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Message-ID: <31205asstr$994122604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Hasty Guesses {Kellis} (MF oral)
Date: Mon,  2 Jul 2001 21:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Hasty Guesses

a Short Story
Copyright (C) July, 2001, Kellis



The caller ID specified _Hilltower Hotels_.  A surprise visitor,
maybe?  She picked up the receiver.  "Hello?"

"Hi."  It was a male voice, young, not too deep.  "Is this
Cutesy?"

Cutesy?  Who in hell would let herself be called Cutesy?  That
was a generic name for _little_ girls, such as her grandfather
had used.  Nevertheless the query intrigued her, overriding her
automatic wrong-number response.  "Suppose it is," she answered.

His voice conveyed a grin.  "Playing it cagey, are you?"

"A girl has to be careful these days."

"Yeah, don't blame you.  Jim gave me your number.  I'm Lenny and
I want to do something for you."

"Something for _me_?  Oh, I get it.  You mean, in exchange for
something for _you_!"

He chuckled.  "Well, sure."

"_Jim_ gave you my number?  Jim who?  There's lots of Jims.
Every girl has a brother named Jim."

"Oh, the girls always remember this guy: big, muscles, black
hair, likes to whistle."

She snorted.  "I think you just described about ten thousand
guys."

The man laughed.  "Sorry, but he never showed me the part you'd
be sure to remember.  But he sure remembers you!  He talks about
you all the time.  Can you meet me tonight?  I'd like to get to
know you as well as he does."

She took the receiver from her ear and stared at it.  Did this
guy have in mind what she thought?  With a whimsical grin she
restored the instrument and asked, "What did Jim say I did that
made him remember me so well?"

"Everything," the man answered breezily, adding,  "You gave him
the works."

"Did I!  In exchange for what?"

The man hesitated again, finally admitting weakly, "$300."

She knew he was lying.  She chuckled silently.  Bluffing games
were always fun.  She demanded with rich derision, "Who do you
think you're kidding?"

She thought of another angle.  Into his silence she asked with a
sneer, "Which kind of cop are you?"

"No, no!  I'm not a cop!"

"Aren't you?  Did you just arrest this Jim?"

"I tell you, I'm no cop.  I'm in town on business.  Why do you
think I'm a cop?"

"Well, actually you're right.  Even a cop would know that the
works is $600."

"$600!" he screamed.  "Good god, what a liar Jim is!"

She chuckled.  "Well, it's been nice chatting with you, Lenny.
Call me back when you raise the money."

"Wait."  He added grudgingly, "I've got $600."

"Cash only, Lenny, nothing bigger than a fifty.  Did Jim lie
about that, too?"

"All right, I'll get the cash."  She heard him take a breath.
"What will you do for it?  I don't remember what Jim said you
call those tricks."

She had not long ago read a novel about prostitution, at least to
the point of boredom, but some of its words tripped off her
tongue.  "Frenching, 69, whatever."

"For that much money you should stay all night."

"Sure.  I give good service."

"Jim went on and on about how special you are.  All right.  Will
you meet me in the lobby, say, tonight at nine?"

Momentarily she was ready to admit her duplicity, but the
temptation to see just how gullible he might be was stronger.
"Nine is too late," she declared, assuming the voice of confident
experience.  "Everyone can see what's going on."

"Then you tell me."

"You buy me supper.  The Hilltower has a restaurant."

"Yeah, pretty good ribs.  You've got Caller-ID, have you?"

"Doesn't everyone?  Okay.  You go in at eight and get a table for
two, give your name and say a friend will join you.  I'll ask for
you at 8:05.  Then if we leave together it will look perfectly
natural."

"I guess.  If you don't dress too ..."

She laughed.  "Don't worry.  I'll wear a business suit and even
bring a briefcase."

"Oh."  His tone improved.  "High class!"

"The best, Lenny.  Well, is it a date?"

"God, Cutesy, I can't wait!"

Her imagination shifted into high gear.  "You still might be a
cop."

"Aw, I thought we were beyond that!"

