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Subject: {ASSM} The Innocent Fugitives Ch14 {Varkel} (MF Oral)
Date: Mon, 19 Feb 2001 00:10:04 -0500
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The Innocent Fugitives
a Novel by Varkel
Copyright (C) 2001, Varkel



Chapter 14:  Meeting the Neighbors


The stairs up from the recess grounds had cross-hatched grid 
treads, doubtlessly meant to pass snow.  A perhaps unintended 
effect of this construction was to make them transparent.  
Bobbie, having climbed with Louise half-way up the staircase, 
happened to glance down as two boys crept out of the adjacent 
bushes to crouch under the stairs, looking up through the treads.

Louise was saying, "I don't see Alan.  Maybe he didn't come out 
for recess."

"Are you sure you told him?" Bobbie asked, shielding her eyes as 
if she too were staring out over the crowd of children.  In fact 
she was watching the boys below them, who were craning their 
necks first one way then the other, staring upward for an obvious 
reason.  She separated her feet farther.  Immediately both male 
heads converged beneath her.

"I did, and he was interested, too."

"What did he say?"  Bobbie inserted a hand through the slit 
inside the pocket of her reversible coat and after sucking in her 
gut, extended it down under the waistband of her uniform skirt.  
Its fingers pulled her panty crotch to one side.  A choking sound 
arose from beneath them.

"He made me point to you --"  Louise heard the cough, bent and 
stared down through the treads.  "Come on!  They're trying to 
look up our skirts."

Bobbie laughed tolerantly but let the other girl pull her down 
the stairs.  She looked back at the open-mouthed boys, clearly 
visible through the riser gaps, and winked ostentatiously.

"Boys!" Louise complained.  "You have to watch out on those 
stairs."

"What do you think they'd they do if they saw anything?"

"Tell everybody in the world, of course."

"They would?"

"That's the other thing about boys.  Besides being mean as 
snakes, they're all mouth."

Bobbie smiled, counting on it.


* * * *


Before she entered the man's room Jenny, clad in a white nurse's 
uniform, paged through his chart briefly at the nurse's station.  
She carried it with her as she went towards his doorway.

"So, Mr. Soloman," she said as she came breezily into the room, 
"how are we feeling today."

"Awful," he complained.  "I've got such phlegm.  I can't cough it 
out fast enough.

"Well, I'll schedule something for that, with the doctor's 
instruction, of course.  But what about this other matter, penile 
dysfunction, I see."  She flipped a few pages on the chart.

"You're supposed to get it up for me," he growled.

"I can't raise the dead, Mr. Soloman.  That piece of you is 
ninety two years old."

"Yeah, like the rest of me.  But you're supposed to try.  I just 
want to feel it one more time."

Mr. Soloman was the prize client of an ex-alderman.  Corley had 
told her the night before, "Make this one happy, my dear, and 
Benny's new program will really take off."

With that conversation in mind, Jenny said brightly, "I can only 
do my best, Mr. Soloman."  She pulled the curtain around the bed, 
then pulled down the sheets.

"I'm cold," he complained.

"I'll keep you warm," she promised and rubbed his scrawny, bare 
legs briskly for a full minute.

"First we have to wire you up," she warned, parting his gown to 
expose his entire upper body.  With dexterity and skill she 
shaved away spots of hair on his torso and then, one by one 
attached electrodes.  She looked up at monitors above the bed and 
smiled to see the appropriate readings.  The lines squiggled 
across the screens in a regular pattern.

"I think we're ready," she said softly and began to strip off her 
white uniform.

"Could you do it more quickly before I die," he asked with a 
grin.  Suddenly he convulsed in a paroxysm of coughing.

Jenny looked anxiously at the monitors.

"You're all right for the moment, Mr. Soloman, but perhaps we 
should hurry."

"All I want to do is suck a tit and feel some flesh," he wheezed.  
"Is that too much to ask?"

"I think we can do even better than that, Mr. Soloman."  She 
opened the gown fully to expose his shriveled, ancient cock.  
"Would you first like to feel me?  Would you care for me to lie 
next to you?"

"No, sweetie.  Just lean over and let me suck a tit."

Jenny did as he requested and patiently endured his hungry mouth 
on one breast and a hand on the other.  As she waited, leaning 
over him, she studied his manhood.  It appeared to be hardly 
three inches long flaccid.  Years previously, perhaps decades in 
the past, it might have hardened to six or seven inches.  Was it 
expanding slightly now?

