by Stan Hayes
“My God, mister. Where’d you learn how to do that?” she said, smiling up at him, strong hand squeezing his upper arm.
“You bring out the best in me, Madam,” he said, returning her smile.
“This is crazy. Kiss me some more.”
Kissing, then groping. She had nothing on under the jumper. He held her breast gently, the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He kissed her deeply, bringing his other hand up to cradle the cheek of her full, smooth butt.
“Touch it.”
Fingers over the length of her slick wet labia. Saying nothing, she responded to his touch. Her clitoris, large and erect, felt to him like a baby’s finger. Circling it lightly, he put first one, and then two fingers into her vagina, continuing the clitoral massage with his thumb. Her wetness covered his hand; he removed it momentarily, putting a finger between her lips. She sucked it, moaning; he kissed her, tasting the combination of crotch and mouth. “Flick it!” she said; he did, using his index finger to flick her clitoris back and forth as fast as he could. She climaxed almost immediately, with a sharp cry. He kissed her while she came again, and then again.
“Oh, Mose! You sweet, sweet darlin’!” Serena whispered when she caught her breath. “Let me see that,” she said, running her hand over his crotch. Unbuttoning his trousers, she freed his cock and held it in one hand, stroking the head with the other. “Oooh. That’s nice. Feels like a nice warm bottle of chili sauce. But we can’t get me pregnant; put it in my butt.”
“What?”
“Do my butt,” she breathed, squeezing drops of lubrication from his cock, spreading them over its head..
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes! Wait a minute.” She broke gently away from him, picked up a white glass jar from a shelf under the platform on which the bust sat, and returned. “This is just cold cream; to get the clay off my hands. Put a lot up in there. Hurry.”
She turned around, putting her forearms flat against the wall. Taking the top off of the jar, he put two fingers in it and drew out a lump of the cold cream. He pulled the jumper up over her butt, smoothing the cream between the cheeks. Finding her hole, he eased his thumb in, then found her clitoris with his forefinger, moving it slowly back and forth across its stiffness. Her breath came now in short gasps. He moved his thumb gently, slowly back and forth for most of its length. “Is that good, sweetie?”.
“Oh yes. Yes. But hurry. Come in me.”
Removing his thumb, Moses replaced it with the head of his penis. Gripping its base with his left hand, he pushed gently. She gasped. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no. It just feels so good.”
“I’ll be careful,” he said, bending over to stroke her clitoris with one hand and caress her breast with the other. “So lovely. You feel so good to me.” He slipped in a little farther, moving his hands to her hips as he did. Are you OK?”
Yes. Yes. Fuck me, Daddy. More.”
With two more thrusts, he was fully inside her. “Feel good?”
“Oh yes. Come in me. Come now!”
Gripping her hips in his hands, Moses eased slowly in and out of her. The fit was tight, and smooth as velvet. Each stroke came quicker. He groaned, feeling the orgasm from the soles of his feet, still stroking her clitoris as she came, shuddering, again.
“This is my big brother, Gene Debs,” she said to him the next morning. They were standing in the lobby as he got off the elevator. And he was big. Two or three inches better than six feet, lean, with a lighter shade of green eyes than hers. Same direct gaze.
“Howdy,” he said, smiling as they shook hands. “Glad to hear you rescued the Ritz; I’m looking forward to catchin’ up on seein’ movies where they oughta be seen, instead of the hangar deck of an aircraft carrier.”
“GD’s retiring from the Navy later this year,” she said. “Coming back to live in little old Bisque.”
“Well, congratulations,” Moses replied. “I did a hitch in the Navy myself. Planning on doing any more flying? Guess it might be a little tame after carriers.”
“A lot more flyin’. I’ve got my eye on a place that I can use as the base for a crop-dusting operation. When were you in?”
“ ’29-’33. Most of it down at Gitmo. Came out an AMM3.”
“How ’bout that! I’m an AB myself; NAP-type. Naval Aviation Pilot. They bumped me up to temporary JG in ’43, but I’ll retire a Chief. Doin’ any flyin’ now?”
