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Subject: {ASSM} The Innocent Fugitives Ch13 {Varkel} (MF FMM MM Oral Bi)
Date: Sun, 18 Feb 2001 22:10:02 -0500
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The Innocent Fugitives
a Novel by Varkel
Copyright (C) 2001, Varkel



Chapter 13:  Working Stiffs


"I'm Jenny Smith, here to see Mr. Joseph Hinkelberg."

Jenny, wearing a nurse's uniform, including cape against the 
autumn chill, and carrying an appropriate little black bag, stood 
on the stoop at the servant's entrance of the imposing mansion 
while the taxi behind her pulled away.

The woman in the French maid's uniform opened the door wider and 
stepped back.  "He's expecting you.  May I take your cape?"

Jenny allowed the other to hang her cape on a coat tree and 
followed the woman up a plain staircase to the second floor hall, 
thickly carpeted and hung on all sides with large paintings.  
They marched silently down the hall to a wide door.

"Please wait," said the maid, slipping through the door and 
closing it behind her.  Jenny heard an unintelligible murmur of 
voices.  Almost immediately the door swung inward.

"Mr. Hinkelberg will see you now."  The woman held the door open 
for Jenny to pass, then pulled it closed as she departed.

Jenny found herself in a room of comfortable couches and chairs, 
walls lavishly hung with paintings, and two other wide doors, 
both closed.  Standing in the middle of the room was a young man 
-- a very young man -- wearing casual clothing, feet in slippers.  
He was short, only slightly taller than the woman.

He studied her with an ironical expression.  "A nurse?"

Jenny cocked an incredulous eyebrow.  "_You_ are Mr. Hinkelberg?"

"I'm Daniel Hinkelberg.  Call me Danny.  Somebody has got their 
wires crossed."

"The maid, perhaps?  My patient is Mr. _Joseph_ Hinkelberg."

His face lost its sneer.  "I'm his nephew.  I can take you to 
him, ma'am.  But I didn't know anyone had called for a nurse."

"Whom did you expect, Danny?"

"Well, ah, uh ..."  The young man blushed.  "More of a playmate."

"I see.  Perhaps you can confirm a few things for me.  Mr. Joseph 
Hinkelberg is 83 and is recovering from epithelial cancer?"

"Yeah.  Cancer of the dick -- ah, penis."

"He is weak but rational?"

"I don't know about the last part.  Or the first.  He's the 
grumpy old man he always was, only more so."  He shook his head.  
"Who sent you, Ms. Smith?  Was it Dr. Mordan?  If so, I'll tell 
you, we're still expecting a playmate.  She must be late, so 
you'd best make your examination, or whatever, pretty quick."

Jenny smiled slightly.  "I'm the playmate, Danny."

"You ... you're what?"

She parroted the line agreed upon with Paul.  "I'm a new 
specialty:  an 'LN,' for Libido Nurse.  And I'm also an RN."  She 
leered.  "Though in my case the R also stands for Recreational."  
Her expression grew solemn.  "My purpose here is to give your 
uncle pleasure while maintaining his health."

The young man blinked.  "That's sounds like a good idea."  He 
shook his head.  "But you've got your work cut out with Uncle 
Joe."

"You said he was grumpy?"

"Well, yes, he is, but I'll tell you a little secret.  He orders 
everybody around.  I have to jump and not come down until he says 
to, but you're not in his will.  If you buck him like you mean 
it, he'll submit.  At least he does for that old battle-ax he has 
for a practical nurse."

"He has a regular nurse?"

"She comes in the morning to check him out and give him a bath.  
He hates her guts but admits he needs her."

"You said you could take me to him."

"Right this way."

He led her through one of the other doors into a larger room.  
One wall was covered with drapes, now partly drawn to admit the 
afternoon sunshine.  It contained a huge power bed, larger and 
more elaborately fitted than typical even of hospitals.  The 
upper third of the sheeted mattress was raised at a steep angle, 
the bottom third enough to support bent legs.  A scrawny old man, 
clean-shaven but bald with a fringe of white hair, lay naked on 
it, raised almost to a sitting position, a book in his lap.  A 
colorful blanket lay over his legs and feet.

He looked up at their entrance, hand rising to remove his reading 
glasses.  He scowled and demanded, "Who the hell called for 
another nurse?"

The nephew chuckled.  "This is your _libido_ nurse, uncle.  
Joseph Hinkelberg, this is Ms. Jenny Smith, LN."

"LN!"

Arriving at his bedside, Jenny said cheerfully, "I'm pleased to 
meet you, sir."

