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Message-ID: <42145asstr$1051517404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Old Man, the Boy and Louise Zagorski {Varkel} (MF Mm mF MmF Oral Anal) [1/3]
Date: Mon, 28 Apr 2003 04:10:04 -0400
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The Old Man, the Boy and Louise Zagorski

an Adventure on the Road, by Varkel
Copyright (c) 2003, Kellis and Varangian


PART ONE of THREE

Those were shots!

Though Bill was old enough to remember backfiring engines on city
streets, the cadence of these crashes was more appropriate to an
exchange of gunfire.

He had just left the drive-through ATM and stopped, still in the
bank parking lot, to insert the new travel cash into his wallet.
Gunshots near a bank?  While stuffing the wallet back into his
pants, he glared around at the cityscape, deciding that the shots
were too loud, even through closed car windows, to have been
fired within the solidly built bank.  Was he himself in any
danger?

His apprehension increased when a running figure with a flight
bag held high out of the way appeared at the corner of the bank
and sped toward his car.  It was clothed in a jogging suit and
sneakers and ran like a deer.  Bill's eyes widened and he jerked
his transmission lever down one notch to _Drive_.  Before he
could stomp the accelerator, however, the figure drew close
enough to see the face.

Reddened lips were drawn back in a grimace of terror. The
bouncing chest finally registered in Bill's mind.  This was a
woman, apparently running for her life!

Normally he was the soul of caution, but a female in distress
called to something deep in his character.  Impulsively he
beckoned to her and swept the pointing finger around toward his
passenger door.  She swerved immediately behind the back of the
car.  He remembered in time to hit the automatic unlock as she
snatched the door open and fell into the seat.

Acceleration slammed the door as the car darted out onto the
street, at that moment empty of traffic.  Having straightened out
at cruising speed, he made a quick study of his passenger.
Panting, she had twisted around in the seat to look behind them,
bent down so that her brown hair, drawn back in a youthful
ponytail, hardly rose above the seatback.  She felt his gaze and
turned brown eyes to his.  Despite the ponytail, this was a
mature woman, probably in her thirties.  Obvious consternation
did not diminish the oval face's attractiveness.

"What happened back there?" Bill asked.

"A shoot out," she gasped, adding after a couple breaths, "Isn't
that what ... you call it?"

"What did you see?"

"I was ... coming out of the bank after cashing a check.  A man
pushed past me -- a masked man!"  She paused for breath.

"Did he say anything?"

"No.  He turned around with a gun and shot back into the bank.
Another gun went off behind me.  Oh, god, oh god!"  Suddenly her
hands covered her face.  "I saw him get it in the neck.  His mask
flew off and the blood just sprayed!"

She snuffled and moaned between gasps.  A tear appeared on the
end of her nose between her hands.

Bill braked and pulled to the curb.  His hand patted her
shoulder.  "You poor kid, having to witness something like that!
Take it easy.  Are you hurt?"

"N-no," she sobbed.  Suddenly she flung herself on him, leaning
over the CD console, an arm across his chest pulling her wet face
into his neck.  "Oh, my god!" she moaned, shivering in terror.

Bill's foot applied the parking brake.  His arms went around her
and he made soothing noises with her head tucked under his chin.
She smelled faintly of cologne and the beginning of female sweat.

When she had recovered her breath, she pulled away -- reluctantly,
he thought -- and emitted an embarrassed laugh through her tears.
"I guess you think I'm crazy as a loon."

Bill's departed wife had trained him to carry a handkerchief for
those little nasal emergencies to which everyone is susceptible.
Drying his passenger's cheeks was finally a good use for it!
"No, I don't think you're crazy at all, just scared out of your
wits."

She sighed.  "I'm a big coward."

He shook his head.  "Where I come from, cowardice is no shame in
a woman.  After her kids she has to protect herself.  Are you
starting to feel better?"

"I ... I guess."  She heaved a larger sigh and her expression
grew more cheerful.  She blinked at him.  "I sure am glad you
were sitting there!"

"You're welcome.  My name is Bill Simon."

"Louise.  Louise Zagorski."

The pretty face had a faintly Slavic cast.  He guessed, "Polish?"

She shrugged.  "Back there somewhere."

