by Jake Devlin
“Yeah, but they're still on track. Watch and wait, kids.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Yeah, but – oh, there he goes.”
“What kind of a feather is that? Peacock?”
“Looks like it, JB.”
“Oh, he's got one in the other hand, too.”
“That looks like an ostrich feather to me.”
“Starting on her shoulders; cool. She likes that; look at her face.”
“And the outside of her arms, slowly, teasingly, gently.”
“'Light as a whisper,' I think she said yesterday.”
“I think you're right, JB.”
“And now on the inside, coming back up. Oh, geez, I'd love for a guy to do that to me.”
“Hmf. Like one of those sniffers? Maybe Tim or Tom or whatever his name was?”
“Ewwww. No way. He'd just go right for my boobs. Yuck.”
“Well, Jake isn't going there. He's working her sides – oh, she's ticklish. Listen to that giggle. Wow.”
“That's not just a giggle, CB; it's like a cackle – oh, she snorted!”
“You do that, too, JB.”
“I do not -- okay, okay, I do. But you're more ticklish than me.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Am not.”
“Am.”
“Hey, kids, you want me to pause this so you can argue?”
“No, no,” the twins said.
“Okay. Watch.”
Carie whispered, “It would be 'more ticklish than I.'”
“No, I'm not.”
“No, I mean – oh, never mind.”
“Now, kids, right there. See what he's doing?”
“Wow. Look at her abs ripple.”
“She's laughing, JB. But they are taut.”
“Hey, kids, look at what he's doing, not stroking, but sort of lightly tapping, all over her stomach and sides.”
“But not her boobs.”
“Right; he sure knows how to tease. And now watch this.”
“Sliding down the outside of her hips, down to her legs, still on the outside.”
“Can you zoom in, Sharon?”
“Nope; sorry, Carie. What you see is what you get. Now watch what he does when he gets to her feet, kids.”
“Geez; he is really playing with her.”
“And she's really ticklish there.”
“Ohhh, she's loving that, CB. Look at her wriggle and writhe.”
“'Cause he's coming back up on the inside.”
“Oh, almost – no, no, no! So close, and he slides back up to her belly. And – oh, geez – up between 'em??? What the fuck? Can't he see she's –“
“Shhh, JB. I can't hear.”
“Okay, okay. Her throat, chin, cheeks – wait a minute. Ears? He's doing her ears???? Jesus.”
“She's smiling, JB. Can't you see she's loving that? Look close.”
“Okay, okay. Ah, now to her eyelids … and down the sides of her nose to her mouth. That's better.” Jill smacked her lips. “Ah, now he's lingering there. Mmm.”
“Okay, Jill, here you go.”
“Ahh.”
“Happier now?”
“Well, he finally got to Mitzy and Bitsy. Wait, wait, he's just circling 'em, not going for home. That's got to be driving her crazy.”
“Remember, Jill, she wrote it and he's just following along.”
“Okay, okay. But I gotta tell ya, mine are getting hard.”
“So are hers, JB.”
“Really? I can't tell.”
“Look for the shadows.”
“The – oh. Ah, okay. Got it. Thanks, CB.”
“No problem, JB. Listen to her moan.”
“Yup, driving her crazy.”
“Can you turn the volume up a bit, Sharon?”
“Sure. Better?”
“Maybe a little more?”
“How's that?”
“Great; thanks. Boy, the music is getting even a little louder, and has the tempo picked up a bit?”
“Just a little bit, Carie. Hang in there.”
“Oh, there he goes, at long last! Both left and right. Bravo!!!”
“I wonder if the feathers feel different.”
“Oh, yeah, they do.”
“Really, Sharon?”
“Yup. But the best was the marabou, if I remember the name right. Been nearly 40 years.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Remember Mae West's feather boas, the ones she flung around her shoulders?”
“Who's Mae West?” asked Jill.
“Oh, JB. She was a sexy movie star of the '30s or '40s.”