"Almost.  Get the money as twelve fifties and put it in a white
business envelope with two one-ounce postage stamps on it.  Can
you do that?"

"I guess so, but why?"

"I'll write an address on the envelope and when it's safely in a
U. S. mailbox, we'll go up to your room."

"Isn't that a lot of trouble?"

"Maybe, but if a bunch of cops suddenly march in, I don't want
them to find that money on me, or my fingerprints on the money."

"Oh.  Oh!  Okay, I see.  I'll have it in an envelope."

"A stamped envelope.  Better put three stamps on it."

"Three stamps."

She let her voice convey a smile.  "Good boy, Lenny.  You're
about to become another Titanic."

"Huh?  You don't mean to sink me, do you?"

"No.  I'll be the one going down.  What I mean is, you're about
to have a night to remember."

She hung up the telephone, leaned back and laughed heartily,
thinking of his unknown face, upon which she superimposed the
visage of Gary, her last lover.  The face would be worried at
8:15, angry at 8:30 and wistful at 9:00.  How long would he wait?
She laughed again.  Men!  Let him learn to key a phone right.

At least she had arranged for him to get a good supper.  With a
final chuckle she returned to her novel.  Now if Christina would
just realize what a slime-ball this Lord Edgarfield was under his
fine clothes ...



* * *



But Christina, realizing nothing, was about to submit to Lord
Slimy when the telephone rang again.  Absently, unable to tear
her eyes away from the page, she groped for the receiver and
fumbled it to her ear without checking the caller-ID.  "Hello?"

A recorded woman's voice declared, "Collect call from" -- pause,
then a cold male voice -- "a concerned friend."  The woman's
voice returned.  "If you accept, press One, otherwise press Two
or simply hang up."

She didn't recognize the voice but decided she really needed a
concerned friend.  She pressed One and heard the woman's voice
declare, "Your party accepts.  Go ahead."

The man said, "May I speak to Ms. Cleo Ferris?"

Uh-oh!  For an instant she had a flash of premonition.  This was
the cops wanting to know if she had agreed to meet one of them
for sex.

"Speaking," she admitted guardedly.

"Ms. Ferris, I'm calling from the home office of Lords Department
Store about your charge account that is now $1200 past due.  I
wonder when we might expect payment."

She gulped.  "Some concerned friend!"

"I am indeed concerned and compared to the lawyer who will
contact you next, I'm also your friend.  Are you enjoying the
clothing charged on your account, Ms. Ferris?"

She took a deep, shuddery breath.  "Mr. Lord, if you only knew
what's happened --"

"My name is Jamieson," he announced coldly.

She squared her shoulders.  "Mr. Jamieson, would you like me to
bring it all back?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ferris.  Returns are not accepted after 30 days.
The last purchase on this account was six weeks ago."

"Well, I ...  I do want to pay Lords what I owe, but just now I
can't."

His voice did not change.  "Then may I suggest that you come into
the local branch and talk it over with the credit manager.  It
may be possible to arrange something."

"Oh, do you think so?"

"Often it is.  But I warn you, Ms. Ferris.  Parts of your account
are as much as six months in arrears.  We have sent you two
unacknowledged letters already.  If we don't hear from you _this
week_ we'll be forced to turn this account over for collection
and judgment."

"I -- I'll come around before Friday."

"Good.  Thank you, Ms. Ferris.  I always enjoy talking to a
friend."

The irony in his tone reached her.  "You bastard!" she declared,
but he had already hung up.

Lord Edgarfield's seduction of the foolish Christina faded into
insignificance.  Cleo laid the novel on the table beside the
telephone and laughed scornfully at herself and at fate.  Her
looks in Lords' clothing had obtained for her the commitment of a
receptionist's job at International Pharmaceuticals, scheduled to
start in five weeks when the current girl left on maternity
leave.  But in five weeks all these past due accounts, including
the apartment rent, would very likely ruin her credit and dump
her on the street.  She had run the sums just last night.  A mere
$600 would tide her over with token amounts to her creditors
until the new job began to pay.  A mere --  She chuckled.  Was
that where the $600 for "the works" derived?

