No Contest Book 3 Tallying the Score 2001 2003Chapter 18
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The week before Thanksgiving, Essie was at her most fertile.
When Eddie asked Joe, “Are you sure?” Joe couldn’t help but laugh.
“I hate to deflate your ego, buddy,” Joe told his best friend, “but this isn’t about you or your fat cock. It’s only about your seed.”
“If you say so,” Eddie responded, doubt saturating the words.
Joe chuckled and shook his head. Things might have seemed to reverse since the early days when Joe ended up with some of the girls Eddie fucked, and always who Joe had been fucking as well. A couple decades later women who had been shared by the two only fucked Eddie in the end. Partly because Joe had become a lot more exclusive than he once was. He did still have his white knight moments, sometimes with Liang involved if the women were interested. But they’d become rarer, and lasted only long enough for the woman to find someone she could be with and get the appreciation she deserved, a man or woman or even both. Joe and Liang as therapists and matchmakers. He remained with longtime lovers. The Chicago contingent of Constance and Caroline, with Maxine in the mix. Maria in LA. Liana in Barbados. His wives and girlfriends, meaning Victoria and Shawna and happily, recently Chandi. But no one else had been added to his list of longtime, continuous lovers in ten years.
Even Gayle, his collaborator directing a couple more of his plays and giving advice on several others, whom he had a master/slave relationship, often joined by Joanne, eventually moved on. It had probably been his longest white knight experience. Nearly a year for Gayle to meet the perfect replacement. Tall, slender, almost boyish in her hips, a small handful for breasts, short blonde hair framed a face too pretty to be butch, but acted the part, she was the hard body Joe always thought Gayle wanted, and she could wield a strap on and a whip with equal ability. It helped that she was a brilliant if struggling sculptor. They became inseparable almost immediately, Joe happily giving way and becoming friend and collaborator only.
The other part of the apparent switch from Joe ending up with the girl to Eddie was Eddie finally becoming a skilled lover. He still was a reluctant cunt sucker. A few tongue laps if absolutely necessary, he much preferred fingering with his thick digits. But at least he made sure the woman was ready. And he could fuck a lot longer. Viagra helped. Many nights of fucking began with the little blue pill.
And he took one prior to the inseminating session. Unfortunately because it made him harder and thicker than usual. And Essie found him too hard and thick to enter her comfortably despite the work Joe had done to lick her to near orgasm while she sucked Eddie. The thickest cock she ever encountered, she found her throat couldn’t accommodate it. The blow job wasn’t necessary. Eddie’s cock bounced out fully erect when he stripped, anticipation of finally fucking the gorgeous woman all he needed. But, as usual, she wanted the experience.
She pulled off almost immediately when she felt her pussy become too expanded. KY, already in Joe’s hand slicking up his cock and her asshole, she slathered on Eddie’s cock to hopefully make his entrance easier. And unless they broke and Eddie cleaned his cock, the plan to suck him back to hardness after his first inoculation into her womb became a lot less appealing.
But the KY worked. Eddie’s glans slipped through her tight entrance. She slowly got used to it. Even began to enjoy it. And by the time Joe slipped into her anus, having her feeling overly stuffed like she never had before, it became incredibly intense. No mistake she was being doubly fucked. The incredible force of the two big cocks filling her almost beyond her capacity, brought her past the excitement Joe had brought her with his tongue, and which she lost with the pain, and she came. Hard. Overwhelmingly. And sustained a high plateau of incredible pleasure, peaking every minute or so, until Eddie began pulling her against him as he reached a frantic pace and held her against him as he let loose his hopefully fecund sperm.
Despite cumming not long before, when Joe released his semen she climaxed again. All three enjoyed the shimmering pulses she generated, Eddie remaining semi-hard inside her.
What became clear to Eddie was this wasn’t about him except as sperm donor. Beyond his cock, Essie made little contact with him. He watched as Joe held her, massaging her tits and kissing her, the hand holds only ending when Joe aimed his cock. The kissing ending with the anal intrusion. Because Essie was too enraptured for kisses. He enjoyed looking at her. Watching her gorgeous face inundated by ecstasy. And gripping her incredible ass had its own exquisiteness.