"I'm glad to meet you, Louise, even under these circumstances.
Do you want to go back to the bank and become a witness?"

Her eyes flashed.  "Absolutely not!"

He chuckled.  "I don't blame you.  Hear that?"  They listened to
the growing sound of sirens.  "Maybe we ought to mosey along."
He released the brake and pulled gently away from the curb.
"Where can I take you?"

She settled back into the passenger seat, found the seat belts
and pulled them across her body.  Looking straight ahead, she
answered, "I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

She took a deep breath.  "Would you believe it?  I was on my way
out of town, stopped at the bank to cash my last unemployment
check."

"Where's your car?"

"Car?"  She huffed bitterly.  "What car!  I meant to walk to the
bus station and try my luck in another state."

He flicked her a glance.  "That sounds like you're all alone.
How can a woman as pretty as you be all alone?"

Her voice softened.  "Thanks, Bill."  She sighed again but smiled
slightly.  "Did you ever love something too much -- whisky, for
example?  Anything you love too much is hard on you."

He smiled.  "You don't look like a drunk -- and you certainly
don't smell like one."

"That was just an example.  _My_ weakness is men."

"Men?"

"But I can't keep one around."

"Why not?"

"Good question!  They all say I smother them."

"Do you?"

"I don't know.  I know I've always loved them, even when I was a
little girl."

He chuckled thoughtfully.  "That's an interesting problem."

"To a man, maybe...  Bill, we're going _away_ from the bus
station."

He succumbed to another impulse.  "Want a ride, Louise?"

"Huh?  Where?"

"I'm headed to St. Louis."

"Missouri?"

"Do you know another one?"

She regarded him speculatively.  "From Baltimore to St. Louis!
Did your wife go on ahead, Bill?  What'll _she_ say about you
picking up a man-loving woman?"

"I have no idea.  She really went on ahead, as you put it.  Our
divorce was final last year."

"Oh."  She laughed softly.  "Excuse me, Bill.  I hate to jump to
conclusions like that, but a good wife is usually responsible
when a man your age -- about 60? -- is in good health.  Guess I
should've realized you're alone."

"Why should you?"

"No pot-belly."

"Thanks.  I'm 63 but I play a lot of golf.  If we're going to
exchange confidences, you look to be in your thirties.  Where are
the kids you ought to have by now?"

"How many do _you_ have?"

"One."  Bill sighed.  "But don't ask me where he is.  His mother
left me too."

She grinned.  "Sounds like you've had about as much luck with
women as I have with men."

"In terms of their sticking around, you may be right.  I've been
married twice."

"At least you did that."

"How about you?"

She shook her head.  "Somehow I never got around to it.  Will you
really take me with you to St. Louis?"

"You bet!"

"Well!"

Her tone was one of pleased surprise.  He glanced around to a
bright smile and responded in kind.  "I have business in St.
Louis, but it'll wait.  I thought I'd look over the country a
bit.  I warn you, I'm in no rush."

She scoffed, "Did you think I was?"

"You were certainly on the run the first time I saw you!"

"Not any more.  Bill, I'd love to go to St. Louis with you."

"Great!  Uh, want to pick up anything before we hit the road?"

She patted the flight bag between her feet.  "Everything I own is
in here."

"Okay.  I plan to take I70 west.  That all right with you?"

"Sure.  You say you've been married twice?  Then you know that
women's bladders are smaller, don't you?"

"I've reached that conclusion, yes.  I see a filling station at
the end of the block.  Want to stop?"

"Please."

She took the bag with her into the building.  Topping off his
tank, he wondered if she would duck out the other door, but when
he went in to pay, she met him at the cash register with snacks
for both of them, then followed him out to the car.

"That guy behind the counter was cute," she observed around her
mouthful of cracker as he pulled back into traffic.

"Why didn't you make a play for him?"

"I saw his wedding band."

"I think he noticed your lack of one."

"They all notice."

"I wear one too," he reminded her.

"Why?"

"Habit.  Should I take it off?"

She shrugged.  "Why bother?  You've already picked up a girl."
She added a grin.  "Maybe it'll keep the rest of them away."



