A Woman In Full: Sharon's Jounry Continues; Part III - Haves And Have-Nots free porn video

A Woman in Full: Sharon's Journey Continues Part III - Haves and Have-Nots Wednesday was market day, the day the Farmer's Market took over Union Square. Sharon loved shopping there because it was a source for wonderful fresh fruits and vegetables. She knew most of the merchants by name, and they looked forward to seeing her each week. More often than not, Julie joined her, but today she was alone. As she crossed 17th Street, she saw a homeless man sitting up against the low fieldstone wall that surrounded Union Square Park. She knew him by sight and remembered that on Saturday night she had placed two bills into his tattered cup as they had come out of the Met. She judged him to be about Jocelyn's age. He had nice features, although life on the street had rendered them almost unnoticeable. And although he lived on the street, he wasn't caked in filth the way so many homeless men were. "An angel of mercy!" he called out to her. Her city instinct told her to move on quickly, and she picked up her pace as she turned toward the produce kiosks on the other side of the part. "Thanks for the Hamiltons!" he called after her. She was conscious of the breeze, created by her quickened pace, brushing long strands of hair away from her face. Soon, she was going from kiosk to kiosk, making her purchases, and the panic she had felt faded away. She began to wonder about the homeless man, what his life might have been like, what twists and turns it must have taken to arrive at this sad state. She paid for the last of her purchases and emerged once again into the chilly, sun-drenched day. She wished, momentarily, that Julie had been with her. Market days with Julie were always fun. She glanced in several different directions, thinking to herself that she was just checking herself to see if there were any other stops she ought to make. But she couldn't completely blot out the truth - that she was wary of the homeless man. Finally, she decided she should begin the walk home. "Hi." He was suddenly in front of her. His face was clean, his clothes old and badly worn, moderately dirty but otherwise not objectionable. There was a slight odor of the streets on him, but he clearly managed to keep himself free of the stench and filth usually associated with the homeless. "I wanted to say I was sorry," he said, his voice softer, calmer. She wanted to flee. But then her curiosity took over. "Why?" He smiled, almost indulgently. "I'm sorry I spooked you before." She began to walk and he turned to join her. "May I?" he asked before he fell in beside her. She nodded. "You didn't spook me." "Sure I did. You're a very nice lady. You've helped me out lots of times. I broke the rules." She looked at him questioningly. He chuckled. "Good people like you like to help people like me, but we make you nervous. You want to help, but not get ensnared. I always try to respect that, but this time I forgot." A strong gust came along and blew some of the strands of her long hair into her face. She shook her head slightly so that the breeze would push it behind her. "See," he went on, "the problem with this arrangement is that it makes it impossible for me to thank you properly when you break a rule." "What rule did I break?" "Well, the in-and-out method works best when the amounts given are nominal. But Saturday night, you dropped those Hamiltons on me and..." She asked him what he meant by "Hamiltons." "A ten-dollar bill. You know, the one with Alexander Hamilton on it. If we get bills at all, they're usually Washingtons. Once in a great while, maybe a Lincoln. "Well, you drop two Hamiltons on me, that kind of forces me to say thank you." She walked a short way in silence. "Do you always refer to money in terms of the presidents who are pictured on the bills?" she asked. "They're not all presidents. Hamilton wasn't a president, only Secretary of the Treasury. Well, he also wrote the Federalist Papers and founded the New York Post, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on your opinions. He's one of two non-presidents pictured on currency. Who's the other?" She paused to consider it. He answered his own question before she could. "Franklin. On the c-note. Andy Jackson is on the twenty and good ol' Ulysses 'Unconditional Surrender' Grant is on the fifty. And back when there used to be a two-dollar bill, you know who was on that? I'll give you a hint - it was another president." She didn't know. "Ol' Tom Jefferson. 