came for quite a long time while I flexed my
dick inside her. She jerked several times before it ended, then she
relaxed on me, breathless.
Ronnie settled on her side beside me and said, "Martha, it's so
easy for you to reach orgasm."
Resting atop me, Martha was catching her breath. "Oh, it's nice like
this. He just lets me control it, exactly the way I want it."
Ronnie looked at me and asked, "Can I do it like that? Or you
wanna cum now?" I told her I could hold out, thanks to her jerking me
off that morning, and she could get on top if she wanted. When Martha
was rested, Ronnie hovered over me on her knees, looking down and
guiding me into her. She settled about an inch down, sighing as she
worked her hips to wet my tip with her cunt, and then she tucked her
lower lip under her teeth and let herself go down, and I hissed and
she hissed as it went in, and Ronnie sighed, "Oooh, yeah. Oh, that's
deep. Steven, you're big," and I smiled up at her and said, "Yeah,
and you're so tight." She looked at me, her breath already starting
to quicken, and she brushed hair from her face and asked, "That okay?"
I said, "it's great." She bent forward a little, resting her weight
on her hands, and she started moving up and down a few times slowly,
and I craned my head back, enjoying the feel of her, and Ronnie
murmured greedily, "This is good." Martha told her, "Move just for
yourself, Ronnie. He'll cum too fast if you move up and down like
that." I said, "It's okay. It takes me longer this way."
Ronnie settled onto me, closing her eyes and concentrating, and
she ground her clit against me and smiled and said, "Oh, yeah. Ohhh,
yeah, I see what you mean. Mmmmm. Good. Good." I asked her, strok-
ing her dark nipples, "Like it, huh?" Ronnie said, "It's not as good
as when you move on me, but...yeah, I'm in complete control. But it's
better than masturbating, your dick's so deep in me." She worked her
hips steadily for a few minutes, getting closer and closer and soon
whispering incoherently and gasping, and I squeezed one of her nipples
and Martha squeezed another, and she almost lost her momentum for a
brief moment but I kept whispering, "it's okay, Ronnie. It's okay,
take your time." Soon I felt her cunt tighten and she began to
whisper, "Dancing... Devils dancing," and then she bowed her head
downward and ground her cunt against me ravenously and grimaced and
came, whispering "God!" She came for several seconds, her hips
trembling as they moved, and at the end her mouth fell open and she
whimpered several times and jerked, and then she fell onto me and
relaxed. She gasped, "God, that was nice!"
When she was rested she rolled off me and while they both lay
there together I embraced and kissed each of them in turn, ending up
with Martha. I mounted Martha and held her by her butt and hid my
face against hers, and Martha whispered filthily in my ear while I
enjoyed a primitive, belly-slapping fuck. When I came, Ronnie kissed
and licked my butt and massaged the muscle behind my balls, with
Martha's motherly crooning driving me crazy while my cock filled her.
I rested, completely relaxed and content. I slept well, too,
holding Martha. I didn't worry about anything at all. Until the next
afternoon.
PART 17D:
Late Thursday morning, after pushing my body as hard as I could at
Fiore's, I returned to Martha's for a quick shower, and then Martha
and Ronnie and I went shopping.
We stopped in a clothing store on Lexington Avenue in the East
70's. These two trim young women in their medium-high heels, Ronnie
in a straight, knee length dark skirt and powder blue cotton blouse,
her black hair tousled about her forehead and curling around her neck
and ears; Martha in a pleated, one piece, light pink dress, her hair
pulled back in a small bun, her electric eyes studying every dress and
purse on the racks.
Ronnie fingered an overcoat and said, "A great price on this one,
huh?"
Martha frowned. "I've seen better."
Ronnie said, "Martha. So picky. Oh, hey, look at these
sweaters."
I sat on a chair in the shoe department at one end of the store
and watched and waited. Ronnie found a navy blue button-up sweater
and slipped into a dressing room to try it out. Martha meticulously
inspected the overcoats.
Soon Ronnie came out of the dressing room and stood before me,
wearing the sweater and eyeing her reflection in a mirror. She turned
this way and that. She studied the sweater, I studied her smooth,
trim calves and her slender ankles and her cute butt and was getting a
hard-on.
Ronnie turned to me with a smirk, and winked. "Exciting, huh?"
I looked her over. "It looks nice on you. But you'd look nice in
just about anything."
"Steven. So charitable."
"No, really. It does."
She stared at the mirror, unsmiling, uncertain. She put her hands
on her hips and sighed. "If I weren't so skinny..."
I said, "You have a perfect figure for that sweater." I meant it.
In nice, neat clothes, Ronnie was as chic as anyone in a magazine ad.
Ronnie said, "Martha, what do you think? Steven's lying to me and
using strange words like 'perfect', that no one has ever used when
talking about me."
Martha, a few yards away and still looking through the coat rack,
looked at her, and at me, and at her again. "Believe him, Ron. He
has excellent taste in clothes."