Soloman pushed at her.

She stood erect.  "Are you ready for the next part?"

"Yeah, do it quickly.  I'm not feeling so good."

Jenny glanced at the monitors.  Satisfied that the man was not 
about to die immediately, she closed the gown over his wired 
chest, then leaned down and stuffed the entire, soft cock into 
her mouth.  One hand rubbed his legs in an effort to keep him 
warm.  She sucked valiantly for minutes, gently, expertly, but 
the member grew no larger or harder.  She concentrated on the 
glans with her lips and tongue, again with no response.

Fatigue growing in her tongue, she was reluctantly considering 
giving it up -- when suddenly her mouth filled with a slightly 
cool liquid.  The flaccid meat had deigned to extend almost to 
the back of her mouth.  Its irruption startled her.  Fortunately 
she was breathing out at the moment.  She automatically closed 
her throat in time to avoid strangulation, but it splashed in the 
back of her throat with astonishing quantity and force.

It ended abruptly as it began, without so much as a twitch from 
the mouthful of meat.  She raised up, swallowing the content of 
her throat, and blew her nose into the sheet.  As she turned to 
the patient, she began admiringly, "My god, Mr. Solomon!  You 
must have been saving --"

But the man was staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.  A glance 
showed the monitors recording straight lines.  She leaned over 
desperately and pressed a button that set off a modest, chiming 
alarm.  She pressed her mouth to his lips, forcing air into his 
lungs.

A team of doctors and nurses pushing equipment rushed into the 
room.  Jenny stood back for the experts, who fussed over the 
inert man.  His body convulsed in response to electric shocks, 
and then the hovering team straightened up with smiles as the 
monitors began to record life.

One of the doctors glared at Jenny, busy rebuttoning her nurse's 
uniform.  "What were you doing naked, nurse?" he demanded, adding 
as he pointed to the semen stains between the man's legs, "Not 
that there's any doubt!"

The older doctor muttered, "Shut up, Plato."

"Shut up!  But she was sucking --"

"I said shut up.  I warned you:  this is a private hospital.  And 
you're in Chicago now."

"What's that got to do --"

"Where's that nurse?" demanded the resuscitated patient hoarsely.

Jenny stepped forward.  "Right here, Mr. Soloman."

A feeble hand crept out and clasped one of hers.  Bright eyes 
peered at her as the ravaged face smiled.  "Bless you, darling.  
Bless you!  Now I can die happy."

"You almost did!" she retorted tartly, drawing another frown from 
Plato.  "But I'm glad you didn't.  I think we can do it again, if 
you're game."

"Oh, yeah!  Just give me a day or two."

"Mr. Soloman," she responded fervently, "you have all the time in 
the world."


* * *


"You're full of shit," Arnie whispered fiercely but very quietly 
in the far corner of the library.  "Her cunt was itching, that's 
all."

"No, I'm not!" Peter snarled with equal quietness.  "Louise saw 
us and made her leave the stairs, but she threw us a big wink."

"A wink?"

"Yeah, a wink.  A big one.  She showed us on purpose."

Arnie looked around.  Their disagreement had attracted no 
attention.  Both librarian and teacher were engaged in a similar 
whispering campaign at the main desk.  "If you saw a real cunt, 
then tell me what it looked like."

"Huh?  It looked like a cunt.  From underneath."

"Yeah.  And the other side of the moon looks like the other side 
of the moon."

"Like lips between her legs, big fat lips, kind of red, at least 
redder than her legs."

Arnie's eyes grew larger.  "Fat lips?"

"Yeah.  With a line between them."

"You didn't see a hole?"  Arnie was clearly fascinated.

"I'll bet the lips cover it up."

A shadow fell over them.  Both boys turned quickly to look up at 
the girl, who said in a matching whisper, "That's a winner."

"Wh-what do you mean?" asked Arnie.

She answered solemnly, "They cover it up, most of the time."

"Who're you?" Arnie demanded a bit too loudly.

"She's the one!" exclaimed Peter.

A chair scraped ominously in the direction of the main desk.  
Both boys hunched unseeing over the books on the reading desk 
before them.  Bobbie took down a book from the stack behind her 
and sat down in the unused chair beside Arnie as a darker shadow 
fell across all three.