'We pledge our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor'. Greatest political writer in American history. Nobody else comes close. "Anyway, one Hamiltons bought four meals for me since Saturday, two breaksfasts and two dinners. Still got the other one, tryin' to make it last. Hah! You thought I spent it on getting' high. Well, I might've, but meals have been few and far between lately, except for what I get on the breadline over by St. Francis. Bologna sandwiches. Gets mighty monotonous day in and day out, and it's only once a day, anyway. So, much as I miss gettin' high, eating came first. This time. Can't promise next time. Can't promise a fucking thing. 'Xcuse me, miss. Can't help my mouth, sometimes. Just wanted to say thanks. You're one fine lady. Real fine. Probably've been in deep shit - sorry - some time, know what it's like. Well. Good people are good because they remember when things weren't good, and they don't let it mess with them..." He stopped in his tracks. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Yeah. Thanks. I'm fine. Just got a little lightheaded there for a minute, you know? Dizzy, like. I just need..." He stopped again. "No," he said, more quietly this time. "No, you done plenty, and you'd be...no, please just forget I said anything. I wanted to thank you, and I did, and you're prob'ly getting' scared that I'm trying to follow you home, but I'm not, really...I'm not tryin' to creep you out, really..." "You're not," she said, stopping suddenly and putting her shopping bags down. She reached into one and pulled out a bunch of three bananas. "Here," she said, thrusting them into his hands. He tried to stammer a reply while he stuffed them as far into his jacket pockets as they would go. She then pulled out a loaf of French bread she had bought, broke it in half and gave him both halves. "What'd you break it in half for?" he asked. "One for each pocket." He laughed at that. Then he tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth. "Don't eat too much or too fast," she said. "It will make you sick." "That's right," he said, his full mouth muffling his words. "How'd you know that?" "I'm writing a book about a survivor of the Holocaust. I came across it in the research." They resumed their walk. "You're a smart lady," he said. "And you're a smart man." She decided to leave it at that. He didn't. "I was like you, once," he said. "Eager, ambitious, working my way up the ladder. I believed in all the right things." "I'm not very ambitious," she said. "I'm basically a housewife who likes to write and works part time." "Well, then, your husband is the ambitious one. Probably works for a corporation. Corporations run everything these days, and they'll be the ruin of everything. I worked for a corporation. Did whatever they wanted. Worked crazy hours. I was married - had a nice wife, not as nice as you, but nice enough. She wasn't a housewife - I couldn't afford that. Couldn't afford to live in the city, either, but had a nice little place out on the Island. Did what I was told. "And then one day...gone. Turned out what I'd been told to do was wrong. Wasn't my idea. Had to do it or get fired, you know? Kept meaning to get out, but thought I had it pretty good. When it came out what I'd done, boss was outraged, offended, shocked. How dare I! His idea? Don't be stupid. Pressed charges just for good measure. Dropped 'em soon enough, of course. But...too late. Wife was gone. House was gone. Couldn't get a job. Got depressed. Couldn't afford much, except maybe some crack. Made me forget how lousy I felt about everything else. Made me forget I wanted anything else. Just crack. Good ol' crack. "Aw shit, don't look at me like that! I dropped out, don't you see? The only way to fight back is not to give a shit, so I don't. Gets a little tough at times, but I manage. Stay outta shelters. There's sick people in those places. I'm not sick, not like that. Don't hear voices. Don't see things that ain't there. Don't beat hell outta someone just 'cause they sat in my place, which they had no way of knowing was mine. I get somethin' to eat at St. Francis, there's a nice priest over at St. Columba's, lets me sleep in his basement when it gets real cold. Lets me use the bathroom there to wash up once a week. Nice deal. I do odd jobs for him sometimes." They were in front of the house. "This is it, huh? Nice place. Real nice. My name's Bart." "Sharon." "Well, thank you for your kindness, Sharon. Pretty name. Pretty lady. Nice lady. I'll return it someday, if I ever can." "Don't worry about it." Julie was in the park in the afternoon with little Bryan. When Sharon joined her, she was deep in thought. "Did you hear?" she asked as Sharon sat next to her. "There was a woman raped and