“No,” said Mose, “It’s been a lotta years. I’d like to pay you a visit, though, if your deal works out.”
“Make sure you do. We’ll go fly one day.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Mose said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gene Debs. Please excuse me; I’ve got to grab a bite and get up to the Ritz. It’ll be the Winston, by the way, as soon as the new sign’s ready. When will you be moving?”
“Not ’til October. I’ll be around for a week or so this time, though. I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”
Probably not, if you knew what your sister and I were doing on the roof last night, he thought as he walked into the café. Jesus, that was incredible, he thought as he absently consumed his breakfast. I never even thought of doing it that way, except for the “don’t drop the soap” jokes from boot camp in the Navy. She certainly didn’t seem the least bit flustered this morning, but that could be because her brother was there. Anyway, she wanted it. How new could getting fucked like that be to her? What I do know is that this damn sure isn’t the way I thought our first time would be. But I expect that my root’ll turn to rock, evermore, at the smell of common roofing tar.
“Hey. Sailor.” Her voice slowed his thoughts’ stampede..
He turned to look up at her. She looked so damn good.
“I have to drive around with GD a little this morning. Would you mind if I stopped by this afternoon?”
“No. Of course not.”
“OK. About two be all right?”
“Fine. I’ll probably be in the office. It’s right at the top of the right-side stairway. Just tell whoever’s takin’ tickets that you’re there to see me.”
“OK. Hey.”
“What?”
“Thanks for last night; see you at two.” With a big smile, she was gone.
She was early. He’d left the office door ajar, and she’d just walked in, with a tap on the door as she did.
“Mose.”
“Hi.”
“Mind if I close the door?”
“No, sure. Go ahead.”
She closed it and turned to face him. “I just wanted to tell you that I want to see you again, for you to make love to me again.”
Moses looked at her for a long moment. “I was afraid we might have scared the hell out of each other last night, and nothing more would happen. You know I bought this place because of you.”
“Yes. It’s what made me seduce you.”
He laughed. “Seduce me. Well, I guess it was fifty-fifty anyway. I came to see you last night to see what signal you’d give me, if any. Some signal.”
“Yeah,” she said with a mischievous grin. “A real dick in the ass.” She sat on his lap and kissed him, deeply. “Last night was an accident; an incredible accident. We can’t go on just making love on the roof. It’s the only place in the hotel that we can be sure no one’ll see us, which I can’t very well afford to have happen; I know you understand that. Jack’s just one reason. We need some place of our own to go.”
“Yeah. I better get hot on some house hunting.”
“There’s one other option,” she said. Over in Augusta. An old friend of mine in New York, Hap Rutherford, from school. He owns the gallery that carries my work. He has a house there. He only uses it during the Masters and a couple of other times during the year, and I have a key. We could sneak over there on the weekend every now and then, when Jack’s staying with Ricky or some of his other friends.”
An arty type; I wonder if he’s the one who taught you buttfucking, he thought. “OK. Meantime, this
sofa’s not so bad; Walton had to have a big one so he could stretch out on it.”
“There’s my chili sauce,” she said, moving her hand to feel his erection through his pants. “Fancy grade, Crosse & Blackwell. I hope that door locks.”
“It does,” he said.
“I just thought of something,” she said as she eased herself down onto him.
He used both hands to pull her teal-blue jersey top up over her breasts, then reached behind her to slip the clasp of her bra. “What’s that?” he said, kissing one pale, rigid nipple, then the other.
She kissed the back of his neck. “I want my chili up here some night while the movie’s running.”
“I better check with the union on that,” he said, looking up at her as he closed his hands around her hips and moved her gently, just an inch or so, back and forth.
“Check this, Chili,” she whispered, moving faster.
