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Chardsville Revisited (part 2) by Jenny Leeds Chapter 15 Mrs. Chard looked up when she heard the faint ring of the front doorbell. A glance at the ormolu clock on the desk told her it was exactly three. Good. That would be Melvin. You could say this for the man, he was prompt. She had deliberately busied herself with office work to keep herself from "waiting" for him, but in fact that was what she had been doing--waiting. She put the papers she was studying in the drawer, stood up, and opened the bookshelf-door. She stepped into the conference room and crossed to the lavatory. On the back of the door was a full-length mirror in which she examined her appearance, smoothed her short curls in place, and straightened the lavender Orlon sheath she had chosen for this interview with a tug here and a pat there. Mrs. Chard was uncharacteristically nervous. Although she had already all but made up her mind to give her permission for Melvin's and Leslie's, ah, union, after talking to Helen--that dear, surprising woman--she still had some unresolved questions for him. She returned to the office in time to greet him when Angie ushered him in. "Mr. Woicyk, how nice. Thank you for taking time from your busy day to see me." She held out her hand. He took it warily. "Hi, Mrs. Chard." His grip was warm. An inch or so taller than she, he gave the impression of strength and candor. He was straight, lean, flushed with health. His sandy hair was brushed carefully. He wore a dark blue serge business suit, too formal for the afternoon, but she guessed this was in some respects a formal occasion. "Come." She hooked her arm through his and led him through the bookshelf-door. "We'll talk in the conference room so we can sit more comfortably." "Conference room?" A quizzical smile informed his lips as he took in the elegant hominess of the room, with its day-bed, Persian rug, and polished French provincial furniture. Mrs. Chard let her laughter ring as she closed the door. "That's just what we call it. Few people know of it, and Angie never disturbs me in here, it's perfect for private conversation with no interruptions. Be a good boy and press that button over there. It opens the bar. Make us a drink, would you? Sherry for me." He looked glad to have something to do with his hands. She watched him pour sherry for her and a scotch on the rocks for himself. When he handed her the glass and sat opposite her, the wary expression returned. Mrs. Chard sipped her wine. "I'll get straight to the point. Leslie tells me she wants to move in with you." There was a hint of diffidence in his nod of agreement. She went on. "She says she's in love with you and that you love her too. Is that true?" "I think so." "You *think* so." "I mean, I think Leslie loves me, I know I love her." "I see." Mrs. Chard let a moment go by. "Melvin, do you think it's fair to Leslie, or for that matter, to me, to ask her to live with you? What would people say? My unmarried, ah, daughter living in a bachelor's apartment." "I know, we talked about that. But we want to be together. What else can we do?" "You could get married." "Married!" "That's what people do when they want to be together, you know. But perhaps you don't feel you are ready for such a commitment." "But--" "I can guess what you're thinking. No one would know. I had Leslie's birth certificate altered to show that she is a girl. There would be no technical impediment to a marriage." She could see his mind racing. This was something he hadn't expected. She said, "I want you to think about it carefully, Melvin. I won't have Leslie trifled with. If you are serious about her, that's one thing. If your intentions are, shall we say, short-term, that's quite another. Do you see what I mean?" He was still struggling with the idea. He really was quite good-looking, Mrs. Chard thought, in his masculine sort of way. It was hard to believe he was gay. For an instant she permitted herself to wonder what it was like for Leslie to be close to him in bed. It would be pleasant, she imagined. Helen had said not all men were brutes. When she felt an unwelcome stirring in the region below her stomach, she cut the thought short. She went on, "I'm not altogether certain I approve of all this, but it has been brought to my attention that, in the circumstances, fairness to Leslie demands something more than she has here. It's an awkward situation, however. I'm sorry, Melvin, but I'm going to have to ask you to be frank with me about certain, ah, delicate matters." The poor boy looked uncomfortable. She said, "I want to be sure you both know what's involved. That is, can I assume that you have been, ah, intimate?" A becoming blush spread over his face. "Y-yes," he stammered. She was rather enjoying his discomfiture. "But I never knew you were gay, Melvin." "I didn't either for sure, until I met Leslie." "You didn't know? How is that?" "Well, see, I never did it before. So I didn't know." "You never did it before. Let me understand. Sex? That's what you mean? You never had sex with a boy, or never at all?" "At all." "You mean Leslie is the only person you ever ... ?" Melvin squirmed. He gulped his drink, and in an apparent effort to regain composure, stood and went to the bar to refill his glass. With his back turned, he said, "I never did it with anybody." She waited until he had seated himself opposite her again before bursting out, *"Then how do you know?"* "Huh?" "How do you know you're gay? How do you know, if you've never been with a woman?" Mel floundered, "Because, well, because," his flush deepened, "with Leslie it's, well, I just don't want anyone else, so I must be." "But you don't know that. Oh, dear, Melvin. Suppose some girl makes eyes at you and you, ah, falter in your loyalty to Leslie, and then discover you prefer the opposite sex after all." "That won't happen." "Anything can happen. You don't know that it won't. I swear, Melvin, I don't mean to be crude, but hadn't you better seek the company of a woman before you make any long-term commitment to Leslie?" He looked thoughtful. He said, "I couldn't. What would Leslie say if I did? Besides ... I just couldn't." Mrs. Chard studied him for a long moment. In that moment she went mad. Memories crowded each other: Helen saying, "Men are wonderful," Marie Argentina confessing, no, boasting about, her affair with Harold, Leslie's harmless thing as she had last seen it, wet and wrinkled, disappearing into his skin pouch. She got butterflies in her stomach. "Melvin, dear," she said softly, "take off your clothes." "What?" "Get undressed. We're going to settle this right here and now." She went to the day-bed and turned the bedclothes down. When she glanced at him, he was frozen in his chair staring horrified at her. Mrs. Chard crossed to him, took his hands in hers, and pulled him to his feet. She said gently, "Melvin, I am simply not going to give my permission until this question is resolved." She unbuttoned his jacket, pushed it down over his shoulders, and folded it neatly over the back of a chair. She untied his necktie. "Now, be a good boy and get undressed." She waited until she was sure he was complying with her wishes. She pulled off her heels and set about undoing her garters to take off her stockings. Deliberately she made a production of it, wrists lifting her skirt to reveal the shapely length of her legs, fingers lingering provocatively, slipping the stockings down with sensuous grace. She peeped up through her eyelashes to make sure he was watching. He had taken off all but his trousers. His torso was corrugated with muscle; youthful, only lightly endowed with chest hair. Her alert eye detected a pipe- like ridge along the inside of