"Are you!  Who told you to come here?"

"Perhaps you know him as Bernie Nails."

"Bernie?  Huh!  That punk is getting delusions of grandeur.  If 
_he_ sent you, what in hell are you doing in that get-up?"

"I am in fact a registered nurse, sir, qualified to attend to 
your ailments as well as your pleasure."  She looked over her 
shoulder at the young man.  "Will you excuse us, Danny?"

The old man declared, "The boy stays.  I have nothing secret from 
him" -- he smirked -- "except how much of my estate he gets in 
the will."

"Very well, sir.  I'll leave that up to you.  I have a few 
questions.  What medications are you taking?"

"Medications?  Yeah, I believe you're in the medical profession!  
My _medicines_ are in that drawer."

She looked and found mostly dietary supplements.  Three bottles 
interested her.  She held up one.  "You were on chemotherapy, I 
see.  Are you still taking this for the side-effects?"

He scowled.  "One every night.  But I'll tell you, Ms. LN, I quit 
all that crap two weeks ago.  One pill a day goes into the 
crapper from each bottle to satisfy Nurse Peabody.  What do you 
think of that?"

She smiled.  "I think your symptoms have departed.  In which case 
you can quit throwing away the Darvocet."

"The pain pills?  Well, no, I've been hanging on to them.  Goddam 
doctors are always playing golf when you have a pain."

"And the Nitrostat.  Do you have heart problems, sir?"

"Yeah.  Hardening of the arteries, my dad called it.  I can't 
pronounce _your_ word for it.  But those pills, little as they 
are, give me a blast of a headache."

"Well, you don't have to take them all the time, just when you're 
having angina.  Then they could literally save your life.  Better 
quit throwing them away, too.  Does aspirin upset your stomach?"

"Aspirin?  Never did."

"Then you really ought to take one aspirin a day, to keep a level 
of it in your blood.  It won't hurt you."

"Yeah, I heard that lecture.  I'll admit to you that I do take an 
aspirin every day."

"Very good."  The bottles returned to the drawer.  She reached 
for the book and took it out of his hands, carefully inserting 
his bookmark.  The page to which it was open contained a clear 
line drawing of a woman engaged at both ends in sexual 
intercourse while a third man fondled her.  The spine proclaimed 
it to be _Opus Pistorum_.  She smiled.  "Do you find this 
stimulating, sir?"

He sniffed.  "I'm not so far gone that Henry Miller can't crank 
me up.  Of course, I don't have much crank left.  That's why I 
called Bernie.  I hoped one of his girls might do me some good."  
He laughed ironically.  "Wrong kind of good, eh?"

"Let's keep an open mind on that, shall we?  Let me examine you 
now."

He noted, "Not much to look at, is there, Danny?"

The youth had drawn near across the bed.  Jenny opened her mouth 
automatically to order him away -- but the patient had already 
countermanded that idea.  Instead she said, "Can you turn on your 
side, sir?"

"My side?  The part in question is in front."

"We'll get to that.  Please turn your back to me."

She took a stethoscope from her bag and listened to heart and 
lung sounds while checking his pulse rate.  "What does your 
doctor tell you about your blood pressure?" she asked.

"It's okay.  Don't you have one of those sphyg-- sphyg--"

"Sphygmomanometer.  No, I overlooked that.  I'll have one next 
time."

"You're new at this, aren't you?"  He leered over his shoulder.  
"Which part is new to you?"

"If I understand you correctly, neither.  But you're right:  
you're my first patient as an LN."

Her hands rubbed down his back, pressing firmly.  "Your muscles 
are getting soft.  You need to get out of bed more, Mr. 
Hinkelberg."

"At my age?  I'm liable to break a hip."

"I didn't suggest that you turn cartwheels.  Lay back now and let 
me look, as you said, at the part in question."

"I have to piss, and that's a bitch."  He sniggered.  "I mean, 
it's sort of _like_ a bitch.  Nowadays I have to lay on the 
bedpan."

He took up a remote control that had been lying beside him and 
pressed a button.  A red light glowed momentarily and motors 
hummed in the bed.  The bed quickly flattened itself, 
straightening the elderly body onto its back.

Jenny asked, "Don't you have a urinal?"

"Yeah, but if I use that I have to wash my hands.  Might as well 
get up to begin with and go sit on the john."

The youth found the bottle in a drawer.  Jenny held it carefully 
between the old man's legs as he obtained relief.  He leered up 
at his nephew.  "Watch close, sonny, and you can catch it next 
time."

