26 Nights

by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)

  Thus, though I had only a matter of weeks remaining of my allotted time, it seemed certain that I was about to win our wager, and that I would soon be able to possess the aforesaid Miss Greenglass in all her elegant loveliness. Miss Greenglass, however, showed no reaction to this awareness but went about her duties with her accustomed cool competence. I was too depleted from the previous night to feel like teasing her about my incipient victory. Let alone working. Halfway through the morning I decided to take the rest of the day off. Miss Greenglass disapproved. She pointed out that I had scheduled a couple of afternoon appointments which would have to be canceled. But seeing that I was unmoved by this tragedy, she gave up. She knew from long experience that it was useless to try to keep me at my desk when I didn’t want to be there.

  But as I prepared to leave, Miss Greenglass stopped what she was doing, folded her hands (it was unusual to see them idle) and turned her clear, direct gaze on me.

  “Before you leave, Mr. Walling,” she said, “may I speak to you for a moment?”

  I looked at her in surprise. “Of course.”

  She took a breath. “It is apparent,” she said evenly, “that your, um, rendezvous with Miss—with this Yolanda person—”

  “Actually, her real name is Yetta,” I said. “But it’s still a Y, so it counts. And yes, it was quite an evening. Let me tell you—”

  “Please, Mr. Walling. If I may finish?”

  I waved my hand deferentially.

  “Since you have only one letter to go,” she went on, “and since, as you pointed out yesterday, you have Mrs. Burlesdon, as you put it, chomping at the bit—”

  “And a lovely mare she is, too,” I put in. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Therefore it would seem that you are about to win our wager,” Miss Greenglass said. “And that you will have the right to claim my body—to have sex with me—as a result.”

  “That’s what it’s all been about,” I said, grinning. “And may I say, Miss Greenglass, that sleeping with twenty-six women in order to win that right has been hard, grueling work, but I know that the prize will be worth it.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Walling. But if I may, I have a suggestion.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Suggest away.”

  “As it seems inevitable,” Miss Greenglass said, with no actual change in tone. “I suggest that you have sex with me now.”

  It took a moment for this to sink in. And when it did I just stared at her.

  I cleared my throat. “Now?” I said.

  “Now,” Miss Greenglass said.

  “Now?” I said again, stupidly. “Right now? Right here?”

  “Here or upstairs in your apartment, whichever you choose,” Miss Greenglass said, as if she were talking about where she was going to have lunch. “Upstairs might be more comfortable, but of course it may be that having me here in the office, where we have spent so much of our time together, might be particularly exciting for you. I leave that to you, Mr. Walling.”

  My brain was still spinning. Here she was—the elusive, unreachable Miss Greenglass—suddenly offering herself to me. Of course she was right, I had virtually won our bet, but …

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re conceding the wager. I’ve won, right? And you’re just offering me the prize a little early. Is that it?”

  Miss Greenglass’s eyebrows rose a fraction of a millimeter. “Not exactly,” she said. “In order to actually win, you would have to completely fulfill the terms. Which you have not yet done.”

  I thought about that. “I see,” I said. “So if I accept this sudden offer and make it with you before finishing the alphabet with Zelda—I will have won the prize but lost the bet!”

  “That is correct,” Miss Greenglass said.

  “And having lost the bet,” I continued, “I would then, I suppose, have to pay my forfeit and triple your salary.”

  “That is also correct.”

  “Very clever,” I said. “But why would I do that? Attractive as you are, Miss Greenglass, why should I not simply wait until after my session with Zelda—which, as you say, is inevitable—and then claim the prize and the victory?”

  There was a slight pause. “Perhaps, Mr. Walling,” Miss Greenglass said then, “you might find a woman who freely offers herself to you to be a more … enthusiastic, perhaps a more … ardent partner than one who is simply discharging a debt, as it were.” Her eyes never left mine.

