Looking for Gentry part 5
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Looking For Gentry (part 7 - Conclusion) free porn video
I kissed him when I woke; he stirred, but did not wake up. I lay there by
the warmth of him, watching the sky lighten, waiting for the new day.
As daylight began to fill the window, the door creaked open just a little.
Gentry, Bobbie, peered in around the edge: I saw eyes dart from the curls
splayed across my pillow, to me still in my gown, his bare chest. I
slipped out from underneath a heavy arm and tiptoed out.
Coffee burbled in the pot, birds chirped outside the window. A breeze from
up the Bay had pushed the clouds to sea, the sky a clear and lightening
blue, the dune a swash of palest brown. Behind me, Gentry tidied up sheets
and blankets from the sofa, nudged my elbow, handed me a cup of coffee. We
sat down, side by side, on the kitchen stools.
"I won't ask," she said. "Girlfriends don't really need to. But now you
know."
She stroked my shoulder gently, the loose sleeve of her satin robe brushed
my arm. We waited there together, listening to the birds, unsure of what
our next step was going to be. Then, she slowly slid her hand from from my
shoulder, down my arm and to my wrist and in the same, slow fluid gesture,
brought my hand to rest between her breasts. I felt her heart beat, a warm
soft roundness. A finger grazed the slight roughness of her nipple, as she
turned to me, and let me cup her gently as she bent to kiss me.
"You know," she said. "I'm going to have to go soon." She nodded at the
door, I saw two suitcases there. "I've got a little ways to go still. The
hormones do a lot, but ..."
She took my hand and guided me slowly around her breasts.
"A lot," I murmured.
"I've come a long way, and thought I'd have a chance to rest and catch my
breath a bit before I move along. But then you followed me."
Behind the bedroom door, the bed creaked; we heard him sigh. Then the low
rumble as he slipped back into sleep.
Our eyes met. She flashed a wicked grin.
"I don't think most men could have found me, followed me. It's like
there's something inside you that led you here. Something that made you
know which path I picked. And that you followed."
"It wasn't all that hard," I said. "Not once I saw the one paper you had
fudged. You change a number, you get younger. I figure, all you need to do
is add a letter to a name, change another letter in the right box."
Gentry smiled.
"And who would have thought of that, unless, maybe, they'd thought of
doing it themselves," she said. "I know you did. And I know when you did.
You saw how I made myself younger, Chet showed you that. But then you saw
what he could not, how just that one little letter a, one checkmark in a
different box, could make another change. Maybe how an old marriage
license, a busy day for the clerks at DMV, gets a new last name. So last
night, after I took you home, you lay there in the bath, you thought about
the girl that you created, not too different, really, from yourself. A
little town, a dead-end job. A yearning for adventure. You'd already
followed me that far. Now you're being followed. He's stuck. Chet. He
knows you're looking. He likes the way you look, on top of that. But he's
not you, not like you. He's not after you the way you followed me. That's
what's scaring me. I know the guys he's working for. That's why I need to
go."
She leaned and put her lips to mine and breathed:
"Will you follow me?"
She stood, took my hand, and led me to the couch.
"Someplace warm, I think." She sat me down, slid onto my lap. "It'd be
nice to share it with a friend. And I'm your friend, you know."
"Are you?"
"Of course," she said. "Who else would see you shiver in dark, and know
whose coat you needed to keep you warm. Who else would see the skin you
yearned to shed, would recognize, way down inside, who needed to be
freed?"
Her hand lay just above my bra, I felt her fingers glide lower, followed
with my eyes. In the pure, cool light of morning, I saw the silk draping
my body, surprised to think how long I'd worn that silk and lace, to think
how I had stepped out into the night, what I had wrapped myself into,
disguise that wasn't a disguise at all, not any more. I looked down at
myself, thought of what I had done, the rules I'd crumbled into dust,
oblivious, uncaring. And felt shaken now, remembering.
"I guess," I nodded at the bedroom door. "You'll tell me that it takes a
friend ..."
"You followed me so far, already. I thought you'd like to follow me there.
No. There's not many friends who would do that for you. But I'm the friend
you knows you for what you are."
"For what I am?" I felt my voice begin to rise. "And you know that? You
know it so much better than I do?"
She smiled.
"Maybe I do," she said. "I know you followed me this far. I didn't force
you anywhere, I just pointed to the way to go."
She laid her hand a second on my cheek, and gently pushed so that I saw
the bedroom door.
"I know you liked it. Just as I did, when it was my time to try. Just as I
do now. Just as I liked every step that led me there, and that you
followed, following me. You think I don't know you? Let's put me to the
test."
She stood and yanked me to my feet. She pushed her face to mine, and
kissed, one held held us tight together, the other tugged off my wig. She
yanked again, a strap tugged hard, silk ripped, fell to the floor. Reached
behind me, unclasped my bra. I stood before her naked.