The young man said softly, "I've always been willing to do that 
for you, uncle."  He fetched Jenny a warm cloth, with which she 
scrubbed the tiny penile stub, and removed the half-full bottle.

"Let me see."  Jenny's fingers probed.  "They caught your cancer 
before it metastasized, I see.  You were fortunate."

"Fortunate with practically no dick?"

"I think so.  Hadn't the disease already taken a lot of it?"

"Yeah."

"And didn't it hurt?"

"Worse than a toothache."

"Then, yes, I think you're fortunate.  If your penis were still 
attached, it would be on a corpse or a man in agony beyond 
morphine.  A penile epithelioma usually metastasizes quickly.  
You are _very_ fortunate.  When did they remove it?"

"Exactly 17 weeks ago."

"I think it's completely healed.  Had you noticed that your 
suture scars have almost completely dissolved?  In fact, I 
believe the corpus spongiosum has actually --  Ah!  That's 
sensitive, is it?"

The old man had twitched.  "Yes.  Makes me tingle, almost, when 
you press --  No, that's too much to hope for.  The corpus what?"

"The part that includes the glans -- the knob that used to be on 
the end of it.  This skin is developing the same pebbly texture 
as a glans.  I think it will soon give you pleasure again, sir."

"You do?  You're not just funning me?"

"I wouldn't do that, sir."

"Call me Joe, will you?"

"Thank you, Joe.  Hmm.  Your testicles are intact and lean.  You 
never had a vasectomy, did you?"

"What's that?"

"Good answer.  How long since your last orgasm?"

"I don't know.  Six months, maybe.  The last one hurt more than 
helped."

She said sympathetically, still gently massaging his scrotum, "I 
can imagine.  Have these been painful at all?"

"Not till I started reading Henry Miller...  Why the glove?"

She had released him to stretch on a single latex glove.  "To 
finish my exam."

"What's in the tube?"

"Lubricating jelly.  Would you please raise this leg, Joe?"

"I will for you.  You don't mean -- Ooo!  Yes, you do!"

"Relax, Joe.  You have no hemorrhoid, which surprises me a 
little, and -- remarkable!  You have the firm prostate of a much 
younger man."

"Yeah, according to Dr. Mordan, but a lot of good it does me!"

The nephew, watching in fascination, asked, "Isn't it unusual for 
a nurse to know so much about a man?"

Jenny glanced up with a smile.  "Because she's not a man, you 
mean?  But I always liked male anatomy, which is why I worked in 
urology at the -- at a large hospital for a few years."

"Urology?" he repeated.

"Medicine of the urogenital regions.  You can relax the leg, Joe.  
For your information, you now appear to have a healty urogenital 
tract.  I wonder how in the world you contracted that cancer!"

The old man leered.  "Don't worry, _you_ won't catch it!"

"No, I suppose not."  She smiled down at him contemplatively.  
"You say your book stimulates you.  When it does, do you feel 
anything like an erection?"

His eyes became introspective.  "A little tightening, maybe, but 
it's deep."

"That's actually a good sign.  If you like imaginary women so 
well, what might a real one accomplish?"

"That's why I called Bernie."

"Then let's find out."

She lowered her black bag beside a straight chair and sat down to 
remove the severe nurse's walking shoes.  The practical uniform 
dress was fastened up the entire front with a long, flap-covered 
zipper.  It hummed from top to bottom.  When she stood up the 
garment opened full at the front.  The young man gasped and the 
old one grunted as she shrugged her arms free and they realized 
she wore no underclothing.  When she had hung the dress over the 
chair back, she faced her patient nude except for an old-
fashioned hip-top garter belt that restrained long white stocking 
tops a hand's width below her groin.

"Perhaps now you'd care to examine _me_," she suggested, climbing 
onto the bed well within reach of the old man's hands.

His whole face lit.  "Imagine that:  getting to feel of a nurse!"  
His hands rose to her full breasts and pinched the nipples erect.  
He declared soulfully, "My god, there's nothing in the universe 
that feels as good as a plump tit."

The nephew licked his lips.  His hand went into his pocket.  
Ignoring him, Jenny said to the old man, "I've been told that the 
odor of a woman can also be very stimulating."  She rose higher 
in the bed and spun around, her head towards the foot, her thighs 
spread over the patient's head.  She craned her neck to look back 
at the man.  "What's your opinion?"

He sniffed audibly but called out, "Danny, get your clothes off, 
too."

She looked up at the nephew, who shrugged and began tearing off 
his clothes.

"Is there room for him to get behind us?" asked the old man.  "We 
can slip down some if not."

"There's room," the youth responded.  "What do you want me to do 
behind her?"