* * *



"Was that the Pennsylvania line?" asked Louise on a long,
sweeping curve.

"Yeah," said Bill.  "I70 takes a jog up towards Pittsburgh.  We
could save a few miles by getting off the interstate, but who
cares?"

"How far do you think we've come?"

He glanced at the car clock.  "In an hour and a half?  About a
hundred miles."

She stretched and smiled contentedly.  "It's nice riding with
you, Bill.  If I was on the bus I'd just have to stare out the
window and worry, but your stories about married life are super."

He chuckled.  "Any lasting condition is bound to get funny once
in a while.  They even tell jokes about prison life."

Her smile vanished.  "Don't remind me."

"Now, Louise, you're not a jailbird!"

"Not yet," she said, compressing her lips.  "Didn't you say I70
goes straight through to St. Louis?  I can help if you want to
drive all night."

"You're kidding, I hope."  He threw her an arch glance.  "What's
the matter?  Don't you relish spending the night in a motel with
a man old enough to be your father?"

Her lip stretched in a slow grin.  "Now, Bill, that's not how to
do it."

"Do what?"

"Ask me that question.  You shouldn't remind me of our age
difference."

"30 years, I expect."

"To the year," she admitted, snapping her fingers, "and it
doesn't matter _that_ much.  Where do you plan to stop?"

"I have a reservation at a place in Washington City, and it's too
late to cancel.  At this rate we'll get there in a couple more
hours.  We'll check in and go to supper, if that's all right with
you."

"Two hours till supper?  Good thing I bought an extra pack of
nabs."  She extended the open package.  "Want one?"

"No, thanks.  My throat's dry.  We'll fix that too."

"Do you drink, Bill?"

"I like one or two in the evening."

"So do I."

He glanced at her again.  "It's a single."

"You mean the room?"

"With a double bed."

She grinned in return.  "Sounds comfy."

They rode, companionably silent, in the light traffic before rush
hour.  When the crackle of her chewing had ceased, he mused,
"I've been thinking over what you said earlier.  I guess most
females love males, some of them anyway, else the human race
wouldn't be so numerous, but I don't recall ever hearing a woman
declare she flat loves men.  Would you mind explaining that to
me?"

"What's to explain?  Don't you generally like women?"

"Well, yes.  But ...  To tell you the truth, Louise, I've had the
impression that women tend to _fear_ men."

He glanced at her and saw twinkling eyes.  "You think so?  Did
you scare your wives off, Bill?"

"No, I don't think so."  He chuckled ruefully.  "Actually the
guys they ran away with were a hell of a lot riskier than I am.
My second wife even admitted it, even though she was the one who
wouldn't go downtown after dark."  He sighed, then recovered his
chuckle.  "But you _love_ men, you say.  What do you mean by
that?"

When she didn't answer immediately, he glanced around to see her
frowning in thought.  Finally she said, "The scariest thing about
men is how fast they can go from fascination to indifference.
But that's not something to fear exactly, not something to make
you stay away from them.  I guess what I mean is, I love their
company.  Men _do_ things."  She laughed teasingly.  "Women are
the ones that things are done _to_."

His eyebrows rose.  "By god, that's true in more ways than one!"

"But not always."  She sniffed.  "Some women think they're doers
too -- do-_gooders_!  Generally I can't stand them."

"So you prefer the company of men?"

"Definitely."

"I never heard a woman admit it.  How did you get that way,
Louise?"

"I was lucky.  My mother died when I was ten."

"My god!  Few people would count that as luck."

"Because they don't know any better.  Mothers seem to think their
main job is making sure daughters don't love men too much."

"Well ..."  He barked a laugh.  "You mean, keeping their fathers
from loving them too much?"

"It's the same thing.  My father was very kind to me, but he had
already learned the lesson.  He was a workaholic.  Mother's
youngest brother, though, was different in every way."

"Your uncle?"

"Joe.  He came to live with us when he was 18.  I was eleven and
my brother, Gordy, was 13.  Joe couldn't keep a job, finally
joined the navy.  But for two years he spent most evenings with
Gordy and me, whenever he wasn't on the prowl."

"For girls?"

"Whatever he could catch, as he put it."

"And you lived your formative years in an otherwise all-male
household?"

