“I’m still mad.”
“And I’m really, really sorry. I was starting to have feelings for you. You are so alive. You are a burst of cherries every day. When Julia came back, she brought back all those old memories. It was unfair. I was unfair. Please say you’ll forgive me.”
“Let me shower first, then I’ll think about it.”
Dr. Andrews’ house was a modern ranch style. It was one of a scattering that was slowly replacing the rambling, clapboard houses of the mid twentieth-century. It's leaner size meant a larger front yard, but this yard was dominated by a number of flowering shrubs that lined up against one side of the house and along the far fence. The driveway was paved, but the walkway and patio floor were laid with an inset stone pattern.
The house had a white spackled ceiling throughout, interspersed with squares of built-in lighting set on dim, except in the bathroom, which shone with the brilliance of an operating room. It was all white tile, stainless steel, and porcelain. A series of mirrors allowed me to see every inch, every crevice, every line and curve of my body without flattering shadows or limited viewing room. I felt a little embarrassed and shut the door immediately.
The shower stall was large, glassed in, and included a tub with Jacuzzi at the far end. The shower itself contained three spigots, all set with directional controls and volume settings. I started my shower, experimenting with the numerous dials. As I loosened the grime from my hair and watched it roll down my arms, I began to feel warm and normal again. I could forgive Lee Andrews, perhaps, after a few more showers at his house.
I heard a knock at the glass. I slid it open a few inches. “Here are some fresh towels and a robe,” said the doctor, keeping his head down. I began to relent. The caked mud in his hair and clothing was beginning to dry. It looked like cracks in his once invisible armor.
“You’re very appealing when you’re humble,” I said. “You should try it more often.”
He started to turn away. “You can come in, Lee, if you want. I’m finished.”
He undressed and passed by me, the closeness of his body next to mine sending my hormones into a fever pitch. “I’ll wash your hair,” I said. He didn’t object.
I shampooed his hair gently, the way Linda had taught, diluting it and easing it into his scalp. My hands strayed down to his slightly scratchy face, soaping it and shaving away the stubble. I spread the suds across his arms and shoulders, then traveled downward and over his magnificent chest. His olive skin was already turning to tan and glistened under the water stream. A wide mat of curling hair began at his chest, then narrowed and became softer and finer as it trickled below his belly button.
“Don’t,” he said, stopping me before I had finished washing him. “You’re always giving to others. Not this time. I want to give something to you.”
We finished rinsing off and he helped me out of the shower like a gentleman leading a lady through the door and wrapped a towel around me. He tucked another towel around his waist and showed me the way to the bedroom.
It was a guy room, just as his house was a guy house. Dark, heavy drapes hung straight down from their drawn back position on either side of slanted Venetian curtains. A king size bed was covered by taut blankets folded in at the corners, military style. His dresser was made from a thick hardwood and contained only a small assortment of grooming items, along with two family pictures.
He guided me gently to the bed. I sat down. The mattress was firm but comfortable. He began drying me off. The thick rub of the terry cloth was soothing. All I wanted to do was lay back and relax. I did, and he rolled me over so I was on my stomach.
I could smell the massage oil as he opened it and poured some into his hands. It had a faint, jasmine scent. He spread it across my shoulders, kneading it into the muscles, then down my back, following the spine and applying just the right amount of pressure on each side. I felt tensions loosen up I didn’t even know I had.
I’ve never known many guys who could give good massages. About the time they had finished rubbing my back a little, they were busy rubbing other things. The doctor was in no hurry at all. When his fingers reached the end of the spine, he concentrated on first one hip, then the other, massaging the flesh all the way down to the ankles, then bending the leg at the knee to massage the foot. I didn’t know a full body massage could be so heavenly.