Cleo's expression sobered.  $600 for the works!  Do you suppose
...  She rose and went to her bookcase.  Surely she hadn't thrown
away that book on --  There it was, _Loveless Telephone_!
Returning to her chair, she began to thumb through it avidly.



* * *



The formally dressed headwaiter directed Cleo to a table in the
corner.  The man sitting there alone watched as she crossed the
floor, wearing the very same clothing that had impressed the
manager at International Pharmaceuticals: skirt, high-heels and
jacket over ruffled blouse.  She advanced the briefcase slightly
to be sure he noticed it.  His face showed strong approval as she
neared, but hers developed a frown.  "Stand up!" she hissed.
"You want everyone to think I'm a hooker?"

He grinned but leapt to his feet.  "This is Cutesy, is it?"

His voice was the baritone she remembered.  He wore a business
suit over a medium build.  His face was lean and untanned.  A
pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

"Cutesy enough," she retorted.  "And you're Lenny?"

"That's me.  Please have a seat, Cutesy."

He didn't come around the table to seat her, but men didn't do
that anymore, at least not for a business associate, did they?
Or a whore, except when they wanted to be ironic, according to
_Loveless Telephone_.

"You look very good," the man noted with some enthusiasm when
they were seated.  "Wish I could do business everyday with people
who look that good."

She grinned.  "Or every night?"

"Especially then!"  Clearly he would have said more, but a waiter
appeared, asking for their drink orders.  Though she was tempted,
she ordered a coke while he ordered a bottle of wine.

With the waiter gone, he grinned at her.  "Don't you think we
could both use a lubricant, Cutesy?"

"You're not a bad looking guy yourself, Lenny.  I don't think we
need it."  He was a nerd, one that her teenage cousin would award
a sneer, but Cleo noted silently that she herself was well
removed from teenage.

"Thank you."  He took a deep breath.  "God, Cutesy, it's
incredible to think you'll let me fuck you in a few minutes."

"After we eat, Lenny.  I'm hungry."

"I could eat _you_!"

She grinned.  "I trust you mean that figuratively."

"Not so figuratively!"

She chuckled and shook her head.  "Few men want that."

"Huh?"  He was momentarily puzzled.  "You mean, of hookers.
Cutesy, you look ... fresh as daisy.  Jim said there wasn't a
wart on you.  I can't believe you've been at this game very long.
That's a fact, isn't it, Cutesy?"

"Jim again!  When did he claim to have seen me?"

"A couple months back, I think.  Had you just started out then?"

She studied him thoughtfully.  "Lenny, are you married?"

"Huh?"  He frowned.  "What difference does that make?"

"About as much as how long I've been doing this."

"Oh."  He sighed.  "I guess you're right.  No personal histories,
eh?  Huh!  What does that leave us to talk about?"

_Loveless Telephone_ had mentioned this problem.  Cleo smiled
confidently and suggested, "How about the space program?"
According to the book all young men were interested in the space
program.  She had even picked up a few names to drop.

"The space program!"  His eyebrows shot up.  "Don't get me
started about those dummies at NASA who won't go back to the
moon!"

She smiled tolerantly.  "Know any astronauts, Lenny?"

He blinked.  "Well, as a matter of fact, I've had some Email
exchanges with Cliff Seagret."

"Oh, really, Cliff Seagret?  Wasn't he captain on a shuttle
mission?"

For the rest of the meal they did not lack a subject of
conversation.

Both eschewed dessert.  As they were folding their napkins, she
asked quietly, "Do you have the money?"

"Oh, yes!"  His hand slipped into his coat and began to withdraw
a white envelope.

"Hold it!" she hissed.  "Wait till we leave the restaurant.  I
saw a mail drop just beyond the entrance.  I'll take it there."



