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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Discrete Sailor (mF MF Oral Rom) {Kellis}
Date: Mon, 1 May 2000 04:10:08 -0400
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Discrete Sailor
a Short Story by Kellis
May, 2000
Why is she sniffing his crotch? ... Holy shit, she's sucking his
dick!
Those were my first and second thoughts when I first saw them.
I was testing my theory that you could sail between the Harmon
Rocks and cut off ten miles to reach my father's marina from the
open sound, if you arrived at the rocks on high tide, while no
tidal current flowed between them. I knew it had to be done just
right. The northern rocks were low and wouldn't block the wind
to my little cat rig, so I had to approach on the port tack
into the daytime offshore breeze and come about right in the
channel between the rocks so as not to enter the doldrum inshore
of the southern rocks, which reared up taller than my mast.
I was pinching *Bitsy* as close as I dared, watching my
clearances as she nosed into the channel, about 50 feet wide at
high tide. At low tide you could wade across it, and I had done
so. The southern rock was approachable by car or even bicycle,
and I had checked out the channel just two days earlier. That
rock was high on the outside facing the open sound but formed a
little hollow on the inside that you couldn't see into from the
water until you had nosed into the channel. Anyone who happened
to be in that hollow couldn't see out over the sound, either.
And nothing that moves is quieter than a sailboat.
Of course that's where they were. I couldn't miss them. When I
saw them they were less than 30 feet away. They had spread a red
tartan blanket over the sand in the hollow. The man was lying on
his back. Because of the shielding rock his head was not at
first visible to me. The woman was kneeling at his midsection,
turned toward the channel, her face down with almost his entire
dick in her mouth. His hand was squeezing her tit. She seemed
to be frozen, but his heels were thumping up and down as if he
was wanting to run. I could hear him groaning.
*Bitsy* is not very fast when she is pointed up almost to luff.
I was able to stare at them for three or four seconds, I guess,
before I had to put the tiller over and haul in on the mainsheet.
The sail luffed with a distinct flapping sound. They heard that.
At least the woman did.
She jerked her head up. She could hardly miss my orange sail
maybe 20 feet in front of her. Her mouth was already open. She
made a choking sound as her eyes grew nearly as large. A white
spurt shot out of the dick end onto her cheek and right into her
wide open eye.
I had never seen her naked or with such an expression, certainly
not with a come streak from eye to chin, but I knew her and she
knew me. She was Bill Collier's step-mother, who had fed him and
me breakfast just last Friday morning, who had pressed me into
her tits and bandaged my thumb when I smacked it helping them
board up for the last hurricane. Bill Collier was as close to a
best-friend as any I had.
"Don't quit now!" the man demanded in anguish. The woman's
response was a cough. White phlegm ran over her lower lip to her
chin.
*Bitsy* heeled on her new course. I automatically trimmed sail
and tiller, twisting around on the thwart to see what the couple
would do next.
The man raised up. "Damn it, Clara ..." He saw my boat. His
eyes widened. I knew him, too: Mr. Calvin, the banker, whose
son, Algis, was my life-long enemy. Algis had lost the last
dinghy race to me, mainly because he counted on his boat being
ten times more expensive. But it takes more than money to win
races.
Away from the rocks the wind picked up. I eased off a point and
*Bitsy* leapt ahead. On the southern rock the woman was having a
full-blown coughing fit. The man was pounding her naked back,
making her big titties bounce, and staring after me.
Why was Bill's stepmother sucking old man Calvin's dick? *My*
dick was available if she wanted to suck one! Suddenly I felt
heat in my temples, a curious heat I last experienced the year
before when my centerboard fell out and Algis beat *me* in the
race. I was jealous of Mr. Calvin, I realized. That thought
immediately amused me. What right did I have to be jealous that
the wife of Mr. Collier, whom I also liked, was giving her favors
to another man?
But why was she doing it for the father of my enemy? Presumably
she had her reasons. Did the Colliers need a loan, maybe?
One thing was for sure: it was none of my business. I turned
around on the thwart and picked a landmark to steer by. When I
came back to the port tack five minutes later, the hollow in the
southern rocks was empty.
So I proved my point: you can sail a catboat through Harmon Rocks
at high tide. But don't take your little sister.