killed near the Flatiron Building the other night. Police aren't saying so, but the papers are saying he might be a serial killer." "I'm glad the company provides Jocelyn with a car and driver." "What about you?" Sharon patted her friend on the knee. "I always take a cab," she said. "Not always. You sometimes take the bus or subway." Sharon assured her that she hadn't taken the subway to work since she was staying with Rod and George, and that she never took it home. "Well...don't. They think this guy is the same one who's attacked eight other women in Manhattan." "Yes, but this is the first time he's been this far downtown, isn't it?" Julie smiled, glad that her friend was more aware than she let on. But the smile faded and she shook her head. "No. One attack was in Chelsea and the other was in TriBeCa. But the M.O. was the same." "Right, Sarge." Julie sighed loudly. She hated it when Sharon refused to be serious. Jocelyn was late. She had called at 4:30 to say she'd be home around 7:00, and then at 7:15 she'd called to say she'd be home by 8:30. That's when Sharon had decided not to wait to have dinner. It was now 9:35. She dialed Jocelyn's office phone. She picked it up on the second ring. "I'm sorry, darling," she said without preamble. "This took me longer than I expected. I'm leaving now, okay?" "Were you able to find...?" "The article?" Jocelyn finished, a little too cheerily. "No, darling, I wasn't. It must be in my papers at home after all. See you in a few. 'Bye." Sharon felt her face redden as the phone clicked in her ear, and she started to reach for the "redial" button. But then the tone of Jocelyn's voice registered. Someone must have been in the office with her, although she usually didn't call her "darling" except in private. A few minutes before ten, she heard the front door open, and a moment later the door to the apartment. "Please don't be angry with me," Jocelyn said as she lugged in her rolling briefcase behind her. It was bulging to the bursting point, and two large accordion files had been strapped on top. "What's all that?" Sharon asked. "That's what kept me all this time. I printed out most of my e-mails from my first year at the company, and numerous ones since then. I'll have to go over them more carefully in my free time, but it was a good exercise because I was able to scan most of them. I'm happy to say that nothing in here makes me look like anything other than a hardworking senior manager out to protect the shareholders." "Did you find anything related to the transaction you told Jack about?" "Some, yes. I'll look again tomorrow. This may take a few more days." "I thought you were so sure there was nothing to worry about," Sharon said with just a hint of a smile. "I am. But you're still worried, and I respect your instincts. So I am proceeding as if there were something to worry about. That's why I was so abrupt on the phone." Sharon peered at her questioningly. "I want you to keep calling me on my office phone, but only about mundane things - what time will I be home, how's my day, anything minor you may have to tell me. But for any other discussion, like this issue, or the company in general, or how things are going with your book, or any serious personal business, please call me on my cell." "Why?" Jocelyn's company's phone system had the ability to record all calls, both incoming and outgoing. There was no way to know if they were recording hers, but there was no sense in taking any chances. Likewise, the printing out of all e-mails was a precaution in case they suddenly decided to lock her out of the system, in addition to giving her the ability to check the correspondence trail. "Just in case," she finished with a smile before wrapping Sharon in a loving embrace. It was obvious to Sharon that Jocelyn would be up late reading through everything she had brought home, so shortly after Jocelyn had finished her dinner and Sharon had finished cleanup, she decided to take a long, hot bubble bath using her favorite lilac bath oil. As she washed herself, she couldn't help glancing down at her breasts as she washed with the soft, natural sponge. She giggled to herself as the nipples sprang immediately to life, and as she lavished attention on them, she felt the little nub between her legs stirring to life. After a few more moments, it was stiff and poking its narrow head out of the water. "Slut!" she whispered to herself with a smile. With the water cooling, she finally emerged from the tub, taking a final appreciative deep breath as the water drained away and took the lilac scent with it. The towel was huge and baby soft, and as she dried herself, she realized