And I started to add good taste in women, too, but I kept that to
myself. Ronnie was just plain cute. Cute enough to eat. They were
both cute enough to eat. And I'd eaten both of them, so many times I
couldn't count, and they were delicious, both of them. I suddenly
realized that it was like living in a three-way version of some of
those free thinking beatnik communities I'd read about.
Then the two young women, these two young women with whom I was
absolutely and totally smitten, talked about money to get Ronnie's
sweater, which they discovered cost a great deal more than they
reckoned on, and my rebellious young head and heart wished I'd had
millions and millions and millions to buy them every sweater and coat
and trinket in the world. I did not want them to struggle or hassle
or do without. They should have it all, they should have everything,
they should have whatever they wanted.
I was deeply involved in that thought after we left the store and
started for home. I was angry with a feeling of helplessness. Angry
to the point of speechless moodiness as I walked behind them out of
the store. Why should these two women have to work so hard and do
with so little?
Ronnie said, "Martha, you should have bought that coat."
"Oh...they wanted too much for it."
"But it was a great price."
"It was still too much."
Ronnie said, "But you're gonna need one. You can't just keep
repairing that old one."
Martha explained patiently, "Look, I can't go into savings for a
three hundred dollar coat. You know I'm on unsteady ground with the
people at Columbia. If I lose my job, I'll be on the street. I have
to leave my savings alone."
"You know you could move in with me again."
"And we'd be at each other's throats again."
"Eh. Temporary."
"You know what happened last time."
Ronnie said, "Well, look, they're having a sale at Bloomingdale's
next week. They'll have something."
"You know Bloomingdale's is too expensive." Martha glanced at her
watch. "We'd better get something for lunch. I'll have to go up to
Columbia and meet Howard a little later."
During lunch, Martha managed to cheer up as she considered seeing
Howard and his daughter. She said, "I haven't seen her in a year.
She is so, so cute. He showed me a picture of her. No little girl
could be that pretty, her picture didn't even look real." She sipped
her soup and said to me, "Now, Steven, you look after Ronnie tonight.
Keep her out of trouble."
Ronnie grinned. "He's gonna show me how to make that chicken
salad. It'll be all mine, Martha. You can't have any."
Martha said, "It'll take you a week to eat that by yourself."
"Steven'll help me."
I told Martha, "Don't worry, I'll save you some."
Martha said, "Here's the schedule, now. I'm meeting Howard at
Columbia at three, and we'll take the train to Queens for a dinner
with some people he knows out there, and I'll spend some time with his
daughter. So it'll be a little late when I get back, with those sub-
ways out there."
Ronnie said, "Oh, take a taxi home."
"I can't afford a taxi from out there. Anyway, he'll wait in the
subway station with me. Or I can take the Long Island Railroad, it
stops out there."
We returned to Martha's, where Ronnie and I gathered some extra
bowls for making the chicken salad. Ronnie didn't have a baking pan
for the chicken, so I borrowed Martha's.
When Martha was ready to go, she walked around the apartment pick-
ing up a few things and throwing them into her purse. I felt a chill
go up my spine. I wondered if she was taking spermicides with her. I
had to force myself to avoid considering it.
Ronnie stood in the living room, her hands on her waist while she
watched Martha. "Hey, Martha, you're gonna be late. What are you
doing, packing for the weekend?"
Martha complained, "I can't find my subway tokens. They disap-
peared."
"Oh, here, I have some." Ronnie rummaged in her purse. "You
better get going, it's almost three." She handed Martha a couple of
tokens.
Quickly Martha kissed her, and she kissed me with a hasty
"G'night, hon," and she went to the door. On her way out she told
Ronnie, "Don't you dare let anything happen to him while I'm gone."
"Are you kidding? He'll be looking out for *me*."
Martha left, and I stood in the living room staring at the door.
Howard. Howard again. What was this with Howard?
Behind me Ronnie said, "Hey, is something wrong? What are you
staring at?"
I turned around to he smiled. "Nothing. C'mon, let's go find a
chicken."
It took over three hours in Ronnie's apartment to cook the chick-
en, boil the potatoes and eggs, and chop up the vegetables. I was
absent minded and a little foggy, thinking about Martha and Howard,
and I made some mistakes and fumbled with the ingredients. When the
huge bowl of salad was ready and we had cleaned up Ronnie's kitchen,
we sat in the dining room and ate and talked.
I grew more uneasy as it darkened outside around half past seven.
I was sitting on Ronnie's living room rug with several astrology books
spread before me when the tension began to get to me as the clock
neared nine.
I looked up and saw Ronnie drawing at her dining room table. She
had changed into a dark blue, full skirt with a white band around the
hem, and she was seated in a chair with her feet drawn up and crossed
on the seat in front of her, the skirt tucked down into her lap, and I
looked at her smooth thighs and calves and remembered what her body
looked and felt like. I felt a coldness creep up my back, an icy fear
at the thought of Martha getting into bed with Howard. I wanted to go
to Ronnie and hold her and cling to those long, slim legs and feel her
fingers stroking me. My feelings were, I knew, irrational; neither
Martha nor Ronnie ever mentioned Howard short of anything brief and
unrevealing. But the urge to somehow reach out and stop the clock on
Howard made me physically antsy.