“Right, Carie. Remember the boas?”
“I think so. Kinda soft and fluffy?”
“Right. Those were the greatest. These aren't anywhere near as soft, I don't think.”
“They sure seem to be doing the job.”
“Yes, they do, JB.”
“Oh, he's dropped them and he's going in himself, starting with Mitzy … or is that Bitsy? Cool. And look at her writhing. She's either absolutely in ecstasy or she's a great faker.”
“I'd bet – no, I guess I'm 50/50 on that one. Sharon?”
“Faking it, definitely.”
“You think so, really?”
“Yup. Been there, done that. I can tell.”
“Oh, no, Sharon, don't spoil it.”
“Sorry, Jill. It is what it is.”
“No, no, no; I don't believe you.”
“Watch and see, kid; watch and see.”
“Damn, Sharon. I missed the other one, and now he's heading downtown.”
“Wait, Jill, wait … ah, there. Surprise!!”
“What? She's pulling him up and in? WTF? What's the matter with her? No thigh squeezing on his ears? Shit.”
“Looks like she's ready, ready … oh, yeah, JB, definitely ready.”
“And they're off, kids. Listen to the music; starting to build to the crescendo. In … ah ... five minutes from … now. And from here on, it's pretty much a repeat of the first time, with her winding up on top again … and faking it.”
“Fast forward, Sharon, and let's see if she's faking the end.”
“Okay, kid. You'll see.” She checked a note card next to her PC and then held down a key on her keyboard, and the video sped to half a minute before the end, the two figures on the screen bouncing and squirming at triple speed.
“Okay, Jill. Now watch … and listen … closely.”
“Okay. Shhhh.”
After a moment, as Pam's moans and siren-like cries, ending in a loud “Oh ... my … GOD,” and then a quiet moan from Jake echoed from the speakers through the condo, Jill exclaimed, “No, no, no; not faking it, no way.”
“Way, kid. Remember, old age and treachery beat youth and inexperience every time.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So I need a smoke break now. Anybody want to join me on the balcony?”
-80-
Monday, August 22, 2011
12:40 p.m.
Cyberspace
The Suppressor powered up his PC, checked his email account and found four emails, three from one side. He opened the earliest one, sent the prior Friday afternoon.
“Dear Sir or Madam, After careful consideration of all factors involved, we have come to a decision.
“We will now offer you 75K to keep Rep.pdf out and another 60K to keep Dem.pdf in. Please advise as to method of payment and date of publication.”
He smiled and opened the first of the three from the other side, sent Saturday at 7:43 p.m.
“Fuck you, asshole. If I want to use ad homi- --” and it ended. The second one had been sent six minutes later.
“Please be advised that the intern with whom you have been communicating has been fired, and senior members of the Committee will be dealing with you from now on.
“We have only just now begun to review the two files you sent and the correspondence prior to this. We will respond further wit
hin 24 hours. Please make no decisions before you hear from us.”
He laughed out loud and opened their third email, sent on Sunday at 6:46 p.m.
“Please be advised that we have now reviewed the two files you sent and the previous correspondence with our intern.
“While we deny absolutely that any grain of truth is contained in Dem.pdf and Dem2.pdf, we hereby offer you 100K to keep the content of those files out of the book and 80K to keep Rep.pdf in. We can go no higher than that. Please advise.
“And again, we apologize for our intern's attitude.”
The Suppressor laughed out loud again. “Okay, getting there.”
He immediately composed a reply to the earlier email.
“Your offer of 75/60 is acknowledged. The other side has just offered 90/90. Please respond with your final and best offer by 6 p.m. EDT Wednesday, 8/24. I'll decide on Thursday, 8/25.”
He did not respond to the other email, but simply turned off the PC and headed immediately to bed.
He replied to the other party the following night, at 10:45 p.m.
“Your explanation and apology for your intern's behavior is accepted.