When he finished massaging the foot on the right, he began with the left, squeezing and rubbing the flesh as his fingers crawled back up my thigh. His hand passed along the tight opening between my legs and circled around my buttocks, kneading both cheeks and pushing them up until his thumbs had pried open my legs a little. I felt his tongue slide down the crack, dart around the anus and pursue a path deep into the slippery walls of my pussy. Pleasure pings shot all over!
“Mmmmmm feels good!”
He turned me over. I lay on my back, panting, waiting for him to enter, but he wasn’t finished yet. His oiled hands spread over my arms, slipped underneath them, then reappeared to encircle my breasts. He took the nipples in his thumb and forefinger, rolling them gently, while they swelled and grew tender. He sucked at each one while his hands continued moving downward, sliding over my belly, then stopping at the triangle of velvet between my thighs.
His palms pressed against the inside of my thighs, opening them so my clit was fully exposed.
“Oh God! Yes!” I sighed, looking down in weakness as our eyes met in heat.
His tongue lapped at my breasts, pulling and tugging, while his thumbs explored the patch around the pulsing orifice, nudging the tiny bud that stood straight up like a soldier. How he teased me!
“God…nobody does it like you…” I felt my back arch as he teased me viciously, making me wait—making my skin beg for his intimate touch.
It seemed to take forever for his tongue to find its way to the opening, but when it did, I muffled a sharp, involuntary sigh.
“Uhhhhh yes ohh God lick my clit!”
The pleasure wouldn’t stop pounding. It seemed to explode straight from my gut. I opened my legs wide, and he stood up. Unwrapping the towel, he slid a condom onto his beautiful eight inches, then homed in on where the hunger inside me was greatest.
“Motherfucker!” I grunted in uncontrolled, almost embarrassing passion. I lost all sense and just began spasming. He was fucking me harder than ever before, without mercy and my thirsty, selfish pussy just craved more.
I couldn’t stop coming! This time when I orgasmed, I didn’t even want to wait for a breather. I just kept singing, demanding, more fucking in between my legs. I gripped his cock with my interior pussy walls and squeezed, warning him to keep the rhythm going.
God, all I wanted to do was cum and make him break inside of me. I crashed up against him over and over, pulling him down with me to catch my breath, then heaving upward again.
I loved the feeling of rubbing my titties, my hard nipples all over his mouth. I wanted his saliva, his sweat, his whole body to permeate mine.
And he thrust, rock hard, without letup. He stayed hard for me, giving me all that I could bear, pounding my pussy like he owned it. Like my body was his to fuck and fuck and fuck!
“Ohh don’t stop!” I screamed again, slapping his shoulder and gripping him with my other hand. I tried to touch him all over his body—his thick muscles, his abs, his arm, his ass…even his strong neck muscles. We were fucking like animals and it felt so good, so much like a true bonding. Something beyond sex and almost uncomfortably close!
He fucked me and pounded me and fury-fucked me again, all until in one final, desperate moment, I felt the shaft bury deep inside to the point of no return. I could tell the way he was vibrating and gritting his teeth, he was going to cum in me. He couldn’t stop even if he tried. I felt his passion leaving him, I literally felt his balls empty and his whole body convulse as he was ready to let go.
His pubic hairs tangled with mine, and I felt the deep pulse of his strong, steamy and multiple-spurting ejaculation.
&nbs
p; “Ohhhh Lee!” I said, throttling his cock and getting every last drop of semen inside of my hugging pussy lips. “Holy fuck, ohhh my God!”
I hugged him close and shook off the rest of my orgasm, letting our bodies melt into each other. Letting him feel how glorious it was to let the cum drip deeper and deeper and then gradually spill out. He fucking came in me and made me his fucking bitch. How crazy…how out of this world. Jesus, I said to myself, I will never get over him. Never forget this moment, so close inside, so compact in his arms. I want to stay like this…
“Mmmm…” I sighed, rolling over his shrinking cock one last time.
We both sighed, and he rolled over, next to me.
“Do you think you could learn to love a very stupid man?”
I shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”
“I’m not as sexy as Buck Knife or as young and cute as Zeke.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
“Hmm.” He laced his fingers through mine and examined them in the fading afternoon light. My pale skin contrasted with his tanned knuckles. “Southern girls are often of Irish or English descent.”
“Or both,” I agreed. “We’re freaking Vikings no matter how you look at it.”
“I’m part Italian,” he said. “And a little of everything else, I suppose. My mother loves to cook. My sister is an architect. My brother is in the forestry service and thinks I’m a wimp. ”
“I was raised on a farm with my mother and grandmother,” I said. “With a whole lot of relatives surrounding me. In fact, I believe I’m related in one way or another, to everyone in the town.”
“I think I would like to see that.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Most of the young people are pretty cool, but there are still a lot of rednecks. A lot of cowboys. You agree with them or you get out of their way. We wanted to get away from that. I guess that’s why we like this community. It’s pretty open.”
“A lot of aging hippies. What did you expect?”
“Tsk. I told you many times, I didn’t know what to expect. Why do you keep thinking I planned anything?”
“Because women do that.”
“You’re the expert now?” I rolled toward him and he took me in his arms and made love to me again. Really made love. We pressed close, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, ankles rubbing together, arms wrapped tightly around each other, drinking in the taste of each other’s sweat, inhaling the personal scent of each other’s bodies. We seemed to float on air. We seemed to be suspended in one long moment before collapsing once more on our backs.
The doctor used the terry cloth towels to dry us off, gazing at me as the towels swabbed at all the necessary places. He put on a pair of sweats and sat beside me. “I’m hungry.”
“There are enchiladas at the house, and guacamole.”
“Really? You don’t think they’re gone by now?”
“I made a lot and I hid one of the pans.”
“Enchiladas, huh? I want some.”
The doctor was dressed, but my clothing was still a disgrace. I wadded around the bathrobe and sneaked toward my house like a thief, Lee following close behind. We made it halfway up the stairs to my bedroom, when Briana caught us on her way down the stairs. “Hey, Jenna,” she greeted, then stopped. She looked at me in nothing more than a bathroom and the doctor trying to sneak back down the stairs and around the corner in a pretense he was headed toward the kitchen, and grinned. “Did you get lucky? You got lucky!” She said loudly. “How was it?” She stage whispered in my ear.
“More than you can handle.”
“Ha! I doubt it!” She clattered down the stairs and took the doctor by the arm. “Now, I know you think I should feel jealous, but I’m not. I’m just so glad you got that terrible woman out of your life. Now that you’re free, just take a look around at all your choices. There’s no need in jumping straight from the kettle into the pot. Keep your options open, that’s what I say.”
“Kettle to the fire.”
“What?”
“You jump from the kettle into the fire.”
“Oh, no. That doesn’t make sense. Why would you do that? I’m sure it’s a kettle and a pot.”
I closed the door to my bedroom still listening to the banter between Briana and Lee. It felt good to think of him as Lee now instead of in formal terms. I changed quickly into some fuzzy, pajama style pants and an over-sized tee shirt. I felt casual and a little sloppy, but as though I was entitled to behaving this way.
I clamored back down the stairs to rescue the doctor from Briana’s grip. I really didn’t have to worry too much. He was listening in amusement as Briana explained the principles of body language. “You can tell a lot about what a person is thinking by his gestations,” she said.
“His gestations?”
“Yeah, and when he gestates a lot, he’s either French or he’s trying to cover up. Of course, if you’re French, you’re always trying to cover something up. That’s why they gestate.”
“Briana,” I said, “Lee hasn’t had dinner, and neither have I. I’ve invited him for something to eat.”
“Oh, I’m hungry, too. What do you have?”
“I saved a pan of enchiladas, but I put out plenty earlier. Are they all gone?”
“Talk to Burke about that. He took most of them.”
“I’m going to quit putting him on the list of affordable mechanics.”