The adult figure towering over them demanded quietly but no less 
authoritatively, "Did you have a question, Arnie?"

The boy blushed, stammering, "I, uh, um, ah ..."

Bobbie said coolly, "I was just about to tell him the answer.  
Uh, here it is: Susan B. Anthony.  She's the one, the first 
American suffer-- suffra--"

"Suffragette," completed the librarian.  "Very good.  You're the 
new girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm pleased to see you three studying so well together, but keep 
it down.  We mustn't disturb the other students, you know."

"Yes, ma'am," intoned a chorus of three.

As the woman departed the boys regarded Bobbie with admiration.  
"That was _cool_!" Arnie declared.

"What's your name?" asked Peter almost inaudibly.

"Bobbie," she answered similarly.  "What's yours?"

"Peter."

"You're one of the guys under the stairs."

"See?"  Peter grinned at his friend.  "Arnie didn't believe me."

Arnie turned to stare at her.  "Did you really ... do what he 
said?"

"Maybe."  She chuckled.  "What did he say?"

"That you showed him and Jerry your ... your --"

"My cunny."

"God, you did!  Was it itching?"

"No." She smiled indulgently.  "That's what they were trying to 
see, wasn't it?"

Both boys stared with open mouths.

"Well, wasn't it?"

Both nodded.

"Show me yours, too."

"Wh-what?" stammered Arnie.

"Your dicks."

"We don't ...  We can't ..."

"Sure you can.  Here in the corner nobody can see below the desk.  
Why don't you just take it out?"

Peter grinned at the consternation on his friend's face and 
suggested reasonably, "If you change seats with her, she can look 
at two of them."

"Good idea!" the girl agreed, standing up.  The librarian seemed 
to be watching them, so she put back her book and took down 
another before taking the chair that Arnie vacated.  "The old bat 
is looking at us," she whispered, opening her book and bending 
over it ostentatiously.

All three turned pages with exaggerated care until Bobbie 
whispered, "Okay.  She's talking to Miss Glamour-puss.  Give me 
your hand, Arnie...  Lean more towards me."  Both her hands 
joined his momentarily under the desk.  "Do you feel them?"

Arnie took a deep breath to murmur in awe, "Holy shit!"  After a 
moment he added, "There _is_ a hole!"

"Hey!" Peter protested.  "I saw her first."

"Give me your hand, too," Bobbie advised.  After a moment both 
her hands reappeared on the table and took up her book.  Smiling 
slightly, she turned the book first toward one wide-eyed 
masculine face, then the other.  "Put your other hands on the 
desk.  We're studying together, remember?"

"Yeah," breathed Peter, "we're sure studying!  How did you lose 
your panties?"

"I didn't.  They're in my book bag."

Twitching restlessly, she let them continue their investigation 
for awhile.  No one seemed interested in their little group.  The 
two adults were talking animatedly, even forgetting to keep their 
voices low.  In response the general noise level was increasing, 
though still much lower than a recess.  Two boys across the room 
began throwing paper wads at each other.

Peter asked in quiet wonder, "Why are you getting wet?"

"That's how it works," she answered tightly.

Arnie demanded, "How many fingers do you have in her?"

"Two."

"I've got three."

"And that's enough," Bobbie declared.  "It's my turn."

"You can't put fingers in us," declared Peter.

She leered.  "Actually I can, but that's not what I mean.  Unzip.  
Both of you."

"What're you gonna do?" asked Arnie, wide-eyed.

"You'll see.  Pull them out.  Then you can put your hands back 
under my skirt, but keep a watch on the teachers."

In a moment she clutched a small but respectably firm male member 
in each hand.  Both male hands returned to her genitalia, but as 
she pumped the boys, Arnie's hand retreated to the desktop beside 
her free one.

"Oh, god, that feels _good_!" he murmured so softly that she 
barely understood him.  His expression revealed absolute 
astonishment.  She regarded him with a quizzical smile, wanting 
to verify the incredible inexperience his words suggested, but 
instinctively understanding that to remark on it would constitute 
betrayal to the other boy.

Arnie stiffened.  He sighed heavily and suddenly her hand was 
wet.  She continued to pump gently, holding the penis centered 
between his spread legs.  She released him when his hips began to 
jerk.  Raised to the desk top, her hand exhibited a soupy gruel 
between fingers and palm.  She calmly licked it clean.  Arnie sat 
still, bent forward over the desk, eyes staring at nothing.