“I acknowledge your offer of 100/80. The other side has offered 90/90, essentially a tie, so I will allow one more round of bidding. Please submit your final and best offer by 6 p.m. EDT tomorrow. I will decide which offer to accept on Thursday, 8/25.”
Another glass of wine, a relaxing few minutes in the recliner, glass rinsed and off to bed.
-81R-
Sunday, August 14, 2011
8:52 p.m.
A tenth-floor condo
Bonita Beach, Florida
“Where'd you find the popcorn, kid?”
“Up in that cabinet over the fridge, way in the back.”
“Didn't know that was there. I'll keep that in mind for another time. Thanks. Good initiative, too.”
“Got any … what was it? … pop?”
“Should be some cans in the fridge, behind the bucket of chicken.”
“Okay. Ah, good. Want one?”
“Sure.”
“Carie?”
“Any diet in there?”
“Yup.”
“One of those, then. Thanks, Jillybean.”
“All set, kids? This one does have some teachable moments.”
“Ready,” said Jill.
“Go for it,” Carie added.
“Okay. Here goes.” Sharon tapped a key on the PC, and the video came to life on the big TV, with the Bolero playing.
At that moment, Ned and Joan McDowell, a retired 75-ish couple from Point Pleasant, New Jersey, had just returned to their ninth-floor condo, directly below Sharon's, from a delicious, but long and almost unbearably tedious, dinner at Ray's, a high-end restaurant in the Boulevard, an upscale shopping center near West Terry and US 41 in the northern central part of Bonita.
“Christ, Joan, those people are the most obnoxious couple I've ever met. 'I'm Ole Jorgenson, O-N, and this is my wife, Esmeralda Jorgensen, E-N; she wanted to keep her maiden name. Ha-ha-ha.' Why do we keep spending time with them, anyhow?”
“I just can't say no to her, I guess. She did go to school with my sister up in Ohio. Take your pill, Ned.”
“Okay. Well, you need to learn to say no.”
“Okay, kids, now they're just getting started,” said Sharon, in the condo above.
“They're just playing kissyface and caressing, and geez, they look tired.”
“He does, that's for sure. How long after the second round was this?”
“Hmm. Looks like … 1:07 minus 12:31 … 26 – no, 36 minutes.”
“And how much of a break between the first and second ones?”
“Um. 12:13 minus 11:51 … uh … 24 minutes.”
“Well, no wonder. She's not giving him time to recharge. And at his age, he would need a lot longer than a guy in his twenties, I'd think.”
“Like at least an hour or two, CB.”
“Maybe not that long, JB, but a lot more than he had today.”
“Wait, wait. What just happened?”
“She asked him to take out his dentures, see what kissing him without 'em would feel like.”
“Ewww.”
“Watch, JB. She's doing fine with it.”
“You know, I remember hearing that part on the beach.”
“And you said, 'Ewww' then, too, JB.”
“That I did. It's just too weird. Ewww.”
“Hey, Joan, can you bring me a beer? Our show's about to start.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I'm practicing.”
“I didn't mean to me. I meant to Esmeralda.”
“Oh, okay. Just a minute.”
“Hey, Sharon, where'd he go?”
“Hang in there, Jill. Wait and watch.”
“Oh, geez, is that what I think it is?”
“Yup, probably straight from the freezer.”
“Oh, this could get sloppy, CB.”
“Want some chips with the beer, Ned?”
“Please. Geez, what's wrong with the TV?”
“What's the matter?”
“I don't know; some kind of interference.”
“Are you on the right channel?”
“I think so. Let me just click – holy Jesus!!!”
“What?”
“Did you leave one of our videos in the player?”
“I don't – no, I'm sure I didn't. Here's your --”
“Well, this is – take a look.”
“Well, that's a new one. I don't think it's from our collection. At least, I don't remember it.”
“She looks familiar somehow. Recognize her?”
“Maybe she was the one in 'Texans Hold 'n Poke Her'?”
“Could be, but I can't be sure.”
“Oh, what's he doing now?”