his left thigh. So he *could* be roused by a female. But then so could Leslie, and he had chosen to have a relationship with a man anyway. And there was Jack, who was married to a boy like Leslie, yet Helen had said he was attentive, vigorous, and sexually satisfying with her. The question would only be settled when they saw if Melvin would go back with Leslie after this experience. Mrs. Chard removed her dress, went over to Melvin, and turned her back to him. "Could you unhook me, please?" When the bra fell free she reached behind, took his hands, and pulled them around her to cup her breasts. She backed into him. The lump was still there; she felt it through the silk of her panties. Her heart was pounding. Apart from Leslie when he was a young child, she hadn't known a man for more than twenty years. She had never thought she would again, until her imagination was stimulated by her talk with Helen and by listening to Marie Argentina go on about her Harold. He fondled her breasts, pinching their nipples between his fingers, making her shiver. She turned inside his arms and pressed her body against his. He was firm and warm. It was strange to be in the arms of someone taller than she. She tugged at his belt buckle. "Take these off, Melvin, and come to me." Not until she put her knees together and pushed down her panties did she realize their crotch was soaking wet. As she stepped out of them she saw her clitoris protruding rosy from between her labia. Mrs. Chard lay on her side on the day-bed, heart racing, while Melvin removed his trousers. His erection was enormous. It was frightening but beautiful, all clean and pink and white with a flaring red head. As she looked, the tip emitted a gleaming drip of clear, sticky fluid. In the days when Leslie was a slip of a child, she and Marie Argentina had pretended his penis was no more than an enlarged clitoris. This was different. It was a *man's* organ. It meant business. He stood indecisive, looking at her. It took all her courage to lift her arms in a welcoming gesture. She was aware that her eyes were frightened, but couldn't help it. A man. Like her husband. He had hurt her. He had plowed that big thing into her while she was dry and it had been abrasive and too big and had made her bleed the first time. She offered a silent prayer that Marie and Helen were right, that not all men were that way. He was looming over her. An unexpected wave of terror overwhelmed her. The hair on the nape of her neck tried to stand up; goose flesh prickled her skin. She was about to open her mouth to plead, "Please don't hurt me," when she saw his lower lip quiver; and with a burst of insight she realized he was as frightened as she was. Relief swept through her; some of her dread dissipated. She shifted over to give him room to lie down next to her. His body was warm. He was trembling faintly. The only way Mrs. Chard knew to suppress anxiety was to take charge. Looking into his eyes, she clasped his stiff penis. It was hot and very rigid, bigger and thicker than her husband's, if she remembered correctly. Bigger than Leslie's. It would have been alarming but for the surprised way he flinched at her touch, reassuring her that he intended her no harm. His hand cupped her vulva gingerly. It began rubbing and squeezing her outer lips. She wondered what he was doing. A long moment later she thought, He's trying to arouse me! She smothered a surprised laugh. Of course. He had never been with a woman; he didn't know what to do. Her anxiety abated still further. His gentle hand was big and awkward as it kneaded her down there. She sighed gratefully and put her hand on his. "Here," she said softly, "Your thumb here." She positioned it. "This finger here. Do like this." She guided his movement. "Oh-h. Yes, that feels so good." Her labia suffused with warmth; her clitoris hummed. "If you want you can put this finger in here. Oh-h." She tried to imagine it was Mrs. Argentina fondling her. It was impossible. He was large and clumsy, not nearly as clever and subtle. Something about him, though, was unbearably stimulating. Long before she was ready for it, long before Marie Argentina could have brought it on, her vagina squeezed shut; her nipples erected; labia flared; and she was coming, oh God she was coming already, body tensing arms snapping around him room darkening she CAME shuddering gasping hips pushing repeatedly against his hand. After a timeless interval her body's tension ebbed. She became aware that she was making inarticulate cooing sounds. The stimulation of his hand was too intense. She pushed it away. "Oh, Melvin," she gasped. Bewildered by the strength of her reaction, she cuddled her head against his chest. His arms came around her, holding her protectively while she tried to sort things out. She looked up and gave him a shaky smile. "Whew." "You all right?" "Fine. Wonderful. Wait, where are you going?" "I thought ... I thought you, you know ..." "Climaxed? I did! It was glorious." "Well, I thought you wouldn't want to do it any more." "Melvin, women can have lots of orgasms, didn't you know that?" "Yeah? I heard that, but I didn't know if it was true. When I--do that--I can't usually do it again for a half hour or so." Mrs. Chard opened her legs. "Come in me." He lay on top of her. She noticed he was considerate enough to rest his weight on his elbows. His body was firm; she was intensely aware of the muscular chest brushing her sensitive nipples, so different from the softness of another woman. She controlled a shiver and guided his leaking erection to the join of her legs and put it in the entrance to her vagina. It was very warm and meaty and heavy as it pushed against her, not a clitoris, nothing like a clitoris, so *big!* Mel made a sound like a sob. He thrust in. The organ moved into her forcefully on a film of her juices, lusciously, stretching her vagina, dragging flesh with it to pull tingling on her clitoris; sensuous, unutterably erotic--and totally without pain! It had been years since she had anything larger than a finger in there; it felt enormous. When the massive penis reached the end of her canal she grunted. He stopped. "Did I hurt you?" "No." She raised her knees to relieve the pressure. "Don't stop. Fuck me, Melvin." She gasped. Where had that word come from? Never mind, his prick was moving rhythmically, pulling back until only the tip was kissing her inner lips so that it felt as if she were being penetrated over and over, then shoving forward until the rubbery head pressed strongly on the entrance to her womb and the breath was forced out of her and her clitoris leaped with the pressure of his pubic bone. Yet ... aside from a dull, sensuous ache when he reached the end of her canal and continued thrusting further in, *it didn't hurt!