* * * *
It was summer. Bill was away visiting his real mother for the
month. I reflected briefly on the fact that his father having
custody meant that his mother had probably cheated, too. But if
the Colliers needed to persuade Calvin to approve a loan, then
the father had to be party to this cheating -- which in that case
wouldn't be cheating. Or would it be cheating the bank? I shook
my head. At 15 I didn't intend to worry about such matters.
Patricia, whose mother waited tables in the marina, had let me
feel of her tit just before school was out. If I could just get
Patricia into *Bitsy*, I knew a great little wooded island where
anything could happen, if it only would.
I was restocking the canned snacks section of the marina grocery
store when I smelled perfume. A slim tanned arm with fine dark
hair slipped past my shoulder and took down one of the lasagna
cans I had just put up. It belonged to Mrs. Collier. I hadn't
seen her since her choking fit three weeks earlier.
She was almost as tall as I am. Her face, still pretty despite
the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, turned up to me after
she dropped the can into her shopping basket. Her big brown eyes
had a look I had never seen in a woman before. They reminded me
of the eyes of the doe that my father had wounded last year and
sent me with a pistol to put out of her misery. I don't like
that look.
She said very quietly, almost in a whisper, "Jimmy, come see me
tonight after dark. Come through the woods to the back door,
will you?"
I opened my mouth to ask her cruelly if Mr. Calvin would be
there, but she turned away and ducked around a display of cereal
boxes. I followed her but she went straight up the aisle to the
cashier, Mrs. Simpson, and unloaded her basket on the counter.
The lasagna must have been the last thing she needed. She left
the store without looking back.
Bill wasn't due to return until Sunday and this was only
Wednesday. What could she want with me -- at night, sneaking in
through the woods so the neighbors wouldn't know I was there? I
have an active imagination. I thought that she and Mr. Calvin
had decided to end the risk that I might squeal on them. Then I
thought that Calvin had turned down their loan and she wanted me
to testify to her husband how hard she tried to get it. I
thought she wanted to congratulate me for my seamanship in
sailing through Harmon Rocks. A bit later I thought that she had
liked me bumping into her tits last fall and wanted me to do a
better job of it now that I knew what kind of woman she was. I
liked that last idea and returned to it several times the rest of
the afternoon. She was a slim woman but her body was still
fuller than the girls I knew. Bill had told me she was a lot
younger than his father and couldn't have children of her own.
But she had always acted like Bill's mother to me. I had never
considered her as an object of lust despite the forever-seared
memory of my shoulder in her tits. Now I did. The results were
uncomfortable in the tight shorts I was wearing. I had to think
about *Bitsy*'s new rigging instead.
My father found me just before closing time. We close at six on
Wednesday. "Tell your mother I won't be home for supper.
Collier and I have a date to demonstrate the fish sonar to your
favorite banker. After that we're going to take some of his
money at poker. I'll be listening on Channel 36 if she needs
me."
Theories One and Two shot down in one sentence! Theories Three
and Four, especially Four, here I come!
* * * *
I scouted her house first. Knowing the woods like the back of my
hand, I could flit silently around it. No car in the driveway,
all the blinds drawn, windows closed and air-conditioner running.
I crept up to the back door and pushed the button.
I felt footsteps through the stoop floor. The door opened. She
hadn't turned on the kitchen lights but enough spilled around her
from the room beyond that I could recognize Mrs. Collier.
Apparently it was also enough for her to recognize me. She
unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, stood aside for me
to enter, then latched the screen and closed the wooden door
behind me. "Come on," she said, turning her back to me.
I followed her into the hall. She turned right at the door to
the basement and led me down the stairs. The house included a
finished basement that the Colliers used as a den. It had a wet
bar, refrigerator, TV, comfortable couches and no windows. Being
an old house, it also had a coal chute that they had made into an
escape hatch to the outside. You could get out without a key but
not in. Bill and I had played in it often.
She went to the wet bar. "What would you like to drink, Jimmy?"
"A coke would be fine, Mrs. Collier."
She ran some ice from the icemaker and poured me a coke but made
nothing for herself.
"Let's sit down," she directed and sat beside me on the couch.
She was wearing a short-sleeved housecoat, the kind that zips up
the front. The zipper began just below the crotch. When she sat
I could see quite a bit of thigh. Her legs and feet made a
lovely tangle of curves under her. A woman's leg is such a
beautiful thing!
She rested one elbow on the back of the couch and turned her
brown eyes to face me. "I wanted to talk to you, Jimmy. You are
... quite a skillful sailor, aren't you!"
