By glancing to his right, he could see himself reflected in the full-length closet mirror. This was fun; there were three of him. He could have a threesome. Like the ones he and Bet and Timmy had had, only he’d have to play each part.
Bending to untie his shoes brought his face close to his cock. “Why, hello there,” he said aloud and glanced quickly around behind him. What if somebody caught him doing this outrageous pantomime? They could have him locked up. He squatted to get at his shoes more easily and to get his cock out of his sight.
With shoes off he straightened and slid the trousers slowly down over his hips, moving them slightly with his arms stretched above his head in a parody of a stripper. He kicked the pants away from him.
He didn’t know where to look. The mirror held him for a moment, but his attention was drawn again to the painting. He had been painted showing almost a full erection. It really was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He ran his hands over his chest and slowly down over his abdomen, as flat now as it was in the picture, and watched his hands in the mirror. By taking two steps back, he could get both the painting and the mirror in his range of vision, which caused him to take a sudden deep breath, stunned by what he saw.
His hands felt real flesh; his eyes saw hands on real flesh; the canvas became a third mirror, and he thought for a moment that it too had started to move. The hand on his thigh in the picture seemed to move toward his cock, and his painted cock seemed to grow. He could see all three of them at once, and his hands became so uncontrollable, they moved down to his cock, stroking the pubic hair beside it and slowly moving along it until he held it gently with both hands. It filled them and ached for release.
He moved one hand to his balls and cupped them as the other hand started to move with practiced ease on his hardened flesh. His head dropped back, and for a moment he thought he was going to come. He straightened and took a deep breath, filling his vision with the sight of himself — all three magnificent cocks straining beautifully with potency.
What the hell, he thought, why not? Why not make himself come?
His hands started to move on himself more purposefully. His buttocks tightened, and his hips thrust forward. He could see all his muscles, all trained and sleek from recent physical training, rippling in the mirror, taut and defined in a more perfected, mature way than in the portrait.
He looked so cool in the painting — so in charge but virginal. He was just a young man naked on a chaise longue, beautiful but a bit vapid. It wasn’t lewd; it was just a study of youth. He felt ancient now by comparison.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw himself again in the mirror and thought he looked perfectly ridiculous. What a silly thing jerking off was. He let out a hoot of laughter at the sight he made pounding at his cock and threw it out of his hand as though it burned him.
He stiffened again with apprehension. Had he heard something? Voices? A door slam? Could it be Bet? Perhaps Nanny and Little Billy? It would probably amuse Nanny to find him in front of a mirror masturbating.
He was blushing like Timmy as he fled to the bathroom, his cock swinging crazily in front of him. He slid the glass door to the shower stall open and jumped into it. He could explain taking a quick shower more easily than he could a narcissistic hand job in front of his portrait, even to Bet.
With the water running, he was cut off from any sounds in the house until the bathroom door was flung open and he heard a scream.
CALIFORNIA, 1935
Perry was eleven when something called the Crash happened. He didn’t understand the connection between Wall Street and their small farm in Ohio, but shortly after the Crash, the farm was gone, and they were on the road.
They were on the road for more than six years. He quickly learned that it was the Depression, which meant that there weren’t any regular jobs. His father got work here and there — farm laborer, handyman, garage mechanic, anything. They lived in rooming houses or broken-down houses with foul outdoor toilets. They were always moving after jobs. He couldn’t remember ever going hungry, but he got awfully tired of beans.
His clothes weren’t much shabbier than his schoolmates’, but there was always an inner circle who lived in nice houses and whose fathers had businesses that hadn’t gone bankrupt. He never had any close friends.
He discovered books. Everywhere they went, even quite small towns, there were public libraries. He devoured novels about a life he never expected to know, where people always seemed to have money and plenty of time to get involved in complicated love affairs. There was one that touched him deeply called The Great Gatsby, about a mysterious guy who came from nowhere but was a millionaire. He got shot at the end because of some mix-up about a woman. He wished there were more in the book about how he got to be a millionaire. That was what Perry wanted to find out about. It had something to do with his being befriended by some old rich guy.
When the Langhams finally hit California, Perry hoped it was as far as they would or could go. His father got a job driving a truck. By then, they were living in a loathsome trailer that they parked in a trailer court off Alameda Boulevard in Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco. Perry picked up high school in the middle of the winter as a junior.
He hated the trailer — four of them living together in it, all piled on top of each other — and the public toilets and showers, but the school was the best he’d ever attended. He prayed that he could finish high school there without another move. He might end up with a few friends, perhaps even with a steady girl.
When they were still there at the beginning of his senior year, he almost let himself believe that he was going to be lucky this time. But no, they were going to move on to Seattle and a better job.
He was trapped in his father’s never-ending search for something better. There was nothing better than the Bay Area as far as Perry was concerned, and he hoped for some miracle that would allow him to stay and graduate from this school. If not, he was going to have to start all over again — new teachers, new courses to try to get interested in, new friends, new girls. You stopped giving a damn when you had to start all over again once too often.