* She marveled. She hadn't known it could be like this. Her vagina had been wet and ready for him. It had known. As if it were a separate part of her that held an ancient and incommunicable knowledge, it had known. It had prepared a welcome for the intrusion into her privacy. Mrs. Chard felt as though she had lost control of the situation: even her own body was acting without her direction. There. See? On their own her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, rotated to cause an ineffable electrification of her genital area. He groaned and put his arms around her, pumping back and forth strongly. A heady sense of bliss infused her. Helen was right. Men were wonderful. Or maybe it was just Melvin, she didn't care, she was losing herself in him. Marie was right too. Being on the bottom was thrilling. Being *done to* had its rewards. As Mel continued to fuck her, breath hoarse in her ear, Mrs. Chard came to understand that she could relax, move ecstatically in rhythm with his strokes, that she could let him do the work. With another woman she had to be careful to look out for her partner's pleasure; a man seemed to create his own pleasure, a pleasure heightened, she saw, by the enjoyment he was exciting in her. Without warning her vagina seized the alien meat in a spasm; she couldn't breathe her hips bucked stiff clitoris in his pubic hairs the pressure of his balls against her perineum a shocking surge of liquid. She held him to her, body tensing and relaxing uncontrollably. He slumped on her, panting. She welcomed his weight, body still moving under his, hips rotating sensuously, giving her a series of mini-orgasms in the aftermath of the delirious seizure, while the heavy pole that still impaled her softened slowly. She made a broken sound of disappointment when it slipped out. It wasn't fair for it to be over so soon, when she had spent so many years without it. Breathing deeply, Mel rolled off her and lay by her side. The dear man. He had given her so much joy, thrust it upon her willy-nilly, taken charge of her body, forcing her to respond. That was the way men were; now she saw it as a desirable thing. She wondered if Leslie got as much pleasure out of their lovemaking, and had a pang of jealousy. If they remained together then Leslie would be sleeping with this marvelous person every night. She had found Melvin only to lose him. Unless ... unless he decided not to marry Leslie after all. If that happened she would set her cap for him. He was twenty-six: there was only a dozen years between them; that wasn't too much. Her heart palpitated at the thought. She was so grateful to Melvin for having awakened her. Her vagina was throbbing; it had been *used,* there was no doubt about that, and used well. An old phrase came to her, "well and royally tumbled." That's what had happened to her. "Thank you, Melvin. It was beautiful." "Yes." Something in his voice made her turn her head. His face was grave; his eyes, sad. "What's the matter, darling?" "Nothing. I'm a little confused, I guess." "I know." Of course he was confused. All this time he had been thinking he was gay. It was a label people used if they enjoyed sex with members of the same gender, and like most labels, Mrs. Chard thought, it did more harm than good. For many years she had sex exclusively with women, lesbian sex, but she had never thought of herself as a lesbian, only that she was enjoying sex with another female person. Now Mel had shown her that the only reason she hadn't had sex with men was that she hadn't known how good it could be. But now would she want to be only with men? Of course not. She loved Marie Argentina and Helen Myers. Just because she was falling in love with Melvin didn't mean she had to give them up. Maybe Melvin would feel that way about her and Leslie. She hoped so. For their sakes--and for her own, in a way, because if they broke up she would have only herself to blame for spoiling their happiness. No, if Mel opted in favor of women instead of Leslie, it wasn't any more than would have surely happened later, and that would be terrible if they were already married. She had done the right thing. Mel sat up. "I better go. I got some things to think about, I guess." "Melvin, don't look so sad. Everything will be all right, you'll see." She watched him get dressed, thinking how handsome he was, and wishing she knew what to say to take that baffled, unhappy expression off his face. He finished tying his necktie. He saw her watching him, hesitated, and sat next to her on the day-bed. His hand caressed her torso from breasts to mound of Venus. It was amazing how alive she was to his touch. She put her hand on his. "I love you to touch me." He said, "It was my first time." "I know. Mine too, in a way," she admitted softly. "I haven't been with a man since before Leslie was born, and with my husband, I never had a climax. I love you, Melvin. Whatever you decide about you and Leslie I'll give my blessing to." He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "I got to think." Long after he had gone, Mrs. Chard lay relaxed on the day-bed gazing at the gray skies through the window, conscious of a dreamy smile. When at last she stood up to get dressed, Melvin's sperm ran down her leg. Chapter 16 Helen jumped when she heard a knock on the hotel room door. The familiar trembling began in the pit of her stomach. She never knew who would be on the other side. Someday, inevitably, it would be somebody she or Howard knew socially. Or someone she didn't know but who recognized the bank president's young wife. She straightened her sleazy red-satin sheath. Except for a pair of high-heeled pumps, also scarlet, it was the only clothing she wore. It barely covered her from the tips of her breasts to just below her buttocks, but she might as well be completely naked, because every curve, every bump and hollow and undulation of her body showed through the clinging material. Instead of her usual coiffure, her hair was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck; it cascaded halfway down her back. Dick Turner had insisted; he said it made her look youthful and "bedroomy." As usual it took all her courage to answer the door. Icy November air blew in to give her bare legs goose bumps. She recognized the girl, no, the boy, who had been with Howard. Under a woolen coat she, he, was clad in an attractive beige linen dress with an Eton collar. Its conservatism augmented Helen's uneasiness at being seen in the red sheath. The blonde smiled. "Hi. Dick sent me to tell you that your three- o'clock canceled out. He said you might have to work an extra hour to make up for it. I thought, since you have a little time, we could have coffee together and rap." She held up covered cardboard cups from the coffee shop downstairs. Helen had no reason to be friendly with this person, who was the cause of the predicament she was in, but she was so relieved at not having to "turn a trick," even if temporarily, that she stepped aside to let her enter, and closed the door against the cold. The blonde set the coffee down on the little table overlooking the courtyard through the plate-glass doors and extracted tissue-wrapped pastries from a white paper bag. "I brought us some jelly doughnuts too. Hope you like them. I'm Amy," she said. "I'm Hel--Lolly." That was the "trade name" Dick Turner had given her. Lolly Popp. Helen remembered the humiliation she had suffered when he introduced her to a "john," saying, "We call her 'Lolly Popp,' because she's an all-day sucker. Get it? Lollipop. Haw." "You're new here, aren't you? How do you like it so far?" Helen took the cardboard container she was offering. "I don't." Amy looked sharply at her. "It's not so bad, you'll see. Dick wants what he wants, but when he gets it he's a pussycat." "That's not exactly the word I use." Amy gave a bark of laughter. "I know. He's a slime, isn't he?" Her voice altered into an uncanny simulation of Turner's. "Come on, what harm can it do? Just one more john. So what if he's got a whip and storm-trooper boots. Try it, you'll like it." Helen laughed so hard coffee spilled from her container. Still with the same voice, Amy said, "Sixty for you, forty for me, right? No, I mean forty for you, sixty for me. No, I mean forty for me, sixty for me. Right?" Helen sat on the edge of the bed. "Stop! My sides hurt. Sixty-forty! I wish." "Why? What kind of a cut do you get?" "Nothing." "Come on." "No, really." "You can't be working for *nothing."