Just before nine o'clock I put the astrology books away and rose
to my feet. I told Ronnie I was getting tired and wanted to go up-
stairs to Martha's.
She looked up from her drawing. "Aw, getting' bored? We can go
somewhere."
"Mm, I'm just going to go upstairs and turn in with that book you
gave me the other day. I'll probably just fall asleep."
"By yourself?" She set her ink brush down on the table. "What's
the matter, sweetheart? You've been nervous all night."
"Oh, nothin', just...tired from yesterday."
She smiled. "We wear you out?"
"Not really, just -- y'know..."
She got up from the table and crossed the living room toward me.
"Hey, I understand, it's not that cool in here, and not much going
on..."
"No, it's not you --"
She insisted, as she opened her door, "No, no. I get it. We
should have planned something for tonight. Go on. Scat. If you want
us to go somewhere, let me know."
I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she kissed me back and closed
the door. When I got to Martha's I was too restless for anything but
slow, aimless pacing in her apartment. I found a pack of her ciga-
rettes at nine thirty and brought them downstairs with me and sat on
the front steps, smoking.
At a quarter to ten I heard the front door of the building creak
open behind me, and Ronnie sat on the steps beside me.
"Hi," she said, not looking at me as she lit a cigarette.
"Hi," I said somberly.
She took a drag and propped her feet on a step below her with her
knees high, and she leaned forward with her chin on her knees. "Can I
join you out here?"
"Sure."
She took another drag and looked ahead, across the street. "Can
we talk?"
"Sure."
"Then talk to me."
"About?"
"About what's worrying you."
I sighed and looked away from her. "There's nothing worrying me."
"Yes there is."
"No there isn't."
She paused, reaching down to fiddle with her loafer, and she said,
"Yep."
I said, "Nope."
She thought for a minute, looking ahead. "Memphis?"
"Eh. A little."
"Me?"
"Not really."
"Anita?"
"Hmp."
"Martha?"
I shrugged.
She said, a little impatiently, "C'mon, Steven."
I leaned back on my arms. "I wonder when she'll be home."
"I don't know. Not too late, I guess."
"They're having a sale at Bloomingdale's sometime?"
"Yeah, Saturday. One day sale."
"Could you take me there Saturday afternoon? I want to pick out
something for Martha. Her birthday's coming up."
"Okay. But let's don't get there too late in the day. The place
will be cleaned out."
We were silent for a moment.
Ronnie said, "You changed the subject."
"No I didn't, I was thinking about Martha."
"You asked me when I thought she was coming home, and then you
changed the subject."
"Okay," I said, and I lit another cigarette and Ronnie sat with
her chin on her knees and waited.
Finally I got up the nerve and asked her, "She go out with Howard
often?"
"No. As far as I know, she went to a faculty dinner with him
three or four months ago, and that was the last time." She sighed and
raised her head and looked the other way down the street. She said
quietly, "They're friends, Steven."
"Yeah, I know."
Ronnie crushed out her cigarette on the step beside her, and while
she got another one she said, "Steven, if Martha and Howard were, uh,
more than friends, what would you do about it?"
I thought about that, and I just shrugged.
Ronnie said, "You're exactly right." She folded her arms across
her knees and looked at her cigarette lighter, turning it over and
over in one hand as she talked. "You know, I watch the two of you,
you and Martha. I watch the two of you talking together, and just
doing things together. And I've watched you have sex with her. And
...and I think, if I'm not completely stupid...that I see what's going
on. And I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking. And I'm pretty
sure...that you love Martha more than you let either of us know."
I turned my head away, so that Ronnie wouldn't see my eyes getting
red.
Ronnie said, "Why don't you just let her know?"
I didn't answer. I just shrugged, swallowing hard and holding on
to my composure.
She said seriously, "Let me tell you something." She cleared her
throat and took another drag. "I don't know about Martha and Howard.
I know Martha likes him a lot, and she's known Howard since the day
she came to New York. But I want to tell you this..." She cleared
her throat again, and she said, "Martha loves you, Steven. More than
anything or anyone in this world. Really does. And she wants you to
believe in yourself when you go back to Memphis. And she's really
worried, you know? Because she won't be there with you. She can't.
And I know that, because she told me." She took another drag. "If
there's anything Martha doesn't want, it's for anyone to be able to
hurt you again or to take away your belief in yourself."
My lower lip trembled, and I felt powerless to stop it, but I
tried, turning my head farther away and rubbing my mouth and chin with
my hand, hard, but my eyes teared anyway.
Ronnie caressed my arm, and then held it, and she leaned her face
against my arm, looking away. She said, "Do you know that Martha
keeps herself from doing things, seeing people, because you're here?