"Fuck us both."

Staring at the nephew, her eyebrows rose.  He looked pained.  
"Uncle!  I didn't think you wanted anyone to know about that."

"Jenny's a pro.  She won't tell."

Shortly Danny's clothing was strewn on the floor.  He clambered 
onto the bed above its two occupants.

The old man, craning his head back, asked warmly, "Did you notice 
that dick, Jenny?  You're in for a treat."

Her response was to spread her legs further, lowering her vagina 
into the old man's face.  Immediately she felt his tongue parting 
her pubes to find the sensitive lump.  The youth hitched himself 
up behind her.

"No, no," commanded the old man, his voice muffled.  "Stick it 
into her first."

A large padded lump pushed between her labia and worked its way 
deeper while the tongue lashed her with greater power.  She 
trembled involuntarily and automatically pushed back, arching her 
back to reduce the angle.  As she had last noted during her short 
stint as a movie starlet, this combination of tongue and big 
penis was strikingly effective, even without coronal contact with 
the cervix.  Waves of pleasure washed over her.

The muffled voice demanded, "You in all the way yet?"

"Deep as you can get from behind," the youth replied.

"All right.  Give it to me."

Penis and tongue left her.  She felt a stubbled chin bumping her 
pubes instead.  Her rising enchantment subsided enough for her to 
remember what she had planned to do next.

She dropped her face between the old man's legs, tongue probing 
for the spot of rough skin she had earlier found around the 
urethral eye.  Located, she pressed lower, nose buried between 
the testicles, and began mercilessly to lash the sensitive spot.  
The body beneath hers trembled and shuddered.  She heard grunts 
from behind her, then oaths from the youth.

"Damn it, uncle, you bit me!"

"Oh, god!" cried the gruff old voice.  "I can't stand it."

"Can't stand what?" asked Danny.  "What's she doing?"

"Fuck her, damn you, fuck her!"

Both penis and tongue returned, but the latter only briefly.  
"Oh, god, oh, god!" its owner screamed.

She pressed hard with her own tongue, moving it in short strokes 
as fast as she could drive it.  Her hand crept under his legs and 
clasped the scrotum, squeezing it gently, rolling its content 
against itself.

"Oh, god, I'm coming!" cried the hoarse voice.  Immediately a 
slightly cool liquid splashed into her nostrils.  She moved her 
lips to catch it but froze otherwise.  Spurt after spurt flooded 
her mouth.  She began to wonder at the quantity.  As it tapered 
off her tongue touched the spot again, now much gentler, 
producing a sequence of muffled groans that suggested to her a 
use for the fluid in her mouth.

Shrugging the nephew's hands off her hips, she whirled around, 
breaking contact with him, and bent over the old man's stunned 
and slack-jawed face.  She let a large gob fall into his open 
mouth.

He sputtered, after swallowing inadvertently, "Wh-what are you 
doing?"

She grinned at him.  "Thought you might like to taste your own 
again."

"By god!"  His eyes reminded her of saucers.

The nephew regarded her in fascination.  "It's running out your 
nose."

She laughed and wiped her face with the bed sheet.  Both men were 
staring at her when she raised up.  She grinned at the old one.  
"Want to taste Danny's, too?"

Neither answered her.  The old man licked his lips.

With a chuckle she turned around again over the elderly body, 
presenting her rear to the crouching youth.  "You know what to 
do," she told him.  "I think you've done it before."

"Not just like this," the youth retorted, thrusting into her 
again.  Again she felt the elderly tongue.

This time she surrendered to the sensation, powerful when the 
tongue grew firm.  To her surprise it lasted long enough, barely, 
to bring her to climax.  She had hardly begun to scream, however, 
before both instruments left her flesh.  Her finger quickly 
finished the job for herself and she spun about in time to see a 
dribbling penis withdrawn from the old man's mouth.

"Whew!" the youth breathed, grinning sheepishly at her.

"Feel good?" she asked him.

"Yeah.  But don't get the wrong idea.  We're not gay."

One man sucking another's dick is not gay? she didn't ask.  
Perhaps the rules were different between uncle and nephew.  
That's incest, she also did not say.  With a corner of the sheet 
she wiped a few white drops off the old man's forehead.

"How do you feel, Joe?"

"God!"  The old man took a deep breath.

She laid a hand on his chest.  "Any pain here?"

"No."  He smiled.  "No pain anywhere.  Just tingle.  Lots of 
that.  Like it must feel to be hit by lightning."

"I hope not."  She chuckled.  "They say that leaves you feeling 
dead."  Her hands cupped his testicles.  "How about here?"