  I took a deep breath. “Tempting as that idea is, Miss Greenglass,” I said, “I don’t think I can take advantage of it at this point. For one thing, though your services are invaluable to me—and probably worth even more than triple your already considerable salary—having come so far in our wager, the fact of having lost it would discomfit me even more than the expense. And I suspect your winning it, even if only technically, would be more gratifying to you than the added income. Secondly, I further suspect that whatever the circumstances in which you give yourself to me, your innate integrity and sense of honor would not allow you to display any less enthusiasm or ardency (is that a word?) than seems called for by the occasion. I say nothing, Miss Greenglass, of your natural passion and sensuality, qualities which I have long believed to exist in abundance beneath that imperturbable facade.” Miss Greenglass said nothing.

  “And finally,” I went on, “as strongly as I have lusted for your delightful body—and still do—and as much work, trouble and even sacrifice as I have put myself through to obtain it by winning this wager, it now occurs to me—belatedly, I admit—that if in giving yourself to me you will be doing so only to, as you put it, discharge a debt—if it is merely a duty which you would find unpleasant or onerous, or even one to which you would be indifferent, then the truth is that it would not, under those circumstances, afford me the kind of pleasure which I have so long been anticipating. I release you from your obligation, Miss Greenglass. I will go on to win our bet, but our platonic personal relationship will be unaltered. As, of course, will your salary.”

  Miss Greenglass’s expression did not change. “You need not concern yourself, Mr. Walling,” she said, “with my personal feelings in this matter. We have made a fair wager, you have—almost—won it, and I fully intend to honor it in every way. And my suggestion still stands. I will give myself to you right now, right here. Freely, and without reservation. Yes, you will have lost the wager. But I will match your gesture, Mr. Walling. I will give up the increase in salary. You are right; though the money would be useful, it is not my primary concern here. Like you, Mr. Walling, I want to win.”

  “And that, Miss Greenglass, is the one thing in the world that I would deny you,” I said. “I intend to get together with Zelda as soon as possible; and after that, well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” I started to get up.

  “One moment, Mr. Walling.” Miss Greenglass stood up. “I have one more argument to present,” she said. Then she began to unbutton her blouse.

  I sat down again.

  Miss Greenglass was calm as ever. Her gaze was level. Her fingers were steady. Before I could react or even think clearly, she had unbuttoned the blouse and slipped it off. She folded it neatly and laid it in her chair.

  She wore a plain black brassiere that molded a high bosom which didn’t appear to require its support and which made a stark contrast against the porcelain whiteness and smoothness of her torso. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. Beyond the stunning loveliness of her body, there was the incredible fact that this was actually Miss Greenglass, seminude in front of me—and about to get even nuder.

  She stood thus for only a moment before reaching to unclasp the brassiere, still looking into my eyes.

  “Wait,” I said. And gathering my strength, I stood up. “Miss Greenglass,” I said hoarsely, “I don’t—”

  Miss Greenglass took off the brassiere.

  I took one quick look. And then—it may have been the hardest thing I ever did in my life—I closed my eyes.

  “No,” I croaked. “No. No n
o. No. I won’t. I’m sorry, Miss Greenglass. No.”

  And I turned away and somehow got out of there.

  As I made my way upstairs on unsteady legs, it occurred to me that I might not have been able to resist such temptation if I had not been so depleted by the previous night. I wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful to Yolanda or angry with her.

  I also wondered whether it was Miss Greenglass or I who had taken the more extreme leave of our senses.

  I decided it was me.

  Once in my private quarters, the first thing I did was take a long nap. Upon awakening I felt a lot better and ready to take on the world—or at least the female half of it. And the thought of the scrumptiously sensuous Zelda, whose voluptuous body promised so much delight, sent new fire through me and drove all vestiges of the night with Yolanda—if not the recollection of Miss Greenglass—from my mind. Well, almost.

  I decided to call Zelda and set up a rendezvous as soon as possible. I had been putting off, with one excuse or another, the culmination of our lust until I had gotten through X and Y. Zelda had been getting impatient, and even a little suspicious. But now was the time.