Though he appeared to concentrate on his open book, Peter's head 
was close to hers.  He whispered, "I'd love to fuck you instead 
of just playing stinky."

She sniffed.  "So you could brag to all your buddies?"

He withdrew his hand from under her skirt, declaring in a hot 
whisper, "I wouldn't tell!"

"You told Arnie about seeing me.  Who'll you tell about playing 
stinky?"

Arnie had recovered from his daze.  He leaned close to the other 
two heads, staring at Peter past the girl.  "We won't tell 
anybody," he declared firmly.

"Oh, yeah," Peter affirmed hastily.  "Not anybody."

She grinned from one to the other.  "Let's see if you do.  If we 
can get this same desk when we come to the library tomorrow, I'll 
show you something that's _really_ fun!"

"What?" asked Peter.

"I'll give you a hint.  Nobody out there could see me if I got 
under the desk."

"What would you do _under_ it?"

"Just wait and see.  Better tuck it in, both of you.  Here comes 
the old bat."

Indeed the librarian was bearing down on them.  Standing over 
their desk, she smiled encouragingly.  "What's your interest in 
the Women's Suffrage movement, Arnie?  I was talking to your 
teacher and you don't study that until the spring."

"Well, I, uh ..."

Bobbie spoke up.  "He was curious why they had to do so much 
suffrage."

The woman knitted her brow, then chuckled slightly.  "I see.  And 
did your book straighten him out?"

Bobbie was all set to emit an impromptu oration on female 
suffering, based on the frequent observations of her uncle's late 
companion, but something about the librarian's amused expression 
warned her off.  She said only, "Yes, ma'am."

"Then you'll be able to tell me of one least little thing Susan 
B. Anthony accomplished, won't you, Arnie?"

He stared at her for a moment, stricken, before his face cleared.  
"Yes, ma'am.  She got herself put on a dollar."

"Indeed the least!" agreed the woman, clasping her hands.  "If 
she knew about it, Arnie, do you think it would please her?"

The boy shook his head immediately.  "No, ma'am."

"Neither do I.  Very good!  You children have done well this 
afternoon."  She turned around and raised her voice.  "The 
library period is over.  Please return all reference books to the 
shelves."

Masked by the resulting hubbub, Bobbie demanded, "Why wouldn't 
she want to be on a dollar?  What do you know about that Susan 
Anthony?"

"Not much!  But I know the old bat.  When she tilts her head like 
that, the right answer is always, 'No!'"


* * *


"Anybody home?" Bobbie yelled when she unlocked the apartment 
door and went inside, but she received no response.

After a quick inspection of the rooms she knew she was alone.  
The pretty girl dropped her book bag on the couch and tried the 
TV.  Still not fixed!  She fretted about certain boredom for the 
next two or three hours, sighed and started for her bedroom to 
change from her cute school uniform.  Then she smiled, 
remembering Tom in the basement.  He was almost always home, a 
nice, good looking guy, and afraid to touch her.  He would be fun 
to tease, at least, but before she left the apartment she 
retrieved a condom from her dresser drawer, just in case she got 
lucky.

Tom looked up from his computer screen to the rattle of his door 
opening.  The little girl from upstairs stood in the doorway with 
a half smile on her angelic, androgynous face.  Her golden hair 
was short cropped as before, almost like a boy's, and she was 
dressed in school clothes that accentuated her youthfulness and 
apparent innocence.  Her calves, showcased by the hem of her 
plaid skirt and white anklets, were beautifully formed, girlish 
but not skinny.  The front of her white blouse betrayed no hint 
of femininity, although the arms that extended from the half-
sleeves, were those of a nearly grown girl, soft and slender but 
not meager.  He could not deny that she was powerfully beautiful, 
but his cock did not stir at the sight of her, even though he 
suspected that she would not protest if he undressed her and took 
her to bed with him.  To him she was just a pretty little girl 
too scant for sex with an adult.

"You're in school, right?" he asked, turning to her, knowing that 
he was done with work until she left.  "How's it going?"

"I've met a very beautiful boy," she responded eagerly, stepping 
into the room.  "He's prettier than me."

"So, you think you're pretty," Tom remarked playfully.