she was becoming more aroused. She brushed and blew dry her long hair, which now spilled down over her shoulders. The lilac scent seemed to have faded. She longed for it anew, so she took the duster and dabbed it in the powder before lightly dusting her body with it. She dabbed naughtily between her legs, across her bottom and between her breasts, teasing her nipples as she did so. She slipped back into the bedroom and, after a moment's reflection, took a short ivory peignoir with a sheer floor-length jacket and the tiniest g-string panties. As she pulled the panties on, she tugged at the delicate waistband and murmured her delight at the sensation of the tiny little strap tugging against her anus, and the sheer patch that barely constrained her erect little nub. The sheer nighty fell around her and felt like a kiss. Each time she moved, it teased her rock-hard nipples. The jacket tied just above her breasts with a little satin bow. As she sat at her vanity brushing her hair, she marveled at the ever intensifying sensations that each stroke produced. You're a slut, she thought to herself. Nothing but a randy little tramp who only wants her spouse, home after a long, hard day, to come in and fuck her. What if she's too tired? Or not in the mood? "Oh, my!" she heard Jocelyn whisper from close behind her. "I love that set. You know I do." "Mm-hmm," she mumbled, happily, closing her eyes. She felt Jocelyn's arms enfold her, her short, straight hair brush against her face. "Lilac!" Jocelyn whispered. She began nibbling at Sharon's left earlobe. When her tongue flicked out and licked Sharon's ear, they both giggled. Jocelyn tightened her embrace, and Sharon felt her breasts against her back. As Jocelyn moved slightly, she felt an erect nipple trace a line across her back and realized she was naked. Sharon stood up and faced her spouse, wrapping her arms around her. Jocelyn kissed her on her waiting lips, which immediately sprang apart so their tongues could play. A slight tug and the satin bow gave way, allowing the sheer jacket to slide to the floor. "Lilac!" Jocelyn gasped when their lips finally parted. She scooped Sharon up and carried her to the bed, deftly pulling the nighty up over her head as she did so. She lay down next to her and pulled her over, allowing her to kiss her anew. Jocelyn began licking and teasing Sharon's hard, sensitive nipples, and Sharon purred with delight. As Jocelyn embraced her, she could feel her nipples dancing on her trim tummy. She giggled. Jocelyn suddenly stopped, kneeling up erect on the bed. Sharon spread her legs apart in invitation, her aching nub now seeping pre-cum that left a dark mark on the sheer panty panel. Jocelyn gazed down adoringly. "I love you, my darling girl," Jocelyn whispered. "Fuck me!" Sharon whispered back, and she was happy to see lust blazing in Jocelyn's eyes as she knelt with one knee on each side of her, with her exposed, wet bush hovering just above the wet panty panel, so close that Sharon could feel her heat. "Fuck me, hard," Sharon pleaded. Jocelyn reached over to her night stand and opened the top drawer, extracting a long, slightly curved dildo with a penis head at each end. She slipped one end into her own wet slit, then moved close enough to Sharon so she could grab the exposed end in her mouth. Sharon pressed forward, pushing the sex toy deeper and deeper, as Jocelyn whimpered with each thrust. Whimpers turned to gasps, and Sharon realized that Jocelyn had already had her first climax. I was right, she thought. She was all keyed up. Sharon fell backwards, spreading her legs in a fresh invitation. Jocelyn slid up into position, the sex toy wobbling, teasing her, as she did. She reached down and lifted Sharon's legs up until they were pointing at the ceiling. Then she guided the exposed end of the dildo, its tip glistening with Sharon's saliva, into her tiny hole. Her nub was half erect, wet and waving invitingly, and as Jocelyn thrust into her anus with the toy, she reached down and began to tease her little nub. Sharon's whimpers were low moans, now. Jocelyn could feel the force of her thrusting her torso forward to meet the thrusts of the toy. Jocelyn felt herself spasm into another orgasm, and then another, all to the accompaniment of Sharon's soft music. She reached down and felt Sharon's little nub, now swimming in pre-cum, and she playfully smeared the head in time with her rocking motion. At the last moment, she pulled out and bent down to kiss her spouse deeply, wetly, on the mouth, so that their screams of ecstasy would be muffled. One of the things that Sharon had gotten used to was the fact that wild lovemaking