* "He has pictures of me, and I, I have to do what he says." Helen went from laughter to tears in an instant. "You poor thing! I should have known. You have too much class to be one of Dick's hookers." She patted Helen's hand and sat opposite her. "That dirtbag has pictures of me too." Helen sniffled, "Is that why you're working for him?" "Yeah. It didn't start out that way. I liked it at first. He was so smooth. He made love to me and made me believe he would love me even more if I would do it with somebody else once in a while so he could watch. I was just a college kid. I really fell for him. "Uh, I don't know if you know this, but it's no secret, you'd find out sooner or later. I'm not really a girl, I'm a guy. Dick got me into dressing like this. Until I met him I was straight as an arrow. I guess I was. I was a virgin, what did I know? I guess I didn't have a very strong sense of personal identity. But then when Dick got me to put on women's clothes it made me feel sexy. He took advantage of me and turned me on to other men and let me believe we'd shack up together like husband and wife. We'd even have some kind of wedding ceremony. I was so happy I made the mistake of calling my parents and telling them I was getting married." A flicker of Amy's eye told Helen her bare pussy was exposed under the short skirt. She put her knees together. Amy continued, "I don't know what could have been in my mind. Of course, they insisted on coming to the wedding. What was I going to do? So I asked this girl--she was in one of my classes, I was going to college in my regular clothes--I asked this girl if she'd pretend to marry me for my parents' sake. I gave her some kind of cock-and-bull story. "Well, Nancy--that's her name--has a warped sense of humor. She substituted a real marriage license for the fake one and got a real preacher to tie the knot. We were really married! Then we had to go on a honeymoon, or at least pretend to, we wound up in Nancy's apartment. I found out I wasn't gay. Or at least not all the way. You can't imagine what a shock that was. Then after a while I discovered I loved Nancy and she loved me. She helped me find myself. "I told Dick I wanted to quit wearing dresses and get a job. He said no dice, I was too valuable to him. He would send pictures of me to my parents and the police and Nancy. Well, I confessed to her and she forgave me. She said she knew about my wearing dresses. She recognized me from when I bought clothes in the shop she worked in part-time before we were married. Turning tricks she didn't know about, but if I would quit we could start over. I told her about the pictures and she cried and said she would stand by me." "The poor girl! It must be awful for her. And you." "Yeah. You're nice, you know that? You got troubles of your own but you still got time to sympathize." Amy gave her a measured look. "I shouldn't tell you this. It's secret. You can't breathe a word." She shifted her chair forward and leaned close, balancing herself with a warm hand on Helen's knee, and whispered earnestly, "We have a friend who thinks he'll be able to get the pictures. Then we can all forget about that slime and go on with our lives. I wanted to tell you so you know it's not hopeless." It was a pipe dream born out of desperation. Helen patted her hand. She was so young. "It would be nice." "Please don't say anything to anybody." "I won't." Amy straightened, cheerful expression returning. "We should have been more like that man they tell about. You know? The blackmailer showed him pictures of him in bed with someone who wasn't his wife. He said, 'These are for sale? Good, I'll take two of this one, three of these--' " Helen burst into laughter. There was a timorous knock at the door. Amy got up saying, "That's for you. Remember what I said. I'll come back another time and let you know if there's anything new." She opened the door and gave the man at the door a bright smile. "I'm just leaving. Lolly's waiting for you." He slipped inside as Amy closed the door behind her, and stood looking nervously at Helen. He was thin, of average height, dressed in chinos and a sport jacket under a raincoat that apparently served him as an overcoat. A uniform wouldn't have made it clearer that he was an undergraduate at the college. He stared owlishly through milk-bottle lenses. He couldn't be more than seventeen, Helen thought. Damn that Dick Turner. Now he had her robbing the cradle. The boy looked so uncomfortable that Helen was sorry for him. "Hi," she said soothingly. "I'm Lolly. What's your name?" "Huk-Henry." He shied back half a step. She thought for an instant he would bolt. "I'm pleased to meet you, Henry. Take off your coat and sit down. Don't be nervous, I don't bite." He stumbled into the seat she indicated. His awkwardness made Helen feel motherly. She pulled a chair opposite him, sat down, and said, "Would you like to talk a bit first? There's no hurry." Henry nodded his head quickly. Poor boy, he was scared to death. Helen thought this must be his first time. It roused her interest. She set about putting him at ease. "I see your scarf has Chardsville College colors. Are you a college man, Henry?" "Y-yes." "Oh, how nice. What's your major?" He relaxed a fraction. "I don't have one yet. I'm a freshman," he said shyly. "But I'd like to study computer science." "That sounds interesting. You must be very intelligent as well as handsome." She had better turn the conversation; she didn't want to listen to a lot of technical stuff. "I bet the girls are all over you. Do you have a girl friend, Henry?" "No," he admitted, "School just started last month. I haven't met anyone yet." Seated as she was, the hem of her sheath was only a couple of inches below her hips. Helen deliberately let her legs fall apart. She was rewarded by a flash of the thick glasses as Henry's gaze became riveted to her cunt. He squirmed. She saw a bulge form in his pants. Helen said softly, "Would you like me to be your girl friend for a little while?" His mouth hung open. He nodded. She stood up and drew him to his feet. Taking his unresisting hands, she placed them on her breasts. The hands were hot and sweaty through the satin. "I'd love it if you would touch me while I help you get rid of all these heavy clothes. I like to have a handsome boyfriend put his hands on me." He kneaded her tits clumsily. He began to pant. She undressed him. As she knelt to take off his shoes and socks she gave his stiff penis a maternal kiss and saw it leap. This wasn't going to take long: just getting his clothes off and back on would probably take more time than the act itself. "It's so big," she said. "I can hardly wait. You're so exciting." "Y-you are too." She stripped off her dress and lay back on the bed, drawing him down on top of her. She felt his heart pound against her breast. He was so excited and innocent and sweet. "Henry, I can't wait. I need your big thing." She clasped it and guided it to her vagina. It was only average in size, but it was surprisingly hot and stiff. He pushed in convulsively and stroked hurriedly in and out of her while she writhed and moaned under him in simulated passion. After only a dozen strokes she felt the gush of his young seed. She cried out and held him to her, pretending to be in the throes of orgasm. Wait. What was this? Her body was taking it seriously. Her vagina clamped around the still-stiff cock and a genuine orgasm seized her. Her teeth chattered. She whimpered, holding him close, cunt now flexing rhythmically with pleasure. By the time her spasms subsided he was limp. He lifted himself on his elbows and looked at her with a bewildered expression. She explained breathlessly, "You made me come. You're so strong and handsome I couldn't help myself." His face turned red with pleasure. Helen relaxed in languor, savoring the aftermath of her climax, and was sorry when Henry got up and dressed. She followed him naked to the door and