He understood Joe’s early amusement. His foolish arrogance that he or his cock would change her heart. His cock had even hurt her. Even if, in the end, it looked like she enjoyed it thoroughly. He didn’t feel rebuffed about making such a ridiculous assumption, nor her ignoring him. Instead he felt grateful to be in their presence. In seeing the absolute love they shared in such a profound display. And of course being in the presence of Essie’s absolute naked beauty.
But the love he saw reminded him of his love for Rachel. A love that grew instead of dwindled like most relationships. From a wild and decadent friendship, Rache the Bache, to realizing their love and need for each other, to her eventual acceptance of his gayness, even working to sustain her incredible body to compete against his attraction for the male form, reminding him he enjoyed the female form almost as much, and her form especially, to realizing the utter unity of mind and body they had formed after so many years together. A unity both comfortable and exciting. Still exciting!
Thus, when Essie slipped off his dwindling cock and rested back atop Joe, Joe’s cock still inside her rectum, presumably remaining until it became small and slack, her telling Eddie, “I think one inoculation is enough. I’m a bit sore,” Eddie smiled.
“I think I’ll go be with Rachel,” he said.
“Okay,” Essie grinned. Before he left the room, she added, “If you don’t mind, I’d like this to happen once a month, whether you made me pregnant or not.”
“With Joe there?”
“Of course.”
Eddie looked at Joe who shrugged and smiled.
“I’d like that,” Eddie said. “Next time with Rachel.”
“Good idea,” Essie chuckled.
Less than a week later, the townhouse was full for Thanksgiving. Joe and his wives and lovers, including the non-residents Victoria and Shawna. Neither Shawna’s partner, Jaqueline or Jacky, and the son, from Shawna’s womb and Joe’s seed, whom the lesbian couple were raising, were with her. Both gone to Jacky’s hometown, the one time the woman would get together with her family. The parents still hadn’t accepted Jacky’s sexual orientation, and her partner being mulatto didn’t make it any better, so Shawna had no desire to visit such an unwelcoming home. Once a year was more than enough for Jacky as well, though she did enjoy reminiscing and gossiping with her kin, of which there were many, the majority of whom remained at or near the Pittsburgh suburb where Jacky had been born and raised. For generations the family revolved around steel. And even when that fell apart as the lifeblood of Pittsburgh, many managed to find a smaller remnant of the huge industry to continue things.
Others filling Joe’s living room, dining room and kitchen included the sort of neighbors, living in the attached townhouse that ostensibly joined with Joe’s, Tony and Laura and their two kids. Laura was another woman who had slept with Joe, in a way Joe doing his white knight thing because of Tony’s bisexuality sometimes distracting him from his wife, but, except for the infrequent orgies occurring in the orgy room with the huge bed, which was housed in the couple’s apartment, that is, the second floor of the adjoining townhouse, Laura had moved on from Joe, being with Eddie and her husband, sometimes with Rachel, or, almost always, the two were content to just sleep with each other.
The theater contingent were represented as well. Some, like Hal, who also brought his wife, Nancy and their most recent “pool boy,” whom they shared when Nancy wasn’t alone with the boy, shagging him, were more friends with a past association. But others, like Gayle and some tech people and frequent actors in Joe’s company, were more involved. Any without family close by were invited. Gayle brought her mistress of course.
Charlie could be said to be a past associate of Joe’s theatrical endeavors, having been featured in a couple other of Joe’s plays since his success with the Myth of Innocence had garnered him a Tony and started his success, but of course his relationship with those living in the townhouse was much deeper. And he was actually staying there, in his old attic room, or suite really. His current boyfriend wasn’t his usual fellow pretty boy actor or model. Those never lasted more than three months, as if a change of season meant a change of boyfriend. Nor was he one of the clandestine relationships types, ongoing but occasional, between Charlie and older men, which Charlie tended to enjoy more. Like Eddie substitutes, since Eddie had never been comfortable moving from mentor and sort of father figure to lover. Unlike Joe and his relentless sister.
No, Stuart was an altogether different kind of boyfriend. Plain features. Average height. The sort to disappear in a crowd, especially the formidable one surrounding him. Average in every way except his intelligence. Another prodigy. Though it would be difficult to determine that in such a social setting. He was definitely the quiet type. The wallflower type.