"No problem.  Where's my remote control?"

The youth put it in his hand and had to scramble to the floor as 
the upper third of the bed rose to a 45-degree angle.  Jenny also 
slid off to the floor, meaning to get dressed, but before she 
could turn away the old man caught her arm.

"Will you come to work for me, Jenny," he offered, staring into 
her eyes.

She straightened up and shook her head.  "No, thank you, Joe.  
But I'll come back as often as you can stand me."

His hand tightened on her.  "I didn't have anything to live for 
until today.  You've given me back my life."

"Why, Joe!"  Her voice softened.  "You're sweet to think so."

"I expect as a nurse you've heard that from other grateful 
patients."

"Not many.  Mostly it's said to the doctors."

"What I mean is, you gave me back my _reason_ to live!  Not even 
the doctors could do that.  I intend for Bernie to give you a 
bonus, so look for it."

She leaned down and kissed him full on the lips, touching his 
tongue.  "You gave me pleasure, too, Joe.  It's been a lovely 
afternoon."

"You're right about that.  How soon can you come back?"

She took up her uniform.  "Bernie will have to pass on that, Joe, 
but I think it will be soon."  She smiled sunnily.  "You need 
practice."

The nephew followed her out into the sitting room.  His voice 
betrayed fascination.  "Did you really spit his juice back in his 
mouth?"

"Why?  Did you want it?"

"Yuck!  I told you we're not gay."

"Then it's kind of you to indulge your poor uncle."

He drew back, wide-eyed.  With a chuckle she marched out into the 
hall and down the back stairs.  The woman in the maid's uniform 
was waiting with Jenny's cape.

She leered as she held the garment.  "Did you do him any good?"

What did this one want?  Surely she wasn't jealous!  Jenny 
responded, "He reports feeling better."

Her eyebrows rose.  "You hope he reports that to Bernie!  
Lorraine Whitset tried to please him, but he got her fired."

Jenny studied the woman.  "You work for Bernie, too?"

She grunted.  "I'm a guard, would you believe?  That's Bernie's 
business, you know.  Or maybe you don't.  He furnishes guards and 
whores that'll keep their mouths shut."

"You're a guard?"

Suddenly the woman's hand moved in a blur.  When it came to rest, 
it held a large, ugly pistol, pointing at Jenny's heart.

Jenny choked.  "I believe you!"

The woman chuckled.  "Don't wet your pants."  The weapon vanished 
almost as quickly as it had appeared.

A horn blew beyond the door.

"Your taxi," said the warrior dressed as a maid.

"When did you order it?" Jenny asked in amazement.

"When you opened the door to the sitting room and lit the 
indicator on my desk."

"Well, ah, thank you.  Until the next time, then."

"You're welcome.  Don't take any rubber dicks."

As she went to meet the taxi, Jenny shook her head, wondering if 
she had disregarded the guard's advice and, having no pants, wet 
the floor instead, who would have mopped it up.


* * * *


"How did you start school so late?" the tall, dark-haired girl 
asked Bobbie as they sat in the lunchroom of Pilgrim Hill Day 
School.  She, too, was twelve years old, though taller than 
Bobbie, and she had obvious breasts that poked provocatively 
under her blouse.

"Why do you have tits and I don't?" Bobbie replied with a pout, 
not answering the girl's question.  "We're the same age."

"I rub them," the dark girl said solemnly to the small blonde.  
"I rub them when I scratch myself between the legs.  I think 
that's what made them grow."

"It can't be that.  I've been scratching myself since I was ten, 
and I always pinch my nipples."

Shrugging, the other said blandly, "Maybe it's just because I'm 
bigger than you."

"I suppose," Bobbie sighed.  "What's your name?"

"Louise.  What's yours?"

"Bobbie.  We've just moved in.  That's why I'm starting here so 
late."

"Oh," Louise responded without further interest.  With a 
penetrating stare, she asked, "Have you done anything more than 
touch yourself, Bobbie?"

"I have secrets," Bobbie declared with a slight smile.

Louise gazed intently at the smaller girl who was so much 
prettier than she.  She was about to continue the conversation, 
but another couple of girls sat down at the table, the usual kind 
who would tattle about talk of scratching oneself between the 
legs.

"Would you like to sleep over at my house, Bobbie?" she asked 
instead.

Bobbie, understanding completely the larger girl's inclination to 
naughtiness, grinned and nodded her head.  She had never before 
tried sex with a girl her own age.  "Then you can tell me about 
the boys in our class."

Louise sneered.  "Boys?  What good are they?"