Theory Three, on the money! I smiled with pleasure. "A sailboat
can go anywhere, if you keep your eyes open."
Her face, which had almost smiled with me, went blank. "Yes.
And you do keep them open, don't you!"
"You can't see anything ..." I started to say *with them closed*
but realized that would sound kind of impudent and added, "Unless
you look."
She took a shuddery breath and looked away. "Did you think it
was funny?"
"You mean when you strangled?"
She nodded. "That must have been hilarious. And the stuff in my
eye. At least it didn't burn! Though the idea of all those
little wrigglers in my tear ducts ... I smelled it for hours!"
She coughed. "Who have you shared it with, Jimmy?"
"Nobody."
She nodded. "I believe you, else the whole town would be
laughing. But don't you think it's a good story?"
I shrugged. "None of my business. Except ..."
"Yes," she agreed dryly. "'Except!' Derek says you're waiting
for his wife to get back from Europe. Is that right?"
I sipped my coke. It took me a moment to remember that Derek was
Mr. Calvin's first name. I'd seen the sign on his office door
when mother had taken me into the bank with her: Derek Calvin,
Vice President.
She sighed and before I could answer, she said, "Jimmy, I don't
know what to do, except I can't stand going on like this. Tell
me what you want from us."
Want from whom? Her and Calvin? Her and Mr. Collier? I asked,
"You *and* Derek?"
Her face changed. She looked like a kid who's been told there
*is* a Santa Claus after all. She said, almost as if she were
speaking to herself, "Every man puts himself in the other man's
shoes. I *told* Derek you weren't so greedy as he would be!"
She looked at me and almost smiled. "Let me put it another way.
What do you want from *me*, Jimmy?"
I opened my mouth to say *Nothing*, but froze as an odd idea came
to me. Of course I did want something from her, but even I knew
it was something I had no right to get. My best friend's
stepmother!
She had a thoughtful look. "What do you know about women,
Jimmy?"
She had me there. I dropped my eyes.
She answered for me. "Not nearly as much as you know about
sailboats, eh? Did you wish, when you saw me and Derek, that it
was you instead of him?"
That I could answer. "Not till I thought about it some. Not
till that night."
Her face softened. "I can imagine that night!" She took my hand
into hers. "Do you remember last fall when you banged your
thumb?"
"Sure."
"It was this one, wasn't it?" She brought it to her lips. I
felt her tongue touch it, warm at first then cool as her spit
evaporated. "I knew how it must hurt you," she said. I could
feel her lips vibrating as she talked. "I wanted to kiss you and
take your mind off it. I couldn't do much but I think you liked
that little bit."
"I sure did."
"Would you like me to do more?"
I stared at her. Her big brown eyes seemed to glow. "I can make
you feel so good, Jimmy. If I do, will you ... keep our secret?"
Not exactly Theory Four, but pretty close. And I knew the answer
to her question. I declared positively, "I'd never tell anything
bad about you, Mrs. Collier."
Her eyes flickered. She grinned an odd little grin, almost
embarrassed. "Call me Clara, won't you? That is, when we're
alone."
She stood up directly in front of me. Her zipper hummed and the
halves of her housecoat fell apart. Her dark pubic hair was
right in my face, emphasized by the untanned hips and belly
behind it. I had seen wisps of hair peeking out around girls'
bikinis. This was the first time I ever saw the whole bush. It
glistened. I think I licked my lips.
She chuckled for some reason as she shrugged out of the housecoat
and threw it on the carpet. Her legs and upper chest were tanned
but her torso was a faint rose underlain with a tangle of blue
veins. I remembered that she always wore one-piece swim suits.
I don't know why. I'd seen my mother's belly streaked with
stretch marks. Mrs. Collier's was a little poochy but smooth.
Her nipples were dark and lumpy, as if they were gathered up
somehow. I think I had to take a deep breath.
She was smiling. She bent over, undid my belt and unzipped my
fly. I raised my hips and let her pull off my shorts. Of course
I had a boner, the hardest one ever: hard enough to hurt. She
took a cushion off the couch and put it on the floor as she sank
to her knees between my legs. She took my dick in her hand. I
couldn't help a shiver. I could faintly remember my mother
touching me there to bathe it when I was very young. No one but
the doctor had touched it since. I was instantly about to come.