Martha would never, never tell you that. And I shouldn't be telling
you any of this, either." She raised her face and fiddled with my
hair. She said, "I'm not going to tell you a lot of things that I
know about her, Steven. There's a lot that doesn't matter, and she
does have problems, big problems. Because Martha needs a life.
Martha needs more than just her work. And you meet a lot of those
needs. I don't know if you know it, but there are times when you've
made Martha happier than anyone ever has, including me. I know that,
because she told me that, too."
She looked at me, and I was still turned away from her. She put
her arm around my shoulder. "But I'll tell you one secret, one big
secret about Martha. There's a lot of problems she has that you can't
do anything about. Nobody can. But Martha told me one day that no
one ever said they loved her, loved her and really meant it. Men want
her. Look at her, she's beautiful. She's like a fantasy, she's so
pretty. One guy in New York told her almost two years ago that he
loved her. Martha found out he was married. She just wants someone
to love her, really love her. Not want her or control her or own
her." She rubbed my shoulder and sighed, and looked away. "Just love
her, Steven. For now. Just love her. Don't try to take her life
away. She loves you, but if you try to put chains on her she'll
fight, she'll fight back." She looked back at me again. "It's not
just you. It's anybody, even me. She'll love you, she'll love you
with every drop of blood in her, but she'll fight back."
I sniffled, getting myself together, and Ronnie caressed my shoul-
ders.
She said, "Hey. Got your handkerchief on you?"
"Yeah," I said, gulping, and I reached into my right back pocket
and pulled it out and started to wipe my eye.
But Ronnie said, "No, give it to me." I handed her the handker-
chief and she leaned toward me, turning my face toward her, and she
said gently, "Here, let me do that." She dabbed at my eyes, smiling.
"You're always so nice to me. Let me be nice to you for a minute."
"Come on, I can do that."
"No, let me. I like it. There, look at you. Let's get this off
your cheek, here. You're so independent. Let somebody mother you for
a change."
I said grumpily, "I'm not supposed to be doing this."
"Yeah? What are you supposed to be doing?"
"I'm supposed to be growing up."
She said, looking at me and handing the handkerchief back. "You
are growing up." She smiled at me. "Barrel of laughs, ain't it?"
I gave a small laugh in spite of myself. "Oh, Yeah. Loads of
fun."
She stood up and moved to stand on the step behind me, saying,
"Hold it, just sit there. Be still." From behind me, she extended
her legs along each side of me and sat on the step behind me, leaning
against my back with her head on my shoulder, and she wrapped her arms
loosely around me. "There we go," she said, and she settled against
me. "I'll bet you didn't like your mother, did you?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. I didn't like mine, either. But I love
Martha. I love her a lot. I wish she'd been my mother. I wish I'd
had a mother like her, cranky perfectionist that she is."
"Me too," I said, choking up again.
Ronnie hugged me. She whispered, "It's okay." She looked away
from me. She said, "If we didn't love our moms, we'd find one. But
if we made that person our mother, that person wouldn't be able to be
who she is, would she? Hm?"
I shook my head no. I understood what she was saying. I took a
deep breath. I said stubbornly, "All right, I have to stop this."
"You will. Just take it easy.
"I just don't know what to do next."
"Don't do anything next. Just let Martha know you love her.
Really love her. Not that possessive stuff you threw at Anita, but
really, really love her. For what she is. For who she is now, today,
tonight. And tell her every day that you love her. Don't just buy
her something, she expects that. Surprise the hell out of Martha,
Steven, and just love her. Let her know it. She needs your love and
she needs your honesty, and mine, so desperately. You have no idea
how hungry she is for it."
I rubbed one of Ronnie's arms that was folded around my chest. I
said firmly, "All right. I will."
She hugged me and rocked me side to side for a moment. I felt her
smiling against my neck. "Hey, you feel good. Did I ever tell you
that?"
"You mentioned it."
She chuckled. "Well, you do. I hope you don't intend to keep
getting bigger and bigger, though, you'll look like one of those
bloated body builders. They look so ridiculous."
"A lot of girls like that.
"Some girls don't. Martha doesn't. I don't."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that." I squeezed her
hand. "You'll make a good mom, Ronnie. And a good wife."
"I'll be good in bed, anyway."
"Too bad I'm not five years older."
"You're old enough now."
"Not according to the guys at the courthouse."
Ronnie laughed, "Well, to hell with them. The don't know any-
thing." She ruffled my hair and rested her chin on my shoulder again.
She said wistfully, "Oh, I don't know if I'll ever be married. I
think I want to, many times. I think I want to, but I think what I
really want is what I didn't have in Michigan. And I don't want what
I've seen in New York, either. I used to go through my house in
Michigan and I'd see my folks' wedding pictures, on the lamp tables,
in the hall. And I'd visit friends and relatives and their wedding
pictures would be set up somewhere. And I went to weddings, lots of
weddings. I'd see the pictures with the new hubby and the new bride
eating the cake and smiling, drinking the champagne and smiling,
posing for the camera and smiling. Everybody smiling. Smile, smile,
smile. Grinning like monkeys. Then you go to see the same people a
year later, two years later, three years. Nobody's smiling any more.