"Yes, I did."  She sighed.  "I've been accused of not knowing how
to be a woman.  That's what men tell me when they're feeling
indifferent."

"Or looking for a grievance.  So this uncle, your mother's
brother, taught you to love men?"

"_He_ was lovable.  He shared everything with us, answered all
our questions, played house and hospital with us.  That was fun!
He was a fun guy.  He's the one who explained my period.  He
showed me that growing up didn't have to be scary.  I'll always
remember him for that."

"_He_ explained?  Surely they taught you all that in Health and
Hygiene -- even 20 years ago."

"It came on me the year before I took that course: a classic case
-- soaked through my jeans in study hall, very embarrassing.  They
let me go home early.  Of course I went straight to Joe."

"Why 'of course?'  Didn't you have a neighbor's wife or
girlfriend to ask?"

"Even then I didn't trust women.  But _of course_ I went to Joe.
He was the one who had introduced me to sex."

Bill asked incredulously, "He took your virginity at eleven?"

"No, no.  I wanted him to, but all he'd do was lick.  He told
Gordy he'd break his dick off if _he_ did me.  So I had to wait
until Joe left."

Bill was even more incredulous.  "With your own _bro_-  Excuse
me, Louise.  I don't mean to ask you that."

She laughed.  "No, not with my own brother.  Joe had explained
why Gordy shouldn't do it.  But three boys lived down the street.
They were glad to help."

"I imagine so!" said Bill with feeling.

She chuckled.  "Oh, it was mutual.  I helped them a lot too."

His tone was fascinated.  "How did you avoid pregnancy?"

"Luck.  At 14 I had a couple of really bad periods -- probably
from defective embryos.  You know about that, don't you?  I saw a
doctor.  He put me on the pill."

Bill laughed a little and shook his head.  "Teenage daughters!
Some friends of mine had terrible times with theirs."

"Not _my_ father!  I was his little angel until he worked himself
to death.  Joe taught me what to look out for."

"Playing 'hospital,' you say?"

"And farm."

"Farm?  How did you play farm?"

"He was the cow.  Gordy and I were the calves.  Sometimes Gordy
was the cow."  She giggled.  "I said it wasn't fair so Joe put
cream in a finger cut from a latex glove and taped it to my
belly.  Then everyone could be a cow and a calf at the same
time."

"Ah ... yes.  God, what a picture!"

She laughed.  "I see you licking your lips."

"How did Joe get started on sex?  Surely he didn't bathe you!"

"Surely he _did_!  Three people in a tub is crowded -- but lovely,
slippery fun.  That's where we played hummingbird."

"I'm afraid to ask!  Is that how he got started?"

"No.  That may have been an accident.  He was careless about
clothing.  He did the washing so encouraged us to wear almost
nothing in the house.  Sometimes not so almost.  I'd seen his
stuff dangling several times.  Gordy too.  I came home from
school one afternoon, took off everything but my panties and went
to find him.  He was lying naked on his bed and ...  I stopped to
stare.  I'll never forget how startled I was.  His thing was
_monstrous_!  He was stroking it with one hand."

"He knew you were there."

"Well, sure.  He looks up and grins and says, 'Hi.'

"I ask what's he doing.

"'Come and watch.'

"So I do.  He moves his hand faster.  'Does it itch?' I wonder
out loud.

"He laughs.  'You don't know what it's for, do you?  Take off
your panties and come sit on my leg.  I'll show you.'

"Something told me this might be related to the good feelings I'd
begun to notice when I washed myself.  So I hop naked up onto his
thigh.  He tells me to watch in the dresser mirror.  He wets his
finger, pries me open and begins very, very gently stroking my
clit.

"'Now do you see?' he says.

"I'm sure my chin sags.  I never felt anything so nice in my
life.  He laughs.  'You're my little sweetheart.  Wet your finger
and take over.  It'll feel just as good.'

"He's right about that too.  But I'm disappointed when he squirts
white stuff all over me and I can't do it back."

Bill drew a ragged breath.  "Jesus, Louise!  That's ... that's
..."

"Awful?"

He chuckled ruefully.  "I was about to say, 'Delightful.'  How
long did it take to ring Gordy into your games?"