“Ah, Sharon, here comes the Neapolitan.”
“You're gonna love this part, kids. And there you go, one small two-finger dollop on the right --”
“That's Mitzy, right?”
“Right; Mitzy, right.
“-- lick it off teasingly, then on the left –“
“Bitsy.”
“-- same thing, still teasing.”
“She's sure not tired.”
“Ohhh, that's got to be cold, CB! He'd better be careful or he could poke his eye out on one of those.”
“Oh, Ned, let's try that sometime.”
“Okay. But definitely not with the Jorgenson/sens.”
“Of course not. They'd complain about the flavor and the texture.”
“Maybe with Norm and Janet. They're fun.”
“Yeah, they sure are. I think we're with them next week.”
“No, they're with Dave and Pat; guess we've got Ken and Marsha.”
“Oh, they're no fun. We'll save it for Norm and Janet.”
“What flavor is that, hon?”
“I can't tell; the picture's too grainy. Can you fix it, Ned?”
“Okay, kid; time for your favorite. He's heading downtown now.”
“Oh, goodie; it'sth high time.”
“What's with the lisp, JB?”
“What lisp?”
“Happy now, kid?”
“She obviously is. There's that flexibility again – oh, no, no, don't bend your knee like that! Damn. Sharon, we need more cameras.”
“Sorry, kid; that's the only one I've got.”
“Shit.”
“Can't get it any clearer, Joan; sorry.”
“Well, at least I get the idea.”
“Gives me a few ideas, too.”
“Did you take your pill, Ned?”
“Yes, hon.”
“What'd she say, Sharon?”
“I couldn't hear, kid; the music's picking up again. Want me to back it up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay; hang on.”
“What the heck is going on there, Ned?”
“It's rewinding. What the hel
l?”
“That's good, Sharon; right there.”
“Nope, still couldn't make it out.”
“Oh well; that's okay.”
“Ah, it's playing again, Joan.”
“Oh, good. What did she say?”
“Sorry; I didn't catch it, hon.”
“Oh, well; we'll see what we'll see. That music is familiar, isn't it, Ned?”
“Yeah; can't place it, though.”
“Oh, geez, CB, that's a big dollop. And look, she's pulling him up and in again. Oh, that's got to be cold on him now, too. Wonder what that would do to a guy.”
“Shrinkage, kids, shrinkage.”
“Joan, I don't think I'd want to do that bit.”
“That's okay, Ned; I can understand.”
“Well, Sharon, from the look on her face and the way she's writhing again, it doesn't seem like that's a problem for her.”
“I'll say it again, kids; she's faking it.”
“No way, Sharon.”
“Absolutely, she is.”
“And there she goes, rolling him over again. Aaaand once again, she's on top,” Carie said.
“Oh, not only shrinkage, but I'll bet there's gonna be leakage.”
Giggling, Jill added, “I'll bet she's glad they're using Neapolitan and not Rocky Road or Butter Pecan. That'd hurt.”
“Gee, Ned, if we try that, I'll have to get the rubber sheets out again.”
“Whatever you want, hon.”
“And now, kids, we're getting into the home stretch. Hear the Bolero? Coming to the end.”
“And so are they, perfect timing,” Jill moaned.
“Oh … my … GODDDD!!!” shrieked Pam as she collapsed onto Jake's chest again.
“Ohhh,” groaned Jake.
“Wow,” said Ned.
“Hmmm,” Joan murmured.
“Yee-hah,” cried Jill, heading for the bathroom.
“Cool,” Carie added, reaching for the printed pages of the scene Pam had written.
“Okay. Time for another smoke break,” Sharon said, clicking a key on the keyboard. “Definitely faking it.”
“Turn off the TV and grab some ice cream while I change the sheets, Ned.”
“Will do, hon. Oh, hon, want to try the harness again?”
“Nope; I got dizzy hanging upside down in that. And it chafed and gave me blisters. Let's just try it with the ice cream.”
“Okay, hon.”
-82-