You see it when they talk to each other. They'll be smiling at you
when they talk, and then when they talk to their better half they
don't smile anymore. Their eyes change, their voices change. No
smiling. Except a few, a small few. That's not love, Steven, that's
not what they married for. If I ever get married, I want that guy to
talk to me, and smile and mean it."
She craned her neck forward, over my shoulder. "You know who else
loves you in this town? Hm? Besides Martha?"
I didn't say anything.
She said, "I do. I *do*. Not married love, not like the movies,
not like Martha does. Maybe nothing will come of it, maybe we'll
never see each other again after you go back. But I do love you."
She gave the back of my neck a loud smooch. "There. Whaddya think
about that?"
I almost said it. She almost tricked me into saying I loved her.
I had never said that to anyone, not out loud. I nodded shyly, and I
said, "Ronnie, you're sweet. I don't know why you're so nice to me."
She was quiet again for a moment. A couple passed us on the
street, ambling slowly, and they gave us a friendly but curious look,
and Ronnie grinned at them and said, "Hi." They both said "Hi" and I
said "Hi," and they said, "Enjoying this cool weather tonight?" And
Ronnie said, "Yeah, it's great, isn't it?" The couple walked down the
street.
Ronnie leaned against me again and we both sat quietly for a
moment.
She asked, "Wanna go anywhere? Go eat? Walk around?"
"Uh, no. Not up to much of anything, I guess."
"Wanna go to sleep?"
"Not really."
"Wanna go upstairs with me?" I didn't answer, and when I didn't
she asked, "Wanna be my date tonight?"
I said, "I'm supposed to be asking you that, not the other way
around. Right?"
"Okay. Well?"
I lowered my head, thinking. I said, hesitantly, "Wanna...be my
date tonight?"
"Sure."
"Wanna be...wanna be my girlfriend tonight?"
She grinned. "Sounds like fun."
I blushed, and Ronnie laughed indulgently and said, "You see what
happens? It's funny when the illusion walks right up to you, isn't
it?" She looked out into the street. "The illusion comes along, and
it's hardly what you thought. You don't respond the way you thought
you would. That happened so often when I was with the beat crowd.
They liked to think they were free thinking. Emotionally invulner-
able. Doin' it with interchangeable bodies. But when something real
came along, they just ran scared. Or they scoffed at it. That kind
of feeling was, I don't know, too middle class, too -- too bourgeois,
that's the word they liked."
She straightened up and put her hands on my shoulders and massaged
firmly, slowly. "That feel good?"
"Mmm. Yeah."
"You're so tense." Her thumbs and fingers fell into a slow,
pressing rhythm. She said, "They'd climb in bed and it was like let's
not make this too complicated, let's not get involved, let's just make
it look that way. Let's take drugs with it, it makes it more intense.
They didn't want to get involved, but they wanted the feeling of being
involved. And if they did get involved, they'd say, 'I made a mis-
take. I got too involved.' And a lot of them, they just didn't know
how to fuck. Not at all."
She continued her firm massage, but now she leaned her head closer
to mine again, and she said, "Oh, but you and me and Martha. It's so
close. It's like...it's like the family I didn't have, the friends I
wanted but who never wanted me. So different from the what I knew
before. And you were such a surprise. Nothing like the other guys.
And a long, long way from George."
"Hm. George. What a letdown."
"Oh, he was very exciting at first. Very. And handsome. Very
successful, very talented, very ambitious. And very, very, very
selfish and full of himself." She sighed and said quietly, "But, boy,
I wanted him. Or I should say, I wanted what I wanted him to be. It
doesn't work. We have to love people for who they are, for what they
can give us now, what we can give them now."
She was quiet for a moment, absently rubbing my shoulder, and from
the corner of my eyes I saw that her gaze was away from us and down
the street. She blinked and broke out of her thoughts and smiled at
me. "So you had your Anita and I had my George." She rubbed my
shoulders hard for a second and then folded her arms around my chest
again and leaned against me.
She said, "Isn't there anyone in Memphis?"
"Memphis?" I gave a small, hard laugh. "Nah. No, there was this
girl named Karen, she was the only one. And a couple of dates, you
know, and flirting at the CYO dances. Karen wasn't too bad, I guess.
Too young, though." I laughed again, ruefully. "Can you believe I'm
saying that? She was a year older than me, I think. I'm sitting here
saying she was too young."
"I know what you mean. After you and Martha, everyone seems too
young for me now. Or maybe not too young, maybe...maybe too much
alike. Pretty, a lot of them. Tempting. But so generic. So sterile
and predictable. Same attitudes, same expectations. Same phony
promises." She looked around. "There isn't anyone else down there?
Nobody you hang around with?"
"The theater crowd, I guess. But after Martha, after this --" I
looked up, waving my hand toward the city around us. "-- after this, I
just don't belong there any more. I never will."
"Yeah? When did you belong there? Did you ever?"