"Oh, Joe had already gone all the way with Gordy."

"You mean ... Joe was a, ah ..."

"Fag?  I think only with Gordy.  You know, Bill, all this
emphasis on being one way or the other -- I think it's a lot of
crap.  Most of the people I know will swing if they get a good
opportunity.  Personally I only get my kicks from male bodies,
but a lot of women like females, and I don't care if they do.
Whatever turns you on! ...  If I had to classify him, I'd call
Joe a swinger."

"How about Gordy?  How did he turn out?"

"He's married with three kids.  Does that mean anything?  He did
well in school and went to college.  He admitted he and his
roommate in the dorm used each other a lot."

"'Used?'"

"Anally."  She chuckled.

"Joe taught him that, did he?"

"That's what I meant by playing hummingbird in the bathtub.  An
anus -- Joe's at least, and I've seen others since -- can look like
a rosebud.  The idea in playing hummingbird is to put your long
beak into the rose.  Again it wasn't fair, so Joe carved me a
dildo."

He shook his head.  "A hummingbird _sucks out_ nectar.  Joe got
it backwards."

She laughed.  "I made that same point.  He said, 'Well, of course
it's backwards -- in _back ends_.'"

"Ugh!  Weren't you ... a bit small there?"

"I got bigger.  At first Joe's thing was too fat and only Gordy
could be my hummingbird.  But before long Joe was comfortable
too."

Again Bill's tone betrayed his fascination.  "Do you really like
that?"

She looked away, hiding her grin.  "Only in special
circumstances."

"Like what?  Being drunk?"

"No!  Sex is a waste of time when you're drunk."

"What special circumstances?"

"We don't have them on this trip."

"Ah --  Okay."  He took a deep breath.  "The reason I'm interested
is because ... well ... I had a somewhat similar experience."

"An uninhibited uncle?"

"No."  He shook his head but failed to smile.  "A neighbor girl
and I satisfied our curiosity on each other, but my first
ejaculation into another person ..."  His voice trailed off.  He
glared around at her.  "Do you know, I've never told this to
_anyone_ before!"

She nodded.  "That's the advantage of strangers."

He sniffed.  "Something tells me we won't be strangers much
longer."

"A little bird, maybe?  Let it out, Bill, it might be good for
you.  Who was your first?"

"A grown man."  Bill studied the traffic oncoming in the far
lanes.  "I must have been a pretty teenager, at least to a guy in
his forties.  I was walking home from the movies when one gave me
a ride -- to a lot behind an abandoned factory."

"What happened?  Tell it all."

"Cars then didn't have bucket seats.  The front was just a padded
bench.  He only had to bend over my leg.  I shot his mouth full
and couldn't believe it when he straightened up: he didn't leave
a drop anywhere.  He said, 'Zip up your fly,' and drove me within
a couple blocks of home, talking like an uncle about high school
girls at the prom."

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"Ah ...  It felt good at the time, of course."  He shook his
head.  "But it's not something to be proud of."

"So you regret it?"

He heaved a sigh.  "Yes."

"Did you ever take the other guy's part, Bill?"

"No!"

She laughed softly.

"You don't believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you.  But I think _that's_ what you regret."



* * *



In the motel parking lot Bill smiled when he saw his trip
odometer: 250 miles in four hours, despite a rest stop and the
Pennsylvania speed limit of 65 MPH.  With Louise's contralto in
his ears his foot must have been a bit heavier than usual.

He popped the trunk and withdrew his overnight bag.  She stood
beside him, holding her flight bag, eyeing the large suitcase
that was his only other piece of luggage.

"Looks like you don't plan to stay in St. Louis," she noted.

"It's just a little business trip," he explained, closing the
trunk.

She clasped his arm, looking up from under lowered eyelids.
"Maybe I can help keep you busy."

"This trip is already a lot more fun than I ever expected."

"I'll bet you say that to all your female companions."

"Yeah.  All one."

"Uh, Bill, do you mind if I use the john first?"