must at some point give way to the mundane. So, after an appropriate amount of cuddling, they both got up, stripped the bed and what little was left of their lingerie, remade the bed and then bathed one another before getting into long, flowing nightgowns of satin and chiffon. When Jocelyn came into the bedroom, there were two snifters of brandy waiting. "I thought you might like a nightcap," Sharon said. Jocelyn kissed her. "You always know what I need." They got into bed and cuddled. But it wasn't until after Jocelyn turned out the lights that they began to talk. "I love you," Jocelyn said. "I love you, too." "I'm sorry I ever hurt you." Jocelyn could feel Sharon's penetrating gaze in the darkness. "Why bring that up now? It's long past. I forgave you. We're married. We love each other. Why darken that?" "Because I still feel guilty about it." There was a long silence. "I know you want a baby," Jocelyn said at last. "You've only ever mentioned it once, but I know how badly you want one. I see you with Julie's children, or with the other moms around here. I see the look on your face when the kids all call you Aunt Sharon." She felt Sharon's kiss on her arm. "I've never mentioned it again because I'm not the one who would be carrying it, bearing the risk, the responsibility. And I won't put you in that position." Another long silence. "Would you want to adopt?" Jocelyn asked. "I don't think I'd want to subject us to that kind of glaring inspection." Sharon lay quietly, waiting for Jocelyn to say something. "Jocelyn," she said at last, "I love you. Always. I would love to be a mom, but I can't be. I accept that. I try not to think about it. Please don't you, either." Darla Holloran's invitation to tea came as a surprise. True, she had said she wanted to become friends, but people always say that and rarely mean it. Sharon had some qualms about accepting, but did so in the end rather than make things difficult for Jocelyn. Deciding that overdressing was a safer bet than underdressing, she picked out her best spring dress, lovely splash of pastels in soft, flowing fabrics, added silk stockings, heels and the pearl choker with matching earrings, and she was all set. She took a cab up to the Holloran's place on East End Avenue. She gave her name to the doorman, who recognized it and immediately buzzed the Holloran's apartment. Then she was shown to the elevator, and as she got in, the doorman pushed the button for the top floor. "Apartment 4," he said, withdrawing as the doors closed. When they opened again, an apartment door toward the rear of the building was open and a butler was waiting. "Ms. Boyle?" he asked. She smiled and nodded and walked to the apartment. There were over a dozen women there of all ages - silver-haired matrons decked out in all their ostentatious glory, and younger women like Darla, all dressed to perfection, wearing too much expensive perfume and $1200 shoes. Sharon wondered if anyone could tell hers were from Nine West. Three maids moved about in a circular pattern with trays of little sandwiches and other refreshments, while a male servant made the rounds with glasses of wine. "Do you have any tea?" Sharon asked. The servant nodded gravely. "Earl Gray, Afternoon, Chai or Lapsang Souchong?" he asked. "Afternoon, please," she replied, suppressing the temptation to ask for Lipton. She accepted a cup in very fine china. "Sharon, dear!" Darla gushed as she came over. She was holding a glass of white wine that was almost empty. As the servant with the wine tray passed by, she deposited the glass on his tray and replaced it with a full one, all in one smooth motion. "I'm so glad you could make it. Please make yourself at home. Oh, I see you already have some tea." "I think I'm the only one drinking it," Sharon said with a smile. Darla's in return was dazzling. "I need something a little stronger, myself, for these things," she said, keeping her voice low. "I mean, I love doing them, but it can be a bit much at times. "When I first started, back when Brad first made CEO, I only offered tea. Then, one veteran asked me, 'I wonder if I couldn't trouble you for something a little stronger, my dear.' I offered her wine, but she really wanted vodka." Sharon suppressed a chuckle. "Veteran?" "Yes. At being a prominent businessman's wife. That's what these ladies all are. Their husbands are all CEOs, or senior partners in the big law firms or accounting firms. Most have been in for the long haul." She took a long sip from the wine glass. A blonde woman who appeared to be in her early fifties approached. She wore a simple sheath dress of pale mauve with a delicate lace collar. And