“They say Seattle’s real nice,” he heard his mother say. “We’ll be able to get rid of this trailer and rent a little house.”
“The main thing is to get up there quick,” his father said. “We can get away from here in a week, May be less. I want you kids to finish up whatever you’re doing in the next few days and be ready to go.”
That was it. There was nothing to be said. Perry felt like crying but clung to the thought of living in a house again anywhere to cheer himself up. It helped a little.
He was going home from his part-time job in a furniture store a couple of days later when he stopped to help a woman who was having trouble getting a big bag of groceries into her car. She gave him a guarded look and then accepted his offer.
With the groceries safely stowed in the backseat, he straightened and looked at her. She was standing back, looking him over. “What a charming-looking boy,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Perry.”
“I’m Mrs. Rosen. Can I drop you anywhere in return for your gallant help?”
“Thanks. I’m going over to Alameda Boulevard if that’s not out of your way.”
“Get in.”
She was an attractive woman, and Perry thought she was very elegant in her simple summer dress. She had dark hair, stylishly arranged, and regular features. She was a bit old but not too old to be pretty. Her manner was brisk but friendly.
He went around and got in beside her. She took a moment to fish around in her expensive-looking bag for her keys.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, putting the key in the ignition. “Why don’t you come home with me and let me give you a drink as a reward? I’ll bring you back.”
“Well, I was just going home to clean up and change.”
“You look very clean and tidy to me. But if you want, you can take a shower at my home.”
“Where’s that?”
“A sort of student hotel near school,” he lied. He didn’t want to tell her he was living in a trailer. She was a classy dame. The car was big and comfortable, a new Chrysler. He knew they cost at least a thousand bucks. She started it and pulled out into the traffic.
“Not with your family?” she asked.
“They’ve gone north for my father’s work. I’m finishing high school.” Stretching the truth, he wondered why it shouldn’t be true. If he found a good part-time job, he could get by on his own. His family didn’t need him. They’d probably be glad to get rid of him.
“How old are you, Perry?” Mrs. Rosen asked.
“Eighteen.” Close enough, he thought.
“That’s a wonderful age. Are you planning to go to college?”
“No. We don’t have the money.”
“That’s too bad. But I’m sure you’ll succeed at whatever you do.” She paused. “You are a very handsome boy.”
“Well, thanks.”
She drove up into the hills behind Oakland, and they began to pass fancy houses in big gardens. It figured. She didn’t look as if she lived in a dump.
After another few minutes she slowed and turned into a drive and came to a halt in front of a long, low house set in a big lot. The nearest neighbors were a couple of hundred feet away. He’d never known anybody who lived in a place like this. Rosen was rich.
“Is this yours?” he asked.
“Yes, much to my ex-husband’s regret.”
“I wondered about your not having a wedding ring. Do you live here alone?”
“At the moment. My daughter’s away at school. She’s eight. Come along now.”
They let themselves out, and Perry pulled the groceries from the backseat while Mrs. Rosen unlocked the front door. They entered the foyer with a big living room beyond. Picture windows looked out over the bay, and the furniture was luxuriously modern. It looked like things he’d seen in the movies.
She put a hand on his arm. “Let’s put that in here,” she said, indicating a door. She kept her hand on his arm as he carried the groceries into a big immaculate kitchen with fitted counters and cabinets. The whole place was like something in the movies. “There,” she said, indicating a counter. She removed her hand after giving his arm a little pat. “You’re an angel. Let’s have that drink. What do you want? Something alcoholic?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Do your parents let you drink?”
“Sure.” His parents didn’t have much to do with it. He didn’t have any money for drinks. He sometimes had a beer. Only about four years ago there hadn’t been any bars because of Prohibition.
“I guess you’re old enough. It’s no fun to drink alone.”
She was getting out ice trays when the telephone rang. She handed him a silver thermos shaped like a bucket. “Put some ice in there. I’ll be right back.” She gave his arm a squeeze and hurried out as the phone continued to ring.
He filled the thermos, wondering if he could score with this stylish lady. She seemed to like to touch him. He couldn’t imagine her naked, getting laid, but even the rich must do it. He sure as hell needed it. He was getting a hard-on just thinking about it. She looked as if she had a nice body, with good, firm breasts, even though she wasn’t all that young.
She returned with a little frown between her brows. “What a nuisance. My maid is ill. Can’t come this week.” She smiled and shook her head. “Come on, let’s have our drink. You have the ice?” She glanced into the bucket and put the lid on it. “You’re very useful, Perry. Bring it along.”
She tucked a hand under his arm, and they entered the living room. She led him to a table laden with bottles and glasses and then looked at him with a smile that was warmly intimate without being flirtatious.
“Why don’t you take that windbreaker off? This room gets hot in the afternoon sun.”