Bobbie shook her head slightly at Louise's ignorance. "I'll tell 
you about that," she whispered, "in the middle of the night when 
everything is quiet.  Speaking of boys, who is that one over 
there with the blue shirt?"

Louise turned.  "That's Alan."  When she turned back, her eyes 
studied Bobbie with interest.  "Why?"

"I think he's the prettiest boy in the room, maybe the prettiest 
person.  Is the rest of him as smooth as his face?"

Louise's eyes widened.  She turned again and cocked her head as 
if seeing the boy from a different perspective.  "I never saw the 
rest of him."  She grinned slyly, looking askance at Bobbie.  "I 
think I'll tell him you said that."

"Oh, would you?" Bobbie responded, obviously pleased.

Louise's expression suggested that this was not the reaction she 
had expected.


* * * *


It seemed that Bernie Nails owned substantial amounts of property 
in the south side, one apartment of which hosted a new tenant: 
Paul Lanning, now also known as Paul Smith.

Paul let himself into the front door of his new establishment 
with his new key.  A small brass plaque on the door declared this 
to be the "Office of Special Instruction / By Appointment Only."  
Inside he turned on the lights of a small waiting room having 
cheap new furniture and a table populated with the latest 
magazines too new for dogears.  He crossed to an inner door, 
labeled "Private."  Beyond it the short hall opened to two 
additional doors, one designated "Examinations," the other "Dr. 
Paul Smith, SxD."  The degree was perhaps one of Bernie's jokes, 
strengthened inside by a parchment diploma framed on the wall, 
attesting to Dr. Smith's competence in "Sexual Verification" as 
determined by _Institutione Bernardo de Roma, Italia_.

The wall behind his desk contained a bookshelf of the books 
recommended by Jenny.  He had yet to open the first.  He hung his 
overcoat on the rack and set an empty briefcase beside the desk, 
then took his seat in the executive's high-backed chair and 
turned on the computer.  When it had booted, he opened the still-
mounted CD-ROM, "Geriatric Resuscitative Techniques," clicked on 
his bookmark and began to read.

A knock on his door woke him up.  "Come in!" he called, raising 
his head off his folded arms and sitting up straight.

Clio opened the door and stood in the frame.  Clio, "Once a slut-
o but now a scut-o," in her own words, was a retired whore -- 
also in her own words -- who had applied herself to the 
intricacies of computer applications and become useful again.  
"Not a week's pay for a night's work anymore, but, hey, it's a 
living.  At least a computer don't have a dick, hard or 
otherwise."  Corley had introduced her to Paul as his secretary, 
receptionist and coach.  He found her manner frank spoken and 
cheerful and her company delightful.

"Good morning, sport," she called from the doorway.

He glanced at his wristwatch.  She was late again.  "Did you stop 
for coffee?"

"No, it was the dork."

"The dork?"

"Well, what do you call a guy who can't keep it in his britches?"

He grinned.  "It was falling out, was it?"

She nodded.  "Even left some of it in his seat.  I thought, 'He's 
sure to miss this,' jumped off the bus behind him and chased him 
with it in my hand.  Lot's of folks were staring.  When I caught 
him, he just took it and put it back.  Didn't even thank me."

Paul drew a breath.  "I'm supposed to ask what it was he left in 
the seat, right?"

She cocked an eyebrow.  "Would you believe the front half of his 
dick?"

"N-n-no, I don't think so, nor the back half either."

"Well, it's more interesting than a ten-dollar bill."

"Oh, you think so, do you?  I got the impression you weren't so 
fond of dicks."

Her eyebrows shot up.  "Who told you that?"

"Didn't you let on to be glad computers don't have them?"

"Well, yeah, but not the way you think.  If computers had them, I 
wouldn't get any work done.  When're you gonna let me suck you 
off the way a good secretary is supposed to?"

He chuckled.  This was the third time she had asked him that.  
For the third time he replied, "You can't answer the phone with a 
mouthful of dick," and received the same response:  "Then you 
could put it somewhere else."

"Clio, we've been working together just three days.  Don't be so 
impatient.  By the way, how did you get that nickname?  Your name 
is Gwendolyn Carruthers."

"No, it ain't.  My name is Jane Schwarzkopf."

"But, according to Corley --"

"It's complicated.  And I've learned to like Clio.  I told you:  
Clio, the slut-o, now Clio, the scut-o.  You can handle that, 
can't you, Doctor ... _Smith_?"

He cleared his throat.  "Yes.  And a good morning to you, too, 
Madam Clio."