"What's the matter?" she asked, smiling into my face.
"I'm going to shoot!" I gasped, getting all stiff.
She remarked dryly, "I can't let you stain my couch, can I?"
Her face went down. She sucked me right into her mouth with a
slurp. I never felt anything like it before. My balls seemed to
explode in the sharpest pleasure I had ever known. I could feel
huge amounts of come rippling through my dick, one long squirt,
then another, then ... Just as the pressure around the head
became unbearable, it eased. Her face stayed in my belly, her
lips tight around the shaft, but she froze as she had done with
Mr. Calvin. I could see her cheeks ballooning out in a real blow
job. So blowing was part of the operation, was it? I had always
wondered where they got that name for it.
(I learned later that girls don't automatically know to blow when
you come. You have to teach them.)
Her tongue began to lick me as the spasms ceased. She sucked a
little more, gently now but still enough to make me squirm and
shudder. At that she backed away, one hand on my knee, the other
holding my dick, and studied me with a raised eyebrow.
"You weren't kidding, were you!"
I couldn't speak. I was breathing hard though I had done nothing
-- nothing but shoot my stuff into a female for the very first
time! I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to go over and
over in my mind how it felt. But I did discover one question.
"You ..." I had to catch my breath. "You didn't spit."
Her eyebrow rose higher. "Don't tell me you're disappointed."
"N-no!" I felt a rush of something. Suddenly this woman, almost
old enough to be my mother, was precious to me.
"Where would I spit, on the carpet?" She grinned. "That was
your first blow job, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"What did you think of it?"
"I ... How can it feel good to you?"
"Me?" She sniffed. "You're the one it's good for, not me."
"But then ... what *would* feel good to you?"
She cocked her head at me. "What do you care?"
"I care." Bill and I had discussed this very point: the
opposite of a blow-job is a cunt-licking. Using my heels against
the front of the couch, I levered myself up off my back and
hugged her around the hips, burying my face in her surprisingly
coarse lower hair. She had a strong odor, unpleasant at first
but somehow compelling. "Let me lick you," I suggested, my voice
muffled by her flesh.
"Do you know how to do it?" she asked above me.
"You can tell me."
She chuckled wryly. "I can't exactly refuse you, can I? All
right. Let me sit down and *you* kneel."
She made me take off my shirt. "So it won't stink in the wash,"
she said. Then she sat in my place on the leather couch, her
legs spread wide, and I knelt on the cushion. She thought of
something that thrilled me. "Would you like to see first?"
"To see ..."
"A vagina up close?"
"Oh, god, *would* I!"
"Then fetch that lamp off the bar and plug it in over here."
She let me look. A cunt is wet inside and red as blood. More
than look, she had me put fingers into her, up to four. I
thought she was about to suggest the whole fist but she was
watching my expression and for some reason didn't. I saw the
ridges inside her cunt and felt the hard lump in the back that
she said is the mouth of the womb and is easy to bruise. I saw
the little hole where the pee comes out of a woman and even
learned the right name for it, except I can't remember it now.
But I can remember the lump above it, the "clit." The art of
stimulating a woman seems to be mostly how to rub the clit and
the flesh nearby. Before very long I was licking just above it
and on either side of it with her cool thighs compressing my
ears. She didn't let me do it very long before she stiffened as
I had. I made my touches light as a feather. She trembled with
each one and made a curious sound deep in her throat. Soon her
hands pushed my head away.
My mouth and chin were soaked and so was her groin. From me or
her? Both, I think. I took up her fallen housecoat and wiped my
face with the hem, reasoning if *that* smelled like woman who
could complain?
She didn't. Her face was red and she was breathing deeply. She
said, "I try to stand that but never can. What are you waiting
for?"
"Huh?"
"I can see that your thing is stiff as a poker. Come on and do
me."
She turned around to lie full length on the couch, one leg thrown
up over the back, the other trailing to the floor. What she
wanted was obvious even to me. I was about to go all the way! I
settled on her and her hand guided me. Again I had never felt
anything like this. A mouth is very different from a pussy, and
the pussy is miles ahead!
She was shuddering and making her strange noise almost from the
beginning. I had tried jerking off a second time right after the
first. I suppose everyone wants to have that pleasure again as
soon as he can. I knew it was possible but took so long as to be
hardly worth the effort. Not this time.