However, Essie wasn’t. And she was determined to find out who had brought such interest from her brother.
“Uhm, hi,” Stuart responded shyly, barely heard, to her hello. He seemed to blush a little, and his eyes, looking away from hers, seemed caught where her blouse revealed cleavage. Not the usual activity from a gay man.
“I’m Charlie’s sister, Essie.”
“I know.”
“Stuart isn’t it?”
He looked up, caught her eyes briefly, before focusing lower. Her lips maybe. “Yes.”
“How did you meet?”
“Berklee School of Music. Your brother was visiting, thinking about matriculating.”
“Are you a student there?”
“No. My girlfriend teaches voice.”
“Girlfriend?”
“She introduced us.”
“Girlfriend?”
He laughed at a low register. “Oh I see. I’m much like your brother. My interests aren’t necessarily specific to gender. Although I suppose I haven’t had the chance to explore like your brother has. His beauty. He’s the first of my own gender, just as Sandy, my second cousin, is the first female I have explored. She tells everyone that Sandy comes from Cassandra, but it is actually Sandalwood. Hippy parents who conceived her with that incense in the atmosphere.
“We both come from a large, close knit family, or kin. Each year we meet at our supposed homestead in the Adirondacks. The original family who settled there were trappers and traders, friendly with the local Indians whom we became the liaison between them and the white people south of us. We all of us have Indian blood. Some of us branched out. One branch became quite successful in business in Buffalo. Both Sandy’s and my branches are the black sheep. Mine the quiet, nerdy scientists, unapologetically lacking in ambition or athleticism. Hers, the free spirits. Utopian mystics creating an experimental commune at the homestead in the late eighteen hundreds, ending at the turn of the century or thereabouts. Later, hippies, and another brief commune there. It was always her family who took care of the homestead. Maple tapping has been their business for many years. Farming, but exclusively subsistence. Chickens for eggs. Goats for milk. Like that. Although they do have a crop of marijuana and a patch of opium poppies. Magic mushrooms in the basement. So they do raise money from what they grow, but aside from tapping trees and creating a rather unique tasting honey from their bees, probably because at least some of the nectar comes from poppies, most of the money comes from illicit business.
“At the annual gathering, Sandy and I would become inseparable. She’s older than me by a couple of years, but that never bothered her. And I was always a bit precocious. When she became sexually aware, and being older already, and with girls getting their menses before boys have their first wet dream, she brought me into the world of sex before my body could properly respond. Though I did find it fascinating, and especially exciting when she showed me how to pleasure her.
“When my body caught up to my experience, and I could enjoy it as intensely as she had, we promised each other we would be together a lot more than once a year when we became old enough to leave home.
“Because I was a prodigy, we both ended up going to college the same year. Me at MIT and her at Berklee. We became roommates. Shared an apartment. We each have our own bedroom. Because though we considered ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, she made it clear she wanted to explore her sexuality. I suppose I did too, but being shy and not in the least attractive, unlike her, opportunities never came. Possibly because my expectations were too high. She’s a beautiful woman. And we were best friends. She became the exclusive provenance of my desire. Until I met Charlie.
“So she was with other boys?”
“Yes. A few. Older men too. One was her professor, which proved disastrous. We managed to scheme a way to get him out of Berklee and out of our lives.”
“Scheme?”
“Yes. I have always had a gift for strategy.”
Essie laughed. “I’m beginning to see your charm.”
“How so?”
“Let me guess. You’re very good at chess.”
“Yes. But my fondness for games has transferred to Go.”
“Me too!”
“Unfortunately, I find it more difficult finding a capable competitor.”
“Me too! We’ll play later!”
“Great!”
“And you’re very good at arguing?”
“I tend to win.”
“Me too!”
“I was in the debate club in high school.”
“Me too! Though it wasn’t really by choice.”
“Me too. Charlie’s a remarkably good chess player, and a pretty good arguer.”
“He tends to hide his intelligence behind his good looks.”
“Why?”
“He could have been a scholar if he wanted. He didn’t. Luckily, he’s an amazing actor. A quadruple threat we always say. Singing, dancing, acting, and also an amazing musician.”
“The last was why we met. Someone must have advised him to sit in on Sandy’s class. She happened to be working on demisemiquavers. Notes between notes.”