When he unlocked the room entrance, she dashed past him, bag and
all, and disappeared into the bathroom.  He found the remote and
turned on the TV.  A breathless newscaster was reporting the
solution of a murder mystery in California.  He watched for
awhile, shrugged and turned it off just before Louise came out of
the bathroom, naked from the waist up, her bag dangling from one
hand with her jogger's blouse and brassiere draped around its
handle.  His eyes riveted on her breasts, full and round, sagging
only slightly, their vitality outlined by a faint tracery of blue
veins.  The small, crinkled nipples jiggled as she moved.

"I heard the TV," she noted.  "What's the news?"

He took a breath.  "That motels have started furnishing topless
bed warmers."

She laughed and twitched her chest stirringly back and forth
while his eyes popped.  Setting her bag on the rack, she pointed
to the open bathroom.  "Your turn.  Go ahead."

To his surprise she pushed in behind him before he could close
the door.  She went to the mirrored sink, hands in her hair.  He
shrugged, pulled out and let fly gratefully into the commode.

She sidled close to him and remarked, "Men have it too easy."

"How so?"

"Not having to take their pants down ten times a day makes them
hard to take down."

"Ah ... does that make sense?  Oh, you want me to take mine
down?"

"If you want a blowjob."

"You ..."  He looked wide-eyed around at her smile.  "You don't
mean right now!"

She chuckled.  "Finish that first.  I hate to strangle on piss."

"As if you ever did!"

She waited, still smiling.  When he shook off the last drops, her
hands went to his belt buckle.  His slacks, weighted with the
contents of his pockets, fell to his ankles.  She snatched down
his briefs and turned his hips toward her as she sank to her
knees.

"Louise, don't you want me to wash --  No, I guess not."

Her hot mouth had already enclosed the half-erect organ.

His second wife had done this eleven times, once on each of his
birthdays during their marriage.  She had always insisted on
pitch darkness, dashed to the bathroom afterwards and demanded
queenly deference for weeks.  He was tempted to recite these
facts to Louise, but her wet mouth stroking almost the entire
shaft, plus the novel sight of a head bobbing below his
shirttails and the sound of enthusiastic slurps, became
unbearably stimulating.  He could only manage a single grunt as
his first spurt struck the back of her throat.  The intensity of
feeling dimmed his vision.  Inadvertently his hands closed on her
head and his rigid body pumped out months of abstinence.

She held equally still.  Only her tongue moved, laving his
swollen knob.  With a last slurp that elicited another grunt she
pulled away and spat into the toilet before rising to her feet.
Her eyes twinkled.

"Well, Bill, what do you think?"

"I, I ...  We've never even kissed!"

"Lips on cock don't count?"

"Jesus, Louise!"

She laughed.  "The phrase is, 'Jeez, Lou-eeze!'  If you want lips
on lips ..."

She turned up her face and puckered, closing her eyes.  He could
not recall ever kissing lips fresh from capturing his semen, but
she was certain either to be hurt or contemptuous if he flinched.
In fact he felt genuine gratitude for her service.  He swept her
into his arms and bussed her solidly, tongue in play.  As most
men, he had tasted his own effluent in his youth and was not
surprised to find her mouth unpolluted.

When they parted, she said with a grin, "Besides, you should've
complained before hand if you didn't think it was proper."

"You didn't give me the chance."

"Exactly!"  She laughed at his expression.  "I wanted to get us
off on the right foot, or whatever, before you could think of any
objection."

"Objection, ha!"

She smiled lazily.  "I thought about doing it in the car but that
can cause a wreck."

"Oh god, it would have!"

"Pull up your pants and let's go find supper.  I'll even buy."

"Ah, uh, don't you want some satisfaction for yourself?"

"After supper, Bill."  She went out to the bedroom and called
back over her shoulder as she fastened her brassiere, "I want you
to think about that while we eat."

A strip mall was just down the road.  Over the meal he told her
about the electroplating business he had recently sold and his
plans to continue with small specialty jobs on the side.  She
listened intently, drawing out technical details with perceptive
questions.

"I'm impressed," he admitted.  "In addition to being more open
and forthright about sex than anybody I ever met, you have beauty
and brains."

She laughed, placing her hand warmly over his.  "Thank you, Bill.
I won't ask which of those three is most important to you."

"Good.  Because to be frank, I don't know."

They laughed together.

"What about you?" he asked.  "You were drawing unemployment from
what kind of job?"