  “Zelda darling!” I said as soon as she got on the phone. “Great news! That deal has gone through and my schedule is finally all cleared. Let’s get together. How about tonight? Or actually, maybe tomorrow would be—”

  “Oh, Steven!” Zelda said, and her voice stopped me cold. It didn’t sound overjoyed. “Oh, Steven, it’s terrible!”

  “It is?” I said. “What’s terrible?”

  “He’s dead, Steven. Walter’s dead. He—he had a heart attack last night and—and he …”

  I had never met the guy, but naturally I was sorry for Zelda, though my impression was that their marriage had not been exactly compatible for some time. At the same time, I have to admit that along with those feelings of sympathy, what also leaped to my mind was the effect this would have on my immediate plans. Oh, we are all selfish, cold-hearted bastards at bottom, or somewhere. Or is it just me?

  “Oh God,” I said, as sincerely as I could. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Zelda. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes,” Zelda said. “Yes, there is, Steven. Get the hell over here and fuck my brains out.”

  Zelda opened the door at my ring. She was, as befits a new widow, all in black. Black brassiere, black panties, black stockings and black shoes. And that was all.

  “Come upstairs,” she said.

  I followed her up the stairs. Zelda was in her mid-thirties, a sensuously graceful woman with shoulder-length auburn hair. The sight of her well-developed body swaying ahead of me in that outfit made me as ready as if I had never heard of Yolanda. But that was before we got to her bedroom.

  The body of her husband was laid out on the bed.

  At least I assumed it was her husband. It was a man—a middle-aged man dressed in a neat suit and tie.

  “Jesus!” I said before I could stop myself.

  Zelda smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Steven,” she said. “Walter won’t stop us. He can’t stop me from doing anything anymore. Maybe he can see us though. Wherever he is, I sure hope you can see us, Walter. And I hope you suffer, you filthy rotten bastard.” And with that she took off her bra.

  “Um,” I said. Which was about all I could think of at that moment. It seemed to be my day for women offering themselves to me under less than ideal circumstances. This circumstance was a dilly. It is not often in life that one is presented simultaneously with a vision as exciting as Zelda’s naked breasts and one as disconcerting as the body lying on the bed. Not in my life anyway.

  The image of Zelda taking off her bra brought to mind the vision of Miss Greenglass doing the same thing a few hours before. The bras were even the same color. I saw Miss Greenglass’s naked breasts in my mind’s eye, the memory of that fleeting glimpse almost more vivid than the actual sight of Zelda’s lovely red-tipped beauties.

  “Come on, Steven,” Zelda said. “Let’s do it.”

  “Um, Zelda,” I stammered. “You know, maybe—maybe this isn’t exactly the right time—”

  “It’s the perfect time,” Zelda said. “And the perfect place. Right in front of the son of a bitch. Right on his bed, with him still in it. Oh God, Steven, I need you now!” With that she twined her arms around my neck, pressing her body into mine. Her mouth found mine and clung to it, moist and open. Her tongue fluttered between my lips while those bare breasts jammed themselves into my chest so hard I could feel the nipples through my shirt.

  By the time we broke the kiss I was hard as a rock. But when my eyes opened and fell upon the body on the bed, the rock swiftly melted. But only temporarily; Zelda slid down to her knees. Her hands were at my zipper, and then inside. Then her mouth was on my cock. I tried to concentrate on what she was doing—she was doing it quite well—but that figure on the bed kept getting in the way.

  There was something else in the way, though I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Since Zelda’s removal of her bra had brought Miss Greenglass so vividly to my mind, she had stayed there, as she had a habit of doing lately. Maybe that wasn’t fair to Zelda, who in spite of what seemed to be a seizure of giddiness due to her husband’s passing, was basically a fine and intelligent woman. But she wasn’t Miss Greenglass. Nobody was Miss Green-glass.