“I know.”
“Afterwards he felt compelled to talk to her. Not just the usual reason, because she’s a beautiful woman, although perhaps that was part of it. He basically told her that the tonal scale was naturally pleasing to humans. Mentioning the oriental five tone scale, which is basically the black keys on the piano. Westerners’ sharps and flats.
“She laughed and immediately invited him to our apartment. To meet me. To debate me. And also because he’s beautiful.
“You see I’ve been working on an electronic device which plays demisemiquavers. It’s essentially a two octave keyboard which can be shifted higher or lower to create more. Are you familiar with Harry Partch?”
“I’m a fan,” Essie grinned.
“The first time I heard his music, it blew me away and changed my life. To compose to the subtle tones of plain speech! And to create such beautiful music from it! Percussive because a lot of his invented instruments were struck like marimbas. I liked that about it, but found it somewhat restrictive. Only the voice could shift into those in between notes. Then I heard the string glissandos of Xenakis.”
“Yes!”
“Every tone available, really, even though he tended to slide through them. But others ... there would be these fleeting harmonies as strings shifted together but differently, you know?”
“I understand. You want to catch the odd harmonics.”
“I do. I can do it on my ... synthesizer. I hate calling it that, even if I guess creating sound exclusively through electronics makes it one. But I’d like to create a band of them. Or not just them, but with other more analog instruments. Fretless instruments. And maybe some specially tuned marimbas. Maybe even purchasing one of Partch’s. And with voices.”
“You compose?”
“Yes. Just for Sandy and myself.”
“Have you performed them?”
“It’s a limited audience.”
“Of course it is. Not everyone wants to hear experimental music. But enough do to sustain careers like Partch and Xenakis.”
“I don’t think Partch ever got rich. And Xenakis teaches.”
“So? We’ve both heard of them.”
“True. The other problem is, my machine is rather unwieldy. Any time my music had been performed, my part is recorded and Sandy sings live. For her class, and for group shows with the other instructors.”
“So make the next one portable.”
“Charlie suggested the same thing. I’ve been working on it.”
“So Charlie came around?”
“I win arguments,” Stuart shrugged. “I started with familiar harmonics. Thirds. Then shifted a touch and kept the harmonics. They had the usual consonant effect. Then I showed dissonance. Just the slight one of the blues. From major to minor. It’s supposed emotional resonance. Then more dissonance. More close in. Then back. I call it a shadow sound. The way shadows shape things, defining by the absence of light. Once he agreed, we argued, and I won other topics.”
“Like?”
“Mostly the preciousness of art in America. He claimed it wasn’t about class. I argued it was exclusive and condescending. The preponderance of popular culture. The absolute rule of the dominant media. Top forty or network television. He argued that theater has a vital audience that isn’t precious or exclusive. And that people are ready to hear more dissonant things. Zappa was his main example. And Bernstein and West Side Story with its twentieth century European influences. I said these are rarified examples, the exceptions that proved the rules, and that they had to be packaged just right. No long hairs in sight. Popular.”
“And he gave in?”
“He did.”
“But it’s always been like that. The rich elite dancing the waltz and the minuet while the folk play and dance ... well ... folk music and folk dances. And have a lot more fun. Even to the point that it was a little shocking when the composer for the elite, the one who composed and performed in those little salons, actually incorporated some of those folk tunes.
“And of course things have changed since Louis XIV. But I’d have to argue its complete reversal. Both rich and poor think Pollock could have been done by a monkey. Both rich and poor think he’s one of the great masters. Both rich and poor love Stockhausen for instance, and hate him, especially his more electronic and noisy scores. Zappa channeling Varese? It’s appreciation has little to do with class. Almost anyone can buy the album.
“I do agree there’s a bit of condescension. But it has more to do with preciousness and the precariousness of taste. Pollock the genius has to be a struggle against Pollock the monkey. There’s a defensiveness.”
“What about ballet?”
“The Nutcracker is a family friendly event every year. Maybe modern dance? But even then, both rich and poor perform it and watch it. At least the poor who can afford the ticket. The performers though, I imagine they don’t get rich at it.”
“Poetry?”