I thought about it. "I guess not." I shook my head. "Don't
know what I'll do when I get back there, now. Don't have the
slightest idea."
"Oh, you'll work. You'll learn. You'll find out what you want to
do, and you'll get good at it. The way you always do. And then
you'll make your own way out. You won't have to stumble around and
fall on your face the way Martha and I did." She hugged me. "And
you'll find love, sweetheart. You'll find someone, something. You'll
just keep on going. You'll keep on going the way you always have.
The way the rest of us do."
"I won't find anything like this. Not like this."
"This? Oh, this wouldn't last forever. My god, we'd go crazy,
we'd wear ourselves out. And you'll change, we'll all change. But
something like this -- it scares you, I think. It's intimidating,
because you learn so much about yourself, you learn so much about who
you really are and what you really want." She leaned back a little
and rubbed my shoulders again. "You wouldn't be part of that group.
You'd never fit in. But you are dependent on them. Like me, at work.
I'm so different from what they think I am. But I do need them, I
need that paycheck. It's phony, I know, but for now you need that.
Learn from them, Steven. Work with them. Live with them if you have
to. Respect them; most of them are just doing the best they can. But
you don't have to be like them." She sighed and said, "Ever read any-
thing by Alan Ginsberg?"
"No. Never heard much about him, until I came here."
She said, "'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the
negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angel-headed hipsters
burning for the ancient heavenly connection into the starry dyna-
mo...' She grinned against my face. "That's me. Part of that's me.
Burning for the ancient heavenly connection. Isn't that you? Isn't
that everybody? The difference is, you know it now." She ran a hand
across my hair. "I'll give you my Ginsberg book, if you want."
"Okay. Good."
"Martha's read him, too. She likes him, a lot of it. Not every-
thing. He's far too angry for Martha" She gently ran her fingers
through my hair. "You have such nice hair. Feels so good in my
hands."
"Yours, too."
"Really? I can never keep it straight. It won't lie down."
"No. Looks just right. Don't change it."
"Okay. Just for you."
"It always feels so soft." I leaned my head back a little, feel-
ing her curls against my neck and ear. "Feels good now, too. It's
always nice when it's against my face, when..."
"When what?"
"When we're, you know --" I shrugged.
"Mmm, Steven, that's so sexy. You're seducing me."
"No I'm not. Just telling you about it."
"But it's very seductive. To me, anyway. You can be so seductive
when you're just being yourself sometime."
I let my head lean back a little while her fingers softly scraped
downward in my hair, a few of her wavy curls caressing my neck. Oh, I
needed that, needed that while Martha was away.
I said, "Let's go upstairs."
She whispered ironically, "I don't believe it. I think I've just
been seduced."
Ronnie turned off all the lights in her apartment. In her bedroom
she bent down to get the matchbook on the table beside her bed to
light the candle. But I touched her shoulder and said, "Wait. I like
it dark sometimes."
She straightened up and said, "Yeah. Me too."
Standing by her bed, we undressed each other carefully, not speak-
ing, smiling forgivingly when one of us had trouble with a button or a
belt.
She lay naked in the bed, one knee raised. I lay beside her and
she put her arms around me and I embraced her and we kissed. It was
warm and undemanding. I kissed her neck. And then I did it: I put my
lips to her ear and I said it, I whispered, "I love you, too, Ronnie."
I was amazed at how easily the words flowed from my mouth. And I
meant it, meant it the way Ronnie told me the words meant. She hugged
me closer and her warm hand slid across my back and down to my waist
and to my butt and she squeezed, and she kissed my shoulder. I lifted
my head and looked at her and she was smiling at me.
I rose to lie between her legs and she spread her thighs and we
kissed and kissed and kissed, warmly and slowly, holding and kissing
and nipping until she was wet. I got long and very stiff that way,
just holding and kissing her, and after many minutes of that I lifted
my hips and let my tip ride up and down her slit a few times. Her
hands gripped my shoulders and she raised her knees and let her thighs
fall widely apart, and she whispered that she was ready.
With Martha, sex was almost always an overpowering, intense emo-
tional and physical rush. With Martha, love and lust burned and
pillaged. Even when I totally controlled Martha's pleasure and mine,
I always felt swept up and then savagely swept away, mindlessly, all
will consumed by need and ecstasy. With Ronnie, the emotions were
less like a tidal wave and more like a deep, smooth, straight-flowing
river. It seemed to make purely physical sensation with Ronnie more
acute, laced with more detail.
Entering Ronnie was from start to finish a continuous stream of
unique physical impressions. When I would first nudge my tip into her
loose, pliant outer folds, my nerves could distinctly feel the shape
and thickness of each petal, fixing the very shape of my own glans in
my mind with the clarity and detail of a high resolution photograph.