* * *



When he opened the door, she marched past him to the back of his
room, observing with satisfaction that his luggage was
monogrammed L. E. W. -- he probably had given her his true
nickname -- and kicked off her high heels.  She had noted the book
heroine's practice of keeping her shoes on, even in bed, because
cops loved to haul you off wrapped only in a bedsheet to a
station house full of booted men who were hell on a girl's feet,
but old habits were triumphant.  Gary had wanted her naked.  It
was only logical that any man would.  She had thought it over and
intended to keep her word.  She would give Lenny good service for
his envelope full of fifties.

In a jiffy her business suit and ruffled blouse were draped
neatly over a chair back.  When the slip had passed over her
head, she saw the man regarding her with approving surprise.

"Wow!" he exclaimed.  "Does the Space Program turn you on?"

"$600 turns me on," she responded dryly.  "What turns _you_ on?"

Belatedly he began to throw his own clothing over the table.  She
finished first and stood naked between him and the bed.  Stepping
out of his shorts, he said fervently, "_You_ turn me on!  You are
_stacked_, Cutesy!"

He had a medium build with ill-defined muscles that would look
better with exercise.  Indeed he was a nerd -- but not a shy one!
In one step his body touched hers and his arms slipped around
her.  His face bent forward with puckered lips.  Obviously he
expected a kiss, even though according to her book, men seldom
offered their mouths to whores.  In the book's opinion this was a
good thing because a man's mouth, basically just another avenue
of infection, was unimportant to satisfactory service.  She
shrugged mentally.  If he wanted a kiss, he would get one.

To her surprise, it was a powerful kiss.  She had spoken with him
for nearly an hour, taken dinner with him and found him mannerly,
educated and fairly witty.  Enthusiastic at her appearance, he
had also responded well to her sallies.  The lengthy, deep kiss
warmed her down to bare toes and induced a familiar tingle.  But
she would have laughed at herself if her mouth were not otherwise
employed.  This might be a desirable man, but he was first of all
a john to whom she owed service, not affection.  She was
surprised to discover how much prostitution limited a girl's
options!

Head first, according to the book.  She broke from him, backed
away slightly, dropped to her knees on the carpet and took him in
hand.  Clearly he did not need further arousal, but she meant to
go by the book.  Gary had liked this, too.  Lenny's organ filled
her mouth even better than Gary's, though it was somewhat
shorter.  With a little care she could abide it in the back of
her throat.  When she had allowed Gary such depth, he had
insisted on thrusting farther, choking and gagging her, which
though typical, was only one symptom of his lamentably
inconsiderate personality.  Lenny trembled but stood still,
allowing her to gauge the penetration.  Pleased at this, she took
his testicles gently in hand, while the other arm encircled his
clenched buttocks, and worked his shaft vigorously, suckling and
rasping the glans with a circling tongue whenever it withdraw far
enough.

"I'm about to come," he warned, thrusting at last.  Her hand
clasped him, limiting his depth.  She tasted the first cool
spurt.  As Gary had taught her, she ballooned her cheeks while
clamping her lips around the shaft behind the head and closing
her throat with the back of the tongue.  Shortly she had a
mouthful of liquid as well.

When the flow ceased, she sucked once more, causing him to gasp,
then released him and spat a white gob onto the carpet.  He
shuddered, taking her by the shoulders.

"Knees weak?" she asked demurely.  She rose to her feet, backed
away the short distance to the bed, threw back the covers and
fell into it.  "No need to stand up, Lenny," she noted, leaving
him room beside her.

Staring at her, he took a deep breath.  Instead of sagging beside
her as she expected, he came over the foot of the bed and dived
between her legs.

"Lenny ..." she began in a warning tone.  The book had been
explicit:  only very old men did this to whores.  But his tongue
was already circling her clitoris.  The earlier thrill, never
fully faded, sprang up afresh.

Oh, god, he really knew how to do this!  The terrible pleasure
swelled and engulfed her until it became unbearable.  Moaning
through clenched teeth, she rose up and forced his head away.
Now she needed another kind of attention.  She fell back, staring
into his eyes, and opened her legs until her hips creaked.