“You can’t do that. He’s very affordable.”
I sighed. By the time my enchiladas had been heated, Linda and Jack had reappeared, along with Melanie, Liz, and Billy Rosenfield. There was no choice except to empty the refrigerator of all its left-overs and share the meal as well as the doctor’s attentions.
Chapter Nine
We weren’t completely rid of Julia Hastings. Even though she no longer visited Lee, she still worked at the clinic, which placed her in direct contact with the Senior Center, a place that was already suspicious of our services.
The Senior Center wasn’t really run by seniors any more than welfare services are handled by people who have been on welfare. It was run by a committee that spent a great deal of time in working out profitable budgets. They were very skilled at this, so skilled that half the people in the community were selling their houses and lining up for assisted living in the senior apartment complex by the age of sixty.
Our block began to represent the rebel faction. They were the seniors who wouldn’t go. It was bad enough, I suppose, when many of them switched their catering services to my more delectable, but healthy menu, and Linda’s grooming skills became more popular than their own barbers and hair stylists. But now a hard core group had quit going to the Senior Center at all. The reason was, it was run by a woman named Gloria Hammerstein, also known as the Dragon Lady.
The Dragon Lady ran the Senior Center with an iron fist. She governed the hours when apartments were open to visitors and when residents must turn in for the night. She monitored the senior grounds for unacceptable behavior and limited the use of the computers, games and recreational equipment. Lee Andrews is a nice person. He simply said Gloria Hammerstein was trying to keep the Senior Center orderly and safe. Melanie is a nice person too and she said the Senior Center was insufferably boring. Billy Rosenfield, whose niceties are sometimes questionable, said it was run like a damned prison.
The Dragon Lady and Julia Hastings became very good friends. They decided it was time to topple the house of southern hospitality. They took the most unimaginative course of action, first. They sent the health inspector – not once, but twice.
The first time he came, I showed him my license, my insurance papers, my up-to-date inspection sticker and invited him to look around. He did while I stood with crossed arms and watched as he even crawled inside the bottom shelves, checking for rat feces or any other disgusting accumulation that could shut us down.
The second time, I impatiently showed him my papers, then left him in Briana’s capable hands. She leaned against the sink while he examined the
cabinets up above her. “That’s just the cutest tie you’re wearing,” she said, fingering it. “Did your wife pick it out?”
He brushed her hand away, settling it into place. “It’s just a dress requirement.”
“Well, I think people choose jobs that go with the way they look, don’t you? They see a dress requirement and they think to themselves, ‘hey, I’d look good like that’, so they pick the job because it looks so good on them. Kind of the way I want to be a stewardess. I’d make a great stewardess, don’t you think? I’ve just got a little weight left to lose, but I don’t really think it’s so bad.”
She twisted her waist to look at her pear-like hips. The health inspector tried hard to ignore her. He crawled under the kitchen sink with a flashlight. Briana squatted and peered in beside him. “Do you like the plumbing? I always say you’ve gotta appreciate the man who knows good plumbing. We women just couldn’t do without it – good plumbing, you know. It’s what makes us happy.” She nodded as though she knew what she was talking about. “See? A nice, stiff pipe. That’s good plumbing.”
The health inspector bumped his head coming out from under the sink. “I think we’re done here.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked.
Briana held his arm and was smiling sweetly up at him. “Um,” he said and twisted the wedding band on his finger. “I think I should go.”
The second home invasion attempt was slightly more cunning. They sent a young boy as a spy to one of our parties. His purpose was to get one of us to fall for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
There were a couple of problems with this. Most of the people who came to our parties were Millennials or older. The other problem was, nobody knew him, so nobody invited him to share. He hung around though, trying to ingratiate himself with the ground.
He did look over twenty-one, although barely. His muscle definition was good, and his face had a decent five o’clock shadow. He began flirting with Briana, who of course, flirted back. “What does it take,” he asked her. “To get a beer around here?”
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