This woman was obviously reacting to me. If I moved faster, she
groaned faster, panting like a racing dog. If I moved slower,
she groaned slower but stronger and her hips rolled more smoothly
back and forth. It was a curious encounter, with my pleasure
beginning early and growing slowly, unlike most adventures with
my fist. Still it could only have been a minute or two before I
came again, somehow more satisfying though in far less quantity.
I was exhausted and slumped on top of her. Her hand came up
behind my sweaty head and pressed my face into her neck, which of
course I kissed as soon as I caught my breath. When she felt my
lips, her hands compressed my cheeks and raised my mouth to hers.
She kissed me with lips and tongue. She was breathing hard, too.
I could see her nostrils flaring.
After awhile she took her lips away. "Don't you ever get soft,
Jimmy?"
My dick was still in her. I shrugged. "I don't know."
She chuckled. "Yes, you do, silly! Ah, well! Maybe some other
time we can find out just how long you can keep it up."
I realized I might be getting heavy on her. I raised up to my
knees and sat on my haunches looking at her. She smiled at me
slowly. "Your first time with a woman, Jimmy?"
I nodded. Suddenly I blurted, "I love you." It was true. I
would happily have died for her at that moment.
She sighed. "I know you do, dear. And I must say, you're a fine
lover, too. But what's going to happen next?"
I looked up at the clock over the bar. I said, "It's ten till
eleven. They'll be playing poker till midnight."
"Not if anyone loses too much. But that's not what I'm concerned
about. You can always zip out the escape hatch. I mean ... I
know you'll protect me, but will you protect Derek's secret,
too?"
I wanted to say, *Hell no!* But I didn't want to worry my
beloved. Which raised another question. "You mean to keep ...
doing things to him?"
She sighed. "I have to."
"You love him, then." I'm sure my voice showed my
disappointment.
She smiled very slightly and shook her head. "I don't think
anyone loves Derek Calvin after they get to know him. I love my
husband, believe it or not, and my stepson ... and you, Jimmy.
You are a very sweet boy."
"Then ... why go with old man Calvin?"
"Because I love my husband. He, Derek, knows some things about
me that ... would hurt my husband a lot to hear."
"What things?"
She grunted. "If I tell you, you'll know them too. He was ...
part of my life before I met Dave Collier."
"That's what you call ... blackmail, isn't it?" I knew the word
because Algis Calvin had given me a cigarette when I was twelve
and after I coughed my way through it told me he'd tell my mother
unless I gave him half my lunch money thereafter for a month. My
father and I had discussed that case after I was suspended from
school for fighting -- for trying to beat the shit out of Algis.
He told me I had found the only good way to deal with
blackmailers, except of course I had to do a better job of it.
He gave me a few pointers and the next time I crossed fists with
Algis, he was the one who left with two black eyes. Now I was
ready to do the same to his old man.
"Yes, it is," she agreed. "So you know the word for it, do you?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
She shrugged. "I'm just surprised you came out with it. You
also know some things that would hurt my husband a lot."
A light dawned. A hateful light. "Clara -- Mrs. Collier -- are
you saying you ... sucked me and let me fuck you because of
blackmail?"
"Jimmy, those are terrible words!"
"Not as terrible as blackmail!"
She pulled back on the couch and got to her feet without touching
me. A quick scoop recovered the housecoat. Her eyes on me were
penetrating. "Didn't you come here tonight to blackmail me?"
"I came here tonight because you asked me to."
"Because I couldn't stand waiting for the ax to fall."
"What ax?" I pulled my T-shirt over my head. "I hadn't told a
soul what I saw on Harmon Rocks. I wasn't going to tell anyone,
either. It's none of their damned business!"
She stood with the housecoat pulled closed around her, watching
me step into my shorts. "And now?" she asked softly.
"Now what?"
"Now who are you going to tell?"
I went to the escape hatch and pulled down the opening lever. I
turned back to look at her just before I ran up the steps to the
cool night air. "Nobody. Just so you know, I am not a goddamn
blackmailer!"
* * * *
God, such a bad ending to the most wonderful evening of my life!
When I got into my bed, I did something I wouldn't admit to
anyone else. I bawled like a goddam baby.
I told myself I wouldn't let what I knew about his stepmother
interfere between Bill and me. It wasn't his fault. And I
didn't let it. I arrived at his house Sunday just when he did.
