"Can we keep our eyes open?" he inquired.
"Whatever you like."
"I'd like."
He snuggled close to Gayle and began brushing the tips of the fingers of his right hand across her forehead, around her eyes, across the bridge of her nose, and giving featherlike touches to her mouth and her lips.
Soon he reached her breasts, was stroking them gently, and leaning over to kiss her nipples.
She could feel his effectiveness. Uncontrollably, she could feel her nipples stiffen and the moisture beginning to grow between her legs.
Then she became aware of something else against her thigh.
She glanced down between them and made out his small flaccid penis lifting toward a real erection.
She reached down and curled one hand around it as her other hand massaged his shoulders and back.
Suddenly, without a word spoken, Demski was on his knees above her.
The sensation was pleasure mingled with triumph as the head of his penis probed briefly and began to slide into her.
She could hear his heart as he began thrusting forward and backward. What surprised her was how strongly he had her impaled, and how steady and unremitting his thrusting was. Somehow, she had expected him to come to a quick orgasm, and then she realized she was confusing him with Chet Hunter. This had not been Demski's problem, and it was not his problem now.
Glancing fleetingly at an end table clock, she saw that seven or eight minutes had passed since they had begun.
Still he was over her, going steadily, and involuntarily she found herself lifting and lowering her buttocks in rhythm with his.
It was going on and on, and she was beginning to think he was a retarded ejaculator who might never come—or indeed that she might come before he did.
Then she heard a hoarse cry, and he was going at her wildly, and she knew he was climaxing.
As he stopped, and remained on his elbow panting, she caught the clock in the corner of her eye.
Twelve minutes.
Not bad. In fact, very good.
As he withdrew from her, she saw that his mouth had formed into a wide smile.
She reached up and brought his mouth down to her own and kissed him. And then she hugged him tightly, enjoying the perspiration on his face and body.
Happily, he whispered into her ear, "Well, teacher, do I graduate?"
"Adam," she whispered back, "today you are a man, ready to go out and delight a population of receptive females. Yes, you graduate with honors."
"With honors?"
"I'll sign your report card. Look closely at my face and you'll see what I gave you."
"What did you give me, teacher?"
"An A plus. Definitely. You'll have the world at your feet. Congratulations!"
They were in the bedroom of Paul Brandon's apartment.
"Well," Nan Whitcomb said with a sigh, "I guess this is the last time." She was naked except for her nylon panties. She drew them down and stepped out of them.
For a while she gazed down at her vaginal mound, and absently she began to smooth her curly pubic hair as she seemed lost in thought.
She raised her head to take in Brandon, who was still undressing.
She spoke. "I want to say one thing, Paul, before we go on to the last time."
"Maybe it won't be the last time if it turns out you still have a problem."
"I don't expect a problem, Paul. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be all right. But I want to say something else. I—I'm ashamed of myself for giving you so much trouble."
"What trouble? You didn't give me any, really."
"Yes, I did. You're being very sweet. But I did. Dr. Freeberg was frank about it. Quite open, thank God." She paused. "You know, he talked to me about our relationship."
Brandon nodded, taking off his trousers.
Nan went on. "Dr. Freeberg was right to speak to me about what was happening, to show me how I was putting you on the spot. He brought me to my senses." She stared wistfully at Brandon's naked body. "It's true I was foolish. I did sort of fall in love with you. I couldn't help it. I did give you a terrible time, when you were only doing a job, a professional job to cure me—"
"Don't be harsh with yourself, Nan," Brandon broke in. "It wasn't a one-way street. I can see now that I got emotionally involved with you, too, maybe unconsciously encouraged your love. I shouldn't have. It was unprofessional of me." He reached out for her hand. "I want you to know that I really did—and do—care for you, even as I tried to guide you."
She pulled him toward her. "You're the kindest man I've ever known." She smiled wryly. "True, I haven't known many, and those I did know were all downers until I met you." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "I won't say I love you anymore, but I do love you. The difference is that I've faced the fact that it'll be over."
He returned her kiss, running his fingers across her cheek. "You'll do better from now on, much better," he promised her.
"At least I'll know what to look for—someone kind and caring and intelligent . . . just like you." She rubbed her body against his. "But since I have you here now, why don't we go ahead and enjoy the last time?" She tightened her hold on his hand. "I want to prove to you that I'm ready." With her free hand, she touched his rigid erection. "I know you are."
"I certainly am . . ."
He led her to the bed, and when she was supine, he climbed on after her, then rose above her.
Nan raised her knees. Her legs were apart.
Brandon lowered himself between them and slowly, slowly entered her.
He did not have to inquire whether she felt any pain. Her grateful expression told him all he needed to know. There was no longer any pain. There was only pleasure.
"Oh, my," she choked out once as he continued to thrust inside her.
At last she reached up to hold on to him. Her face contorted, and he could feel she was in the throes of orgasm, and he let go, too.
After an interval, he withdrew and dropped down on the bed beside her. He could see from the motion of her hips that she wanted more relief. He reached for the bud of her clitoris and passed his fingertips back and forth over it. Quickly, she had her second orgasm, and soon after, she had her third. And then she lay there inert, spent.