He obviously understood.  He crawled upon her and his thicker
organ spread her flesh delightfully.  She grunted in renewed
orgasm at the first smash of his pubic pad against her inflamed
clitoris.  He began a slow thrust that apparently he could
maintain forever, transporting her beyond herself, inverting her
awareness.  The book had never mentioned this!  She had
approached such a state with Gary on a few occasions.  Was Gary
so deficient compared to Mr. Average Lenny or was Lenny in fact
the superman to Mr. Average Gary?  Before she could contemplate
an answer she realized that he was finally coming again.  She
spiraled into mindless ecstasy.

When full awareness returned, she found herself retaining his
member and supporting his hips, though he held his torso off her
with extended arms.  He was kissing her cheeks, her nose, her
chin, her lips.  Both man and woman were panting lightly.

He spoke first.  "God, Cutesy!"

With her arms across his back she pulled herself up against his
chest.  "You're the god, Lenny."

He chuckled, shaking his head.  "You couldn't have faked that."

"I didn't fake it," she admitted.

"But ... but ..."

She took a deep breath.  "But call girls aren't supposed to have
that much fun?"

Suddenly he frowned.  "That's right: they aren't."  He took a
deep breath and backed away from her to stand at the foot of the
bed, studying her with a scowl.  He shook his head and said in
the tone of surprise, "I don't want you to leave."

"What time is it, nine-thirty?  We've got hours."

"You don't have ... another appointment?"

"Tonight I'm all yours, Lenny."

He smiled.  "That's right, you are.  I'm going to order us some
drinks.  What'll you have?"

"Nothing very strong.  How about a Coors Light?"



* * *



She awoke at 4:12 by the red-glowing numerals of the headboard
clock and slipped out of the bed.  Enough outside light entered
the room around the edges of the drapes to find her clothing.
During a pause in the sex she had exchanged her business suit and
high heels for jeans and sneakers in the briefcase.  She dressed
quickly.

His snoring had ceased.  "Cutesy," he asked, "will you come back
tomorrow night?"

She caught her breath in pleasure at his words but paused,
uncertain how to answer him, understanding only too well that she
was in no position to bargain.  Traces of the warmth and tingling
he had imparted hours ago still lingered in parts of her body.
This man had possessed her literally.  Her soul knew that she was
his property.  Only the irony of her claimed professional status
prevented her from announcing it.  Realization of that had
plucked her from his bed.

"I'll give you $600 again," he said more firmly.

She almost chuckled, knowing she would have paid _him_!  And that
brought her up short.  The book _had_ mentioned the danger of
emotional attachment.  The man would become her pimp and beat her
whenever she brought him too little money.  The cure was to
concentrate on every man as a dollar sign, an object needing
service like a dish to be washed, not the lover who could make
your life sing.  She clenched her fists.  This needed to be put
on a more business-like basis.

"All right, Lenny, if that's what you want."

"Huh!  I can't believe you _don't_ want it!"

She sighed.  "You're no cop."

"I told you that."

"So I'll knock on your door at nine."

"Couldn't I take you to dinner again?"

"All right, that would be nice.  But you don't need the stamped
envelope."

The light was barely enough to see his teeth glimmer in a smile.
"Good.  Will you give me a kiss to remember you?"

"No, Lenny.  If I kiss you right now I'll never get out of here."



* * *



She awoke a little after two, made herself a sandwich and moped
while she ate it, wondering how she could possibly live the rest
of her life without Lenny, assuming he would shortly leave town
and return to the likely wife and family.  L. E. W. in Room 714!
She wondered what she could tell the Hilltower desk clerk that
might elicit the full name behind those initials.

After eating, she checked her apartment mailbox, although it was
too soon for Lenny's money.  Among the bills was a letter from
her brother in Cleveland.  She wondered what prompted him to
write and tore the envelope open with a sinking feeling.  But she
was pleasantly surprised.  At first.



"Cleo, Cute Sis,

"Was thinking of you.  Hope you're well and by now have seen what
a louse that boyfriend is.  What's his name, Robert?  Or was that
a boyfriend or two back?  Just kidding.  You've stayed out of my
love life, so I'll try and stay out of yours.