"I know I am, and so do you, but Alan, the boy I met, is more 
beautiful than any I've ever seen."

"Did you fall in love with him at first sight?"

Bobbie frowned in disgust at the man's dense incomprehension of 
such important matters.

"Love!" she snorted.  "He's just a kid no older than me, but he 
sprung a stiffie when he looked at me.  I think he's kinda big 
down there.  I intend to find out."

"I'd like it much better if you didn't talk like that," Tom 
replied in exasperation, shaking his head.  This girl should be 
playing with dolls, not cocks.

"Talk like how?" she retorted with a naughty grin.

"You know very well what I mean, Bobbie!"

"Whatever.  I know you'll like Alan.  You said you're not queer," 
she grinned slyly, "but I think you might change your mind when 
you see him."

She collapsed onto the couch with her legs spread widely apart, 
offering Tom a view of her lovely thighs all the way to white 
panties.  He looked away after an involuntary glance.  She raised 
her leg and placed a foot on the couch in a brazen display of her 
lower body.

He demanded angrily, "Would you please sit up and straighten your 
clothes?  I'm not into children of either gender."

"Why not?" she responded, complying with his order in seeming 
innocence, "especially when one is willing?"

"Like you?"

"Yeah, like me.  I have a nice body, even though I don't have 
much in the way of tits.  I'm not scrawny."

"Yes, I can see that, Bobbie, but you know why I can't do what 
you're suggesting, even if I wanted to."

"Are you sure you're not queer, Tom?  Why wouldn't you want me 
otherwise?  I'm pretty and I'm willing.  I even have a rubber, if 
that's what's worrying you."

"Please!  Put that away!" Tom shouted when Bobbie pulled the 
condom from her blouse pocket and showed it to him.

The girl got up from the couch and moved close to Tom's chair, 
but he abruptly stood.

"You'll have to leave now, Bobbie.  "You can come back when 
you've learned to behave."

"Like a sweet little girl?" she sneered.

"Exactly.  I could enjoy your company, if you would just stop 
pestering me about sex.  Then we could pretend, perhaps, that I'm 
your older brother or maybe your uncle."

"I've had an uncle, Tom," the girl scowled.  "I wish you would be 
more like him."

Her meaning was unambiguous.  Tom pursed his lips in anger.

"Better yet," she said with exaggerated sweetness as she moved 
toward the door, "we could pretend you're my husband.  Then we 
could play house."

Bobbie pulled the door closed behind her before Tom lost his 
temper entirely.  He went to the door and locked it.  
Afterwards he fidgeted aimlessly, unable to focus his mind on 
work.  With a sigh he turned off the computer.

He paused at the bathroom to retrieve a jar of Vaseline, then in 
the bedroom undressed at the side of the bed.  He lay upon it 
naked, snuggled his head into a pillow and opened the jar.  His 
cock was almost flaccid, but it took little effort to bring it 
hard.  He masturbated with his eyes closed, thinking of Jenny, 
imagining fucking her.  But at the moment of orgasm he was 
assaulted by a vision of Bobbie displaying her thighs on the 
couch, her white panties, her salacious grin.


* * *


The next afternoon Tom refused at first to open the door when he 
heard a knock along with Bobbie's voice begging to come in.  She 
persisted in her knocking and calling.

"I won't go away, Tom," she announced angrily, adding plaintively 
in a sudden shift of tone, "I'll be good.  Please let me in."

This went on for at least fifteen minutes until Tom could no 
longer stand the bother.  He went to the door and unlocked it, 
but turned away without opening it.  He heard the door creak and 
glanced over his shoulder.  Bobbie stood in the doorway with her 
hands folded shyly in front of her.  She was clad in jeans and a 
long sleeve shirt that was buttoned to the top.  The only flesh 
on display was her face, neck and hands.

"Would you show me how to work the computer?" she asked in a 
small, contrite voice.

When Tom allowed himself a half smile, the girl's face broke into 
a broad grin.  The sight of that glowing countenance struck him 
with a powerful force.  It seemed to hurt him physically, 
especially in the throat.

"Yes, of course, Bobbie," he mumbled.  "Let's first turn it off 
and start from the beginning."