Just beyond her opening was a narrow cupola of bone or muscle, only
slightly resistant, like a low arch that might make one duck a little
to get through; and always Ronnie would tense subtly when she felt me
intrude there, but briefly, and she would shift her pussy upward and
relax, and with only a slight pressure the soft, oiled, slim, fleshy
arch would give way, just enough to remain close and slick around the
neck of my glans, and then the arch became a greased gasket that
amiably guided my shaft at a pleasurable angle as my cock moved
through it and past. My tip and then the length of my shaft would
glide into and through a wet, narrow corridor of what seemed like
miles of infinitely spiraling, engulfing convolutions and butter-
coated textures. The floor of her tunnel sloped upward, embracing my
tip stickily and then more hungrily caressing the underside of me. As
I neared full entry I could feel a hug from below as well as an
enfolding pressure from both the left and the right along my entire
length. Far ahead, the front half of my glans found a further narrow-
ing, an abrupt but soft constriction barely wide enough to encircle my
tip, and beyond that lay the secret opening to the vault of her cervix
and the mysterious, gently maddening sensation of a second, smaller,
sucking inner mouth that played on and around my tip and its slit,
leaving the rest of my cock firmly sheathed and pulsing, secured at
the root end by the circlet at her opening, my flesh gently tickled by
the thin, soft, curly flesh of her outer folds. Below her opening my
scrotum was warmed by her tush's furrow, my pubic patch resting on
hers.
Slowly in the dark we started our fuck, and her hands gripped my
shoulders and she said, "This is the way I wanted it." I fucked her
with ease, deeply, and I let the fucking take its unhurried course,
feeling good about it, feeling right, feeling I'd finally bared my
open wounds to another, and now I could let Martha in, too, I could
tell Martha I loved her and I could mean it. And I loved Ronnie for
teaching me and I made the fucking good for her. She had no trouble
reaching her fulfilment, no problem with losing it as she got closer.
She simply began a long, leisurely slide into it that lasted a couple
of minutes and then she came, clasping my face against hers, and I
whispered to her while she came, "I feel it. I feel you." She
whimpered a little as she finished, and she clung to me while I fucked
slowly toward my lusciously selfish finish, clung until I stiffened
and slowed on her a few minutes later and came inside her. And Ronnie
was amazing, the sweet, giving princess that Anita should have been,
slender and delicate, clinging with a warm, needy breathlessness,
sharing with me in our unique, friendly, loving, soothing lust. I
came with the emotions and sensations I'd wanted with Anita. The
fantasy of Anita became the reality of Ronnie, Ronnie's inner flesh
milking mine, Ronnie's warm, long thighs cradling my pumping hips,
Ronnie's pelvic swell churning for my pleasure and her pleased
breathing near my ear as she felt my heat gush, Ronnie's gentle
whisper of "Yeah, honey" while I emptied need and gratitude and love
and cum into her.
When we were rested I lit the candle and she lit a cigarette and
we lay together talking. We said very little, talking only while she
smoked her cigarette. When her cigarette was out she went into the
bathroom, and I lay in her bed missing her, missing Martha, missing
both of them. When Ronnie returned we held each other, Ronnie resting
comfortably on my shoulder. She whispered, "I'll sleep okay tonight.
I'll wake up okay, too. But I miss Martha being with us." She fell
asleep within a few minutes.
I got out of bed, leaving her asleep, and I blew out the candle
and turned on her bathroom light so I could see to gather my clothes.
Then I closed her bedroom door and went into the kitchen and took a
quick, soapy shower to get the sweat off me. When I washed my face I
sensed on my hands the faint aroma of sage and pepper from Ronnie, and
I raised my hands and face to the stream of warm water and oddly I
felt the loss of her scent and of Ronnie herself as water slipped off
me, draining away.
Even more strangely I felt no worry that Martha had not been with
us, no worry about what Martha did or didn't do that night, no worry
about Howard. I didn't seem to care so severely about any of it. No,
it was not what the Catholic Church had taught me, to tell two women I
loved them. No, it was not what most people would have accepted, to
love different people in different ways, to give to them differently.
I felt like an honest man with my feelings about both women, about my
affection for Ronnie and my love for Martha. I felt a sense of
responsibility toward both of them, a sense I'd neglected when I
pursued Anita.
I dressed in the bathroom and turned out the light, and I went
into the bedroom to check on Ronnie. She slept, curled up face
down. I reached down to give her a kiss, and she stirred, turning
over. Her arms went around me and I knelt down to hold her. I
whispered, "In the morning, I'll remember everything that happened
tonight."
She said, "I will, too." She held a palm against my face and gave
me a kiss, and I told her, "You were wonderful."
She said, "Guess who taught me," and she reached up and hugged me
to her, and she said, "You be good to Martha when she comes home.
Don't doubt her feelings for you."
Within less than a minute her arms slipped away and she was asleep
again. I pulled the sheet to her shoulders and walked into the living
room.
It was twelve twenty in the morning. I had not heard anyone come
into the building, had not heard the front door slam shut, had not
heard anyone trudging up the stairs. I walked out Ronnie's door, not
shutting it closed because I knew she had the door locked from the
inside and I wouldn't be able to get back if I needed to. I went
upstairs. Looking into Martha's place, I saw she had not arrived.