After he and I got through wrestling in the grass, I said hello
to his stepmother the same as always. She looked at me funny but
said hello back and that was that. Except I could hardly look at
her without sprouting a boner. She wore shorts. I had lain
between those beautiful legs and sucked out their juice, almost
the same way as her sweet mouth had sucked the juice from me --
and that asshole Calvin, I was quick to remind myself.
Practice what you preach, I had to add. What she does with
another man is none of your business. He probably eats her out
just like you did, only better because he has more practice, and
fucks her until she makes those special grunts of hers, just as
she did for you. Only one thing was different: now I had a
*real* reason to be jealous of him.
Or did I? I looked for an opportunity. One day Bill's father
called him out into the yard for some reason, leaving Mrs.
Collier and me alone in the kitchen. I said, "So, Clara, what do
you see of Derek these days?"
She stiffened where she stood, removing dishes from the
dishwasher. She put a dish down on the drain board and bent over
me at the table, hissing, "Damn you, don't ever mention that name
in this house!"
"Answer my question," I said, staring up into her eyes.
Her mouth worked. "Nothing."
I guess I showed surprise. I asked, "When was the last time he
touched you?"
"You saw it," she whispered.
"Not since ... Harmon Rocks?"
"Not since then."
"Got religion, has he?"
"I've talked to him. On the phone."
"What's he have to say?"
"He doesn't believe you'll keep quiet. Will you, Jimmy?"
"You don't either, huh?"
Her face wrinkled up in a strange expression. She said, "I
didn't run you off the other night, you know."
We heard Bill's footsteps on the porch. She turned back to the
dishwasher and Bill called me outside to look at his father's new
outboard.
What's with her? Is she just afraid of me?
* * * *
And then the blow off. Juliet Calvin wasn't gone to Europe after
all. Her badly decomposed body, identified by a medal in her
pocket and DNA match with a stone removed from her kidney two
years ago, washed ashore above Nathan's Point. The body had been
protected from the fishes by a weighted canvas shroud whose
weights fell off. She had been shot in the head.
Derek and Algis Calvin were the ones in Europe. They had
departed for Budapest about a week ago, while on vacation in
Acapulco, when the cops called to report discovering the wife.
They must have changed documents, according to my father, because
the cops lost them after Budapest.
* * * *
Bill had his first date on Friday night -- with Patricia of all
people. He's officially one up on me. I'm pretty sure he'll at
least get to feel a tit. Father said at supper he was playing
poker with the guys unless Collier was as lucky as he was the
week before. I gave them a half hour, went to the pay phone in
the marina and dialed Bill's number.
"Hello." It was definitely her. I felt a lump in my chest.
"Clara, can I come over?"
"Who's -- Jimmy?"
"That's me."
"Why?"
"Because I still love you."
"I see." Her voice was dry enough to do her hair. "I don't
suppose I dare to tell you no, do I!"
I had to sigh. "I'll always do what you say, Clara."
"You will, will you?"
"Always."
I could tell she was grinning. "In that case, come on. Wait
till dark and knock on the escape hatch."
"I will."
* * * *
She didn't keep me waiting. I closed the hatch quickly. She
stood in the middle of the floor wearing the same zippered
housecoat, glowering at me. "You want it quick or slow?" she
asked.
"Huh?"
"A blow job or a fuck?"
I drew back. "What did I do?"
"Nothing. Yet. Or do you want money?"
"Please, Clara. All I want is to talk to you."
"Talk!" she snorted. She looked away from me, shook her head and
gestured toward the couch. "Sit down, Jimmy."
I sat. This time she sat in the facing couch on the other side
of the coffee table.
She said, "All right. Say what you want to say, while I figure
out what I'm going to do with you."
"Have you heard from Derek?"
"You mean, since he went to Acapulco? No. If either of us hears
from him again it will most probably be Jack."
"Your husband? About the bank?"
"About my youthful indiscretions. Derek is the original mean son
of a bitch. I always expected him to turn me in when he got
tired of me, just for the hell of it. As long as he's alive, I
run that risk, and he's too slippery to die. Did you know they
just found out he embezzled four million dollars from his bank?"
"Yeah. My father says probably it was really two, that the
inspectors skimmed the rest while the skimming was good."
She grinned briefly but shook her head. "Jimmy, you shouldn't
repeat that. Such cynicism doesn't sound good in a young boy's
mouth." Whatever that means.