For perhaps an hour Tom stood behind her while the girl sat 
before his computer.  He leaned down at times to instruct her, 
his chin brushing the top of her golden head more than once.  He 
breathed in her odor of shampoo and soap, which aroused an ill-
defined yearning in him.  He began to stare at her left ear, 
finding it somehow exquisite.  When he reached his arm past her 
to point at the screen, his other hand rested on her shoulder.  
The physical contact jolted him and he quickly stepped back.

"So there you are," Jenny called softly from the open door behind 
them.  "I thought I'd find you down here."

Bobbie jumped up from the chair, rushed to the woman and embraced 
her waist.

"Mommy," she exclaimed girlishly, "Tom has been teaching me all 
about the computer."

Tom rolled his eyes at the woman, who nodded her head in 
agreement: once again Bobbie was playing some sort of game.

"Run upstairs, sweetie, and tell Paul about school," Jenny urged.

The girl obeyed immediately, leaving the room with large smiles 
for the two adults, actually skipping out of it.

With an arched brow Jenny observed, "Bobbie has a large crush on 
you, Tom."

"Do you really think so?  Why do I get the impression she's like 
this with all males?"

"You're right.  She's grossly promiscuous.  But she told me 
yesterday that you're somebody special."

"That would be absolutely splendid, Jenny, if she were even just 
six or seven years older.  I could use a girl friend."

Jenny smiled slyly.  "You mean to discuss philosophy with?"

He sighed.  "How I'd love to discuss philosophy with a girl 
friend!"

"Cheek to cheek?"

"Both sets."

She chuckled.  "Brainy guys like you have it hard, don't they?"

"What you meant to say is that nerds don't often get laid.  Some 
of the graduate students solve that problem by marrying the first 
girl who will say yes.  I've seen some appalling choices."

"I can imagine, the poor things!"  Her voice conveyed sympathy.  
"Do you have something to drink?"

"I have beer and vodka."

"How about a stiff vodka with ice?  It's been a hard day at the 
clinic."

"Paul works there too, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he's in administration, in charge of nurses' training, in 
fact."

"That sounds like a responsible job."

"Sometimes he says it gets hard."

"I can imagine," Tom responded, pouring a glass.

"No, you can't," she retorted.

"You think a student's life is fun?" he asked.

"Not as much fun as Paul's."

Tom decided that she was being ironic.  He returned to the couch 
where she sat and handed her a glass.  He remained standing with 
a drink of his own.

"Please, sit down, Tom," the woman said patting the space next to 
her.  "You make me nervous standing there."

Tom complied with a grin.  They each took a sip of their drinks.

"Why are you writing about charcoal iron making?" she asked, 
tilting her head toward the well-smudged papers beside the 
computer.  "That seems to be rather arcane."

"Most dissertations are narrowly focused, Jenny.  I chose my 
topic because my dad owns an old furnace in Michigan, in the 
Upper Peninsula.  He works it as a hobby."

"Is that where you come from, the UP?"

"Yeah, near Escanaba.  There are a lot of ruined furnaces up 
there."

"I once visited the abandoned copper mines in the Keweenaw.  It 
was fascinating, all those old structures where so many men used 
to work."

He raised his eyebrows.  "You actually found it fascinating?"

"Oh, yes.  Looking at those weathered buildings, I had a feeling 
of the very masculine power they represented.  It was almost 
sexual."

He stared at her.  "I never heard a woman admit that before."

She studied him thoughtfully.  "You've never really talked to a 
woman before, have you?"

He smiled in delight.  "I never met one who'd talk about copper 
mines!"

She chuckled.  "You probably haven't given one the chance."

They sipped some more.

"I had a brother then, when we visited the mines," Jenny said, 
looking into the distance.  "He was five years younger than I.  
He was a Boy Scout.  He actually built a charcoal furnace with my 
help, meaning to smelt gold from an ore he found in the creek 
bank."  She smiled.  "Turned out to be copper pyrite."  Her smile 
became a sigh.  "He died the next summer in a boating accident at 
camp.  He never experience sex, not even with himself.  He told 
me.  We were very close.  He was just Bobbie's age."

Tom did not know how to respond.  "I'm sorry," he managed to say.  
He resisted touching her, although he desired to embrace and 
comfort the lovely woman in her momentary sadness.

Jenny, who had had a day full of old men's cocks, did not feel 
the least bit sexy, but she was sympathetic toward this horny 
young man.  Her brother, had he lived, would have been about his 
age.  "Well, Tom, I have to go upstairs now," she said with an 
effort at cheerfulness and gulped the last of her drink.