I returned to Ronnie's apartment and turned on the living room
light, closing the door quietly. I got a couple of astrology books
off the bookshelf, and I started reading.
At just after one-fifty in the morning I heard a car stop in front
of the building, its motor idling noisily. I looked out Ronnie's
living room window and saw Martha getting out of a taxi.
I replaced the books in Ronnie's bookshelf and walked to her
bedroom door and looked in. She was asleep. Then I heard the front
door slam shut, then high heels on the stairs. I waited at the front
door and heard a quick scuffle and skid of shoes that told me Martha
had stopped in front of Ronnie's door, so I opened up.
Martha had her hand raised, ready to knock.
I put a finger to my lips. "Shh. She's asleep." I moved into
the stairway and closed Ronnie's door.
She gave me a kiss on the cheek. She whispered, "Hi. Sorry
I'm so late, the trains --"
"That's okay," I said. "I was with Ronnie." I led her by the
arm up the stairs.
As I used my key to open Martha's door, she told me, "The subway
had a problem. But Howard drove me to the Long Island Railroad and
paid the fare."
"That was nice of him," I said opening the door for her.
"Yes, he's always considerate." She set her purse down by the
door as I closed it behind us. She took a bobby pin from her hair.
"And he said hello."
"Oh. Well, next time you see Howard tell him hello, too."
"I don't see him that often." She turned and walked toward the
bedroom, stopping to kick off her heels while removing another bobby
pin, her back to me, and I looked at her from behind and thought that
there was no angle and no position from which Martha did not look
naturally beautiful.
I joined her in the bedroom and while I undressed she took her
earrings off and dropped them on the dressing table. She yawned and
said, "I'm so tired." She went into the bathroom, still dressed.
I was undressed and settled in bed by the time she came back wear-
ing her slip and carrying her dress with her. I thought she had taken
a long time in there. Then again, maybe it hadn't been so long. And
I knew from our trips to Fire Island through Queens that once the
train picked up passengers at Kew Gardens, the trip to Manhattan was
twenty minutes. I refused to dwell on it. I decided I had to try
things Ronnie's way, since my way had continuously failed me for nine
years.
I watched as she removed her slip and bra. She lifted one foot
and then the other onto the bed, removing her hose, yawning and
sighing. She said, "His daughter is so charming. What a pretty
girl." I kept watching her eyes. As she undressed and talked, her
eyes never met mine, and she seemed to ramble absently. "And he
has such a nice little home out there."
She took her pajama top out of her dresser and put it on. As she
bent to take off her panties she said, still not looking at me, "I
hope you didn't stay up this late worrying. We were in such a hurry
to get to the railroad on time. The trains are almost two hours apart
out there, this time of night."
I said, "I was up anyway, reading."
She crossed to the night table and turned off the light and slid
into bed. She whispered, "Well, this way, I get to kiss you and say
goodnight."
I turned toward her, on my side, and she put her arms around me
and gave me a soft, affectionate kiss on the mouth. But her lips
lingered near mine, and she kissed me again, harder. Then she whis-
pered, "Good night, hon." She rested her head on her pillow, facing
me, and she took my hand and held it to her chest and closed her eyes.
I lay facing her.
She said, "Sorry I was so late."
I kidded her gently, "You said that."
"Well...I said it again."
I looked at her lovely face, her eyes closed. I shut out every
other thought. There was no image I would allow into my head other
than the image of her, exactly as she was at that moment. I leaned
over her and kissed her temple and whispered, "I love you, Martha.
Whatever happens, I love you." I gave her warm temple another kiss,
then I turned over, toward the window, my hip still against hers
behind me.
About ten seconds passed. I felt Martha stir, and then her face
was against my shoulder. She seemed to wait, hovering near me. I
heard her swallow. I thought: Oh, no, not more tears, I'm going to
stop all this nice guy stuff if these women don't stop crying.
But she said nothing. She cuddled warmly against me, snuggling,
gripping my shoulder briefly, and she slipped an arm around my waist
and she held one of my hands in hers. She relaxed against me for a
moment, but then I heard her swallow hard again and take in a soft
breath, and her hand squeezed mine. In return, I squeezed gently.
And then she squeezed back, hard, for a long, tense moment, her
slender, strong fingers gripping tightly. Then she relaxed again with
a quietly released breath, and as she rested she seemed to turn into
pure gentleness against me. The change in the feel of her was not an
action, but a feeling from her, a dissolving of something taut within
her. Although she coiled herself against me warmly and snugly, she
didn't cling, didn't grasp; yet something non-physical seemed to
emanate from her and over me, seeking, surrounding me, enveloping,
merging.
After all the sex and the dark bedrooms and the secret words, her
handclasp that night was, for me, one of the most intimate moments I
had ever known with Martha. Exactly what was that loving, seemingly
desperate message or messages in that grasp of her hand? Affirma-
tions, confessions, predictions, or all or none of those? I never
knew, and I never demanded to know.
Continued. . .
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