"I want for you to follow me," she said. "I'm sorry that that last step
before you got here wasn't one we could have taken together. There are
some things I can't do any more, not with the hormones. Still, girlfriends
can make each other happy. And if we need something more, from time to
time, there's always an arrangement we can make."
She glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom door, then back at me.
She spread her hands, palms towards me, so her robe fell open. I watched
her breasts follow the motion of her arms.
"I can't be your man for you," she said. "But you could still be mine. If
you don't want to follow quite as far as I have gone."
Then she knelt, reached between my legs, and gently cupped her hand around
me. Slowly I rose. Smaller than the men I'd taken, paler, a washed out
mauve, not quite engorged, no urgent pulse inside.
She bent her face, and brushed her red lips there. My hand along her
cheek, not holding, not pushing. I felt empty, as much as anything. It
almost hurt as she kept trying. All I felt was an aching.
Finally, she rocked back her heels, sighed, and stood.
"We've got to go," she said. "I've got a flight, leaves at 11. There are
still seats, if you want to come. Miami, for a day or two, get your papers
straight."
Behind me, I heard her slide a closet door, a rattling of hangers,
slithering of silk.
"Jeans and a shirt would be best for you," she said. "At least for now."
I heard a soft thud, as she tossed them on the sofa.
"That's about as butch as I can do right now, they should be fine," she
said. "We'll do some shopping in Miami. What do you think of this?"
I turned. She held a neat tan-colored suit to her chest, a blazer and a
skirt that almost reached her knees.
"I'll be Ms. Business," she said. "There's stuff I need to see to when we
get there. Then, what do you say: Caymans? Belize? Palm trees by the
beach, turquoise water: How's that sound to you?"
I watched her step into her skirt, wriggle into a bra.
"It beats Norfolk all to hell," she said. "Beats chasing deadbeats in
Virginia, staking out a guy on workers' comp, make sure he'd not really
playing golf. I know what you've got now, what you'd get if you turned me
in, if you knew who to turn me into, if you could tell yourself that doing
that is not just an easy way to get me dead."
"I won't do that," I said.
"Come on then, sweetie, let's get going. We haven't got all day." She
stepped into the bathroom, peered into the mirror.
Behind me, from behind the bedroom door, a grunt, a creak. The sound of
covers plopping down to the floor.
I grabbed my bra, the little nightgown, the robe that she had dropped onto
the sofa.
"Babe?" A low whisper from behind the bedroom door.
It took me just a moment to wrap myself again in silk and lace. I pushed
the bedroom door open, stepped inside.
Behind, I heard the clack of heels, a scrape of suitcases dragged across
the floor.
The heavy slamming of an outside door.
****
We played house most of morning.
When he awoke, yawning, and finally stumbled out from the bedroom in his
boxers, I fetched him coffee, sat across the kitchen table to watch him
sip. He was hungry, so I cooked for him. Just eggs, I really don't know
how to cook. He laughed at all the burnt bits, said he'd show me how
someday, but cleared his plate. While he sat with the Sunday paper, I
fussed about the place, straightening things up. There wasn't really much
to do.
But it was comforting, somehow. A little thing here, little one there, a
game with stakes of smiles for the smell of melting butter in pan, thanks
for loading his clothes into the washer. Smaller stakes than what I had
been playing for, not passion, transformation. Just the smile of the man
who I could feel watching the cloth of my pink skirt tighten across my
rear when I bent to pick up a stray sock from the floor.
Back to the bedroom, a last check, another sock. Down to pick it up,
straighten again.
And he's behind me. His arm circles my waist, his lips are on my neck.
He's hard, I feel him stiff against my butt.
A choice. I choose. I turn, and hold his cock, feel him pulse, step
closer, place the lightest kiss I can on his mouth, then back off the
smallest bit, since that's the way I think this dance should go.
The bed is just a step or two behind me. Still holding him, one step back.
He steps. I tilt my face towards his, he lowers his to mine. Lips touch,
but I want more and touch my tongue to his. Now he is kissing back, he
fills my mouth. We pause for breath. Fingers still circled around his
shaft, another backwards step. He follows still.
I feel the mattress edge behind my knees, and slowly sit, slowly fall
backwards. And since I hold him still, he follows, his lips still on mine,
tongue still in my mouth.
I need to feel him lie heavy on my chest. I need to feel his hips between
my things. I need to feel him...
He's pushed my skirt out of his way, his weight pushes me deep into the
soft piled-up covers of the bed. My legs spread wide, my fingers tighten
on his cock, show him the way.
And then the burn, the length of him. He needs, I need, to travel faster,
harder this time round.