"What I really wrote about was to pass along some good news before
you hear it screwed-up from Aunt Tilly.  I won the Hotshot
Special last week.  Hope you're sitting down.  It was worth
$14,000 after all the damn governments took their cuts.

"Aunt Tilly says you're starting a new job next month.  I'm giving
you a measly thou to tide you over -- and to pay back some of what
you've let me have from time to time, for which I'm still
grateful.  I'd give you more but I need the rest to take my babe
on a cruise.

"My successful buddy, Lew Waltham, is coming to your town for a
few days.  He's agreed to deliver your cut:  20 fifty-dollar
bills.  I gave him your phone number and told him you're my cute
sis, which you are.  But watch out for him.  He's a great kidder.
If I know him, he'll make you sing for your supper.

"Hope it does you some good.

"All my love, Jim"



Cutesy.  Cute sis?

She sat at her dinette table, wide eyed, mouth hanging open.  She
read the letter again.  L. E. W. in Room 714 was Lew Waltham.
Did he sometimes go by Lenny, first name Leonard, or was that
only for her benefit?  And Jim was only too clearly Jim Ferris,
her own brother, who no doubt did indeed remember her well, if
not quite in the manner Lenny had implied.

At first she felt a terrible wound, as if "Lenny" had shot her
through the heart.  What an absolute fool she was, pretending to
be a whore, then becoming one!  She had even believed herself
falling in love with him.

The most horrible aspect of it was that she had done it to
herself.  In her mind she reviewed the original telephone call.
He had given her a false name, probably in response to her stupid
"Cutesy" play-along, probably delighted to discover that Jim's
sister was now peddling her pussy unbeknownst to Jim.  She
groaned, gritting her teeth in anger and rising embarrassment.

Not that "Lenny" was so innocent, she decided.  He had used Jim's
gift to pay for a whore's services.  She shuddered in loathing of
him and of herself.  How pleased he must be with himself, how
amused by the chance to indulge his lust at another's expense!
Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she considered the
adventure from his point of view.  Jim had probably extolled his
sister's integrity and goodness, because he believed both true of
her, ignorant of the harlotry that Lenny had now discovered.
Showing Lenny this letter would only amuse him the more.  He
would guess how much she'd hate for her brother to hear of her
new profession.  She could imagine the scene.  Lenny would laugh
gleefully and suggest that the $200 extra, paid from his own
pocket, was about what two nights with her were actually worth.

Bitter tears of ignominy streaked her cheeks.  She sat sobbing
for a long time at the table before finally getting up, finding a
tissue and drying her eyes.  All things considered, what was best
for her to do?  Lenny might be a cheat, but he wasn't alone in
playing a game.  Cutesy, the professional call-girl, using all
the tricks to avoid prosecution, talking the talk and even
walking the walk, a professional for exactly one night, so
professional that she fell for the first john to put it in her!
Even now her body tingled at the memory of his hands, lips,
tongue and fat penis.  She shivered and recognized the cause only
too well.  It was a simple longing for his touch.

Would she let him get away with it?  She sighed.  Forget the
cheating; what she hated was letting him get away at all!

She could hardly prevent that.  But with the letter's warning in
mind, she thought of a way at least to let Lenny discover that
she knew his game, even if he only thought he knew hers.



* * *



_Loveless Telephone_ had suggested baseball as an alternate to
the Space Program, but Lenny proved uninterested in sports.  She
was pleased to hear, however, that by no means did he consider
the Space Program exhausted as a subject.  He talked for 30
minutes around his prime ribs about the moon missions.  He had
bought copies of all NASA's raw video footage, made by cameras on
the moon itself, and apparently knew each lander mission
blow-by-blow.  He waxed eloquent about the distinctive moon
shuffle, the difficulties in trying to drill into the regolith
when the driller weighed less than 40 pounds, the simple problem
of dusting one's helmet bowl when no method existed to bleed off
static.  He spoke so well that she found herself interested in a
subject that would normally bore her to tears, enough to respond
encouragingly -- though the tingle in her belly likely accounted
for much of its appeal.