After a while, she turned her head toward him. "Was I okay?"
"Perfect."
"You were delicious. Thank you for making me able to say that."
They lay quietly, and then because of his genuine concern, Brandon asked her, "What are you going to do next, Nan?"
She thought about it briefly. "I think I'll leave town. I don't want to stay here and risk running into Tony Zecca again. Maybe I'll go to the Midwest. I have a cousin in Des Moines. Another in Chicago. Wherever I go, I'll find a way to support myself, any job, and I'll use what extra money I have to take a secretarial course on the side. That should help me find better work and maybe help me meet somebody as nice as you. What do you think, Paul?"
"That's a fine idea. But don't leave immediately. Dr. Freeberg would like us to join him for dinner the day after tomorrow. It's his custom whenever his patients and their surrogates have concluded their exercises successfully. Will you come along?"
"I'll be there. And Paul, Dr. Freeberg told me you had your own personal life to live. I'd like to meet her."
It was early evening in Gayle's therapy room.
Gayle, stripped down, fell back on the couch, waiting for Chet Hunter, watching him divest himself of the last of his clothes.
"Did you do your homework?" she asked.
"With dedication."
"How do you feel?"
"Like I can make it."
"You did make it last time," she reminded him. "We had penetration."
"Not by my book, sweetie. You were on top, treating me like a fragile object. You managed to get me in you, sure, but not for very long—less than a minute, maybe . . ."
"More than that," Gayle assured him.
"Whatever. I'm afraid I
was still premature. You want me to hold back five minutes—"
"Ten, Chet. I said ten minutes."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe." He approached the couch, and his countenance was drawn and serious. "Gayle, I've got to make it work. There's too much at stake for me. You know I have a girlfriend. I'm crazy about her. I want to be with her and be married to her. I can't until I'm cured. Do you think I'm cured?"
Gayle bobbed her head in assent. "I think you will be, after tonight."
"What happens tonight?"
"Your valedictory performance."
"I thought I'm not supposed to perform?"
"You won't actually be performing. You'll just have a good time, Chet . . . Maybe a memorable one."
"Doing what?"
"You know what. Penetration the way you've always wanted it. Male superior position and you engaging in complete intercourse. I may have to hold you back once or twice, and squeeze, but we'll keep going until we're both satisfied."
As he listened, she could see his excitement growing. "I'm starting to feel like it, Gayle."
She lowered herself to the mat on the floor. "Come here, Chet. Lie down with me."
"But I'm ready. You can see."
"Not so fast, Chet. We're not getting this over with fast. We're going to take our time, build up the pleasure, and when we're both ready I'll let you know. Now, lie down next to me and let's relax with some preliminary touching."
"If you say so," he complained, settling down on the mat.
"I say so. Your partner knows best."
Hunter stretched out beside her. "Hi, partner," he said. "I'm really ready to go."
"I know. But don't. Take your mind off your penis and concentrate on sensuality all over. Stroke me. After that, I'll stroke you."
Hunter grunted and began to move his fingers across every expanse and nook of her body. He was soon absorbed in caressing her, and taking pleasure in her reactions.
"You're something," he said. "You're great. I can't get any bigger down there."
"You don't have to. And please forget your penis. Now, let me touch you."
As she ran her hands about his face and abdomen, he became less urgent and he began to emit soft sighs of pleasure.
"I need you, Gayle," he whispered, trying to control his breathing.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked.
He was over her.
A moment's hesitation as his penis slid inside her. There was no ejaculation.
Automatically, he began moving up and down inside her. "Slowly," she said, "slowly. Very good, Chet. Do you feel like coming?"
"Not—not yet."
She felt like grasping his buttocks, and assisting him, but she did not want to overexcite him. She rested her palms on his shoulders.
"Good, very good," she repeated.
"The hell it's good," he exalted. "It's great!" He began thrusting faster and harder. Gradually, she could see his face growing strained.
"What is it, Chet?"
"I'm afraid—"
She twisted loose from him, grabbed hold of his moist penis head, and using her forefinger and middle finger on top, and thumb on the side, she squeezed firmly. "Oh, Christ, I want to . . ."
"Never mind. You will, you will."
She squeezed again until he'd gone limp.
With a peek at the clock, she concentrated on him once more, settling him back and playing her fingers over him.
She could feel his penis beginning to fill once more. It was swelling and rising. It was upright.
"Now, enter me again," she said, and directed his erection inside her once more.
He began to move inside her steadily, deeply. "Keep going, Chet."
He kept going.
"Gayle, I—I—"
"You're allowed," she called up cheerfully.
It was a noisy and extended orgasm.
He fell off her like he'd been shot. "That was a beaut," he said breathlessly.
She grinned. "We call it a mature ejaculation. Now, let's rest."
After a short time, she crawled off the mat and threw on her robe. "I'm going to wash up, then go to the kitchen and get us something refreshing. Will tea do?"
"Anything will do, sweetie," he replied.