“Perhaps an intellectual elite. But a pretty damn small one. Eggheads watch television like everyone else. They might debate the meaning of Seinfeld more than the less educated, or more accurately, the less in their head. Because you don’t have to be educated to be brilliant.”
Stuart suddenly reverted back to his shy blushing. “Uhm ... Essie ... you wouldn’t ... I mean I have such a small sampling. And you’re beautiful, and I definitely like you.”
“No Stuart.”
“I understand. Sorry.”
“You don’t Stuart. It’s complicated. You’re a lot more attractive than you think you are. But fucking my brother’s boyfriend would be a really bad idea. I think you’re really hung up on visuals. If the way you describe Sandy is true...”
“She’s here,” Stuart said. She had heard the door chime a minute before, and saw a woman hugging and kissing Charlie, then scanning the room. She smiled and waved at Stuart who waved back.
A stunningly beautiful brunette. An open expression on her pale face, in her eyes and her generous smile. But an intelligence as well. She wore the uniform of the hippy. A soft cotton blouse tucked into a peasant skirt that hung to her ankles. Even so, her voluptuousness was apparent. Braless, her breasts bounced when they moved, but firmly. Her ass, not oversized, but still present, subtly and sexily shifting beneath the loose fabric.
“Okay,” Essie chuckled, “she’s gorgeous. But that’s the point, Stuart. You’re a bit autistic aren’t you?”
“An idiot savant?” he muttered.
“No. Not quite. You’re social enough, if reluctantly. You already admitted you let few in. Sandy, Charlie and now me. You see a trend?”
“I just thought ... you’re beautiful and we’re becoming friends.”
“If you want to experiment, you’re going to have to open yourself up to other things besides beauty. If not, if it takes this aesthetic charge to accept getting physical with someone, then you’ve already hit the motherlode.”
“I just thought...”
“I know what you thought. Your girlfriend got to screw other men. It’s not fair.”
“I finally meet someone...”
“You’re comfortable with enough to make things fair. Unfortunately fair is bullshit. And it doesn’t make me any more willing to fuck you. Accept that and be my friend.”
He looked at her for several seconds. And nodded. And smiled. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he said.
“I won’t but I’ll let you know if I do.”
He laughed.
They stood as Charlie and Sandy approached. Essie noticed Stuart adjust his crotch. His cock made a substantial dent in his trousers. It didn’t change her mind. Just imagined the beautiful woman appreciated his gift. And maybe Charlie as well.
“Essie, this is Sandy,” Charlie said.
Essie waited for Sandy and Stuart to embrace and kiss before shaking her hand. Firm, confident grip. They smiled at each other.
“What do you think of Stuart?” Sandy asked, genuinely curious.
“For one, he’s a lucky man.”
“Thanks,” Sandy blushed.
“We had a most illuminating conversation.”
“You did?”
“We did. Stuart told me a lot about himself. And you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow.”
“I told you,” Charlie smirked.
“I get the attraction little brother,” Essie grinned. “He’s basically a quiet male version of me. I never thought you had a yen.”
“Fuck you,” Charlie chuckled.
“That’s the point,” Essie laughed. “Admit it.”
“Of course I’ve had a yen. I have a fucking hot older sister. I’ve had one or two incestuous fantasies.”
“Me too. Just never thought yours would come to this.”
“Whatever.” He shook his head.
“Do you mind if I steal your girl for a minute?”
“Not at all.”
Essie led Sandy to the piano bench, a relatively private spot. They sat.
Essie saw Sandy’s surprise when she asked the beautiful brunette, “Are you interested in women?”
“Uhm, no. Why do you ask?”
“Not even bi curious?”
“I’m definitely fixated on men. Seeing Stuart and Charlie together might have been the highlight of my life.”
“Charlie’s beautiful.”
“I think Stuart is too.”
“Good.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Stuart asked me if I’d let him fuck me.”
“Oh shit.”
“It’s not a problem. I shut him down. He’s okay with it. I really want to be his friend.”
“I’m glad. Stuart’s never had many friends. In fact I could probably count them on one hand.”
“Do you understand where he’s coming from?”
“You are a beautiful woman. In fact maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Thanks. But that’s only part of it.”
“Part of it?”
“Beauty definitely turns him on. I couldn’t help noticing he’s got quite the package.”
“I have no complaints,” Sandy blushed.