I asked, "Then you really don't think you're better off with
Derek gone?"
"No. Even he admitted I gave the best head. As long as I could
give it to him, I could hope he wouldn't rat me out. Now?" She
shrugged. "Who knows?"
"One way to beat a blackmailer is to confess."
"Confess!" She turned her whole body away from me. She took a
deep breath. "That wouldn't beat him. I would just lose
quicker."
"Doesn't your husband love you?"
She snapped back to face me. "I'm certain he does."
"I've seen him look at you, touch you, a lot this summer. I
think he does, too. You ought to tell him at least that Derek
was blackmailing you for something you did before you met Mr.
Collier. You can let *him* decide if he needs to know what it
was. I'll bet he doesn't."
"*You'll* bet! And suppose he asks me just how I've been paying
Derek to keep his mouth shut?"
"He knows you haven't spent a lot of money, doesn't he?"
"Meaning he would guess how I've made the payoffs?"
"Right. If he loves you, he'll want to keep you. He won't ask
too many questions. He won't need to have his nose rubbed in
it."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because *I* wouldn't!"
"Huh?" Her face went blank, then her eyes narrowed. "What are
you up to, Jimmy? Do you have some screwy idea of *forcing* me
to tell my husband?"
It was my turn to sigh. "I won't force you to do anything,
Clara. If you tell your husband and he accepts it -- which *I*
would -- you'll be out from under all this pressure for the rest
of your life. It's like when my father bets big to draw to an
inside straight-flush. It's what he calls a worthy gamble."
I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "What makes your
opinion worth anything?"
I shrugged. "I already told you that. I love you, too."
"You don't know what you're talking about. What are you really
doing, Jimmy?"
"Nothing." I sighed again. "You're right, I'm just a kid. I'll
be sixteen in two more months." I chuckled grimly. "Did you
know I could even turn you in for statutory rape? But I won't.
I'll never do anything in my life to hurt you, Clara. And I
thank you very much for what happened here a few weeks ago, even
if you did do it for a reason that I hate.
"All right. I can't ever have you. You're married to another
man and you like it that way, so that's the way it ought to be.
I came here to tell you once more that I'll never threaten you.
I thought with Derek gone you'd feel a lot better. I meant to
say that I would break it off with Bill so you wouldn't have to
see me again, if that would make it easier for you. It would
sure make it easier for *me*!"
Her voice was suddenly the softest it had been all night. "I
don't want you to do that, Jimmy."
I got up and smiled at her tiredly. "I guess I can't fix
anything, can I?"
She stood up, too, her eyes thoughtful. "You've certainly given
me a lot to think about."
"If he does throw you out, I'll marry you."
Her face blanked. She chuckled a little, shaking her head. "I
believe that's the most unusual proposal I ever received."
"I know an island you would love to live on."
"A sailor's wife, eh?" At least she was smiling. She stretched
out her arms to me. "Then give me a kiss."
I did, and it was almost as deep and long lasting as our kiss
after making love on the couch. When our lips parted she took a
deep breath. "Jimmy, how did you learn to kiss so well?"
"That's easy. You taught me."
She laughed, but she looked after me thoughtfully as I climbed up
the escape hatch.
* * * *
I was never alone with Clara again.
About six months later Jack Collier stopped me on the dock and
said, "You may be interested to know that I got an international
phone call from Derek Calvin last night."
I studied him closely. He was watching me, too. I asked, "What
did he have to say?"
"He wanted to tell me a lot of crap about my wife, Clara."
"You knew it was crap?"
"Of course it was crap! Everyone in town who *really* knows
Clara would be certain it was crap, wouldn't they?"
"Yes, they would."
"I reminded him I'm still holding his IOU for $40 from our last
game. Then I called the cops. He turns out to be in Russia
these days. Trust he's having fun."
"Yeah. How are you and Mrs. Collier getting along?"
"Hell, you were over last week, Jimmy. You know we couldn't be
better."
"That's true. I'm glad to hear it."
"I knew you would be. See you later."
So she did tell him. My part, too, or at least some of it. I
felt great the rest of the afternoon. To top it off, Patricia
asked me today as we were leaving school, "When are you going to
take me sailing?"
I'll get me a woman on that little island yet!
END
Copyright (C) 2000, Kellis
Stories at http://www.dhp.com/files/Authors/kellis/www
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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