When she returned with tea for both of them, he sat up on the couch to sip from his cup, and she sat beside him. He was bubbling with enthusiasm. "I actually don't need any refreshment," he said. "I already had mine. You're really a wonder, Gayle. You actually made me go all the way. How long was it before I came?"
"Seven minutes."
"Think of that! Fantastic." Abruptly, his expression darkened. "Only I wish I could have done it without the squeeze."
"You're going to, my friend," she said with a smile, setting down her teacup and rising to slip out of her robe. "Because this time we're going to do it—no hands, see. All the way without a squeeze."
"You're not satisfied with seven minutes?"
"I am, sure. But I'm not letting you out of here, on your own in the cruel outside world, until you've penetrated me for at least ten minutes. You will. And then I'll let you go, much to my loss. So let's get started, Chet."
About to turn on her shower that evening, still high over her twin triumphs this day, Gayle thought she heard the doorbell. She saw that it was close to ten o'clock, the time that Paul Brandon was due to arrive.
Momentarily abandoning the shower, Gayle pulled on her silk robe and started out of the bathroom.
She was filled with anticipation. For days their relationship had misfired. Until now, each of them had been occupied and preoccupied with the needs of others. The others had been repaired. Tonight, unfettered, they would at last be able to fulfill themselves.
Outside the bathroom, Gayle could hear the key turning in the lock of the front door.
She could see Brandon entering the living room, and her excitement mounted. She waited for him. They met in the hallway and embraced lovingly.
"How are you, my darling?" she wanted to know as she led him to the bedroom and helped him discard his jacket.
"Thrilled to be alone with you at last." While he unbuttoned his shirt, she unbuckled and unzipped his trousers. "A bit bushed, though," he added. "It's been a long day."
"For me, too," she admitted. "How did it go with Nan? Did Dr. Freeberg make it easier for you?"
"Oh, yes, she was no real problem." He sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes and then his socks. "Actually, she was reasonable throughout."
"And you?"
"Totally professional throughout," said Brandon, taking off his trousers. "And you, what about you? Did you graduate both your patients, or just one?"
"Both."
"They succeeded with you at last?"
"They did, thank God."
Brandon eased off his jock shorts. "You must be tired by now."
"I'm all right."
"After four hours with them? I'm surprised you can still stand."
"Not that strenuous. Remember, they're patients. At best they don't have that much endurance. If I'm tired at all, it's because of the stress. After all those sessions, well, when you come to the last one, you keep worrying whether all you've done will work out. That's where the tension is for me."
"But it worked out. You're finished with them now?"
"Completely." She studied him. "You're the one who's bushed. You're bushed from one patient?"
"Don't forget, Nan was my first patient. It's like you said, there's a lot of tension. Look, Gayle, let's forget about the others. We're done with them. Let's concentrate on loving each other."
"You're right."
He reached out his arms to take her in them.
She backed off. "Get into bed, Paul, and wait for me. I've got to go back in the bathroom to take my shower. It'll just be a jiffy." She turned away. "Wait for me, Paul."
"Hungrily. Don't be long."
She smiled. "It won't be long, and it'll be worth it." She saw him stretching out on the bed as she left
the room.
The shower was wonderful, like a ritual beginning of a new life. Once she'd shut it off, and dried, she busied herself applying cologne to her body; and after that, she dabbed matching perfume behind her ears and in the cleavage between her breasts.
Leaving her robe behind, she walked to the bedroom. His lean body was still stretched on the bed.
She couldn't wait to arouse him, to have him, to love him at last.
Hastening to the bed, she swung onto it and dropped down beside him.
He did not move.
She lifted herself slightly to peer down at him. His eyes were closed in sleep. He was snoring intermittently, and the sounds were hardly audible. But they were there.
Poor dear, she told herself, he's fallen sound asleep.
Yet she did not mind because she understood. He'd had a draining and exhilarating day, and so had she, and she wanted to rest and sleep, too.
She cuddled down beside him, her arm over him, enjoying the warmth and closeness of his smooth skin.
She yawned and felt herself sinking into sleep.
There was time enough for them to make love in the morning.
They would be refreshed. They would be ready. They had the next day. And the day after. Countless days.
She knew it would be the most memorable lovemaking in her entire life. She only wanted to make him happy. She only wanted to . . .
Right now she only wanted to sleep, and she slept.
Returning to his apartment, after his final session with his surrogate, Chet Hunter felt like he was walking on air.
He wanted to call and report to Suzy, but he knew he was too tired to undertake such excitement and the possibility that she might want to come right over to be with him. In his condition, exhaustion underpinned by exhilaration, he wanted only to cap off his success by having a strong drink of whiskey alone.
But even before he could go into the pantry for his bottle, he realized that there was something else he must do first. There was one call he must make. The Reverend Josh Scrafield would be waiting impatiently for the results of the last session, waiting to hear if penetration had been achieved with Gayle. Scrafield would be dying to know if Hunter had fulfilled their agreement and if they were finally in business.
The Celestial Bed Page 24