He needs to lead this dance, the molten metal of him that he needs to pour
in me, sets him ablaze. Somehow, I know, and urge him on, deeper and
harder, faster. He is burning hot where we touch, I am on fire. This time,
no slow tide, flooding, ebbing, to float us past the bar, to get us to our
tranquil harbor. This time, the storm. The urgent energy.
Trapped by his weight, belly to belly, my body wants to flail, to heave,
to roll. But there is no space beneath him for the frenzied dance I want
to dance, what happens, happens deep insde. Inside I throb. Inside, I
burn, I melt, I flow. Like a rushing stream roiled by salmon's springtime
run, moving even faster than I'm wont, I feel his need rising into me, my
own opening wide to welcome.
He's deep in me, I think when he plunges his deepest that he has touched
me miles inside, past belly, scraping past spine, perhaps to the touch
deepest, heavy drumbeat that is our very life.
Frenzied as if I am in heat, and he's just driven off the leader of the
pride, he's pumping, I'm pumping. We're almost there.
And there, there is the flood convulsing into me. His flood. Our storm.
Our calm now.
We lay together in the morning light, and try to catch our breath. Content
to simply lie and rest.
And time to do not much of anything was what I needed. Why I was happy to
play house when he woke up. Why, now that we'd played at something
different, I needed to just lie still and think. He did, too. We both knew
it was no game that we were playing.
I'd toyed with something deep and basic, so had Bobbie. Her play had tied
me to a mess she'd made, back at the bank, tied me in a way I wasn't sure
yet I could wriggle out of. Our play had tied me to this man.
I'd crossed a line, but so had he.
In the morning, things always look different than when you slip off,
sated, happy into sleep. At night, the shadows make you focus on the
light. Daylight lets you make out the lines. You can't say you didn't
know, when you have crossed one.
But we pretended that we hadn't, for a bit. When he said he needed time to
think, alone, I let him have it, however much I feared what he would say
when he came back. If he came back.
I needed time, too, for thinking. But for all I needed to think about him
and me, I knew I had to wait for him, first. And in the meanwhile, I had a
case I had to finish somehow, a case I feared could finish me.
It scared me, thinking of the risks I ran with Chet, whoever he was,
whatever his employer wanted -- Gentry, the money that he took, the leads
he could give to some bigger crooks. If he found Gentry, and if he the
law, or even if merely had a buddy in the FBI to whom he owed a favor, I'd
end up looking a lot like an accomplice.
In a dress I should not be wearing. Which in a way was even worse. For if
at times I liked playing a woman, I wasn't one. I knew that, knew that I
needed someone else to play along, knew that, however silly it might seem,
the clothes let me become what I needed to become, that being one of just
two men in bed was not at all what I wanted. I had awakened someone new
inside, who knew what she wanted, who she wanted. And if it turned out
there'd be no Jim for me, I'd just be a guy in a dress. Pathetic.
Something just to laugh at.
If Chet was not the law? I didn't think then the men he worked for would
have a lot of patience waiting for their money. If they thought I could
help, and wouldn't, I'd be meat.
Were I even cold enough to turn Bobbie in, and I knew that I wasn't, I'd
only end up in a mess I couldn't handle. Or dead.
I'd found her, but could Chet? I'd had an insight I thought that he would
not, rooted in a temptation I hadn't been aware of in myself, but,
thinking of Chet, so quickly spent and snoring on that hotel bed, was sure
that he had never felt. The key might be to see how well Gentry had made
an escape from Norfolk. I called the airlines, said I was worried that my
sister may have missed her flight. I guessed she wasn't using Gentry's
name, but thought perhaps she'd used the marriage license, fudged of
course, to get some ID; I figured she might be Roberta Smith, maybe
Holland. She had the money for something more elaborate, of course, but
still, it was worth a try. None of the Florida flights had her listed, no
Gentry, either. There was an R. Smith on the noon flight to Atlanta. I
couldn't get a lead from there. Even to Florida, there were just way too
many flights. But there was a Richard Gentry on the commuter down to
Raleigh-Durham, a little one, where they don't fuss too much if you don't
have bags to check, don't always keep the best lists of who boards the
plane. It was 50-50, I guessed, if they'd recall a week from now whether
or not a Richard Gentry made it to that flight. It was about as good a
false trail as you could lay from a little airport like Norfolk.
With luck, that'd say to Chet that Gentry had skipped town, and reached an
airport with so many flights, that he'd tie himself up for days, most
likely have to wait for his quarry to break cover once again.
The only other thing that might lead back to me would be if he checked in
with Mrs. Gentry. But she'd hired a guy from a big agency, a guy I didn't
want him to connect with the me sitting here, on Bobbie's sofa, wearing a
miniskirt and flowery blouse. Freddie the lawyer, his secretary and the
accident that never happened would be a blind alley for him, but I didn't
think I could afford to have him meet the other me. Maybe a message,
saying a colleague, she had run into a guy also looking for Gentry. Maybe
that would work. Maybe. Unless Chet decided he needed to talk to the
agency guy.