"Just Clio, thank you."  Her gaze sharpened.  "I didn't drop in 
just to lick a dick.  Your first customer is due at ten o'clock."

"Is she!"  Paul sat up straight.  "What've you got on her?"

"You want the scoop or the dirt?"

"Let's start with the scoop."

"Okay.  Her trade name is Jelly.  She's 37.  The real doc says 
she's cured.  Had everything cut out.  What that means to you and 
Corley is, she's pretty even-tempered, not a flighty bitch like 
me.  She might keep her head in a crisis."

"Cured of what?"

"You name it, Jelly's had it.  All except AIDS, maybe.  Of 
course, we don't have to tell the johns -- I mean, our elderly 
gentlemen -- about that."

"What else do you know?"

"She's a touch overweight, likes bagels and veggie dip too much.  
Say, did I ever tell you about the girl who went on a pure 
protein diet?"

"Did it work?"

"Only in the right direction.  At one end she lost weight, at the 
other she gained."

He said dryly, "I see.  But we're talking about Jelly.  What's 
the dirt?"

The woman shrugged.  "Not too much, really.  Did five years for 
stabbing a guy when she was young.  Studied unarmed combat.  She 
can take care of herself if they try to maul her."

"She sounds pretty good."

"Trust Corley to give you an easy one first.  You look nervous, 
Paul."

"Yeah.  I guess, I am, a little.  You have to know, this isn't my 
regular line."

She laughed.  "You can trust Bernie to dream up a new job.  But 
just do what we practiced.  Want me to go in with you?"

"You think that would worry Jelly?"

"I doubt it.  Me and her worked together more than once."

"You mean, in your old profession?"

"I mean as party whores.  The college frat circuit, mainly."

"Clio, will you talk about that?"

"About what?  Working with Jelly?"

"Not just Jelly.  About your life in this business, the funny 
things that happened, the different people, weird requests, how 
it felt, how difficult it was, whether you liked it -- everything 
to do with it."

She grinned.  "You think it was real interesting, don't you."

"I'm sure it had its moments."

She shook her head.  "Too bad you can't try it, Paul."

He sighed, then chuckled.  "Yeah.  Too bad."


* * * *


His first impressions of Jelly were beauty and poise.  Her 
clothing was stylish, she was well made up and she spoke politely 
in well-modulated tones.  She followed him gracefully into the 
examination room.  Clio closed the door behind all three and 
immediately took a seat.  They occupied what could pass for a 
typical motel bedroom with a queen-sized bed, several comfortable 
chairs and attached bathroom, except for a total lack of windows.

The woman grinned at the seated matron.  "You in on this, too, 
Clio?"

"I'm with him."

Paul asked, "Jelly, have you been informed what this is all 
about?"

"Yes.  It's mainly about Jacobstein."

"Ah, Jacobstein?"

"Got a bit too enthusiastic under Polly Wills, so they say."

Paul glanced at Clio.  "What happened?"

"Cerebral hemorrhage."

Jelly snickered.  "What really happened was that they arrested 
poor Polly for manslaughter.  I heard it cost Bernie a cool 
million to get himself and her out of that mess without going to 
court.  His business hasn't been the same since."

Paul nodded.  "That's one of the hazards.  We'll teach you how to 
prevent that."

"Yes, Dr. Smith, I understand yours and Bernie's side of it.  As 
for me, I'm here for the bonus."

"Very good, Jelly.  In order to earn it, you must show me that 
you've learned something.  Two main hazards occur to elderly men 
who contract for your services: the stroke and the heart attack, 
but several others can arise of varying seriousness, some of 
which mimic the two killers.  Also you face the issue of sexual 
performance, which in the elderly is by no means reliable.  We'll 
show you several ways to strengthen it.

"First we have a video tape for you to watch.  I'll stop it to 
explain various points as we proceed.  Finally I'll play the part 
of your elderly customer.  He'll show certain symptoms.  That's 
your test.  We'll see how well you've learned the lesson.

"The bathroom is right there.  Feel free to visit it anytime."

Clio stood up.  "Go to it, doctor.  You don't need me."

As the other departed, Jelly asked incredulously, "She's not 
jealous, is she?"

He smiled.  "You're my first student here, Jelly."

"Ha!  I get it: she was afraid I'd make it hard for you."


* * * *


"I can't fake this part, Jelly.  You have just finished 
undressing, the slow way that the tape recommended, and you see 
that it certainly affected _me_!  It will most johns -- that is, 
customers -- of course, but let's pretend it didn't work.  
Pretend this one is limp as a dishrag.  What do you do about it?"