while many of the women there wore low or moderate heels, this woman wore trim pumps with pointed toes and high spike heels. As she came closer, Sharon could see she was perfectly coiffed and manicured. One almost didn't see the lines around the eyes or the wrinkles at the neck. "Justine, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Sharon." They exchanged pleasantries. "Sharon is married to Bradley's CFO," Darla said. Justine's eyebrows arched slightly. "Well, aren't we the plucky little thing!" she said softly, her hand gently touching Sharon's arm. The smile was genuine. "Keep your ears open, honey, and you can learn a whole lot." "I can see that." "My husband is Randall Platt, the senior partner at Holtby, Higgins and Platt. They've done quite a lot of work for the company - he and Bradley are such friends." Sharon smiled but couldn't think of anything to say. "You look lovely, Justine," Darla said. "Well preserved might be a better way of putting it." Sharon suppressed the laugh but not the smile. She bit her lip to get it off. "Oh, you don't have to be polite with me, hon. Randall doesn't know the half of what I do to keep myself from looking like an old cow. It's not just the wrinkles and the gray - though they're bad enough. I stay very active and fit, and I make sure I have more stamina than he does in bed." "So he doesn't cheat?" Darla asked. "Oh, he cheats all right. Most of them do, just as a matter of male pride. Then again, most of us wives do, too, I imagine. Keeps us fresh. And then when we can still wear them out in bed, they realize that scoring a trophy wife just isn't worth it." Darla looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Darla likes to think she's above all that. Or rather that Bradley is. And he is rather taken with her, and why not? Sweet and sexy, innocent and hot - that's what our men seem to like most." She finished with a wink and another playful squeeze of Sharon's arm. Then she turned back to Darla, who had by now drained her wine glass. "Easy, sweetie. The more of that, the less use you are to him." Darla laughed, waved and excused herself. Justine sighed. "I almost feel sorry for her. She still thinks that all she has to do is be the blushing schoolgirl, pretending not to be thrilled that her man is taking down her pants. She doesn't realize how hard and mean it all can get." "I'm sorry?" Sharon asked. Justine laughed and waved the moment away. "Oh, don't mind me. I've got to go, anyway. It's been lovely meeting you, Sharon, and I do hope I see you again." "I'd like that." She left, and Sharon watched Darla moving about the apartment, flitting from group to group, asking if anyone needed anything and then leaving it to the servants to provide it. She smiled to the handful of women who acknowledged her existence, and finally was drawn to the window that gave a panoramic view of the East River. "Is that New Jersey?" Sharon turned to see a woman of about seventy, who had clearly had more wine than was good for her, peering out the window. "No. That's Roosevelt Island in the middle of the river and then Queens and Long Island just beyond." The older woman peered out. "Are you sure that's not New Jersey?" "Positive," Sharon said, stifling a smile. "Sharon would know," said Darla, coming up from behind. "She's a Queens girl from way back." She moved on immediately, never pausing more than a moment in her continuous circuit through the luxurious apartment. Sharon stayed long enough to finish a second cup of tea. When she told Darla she had to go, they exchanged air kisses and Darla told her how delighted she was that Sharon had come. "Although," she told Jocelyn that night, "I really don't know why." "Well, at least you met Justine Platt. I've heard that more than one CEO kept HH&P on retainer in the hope of sleeping with her. She has the reputation of being even smarter than she seems." "Well, I certainly didn't add anything to the event, other than giving a brief geography lesson to a septuagenarian." "Wives of business people," Jocelyn said. "Must have been deadly." When Jocelyn got no answer, she looked up and saw Sharon staring at her. "What is it, darling?" "How did Darla know I was from Queens?" Sharon asked. "Didn't you tell her the night they were here for dinner?" Sharon shook her head. "No. I thought maybe you had told Brad." Jocelyn thought for a moment. "No. I've never mentioned it to anyone. I know you're very sensitive about your past, so I don't discuss it. And I certainly wouldn't have talked about such a thing to Brad." Sharon sat down slowly on the couch. "How did they know?" she asked. "And how much do they know?"