He went to the office of Lawton J. Redding & Company to pay the first month’s rent on the Winston. Redding had opened this office more than thirty years ago, next to the warehouse and railroad siding that also dated back to the days when all he did was cotton brokerage. Opening the front door rang a bell attached to its upper panel. A stylish gray-haired lady in her fifties, wearing a pale blue blouse and a single string of pearls, emerged from one of the glassed-in enclosures at the back of the office, approached the chest-high front counter. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Hello. I’m Moses Kubielski. The Ritz Theatre. I think I spoke to you this morning. I’m here to see Mr. Redding.”
“Oh, yes. I’m Ruth Powell. It’s very nice to meet you. Please come this way, Mr. Kubielski.”
Lawton Redding rose from behind his desk to shake hands. A trim man, medium height, in his sixties. Wearing ordinary business attire that fit him so well that Moses guessed that both the Oxford cloth shirt and the gray tropical worsted suit were custom made. The repp silk tie, a dark burgundy, neatly tied in a four-in-hand knot, contrasted nicely with his gray temples. His brown eyes looked at Moses over rimless half-glasses. So the kids’ green eyes, Moses thought, must have come from their mother.
“Mr. Kubielski,” he said smiling. Serena’s voice, however, had come from him. “Thanks for dropping by. Congratulations on your new business.”
“Thanks. Since I’ll be very busy for awhile, I wanted to take this opportunity to meet you.”
“I appreciate that very much. In a sense, we’re partners; at least it’s in my best interest for you to do well. I also understand a little bit better than most people around here why someone from up north might find a little town like Bisque attractive. I’m from Tennessee, myself.”
Moses smiled at the thought of Tennessee as “up north.” “Is that so?”
“Yep. Came here after my army service. I was in the field artillery; my battery was sent to Camp McPherson, over in Atlanta, back in ’05. I met Peter Hartwell there. His father started this business. We were both Second Lieutenants with State Guard commissions; Pete asked me home for a visit when our active duty was finished, and he and I went to work for his dad. I’m the only one left,” he said with a faint smile. “I wasn’t a city boy like you, but Bisque was still a change from what I knew, growing up in Chattanooga. I know what it’s like to be an outsider in a small town.”
“Well, I’ve been made to feel very welcome so far.”
“Oh yes. People are polite here, but you’re very different from anyone most of them have ever met. They’ll take their time accepting you. At least that was my experience.”
“Well,” said Moses, “I’ll certainly meet them halfway.”
“It’ll take more than that. Some days I still feel like a stranger. Just give it time. In your particular case, a lot of time. Some people will never get beyond the fact that you’re from the North. And Jewish on top of that. But having two strikes against you doesn’t seem to disturb you that much.”
“If it had, I’d never have come west of the Hudson River.”
“I understand Bruce took you to lunch at the Elks Club last week.”
“Yes. I enjoyed it.”
“Not too much, I hope. It’ll be a long time before the membership’s open to Jewish candidates.”
“Not that much. The food’s better at the hotel café.”
Redding laughed. “You’re right about that. That Nelson’s a genius. He’s the hotel’s secret weapon. Well, there are all kinds of clubs. You and I just started a new one. A club of two; the Ritz Boosters Society.”
“I like that,” said Moses, standing up and extending his hand. “But now we have to call it the Winston Boosters Society. Guess we should meet where the best food is.”
“No doubt about it.”
“That’s a pretty good Winchell,” said Moses that afternoon, grinning broadly as they sat in the office after Lee Webster’s run-through of the first Ritz radio commercial. “How many people in Bisque do you think will recognize it, though?”
“Consciously? Maybe ten percent. But unconsciously, a lot more than that. In my opinion, though, that’s beside the point. The point is, the Winchell voice is grating, insistent, memorable and ‘not-from-around-here.’ People will notice it, even if they don’t like it. The other point is, as you so graciously suggest, I do it pretty well.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out whether it puts butts in seats. Let’s run it.”
“It’ll air this afternoon on Sundown Serenade, and twelve times a day during the Key Largo run,” said Webster. We should know sump’m pretty soon.”
“No doubt. By the way, I haven’t had a chance to tell you about my lunch at the Elks Club the other day.”