It looked as if I'd have to make a break.
And if I ran, how would I run? And where?
I felt about as alone as I could feel.
I was huddled, scared, there on the sofa, when Jim came back. He put an
arm around me, held me. We sat like that a while, neither of us knowing
what to say.
He was, he said at last, always a man's man. That's the way he'd always
felt, the way he had been raised. The pick-ups at bar, that was just
money. It was tough to be sailor, tough to make money stretch. Lots of
sailors knew that way of making a few bucks more. It wasn't gay to let a
guy pay you to suck you off. Nor even, if you didn't think about it much,
to be the top once in a while, a fast trot with a guy bent over before
you; close your eyes, bang away fast enough, grab the money and go. Who's
going to know?
We had done something, somethings, different. We'd made our love together,
he to me, me to him. We'd made it slow, and long, and more than once. We'd
made it face to face.
True, I had worn what women wear. But we had touched, he'd felt me on his
belly, seen me in the morning light when we had rolled apart. He was a guy
who wanted women. Women, dammit. Not another guy.
He needed something from me. I touched his face, whispered:
"So I look like a guy to you?"
He shook his head.
"And you think I'm a guy when I'm with you?" I said. "Have I been like a
guy with you? Do you know guys who make you breakfast, wash your clothes?"
I kissed his cheek, breathed in his ear:
"Who dress like I do?"
And now my lips touched his eyes, his cheeks, and, poised above his mouth,
whispered:
"Who are what I have been for you?"
I bent to his lips, his mouth opened, his arms wrapped round to pull me
closer.
"No," he said, when we at last came up for air. "It took a while, I had to
walk and think it out. I must've walked for miles, up and down the beach."
"And was the answer on the beach?" I finally dared to ask.
He looked past me, out the window, to the darkening sky.
"Come on," I said. "The sun is going down. Let's watch the sun set, lover
boy."
He glanced back at me, a question in his eyes.
"Come on," I said. "The answer's on the beach. Let's find out what it is."
We walked all the way to the farthest reach of the Spit, the blue water of
the Hampton Roads whipped to whitecaps by the breeze, the Chesapeake
stretching northwards, sailboats dancing on the waves, a red-hulled
freighter slowly rolling by on its way to the Norfolk wharves. We saw the
sky turn steel blue and lavender, watched the sun flame orange, red.
Waited for the first star.
He spotted it. He wouldn't say what he had wished for.
But he took my hand, and held it, led me to a hollow in the dunes. I sat
in the soft sand, wrapped by arms around my knees, and waited.
"I've got a day or two, is all," he said. "My ship leaves for a month, six
wesks. I'd just as soon spend time with a pretty girl."
So that was it, I thought.
I was staring at the darkening sky, trying to lose myself, trying not to
think of what I'd tried to gain, but lost, until he said:
"Like you."
I unfolded, he knelt before me, leaned to kiss me, as we fell back to the
sand together.
"I'd like it if you were waiting when I get back," he said. "I'd like it
if you'd be my girl. I'll show you all the ropes. Can you wait for me?
Will you be OK?"
A surge of warmth, as if the seventh wave had broken the pattern, taken
you, unbraced for the shock, lifted you to the sky.
"Sure, I'll be OK," I said, somehow managing to keep my voice from
shaking. "Of course I'll wait."
He sat, looked at me hard.
"What about Chet?"
"You're not jealous?" I asked, afraid that what I'd found was just about
to slip away through my fingers. "Tell me you're not jealous of him."
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "I'm not jealous. And I may be just a sailor and a country
boy, but I'm not stupid either. I know he's hunting someone, I saw it in
his eyes that night, when he was stalking you. I know Bobbie was running
scared. I'm sure that's why she ran. I think he'll try to make you tell."
"Bobbie will be OK," I said. "She's gone somewhere, I'm not really sure
quite where, but somewhere far and safe. He's hunting someone else,
someone that she used to be. A guy named Richard Gentry, who's no longer
around. He'll never find her, never make the connection."
"You found out," he said.
"But I'm not going to tell," I said. "I found out because because of
something inside me that Gentry saw, right from the start. Something I'd
never seen. I found out because Gentry thought it'd be fun to show me the
path that he had taken, how he'd made his escape from being Gentry, how I
could make my own. I found out because of a game that Gentry played with
me."
I wriggled up a little closer.
"I think," I said. "I liked the game just fine. Most of it. This part.
There's still a lot to think about, a lot to sort out, see how I really
feel. But I'll be there, when your ship comes back."
I stroked his chest, smiled and tried to make my voice go low:
"About those ropes you said you'd show me..."
the end
Emely
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