"Oh, Bill!  If I tell you, I'll lose your good opinion for sure."

He shook his head slowly.  "I doubt it, Louise.  Any woman who
gives head like you do can't be very bad."

"Oh, yeah?  How far does that go?  What if she gets along by
conning lonely old men who've just sold their businesses?"

He blinked at her twinkling eyes.  "Jesus --  I mean, jeez,
Louise!"

"What if that's what she does?"

He shrugged.  "I expect most of them would be happy to meet such
a con artist."

She laughed.  "That's the spirit, Bill!"

"Well, are you one?"

Her laugh strengthened.  "I said I'd pay for the meal."

After they ate she tugged him by the arm into an adjacent
discount store, where she bought casual clothing off the rack,
plus underwear, a pair of cheap sneakers and a cosmetics kit,
paying cash as she had in the restaurant.

"Changing your style?" he asked, carrying the largest package to
the car.

"My style?"

"What else?  That flight bag is heavy enough to be full of
clothes."  He chuckled.  "Excuse me, Louise.  I know better than
to question a woman's purchases for herself."

She smirked at him.  "There's a lot to be said for well-trained
men."

Having returned to the motel room, she immediately set about
removing the tags and paste-ons from her new garments.  Bill
offered to help.

"Did you ever do this for women's clothes?" she asked.

"No, can't say I have."

"Then thanks, but no thanks.  You don't know where to look and
you're sure to leave a pin or two for me to find the hard way."

She hung the now tagless outer garments in the wardrobe and
immediately stripped herself naked.  "Let's take a shower, Bill."

"Uh, you mean, together?"

"It'll be fun."

He took a deep breath.  "Louise, I hate to put my ruin on
display."

Her eyes twinkled.  "You want us to run around in the dark,
Bill?"

"Not _you_!  I'm sitting here panting.  God, you're lovely!"

"Forthright, pretty and brainy, you said."

"Oh, yes, all of that."

"Then give me some credit.  I can stand the sight of an old man
who likes me.  Take your clothes off and come on.  I want to feel
skin on skin."

She had her way in the shower and afterwards on the bed, where he
began with face in her pubes and proceeded to a breathless
missionary pose.  After one of her many climaxes, she came back
to Earth long enough to say, "You're getting red-faced.  Don't
kill yourself, sweetie.  Let me on top."

Her vigor and enthusiasm maintained his sexual tension without
triggering ejaculation, a unique achievement.  She seemed to
revel in the resulting erectile stamina, enjoying repeated
orgasmic cycles, typically beginning with deep wet kisses, heavy
breasts compressed on his chest while her hips rolled violently
back and forth, climaxing as she sat straight up, all of her
weight driving the impalement, squeaking sounds issuing from a
tight throat.  Fascinated, he assisted her until a general flush
suffused her body, now radiating heat and dripping with sweat,
and stimulated him over the edge at last.  She simply flopped
atop him then, breathing in great gasps, murmuring, "Oh, Bill,
oh, Bill."

He awoke once, prompted by an old man's full bladder, to find her
still atop him, head partly on his shoulder and partly on the
pillow.  Lovingly reluctant to displace her, he drifted back to
sleep and woke again to light passing beneath the window drapes --
and his cock in her mouth.  His bladder was full to bursting but
rising sexual tension had apparently brought him awake.

When he began to snort and thrust his hips, she backed away and
finished him disappointingly with her fist, catching the results
in her other hand to be wiped on the bed sheet.

Her smile on him became a frown.  "_Well_?"

"Why did you stop sucking?"

"Say, 'Thanks for the blowjob, Louise.'"

"Thanks for the almost blowjob, Louise.  Why did you?"

She grinned and shook her head.  "I woke up just now, still lying
on you.  You didn't get up to pee all night, did you?"

"I ...  No."

"That's why.  It tastes awful when the guy really has to pee."

She got off the bed and stretched, breasts bobbing.  "I can't
believe at your age you didn't wake up all night."

"I woke up.  I loved feeling your tits and belly on me."

She grinned.  "The con's working."

"Except I'm not sure who's conning who."


(End Part One)
Kellis: kellis@dhp.com
Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com

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