The restaurant tables possessed long damask coverings that draped
almost to the floor.  She slipped off her high heel and raised
the stockinged foot to his crotch, causing his eyebrows to twitch
at first.  He slouched forward in the chair as her foot stroked
him gently through the layers of cloth.

After signing the chit, while they lingered over coffee, he shook
his head.  "Cutesy," he said with feeling, "I believe you're the
most interesting woman I ever knew -- in all respects!  You know
what I hate the most?"

"Thank you," she answered, hating the tabletop that separated
them.  "What do you hate about me?"

"About you?"  He sighed.  "I've got a flight out of here tomorrow
at seven A.M.  What I hate about you is that you can't be on it,
too."

She took an unhappy breath.  "Do you have to leave so soon?"

"I'm afraid so.  I couldn't find an excuse to stay in town."  He
laughed wryly, looking away.  "Besides, I'm running out of
money."

The words, "Forget the money," were on her lips when the waiter
leaned down to take the leather-bound receipt book.  When he had
turned his back, Lenny muttered, "At least we've got tonight."
He stood up, rounded the table and took the back of her chair.
"Shall we go, my dear?"

As he pulled out the chair, she rose to her feet.  She turned
gracefully against him, raised her lips and kissed his chin
lightly.  His eyes glowed.

"Thank you, Lenny," she whispered.  "You're a dream yourself."

His whole face lit.



* * *



In his room she turned to face him as he kicked the door closed.
He pulled a white envelope from his coat pocket.  "Better take
this before I forget it," he suggested, extending it to her.
She took it and threw it on the table beside her briefcase.

He was already slipping the loop on his necktie.  "Take your
clothes off fast, Cutesy.  I want to kiss you all over."

In short order they grappled on the bed.  His hands and mouth
explored her thoroughly for long minutes.  Finally they reversed
into a 69.  His fierce tongue pierced her, riving her body with
orgasms.  She was almost unaware of the mouthful he gave her in
response until he withdrew himself, shuddering and panting.

He ordered drinks and lay beside her on his elbow, fondling and
stroking her body as one might a fine porcelain statue.

Every touch thrilled her.  "I love your hands on me, Lenny," she
admitted.

"I love everything about you," he declared, "how you feel, how
you smell, how you taste, how you look, the tone of your voice.
You are a rhapsody for the senses, Cutesy."  He chuckled lightly.
"I wish you'd pick another name.  'Cutesy' is so ... well,
childish."

She wanted to say, "You know my name," but held it back for fear
of changing his mood, of ending this feeling of blissful
contentment.

"I'll name you," he continued whimsically.  "You are Venus, the
planet of love."

She laughed fondly, wanting to say, "Only for you, my darling."
It was so hard to remember her new status.

Several times that night they slept briefly, but someone's hands
would soon wake the other to merge their bodies tenderly.
Neither was concerned with orgasms, though they managed a few.
Somehow she never admitted it, but she, too, wanted this night to
last forever.

When the digital clock indicated four A.M., she rose sadly and
dressed in jeans and sneakers.  Her heart was heavy, but she
remembered to pop his envelope into her briefcase after verifying
by the light leaking around the window drapes that it did contain
$50 bills.  Hand on the doorknob, she turned to look at him one
last time.  He was awake, eyes glittering at her.

"Don't go, my Venus."

The pathos of his tone made her knees weak but she shook her
head.  "You know I have to, Lenny."

"At least give me one last kiss."

Again she shook her head.  "No, Lenny.  Tonight is even worse
than last night."

Then she remembered her idea of the afternoon.  She added.  "You
might like to know I heard from Jim."

"Did you!"  His eyes widened.

"He said you'd want me to sing for my supper.  Tell him you liked
the tune, will you?"

His eyes flashed.  Without waiting for his response, if any, she
snatched the door open and left.