kissed him on the cheek. She jumped when he pinched her bottom mischievously, and returned the pinch through the front of his pants, making him laugh. He said, "That was the first time I ever did it. Was I all right?" "Your first time! I would never have known. I thought you must have had lots of experience, you were so thrilling." "I'd like to see you again. I'll come back as soon as I can save up. Would that be all right?" "Oh, Henry, I'd do it for free for you if I could." Helen peeked through the blinds when the door closed behind him and watched him walk away. Why, he was positively swaggering. She wondered what kind of story he'd tell his college friends. She went to the bathroom to wipe herself, but she didn't douche. Henry's semen would be a lubricant to make the next customer easier. Come to think of it, she hadn't needed lubrication for young Henry; she was wet when he went in. Sweet child. She hoped his first time had been everything he wanted. She had enjoyed it. The blood left her cheeks. She shouldn't be enjoying it. She had been forced into prostitution: she had no business having orgasms. What kind of depraved woman was she? Now that she thought about it she realized she climaxed frequently--far too frequently, almost as though she were relishing her degradation. The next customer pushed by her the minute she opened the door. He was a small man, shorter than she, dressed in a business suit, hair beginning to turn gray. He looked to be in his late forties. "You're Lolly?" He took off his jacket and tie. Gracious, was he double-parked outside? She answered, "Yes." He removed his shoes and socks. "What would your mother say?" "M-my mother?" The man stripped off his shirt, revealing a skinny chest and pot belly. "What would she say if she knew you were a whore?" Helen's cheeks burned. She didn't answer. The trousers came off; then the boxer shorts. His penis was limp and hooded. "Eh? What would your mother do to you if she knew you were selling your body? Answer." Helen guessed, "Send me to my room?" "No, she'd spank you. She'd spank the lewdness right out of you. Take off your clothes." Helen obeyed, a thrill of fright seizing her. She wasn't enjoying this one, at any rate. The man looked harmless enough, but he was either crazy or acting out some fantasy. Her nervousness increased when she saw that although he was ogling her nudity, his cock remained flaccid. He said, "Since your mother's not here I'll have to do it for her. I'll sit on the bed and you can get across my lap." "Oh, no." His face was a study in frustration. "You are a whore, aren't you? Answer me." It did violence to Helen's emotions, but she muttered, "Yes." "You defile yourself with men for money." Helen agreed sullenly. "Did your mother raise you to be a slut?" "No." "No. She raised you to be a sweet little girl and not let men touch you down there. So you deserve a spanking." "I'm not going to let you spank me. Anyway, you're not my mother." His look of frustration grew. "She's not here, so I'll take her place." Helen shook her head. He burst out, "Listen, I paid the man extra for a spanking. If you don't let me, I want my money back." Helen was non-plussed. Dick Turner had known what he wanted to do and had sent him to her anyway. She trembled. Could she refuse? No sooner had she formulated the question she knew she didn't dare. She would have to go through with it. Meekly she followed the man to the bed and lay across his lap,rep efyltcmuh aili.detehS noc lort delhs aedduh :rh sisdnarew no ereh no ,oh nidleh gaw r,tsieht hto c reseragnisreh ssa ps ,daer gni reheehc ,skleef gniwteb nee rehsgelhS .qs emriu .deh nIu redispod-ep nwtiso noi ehtoolbur ddehs ot rehdaehhS .ef el tl ekiiyrc .gnH um eelbmot delenylssS" ,oy o.gnu oS uaebufitM .lh ne evaabedehcuht dm siedia ylnydob ".hT ah et dn tah dahneebnof nildeh gsa rel sh tf .rea nIni nnatsht t ere sawms a.kcareH tub kcotts s.gnuehS niw .decehS suj ah tit dt emht o,knieH* t ,yhat really hurt!* before he struck her again. And again. She tried to wriggle off, but he held her. She heard herself howl. The burning slaps continued. She jerked each time he struck her. Her whole ass was glowing. In the midst of her pain and humiliation she became aware that her body was responding sexually to his mistreatment. Each spank, with its residue of heat, caused the organs between her legs to deliquesce, to gather tension preparatory to orgasm. Something hard and hot was prodding her belly. The man had become erect. He let go of her. She scrambled off his lap and stood weeping, holding her ass with both hands. He panted, "Have you learned your lesson?" Helen sobbed, "Yes. Please don't hurt me any more." "Get down on your knees in front of me." She submitted, scared of what he might do next, ass glowing. She wouldn't be able to sit down for days. He spread his knees and began pulling his erection back and forth. Helen watched in a daze. The head was swelling, a turgid red, pointing directly at her. With no warning it emitted a squirt of whitish fluid. She flinched as it splashed just under her nose and trickled thick and slippery over her compressed lips. Successive jets landed on her breasts. She held still while the prick softened and only a drool emerged. He shook the remaining drops on her, got up coldly, put on his clothes, and left without a word. Helen stood up carefully and put a tentative hand on her burning ass. It had hurt. The man was not in his right mind. She was lucky he hadn't done anything worse. She showered the slime off her body, then dressed, still feeling unclean; and gingerly sat down to wait for the next customer. It was the man who liked to play doggy. He looked like an accountant, bald except for a fringe of hair above his ears, eyes small behind thick lenses, and wore a brave little mustache to proclaim his manliness. He made her get down on all fours and called her a bitch in heat. He got down with her, circled her, and sniffed her ass. Mounting her from behind, he made vague growling noises, hands gripping her waist, cock plunging back and forth in her vagina. She winced each time his pot belly slapped her aggrieved buttocks. Head down, she could see his balls swinging between her legs with each stroke. From the angle it almost looked as though they were hers. Irrelevantly, amidst her shame, she remembered looking at Suzie and wishing she, too, had a prick and balls, real ones, not like the dildo Howard sometimes wanted her to strap on and use on him. The thought sent her over the edge. With anguish she felt her vagina shudder. A whine issued from between her clenched teeth as she CAME, ass lifting to make the penetration of her cunt deeper. A gush of hot slippery juice filled her quavering pussy. The man's balls dangled incongruously below her vaginal lips as the pumping went on, as her cunt writhed around his prick. He pulled out. Helen remained where she was, tears of despair spilling from her eyes, making little dark spots on the rug. She had done it again. Even her total abasement had not prevented her from climaxing; even her loathing for this little man had not been proof against her body's prurience. When she heard his zipper close she got up tiredly and put on her dress, not looking at him. Her ass still hurt from the spanking. She finished wiping herself in the bathroom and returned to put on her shoes. He had gone. Her next customer, a heavy-set man in his middle years, had also paid extra for "special service," she discovered. He wanted her to disrobe and suck his cock. He held her ears while she submitted to him on her knees. When his semen had finished spurting, he continued to hold her connected to him; after a while she had no choice but to swallow the stuff. Her stomach