He did so and draped it over a chair.
“Are you going to have a martini with me?”
“I guess so. What is it?”
“Gin mostly, with a drop of vermouth. I’ll show you how to mix them. I hope we’ll see each other often.”
“As often as you want.”
His mind was busy with a lot of wild ideas. A solitary woman, a big luxurious house — she even had a maid. His mother had worked as a maid in a private house in Phoenix on their way west only a couple of years ago. It was impossible not to wonder if there was anything he could do that would make her want him to stay. He thought of telling her that he was leaving, but he didn’t think they’d known each other long enough for her to care. May be with a drink she would begin to get ideas too.
She finished stirring ice and liquid in a tall glass container and filled two cocktail glasses, holding the ice back with a gadget that looked made for the purpose. She handed him a glass and lifted hers to his.
“Be careful. It’s strong,” she warned. She took a step closer and put a hand on his chest. “You have lovely broad shoulders. You’re very fortunate. You have a wonderful build for such a young boy. You’re very attractive, Perry. I probably shouldn’t say things like that. I’m almost twice your age.” She looked him in the eye and took a sip of her drink.
His cock flexed and sprang to life again. He didn’t know whether he should try to hide it or let her see it. He didn’t want to shock her.
“Age doesn’t matter,” he said. “Anyway, thirty-six is young.”
“Thirty-five,” she corrected him firmly.
“Amazing. I thought you were about thirty.” He took a swallow of the drink and almost choked. “My goodness. That sure is strong,” he exclaimed.
She laughed lightly. “I never have more than two. Sip it, don’t gulp it.” She put a hand on his back as she moved in beside him and directed him toward a big sofa upholstered in pale rough material in front of the fireplace. “Do you have a regular girl?”
“No, not really.”
“Does that mean you might have some time to come see me again?”
“I’ll say.”
Her hand was on his waist as they reached the sofa, and she gave him a little pat. They sat beside each other. There was a low table in front of them for their glasses.
He took another swallow of the drink and tried to think of something to say that would keep their conversation going in the direction she had chosen.
She looked at his handsome young face, coming to a decision. She was playing with fire, but she couldn’t stop. She found him devastating and had been alone so long that she was ready to take a risk. He had very good manners, and she trusted his candid brownish green eyes.
Everybody would tell her she was mad to bring him here since he was a boy she knew nothing about. He could have robbed her or raped her, not that she was sure she could put up enough resistance to make it rape. He was handsome but not in a commonplace way: His well-modeled features had distinction, and his mouth challenged her to possess him: strong, with a hint of cruelty but capable of sweetness too.
He had a watchful quality suggesting a reserve of power that was striking in one so young and was also a challenge. He was a beautiful young animal. She had noticed his crotch when he was helping with the groceries, and she had been gripped immediately by a shameful longing to get her hands on it. It was a handsome display of masculinity and had become more so in the last fifteen minutes.
He was still a bit of a stripling, but she could see that when his body filled out a little more, it was going to be overwhelmingly desirable. She could always send him away if he didn’t please her.
She took another sip of her drink and put the glass down and turned to him. “I was thinking on the way up,” she said casually. “Are you really quite alone?”
“Well, only until I finish school. I’ll join my family then.”
“Of course, but until then, if you’re not comfort
able at the hostel place, why don’t you move up here?”
He couldn’t believe his ears. He didn’t have to go on wondering if there was any chance of seducing her. She’d offered him all that he could have possibly hoped for.
“You mean here? In this house with you?” he asked, scarcely able to contain a whoop of joy.
“I don’t see why not. There’s plenty of room. I feel that we’re friends already. You’d save on your rent.”
His mind raced, trying to think of objections his parents might make. “But how would I get to school?”
“There’s a bus about a block away that goes downtown, but I could usually take you. It’s not a problem.”
As it turned out, there was no problem about anything. Particularly, getting him out of his clothes. Another martini, and he was in the mirror-lined bathroom. Naked, he thought of undressing Mrs. Rosen and had a determined erection. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. He couldn’t remember ever having seen himself full-length before with nothing on. Not bad. His cock looked far from puny.
The soap was perfumed and a curious shape, not a block with a medicinal smell he was used to.
“I’ve brought you a towel.”
He jumped at the sound of her voice. “Thanks. If you leave it there, I’m about finished.” He was standing stark naked having a conversation with an attractive woman only a few feet away from him. His cock expanded until it stood.
“Come out and talk to me,” Mrs. Rosen said. “You don’t have to hide in there.”
He never dreamed a woman could ask for it. He must be mistaken. He didn’t want any trouble. “I’m naked, and, well…”
“I didn’t expect you to shower with your clothes on,” she laughed. “I have a towel for you. You don’t have to be modest.”
“If you’re sure you mean it. Don’t blame me if you’re shocked.” He opened the door and took a step forward, his hands hovering near his cock for concealment in case she was outraged.
The Good Life Page 2