She stumbled down the carpeted hall to the elevator, eyes filmed
with tears.  When the doors opened on the lobby, however, she had
repaired her makeup enough to face the late night world pale but
with some dignity.

Crossing the wide space, she was startled as a heavy man in a
business suit intercepted her.  He stood in her path and raised
his hand.  "Could I speak to you for a moment, miss?"

"I'm in a hurry," she warned, fists clenching.  He wasn't dressed
like a mugger.  She glanced around.  No other person was visible,
not even a desk clerk.  She took a shuddering breath.

She saw a twinkle in the cold eyes.  "_You_ have nothing to worry
about.  I merely wanted to congratulate you.  You're as smooth an
operator as I've seen lately."

His face was almost familiar.  She asked, "Do I know you?"

"So to speak."  He grinned.  "I double as the maitre-d' in the
restaurant and chief house dick everywhere else."

As headwaiter he had worn formal clothes.  She demanded, "What do
you want?"

"To give you this."  He extended a business card between two
fingers.  "That bit with the envelope last night was smooth,
straight out of the movies!  And you dress up mighty fine.  But I
haven't seen you before, which makes me suspect your volume is
not what it could be."

She took the card.  "My _volume_?"

"Of business."  He leered.  "With your style and looks I'm sure
you're pulling down a lot more than the usual two big ones -- or
if not you ought to be.  30 per-cent of that wouldn't be much of
a nick, and I could triple your volume, guaranteed.  Then there's
quick backup if you draw a rowdy drunk, credit card service and a
doctor right here in the hotel.  Think about it, Cutesy," -- he
winked -- "and give me a call at that second number."

He turned away, walking self-confidently toward the recessed
desk.  She proceeded onward immediately without looking back.
Good!  A taxi was waiting.

She was inside the vehicle with the doors closed before she
announced her apartment address.  She leaned back in the
cushions, finally relaxing.  She smiled.  Soon she was chuckling.

"Had a good time?" asked the driver, watching her in the mirror.

She pointedly ignored him, looking out the window and wiping her
smile.

"Stuck-up broad!" he muttered distinctly.

She ignored that, too, but her laughter continued inside.  Lenny
might think himself a clever cheat, but by god she had made him
pay three times the going rate, even if a thousand of it was
already her money!  She wondered if he would find out and think
she cheated _him_.

But her inside smile soon faded.  She missed him terribly.  That
he had her telephone number was her only consolation.  If he was
not so consummately a liar as a cheat, he would soon return to
town.



* * *



The telephone was ringing.  Owlishly she opened one eye and
glared at her timepiece.  One o'clock.  Light filtered through
the closed blinds.  Must be afternoon.  Another damned bill
collector?  She turned over to go back to sleep but the pesky
phone wouldn't quit.

Giving up, she clambered across the bed and took down the
receiver.  "What _is_ it?"

She heard silence.  "Damn telemarketing!" she proclaimed, but as
she snatched the device away from her ear, it squawked.

On an impulse she brought it back.  "What?"

A man's voice declared, "I gather this is a bad time.  I'll call
you back."

"Oh, let's get it over with.  What are you selling?"  At this
angle she couldn't see the caller-ID.

"Is this Miss Cleo Ferris?"

"You know it is."

"Did I wake you up, Miss Ferris?  I'm very sorry for that, though
maybe you'll be glad of it when you hear what I've got."

She took an exasperated breath.  "I already asked you: what are
you selling?"

He chuckled a little.  "That's just it, Miss Ferris.  I'm not
selling anything.  I want to _give_ you something."

"Huh!  I've heard that before, too.  What is it, a square foot of
land in Arizona?"

His voice sobered.  "I guess you didn't get the letter.  I'm
Jim's friend, Lewis Waltham.  Jim was supposed to have written
you that I was coming.  I've got something for you I guarantee
you'll like."

"You ... you what?"  Her voice was suddenly weak.

"20 fifty-dollar bills.  I'm holding them in my hand...  Cleo?
... Miss Ferris, are you there?"


END
Copyright (c) July, 2001, kellis@dhp.com
Stories Gratis 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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