“My beauty’s one part. And no, I’m not going to pretend I’m not. What would be the point?”
“Okay?”
“The second part has to do with our conversation. Him getting comfortable with me.”
“Which would be essential for him.”
“Yes. And last, he thinks it would be fair. Since you’ve been fucking around on him.”
“I ... That’s my business.”
“And business is good,” Essie laughed.
“Bitch,” Sandy muttered and began to stand.
“Ssh. I’m honestly not making any judgements. Just sit. Let me finish.”
“Sounds like you are,” Sandy responded, but sat back.
“I’ve had my share of lovers, but for the most part, I’m pretty circumspect. But one of my lovers, a woman I respect and love more than any woman, used to sleep around a lot. Her husband, who happens to be my husband now, and who is the true love of my life, was okay with it.”
“But they divorced.”
“She divorced him. Because she decided she needed to be monogamous. The only stupid decision in a life full of smart ones. But it did let me marry the man I always intended to marry since I was a kid.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Most people wouldn’t until they get to know me. Then it makes sense. I tend to win my arguments.”
“Like Stuart.”
“Exactly like Stuart. Although I did beat him in our little argument.”
“That may be a first.”
“Probably. Maybe I won a second argument. He wanted to fuck me and I refused. I think it was a first for him. Asking. Maybe he hoped he might fuck some hot chick, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. This time he genuinely thought he might. Maybe he was genuinely interested. Probably. But mostly it had to do with making things fair. You told him he could fuck around if he wanted.”
“It would only be fair.”
“There’s that word again. Fair. Did you really think he’d find someone?”
“I ... eventually.”
“Do you understand how unlikely it was? This weird, uncomfortable, shy, plain guy. How many levels of discomfort he would have needed to shed? How patient they would have to be. How desperate. For a quick fuck? And then add on his fixation on beauty. He’s not even interested unless they’re beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Really. Believe me, beautiful people don’t need to be that patient.”
“I love him. Charlie...”
“Charlie likes him. He’s unique and brilliant. And he reminds Charlie of me,” Essie laughed. “But seriously, did you want him to fuck some other chick?”
“To tell you the truth, I was worried. If he did, and he wasn’t comfortable with her...”
“He’d freak out.”
“Yes.”
“So the offer was to assuage your own guilt.”
“I like sex. Going off to school was an opportunity. Where I grew up, there wasn’t really any town. I was homeschooled, so no chance to fuck the quarterback or even the shy, angry kid. I had Stuart once a year. A kid visiting his uncle, who used to be part of the hippie commune and hadn’t run off like the rest of them. This older hermit who I kind of liked, but after fucking outdoors, which was fun, he took me to his little cabin and the place stunk, so that kind of ended things. And he was a little scary.
“So, yeah, I wanted some. Some good old fashioned unrestrained fucking. To be honest though, it was never as satisfying as it is with Stuart. It always left me a little sad. And yeah, maybe guilty.”
“From what I understand about autism, it’s like there’s this disconnect. Between others and the person. The person doesn’t get other people. Their emotions and feelings.”
“It’s a matter of degrees. In severe cases there is no getting in. And sometimes, when I see Stuart interact, or not interact, I wonder if he can interact with me.”
“He loves you, Sandy. Entirely.”
“Yeah. All I have to do is look at him when we’re alone. The way he looks at me.”
“You’re his only real friend and only real lover. How is he as a lover?”
“Surprisingly empathetic. I guess I trained him to be. It really does please him making me cum. And of course he rather enjoys my thanks for it,” Sandy giggled.
“He sounds like a really good lover.”
“He is. Second guessing?”
“Maybe. He would be a unique experience.”
“He’s definitely unique. So I hear tell Eddie always has the best pot.”
“He does.”
“I brought some of my family’s shrooms.”
“I don’t usually partake, but this just might be very interesting.”
“Can’t imagine it wouldn’t be.”
Not long after Sandy’s arrival, close to dinner, another two guests arrived. Invited but not exactly expected.
It was the first time Cheryl wasn’t completely comfortable in her own home. The one she had put the money down for years before.
“Hey,” she said quietly to Joe, her husband close in. Joe had met Nick at a party. Another one, they avoided each other, Cheryl kept away from her ex.
Elle
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