  Zelda was moving now, backward on her knees toward the bed, clutching my thighs to pull me along with her while still keeping as much prick as possible in her mouth. Halfway there I stopped. “Zelda,” I said. “Zelda, wait.”

  Zelda rose to her feet. “Come on, Steven.” Facing me, her eyes blazing, she pushed her panties down and wriggled out of them, leaving only the garter belt and hose. Then she turned and climbed onto the bed. She crouched there on hands and knees, her buttocks thrusting up and out over the edge, her face practically hovering over that of her dead husband. “Take me this way,” she breathed. “Just like this, so he can watch. I want the son of a bitch bastard to watch. Please, Steven. Take me now.” It may have been the most bizarre situation I was ever in, but in the end I don’t think that was what stopped me. I am not superstitious, and the presence of the dead husband, while off-putting at first, might not in itself have been enough to prevent my completing my task with the luscious, eager, exciting woman who knelt there so provocatively. It might even have been stimulating in a perverse way. But there was this other factor.

  This was not like the time with Phyllis, when my conscience had troubled me—unnecessarily—with regard to Miss Greenglass’s picky objections, and thus affected my performance. My body was more than ready for Zelda, her husband’s corpse notwithstanding. It was something else entirely that held me back, and whatever it was, I wasn’t sure I was happy about it. Not on any level.

  I looked at Zelda’s gorgeous thrusting ass. I moved closer to the bed, reaching out to touch it. It felt sensational. I was ready, I was there, she was there, she wanted me, I wanted—

  “Damn,” I said. “I can’t.”

  Zelda turned her head to stare at me. “Oh, Steven,” she panted. “You can. Look at you—”

  “I can’t,” I repeated. “I don’t—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zelda.”

  Zelda looked as if she were going to cry. Then she turned back to her husband, glaring at him in fury.

  “This is your fault, Walter, you son of a bitch!” she yelled.

  Whatever flaws Walter may have had as a husband, I thought that was a bit unjust. But Walter was in no position to object, so I let him take the blame. She was still cursing at him when I left.

  So I had turned down two women in one day. Surely a new record for me. Hell, one would have been a record, if I hadn’t entered into this ridiculous wager. And for different reasons I wasn’t feeling very good about either of them. In fact I wasn’t feeling very good about anything just at the moment. Women had always been my greatest joy. If my life wasn’t about women, then what the hell was it about?

  It was late afternoon when I got back, and Miss Green-gl
ass was still in the office. There was nobody I wanted to see more at that moment, and yet the situation was awkward. I had last seen her that morning while running away from her as she bared her breasts to me. But she showed no sign as I came in that anything was out of the ordinary between us.

  “Miss Greenglass,” I said, before even sitting down, “I want to apologize for—for this morning. It was—it was just—”

  “Please, Mr. Walling,” she said evenly. “There’s no need for that. We were both trying to win a bet, that’s all. You have nothing to apologize for, and I hope I haven’t either.”

  “Of course not.” I sank into my chair. I felt a hundred years old. “Anyway, nothing happened with Zelda,” I said. “Nothing’s going to happen. That whole thing is a bust.”

  “Well,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else before the time is up, Mr. Walling.”

  “No,” I said. “The hell with it. I’m tired of doing this. It’s not fun any more. It’s not—it’s not what I want anymore.” I shook my head. “You win, Miss Greenglass. Congratulations. Your salary increase is now in effect.”

  “But I made it clear that I was giving up the pay increase, Mr. Walling.”

  “Well I’m giving it to you anyway,” I said. “I believe in paying off my bets, it’s something my father taught me. Not that I remember ever losing one before. But there’s a first time for everything.”

  Miss Greenglass said nothing. She kept on doing whatever she was doing at the filing cabinet. I sat and watched her, for no special reason except that there was nothing else I felt like doing just then.

  After a few moments she stopped and turned to me. “Mr. Walling,” she said, and she paused. It was strange to see her apparently at a loss for words. “Mr. Walling,” she said finally, “the fact is, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”