churned. He got limp in her mouth. She moved to pull away, thinking it was over, but he restrained her. Imagining he wanted her to make him erect again, wondering if he could, Helen massaged the squirmy organ with her tongue, suffocated by the nutty odor of his pubes, still tasting his semen. The taste changed. It got salty. A second later she realized her mouth was filling with a thin, hot liquid, and a heartbeat after that, that he was urinating. She tried to pull her head back. "Swallow it," he hissed. Her mouth couldn't contain it. It spilled from the corners of her lips, drenching her breasts. He crammed her face into his crotch. "Swallow it! The man said you would drink it." Helen's throat moved. She tried to pretend she wasn't there, that she was with Estelle, in bed with her, loving and being loved, instead of being made to gulp a stranger's urine. It wasn't poison, she reminded herself. If Estelle or Jack or Suzie ever wanted her to drink their piss she'd do it gladly. The intimacy would be exciting. She knew they'd do the same for her. But here, and with this foul man, it was revolting. He finished at last and let her go. She staggered to her feet holding her hand over her mouth, ran to the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet. Chapter 17 Leslie looked at the clock with annoyance. Twelve-oh-four, just one minute later than the last time he had looked. When ten o'clock had come and gone with still no sign of Mel, he put on the nightgown he kept in Mel's closet, got in bed, and sat up expectantly. Since then he must have been in and out of bed a dozen times. Every time he heard footsteps in the hall he jumped up and waited with bated breath to see if Mel would come in, only to hear some other door open and close. He wished the apartment were not at the rear of the building. It was quiet, overlooking a garden, but he couldn't see out into the street to keep a watch for Mel's car. Mel was supposed to meet with Leslie's mother this afternoon for a "chat," and for a while there Leslie had allowed himself to hope, to imagine that after talking with Mel, his mother would agree to let Leslie move in with him. That was out, anyway. If she had said yes, Mel would have come straight home and they would have had a celebration. He told himself it didn't matter. Mel was right. He was twenty years old now, no longer a child. It would be nice to have his mother's permission, but he'd go ahead and move in anyway. Not all at once, perhaps, little by little instead, staying over from time to time like now, then maybe a couple of days in a row on a weekend, until she was used to not seeing him around. Mel should be home by now. He knew Leslie was waiting to hear the outcome. Could she have talked him into dumping him? Threatened him, or bribed him, until he had agreed not to see Leslie? He'd never forgive her, or Mel either. He leaned back against the pillow and picked nervously at the blanket. He debated calling home. But then he'd have to explain to his mother where he was. He'd left word with Angie not to expect him but hadn't said where he would be. She'd know, anyhow. It was better not to make an issue out of it. His heart leaped when he heard a key turn in the lock. He made himself sit still until Mel came into the bedroom, red-eyed and with necktie askew. Despite his resolve to play it cool Leslie heard himself demand, "Where have you been? How could you leave me here all alone? The dinner's all ruined." "Sorry." Mel draped his coat carelessly on the back of the chair and started undressing. "Sorry! Is that all you have to say? Where were you since three o'clock?" "I had a few beers down at the tavern. I had some things to think about." "You smell like a brewery. Are you drunk?" Leslie was afraid to ask about the talk with Mrs. Chard. Mel rarely drank; Leslie had never seen him intoxicated. For him to tie one on must mean things had gone worse than they had anticipated. "Yeah. Drunk with love. The beers didn't hurt none, though." He laughed and climbed into bed, cock lurching heavily. "C'mere, you." Leslie was swept into a vigorous hug. The odor of beer was overwhelming, but his anxiety was allayed: Mel was saying hello, not good-bye. He had a reprieve. "Oh, Mel," he sighed, and let himself be kissed. His lover's prick was firming against his belly. He reached down surreptitiously and freed his own. No use taking chances. He'd had a hormone shot only two days ago, but they only reduced sexual reaction; they didn't eliminate it. "What happened with Mom?" "I'll tell you later. Right now, I want to ..." He sat up, caught his balance, and pulled the covers off them. "I want to see what I got here." He lifted Leslie's nightgown and peered intently at his genitals. Leslie felt like covering himself with his hands, but made himself hold still for the tipsy inspection. Mel leaned over and rubbed his face in his crotch, inhaling deeply. "God, you smell good," he mumbled. "Like walnuts somebody pissed on." Leslie felt the man's tongue wash the sensitive skin of his "labia." Mel's nose was buried deep in his crotch. His warm breath sent shivers up his spine. The tongue moved to the opening of the skin bag, licked around the rim, speared inside, reaming the moist internal surface. Leslie squirmed. His penis swelled, only to be engulfed by Mel's pulling mouth. "Oh, Mel," Leslie whispered, "Turn around so I can do it too." The man's head turned from side to side, no. In a moment Mel let go with a liquid kissing sound. "No, I'm gonna shaft you after. Right now, I want to suck your cock and drink your jism." He resumed his up-and-down massage. It was kind of like when Mel handcuffed him: Leslie had a feeling of being out of control. Mel was fascinated by his penis tonight; he seemed determined to lavish affection on it, and what Leslie wanted didn't count. He gave himself up to the luxury of being sucked off without having to do anything in return, basking in the erotic attention of his lover's mouth. It was not long before an exquisite agony seized his genitals. His cock pulsed rapidly, emitting jets of sperm, their velocity increased by the suction. It was ecstasy. He heard Mel swallow repeatedly. The sound increased his rapture. When his ejaculation was over Leslie's whole body relaxed back against the mattress--he hadn't known how tense he had been--and he wallowed in the delicious sensation of drained testicles, panting. He was full of love and joy. Mel climbed over him, spread his legs, and without preliminaries shoved his prick up Leslie's ass. Leslie winced and raised his knees, tilting his hips to ease the penetration. He was glad he had douched and lubricated himself before going to bed. Mel stabbed in and out without gentleness, absorbed in his own gratification. He was in a strange mood tonight. Teeth clenched, Leslie accommodated him, matching his rhythm as best he could, though he always seemed half a stroke behind, and made blissful moaning sounds to let Mel know how much he loved it. His asshole was burning from the friction of Mel's violent passion by the time he felt the warm liquid spurts of his lover's semen fulfilling him. Mel slumped on him. Leslie sensed a couple of drops of milk squeeze from his compressed tits. He put his arms sweetly around Mel's neck, savoring the diminishing meat in his ass, deliberately clamping it with his sphincter to squeeze out any remaining sperm. At times like this he regretted not being wholly a woman; it would be nice to be made pregnant by Mel's seed. Mel groaned and rolled off onto his back. "Jeez, that was terrific," he said. "You're great. I love you." He said it with a wondering tone. "I love you too. I love you to make love to me. I waited so long for you to come home and do it to