“Oh. Didn’t know that you’d penetrated Bisque Bourgeois already,” Webster grunted.
“Bisque Bourgeois?”
“Yep. Them that would have Bisque jump up its own ass and look like sump’m grander than what it is. The Elks Club elite. Self-styled nobility, if you will, set down among the clodhoppers. ‘No changes, please, unless of course it’s to our benefit.’ Occupying what I call ‘Bisque under glass.’ ”
“ ‘Bisque under glass?’ ”
“Pretention par excellence. Fine homes and fine lawns; the southeast quadrant of our fair city, bounded by Academy on the east and Lee Street on the west. Cream of Hamm County’s economy, skimmed and delivered, painless, perfect and thank you ma’am. As opposed to the rest of town, where the general run of Bisquites, we of Bisque Ordinaire, just soldier on scratchin’ a livin’ out of it like it is, and will be. But far more entertainment’s to be had from a third group, that takes both temporary and permanent members from both categories.”
“And what group is that?” asked Moses
“Bisque Bizarre. More about them later. How’d you happen to find yourself in the Land of the Bourgeois?”
“The lawyer, Goode, threw in lunch out there as part of helpin’ me with the Winston deal. Said he thought it’d be good for me to know some of the town worthies.”
“Such as?”
“Lemme see; there was Browne, of Browne & Browne…”
“Oh yeah. David Browne,” Webster said, covering his mouth and yawning.
“He’s the only one I’ve seen anything of so far, the store being damn near next door to the hotel. Stands out in front sometimes.”
“Yeah. Definitely first-family-of-Bisque. Third-generation fashion merchant. About your age, I’d say. Got out of high school just as I was coming in. Nice-looking guy; went to college, sat out the war stateside in some Army unit or another, came back home, buried his wife and has never had much to think about since, near as I can tell. Browne & Browne’s Bisque’s number one women’s clothing store, and since women keep a running score of how they look versus every other woman with whom they might feel remotely competitive, it’s a money machine. All he has to do is smile, hit New York now and then so his suppliers can load him up with what’s hot every season, and stay out of the way. Not that bad a life if you don’t bore easily.”
“Guess not. Well, as you say, somebody’s got to supply the demand for high fashion. From what I’ve seen in their window displays, they’re pretty good at it.”
“No doubt about that,” Webster said with a grin. And Browne’s an OK guy; does a lot for the community. Community Chest; stuff like that.”
“How about Edwards, the mill manager? Goode says he’s high-horsepower of one kind or another.”
“He’s right. You sell him a little short when you say ‘mill manager.’ As the president of Hopkins Mills, the number one employer in Hamm County, he swings a pretty big hammer.”
“And a bank director.”
“Right. Of Bisque’s biggest bank, naturally. First National.”
“From what I saw, he seemed like a pretty down-to-earth sort,” said Moses.
“Yeah. Well, most big dogs do, as long as they get their way.”
“Another first-family type?”
“Oh, no. He took a more direct route to the top. Married in. Edwards parlayed modest football stardom at Georgia Tech, and an injury-shortened career with the Chicago Bears, into husbandship of the boss’s- make that the majority stockholder’s- daughter. As soon as the honeymoon was over, so they say, he jumped onto the fast track to succeed Braxton Lewis. Just had to sit out the Depression and wait around for the old boy to die, which he was thoughtful enough to do at a relatively early age.”
“At which point, I’d guess, ‘ol’ Barry’s’ instinct for the spotlight no longer had to be suppressed.”
“How right you are. Since the lovely Mrs. Edwards was Lewis’s only child, Hopkins Mills dropped squarely into ol’ Barry’s lap.”
“How nice for him. But his good fortune doesn’t seem like it’s endeared him to you.”
“Or anybody else, some say including the lovely Mrs. Edwards, who’ve had much truck with him,” said Webster with a brief shake of his head.
“Local boy?”
“No; the way I hear it, he grew up somewhere way down in south Georgia. A trolling Tech recruiter got to him ahead of the competition. He was running over people then, and he’s never stopped.”