The woman produced a sunny smile and with undulating hips 
approached the bed where Paul lay equally naked, propped up on 
pillows.  She had proven only slightly plump, with padded hips 
and large, jiggling mammaries.  Cellulite was evident on thighs, 
belly and tops of breasts, but her body was striking in the 
mouth-watering manner.

She began, "Dr. Smith, do you mind --"

"Remember, I'm Jones for this exercise."

"I was about to say, Mr. Jones, do you mind if I play with you 
just a little?  I do love to feel the best part of a man!"

"Do whatever you want."

She bent over the bed and took his penis very lightly between her 
hands, shaped as if for prayer, and began to saw the hands 
rapidly forward and back.

She observed in a stage whisper, "This might be hard to do if it 
was limp.  I'm seen some awfully short ones."

He responded in the same tone, "It's even more effective on 
those, because then your whole attention is on the glans.  Ah, 
excuse me, Jelly --

She desisted with a laugh.  "I feel it raring up.  Too much for 
you, eh?"

"I'll say!  But assume it didn't work.  What's your next trick?"

She resumed her hearty tone.  "A stubborn one, is it, Mr. Jones?  
Well, let's moisten it a little."  She bent further and took half 
the distended organ into her mouth.

Paul noted dryly, "I don't suppose I have much to teach you about 
blow jobs!  But roll the nuts back and forth.  Squeeze them.  
Gently, please!  No, a little tighter...  God!  That's enough, 
Jelly!"

His torso twitched involuntarily as she rose up.  His legs 
crossed and recrossed.  He took a deep breath.  "I don't see how 
anybody who's still alive could stay limp after all that, but you 
may run into one someday.  So what's next?

"We're pretending you still didn't get it up?"

"Limp as a wet noodle."

"Huh!  I wonder if you'll run out of cliches before I run out of 
remedies."  She stood within a foot of his head and raised her 
voice to the normal level.  "Mr. Jones, can you smell me?"

As rehearsed, he said, "Yeah, a little bit."

"Good."  Bracing herself on the side of the bed, she raised one 
leg completely over his body, opening her vulva within a few 
inches of his nose.

"Better?" she asked.

"I'll say!"

"Put your fingers in me, Mr. Jones."

"How many?"

"As many as you wish."

Paul inserted three, noting that she was quite wet.  In a stage 
whisper he asked, "Suppose someone tries his whole fist?"

She stage-whispered back, "Go ahead."

But to his surprise he found himself reluctant.  "We better stick 
to the script."

She moved her pubes right over his face, so that the back of his 
fingers struck his chin.  "Lick me, Mr. Jones."

"I couldn't go down on a prostitute!" Paul declared in feigned 
indignation.

"No, of course not, Mr. Jones," she retorted sympathetically.  
"But I'm not really a prostitute.  I'm a lib-- lib--"

"Libido nurse."

"Yes.  Libido nurse.  You need to find a better name than that!  
But anyway, I'm a libido nurse, and you know Bernie would never 
send you anyone who was the slightest bit unwell or unclean.  You 
can lick me with no fear at all.  I'm sure you know that tasting 
a pussy is the best thing in the world to firm up a dick."  The 
stage whisper reappeared.  "But what if _this_ doesn't work 
either?  Should I invite him up my ass, too?"

"Not till you get to know him better.  A lot of people are queasy 
about that.  Frankly, my dear, if licking your clit while he 
fingers your cunt doesn't stiffen him, I'm willing for you to 
give it up.  This guy is effectively dead!  But if that happens, 
how do you retreat gracefully?"

She paused a moment in thought, then withdrew her leg and backed 
away from the bed.  She shook her head dolefully.  "You're a game 
fellow, Mr. Jones.  I give you A for effort.  Is there anything 
_you_ want me to do?"

"I don't know," Paul responded as rehearsed.  "Can you recommend 
anything further?"

"Oh, yes, sir.  We're not beaten yet.  One thing that might work 
would be another man doing me in front of you, with you helping.  
We can supply the man or another woman, if you like two women -- 
or even a pretty boy, if you prefer.  Then we have Viagra.  We 
can supply a doctor to make sure it's safe for you.  Think it 
over and call us, Mr. Jones.  Please believe me: we want to 
please you more than anything!"

Paul smiled.  "Good pitch.  You're going to be a winner, I can 
see already.  Come to bed and let's fake a heart-attack."

"Okay," she agreed, climbing over him.  "But do make sure it 
stays a fake, will you?"



NEXT:  Chapter 14: Meeting the Neighbors
Varangian:  ludmax11@hotmail.com
Kellis:     kellis@dhp.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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