me. Sometimes it seems like that's all I think about. Oh, Mel, I never want to go home." Mel stared at him. He took his face in both hands and kissed him gently, thoroughly, deeply. Leslie was breathless when Mel broke the kiss. Mel sat up cross-legged, cock hanging to the mattress, a final seep of ejaculate staining the sheet, balls reposing heavily below it. "Come on, sit up. We have to talk." His intoxication seemed to have diminished. Leslie obeyed, crossing his own legs. Mel looked at the nightgown covering him, lifted it to expose his penis and "lips," and patted them. He took Leslie's hands in his own. "I got a lot to tell you. But first I want to ask you a question. You don't have to answer now, you can think about it. Here's the question. Leslie, will you marry me?" Leslie's heart stopped. "Wh-what?" "Will you marry me?" Leslie's lips moved wordlessly. Mel said, "I know this is sudden, but your mother said she had your birth records changed to show that you were a girl. It's all on file. So if we wanted to get married it would be no problem." "But ... my mother." "She'll give us her blessing. It was her idea. She said she would prefer it to us just living together. That is, if we were willing to make the commitment. I am, but I don't know about you." "Mom said that? Married?" "It surprised me too." "But--" Marriage! Not just being Mel's mistress. It was his mother's idea. He had a sudden vision of himself in a wedding gown saying, "I do." He would be able to go home with Mel and everybody would know they were sleeping together, but it would be all right, they'd be *married.* He'd be this man's *wife.* He'd have to do everything he was told, but instead of handcuffs it would be a ring. They'd live together like a respectable married couple, and no one would know about him. Tears flooded his eyes and made the room shimmer. His mother had suggested it herself. That made it perfect. Mel said, "Wait a minute before you answer, because I have something to tell you that might change your mind." Mel looked down. "I don't know how to say this. First of all, remember I told you I was gay? Well, it turns out I'm not." Mel's face was red. He went on, "I found out this afternoon. That's why I was so late getting here--I had to think things over. I mean, it wouldn't be fair to you if I turned out to be straight-arrow. It really had me going for a while. Then I began to figure things out. If I still liked to do it with you, then maybe I was like one of those guys I told you about, you know, half and half." His words came haltingly. "And maybe you wouldn't mind. Because, I finally figured it out, it ain't who you can do it with, it's who you love. And that's you." "How did you find out?" "Yeah, well, that's something else I have to tell you about. See, your mother asked me if I was gay, and I said yes, and she said how do I know if I was cherry when I met you. Then, I don't know how it happened, Leslie, but we ended up in the sack together, and I wasn't turned off. I could do it. It knocked me for a loop. I wasn't going to tell you, but then I thought if I was going to propose I ought to start out being honest." "You, you made love to my mother?" Sheepishly, "Yeah." "You fucked my *mom!"* Mel shrugged. Leslie gave himself time to assimilate the news. He was not as shocked as he thought he should be. He had known ever since he was thirteen that his mother was an unconventional person, and the gratitude he felt for her suggestion that they get married blunted the outrage he might have felt. Instead, he had a sneaky little feeling of titillation when he pictured his mother and Mel together. He wished he could have been there to see it. "Did you like it?" "I gotta tell you the truth. Yeah." "A lot?" "Yeah." Mel hesitated as if trying to make up his mind to go on. "I liked it so much that's why I was worried. It wasn't until we made love just now that I was sure I loved you as much as ever. More." "What did you do?" "With her? Oh, you know, made love to her." "No, use the right word. You fucked her. You fucked my mom. Tell me. Where was it? Did you both have your clothes off?" A shamefaced grin flickered on Mel's lips. "I feel like I was in Interrogation down at the station house. It was in that room behind the bookshelf. Yeah, we took our clothes off and did it on that sofa that only has pillows for a back." "The day bed. Was she on top, or were you?" Leslie remembered that his mother had always wanted to take the man's role when she was with him. "I was." He sounded surprised. "So what did you do? Did you put your thing in her? Did she like it, or was she just testing to see if you were gay?" "Yeah, she liked it, I guess. She came. And after it was over she was all kind of soft and mushy-talking with me. Affectionate, you know?" Leslie observed a certain fattening of Mel's organ, so soon after ejaculating. "Did you go down on her like you did with me?" "No!" "Would you like to?" Mel's prick was beginning to stand up. The very tip was peeking through the foreskin. "I don't know, I never did it." "It's nice." "How would you know? You never went down on a woman." "Yes I did. Mel, you've been so honest with me. Remember when I said I never did it before except for--that time in the park? I lied. Maybe not lied exactly. I never did it the way we do it. But when I was young I used to do it with my mom until she took up with Mrs. Argentina. Now you know *my* secret. I liked it too, so I'm not all gay either. In fact, sometimes I wish ..." "Yeah? Your own mother did it with you? She's a pistol, ain't she? Are you okay about it? I mean, if you were just a little kid it wasn't like it was your fault. Some people would say it was child abuse. I heard it could do a lot of psychological damage." The cock was rigid and vibrating. "No, I already told you I liked it. It was wonderful for a young boy just barely in puberty. Mel? I don't care if you fucked my mother. If you still want me, I'll marry you any time you say. And I promise I'll love you forever and I'll try to be the very best wife you ever had. If you ever want to, well, want to go with a woman sometimes, I'll understand. Even if it's my mom." Mel threw his arms around him and kissed him soundly. "Stay right there. I got something while I was thinking things over." Prick bobbing stiffly, he returned with a small square black box and put it in Leslie's hands. Leslie's heart was in his throat. He opened the box to see the multi-hued sparkle of a diamond. Mel said, "I hope it fits. I took one of your rings down to the shop for the size." By comparison with Mrs. Chard's jewelry, the diamond was tiny, but it was from Mel and it was an engagement ring, that was all that counted. It was more precious to him than anything he had. "Oh, Mel, it's beautiful! You shouldn't have. You can't afford this." He slipped it on his third finger. "It's just perfect. Now I'm yours. I'll always be yours. Oh, darn, I'm crying again." Mel put his arms around him and held him until he sniffled happily, "Well, what are you waiting for? What do husbands do with their wives?" He squealed when Mel pushed him back and unceremoniously entered him again. As the whole length of Mel's tool was shoved up him Leslie gave a groan of satisfaction and whispered, "If you want to pretend I'm my mom, it's okay." Mrs. Chard stood in the drawing room after breakfast, gazing absently at one of the portraits of her and Mrs. Argentina. She thought she had made the right decision, but was troubled by doubts. It was right, wasn't it? Now that she had come to terms with Leslie's situation, with the help and understanding of Helen, it was surprising she had never considered it before in a practical way. Of course Leslie would seek to be with a man. What