She placed her hand high on his thigh to push herself up.  Tom 
also stood.  She palmed his cheek and gave him a quick kiss on 
the lips.  "Resist Bobbie, will you?  Paul and I intend getting 
some professional therapy for her."

She turned and left the room.  Tom listened to her ascend the 
stairs.  Had she promised him something?  He felt in any event 
that his chances were improved.  He would not lock the door that 
night.


* * *


"When're you gonna let me suck you off the way a good secretary 
is supposed to?"

Clio stood in the doorway, regarding him narrowly.  This was 
getting old, but he forced a laugh.  "You can't answer the phone 
with a mouthful of dick.  Can't you ever start out with just 
'good morning?'"

She came into the room and leaned on his desk with both hands.  
"But _you_ could answer it!"  She punched a button on his 
telephone.  "There.  Yours will ring."

"What would I say?"

"You mean if someone asked for me?  You could say I had gone down 
for soup.  Or I had something in my mouth."

"'Gone down for soup,'" he repeated in pretended pain.  "Clio, 
you'll have me believing you _love_ to suck dicks!"

"Oh, I do, if you let me pour a little strawberry syrup on them 
first.  What I love is being on good terms with the boss."

"You think sucking his dick will guarantee it?"

"Maybe not, but it never hurts."

He shook his head.  "Who've we got on tap today?"

"Nobody, yet, but the week's young.  What I got today is some 
news."

"Shoot."

"Jelly lost one yesterday."

"She ...  You don't mean ..."

"Died under her, just like Polly."

"My god!"  He straightened up, pale of face.

"Well, I mean, not _just_ like Polly.  The wife was in on the 
party.  She helped put the dick in.  He actually died with a 
smile on his face.  Jelly said he buttered her cunt, too."

"Heart attack?"

"Couldn't be, not with him smiling.  They say heart attacks 
hurt."

"What ... what does Bernie say?"

"Nothing.  The wife took the blame, told the cops she was the one 
fucking him, told Jelly she didn't want any complications that 
might interfere with her inheritance."

"The wife was a lot younger?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then why _wasn't_ she on him?"

"According to Jelly, the wife said old men's bodies make her 
puke.  But in fact he _was_ under her."

"Huh?"

"She was sitting so heavy on his face Jelly thinks she smothered 
him."

"Christ!  They can detect asphyxiation if they do an autopsy."

"Don't worry.  The doc already wrote it up as a stroke."

Paul breathed a sigh of relief.  "Then the cops won't bother 
Bernie."

"No."

"But it's still bad for business."

"Maybe not.  The wife lets Jelly off the hook, so to speak, and 
tells everybody he died happy."

Paul grinned.  "Good for Jelly.  I figured she was a cool one.  
She knows how to put the best face on it."

"She says to tell you she's got a new warning sign."

"Has she!  Did she say what it is?"

"Yeah, but she don't think it'll do you much good."

"Why not?"

"You be the judge.  The client said, 'I'm gonna fuck you gals 
till I can't draw breath.'"

"And?"

"He didn't lie."

He grinned at her.  "Suffocated by a pussy?  Is that your 
opinion?"

She shrugged.  "My opinion's not worth much."

"Oh, I wouldn't --"

"But Jelly's is.  She's talking about retiring on what the wife 
is paying her."

"I ... see.  Don't tell me any more."

She chuckled.  "I can't.  That's all I know.  Except this.  You 
think I've been kidding about sucking your dick."  Her face held 
a challenging expression.

"Well, haven't you?"

She cocked her head.  "Do you get laid every night?"

He blinked.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you?"

"No.  Not _every_ night."

"How about last night?"

He studied her level gaze.  "Yes, I did."

She sighed in obvious disappointment.  "Okay."  She turned to 
leave but in the open door turned back.  "The first night you 
miss, let me know the next morning and I'll show you a trick."

She started out the door but he called after her, "Wait a minute, 
Clio!"

"What?" she asked, thrusting her head back into the room.

"What are you really up to?"

She studied him.  Her perpetual underlying sneer slowly faded.  
She took a deep breath, then asked softly before closing the door 
behind her, "Do you have any idea how long it's been since _I_ 
got laid?"



NEXT:  Chapter 15: Settling In
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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