choice did he have? That business with Alice had been a happy accident--the girl had been very young, her sense of propriety imperfectly formed, and she had an inclination toward lesbianism which Leslie's figure satisfied. Mrs. Chard had briefly considered locating the girl to explain the situation and perhaps arrange a marriage between them. But a second thought showed that to be unrealistic. So long as Leslie was in dresses they would just be two girls living together. Besides, she knew now it was possible for two males to be happily married. Jack and Suzanne had pioneered the way. Leslie hadn't come home at all last night, and hadn't phoned. She wasn't worried about him; she knew where he was. She wondered about it, however. If Melvin had gone straight to his apartment after leaving her he would have been there by six; and if all had gone well, she would have heard from Leslie soon afterward. So many things could have gone wrong. What had happened between Melvin and her had been a shock to the poor man. He had left the mansion deeply disturbed. He might have decided that since he was not gay, at least not entirely, he would prefer a more normal life with a woman instead of a boy masquerading as one. There would be no secrecy, no need to hide anything, no fear that some day his reputation might be ruined by an accidental disclosure of Leslie's true gender. Or he might have told Leslie what had gone on between him and her. Leslie could have become upset and broken off with him. She hoped not. Her seduction of Melvin had seemed the right thing to do at the time. They did have to find out if he could respond to a woman. What she had not anticipated was the strength of her own reaction to having intercourse with him. She saw now why Leslie had fallen in love with Melvin. He was so handsome, so strong, so gentle. That was a dangerous area. She forced her mind away from it. If Leslie were angry about what had happened she could explain it, she was sure. But he had to be here for her to do that. Where was he? She picked up the telephone to call Melvin's apartment, hesitated, hung up. Her stomach lifted when she heard Leslie's clear voice in the entrance hall. He was saying a cheerful hello to Angie. He peeked in, saw her, and a moment later was in her arms. "Oh, Mom!" he cried. "I'm so happy, and I have you to thank for it. Thank you, thank you for being so understanding. Look!" He held up his left hand, manicured fingers splayed to show a small diamond ring. "I'm engaged." Mrs. Chard's knees got weak and she had to sit down. "I'm glad for you. He's a lucky man." "It was all your idea, wasn't it? Oh, Mom, you're wonderful. He's wonderful. Everything's wonderful!" Leslie pirouetted. The short skirt flew out to reveal he was naked under it. "Leslie! Cover yourself. Is that the way a young lady dresses on the street? You should be ashamed." "Oops." He straightened his dress. "Mel likes it." "Hmp. I suppose if Melvin told you to take off your clothes in the middle of Maple Avenue you'd do it." "Probably. Wouldn't you?" "Leslie." "He told me what happened." Mrs. Chard's face heated. She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "It was for your own good. He had to know, one way or the other." "And you were the unwilling sacrifice." "Leslie, what's got into you?" "Something nice." He rubbed his behind suggestively. It shocked her. Her expression must have told him so. "Oh, Mom, I'm so happy, I can't help teasing. I love you." "You're not angry with me?" "Of course not. I feel closer than ever to you." He sat down next to her. "Up to now you've just been my mom, someone I had to obey like a law or something, like an external force. But now I see you as another human being, one I love. You really are human, aren't you?" "Leslie, what a strange thing to say. Of course I'm human." "And you have loves and weaknesses and things you're ashamed of like all of us." "Of course." "I never knew that. I want to be friends with you. I was thinking about it on the way over here. Can we talk to each other like friends now that I'm going to be a grown-up married woman?" Mrs. Chard's heart melted. "Of course, darling. I want that too." "And we can tease each other, and come to each other when we're in trouble? Oh, Mom, this is such a big step. Marriage. I just know I'm going to need advice. It's not your run-of-the-mill marriage, you know. I'm kind of scared." Mrs. Chard put her arms around him. "Leslie, my dear." "Mom? Mel liked it. With you, I mean." Mrs. Chard took a second to say, "But everything's all right between you?" "Oh, yes. Wonderful. He said he finally figured out the main thing was who you loved, and that was me. But I think he's half in love with you, too. When I asked him about it I could see just remembering it made him excited. Did you like it too?" Mrs. Chard wasn't used to personal questions from her son, but she managed to say simply, "Yes." "Tell me. Doesn't he have a nice thing? Did you like it when he put it in you?" "Stop teasing." "I'm not! I'm just so proud of him, and I love you both, and I'm curious. Tell me how you felt. I'd tell you." Mrs. Chard could hardly believe she was having this conversation with her child. She blushed and said, "It was perfectly marvelous. He was so big, but so tender he didn't hurt me at all. He made me climax over and over," she admitted shyly. "I know. He's like that. Mom, I'm glad you liked it, because I'm kind of worried. About, you know, keeping him satisfied. Even I think about girls every so often, imagine what it'll be like for Mel. I was thinking, if you were willing, I mean if you wanted to, if he gets to feeling, well, like he needed some, uh, variety ..." Mrs. Chard waited, but he didn't finish the sentence. "You want me to ... go to bed with Melvin?" Shades of Jack and Suzanne and Helen! It was the same story over again. Mrs. Chard felt warmth in the region below her navel. It worked for Helen, why couldn't it work for her? "If you wanted," Leslie said shyly. "We'll see, dear." "Oh, Mom, you're the best." Leslie hugged her. "I've got to run. I want to show Joan my ring. Oh, I'm so happy!" Mrs. Chard smiled, anticipation fluttering in her stomach. She wondered how soon Melvin might want some "variety." Maybe they'd have him over for dinner some quiet night soon. Both of them. After all, she and Leslie had no secrets from each other. She called after him, "Come back before going anywhere else. We have to discuss wedding plans. And put on some underwear!" Mrs. Chard picked up the phone and dialed Helen. Their relationship had deepened since that first afternoon; she had no hesitation in asking the question on her mind. ". . . so Leslie thinks she might need advice. Your Suzanne has been through it all. Do you think I could tell Leslie about her so they could talk frankly?" There was a silence. Helen's voice said, "Oh, my. No, don't. Suzie would never forgive me, even if I explained that you had found out on your own. But let me do this. I'll tell Suzie about Leslie, and let her make up her own mind. She's a good-hearted child. I feel sure she'll tell Leslie herself." "That would be even better, if she will. Thanks, darling." Mrs. Chard made her voice voluptuous. "Are you busy today? All this talk about Leslie and Melvin has got me in a state." An earthy heat throbbed in Helen's laughter. "I'll go over to explain to Suzie and come right there. Pun intended." Chapter 18 Suzie sat down. "That's impossible. Someone's kidding you." His mother repeated, "Joan is a boy. So is Leslie. Not only that, Leslie's going to be married." He had been friends with Joan for almost three years. He would have known. Or would he? Joanie didn't know about him, after all. He thought about Michael, whom he